Thank you to everyone who has favourited or is following the story.

ATP

I'm glad you liked it.

There are some battles against the Others I want to write. Important things happened there with the characters.

The taking of King's Landing, however, will be a bit different.

Rifful

You're right. People in the North don't regard bastards as badly as in some of the southern regions do. But it doesn't mean every northerner thinks and sees things in the same way. They can have different standards, they can have whims. Even ones that seem stupid for anybody else.

That conversation could have happened otherwise, if Ned had spoken to Vayon, or even if Robb had, or Catelyn had been more stern with him taking advantage of her higher position in hierarchy. (But she didn't expect that turn of their conversation.)

Frozen fire

Maester Aemon prays alone with Daenerys for some time, so Jon and Shireen obediently bid him farewell and leave the old Maester's chamber.

Samwell Tarly is waiting outside, standing close to the door but not close enough that he may be accused of eavesdropping.

"My lord, can I have a word with you?" Samwell asks politely, keeping his distance.

Jon turns to him, and gently grabs Shireen's shoulder to make her stop too.

The Wall is safe, at least, as safe as the wildlings are afraid of Mance Rayder and the black brothers are afraid of Jeor Mormont. As safe as all of them are afraid of the dragons.

All in all, Shireen probably is not in any danger. But she is not well. She is not herself. Of course, Jon does not know her, but he has noticed the worried gazes of those who do and care for her.

They would not want him to leave the girl alone.

"Call me Jon."

He offered Samwell it once, but it seems all of his former words and deeds have been forgotten since he returned on a dragon's back.

The folk of Castle Black – men and women, old and young – are gathering in the courtyard.

The majority of them stares at the dragons. But some of them stare at Jon.

After all the vows and kneeling, Lord Mormont and Mance Rayder, shouting and swearing, send back their people to their duties.

They go – one fleetly, another rather without any hurry –, most of them go. But not everyone.

"Last time you were a Stark." A man steps to him. His voice is sullen and harsh.

"I'm still a Stark. But I'm also a Targaryen."

Jon waits whether the man – Thorne, his name is Thorne – has something more to add but he only nods. Though it is short and quick, it seems like a bow.

Samwell gives an odd jerk of his head as an answer but does not repeat the form of address.

"It's about the Others and their creatures," he starts. "I have done some research recently. Studied the old books and records, and talked to…" He takes a deep breath. "To the wildlings."

Clearly, it was a quite an unpleasant task for him even in the name of learning.

"And I've come to the conclusion… well, it's more of an assumption than a fact… So I assume dragonglass can be an efficient weapon against the dead."

"The children of the forest hunted with that, thousands of years ago," Jon notes thoughtfully.

"Yes," Samwell nods fiercely. "Yes, they did." He seems highly relieved that Jon is not mocking him or laughing at him, then, he frowns. "How… how do you know?"

"I'm a northern. And I have a brother who loves stories of fights and dreads."

Bran made Maester Luwin and Old Nan tell him every myths and tales about the monsters and heroes of the North again and again. Then, at night – when he should have already been asleep – he had been demanding the same from his mother and siblings, correcting them and continuing himself instead when they used the wrong term or changed the word order.

So, in the end, Bran told them and himself the stories.

"If dragonglass was their only material for blades, it must have been used against not just animals but the dead as well."

"Exactly," Samwell agrees with a bright smile.

"What is dragonglass?" Shireen asks suddenly.

Up until now, she has not even showed any sign of paying attention to their conversation.

"Maesters call it obsidian," Samwell explains her. "And the Valyrians said frozen fire. It's a kind of rock made by volcanic activity."

"Dragonstone is a volcanic island," she says almost enthusiastically.

"Indeed, my lady. Actually, I was hoping that the Queen would allow us to mine there."

"If you tell her what you told us…"

"I will speak to her," Jon reassures Samwell, who, obviously, was also hoping that he does not have to be the one asking permission from the Queen herself.

"Thank you, my…" He braces himself. "Thank you, Jon."