Disclaimer: I don't own ASoIaF/GoT.

Glad everyone's enjoying this still! Thanks to my reviewers, as always. This is the lead up to a fight scene (or an attempt at one, at any rate) in the next chapter, and as such is a bit short for me.

Also, a few people have asked about the giants. Truth is, I feel like if the giants get involved, they'd be a bit of a Deus Ex Machina, so I have them all just assigned to the Wall, focused on fighting any rogue wights. I hate it when the protagonists have all the power and the antagonists are dumb with nothing to give a fight with. (Admittedly, this North is quite OP, but I genuinely don't see how they wouldn't make any progress, especially military-wise. Martin's North makes no sense to me. All rulers try to improve their country and ruling tactics, for reasons either selfish or selfless, and the Starks have been ruling for a minimum of eight millennia, possibly ten. Of course they have it down to an artform now). So yeah, no giants (that's also why I avoid having dragons in my stories- they give too much power to their riders.)

Finally, bold italics mean they are speaking in the Old Tongue

Read, enjoy and review!

Chapter Sixteen

The Unfortunate Luck of the Old Lion

The Red Keep: 15th April, 303 AC

Tywin:

Casterly Rock,

The Westerlands,

10th April, 303 AC

To His Lordship Tywin Lannister, Lord Paramount of the Westerlands, Warden of the West, Head of House Lannister, Hand of the King, Lord Regent and Protector of the Realm for His Grace King Aenar, First of His Name and King of the Seven Kingdoms.

Greetings and salutations, my lord and cousin. I pray that you are in a better situation than we are down here at the Rock. Dark wings bring dark news, as you well know. The fears that you warned us of in your letter have come true. It seems that Aegon has indeed made an alliance with the Winterlands. The North-Western fleet, under the command of whom I suspect to be the Starstarks from what I could see of the flags that the ships were flying, attacked Lannisport several nights ago, under the cover of darkness. It was a brutal assault, my lord. It cannot be called a battle, in reality, only a massacre.

Our garrison was taken by surprise, and was already severely undermanned due to so many men and boys having been called up as levies for the army. They ransacked the town. Oddly enough, no non-combatant was harmed by the barbarians, but they managed to destroy the majority of the buildings, and the defenders were all slaughtered, nearly to a man. Those who survived (by the skin of their teeth), are badly injured and I cannot say whether they will stay alive. The town maester has little hope for them, especially as the army took the majority of his supplies with them when they left. The Lannister fleet, of course, has already sailed for King's Landing. As you know, this means neither the town nor our home neither had, nor do we have now, any naval defences, and we remain vulnerable to another attack by sea.

We have been forced to barricade ourselves in the keep along with some others such as the local maester, a few survivors of the attack, and some others, and we are now under siege. The barbarians have surrounded us both on land and at sea, so we are incapable of either escaping or gaining assistance. I must be frank with you, my lord. We were completely unprepared for this situation. I cannot say how long we will be able to hold out against them. We do not have sufficient supplies or men to do so.

The only good news that I can give you is that the army had already marched under the command of Ser Daven when the attack came. They should be well on their way by now, as Ser Daven stated to me that it was his intention to march double-time with the men, in order to reach you as quickly as he could. That was several days past, the morning before the Northrons attacked, meaning they escaped the slaughter. He will be collecting more levies from the villages and keeps that he passes on the way to you.

Please send aid and/or advice on what to do as soon as you can.

May the Seven shield and guide you,

Ser Damion Lannister, Castellan of Casterly Rock

"Damn it!" Tywin bellowed, flinging the letter at the wall and cursing. This was the confirmation he had been seeking since the council meeting back in March, when Varys had first hinted at the possibility of the alliance. King Aegon and his group had indeed found refuge in the North, and even worse, the North was helping them.

It was hard to believe, but Tywin could see a few ways for it to have come about. If Aegon had forsworn his claims to the Weirwood Throne, and had managed to negotiate a decent-enough deal with the Northron King then maybe. Perhaps he had offered his unborn heir for the young Princess Serena, or something similar. A future daughter for Prince Brandon, mayhaps. There were many possible agreements that could have been made, in theory at the least.

The details of how were not what really mattered, however. The results of the agreement were the problem. What was he going to do? The situation was a grim one indeed for his House.

Tywin had a mad boy king on the Iron Throne, his control was reliant on almost entirely on the hostages from the various Houses that he had (and with Aenar's insanity, there was a large chance that he might start losing those hostages soon enough), his idiot of a daughter was trying to make decisions she could not possibly understand with her short-sightedness, and the Winterlanders were invading again.

Tywin shuddered. The Winterlands were a horror to fight. For all their heresy and barbaric ways, he would acknowledge that they had their own strict code of honour. They never, ever, harmed an innocent. Unless you had a weapon in hand during a battle, they would leave you be. When they occupied a town, they never stole from the residents or hurt them. Tywin had in fact seen and heard stories from his men of them hang their own soldiers if they dared to break those rules.

But the Winterlanders were brutal and merciless towards their enemies. And those beasts that they had! They said that the Winterlanders had magic still, that they were able to control animals with their minds, and Tywin believed it. You could train an animal to act in concert with you, but only so much. The bonds between those barbarians and their beasts were terrible and unnatural.

They supposedly had giants as well, but Tywin had never seen one. He prayed that he would not in the future, either. How was he going to do this? The chances of holding the throne had always been slim, but now? Now it was as good as lost. Even worse, his legacy, his life's work and the thing that mattered the most to him, would be tarnished.

And all because of his idiot daughter's impetuousness and arrogance. He had actually started to hate Cersei more than his dwarf son. He snarled again and hit the wall, consumed by rage. If only Joanna had lived, he thought bitterly to himself. If only she had survived, and been able to have guided Cersei into becoming a proper lady, made her understand that it was her duty to increase Lannister power by mixing their bloodline with that of the Targaryens, not by ruling in her own right. In order to maintain power, two things were really needed: the lord inspired fear, too keep those below them in line, whilst the lady was responsible for inspiring loyalty through being kind and gracious. Joanna had been superb at that task. Genna, who had taken over after her death, was good but not exceptional at it. His rule had been more stable, his twin children more sensible, when Joanna was still alive to keep everything running smoothly. But then the blasted Imp had killed his lovely wife as he was being born, and then Cersei had come to the utterly idiotic conclusion that she was as capable as a man, and that she was meant to be his rightful heir.

Never mind that she couldn't even sort through simple equations of cause and effect, and thought herself invincible because of her Houses. It was not her gender that made Tywin so sure his daughter was not suited to being a ruler in her own right, but rather her obvious stupidity. She had no understanding of the truth of power. Tywin knew power, and he also knew that there were limits even to what he could do. If he went too far, the smallfolk would rise against his House, and they would be severely out-numbered. Quantity almost always beat quality, after all.

There was a knock at the door, making him scowl even harder for a moment before he forced himself to hide his rage and, after picking up the letter and taking his place behind his desk, called out a curt "Enter!"

A moment later, the door opened to reveal Varys. Tywin felt his already tense jaw lock tighter. He didn't trust the Spider. Varys worked for the realm. Whomever he believed best to keep the Kingdoms safe, Varys would be loyal to. That fact, by default, meant that he was not loyal to Tywin's grandson, because Aenar was a fool and a sadistic madboy, and very much not what was best for the kingdoms.

Tywin was loathe to sully his hands with his own blood (otherwise he'd have killed the Imp years ago, though the dwarf was the only one of his children who had any sense of politics. Tywin loved Jaime and was proud of him, but he had quickly realized that his eldest son was a warrior, not a politician. That could have been dealt with, though, if only his son and heir had not decided to enter the damned Kingsguard of all things.). But in spite of that, Tywin still had far too grim memories of Aerys' reign to willingly allow another Mad King to remain on the Iron Throne. As soon as he was able to make the necessary arrangements, Aenar would die mysteriously or suddenly (or perhaps he could pin the blame for the assassination on Aegon. Accusations of kinslaying might turn things in his favour). Then Aelyx would be put on the Throne as Aenar's heir, and things would be far better.

Aelyx was young enough to be mouldable still, and unlike his elder brother had never shown any signs of insanity. He was a soft boy, but he could be fixed. Tywin would simply have to make sure to keep Cersei's influence away from him.

"Ah, Lord Tywin," Varys simpered in greeting, bowing. "Please do forgive my intrusion. I am sure that you are occupied with the current situation in the West, however I have some news for you."

"And what news is that, Lord Varys?" Tywin replied curtly, glaring impatiently at the eunuch. He was unsurprised that Varys had already learned of the attack on Lannisport and that his ancestral home was under siege by the Winterlanders, yet it still bothered him. Whom amongst his House's retainers was a 'little bird', as the Master of Whispers called them? And, just as importantly, what other things were they telling the man?

"Well, it seems that King Aegon-"

"The Usurper!" Tywin interrupted the spymaster immediately. Of course, everybody knew that, by all the laws of Gods and Men, Aegon was the rightful and legitimate ruler of Westeros. But Tywin was stuck on his path, and he had to act as though it was Aenar who was the true king, and his elder half-brother the would-be despot.

"My apologies," Varys replied silkily. "The Usurper, Aegon Targaryen, has been spotted by my birds in the Eyrie, Sunspear, and Highgarden, speaking to the Lords of those castles, over the course of the past moon, along with his uncle, Ser Oswell, Prince Oberyn's eldest daughter and several others. He recently left the Reach, and is apparently returning to re-join his army. Meanwhile, the Lords Arryn have marched from the Vale with their own troops. They left the Eyrie in the control of Princess Rhaenys, who had the Bloody Gate sealed again as soon as her lord husband and goodfather left. The Dornish army is also on the move, seemingly under the command of Lord Yronwood, and it is likely that the Reach will leave as soon as they have finished their arrangements also. How soon that will be, I regret to say I am uncertain at the moment."

"How could he possibly have been able to get to each of those kingdoms in such a short amount of time?" Tywin demanded furiously. "And why did you not hear and alert me of it before now?"

Varys' expression maintained its' subservient expression but Tywin could sense the mockery behind his impenetrable gaze. The Spider had no doubt kept the information back for as long as possible, allowing him to play both sides by discreetly aiding Aegon through giving incomplete or late information and yet still doing enough to allow him to be able to claim that he was loyal to Aenar, in the unlikely scenario that they were able to hold the throne. If only Tywin could replace him, but he was not a fool (unlike his children). There was nobody else in Westeros capable of doing what Varys could. Certainly nobody who would be loyal to his House. Even with divided loyalties, Tywin still desperately needed the Spider's help, otherwise the cause was hopeless.

In truth, Tywin already knew that the cause was hopeless. But he was still grimly determined to fight to the bitter end for the sake of preserving his legacy. He would not let everything he had worked for be destroyed by his children's idiocy. He would not.

"Unfortunately, my lord Hand, things are not well in Westeros at this time," Varys said with false (or perhaps this particular emotion was not faked) sorrow. "And my little birds are struggling to get their messages to me without the ravens being shot down. I received the letters only a little while ago, and came straight to inform you."

Tywin suppressed a scoff of contemptuous disbelief at that outright lie, as Varys continued spinning his silken web.

"As for how King Aegon- apologies again, the Usurper, is managing to travel so quickly, he is flying."

"He's hatched a dragon?" Tywin demanded in panic, leaping to idiotic conclusions due to his tiredness and ' eyes flashed with amusement as he shook his head whilst speaking to him in a soothing tone. "No, no, Your Lordship, not so," he cooed. "The Winterlanders are flying him and his companions around the continent on a few of their gryffins. King Aegon has no dragons to my knowledge."

"I see," Tywin replied curtly, trying to regain his dignity after the foolish outburst. "Is there anything else?"

Varys shook his head silently, and Tywin sniffed again.

"Very well," he said briskly. "You may go."

The Spider left with another bow, leaving Tywin to grimly contemplate the state of things. For the first time in his life, he was at a loss as to how he could proceed, for every possibility he looked at seemed to end with the worst case scenario.

His House, his sacred legacy, destroyed and in ruins. All because of Cersei's foolishness. He snarled and threw his goblet at the wall, where it fell to the ground, the wine spilling out over the floor.

The red liquid looked disturbingly like blood.

The Riverwall Garrison: 24th May, 303 AC

Capt. Kyra Whitewolf:

Kyra Whitewolf knew that she was not a particularly important person in the grand scheme of things. She was only distantly related to Lord Torrhen, her head of House. He was her third cousin twice removed, or something similar enough to that. But despite the distant relationship, he had still taken her in when she was orphaned during a Shivers epidemic at the age of five namedays, probably saving her life a dozen times over with that one kind act. Because of his sponsorship, she had been sent to foster as a part of the Wolf Pack at Winterfell (though she had not been a part of the Princess' inner circle, as Kyra was some years her elder. They got along well though, and Kyra had faith and trust in the princess, despite some of her, questionable, decisions.). Later on, after her fosterage had completed, Kyra had been able to join the Fighting Flock, where she had climbed her way to the coveted rank of captain by the age of twenty and six.

She had no recollection of the last war with the burners, but she had been raised right. She knew that the Andals were not to be trusted, that they had sought thousands of times to eliminate the Gods of the Forest, River and Stone and to steal the Weirwood Throne from the Starks. Yet not only had the royal family to whom she was sworn to serve decided to aid the Crownless Dragon of all people, but the greenseers themselves had supported the decision! It seemed like madness to her, though Kyra could acknowledge that there was no doubt a great deal going on behind the scenes that a lowly scouting archer such as herself would not be told of.

It was still hard to wrap her mind around the thought of burners being allies instead of enemies, yet she knew that her place was to obey and carry out the wills of her lieges and the Gods, not to question them.

That didn't mean she would let her guard down, though. For all they knew, the southrons were preforming some elaborate trick, and just waiting for their chance to kill the Starks and steal the Weirwood Throne. Though if they believed that the Northrons would simply kneel and accept such things, then they were even more foolish than she had thought. She was musing over the situation as she groomed her beloved gryffin, Boreas, named for the harsh and cutting northron wind that was so very dangerous to anybody unfortunate enough to get caught in it, when Princess Lysara, who had apparently developed a relationship to the burner Dornish prince of all things, came striding into the stables where they housed the gryffins. There was a bitemark on her neck.

Kyra blamed the stress of being heir to the Weirwood Throne, a mother, and a warrior for her princess' lapse in mental capacity. Lysara was the heiress to the Throne, yes, but she was still a young woman, and anybody would struggle juggling all of those essential and important roles, especially without somebody to lean on. At least a foolish relationship was the worst of it. There were records and tales of far worse occurring, such as Brandon the Burner stupidly destroying the Northron fleet built by his father, Brandon the Shipwright, in a fit of grief at the disappearance of his father on a voyage when the Burner was four-and-ten.

And despite what many feared, those who had grown as part of Lysara's Wolf Pack knew her too well to think that she would be easily manipulated into changing their ways to be more southron. Even by her lover and the father of her daughter. Anyway, she had passed the Trials twice, so nobody had any legitimate grounds to object to her ascending to the Weirwood Throne on the death of King Eddard (and Kyra prayed that would be a long time away in the future. The king was a good, strong warrior with a shrewd mind. He would surely go down in history along with the greats of his ancestors, like the Hungry Wolf or Queen Kyra the Sister She-Wolf, who had ended the thousand-year long War Across the Water and permanently conquered the Sisters.). The Gods themselves were said to intervene in the Trials (though the details were kept secret from everyone, even the Starks themselves.). Lysara had twice succeeded in the Trials and had led the army to victory against the most recent wight uprising. She was the future queen, and nothing would change that. Kyra would stand by her princess, even if she disapproved of the lover Lysara had chosen.

"We have received word," the princess announced, not bothering to waste time with pointless greetings and expressions of obeisance the way the southrons did. "That the Westron army is currently at Golden Tooth. When they arrive at Pinkmaiden, we shall be there to greet them."

They all grinned bloodthirsty grins at that. Northrons were born and bred fighters. Fighting was a part of their everyday lives from their births. They fought the land they lived on, they fought against the ravages brought by Winter and the animals that roamed their lands. They fought the burners to the south and they fought the wildings and wights to the north. One did not survive in the Winterlands if they were not strong in either mind or body, or, preferably, both. Eventually, most people tended to start craving the rush of battle. If they didn't, they weren't going to last much longer.

"Captain Whitewolf," the princess turned to her.

"Yes, my princess?" Kyra stepped forward.

Princess Lysara smiled at her, a shark-like smile that showed her fangs off. Her direwolf Taibhse padded in a circle, tail sweeping from side to side.

"You will take Boreas," she instructed her. "And fly to where the Westron army is camped. Find out everything you can, then return and report."

Kyra smirked in anticipation.

"Try not to raise any suspicion," the princess added. "But if necessary... Well, the important part of your task is that you return alive to complete it. Do whatever needed to ensure that occurs."

Kyra bowed. "I will not fail you, my princess," she vowed.

"None of my people have ever failed me, or my House," Lysara answered without batting an eyelid.

None of them could (or tried to) stop themselves from straightening up in pride at that.