A/N: Longclaw: Exciting news, my friends! Two new projects of mine are close to fruition: my Maegor the Cruel story called Dragonshield and a fluffy/smutty comedy short I plan to publish as a counterweight to the second anniversary of "The Bells," aka the Fall. Further details will come, but tell me what you think in the comments :)

Be sure to check out my other in progress stories: My Father's Son, Last Hope for Westeros, A Targaryen Dynasty, and Howl of the Dragonwolves.

BRuh4: Hey, a lil bit over a month but we're back with some more. It sucks we have such a slow turnout but it is what it is.

Enjoy.

Chapter 45: A Quality not many Possess

Cracking his knuckles, Euron stretched. Getting himself ready for what could make or break his entire ambitions. "Ready, dearest one?" he asked in a sweet tone of a lover to another in the most intimate of circumstances.

While moons before such impertinence would have caused Tyene Sand to react as a cornered rat would charging at a tormentor, by now, she was sufficiently cowed to remain silent. Staring ahead at nothing in particular.

Euron was smart enough to know her spirit hadn't been broken. A feisty little one she was, not that he cared. Broken, unbroken… all that mattered was the advantage that could be gained. So with a flick of his wrist, he tugged on the chain that clasped to a slave collar on her neck - jerking her forward suddenly. "Get a move on, don't have all fuckin' day."

Sputtering from the pressure on her neck, Tyene shambled forward. Her feet had long since stopped hurting from the blisters. Now, she was merely numb to it all.

Never would she see the Water Gardens again. Never would she spend her time laughing and sparring with her sisters - those that survived that was. All she had left was hell. She already knew one of them, and Tyene knew another of the seven rested right behind the doors of the audience room as they opened…

King Stannis Baratheon was alone other than Baelish and his guards. He didn't much like making small talk with any of them - unlike Davos, who could bring him out of his shell on occasion - so they waited in silence until Euron walked through the doors with a swagger, pulling forward a bound woman by the neck and surrounded by his silent guards. "Lord Euron, we are glad to see you returned," he ground out. "To be honest, I thought we'd next meet on the battlefield."

"Am I that bad at my oaths?" Euron replied, looking half-affronted. "Don't believe the lies that sully my reputation."

"Just get on with it," Stannis barked. "Is that her?"

Peering at the filthy figure weakly standing before the King, Littlefinger could barely recognize her. But… "Aye, that's her. Tyene Sand, bastard daughter of Prince Oberyn." He'd seen the Sand Snakes once on a trip to Dorne to collect taxes due to the crown, but he could recognize the look of the Red Viper anywhere. "And she looks to be in one piece."

"Told you, your Grace. Euron Greyjoy's word is his bond."

Stannis tried to blot everything else out so he could get a good look at Tyene. She appeared caked in dirt, her darker skin muddy looking. Her jet black hair more grey than it should be, not from age but from not being washed in Seven knew how long - more a common slave caught in Lhazar or the Basilisk Isles just brought into Volantis than the bastard daughter of two of the noblest houses in Dorne. Her eyes totally downcast, so much so he couldn't get a complete glance at her face.

"Tyene Martell, look at me," Stannis commanded. Tyene didn't move an inch. "Now."

Euron smirked, then laid a hand on her shoulder. Which jolted her awake as if she'd been in deep sleep. She reared up and gnashed teeth at Euron, trying to get as far from him as possible. Euron chuckled and grinned, shoving the girl down to the floor rather roughly - she refused to let out a wince, though from her tensing up it was obvious she was in pain. "Your Grace, I can attest. She does bite."

"I can see that," Stannis said. "Look at me," he commanded again. "Or would you rather have my men force you to do so?"

Finally, Tyene looked up at the Stag. But it was only for a few moments, so she could eye Euron away from touching her again. Regardless, Stannis saw all he needed to see. Her tenacity burned his face, so much so he felt impressed by her. Yet, there was so much rage underneath her skin. What it would take to tame her? He wasn't sure. There might be beauty beneath the unbreakable exterior. That he did know.

But those eyes… Be it her fury, her determination, or just simply innate in her, they hadn't lost their luster. A powerful honey-brown, almost amber. So piercing that Stannis nearly had to blink.

Euron stepped past Tyene, closer to the stairs upward to the Throne. "So, Your Grace, how do you fancy my gift?"

Momentarily stunned into silence by those eyes, the Stag King quickly brought back his mask. "It's worthy," Stannis said, leaning back into the Throne. "I will inspect her again once she's had a bath and is clothed as befitting one of noble blood… even baseborn as she is." He felt a slight need stirring in him to see her as such - her father was a comely man, as was her mother from what he remembered. He wished to see if the looks were inherited.

A laugh from the Ironborn ruler. "Most of my men barely bathe, let alone a fuckin' prisoner. I kept her fed well, though." She was rail-thin, but not emaciated.

"Quite." On cue, four Baratheon guardsmen descended the stairs. "Hand her over to my guardsmen." Euron nodded at his crew to release her over. Stannis half expected Tyene to rage again once her chains were exchanged over to one of his men, but she didn't. He suspected she felt anything was better than being with Euron.

Clapping his hands together as if celebrating a job well done, Euron looked to the Iron Throne - somehow, he knew the lion bitch wouldn't have let him anywhere near it… it was as well he didn't commit any armies to her cause when it mattered. "So, do we have a deal?"

Stannis raised an eyebrow. "A deal, yes. What kind of deal, that remains to be seen." He gestured to the guards. "Make sure she's taken care of properly," Stannis said to no one in particular, though he knew his orders would be carried out. "Rid of the chains. A good wash, for sure. Find her a room without windows, keep her there, guards outside."

"The Maidenvault, your Grace?"

Where Baelor the Blessed hid away his sisters. Daena the Defiant escaped, but fierce as she was, Tyene couldn't compare to a dragon. "Aye, the Maidenvault." He didn't look at her, but he recognized Tyene's stare on his face again as she was taken away.

With Tyene gone, Euron opened up his hands and started to ascend closer to Stannis. The Baratheon guards wouldn't allow him far too close though. "So, what's the strategy?"

"Strategy?"

"Aye, y'know what's next? How we plan on defeating the Dragon Queen so I can have her all to myself."

"I don't suspect a battle anytime soon," Stannis said. "The plan is to hold King's Landing, rebuild the armies. She'll come to me."

"Don't you think she'll just use her 'children' to set fire to the whole city?"

"No," Littlefinger spoke up. "Not if she wants to be different from her ancestors. It's our current assumption she does. However, we do have plans in place if she does loose the beasts at us."

"You're bloody mad if you think she won't use her greatest advantage against you," Euron half-laughed, leaning on his knee. "She used them to fuck with the Dothraki Khals… and Astapor, and last I heard, didn't you lose your best commander to them?"

Jon's loss and subsequent betrayal was a sore spot for the King - his heart ached at it, but he wouldn't show that to a Greyjoy of all people. "We have plans in place if that does happen," Stannis said.

"What sort of plan will stop three firebreathing beasts?"

"Not your concern, currently."

"Perhaps I have a solution for the good Lord Euron," Littlefinger spoke up. "Daenerys Targaryen relies on convoys carrying grain and supplies from Volantis and Slaver's Bay. Her navies are still significant in spite of the loss of the Dornish fleet and that of your late niece, but they can't be everywhere."

Euron quickly cut on. "Death by a thousand cuts, let the branches wither on the vine…" He slapped his palm. "Good as fuckin' done, but I keep the loot."

"Equal division between yourself and the Crown."

Unlike his brothers, this Greyjoy knew when to temper his greed. "Done." Even if he intended to go for it all in the end.

Within the curved ceiling of the Maidenvault, Tyene winced as the guards doused her with freezing water - soon making the stone floor slippery with a filthy mix of liquid and dirt. "Here's to the almighty Dornish viper!" laughed one of the guards. "The last of the Viper Prince's bastard brood, no better than a common whore!" The Stormlands hated Dorne, an enmity spanning back millennia.

Another bucket of water splashed over her, Tyene curling up into a ball for warmth, teeth chattering. She would not break… she would not break…

"Enjoy being locked up in here, bitch. They say the dragon cunts tossed in here lost their minds." Laughing at the thought, he shut the door with a loud slam. Locking it tight.

Pulling herself up, Tyene hugged her knees. No longer was she in the clutches of the man that killed her sisters and her mother, but everything within her screamed that the cruel fates were just beginning to circle around the eldest surviving daughter of Oberyn Martell.

She had survived this far, but could this be what finally ended her? Tyene was most afraid to say she had no idea.

Even with the little sunlight that the windows of Maegor's Holdfast's ground floor let in, Jon's eyes suffered. Weakly adjusting from the near darkness that he had spent his many days within. Luckily for him, he had managed by the time his guards reached their destination. "Not beheading me in public?" he mused.

"Shut it," the guard barked, opening the door and shoving Jon in.

Stumbling, Jon took a moment to steady himself before laying eyes on who awaited him… and in truth, he was surprised. He wouldn't show it, however. "Why is he shackled?" King Stannis Baratheon growled, seated at a large table. Lord Baelish was standing behind him with two Kingsguard, while a battered wooden stool rested empty across from him.

The guard blinked. "Your Grace? He is a condemned traitor…"

"Take them off! Don't make me ask again."

Without delay, slightly trembling from the verbal dressing down by the King, the guard immediately fished out his keys and unshackled Jon. Rubbing his chafed wrists, Jon wordlessly took a seat. "You do not think I am a danger anymore, King Stannis?"

If Stannis held any offense at not being referred to properly, he didn't show it. His Kingsguards did, however. "Show his Grace proper respect…"

"Easy, nephew," Stannis raised a hand, calming the man… Robert Baratheon's bastard. "Edric can kill you if you even try to get to me, not that I think he will." Folding his fingers together, Stannis leaned forward. "I can tell you are lost, Lord Stark. Even in your anger earlier I could see it in your eyes. The Dragon Queen… she did something to you, didn't she?"

Blinking, Jon quickly reacted. The opportunity had fallen into his lap for what he needed to do… and what he needed to know. "Why did you bring me here?"

"Right to the point. I can admire that in a man," Littlefinger remarked. "Consider this a part interrogation, part debriefing, Lord Stark. You are a criminal who committed treason, yet you are also a key eyewitness to the inner workings of the Targaryen usurper's court."

Dany… Thoughts of her flooded his mind. "Suppose that I am. So what?"

"A reduction in your sentence can be arranged, if you cooperate and tell us everything you know… and express contrition."

Stannis stared hard. "It should be easy for you, considering what we've gone through together."

Perfect… "And what does that mean, your Grace?" he folded his arms. "I have relearned little about my life before, but the main takeaway is that we fought together. That I was your right hand - I have no memory of this, so if we are to go forward there are questions that I have."

Half-expecting Stannis to scoff and send him away, Jon was pleasantly surprised when the old man sighed. "What would you like to know?"

There was a sense that the man held a tiny sentimentality for him, and Jon was willing to exploit it. "Can… Can we go back to the beginning?" It wasn't merely a pretext… he needed to know.

"Of course, if that's what you want," Stannis said. "But much do you know? Or should I say how much do you remember?"

"Bits and pieces. Shards and glimpses. Some memories fully and others not at all," replied Jon. "For example, I know have a brother named Robb. But I have no memory of him. I know I grew up in the North. In a castle called Winterfell, but that only exists in my mind as a blur."

"Hmm," Stannis mumbled, stroking his chin. "I see."

"Mostly, I only know what I've been told," Jon said. "However, if you think of this as a way to deceive me. Don't. I will know if you're lying. I just want your perception of events. And anything I don't already know of."

"What do you not know of?"

"How could I know?" Jon scoffed.

Littlefinger smirked, "You really are lost."

"But I understand why you've come to me," Stannis added. "I just wish you hadn't held a sword up to my face."

"Would you have welcomed me with open arms? If I hadn't."

The Stag King blinked, not anticipating the question. "Most likely," Stannis answered, a bit quicker than Jon expected. "You were to be my heir, Jon. I loved you as my son that I always wished for. You were that for me. You gave me a gift even my late wife could not."

"You had a daughter… or have a daughter. That's more of a blessing than I have ever been granted." Within his mind, he faintly recollected a feeling. A fervent wish never to pass on the taint of bastardy… to never thinking anyone of note would look at him twice or that he would want to trouble with his status. And yet Dany loves me, regardless of my birth.

"She is… precious to me, but none can dwarf what it feels for one to have a son worthy of succeeding him." A flash of… something crossed Stannis' eyes. "My youngest brother was too enamored with men to even come close to siring a child, while my elder brother never had the chance to see a trueborn son of his amount to anything proper… never had a trueborn son as it turned out."

"Why did you choose me?" It was a simple question. But it somewhat stunned Stannis. Because he still viewed Jon as a perfect image of a son he never had. Even though he had leveled a blade at him and threatened him. That didn't change the victories Jon won him. Or the mere fact that Stannis wouldn't hold the throne without the deeds Jon carried out in his name.

"At first, I chose you because of your name. Despite your bastard title, at the time. I saw that the men of Castle Black had gathered around you. If those criminals had done that, then surely the North would. Rally behind you," Stannis explained, watching Jon closely. "I knew if I took Winterfell I could install your there and no one would look twice. The North is the biggest Kingdom after all."

"So, you didn't… sense anything in me?"

"No, that came later," Stannis said. "Once I knew of your character, I wanted you at my side. Then learned of your skill, in battle. Then I saw with my own eyes how others clung to you, as their leader, without question. A quality not many possess."

Jon took a breath, the information rocking him. Was this what everyone saw himself as? Beneath the bastardy? He had his doubts that most could see past that. "Was I a leader at Castle Black?"

A snort. "You could have been. You should have been, given what you knew and how hard you fought. Their loss was my gain," thumped Stannis, beating his chest. "You proved your worth once we left Castle Black."

"What happened after we left Castle Black? Was that when we defeated the Boltons?" He remembered bits and pieces, but Sam had filled him in on the progression of things."

But Stannis shook his head. "No, at least not at first." He shivered, almost from a remembered cold. "We traveled to Hardhome, where the Wildlings lived. I wished to bring them to the mainland."

"Why?"

"Well, you wished to save them. You thought they would unite under me as well fight for Winterfell. And they did."

Jon was still confused. "Save them from what?" He shivered himself, having a bad feeling. "Is that all we found there?"

Stannis' expression darkened, he looked away. "Aye, you truly don't remember. For I haven't forgotten about it since." He closed his fist. "No one who saw it could forget lest their mind was shattered."

"What happened?"

"Frozen beasts with blue eyes that raise the dead. They came for us. The army of the dead. Their leader, the one who brings the dead back to life."

Hearing 'blue eyes' roused a memory of a dream Jon had. When he faded in and out between life and death. It echoed what Sam had told him on Dragonstone, something he hadn't called a lie but hadn't really thought about since. In the mess that was his mind, it slipped from prominence.

"So they were real," he breathed.

"Someone told you of them?" Littlefinger didn't believe the existence of the ice monsters that his King raved about… at least unofficially. Officially, he believed what Stannis believed. "I wouldn't imagine the Dragon Queen knew, nor Lady Arya… at least not in person."

"Daenerys' uncle."

"All Targaryens are…" Stannis was smarter than his brother Robert, so he knew more about their grandmother's family. "You mean Aemon Targaryen? Brother of Aegon the Unlikely."

"Ah." Littlefinger smiled. "The maester. He was at Castle Black, no?" Off at the ends of the earth, not even Robert or Tywin would think a crippled old man a threat. "I take it he traveled to Dragonstone while you were there."

Stannis grunted. "He'll die as well."

"He's an old man, ignore him, your Grace."

"I cannot risk it…"

"Yes," Jon growled. Something about the King's statements regarding Aemon… it fueled an inner fire. The same that erupted when fighting Naharis. No… you must not. Remember the plan. Jon took a deep breath. "Daenerys brought him there. I was able to speak to him again… apparently, I was one of his stewards at Castle Black." An explanation that fit. "Why was I fighting Daenerys?"

"Because I sent you there. It was a grave mistake. It was a task insurmountable. But, your strength seemed capable and all else of the strategy worked perfectly," Stannis said, his voice low. His campaign against Olenna Tyrell was so decisive that it boggles the mind sometimes, and in the moment he felt the stirrings of guilt. "The Dragon Queen brought her dragon to meet you. Many were lost and you were captured. The entirety of the Northern host was defeated."

"Aye, I visited the battlefield," Jon told him. "Chaos for sure." He wouldn't call it a massacre, for Daenerys had spared those she captured.

"It will be repaid to her. Worry not," Stannis grimaced. "Needless loss of life. She didn't even treat with you. The coward she is. That's where it truly went wrong. I… I left you locked up with that crazy bitch. You only suffered."

Littlefinger's lips parted, surprised at Stannis' confession of a smattering of guilt. Unaware he felt that deeply of it. But he spoke to Jon, "Now, your time there, in the midst of Daenerys Targaryen, is the only area we know little of. Only what Ser Davos has told us. Even that is unbelievable."

"That time… the time I spent there. Is the only thing abundantly clear to me," Jon said. "Even some of the things that happened before I died. It's true. I was a prisoner. I was beaten. I was treated poorly. They wished for me to bend the knee to her. I profusely refused."

A smile crept onto Stannis' face. "I see. Loyal even in the face of death."

"I knew they wouldn't kill me. Even though they threatened to, endlessly. I knew I was a valuable hostage for them."

"I'm sorry, Jon. I should've done more for you." Stannis said, his voice evidently sorrowful.

"I truly wish that you had. I thought that you would."

"I can only ask for forgiveness."

He sighed. "I don't know if I can give you that. Not yet."

"I understand."

Littlefinger's surprise had grown too overwhelming. He backed up a little. In case any reaction came through. With all his powers, he found it nearly impossible to hide. He had no idea of Stannis' attachment to Jon. Stannis was a hard man, respect sparingly earned and almost always only given in dribs and drabs. Never had he seen it, not from those that surrounded Stannis when he joined with him. Not his own wife, a dour woman that had lost her mind. Not his own child, of which there had been too much grief of her condition. Not even his oldest friend.

He wasn't immediately sure what to do about it. But he knew it was dangerous. This attachment. It needed shredding. Stannis had yet to show just how much he valued Jon. Now, it was abundantly clear. Unmistakable.

Jon, similarly, didn't know how much Stannis appreciated him. Or whoever he was. He wasn't sure he was that same person Stannis saw at Castle Black. His surprise was overwhelming, internally. Jon refused to give anything away on his face. But this also meant he had an advantage. "You need not worry about any attachments she may have tricked me with."

Stannis raised an eyebrow. "Oh? And why?"

"There was this… Sellsword," Jon began, slowly. "Under the Dragon Queen's command. He wanted to kill me. We had hated each other from the first time we met. He took my sword after I was captured, mocking me and beating me whilst my hands were tied."

"Sellswords… lower than the mud beneath our feet."

"This sellsword, he took it upon himself. To plot to murder me. His hatred for me drove him past his loyalty to his Queen," Jon explained. "He lured me away. Then stabbed me in the back."

"Seven Hells," Stannis grimaced, feeling his rage bubble up. "What a coward."

"I fought back what I could. Though I didn't have the strength. I died."

"Trust me, Jon. You will have your chance at vengeance."

"I took it already," Jon said. "After I was brought back, it was the first thing I wanted to do." Thinking of it now, still made Jon clench his fist. "We had a duel. I took his life. As he had taken mine. I just wished it had fulfilled me. Until it was finished; Killing him was the only thing I wanted."

"But it didn't grant you peace?"

"No," Jon muttered. "It didn't. Nothing has. That's all I want now. Some fucking peace."

Stannis smiled, this time a more proud, triumphant smile. "When the world emerges from the dark and terrible night, peace will be at hand, Jon."

Swallowing, Littlefinger interjected before things could get… too cooperative. "Why did the Dragon Queen release you? Did you escape her grasp?"

Jon frowned, inwardly searching for what to say. "She let me go. I convinced her to."

"And how did you manage that? Did you seduce her?" A brothel owner, Baelish usually thought in the crudest of ways. Men were like that, and the smart men knowing how to use their skills as women did… to manipulate. He'd done it to poor Lysa.

Slamming his hand on the table, Jon startled the King and the Hand. "Don't insinuate such things… about me." He was silent for a moment. "Eventually," Jon spoke slowly... "I noticed the Dragon Queen took a liking to me. I refused that also. Though I suspect that's what drove her to make the red priestess to bring me back to life."

Littlefinger spoke up, "Daenerys Targaryen is world renowned for her beauty. You avoided being entranced while all others had failed?"

"Do not believe everything you hear," Jon said. "It's true she is beautiful. Maybe out of most of all women alive. But she's no temptress. Her advances can be refused."

The words came off true enough. Mostly true as well. Dany was likely the most beautiful of all. He had refused her advances. But not for his lack of interest. His lack of feeling worthy of her. A feeling resembling his bastard tendencies, he now thought. A leftover even after his death and legitimization.

Ironic, given he yearned to hold her tight - wished it more than anything else. "She fancied me, though, which I was able to use to get her to release me. If I knew some of the things I knew now…" He let the implication carry the day. "As I said before, I was lost. And she…"

"Was sentimental." Stannis snorted. "A woman ruled by her desires has destroyed the Realm before. Visenya, Rhaenyra, Cersei… and now the Dragon Bitch. Such is what I am up against, Jon… and you need to choose wisely." Affection left his voice, now hard. Now determined. "Ned Stark kept his honor even to the executioner's block. He chose never to deny his oath, even at the cost of his own life. The choice ahead of you is different - only your pride stands between you and the executioner's block. Choose wisely, your oath or your pride."

"Ironic, I think it was my pride that kept me from bending the knee to Daenerys," Jon said. "You give me the same ultimatum."

"No, it was your honor," Stannis told him. "As you Lord Father."

"I don't remember him. He's lost to me."

"You still have him. Inside you. I see him in you frequently."

"What I feel inside me doesn't seem like it has anything to do with Ned Stark. It shouldn't be."

"You can't change your nature, Jon. Even if you die. You're the same man."

"That's the first lie you've told me," Jon said. "If there's anything I know… It's that everything is different now. I am different. I will never be the same man. So, if you think you'll be getting that same person back… You're wrong. He won't be returning."

Stannis sighed, "What if that person is who I need most?"

"Then you'll be left waiting for something that you will never have," Jon replied. "That Jon is dead. I am all that's left."

Stannis rose from his chair suddenly, walking away. "Then what's the bloody point?" He said. Littlefinger hurried to his side, whispering things in his ear that Jon couldn't hear. Jon sat back in his seat, a wry smile appearing on his face. Littlefinger seemed to calm Stannis down with whatever he had said. "Guards," Stannis called out. Two Baratheons entered promptly. "Take him back to his cell."

Jon stood, holding his hands up, "Was there something I said?"

Stannis huffed, shaking his head, "We'll speak again, Stark."

Gruffly, Jon was shoved back into his cell by the guard… none too happy for being dressed down by the King over him. "Get the fuck down there," he hissed, throwing the door closed and locking it before walking out of the suffocating hole.

Hearing the faint shutting of the upper door to the cellblock up the stairs, Jon chuckled. "Lannister, you there?"

"Aye," Jaime called back after a moment, clearing his throat. "Did it work, Stark?"

"You were right." Cracking his knuckles, he leaned against the wall of the cell. "He has no guile."

"It's a wonder he outlasted his brother. Renly was much craftier in spite of his lusts." Not that he could criticize anyone on lusts. "Now we just need to wait."

A grunt. "Better be fuckin' ready for when you act, Snow-boy."

It seemed like only yesterday that the young, innocent, wild girl had run down these very hallways chasing a tabby cat - a chase that would wind her down the tunnels of the home of the Targaryen Kings down to the beach. Oh, those were innocent days where all that girl had to worry about was being late for Water Dancing lessons or the latest barb Sansa would shoot her way.

Arya spared but a moment to mourn for that girl before her mask resumed, squelching any reminiscence. That Arya was dead, and the new one couldn't afford to be bogged down in pity or bitterness. Trying her best to keep the demeanor of an arrogant, bored guard returning from patrol, she began to sweat underneath the face.

Ironic. Jaqen never warned her that sweating underneath a face was a common problem. So mundane a thing to think about.

Gendry didn't have that problem, wearing his true face alongside the armor of Baratheon guardsmen. "Which way to the Black Cells?" he murmured.

Pursing her lips, Arya thought for a moment and gestured to the right. Her sense of direction was based on memories from over half a decade prior, but these were some of the worst years of her life. Memory had a tendency to only be vivid for such monstrosities.

One week. One week of scouting and planning had gone into Arya's latest offering spree for the Many-Faced God. Without the benefit of a massive battle that threatened to level the city, she and Gendry simply couldn't stroll into the Red Keep as they did before. Patrols had to be identified and timed, changes in guard shifts had to be noted, and various escape paths had to be charted just in case something went wrong.

There was no shortage of corpses though, and that made procuring the needed face for the initial infiltration the easiest part. Gendry was an unknown, so he needed not a disguise. So much the better.

Because complexity in any plan simply led to complications. And complications led to death. Best to keep it simple.

In a positive development for her ego, the stairway leading down to the cells was only about a dozen paces from where they turned, marked by the lone guard waiting outside. Based on the shadow of the moonlight cast through one of the windows, she reasoned they were about half an hour before the next shift change. Plenty of time. "Rotation," she called out.

The guard, a rugged older man that likely saw combat in Robert's Rebellion, raised an eyebrow. "That quick… maybe I dozed off or somethin'. Getting too old."

"Best not do that," Gendry remarked… they just needed to get a little closer… "Never know when you need to be alert…"

As if proving his words, the dagger was out and pressed against the guard's throat. "You make a sound, I cut you. Understood?" Silence, the old man's eyes wide with fright. "Nod once for yes, shake once for no." He nodded once. "You know where Jon Stark's cell is?" Another nod. "Good, you're taking me down to it." She spun him around and pointed to the door, blade at his back.

"And don't think of trying a fuckin' thing." Gendry drew his short sword. He had left his hammer in a sack slung around his shoulder - best not attract attention. The guard nodded again and unlatched the door, stepping gingerly down the steep staircase with Arya and Gendry following.

Walking down into the increasingly dank, dark bowels of the Red Keep, Arya's mind drifted into its own dark place. My father was led down here. As the stairs ceased and the rows of cells came into view, her heart grew cold. He spent his last days in here, waiting to die… And now her brother dwelled here. Stannis, Littlefinger, the Red Woman, Beric Dondarrion, Thoros of Myr, Ilyn Payne… Reciting the names from her list made her calm. Stannis, Littlefinger...

The guard suddenly stopped in front of a locked door. "We're 'ere," he croaked.

"This Jon Stark's?" Arya asked gruffly in her fake male voice.

The guard nodded frantically. "Aye, aye. That's him, I swear it!"

Arya smirked. "Good, now we won't need you any longer." Before he could beg further, Arya drew her dagger across his throat, letting the blood spurt upon the filthy walls. They'd be long gone before it was noticed. "Get his keys," she ordered Gendry.

"Right, Arry." He wasn't a pushover but knew when not to antagonize his female companion.

More and more Arya began to question how she endured without him by her side. But those thoughts were banished when a groaning voice came from within the cell. "I may be going mad, but I'm sure I ate my last meal recently."

"Not meal service," Arya shot to him, looking him over. He seems unharmed. Filthy, but unharmed. She'd have gutted Stannis that night had he been injured. A slow death if he was permanently maimed. "Time to get out of here."

"The fuck you talking bout…" Squinting, his eyes widened. "Gendry?"

"Honored you remembered my name," the former smith deadpanned.

He'd been the last person Jon expected. "If you're here, then…?"

Seeing his eyes focus on her, Arya beamed… before realizing that he didn't recognize her false face, so she pulled it back. "Surprise."

"I told you to get out of here."

"You didn't think I'd leave you here, stupid?"

Snorting, Jon's lips curved upward regardless of his ire. "Coming here was stupid." They both enveloped the other in a tight hug, happy to see each other given the circumstances.

The moment was broken by a growling voice. "Oi, girl!" Arya stiffened at the familiar call. "I fuckin' had a feeling you'd make it."

Arya looked back at Jon with a raised eyebrow. "You had to spend a week in these hells with him? Gods, I don't envy you, brother."

He chuckled. "If he's bad, just look at the other one." Looking at the face that appeared in the grate of the other cell, Arya's eyebrow rose. "Aye, Jaime Lannister."

"Better than his sister, that's for sure."

"The compliment is appreciated, Lady Stark," Jaime remarked.

"I'm not a lady," she hissed back. "Alright, Jon. We don't have much time. We have to get you out of here." But as she tugged at him, instead of following she almost tripped. Turning to see him just standing there. "Come on."

He sighed. "Arya, I can't leave."

A knock on the door caused Davos to rise from where he sat beside Princess Shireen, telling her an amusing story of his from his smuggling days. "Come in," answered the Princess, though haltingly - as if she were afraid to make commands.

Davos winced. While Shireen was a kind soul, she was never fearful of acting firm or imperious when needed. What did I do? Why did I leave when I did? Perhaps he couldn't have saved the family of his King, but he could've tried.

The door opened to reveal one of Stannis' Kingsguards - Ser Donnel Waynwood if Davos remembered correctly. "Your Grace." He clicked his heels and bowed his head. "Forgive me for intruding, but I've been informed to bring Ser Davos to the King's chambers."

Blinking, Davos shared a look with Shireen, who was equally shocked and anxious. Davos and Stannis hadn't spoken alone since he had been stripped of his office as Hand of the King. "He asked of me personally?"

"Aye, Ser Davos. I heard the command from him myself."

That it was a summons to the King's chambers eliminated the possibility of a march to the executioner's block… somehow that person still being Ilyn Payne even after the regime change. But it wasn't good - likely wasn't good. "He'll be out to accompany you in a minute, Ser Donnel," Shireen replied. "Give us a moment."

All the guards were briefed to keep Shireen from seeing visitors besides the female maids unless the King ordered it, but Davos was harmless. "Of course, your Grace. I'll wait outside in the hall." With that, he left and closed the door.

Davos was almost immediately hugged tightly by the Princess. "My dear," he spoke in a fatherly tone - why shouldn't he? Shireen had become to him almost the daughter his wife had never borne him. "You need not fret. I shall be fine." Perhaps now you will believe it.

"I never thought I'd have to worry again for you, Ser Davos. Not after the first time." He couldn't help but shudder at that cell in the Dragonstone dungeon - just having to see it again when trying to rescue Jon was an ordeal he did not ever wish to repeat. "Being fearful of my own father… it is unbearable."

There was a pain in her voice, pain that Davos knew he could do little to alleviate. But he owed it to this precious girl to try. "Your father is still an honorable man with a sense of justice. He knows I am loyal to him."

Shireen pulled back, smiling sadly at him. "Just promise me you'll survive. You are the only friend I have left in this world."

He ruffled her hair, and it never ceased to make her giggle. "I am at your command, Princess." They shared one last hug before he left, Ser Donnel quickly resuming his role as his escort.

Edric Storm stood at guard in front of the royal chambers - the once room of Cersei, Davos recalled, Stannis both enjoying the satisfaction he had from dwelling her room while unable to bear being in either Robert's or Renly's and disgusted with even thinking of dwelling in her bastards' rooms. He was imposing, much like King Robert, and just as dimwitted. All Robert's children inherited such strength, but Davos remembered young Gendry and how basely clever he had been. Depends on the mother, I suppose. The thought of a child of Robert and Cersei made him shudder. "Lord Davos, you may enter," Edric stated, letting him in. Davos took a breath and strode into the chambers.

Stannis wasn't alone, nor was he composed. Gritting his teeth, he tried not to scream as the maester changed the dressing on his leg. It was infected again, bright red and raw with pus leaking from it. "Hold still, your Grace."

"It burns, damn you!" Stannis cursed.

"The balm, it holds healing properties. I am not sure if the wound would heal but the infection will clear."

"Hurry with it!" Fresh linen soon wrapped over the wound nice and tight, the King took an exhale, eyes set within his sweat-drenched face finding Davos. "Ah, Ser Seaworth, you have come at last."

Peering at the King, Davos noticed no measure of anger or condemnation… only relief. "I am yours to command, your Grace," he finally replied.

"Good, good. Please sit." He gestured to a seat. "Please make yourself comfortable while this… argh… unfortunate business concludes." Davos merely nodded and sat down in a hardback chair set against the wall. He had been privy to enough of these sessions for them to be mundane to him… at least except for the little changes to Stannis' condition each one granted.

Eventually, the maester managed to finish, fastening the bandage with a tie and standing. "Keep the wound clean and avoid touching it as much as possible, let it heal."

"I know it all, maester. You can go." The maester nodded and made his exit. Sighing, Stannis' nose scrunched up as he eased the leg off its stool and to the ground. "Gods, this thing is going to kill me one of these days."

"Not before you achieve your destiny, Your Grace."

Eyes falling on Davos, Stannis chuckled. "Aye, of course. No rest for the weary." Standing, he grabbed the cane he began using more and more in private to amble to the bed. "You were with Shireen, weren't you?"

There was no denying it. "Yes, your Grace. I was."

"I fear for that girl, Ser Davos. I fear she has her mother's docility without the zeal… granted the zeal was counterproductive at times, but father taught me to always lean on the side of excess rather than deficiency."

"Words to live by," Davos agreed. "I suppose the Princess simply needs a friend. May I suggest calling for ladies in waiting for her?"

"A good idea. I'll have Baelish see that it's done." There was a silence as Stannis hauled himself on the bed. Sighing in relief as the soft covers melded to his shape. "It has been too long, Davos."

"It has, though I am not surprised you didn't make time to seek my counsel after dismissing me as Hand."

"Simply because I dismissed you in favor of Baelish doesn't mean I don't wish for your counsel. Gods… you're the only person in this damn place without ulterior motives to join their loyalty." From the almost desperate edge in the King's tone, Davos wondered if Stannis was much like Shireen. Is he simply a lonely man seeking a friend? It was alone at the top. Davos had captained his own smuggling ship and had a mere taste of it - he couldn't imagine how the King felt. "But I need your counsel now more than ever."

Davos inched his chair closer to the bed. "Simply ask it of me, your Grace."

"Jon… Jon Stark."

Of course, it is him. "Jon threatened you, didn't he?" Davos couldn't blame Jon for doing so, much as he thought the actions were misguided and stupid. Protecting one's family would ensure such rash action. "You shouldn't have ordered Arya Stark's death for merely killing Cersei. Send her North and prohibit her from coming south of the Neck."

"Perhaps I could have been more circumspect, but Stark wished to kill me. I can't let that go." The last was said with hurt rather than conviction. "How did it come to this, Davos? I once thought him to be my son and heir, the husband to Shireen."

While it was a bit surprising to Davos, that Stannis thought of such things wasn't shocking. "He would have been a perfect choice," was all he could say. "If you wish to unite the continent, he'd still be a good pick for Princess Shireen."

Stannis' hand tightened. "It's all the Dragon Bitch's fault. She did something to him… perhaps dark magic from the east, but I know it was something. She turned him against me. He's not the same." Davos bit back his statement. Daenerys Targaryen had seemed to care deeply about Jon, and he had seen first hand what Melisandre did - any man would've had their soul torn apart and reworked into something completely different in such a situation, so he couldn't blame anyone for Jon changing so drastically.

"He did die, Your Grace," Davos pointed out. "Came back from the darkness. That has to change a man."

"I know that. Yet… A part of me hoped he'd be my Wrath of the North again," Stannis said, sounding more exhausted by the second. "I can't trust him, Davos, but I want Stark back at my side. Just as Ned and Robert defeated the Mad King, I know he and I could vanquish the Dragon Bitch if we are united once more."

"He'd have to prove himself loyal again… perhaps some time in the Black Cells have warded him off of this false mindset." What else could he say?

Eyes heavy with exhaustion, Stannis nodded. "Go speak to him, Davos. Find out what he wants and if you think he can resume his place. I'll pardon him… but only if I can trust him again."

Davos rose and bowed to his King. I have a feeling that neither man will appreciate what I have to say.

A/N: BRuh4: There's some stuff going on right now. Plotting by everyone on both sides. Ooh... Who knows what will happen next?! Well, we do. Y'all will have to wait, unfortunately. But I think it's possible to guess, though we probably won't tell you if you're right.

We hope y'all will stick around with us. Really sorry about the slowdowns of updates, both of us have lots of other shit going on. But we're never abandoning this by any stretch of the imagination.

Anyhoo, see you again down the road.

Longclaw: I bet Arya wasn't thinking Jon would tell her that, but he's got some planning goin' on. About to truly enter the game of thrones, he is.

Until next time. The reunion is fast approaching!