At Dragonstone…

Alvyn busied himself with countless sheets of parchment, crossing off names that were in the casualty reports from the Battle of Blackwater Bay against the roster of those men still loyal to Dragonstone. Thousands of Stannis Baratheon's men had died at the walls of King's Landing, and Alvyn had been working for weeks now, ever since he had arrived at Dragonstone. He picked up another sheet, and noticed a familiar name. "Matthos Seaworth" the old merchant read aloud. Turning to a nearby scribe who had been helping him, Alvyn asked "Is he a r-relation of Davos Seaworth?"

The young man gave him a puzzled look. "That was Davos' son. King Stannis' squire. If he'd survived the battle, he would've been a Knight one day".

Alvyn looked back at the name on the parchment. "Is he aware of his son's death?"

"He saw it happen" the scribe said. "They were on the same ship when the Wildfire took half of the fleet. Never stood a chance".

"A terrible thing", Alvyn said to himself, "to lose a s-son". After a moment, he took a blank piece of parchment and wrote a sympathetic letter to Davos Seaworth. "I-If you could d-deliver this to D-Davos, I would greatly appreciate it". The scribe appeared to be hesitant; after all, Davos had been imprisoned by Stannis for trying to kill the Lady Melisandre after he had returned. Eventually, the young man stood up and took the letter. As he walked away, Alvyn stared at the candle lighting his desk, thinking of his son, Elyas. After a few moments, he returned to work, trying to focus on other things. Suddenly, the Lady Melisandre stepped into the darkened chamber. Alvyn, upon noticing her presence, hastily stood. "M-My lady, I…"

The redheaded woman gently shushed him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "I am leaving Dragonstone, tonight. I would like you to join me, my friend".

Alvyn bowed his head. "I'll pack m-my things at once, my lady".

At the Whispers…

Drakon watched as one of his guards tied a lamb to a post on the grass. The small, white creature, upon seeing the Dragons, started panicking. It tried to run, but the rope tying it to the post was secure, and it couldn't get away. Drakon could tell that Rhaegon and Maelion were anxious to feast on the helpless creature, screeching with excitement as their frills flared. They suddenly lunged for the lamb, but the muscular man forced them back, pinching a section of the membrane that formed their frills along their necks. The action elicited a light squeal of pain from the both of them as Drakon said "Kelitis!" The Dragons finally settled down after he repeated the command a few times, and once they did, he released their frills. Standing up, he held out his hand as the guard passed a crossbow to him. Aiming at the lamb, Drakon fired, shooting the white creature in the side. Pointing at the wounded lamb, he said "Ipradis!" Rhaegon and Maelion then eagerly launched themselves at the lamb; Rhaegon bathed the creature in a torrent of Dragonfire, cooking it to a crisp before he and Maelion feasted upon it.

"Impressive" Visenya said. She had been watching him train the Dragons all morning, and Drakon had pointedly ignored her during that time.

Turning to the guard, the muscular man said "Bring another". The man walked off, and Drakon started reloading the crossbow. Off in the distance, the sounds of the waves crashing against the cliffs could be heard. It had the effect of creating the "whispers" that the castle was famous for; the legends concerning the abandoned castle spoke of the many severed heads belonging to Ser Clarence Crabb, a fabled Knight. The "whispers" were nothing more than the sounds of the waves hitting the holes in the cliff faces. Suddenly, Drakon felt hands on his back, and he instantly tensed, feeling as if the air in his lungs rushed out at once.

"Are you all right, brother?" she asked in High Valyrian.

Drakon didn't answer, and he soon felt her hands on his cheeks, turning his head to look at her. The muscular man gazed into his half-sister's violet eyes. "I'm sorry" he said at last.

"For what?" Visenya asked in the common tongue.

"I shouldn't have kissed you. It was wrong".

"Was it?" the beautiful woman asked, arching an eyebrow.

"Yes" Drakon replied, taking her hands in his and gently taking them off of his cheeks. "You're my sister".

"And you are my brother" she said. "Aren't we supposed to care for one another?"

"But not like that". Drakon said, trying his best to hold a conversation whilst battling the inner turmoil of emotions that was raging within him.

"You are not telling me everything" Visenya said, matter-of-factly. "What is it? You can tell me".

Drakon looked to his right, at the Dragons, who sat on the grass beside him and looked at him with their heads slightly cocked to the side. "It's been over a year since my wife died, but it still feels as if it was yesterday".

"You still mourn for her" Visenya surmised. Slipping one of her hands from his, she cupped his cheek and once more turned his head toward hers. "She is gone; you can't spend the rest of your life dwelling on the past".

"I made a promise" Drakon replied. "It is my obligation to avenge the Targaryens and oust those who have usurped their rightful place".

"And do you intend to walk down this path alone?"

Drakon nodded. "If I have to". Visenya did not reply. Instead, she pulled the muscular man down and kissed him on the lips. The kiss seemed to last for an eternity, and for one brief moment, Drakon felt as if he was whole again. As they separated, he felt his heart thundering in his chest as he gazed at the silver-haired woman.

"You are not alone" she whispered in his ear.

The guard then returned with another lamb, and Drakon returned to the task at hand. Once the small white creature was tied to the post, Rhaegon and Maelion tried to lunge at it. The muscular man pinched a section of their neck frills, and they yelped as he said "Kelitis!" Having learned their lesson from before, they stopped. Their frills still flared with excitement, but they remained where they were. Standing up, Drakon shot the lamb with the crossbow. Pointing to the small creature, he said "Ipradis!" Rhaegon and Maelion then lunged at the lamb, feasting once more.

At King's Landing…

Ser Hugo sat in a chair, sharpening his sword. He was currently in one of the Goldcloak barracks, enjoying some free time. Ever since he had been appointed as the Lord Commander of the City Watch, he had had very little time to himself. Almost as if on cue, two members of the City Watch entered. "Commander" one of them said, drawing his gaze. "Lord Baelish wants us".

"And did Littlefinger say why?" the Knight asked, standing up.

"He's getting married" the other Goldcloak said.

"How wonderful for him" Ser Hugo dryly remarked as he sheathed his sword. He then made his way out of the barracks, followed by the two Goldcloaks. "So who's the lucky woman?"

"Lysa Arryn. He's leaving for the Vale soon, and apparently he's getting Harrenhal as well".

Ser Hugo frowned. "Not a man I trust with that many castles". An hour later, he was overseeing the preparations for Lord Baelish to leave for the Vale. "Take those down to the docks" he told a few of his men. As they carried several crates of Littlefinger's belongings away, Ser Hugo saw a redheaded woman stepping out of the man's room.

"Hello, Ser Hugo" the woman greeted with a smirk.

"Ros" he replied as he surreptitiously cast a glance at her bountiful chest. "So, Lord Tyrion is to be the new Master of Coin?"

"It looks that way" the woman replied.

Resting his hand on the handle of his sword, the Knight said "You've worked with Lord Baelish for a long time now. The man seems to be collecting titles like whores for a Nameday celebration. Do you trust him with that much power?"

Ros crossed her arms. Taking a deep breath, she looked directly into his eyes and said "No".

Ser Hugo nodded, already knowing the answer.

At Craster's Keep…

Rolfe stood amongst the others as the funeral pyre was lit. The brother had died of a simple wound, one that could have been easily treated, and the veteran Ranger could sense the growing discontent among the remaining brothers. "His name was Bannon" the Lord Commander said over the burning fire. "He was a good man. A good Ranger". After quietly asking of the man's home, the old bear said "He came to us from White Harbour. He never failed in his duty. He kept his vows the best he could. He rode far, fought fiercely, and we shall never see his like again".

"And now his watch is ended" Rolfe said with the others. With the funeral done, everyone soon dispersed.

One of the younger brothers muttered "Mormont's led us to our deaths!"

Rolfe glared at the younger man. "We swore an oath" he growled. "Didn't say we had to like it. We do what the Lord Commander says". Not even bothering to hear the other's response, Rolfe went back to chopping wood with his axe. A few minutes passed by, and a small group of brothers walked up to him.

"Tonight" one of them said. "We take the keep tonight. Are you with us?"

Rolfe felt the anger and disgust boiling within him. Maintaining a firm grip on his axe, he said "I swore an oath, you miserable little shits!" Suddenly, everything became black.

Waking up with a bump on his head and a throbbing headache, the veteran Ranger examined his surroundings. He was in one of the many sheds surrounding Craster's Keep, and after a quick check, he knew that the door was locked. The traitorous brothers had locked him in when he wouldn't betray his oath. Reaching into his black sleeve, he pulled out a knife; apparently, the would-be-mutineers were so hasty to dispose of him that they hadn't even bothered to thoroughly check him. With the knife in hand, he soon forced his way through the door of the shed, walking out onto the snow. Rolfe could hear shouting coming from within the main building, and he knew that time was running out. Suddenly, the gods decided to piss on them all, as several screams sounded from within the keep moments before the brothers began fighting amongst themselves. Before Rolfe could enter and come to the aid of his brothers, he saw Sam Tarly running outside, taking the wife and newborn babe he had been so interested in before running toward the forest. Unfortunately, a few of the mutineers saw them as well, and they started running after the fat boy.

"Ah, fuck it!" Rolfe growled as he ran after them. He quickly caught up to the mutineers, stabbing the closest one in the back. The man cried out in pain before dropping to the ground, and the others turned to look at the veteran Ranger, leaving Sam Tarly and the wife to flee into the forest. Rolfe slit the throat of another mutineer before easily dispatching the other two. Wiping the blood from the dagger on his sleeve, he sheathed the dagger just as a voice called "Hey, come on and celebrate! We found Craster's hidden larder!"

Suppressing the urge to kill them all, Rolfe realized that his best chance of survival now was to pretend to be one of them, and hope for the best. Turning around, he walked back toward the keep. "We'll be eating well tonight, lads!" he said in as merry a voice as he could manage as he clapped one of the mutineers on the back.