Disclaimer: I don't own ASoIaF/GoT. Thanks to everybody enjoying this, your reviews make my day. In two previous chapters I referred to Sara and Oberyn's daughter as 'Myriah' instead of 'Mariah', which I have since fixed, so sorry about that.

Also, when I'm writing the Winterlanders speaking, I sometimes write the grammar really badly. This is deliberate, to show their accents. Just something somebody mentioned in a PM that I wanted to clarify. I've also changed 'advisor of airgead' to cisteoir, meaning treasurer. I have no idea why I didn't call it that from the start, I just could not for the life of me think of the word.

I tend to refer to this Ned as Eddard. He's not the rigidly honourable Warden of North who dislikes violence and is kind of naïve from the books/show. This is a King of Winter, in a Viking-esque society almost constantly at war, and he has the attitude for it. Honour is not particularly important to these Northrons. Strong in body and strong in mind is what they expect, and that's what the Starks give them.

Finally, I just want to mention that the Northron/Riverlander border stretches from Ironman's Bay to Maidenpool after Cregan's attack. The 'Northron Riverlands' encompass the keeps of Raventree Hall, Stone Hendge, Harrenhal, and they also control the Isle of Faces. The Twins, Seaguard and Wendish Town are all under their control as well. This means the Freys, Mallisters, Brackens, Blackwoods, and any other houses within that area are all sworn to House Stark, and converted to the Old Gods to save their skins after being captured. Their members, naturally, will be OOC, and Genna Lannister married Clement Piper instead of Emmon Frey.

I hope everyone's looking forward to Christmas? I know I sure as hell can't wait for the hols to arrive!

Read, enjoy and review!

Chapter Twelve

Kings and Councils

Winterfell: 9th March, 303 AC

Ashara:

"Sara," Ashara sighed. The Queen of Winter knew her children well. It only took a glance for her to realize that Sara had broken her promise. "What were you thinking?"

The Crown Princess winced and looked down, as if she were a young girl caught in some mischief with the others of the Wolf Pack again. "I just," she faltered and gave a desperate look to her mother. "I was just planning to introduce him to Mariah," she claimed. "And then we were arguing over my not telling him of her, and then. Well. One thing led to another." She looked down again.

"He is an Andal, my Wolf Star," Ashara pointed out tiredly. "And you are betrothed."

"I am not an idiot, Máthair," Sara grumbled. "I have never considered wedding him. I know that is foolishness. I just- He means to return and stay here, after putting the Crownless on the Iron Throne. To be near Mariah."

"Only Mariah?" Ashara inquired, raising an eyebrow sceptically. She sighed and tilted her head in consideration. Above all things, she loved her children. There was a certain glint in Sara's eyes that she recognized. The young princess was in love. If there was a compromise, to allow her daughter to be happy and still keep the people content that no Andals would be poisoning the Weirwood Throne...

"It will never be taken well," she murmured. "However, if you still wed Edderion, and do not legitimize any children born of your, relationship, raising them as First Men, likely fostering them to certain houses to assure the people that the Viper did not have an undue effect on them... Perhaps. You have succeeded twice in the Trials, after all. Proven yourself against the wights and in state over the past few years. There is little justification to say you do not deserve the crown. Nobody is flawless, after all."

Sara looked at her hopefully. "Do you think so, Máthair?" she asked. She reminded Ashara of when she was a child of one-and-ten namedays with grey eyes too big for her fey-like face. "Do you really think I could be a good Queen, Mama?" her child's voice echoed in her memory.

"I do," Ashara promised, just as she had the day Sara had gone for her Trials the first time. She let thoughts of her daughter and granddaughter steel her resolve. They deserved to be happy. She would do whatever necessary to see her children be happy. She didn't want Sara to become another Benjen the Bitter, lost in regrets and old sorrows to the point that she wasted away.

"I will see to it, my darling," she promised. "Focus on the war, and by the time 'tis over, nobody will even consider objecting. But you must wed Edderion. Understood? That is non-negotiable."

Sara nodded firmly. "I have no intention of doing otherwise." She paused, looking guilty. "If this happens, I cannot legitimize Mariah," she murmured. "And should I have any more babes with Oberyn than I could not do so for them either. Is that not selfish of me, Máthair? Should I not put them first?"

Ashara sighed and cupped Sara's cheek. "Sweetling," she began. "You will be the Queen of Winter. It is a heavy burden to bear, the crown. We are not the dragons, letting others rule in our name. We do so ourselves, and that is for the best. It is better for the people, better for our House.

But it also means feeling the grief and stress of the darker side of ruling. Sending soldiers off to what you know will be their deaths, making choices for the good of the many, even if it is not good for those you love.

The most important thing a ruler needs is someone with whom they can just be them, not the monarch. I am that for your father. Your grandfather's lover Jeor Seastark was it for your grandfather King Rickard.

If the Nathair Dearg (Red Snake, all snakes are referred to the same way) is it for you, my love, then so be it. I will not see you be destroyed trying to bear the weight of the crown without an anchor to keep your head above the water."

Sara looked solemn, reminding Ashara of her father as she nodded silently.

"Thank you, Máthair," she murmured. Ashara embraced her and kissed the top of her head.

"I gcónaí, a grá (always, my love)," she replied lovingly, in a way she would never consider doing in front of non-family.

There was a knock, and Old Nan stuck her head around the door. "My queen, my princess," she called, her voice cracked from age and body stooped. "The Council has been summoned, to begin preparations for war with the south."

"Thank you, Nan," Ashara replied, as she and Sara stood.

Eddard:

The king surveyed his council. They were all gathered to discuss the preparations for the approaching war. They would begin when the Crownless and his people arrived.

His Chancellor, Lord Manderly, was a shrewd and clever man beneath his guise of an over-weight and jovial fool. A good, trusted friend. The Manderly were originally a burner family from the Reach, but they had fled to the North centuries ago, and converted some generations past. They were some of the Starks' most loyal vassals, which said a great deal of them.

Then there was his Advisor for War, Ashara's brother and the Sword of Morning, Arthur Dayne. His goodbrother was a stern man. He wasn't a warg, but he was the best fighter and tactician that Eddard knew. Beside him, High Greenseer Howland Reed sat atop a specially-designed chair to compensate for his short height, expression grave and thoughtful. Howland had been a dear friend for many years, Eddard's most trusted councillor save for his wife.

Magnara Starstark and Magnar Seastark were both suffering from black eyes and bruised knuckles, having gotten into yet another fight with one another. Truly, it seemed that even in peace time, Eddard was busy dealing with the 'War of the Water Wolves', as Lyanne, the Dragon Defier's daughter and successor had dubbed the feud. Still, the pair was more than capable of setting aside their differences to ensure the Winterlands' prosperity when necessary.

His Cisteoir, Magnar Torrhen Whitewolf, was whispering with Chief Justiciar Tytos Blackwood. His Advisor for Lore, Scholar Luwin was bent over some documents, shuffling them in search of something. Luwin was from the very edge of the border with the south, in fact his father was a southron. But he himself was a leal man, and Eddard trusted his judgement.

Finally, his Principal Secretary and spymaster, Magnar Yohn Royce, was also examining some reports from his spy ring. Or, as most who knew of it (which was a select few, mostly the royal family and the members themselves) the 'Ice Eyes'. Though, Eddard had always thought it ironic that it was dubbed after Brandon Icy-Eyes instead of its' creator, King Cregan.

Truly, the Old Wolf had been one of the greatest Winter Kings. His idea to plant families as spies in the various parts of the south and the Free Cities, with members groomed from birth to be moles loyal to the Starks, had been utterly ingenious. Ruthless, but ingenious. They had smallfolk, merchants and even a few minor nobles who had managed to defy southron expectations and climb the social ladder to infiltrate the court, all loyal to the Starks and scattered throughout the foreign kingdoms. Then, of course, there were the animal spies. Bird wargs, or rats, cats, even horses. No southron thought to be wary of what they said around a stray cat.

It was an intricate, large web, and all of it was overseen by Magnar Royce. Even Eddard himself didn't know the full extent of it, and that was a deliberate choice made to maintain the ring's integrity. Nobody knew more than three, at most four others' identities. Nobody save for Yohn himself, and he had sworn a solemn oath before the heart tree of Winterfell never to reveal any of his people's identities to anybody outside of House Stark.

Ashara sat beside him, waiting quietly. There was a brooding expression in her eyes, one that many would fail to pick up on. He, however, had known her since what felt like forever. They had been wed for two decades, and in love even longer. He knew her as well as he knew the back of his hand. Something was troubling her, something unrelated to the situation at hand.

He would inquire later, when there was time. Unfortunately, the needs of the realm had to come first, even before his family.

Robb and Sara were whispering to one another, Sara patting Taibhse's back and frowning. The rest of his children were too young to take part, though Arya would no doubt make her opinion on that known later.

At last, the Crownless Dragon arrived, his mother, guard and uncle in tow. Eddard again had to resist the urge to set Laochra on the Nathair Dearg when he spotted him. The damned man had seduced Ned's eldest daughter, damaged her standing in their people's eyes. Whilst the King of Winter could grudgingly acknowledge that his daughter was not one to be taken advantage of, the Winterlanders knew where to put the blame in such situations. Sara had been a maid of seven-and-ten, on her first trip outside of their borders and inexperienced with the world outside their kingdom. The whole purpose of sending her to Braavos had been for her to gain that needed experience. It was a tradition for their heirs to do so. Oberyn Martell, meanwhile, had been over twice Sara's age and already sired seven other daughters when they met. He was entirely at fault for the whole affair, in the father's opinion.

Eddard should never have given in to Ashara's pleas not to put a bounty on the man's head. For all Sara had promised repeatedly not to let the snake get under her skin again, Ned knew his daughter. She had the same look in her eye for Oberyn Martell as Ashara had always directed towards him. An entirely unacceptable look. And the king could see how the Dornishman glanced briefly at his daughter's chest, making Eddard clench his jaw. He would have to speak with Ashara about this. Hopefully, his intelligent wife would have some solution to the mess.

Of course, if all else failed then he could just give the man to the weirwoods. He would prefer to avoid that, though. It was a bad diplomatic strategy, to kill another monarch's uncle right after forming an alliance. Still, they did not actually need the alliance, it would simply be better for them. But they could manage if Eddard had to have the snake killed and it fell apart.

"Welcome, Aegon Targeryen," Eddard greeted him with a brisk nod. "Elia Targaryen. Oberyn Martell. Barristan Selmy. I introduce you to my council. My Chancellor, Magnar Wyman Manderly. This my queen's brother, Arthur Dayne, Sword of Morning. He the leader of my army. Then this Howland Reed, High Greenseer. Magnara Sybelle Starstark, in charge of the Western Fleet, and Magnar Brandon Seastark, of the Eastern Fleet. Torrhen Whitewolf is my Cisteoir. Treasurer I think you say. Then my Chief Justiciar, Magnar Blackwood, and Advisor for Lore, Scholar Luwin. Then last, my Principal Secretary, Yohn Royce."

"It is an honour to meet you all," the dragon replied courteously, nodding respectfully to them. Eddard wondered where his sense came from. Obviously, it couldn't come from the incestuous side of his family. Yet the Dornish had decided to bend the knee and give up their freedom for nought more than a pretty face so far as the Winterlands could tell. That was hardly the act of a sensible person. Still, in general the Dornish were the most intelligent of the south, though that hardly said much.

Time would tell if the Crownless could live up to his initial impressions, but Eddard had to admit it, if only mentally. He almost liked the boy. If he stayed true to the appearance he had been giving off since arriving, then he could very well be a good king.

"Now, we begin discussing war preparations," Eddard declared briskly after the southrons had taken their seats. "We will give, for your cause, seven ships manned by thirty men each, twelve gryffins, and a host of four thousand, under command of my daughter. A reserve force will remain at the border, and replace any losses, to constantly maintain the level, and we will provide provisions for our men and yours if necessary. We also going to facilitate you contacting your supporters. We have list of those for your brother and those for you."

It was not much, true. But it was still more than he needed to give them, and he could see the relief in the burners' eyes at even receiving that much.

Yohn cleared his throat and showed them the parchment. "Dorne for you and Westerlands for Aenar, ar ndóigh (of course). Also the Vale. Riverlands cannot fight for you, because Edmure Tully, his wife and children being held in King's Landing, same for Stormlands, as Tywin had the Baratheons taken into custody. They either be neutral or forced to fight for lions. Then Reach is for you. Of Crownlands, most lords are being held hostage also. They likely be made to fight for the lions."

His young counterpart looked discouraged by the news. "What happened with the Baratheons, do you know?" he asked, expression pinched.

He must be close with at least one member of the House, Eddard deduced. Them being taken hostage was clearly personal to him, from the stricken look in his eyes. He did well at hiding his emotions, but he was no Winterlander, and Eddard could read the most miniscule changes in the lad's face.

Eddard spoke up. He didn't want the burners to realize Yohn's true role. It was obvious that they had spies in the south, but Eddard would not risk compromising the ring's integrity. "Traitor in the household allowed the Westermen entrance through a secret passage," he informed them. "Robert and Stannis Baratheon dead in the fighting, Lady Baratheon delivered a stillborn. Lord Renly and his eldest nephew injured, but alive. Everyone being kept under strict guard."

The dragon's eyes flared at the news of the Baratheons' tragedies. The Viper gripped his shoulder tightly, leaning in to mutter something in the boy's ear. Aegon's jaw was clenched, but he gave a curt nod in response to his uncle's words.

Eddard decided to move them along. "Worst case scenario, you have about one hundred forty-four thousand men, not counting the ships and gryffins. The gryffins are scouts and archers, not heavy combatants. The enemy can field, at most, one hundred forty thousand, many of whom would be fighting because their lords are being held hostage, and leaves many castles unprotected. This means you have the advantage."

"And the Winterlands' aid will come as a shock," Ser Barristan added thoughtfully. "They cannot possibly have guessed where you went, Your Grace, and that we formed an alliance would be even less unlikely. I know that Varys could never manage to plant permanent spies here, so the Lannisters cannot know of this. We have the advantage of numbers and surprise."

"Yes," Aegon agreed, rubbing at his chin. "But we must not become over-confident, Ser Barristan. You yourself told me that the moment you become convinced that you have won the battle is the moment you lose it. Tell me, King Eddard, of the skills of the troops you are loaning me so generously, and I will better explain the different strengths of my own men."

"As said," Eddard began, silently smirking at Ser Barristan's accidental reveal that the southrons couldn't keep their spies in his kingdom. He had known it was already, of course, as Yohn kept a careful eye on the Spider, but it was still good to hear. And he knew that the man had not meant to say such, because all of the southrons had winced subtly at the words.

"Gryffin riders are more scouts or archers than heavy combatants," he stated. "However, they are agile and adept at what they do. A gryffin rider is trained to fire up to four arrows at once whilst flying. The gryffins are able to fly faster than a horse's gallop, for several hours."

The snake prince let out a low whistle. He fell silent at Sara's sharp look, and Eddard ignored him, continuing the explanation. He would not give too much details, of course. Their alliance was too new, the memories of their ancient enmity too fresh, for that. But a gesture of goodwill was always a good thing.

"The Vice-Admiral of the Eastern Fleet, Wylis Manderly, the Chancellor's son, will be in command of the naval detachment," he went on, the burners listening intently.

The Red Keep: 19th March, 303 AC

Tywin:

Tywin pursed his lips tightly together, resisting the urge to slap his grandson firmly across the face. Why had the Seven punished him like this? He wondered bitterly to himself. What sin had he committed, to deserve a selfish fool for a daughter, a dwarf for a son and a second Mad King for a grandson? Was this to be his legacy, the legacy he had sought to build for years?

No, he would figure out something to prevent it. He would not allow House Lannister to be disgraced and reduced to nothing, as it had been during his weak father's reign. He was Hand of the King and Lord Protector of the Realm, the most powerful man alive. He would not allow his children and grandchildren's stupidity to hinder him from his goal of securing the power of House Lannister.

But Aenar most definitely made it difficult. Valaena and Aelyx were spoilt, but not cruel. There was still hope for them, but Tywin had none for Aenar.

Of course, that meant that he would have to be dealt with, before Tywin's legacy was forever stained. But that had to wait for later. Tywin had to focus now.

"Explain yourself, Grandson," he ordered curtly. Aenar's expression tightened, but he obeyed. At least Tywin could still keep him reasonably leashed.

"They were boring me," Aenar said, sounding like a spoilt child whining over a broken toy. "Talking about things I do not care for. Some land thing, I did not care enough to listen properly. I was bored, and I am King. I can do as I wish. So, I ordered Ser Meryn to beat them. But they died, because they were so weak. Stupid peasants."

Tywin growled, resisting the urge to hit his grandson across the face. It was as if he had travelled back in time to the days of Aerys the Mad. It had been such a relief when Rhaegar had at last organized the coup to overthrow his insane and sadistic father. Granted, the Silver Prince had hemmed and hawed, using various excuses to put off actually going through with things until Aerys had stupidly triggered another war with the Winterlands. But after that, even Rhaegar had known and acknowledged that stopping Aerys could no longer be put off. And when he had taken Cersei as his second wife, even though she was Princess Consort in comparison to Elia Martell's Queen Consort, Tywin had tasted victory.

After all, everybody knew that the fragile-bodied Queen was unable to bear more heirs. The Crown Prince was a healthy lad, but Tywin had known that would not last forever. He had wanted to wait before getting rid of his step-grandson. Cersei had fussed about it, but Tywin was skilled at the Game. Had they killed Aegon too soon after the wedding or Aenar's birth, they would have been the clear suspects. They had needed to wait, for Cersei to birth a healthy boy and for the child to live long enough to be able to safely divert any suspicions. But Aenar's insanity had become evident early on, so Tywin had put it off again, wanting to wait until something could be done to remove his mad grandson. As much as he wanted his blood to sit on the Iron Throne, he was unwilling to suffer beneath yet another Mad King.

But Cersei, his idiot daughter, had ruined everything. And now Tywin had to clean up the mess.

"You will go to your rooms," he ordered his grandson, keeping his voice steely and unyielding. "I will come and see you later, after the council meeting."

"But-" Aenar began to object. Tywin cut him off with a harsh backhand to the face.

The pathetic boy's green eyes filled with tears and snivelled plaintively like an infant. He was weak in body, and even weaker in mind. How did Tywin share blood with him?

"You cannot do that!" he whined, his voice grating at Tywin's ears. "I am the King!"

"And I am your Regent, Lord Protector and Hand," Tywin responded coldly. "Now, do as I ordered and go to your room, or your cheek will not be the only thing hurting."

Aenar stalked off, grumbling. He was probably going to his mother to complain. Tywin hardly cared at this point, so long as he was out of the way and the Hand could get on with trying to repair the damage his daughter had so stupidly created.

He gave instructions to a guard on what to do to deal with his grandson having a pair of farmers beaten to death in the middle of the Great Hall, then stalked from his solar to the Small Council meeting chamber.

The Council were already waiting for him. Tywin surveyed them as he sat. Most of the council had needed to be replaced when he arrived at the capital. Some had died in the coup, whilst others had fled. Of the original council that had served King Rhaegar, only Varys and Pycelle remained.

The GrandMaester had abandoned his doddery persona to show his anxiety, and no wonder why.

Who would not be anxious, with their half-grown king going around ordering people beaten to death due to boredom? It was only a pair of peasants now, but everybody knew that it would only get worse. His paternal uncle was dead on his orders, his aunt and her family hostages, and that was just for starters.

Then there was the Master of Whispers. He had also tossed away his mask of obsequiousness to show nothing, maintaining a completely impenetrable mask.

All of the other councillors had been killed in the coup, including Stafford Lannister, Tywin's goodbrother and the Master of Coin for Rhaegar. He had died at the hands of the Viper during the Martell faction's flight.

Lord Petyr Baelish was the new Master of Coin. Tywin did not trust him, but the man was skilled, at the Game and with coin too. He had worked for Stafford, and his goodbrother had nothing but praises for the man's skills. Best of all, Baelish was one of those who looked out for number one, and number one alone. Tywin had learned what he wanted, and gained Littlefinger's 'loyalty' easily (as much as Baelish was loyal to anybody, at least). Once Aegon was found and dealt with, Catelyn Baratheon would become Catelyn Baelish, and her children would all be either killed for the boys, whilst the girls would be married to lords that Tywin could trust. Sansa Baratheon could marry one of his kinsmen, absorbing the Stormlands into House Lannister too.

His brother Kevan was the new Master of Laws. It was reassuring to have him there. His brother was the only person save his late wife, his beloved Joanna, that Tywin had ever been able to completely rely on. Genna was a devoted sibling, but if it came to a choice between House Lannister and her children, she would choose the sons she had borne for Lord Piper. Their other brothers had turned against him, abandoned him. Tywin hated them for that. He hated his father even more, for letting their House become so disgraced that Tywin had needed to go to such lengths to restore things that his brothers had become disgusted by him.

Jaime was there as well, as the new Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, much to Tywin's bitterness. His heir was a dwarf because his golden son had chosen to become a celibate knight instead of ruling the Rock as he was meant to. Or rather, a knight unable to wed. Tywin didn't know whom Jaime was bedding, but he was not celibate. That was obvious. Of course, it was rare that Kingsguards were. He almost hoped that his son would sire a bastard whom he could legitimize as his heir instead of Tyrion. Almost.

They were short on Whitecloaks, the Old Lion mused absently to himself, reminded of that fact by his son's uniform. Aenar had declared Selmy, Martell, Whent, the Blackfish and Tyrell all to be traitors, and then had raised several men to the position based on his mother's advice. But Sers Trant, Blount and Moore were not remotely Kingsguard material, too slow and unskilled. Cersei had not thought of skill when suggesting them, only of men she knew to be loyal to her. As of now, Jaime was the sole member who would actually be capable of properly defending the royal family, and there were still three places open. Tywin would have to ensure that they were taken by men with actual martial skills and something other than air between their ears.

Finally, Tywin glanced at the Master of Ships. Monford Velaryon's expression was inscrutable as he looked through some pages. The Velaryons were a powerful family that had always been fanatically loyal to the Targaryens. Which would they choose when it came to a choice between dragons? The answer was rather obvious, they would choose the true heir. However, with Monford, his pregnant wife and his beloved bastard half-brother Aurane Waters all being held in the capital, Tywin could hopefully keep them in line. Perhaps once the man's wife was delivered, Tywin would 'offer' to have the child be 'fostered' in Casterly Rock. That would secure their loyalty well. He would think more on it after the meeting.

"We shall begin," the Hand decreed after taking his seat. "First of all, Lord Varys. Any news in regards to the location of the traitors?"

He had no legitimate right to label Aegon and his helpers as traitors, but so long as his blood held the Iron Throne, Tywin would declare them as usurpers at the top of his lungs if needs be.

"Alas, no, my lord Hand," the Master of Whispers sighed heavily. He looked genuinely frustrated, as if he were exasperated by the continuing lack of news. Tywin couldn't tell if the man was sincerely trying to find Aegon and the others, or if he knew where they were and was helping them by keeping the location secret. "None of my little birds can find a trace of them, I fear. It is almost as if they have disappeared off of the face of the earth."

"You are the Master of Whispers, Lord Varys," Tywin stated stonily. "You were ordered by your king to find the location of the rebels seeking to usurper his throne. Yet months have passed and you have no hint still? Explain yourself. I begin to wonder where your loyalty lies."

Varys looked unimpressed, meeting Tywin's gaze unflinchingly. "My loyalty lies with the king who sits upon the Iron Throne, my lord. I have no solid knowledge of Aegon and his group's location."

"Solid?" Tywin repeated, latching onto the phrasing straight away. "So you have a suspicion then?"

Varys pursed his lips and inclined his head. "I can tell you this, my lord," he stated finally. "There is only one place that I have never managed to plant any birds, and that is the Winterlands. Coincidentally, four years ago, Prince Oberyn Martell had a short affair with Crown Princess Lysara Stark after they met in Braavos."

Silence echoed throughout the chamber as everybody tried to comprehend this shocking revelation and the possible consequences of it.