AN: So a bit late, but meh, I've been busy and I don't get paid for this, but do get paid for actual work. Still, I managed to get something out eventually. Hope you enjoy it. If you do leave a review, if you don't, then also leave a review and tell me why. As long as it is constructive and useful I happy to hear it. Other than that, I am now on discord, so if you fancy chatting their etc. the link is on my bio. If not, please feel free to PM me any questions, I'm usually good at answering those when I have the time.

Not much to say other than that, just that I hope you enjoy the chapter and thanks for reading.

Disclaimer: I do not own Percy Jackson or Game of Thrones. If I did then Season 7 & 8 would have gone very differently, and Disney would be making an animated PJO series in the style of Castlevania or Avatar the Last Airbender now, and not a silly live actions series. I mean I can already picture the cheesy effects now, the horror.

( - )

(On the Narrow Sea)

Narrowing his one remaining eye against the spray of the sea, the captain of the large, black sailed vessel grinned wildly as he finally sighted land.

Knuckling his eyepatch with one hand, he then threw his arms out wide and howled loudly into the fierce stormy weather.

He had sighted land. Soon, very soon, he would be meeting his destiny.

It would be glorious, just as the Drowned God had howled at him that it would be in his dreams.

( - )

Chapter 28

( - )

(With Percy, in King's Landing)

Leaning on one of the crenellated parapets that looked out over the city, Percy kept his gaze fixed on the sea far off in the distance, his gaze roving out over the tranquil bluish green waters of Blackwater Bay. From where he was standing, he could see a few small fishing boats casting off from the docks and heading out for a day at sea.

Also present, he could see, were the newly made war galleys.

There were close to twenty of them currently in the bay, their newly hewn hulls practically glowing in the dawn light, and their sails billowing and flapping in the air as the many sailors rushing around on the decks put the ships through their paces. The mighty vessels sailing around in four formations of five ships, their paths taking them as close to the wind as possible, more often than not forcing smaller fishing vessels and rowboats out of the way.

The Royal Fleet was nearing completion. Already close to forty galleys had been finished and fully fitted with masts, sails, catapults, ballistas, and fully trained and seasoned crews, and a further forty were still under construction, with their crews currently being brought up to scratch by drillmasters and seasoned captains.

It was a great undertaking, one that hadn't been done in many generations. After all the Royal Fleets of the past had been adhoc things, built up over many years with new ships, scavenged ships, ships bought off of enterprising Lords, or ones confiscated from pirates, slavers or merchants for some kind of malfeasance. They were all of different shapes, sizes, and quality. A Hodgepodge of mediocrity.

His fleet however, was a fleet of the modern age, or at least as modern as could be accomplished with the tools and abilities of today.

In fact he had actually taken a direct hand in the design of some of them, drawing on his long distant knowledge of ships from back when he had been a simple teen with an innocent fascination in the ocean and in maritime warfare. Who knew back then, that any of it would come in handy, or that the reason behind his fascination was not as innocent as he had at first believed.

Still, his nostalgia aside, the fleet was looking magnificent, and would soon be finished and heading out to sea.

Already his Uncle Kevan, and Hand, had issued instructions to a select few Lords in the Stormlands, Crownlands and Vale, mustering up some professional soldiers, who along with some of his Gold Cloaks, would act as the shock troops and marines for his armada.

The Kingdom's quartermasters had also already been given their marching orders, and the city's Blacksmiths their contracts. Even now the Street of Steel was busy, the sound of clanging hammers, and the glow of a hundred forges visible even from where he was standing.

It was amusing really. Barely any time had passed since the decision had been made, and already the city was a hive of activity as Blacksmith's eagerly fired up their forges, even as equipment, weapons and armour were all also being requisitioned from across the Seven Kingdoms and sent to King's Landing so they could be inspected and stored in preparation for the upcoming assault on the Stepstones. Despite the assault being in all likelihood several months away.

In fact, Percy had no doubts that in another few weeks the city would probably be rammed with sellswords, mercenaries and hedge knights, or dispossessed men at arms, all looking for a contract with the armada.

It turns out that in an autocratic society with limited amounts of modern day bureaucracy, that a competent and motivated king and his advisors, could get things to happen very quickly if they so wanted too.

Sighing at that thought, Percy turned his attention back to the sea, an odd sense of longing filling his chest as he stared out into the distance.

A part of him couldn't help but wish he could just run away.

It would be so easy. All he would need to do would be to take one of the fancy new War Galleys, have it fully provisioned, and head out to sea.

A smile spread across his face at the thought of doing such a thing.

It would be nice to have no responsibilities, to just go off and explore the world, travel the seas, and just have a good time. There would be no stupid Court drama or jockeying for positioning. There would be no attempted rebellions, no politics, no expectations, and no arranged marriages.

Life would be simple, and easy.

It would just be him and the sea.

Who knows, he could even head down to the Summer Islands where it was warm, sunny year round and there were plenty of beautiful girls, and then just live out the rest of his life as a simple fisherman.

Now there was a plan.

He could spend the next few decades sunning himself on a beach, going for long swims in the sea, and then drinking and spending his time around scantily clad beauties that lacked the same sensibilities as the stuck up Westersoi in the evenings.

It would be the perfect retirement for a haggard old demigod like him.

It would certainly help wash away the lingering filth and guilt of Tartarus, and allow him to truly return to his old self, or at least as close as was possible for a hollow, cynical wreck like him could to the young idealistic hero he had once been.

Percy's smile began to fade, even as his mind wandered over the possibilities of just leaving the Seven Kingdoms and all of his responsibilities behind.

It was an impossibility.

He had duties, and responsibilities that he couldn't just forsake. He had a duty to his family to make sure they were safe and well looked after. He might not always like them, or respect them, but they were still his family, and thus he still loved them.

More than that, he also had a duty to his friends who had supported him all these years, and a responsibility to the kingdoms that he was born to rule.

He was the King, and in this society it was the king that all of the Lords, Ladies, Nobles and Commoners looked to for answers, protection and guidance. In return for which they gave him their loyalty and their support. It was a mutually beneficial arrangement.

No, he couldn't abandon his duties, not even now, old, cynical and twisted as he had become, could he find it within himself to abandon his people, and certainly not with Joffrey being the alternative.

He loved his brother, just as he loved all of his family.

But even he knew that the younger boy was a twisted little shit, just as he knew his mother was a bitter, cruel and callous bitch, and that his Uncle's were jaded and arrogant fools, or that his youngest brother, Tommen, was weak and spineless. He could see all of his family's flaws, and there were certainly a lot of them. Not even including all the incest and murder. But he still loved them all the same.

He accepted and loved them, even with all their flaws. Just as they loved and accepted him, irregardless of his own flaws. It was called unconditional love for a reason.

That said, just because he loved and accepted them, didn't mean that he would enable them to act out their pettiness and vindictiveness on the innocent.

No, it was better that Joffrey remained under his arsehole of grandfather's stern and uncompromising tutelage. Hopefully there he would learn restraint, cunning and hopefully some humility. Just as Tommen would go south to the Stormlands and learn responsibility and strength, far away from his mother's skirts.

As for Myrcella, well she was without a doubt his favourite, and would hopefully flourish in a happy and loving marriage in the North, far away from King's Landing and the venomous serpents that called this place home.

All of which of course meant that he would have to remain as the king in King's Landing, protecting, monitoring and guiding his family and the Seven Kingdoms both.

Not that he ever thought he would do any differently.

Sailing away into the setting sun on an adventure, it was just a childish daydream born out of the stifling atmosphere of King's Landing, and nothing more than that.

Not that he really had a right to complain about his lot in life.

He was the king, in an autocratic society he was basically at the top of the pecking order. It was far better than being born as the son of a pig farmer, or something. Sure it came with certain responsibilities and expectations, but they were the trade off for the decadent, privileged and admittedly sometimes debauched lifestyle he had been living these past eighteen or so years.

Resting his hands on the crenellated parapet, Percy took a deep breath and pushed himself back and away from the magnificent view of the city and the bay it partially surrounded.

He would have to arrange for him to have some time to properly 'inspect' one of the ships over the next few days. That would be a nice treat, he could put it through its paces, maybe even sail over to Dragonstone to oversee how the preparations were going to turn the island into a naval base, before coming back. A nice few days at seas should hopefully be enough to assuage his lingering desires for freedom.

Besides, although he couldn't justify leading the expedition to the Stepstones, after all he was the king and as such was expected to remain within the Kingdom, he could maybe head west and get involved with putting down the Ironborn.

That would be a fun distraction, plus it would give him an excuse to test out his rapidly strengthening control and power over water on the hapless pirates.

Percy smiled at that thought, even as turned away from the sea and headed back into the Palace.

( - )

(A short while later)

"Tytan," A soft, familiar voice called out to him, the words bringing him to a stop as he turned around to look past Martin, Luke, Matthias and Jamie, and instead over at the speaker.

"Margaery," Percy smiled back, his sworn swords easily parting to allow the slim young beauty and her handmaidens past their armed and armoured forms. "This is a pleasant surprise, I did not think to see anyone around at this time in the morning."

"Sometimes I am an early riser." Margaery replied chipply, gliding over until she was standing at his side. "But I must say, I had never pictured you as such."

"A King's work is unfortunately never done," Percy shrugged easily.

"I see, so what work was it that had you out of bed at such an hour?" Margaery pressed, her expression turning to one of curiosity as she looped her arm within his own, much to the giggling amusement of her handmaidens, even as the two of them continued on down the corridor.

"Well I say work, it was more curiosity. I was inspecting the fleet as they did their morning manureves." Percy allowed. Most of the minutiae of ruling the kingdom was actually done by the Small Council and those that reported to them. His work was more decision and policy based.

"Ah yes, for your upcoming attack on the Stepstones." Margaery nodded.

Coming to a sudden stop at that, Percy's gaze quickly shifted to the lithe younger girl. "And where did you hear about such a venture?"

"King's Landing is full of ears, Tytan, as you most likely know. The entire city knows something big is happening, and although many are convinced it has something to do with the Ironborn. Or that it involves the Targaryen Princess across the sea, the one who is purported to have a dozen dragons and a hundred thousand Dothraki screamers. Some still think it involves an invasion of the Stepstones." Margaery said easily, her lips curling upwards as she looked him in the eye, possibly reading the answer to her question from his face.

Percy however just grimaced. Sure the fact that something big was happening wasn't a massive secret, after all they had been openly gathering men, requisitioning arms, and just generally preparing for a campaign. Even the most observant of individuals should know that there was something afoot. But their objective shouldn't have been so easy to guess.

The waters after all had been deliberately muddied to hide just what they were after. In fact he had had Qyburn's agents spreading rumours across the Seven Kingdoms, with them oftentimes making up contradicting stories to throw people off the trail. His personal favourite was that he was preparing an invasion force to land at Hardhome so that he could, for some reason, then annex everything north of the Wall.

That one had the right amount of ridiculousness for his tastes.

Still, hearing of the forces the Targaryen girl apparently had across the seas did make him think that perhaps Qyburn's spies and agents had gone a bit overboard. News like that could cause a panic. Especially since their actions had not in fact hidden the actual objective as well as he had hoped.

"So am I right in thinking that your objective is indeed the Stepstones?" Margaery pressed.

Forcing a smile, Percy shook his head. "It seems you are already aware. Though if I may ask a favour, it would be that you not speak of your findings to others."

"Oh I wasn't planning too." Margaery said gently, her hand resting softly on his arm. "I only found out myself through happenstance. But now I know you want it kept quiet, I will endeavour to aid in spreading misinformation. Though if I may ask. Why is there such a need for secrecy?"

"Your aid would be appreciated." Percy nodded. "As for the why, well it is to ensure that the pirates that infest those islands don't have too much prior warning."

"But surely news will spread the moment the fleet casts off?" Margaery pressed.

Percy smiled at this. Margaery, he had noticed, had been coming out of her shell more and more, recently. She was more outspoken than before, and more confident in asking questions or making requests. It was something he appreciated, especially with their upcoming wedding fast approaching.

If he were to be married to someone, he would much rather it be an intelligent and independent woman who could think and act for herself. One that could challenge him, and make him think. He was not like many of the other Lords he knew, the last thing he wanted was someone brainless, or lacking in personality or fire.

"Oh I'm sure it will. But until then we will continue to say otherwise. Already we are having merchants spreading the differing rumours throughout Westeros and Essos in the hopes of word getting back to the pirates. The less time the pirates have to prepare, the easier a time of it the armada will have entering the Stepstones." Percy smiled, his voice pitched low so only Margaery could hear.

His own men were already in the know at this point. They were all highly trusted, and had been present at most of the meetings he had had with the Small Council and, with the Lords and knights that were going to be involved in the invasion. That said the handmaidens were a different story. Hopefully however, either Margaery, or if not her then Olenna, could make sure they remained silent if needed.

"I see," Margaery smiled again, even as the two of them once again started to walk down the corridor in the direction of the smaller hall where he tended to break his fast. "Will you be with the fleet?"

"No," Percy shook his head. "My place is here in King's Landing. Besides, we are to be wed barely a month from now. It wouldn't be proper for me to set off on such a venture so soon after we are married."

"How considerate." Margaery said with a slight laugh, her hand squeezing his arm gently for a moment. "You leaving so suddenly after we became husband and wife would certainly be less than desirable. Still, I get the feeling that perhaps King's Landing might get too stifling for you at times. You strike me as someone who likes adventure, and travelling, and excitement."

"Then you think right." Percy chuckled. "However, as the king I surprisingly don't always get what I want."

"But maybe you could, if you had people you trusted back at the Capital that could make sure things run smoothly in your absence. The Hand for example, and the Small Council, from what little I have heard they did much of the running of the Kingdom during your father's reign." Margaery suggested.

"Yes, and they often made quite a mess of it. Baelish, Pycelle and Varys all ended up being traitors, traitors that stole, lied and cheated, and nearly bankrupted the Kingdom. My Uncle Renly, although a good man at heart, is perhaps not always the most competent, and Jon Arryn, well he was an old man by that point and could no longer temper my father's desires or keep an eye on his fellow Council member's actions." Percy said, a slight scowl on his face as he thought back to how chaotic and mismanaged things were under his father.

Robert Baratheon, he had not been a good father, nor had he been a good King. In fact thinking back on the man now, one he knew probably as well as he did Poseidon, he had only truly been good at drinking, gambling, whoring and fighting. Which hypocritical as it might be considering the way he, Percy, had lived his life the last decade or so, were not traits that fit with being a good King.

Vices were fine so long as they were controlled and moderated.

Allowing one's vices to control them, in that direction only disaster lay.

That said, Margaery's words did hold some truth. The Small Council, at least this time around, was a significant improvement on the old one. Sure, he didn't trust many of them, or any of them actually, but they were at least competent, or mostly aside from Renly. That and they all also had a stake in making sure he remained king, and that the Seven Kingdoms' continued to trust them.

Which meant that, yes, although he couldn't trust them on a personal level. He could at least trust them to be greedy enough, and self-serving enough to keep things running and in good order whilst he was absent. That, and he could trust in the fact that none of them liked or trusted each other, to also stop them from turning on him en masse.

"Yes, but you have formed a better Small Council now, and have the support of friends, family, and of course, me, your future queen." Margaery replied, her hand once again squeezing his arm gently, even as her other hand brushed some of long, glossy hair over her shoulder. "You don't have to rely on only yourself anymore, Tytan, not when there are others around you that would be happy to help lighten your burden."

"Maybe," Percy allowed, sending her a smile. She was a sweet girl really, and very beautiful too. Sure she wasn't as exotic and mysterious as Leaf, but she definitely had her own charm.

He could see her making for a good queen, and a good partner for himself. Sure, their courting and marriage might not have started traditionally, after all it was arranged as part of a political deal to maintain peace within the kingdom. Nor may it be one they both initially wanted, but at the same time there was potential. Their marriage could turn out a lot better than Robert and Cersei's, their marriage could be one of love and companionship, as opposed to being filled with hate and spite.

"I certainly wouldn't mind a break from the Capital at some point. Maybe I could travel down to Dorne and continue to rebuild relationships there. Or maybe go to the Vale and assist in the reconstruction. Or maybe head west and help put down the Ironborn." Percy mused, more to himself than to anyone in particular. He could also maybe go to Storm's End and make sure the Maester's and Lords there were giving Tommen a proper education in Renly's absence. Or maybe head up to the North, Myrcella should be there by now and meeting with her betrothed, or at least nearly there.

"You're the king, Tytan, you are not beholden to anyone. Where you go, or what you do, that's all up to you. You are the maker of your own destiny." Margaery said supportatively.

"The maker of my own destiny," Percy repeated in amusement. For a demigod such a thing seemed like an impossibility, and considering he was still a demigod in spirit, if not yet in body, then that might yet be the case. Still, if it was true, if he was no longer beholden to fate…

"Yes, now come, let's break our fast, we have a busy day ahead of us, and I know my grandmother has been hovering around in the hopes of speaking to you about the preparations for the wedding." Margaery pressed on, a bright smile on her face now as she leaned into him slightly, even as they continued down the hall, their guards and servants trailing along behind them.

( - )

(With Daenerys, in Slaver's Bays)

Fire, screaming, and terror, that was all Daenerys could see and hear as she looked around the great courtyard of Astapor and saw their newly acquired Unsullied army butchering their former Masters with spears, disregarding age or gender as they instead just gutted and tore into, and killed all they could find.

Likewise, she could see Stannis's soldier's running rampant. Those that were in the square joining the emotionless, emasculated Unsullied in their slaughter, whilst the others she knew, those that had been left at the docks, flooded off of their ships rats and rampaged through the now vulnerable city.

From beyond the square she could hear screams and the sounds of more fighting and killing breaking out as Stannis's men sacked the city.

Tearing her gaze away from the walls of the square, Daenerys instead started to walk forward, an amused looking Xaro at her side, with Doreah following along behind her, a nervous look on the former slave girl's face as she too took in all the carnage and death around them.

"So it would appear that negotiations did not quite go the way the Masters wanted them too." Xaro chuckled happily, his gaze on Melisandre as the scarlet haired woman sent wave after wave of reddish fire blasting out of her hands, her form practical wreathed in fire and light at this point, as she unleashed fire and death upon all that stood before her. For all of her fanaticism and madness, it appeared the woman did actually have some power back up her words. "I have to say this was quite the master stroke my queen."

Daenerys grimaced at that statement.

Yes, it had been her idea to offer a dragon for every single Unsullied in the city, and then to turn around and use both Drogan and the Unsullied to instead take the city. But she hadn't thought that it would turn out like this. It had been far more bloodless and focussed in her head.

All around them however, people were dying as the Unsullied hunted down and killed all the masters, butchering all who stood in their way as they did so. At the same time Stannis, his sword ablaze with fire, and his men, joined in the carnage. A jubilant Melisandre following along with them, her cries and preaching intermingling quite terribly with the screams of the dying. None of them were showing any mercy.

As for the Warlocks of Qarth, well she had lost track of them soon after several of their number had slit the throats of a number of the watching masters, after which they had collected up their blood in chalices and cups and then disappeared from sight.

She dreaded to think what they were up to.

"Come now my queen," Xaro spoke up again, a note of concern in his voice now as he looked down at her, one of his big hands coming to rest on her narrow, pale shoulder. "Let's leave here for now. We can find a nice manse and wait out the violence. Let us let Lord Stannis, and the Unsullied deal with the remaining resistance."

Daenerys nodded weakly at that and allowed herself to be guided away from the carnage, Doreah and a couple of her Dothraki handmaidens following after her, the Dothraki menfolk having by this point charged off into the city to unleash their own fury and anger on the citizenry.

It made her feel sick to her stomach.

She had caused this.

Gripping the whip she had just been given tighter, the symbol that marked her as the Unsullied's master, Daenerys couldn't help but hunch over and dry heave as a horribly sweet and sickly stench of burnt flesh suddenly hit her.

"Doreah, if you would." Xaro said patiently, applying a bit more force now as he guided her away from the fighting and out of the square. His gaze momentarily flicking over to the six Unsullied that were staunchly marching alongside them, before it went back to Doreah.

"Yes of course," Doreah nodded, before she then helped Daenerys out of the square, the rest of their entourage following as they left the sacking of the city to the more violent members of their faction. Once the fighting had come to an end, then they, the more levelled head members could deal with the aftermath.

Closing her eyes and forcing out the background noise, Daenerys tried to focus on the positives as they quickly left the square and walked through the bloodstained streets and towards a rather splendid manse that was just off the main square. Their numbers had now grown massively in both quality and quantity.

Added to that they now had a home base from which they could conquer the rest of Slaver's Bay, that and they had the beginnings of a fleet, and would probably get enough gold to hire some of the more renowned mercenary companies. Including the Golden Company, war elephants and all.

Out of all of this death and horror, there was at least a little light, and she was just a little closer to retaking her birthright, the Iron Throne.

( - )

(North of the Wall)

"Full retreat!" Jeor Mormont, former Lord of the Bear Island and current Lord Commander of the Night's Watch shouted, his voice harsh and gruff as he tried to pull his men back. "Get back now!"

Black cloaked brothers sprinted past him. Still others however were still too far away.

Gripping the hilt of his sword, Longclaw, tighter, Jeor lashed out with a brutal swing. The valyrian steel bastard sword shearing through a wight, even as he took a step back and hacked a long dead, skeletal wildling down next.

"Stay together now, and keep the formation. Retreat as one!" Jeor shouted again, his breathing heavier now as he thrust and hacked and jabbed at the undead swarming around him and his men. His every blow bringing down another of his undead attackers. Not that one or two, or even a couple of dozen, among the thousands swarming them made much of a difference.

Letting loose a battle scream, one of his brothers lashed out with a lit torch, the flames catching the ragged furs of one of their attackers alight, even as several other undead warriors fell upon the unfortunate brother and ripped him to shreds with their skeletal hands.

Growling at this, Jeor continued to back off, shield bearing brother's standing either side of him as a bunch of around a hundred and fifty of them clumped together in the middle of a cold, sparsely forested glade, an island of living flesh in a sea of the dead.

The White Walkers, the Others, they were supposed to be just a myth. An old wives tale told to scare children into being good. That is what he had been raised to believe as a child. That is what all of those in Westeros, from the lords and ladies of the Court, all the way down to the commoners, believed. The Others were just a story, and just like the Children of the Forest, if they ever had been real then they had died out long ago, further back than anyone alive today could remember.

As he looked around now however, at all of the dead blue eyes, pale and rotting flesh, and yellowed bones, he couldn't deny the truth of those stories. They had not been tales told to scare children into behaving, they had been passed down to warn the descendents of the First Men of the terror of the Long Night, and of the horrors that come with it.

Tearing his gaze away from the one of his screaming brothers, even as the man's scream petered out to nothingness, Jeor instead focused on the burning wight, his gaze following its blazing form as it crashed into the tightly packed scrum of undead warriors, the fire rapidly spreading as it bit into frozen, undead flesh, and delightedly tore through deisciated, rotting furs the undead wildlings wore.

"Use fire!" Jeor roared, his grip as strong as ever as he continued to hack and slash away at the undead around him, his brother's using their shields and weapons to protect him from the swarming, grasping claws and rusted weapons the wights seemed to favour.

"Lord Commander!" Jonas, one of his brother's shouted from the back, his words audible over the screaming of dying men, the clash of weaponry, and the grunts and exertions of the brother's around him as they fought and strived to survive this, the most desperate of situations. "They've come up behind us through the trees, we've been surrounded!"

Jeor's stomach sank.

This wasn't happening!

They had only come this far north of the Wall as a show of force, and to make a statement to Mance Rayder, the would-be King Beyond the Wall. A simple patrol that was all it was meant to be, they would rattled their swords, maybe have a few clashes and kill a few dozen Wildlings. They would deliver a bloody nose to the Wildlings, disperse those that had gathered, and then retreat back to the Wall. That was all this was supposed to be.

He hadn't thought that they would be headed into an ambush.

He hadn't reckoned on Mance Rayder and his army being slaughtered before they even reached them.

Unfortunately however both of those things had come to pass. Mance and his army, or at least a large portion of it had been slaughtered, and now their animated corpses, along with the corpses of thousands of other poor wretches were hounding them through the ice and snow.

Or at least that was what he had thought they were doing. Who could have predicted that the undead would have a strategy.

"Lord Commander!" Jonas shouted again. "What do we do?!"

Gritting his teeth at this, Jeor ignored the flailing men around him even as they continued to lash out with swords and axes, or attempted to light their undead assailants on fire. Instead he thought of home, of his long gone son, Jorah, with whom he had never made up, and of his sister who he had not seen in over a decade, and her children, Dacey and Lyanna.

They were not getting out of here alive.

"Lord Commander!" Jonas shouted, his words still audible over the carnage of battle.

"WE FIGHT!" Jeor shouted, not just to Jonas, but to all of his men. "We show them that we are men of the Night's Watch!"

Some of the men roared at that, whilst others just whimpered.

"Night gathers, and now my watch begins!" Jeor began to shout, his grip on Longclaw tightening as he stopped retreating and instead started to attack in earnest. "It shall not end until my death!"

His sword lodged into the skull of a recently deceased Wildling, a man with a thick thatch of greyish black hair and a short scruffy beard. Sneering at this, Jeor lashed out with his fist and punched the dead man off his sword, even as he twisted around and hacked down two more of the dead man's kin.

"I shall take no wife, hold no lands, father no children! I shall wear no crowns and win no glory! I shall live and die at my post!" Jeor continued to roar out, the men around him joining him as he recited his oath. Freezing cold, slimy blood splashing across his face, even as he saw the glowing hoarfrost blue in the eyes of the woman he just gutted fade away to nothingness.

If this was it, if this was to be his end. Then he would make such an end of it, that the Old Gods would take notice of him.

"I am the sword in the darkness! I am the watcher on the walls! I am the shield that guards the realms of men!" Jeor practically howled out, his broad shoulders heaving with exertion, and his breaths producing plumes of steam.

Looking up, he spotted a ghostly pale white form moving effortless through the swarm of undead towards him. The figure was armoured in black, and had long white hair, desiccated, white skin, and eyes that were completely blue and glowed the colour of sapphire. In his hand, the figure held a blade of pure ice.

Letting out a hiss at the sight of this figure, Jeor didn't feel fear. Both he and his men were past the point of being afraid.

No, instead he felt only righteous fury as he gripped his ancestral sword tighter and lunged forward to meet his undead foe in battle.

"I pledge my life and honor to the Night's Watch, for this night and all the nights to come!" Jeor roared, his blade swinging down, only to be effortlessly parried by the White Walker's icy sword. "Now come at me devil, and feel the fury of House Mormont!"

With a final roar, Jeor ignored the howling, screaming and shouting of his brother's as he instead continued to hack and slash at the White Walker. His form by this point was instinctual, and driven more by terror induced fury than through skill or tactics.

But it didn't matter though, as he instead continued to press the attack, ignoring the clawing undead hands around him as he went on the attack and forced the surprised looking demon back. His face bright red now, and his breathing haggard as he shattered the Walker's sword with a mighty swing of Longclaw, and then drove his own blade through its gut and up into its heart.

"Die!" Jeor hissed, the sounds of his own men, his brother's dying, filling his ears even as he glared up and into the cold unfeeling face of the White Walker.

Tilting its head to the side, the White Walker looked at him for a second, before it looked down at Longclaw, which was buried up to the hilt in its gut, and then back up and into Jeor's face.

Opening its maw, the White Walker let loose a silent scream, even as it thrust its withered hand into and through Jeor's chest. Its own flesh slowly began to first freeze over and then crumble away, even as dark red blood spilled out of Jeor's grinning mouth. "If I die, I'm taking you with me… demon!"

( - )

(In King's Landing)

Breathing in the cold evening air, Percy absentmindedly stroked Oz's emerald green scales, the small dragon preening and practically purring under his touch.

"Come then you lazy lizard." Percy muttered fondly, his eyes alight with interest as Oz nipped at his hand affectionately and then shifted his weight about, his scaled, horned head turning from Percy as he instead bunched his muscled legs and leapt into the air.

"Yes that's it, beat the wings." Percy muttered instinctively. By his point, he was still not sure whether or not Oz could understand him, or if he just responded to his voice like a cat or dog would. Leaf had assured him that dragons were just as smart if not smarter than humans, but he still wasn't sure. But even so he had gotten into the habit of talking to Oz like the little, or rather at this point, five, nearly six, foot long, fire breathing dragon, could understand him. "Stay calm, and just let your instincts take over."

"He is a dragon, Percy." Leaf lilting voice called out, interrupting him, even as Oz landed back on the ground only to leap back into the air again, his large wings beating as he tried to retain his altitude. "He will instinctively figure out how to fly, just as a thousand generations of his forebears have done before him."

"I know, but a bit of encouragement is still fine." Percy replied, a slight smile on his face as Oz once again landed, a faint chirp leaving his mouth, before he bounced forward again and leapt back into the air.

"You are worrying about a dragon." Leaf said, her tone filled with amusement. "Most others, when it comes to dragons, would only be worried about their own safety."

"Well I'm not most others," Percy replied mildly, a smile still on his face as Oz managed to stay in the air a few seconds longer this time before he landed back on the ground. "Besides I'd have nothing to fear from Oz, and even if I did, I'm not a regular human, remember."

"No, you are a godspawn," Leaf acknowledged with a nod of her head. "But Ozymandias is a dragon, he is a being of magic, one that belongs to the old world. His fire will burn hotter than anything mortals can produce. His claws will rend even the strongest of materials, when your sharpest blades would not so much as scratch it. He is magical by nature, and thus he defies the very laws of nature."

"Uh-huh." Percy replied, his tone unconvinced, as he took his eyes off of Oz to instead look over at Leaf.

"Do not allow hubris to lead you astray. There are many ancient and powerful things in this world. You, Percy, are not unbeatable, nor are you invulnerable. There are dangers out there, dangers that could kill you if you are not careful. This is something you must understand." Leaf said solemnly.

"Don't worry, I am old enough to know I am not invincible. I have fought those stronger than me before and lived." Percy replied softly.

"Good, remember that." Leaf said.

"I will," Percy assured her, before suddenly letting out a laugh of delight as he looked over and saw that Oz had finally started to get the hang of it. "There you go, you're doing it!"

In response Oz let out a breath of fire, and then awkwardly flapped over to where Percy was standing. Another loud part chirping, part purring, noise leaving his mouth as he then crashed into Percy knocking him onto his arse.

"Get off you overgrown lizard." Percy laughed, a bright smile on his face as he tried to extricate himself from the overly excited Oz.

In the background he could hear Leaf's familiar, melodic laughter sounding out.

It was a nice moment.

Unfortunately however, the moment did not last long as the crashing of armour nearby quickly distracted the trio.

"Tytan," Jamie said, pitching his voice louder than normal to make sure he could be easily heard, even as continued to bustle through the godswood and over to the glade where Percy and Oz were still sitting.

By this point Leaf had vanished into the undergrowth.

"I thought I asked not to be disturbed." Percy said irritably, pushing himself to his feet and brushing leaves and dirt from his coat as he did so.

"Yes," Jamie nodded, as he finally emerged from the trees. His green eyes first taking in Percy, and then Oz, before flicking back to Percy again. "But we received a message from the Stark boy in the North. It has his seal on it, and it was addressed to you directly."

Frowning at this, Percy held his hand out for the small bound scroll in Jamie's hand.

Taking it from him, Percy first glanced at the Direwolf seal to make sure it hadn't been broken and tampered with, and then looked at who it was addressed too.

King Tytan Baratheon

That was it, there was no long list of titles, no formality, just his name.

It was unusual to say the least.

Breaking open the seal and unrolling the missive, Percy ignored Oz as the little dragon started to nudge and nuzzle against his leg. Instead he quickly read through the missive, his brow furrowing as he fought valiantly against his dyslexia in order to properly and quickly comprehend what he was reading.

"Shit…" Percy muttered as he got to the main gist of the letter, his eyes widening as he quickly reread it to make sure he hadn't read it wrong the first time. "Shit…!"

( - )

(Iron Islands)

Sitting hunched over on the Salt Throne in Pyke's great hall, Balon Greyjoy's dark eyes flickered back and forth as he cautiously, almost fearfully eyed the men standing guard around him, and the salt wives and slave girls that were currently dishing out the food for his supper.

Licking his lips nervously, Balon pawed at the dark bags under his eyes.

He had not been sleeping well of late.

No, that was an understatement. He had not slept well for months.

Everytime he closed his eyes he was beset with visions and nightmares.

He saw the Iron Islands being swallowed by the sea. He saw his daughter, Yara, die as a storm overwhelmed her ship, even as thunder boomed out its laughter overhead and announced the presence of the Storm God.

All of this he saw on an almost nightly basis. Alongside all this death and destruction, he also saw it…

He saw its bulbous yellow eye, the one that seemed to see all. He saw its vast fang filled maw. He saw its colossal tentacles, each as thick as an entire galleon.

He saw it every night and it brought with it only fear and terror.

More than that he saw the black stallion, the one that would mount the world. He saw its golden hooves lash out and crush all in its path, shaking the very ground itself as it moved. Its mane he knew, was made of storm clouds, and its tail was an unending stream of water.

It was an avatar of the Storm God, that he knew, just as he knew the one eyed being was an Avatar of the Drowned god.

Every night he saw them fight, and yet never was there a victor. Instead all he saw was death and carnage. The destruction of his homelands, the death of his family, the decimation of his people.

Every night these dreams assaulted him, and every night he awoke drenched in a cold sweat with just one thought in his mind.

For the Iron Islands to survive the coming calamity, they needed freedom. They needed to throw off the yolk of those that would control them, and return to the old ways. Only then would their salvation be assured. Only then would the terror inducing Avatar of the Drowned god, finally defeat horrifying Avatar of the Storm God.

Only then would he sleep peacefully.

Shivering at that thought, Balon's hand suddenly flew to the sword at his hip, even as he gave the nearest slave girl a cold, scrutinizing look. She was a greenlander, she did not keep to the Drowned God… did that then mean that she prayed to the Storm God, it was possible…

Balon's hands began to shake, even as his already muddled mind tried to work out what the girl was up to. Only for him to shake his head and dismiss her moments later. He didn't have time for this, not with the might of Seven Kingdoms assembling to try and force them back into submission.

Yes, he would have the girl killed later. For now he needed to focus on the most immediate problem, the Lannister's and Redwyne's were assembling a fleet to attack him.

He wouldn't allow that, he couldn't…

Laughing hysterically at that, Balon lashed out with one of his gnarled hands and emptied a flagon of wine, laughter still bubbling up from with him even as he went back to eyeing those around him suspiciously.

They were out to get him, he knew it. They were non-believers, they were servants of the Storm God… they had to be stopped. They had to be drowned. They had to purged. Only the pure could remain, only those who believed, those who had faith!

( - )

AN: So what did you think, I hope you enjoyed the chapter? As some people might have guessed I have decided to change the lore slightly, tv show skips over a lot of stuff, or just outright ignores it, and the books mentions things but doesn't go into details, or contradicts things, or I just don't like the way things are handled. Either way I'm going to be changing bits and pieces here and there, and playing around with theology, mythology, and magic a bit, because why not, this is fanfiction. That and I think most people were dissatisfied with the direction the TV show went, especially the last two seasons. That and with some of the story lines they cut out.

So yep, other than that, thanks for reading and stay tuned for more.

Stay safe out there, and catch you later.

Greed720.