Welcome back folks! I know I'm a week late with this one, but hey, at least I still released a chapter in April! One little note about the next chapter…don't necessarily be expecting it next month. I don't want to say that this story is going on hiatus, because it's not as I still plan on working on it, but my situation at home will change soon and I don't know how much time I will have to dedicate to writing. Family first after all. That being said, I do still plan on working on the next chapter so at the very least it can be expected sometime in June.

Thank you to everyone who has reviewed or added this story to your alerts/favorites. The response to this story has been outstanding. And just an FYI, if I don't answer your PM's right away please don't be offended. Apparently, there is some sort of shadow ban between FFnet and my email service…and as I already have enough accounts all over the place, I don't feel like creating a new email just for this one site. So, if I don't answer your PM's right away give me some patience as I don't check my PM everyday.

And before everyone comments about the order of events, I am altering the timing of things a bit to match what I have mapped out in my mind. And just because some events might be happening now, that does not mean that other events are going to happen immediately. Might seem confusing, but my meaning will become clear by the end of the chapter.

And lastly, shoutout to my beta reader and brainstorm partner Tellemicus Sundace. Lastly, I do not own Disney, nor am I Lucas or Martin; I have no ownership of A Song of Fire and Ice, Game of Thrones or Star Wars. This is purely for fun with no profit being made. And with that out of the way, let's get to the chapter! Stay safe out there everyone!

Chapter 30

Walking with his head held high, Tyrion Lannister kept his eyes forward as he and his Uncle Gerion were escorted through the halls of the Rock by his Uncle Kevan. 'Apparently, father was too busy to actually welcome us home and instead sent out Uncle Kevan to come and fetch us like a couple of errant children,' Tyrion thought, resisting the urge to scoff. 'Not that I actually expected a warm welcome from the man. He is the famous Tywin Lannister, after all. He has a reputation to uphold.'

Even though he was in his ancestral home, Tyrion found a not-so-small part of himself missing the North. Part of his longing was easy to figure out, considering the young girl he'd left behind for her own protection. But there was something else that clearly separated Casterly Rock from Winterfell, and that was the warmth within the walls of the great keeps. Not that Winterfell was warm, not by any stretch of the imagination. But regardless of the weather, there was a persistent warmth, an almost joyous disposition, to the people of the North once you could get past their cold reception to outsiders of course. And after being with them for over a moon's turn, Tyrion was convinced that warmth of Winterfell and the Northern people was due primarily to those who ruled them. The Starks. A family that had ruled the land for over eight thousand years and had the respect, love, devotion and even fear of the people that called the North their home. While it was painful to admit, he knew that his daughter would not only do well in the North, but she would thrive.

Coming to his father's solar, Tyrion pushed thoughts of the North, and more importantly his daughter, out of his mind as he mentally prepared himself for the conversation about to be had. Without saying a word, Kevan opened the door and ushered the two of them inside before quickly closing it. His father was exactly where Tyrion expected him to be. Sitting behind his desk and working diligently on several scrolls that were scattered neatly across his desk.

"Your ship arrived last evening," Tywin Lannister stated, his eyes never leaving the scroll he was working on. "It is now morning."

Now knowing what he did, Tyrion found he was no longer intimidated by his father. Not when his sheer hatred for the man burned so violently within him. It was hard to fear someone that you hated more than anyone else in the world. "Well, we were at sea and on the road for so long that Gerion and I felt a nice warm bed was in order for the night," Tyrion remarked calmly, making his father's quill cease its movements even if the man didn't look up. "Not to mention, they were serving quite a delicious meal at the inn, which just so happens to be across from one of my favorite brothels. And a few weeks on the road and at sea with only men as company can build quite the appetite for a woman's warmth."

Tyrion smirked as he noticed his father's hand tighten on his quill, nearly breaking the feather in his hand. "You will not make such a delay again when issues of importance are needed to be discussed." Tywin intoned, setting aside the scroll he was working on and motioning for the three of them still standing to take seats. "Your last—and only—raven from Winterfell mentioned that Joy was accepted by the Sorcerer. What is the estimation of her power? What were you able to ascertain from the Starks regarding their rise in wealth? And what of the former-bastard boy?"

"Nox wasn't one to go about ranking the strength of his students, or acolytes as he calls them," Gerion answered quickly. "However, despite only having a few lessons under the sorcerer before we left the North, Joy was able to start moving objects around with her powers. Nothing overtly heavy, but the fact that she was able to progress so quickly is astonishing."

'Astonishing to us perhaps, Uncle, but we have no idea if the feat was astonishing to Nox,' Tyrion thought as he glanced at his uncle out of the corner of his eye.

"Good," Tywin stated simply. "And what of the bastard boy and the keys to the Stark's rise?"

Sharing a glance with his uncle, Tyrion took the lead. "You might as well give up on Jon Stark. That horse has already left the barn."

His father folded his hands under his chin and stared hard at Tyrion. "Explain."

Gerion picked up the tale as he knew what'd happened far better than Tyrion seeing as how he was present for it. "During our time in the North, Stark initiated an expedition beyond the Wall to treat with the rising King-Beyond-the-Wall, Mance Rayder. In the interest of forging relations with the Starks, I and some of our men went with him. Stark met and made an accord with the wildlings, but in the process of this we were ambushed by a rogue group of wildlings that were looking to take advantage of the situation. It was during this battle that Jon…initiated a marriage ceremony between himself and one of the wildling spearwives. A spearwife that has since followed the Starks back to Winterfell and taken up residence with the lad."

Tywin frowned and Tyrion could see the wheels turning in his father's head. "An obstacle. But one that can be overcome with care."

He couldn't help the scoff that escaped him. "Trust me, father, Ygritte, that's her name by the way, is not a simple obstacle that can be overcome in your usual manner. And even if—and that is a big if—you managed to get her out of the way there is another, much harder to remove obstacle standing in your way. One by the name of Princess Arianne Martell of Dorne."

That caught his father by surprise, and it showed on his face. "What does the Martell girl have to do with the bastard boy? And for that matter, what were the Tyrell's and Martell's hoping to accomplish while they were in the North?"

Shaking his head and hiding his smirk, Tyrion almost relished the fact that he was about to completely unwind one of his father's intricate plots to gain more power. "The Princess has everything to do with Jon Stark, considering she shared his and his new spearwife's bed on multiple occasions. And given the rather open nature of sexuality in Dorne, I wouldn't be surprised if we soon learned that young Jon Stark was about to be elevated to Prince Consort of Dorne alongside his 'paramour' Ygritte of the Free Folk."

There was a slight twitch around his father's eyes, but that was all the reaction he gave to the news. "The Stark heir."

"Completely enamored with the foreign girl Talisa Maegyr that came back with Nox from Volantis," Gerion added almost immediately. "She's the daughter of one of the Triarchs of Volantis as well. Should such a union be pursued, and the Starks would be foolish not to, then it would open up trade routes for the North from Braavos to Volantis and possibly even beyond."

Now his father's face went to stone. "The eldest Stark girl."

"Betrothed to Willas Tyrell and set to become the next Lady of House Tyrell once she comes of age," Tyrion answered, more than slightly enjoying seeing his father struggling to hold himself together.

Turning around, his father got up from his seat and walked towards the open balcony that overlooked the Sunset Sea. 'How tempting it is to just walk up and give him the slightest bit of a push,' Tyrion thought maliciously as his father stood in front of the open doors, his hands held behind his back as he stood silently in thought. 'But I am no kinslayer…yet.'

"Kevan," Tywin announced without turning back around. "You will write to King's Landing. Your son Lancel and our nephew Tyrek are both expected to expand their knowledge of the North to the best of their abilities. Tell them to even ask of Robert to talk of the North and the Starks. Gods know the man never shuts up about the wolves. It is time to use this to our advantage."

Kevan merely nodded, not even questioning the order, which was typical. Tyrion did respect his uncle, but the man was practically a bootlicker when it came to the 'great Tywin Lannister'.

"And what are you hoping to achieve now brother?" Gerion asked. "Trying to get your hands on the second Stark daughter, Arya? Well, best of luck with that. Kevan, no offense to you or your son. But that girl would chew your eldest boy up and spit him out if he so much as even looked her way."

"And what of Tyrek then?" Tywin asked, not bothering to turn around and seemingly not surprised by the statement.

"Possible, but he'd best spend as much time as possible in the yard with both Jamie and Ser Barristan," Tyrion remarked, drawing a look from his father. "Arya is a warrior, a woman of the North through and through. The only one who will claim her hand, without risk of being emasculated during their wedding night, is the one who can best her in the yard. And considering what I've seen of her, and the fact that she is being trained by Nox, it is very likely that the girl will go to her deathbed unwedded."

Turning back around towards them, Tyrion could now fully see his father's anger. When he was younger, or even before heading to the North and learning a few truths, Tyrion would've been scared shitless to be on the receiving end of that look from his father. But now Tyrion found he didn't care. Not anymore. "You two were in Winterfell along with the Martells and Tyrells. Yet both Houses managed to steal a Stark from under your nose…and you two did nothing. Are there any more failures that you two wish to tell me about?"

Scoffing, Tyrion pulled out the leather notebook he'd always kept on his person while he was in Winterfell. Tossing the book onto his father's desk, Tyrion leaned back in his seat and folded his hands under his chin. Glancing down towards the leather-bound notebook, Tywin took a few steps towards them and picked it up. "And what is this?" Tywin asked, opening the book and flipping through the pages.

"The keys to the North's success over the past near decade," Tyrion answered, more than slightly savoring the quick look of surprise that got from his father. "I took careful notes on the printing presses that they have in the North. As well as their process for making Northern glass, though they did keep a few ingredients hidden from us. I also examined their construction of their glass gardens and how they go about rotating their crops to avoid depleting the soil of its usefulness. I also have a drawing of their blast furnace and notes on how the process works."

Turning his back on them once again, Tyrion watched in silence as his father flipped through his notebook. "And what of the medicine to treat greyscale and other sicknesses?"

Tyrion wanted to roll his eyes. He'd managed to gather just how the North managed to advance itself to perhaps the premier house in less than a decade, and his father wanted more. Typical. "They kept the process for creating the medicine a closely guarded secret," Tyrion explained. "I was able to look around the Sorcerer's…laboratory I believe he called it. And I noticed that they were boiling rotten food and other foul concoctions. But I have no idea just how that gets one to their miraculous medicine. The students at the Winterfell College were rather tightlipped on the matter as well. No matter how much gold I dangled before their eyes. But even without the medicine, what we managed to obtain will keep us busy for some time as we set everything up. And we also have the added benefit of not having to create these wonderful creations through trial and error, wasting time and money. The Starks have already taken care of that for us. We just need to duplicate what they've already accomplished."

The Lord of the Rock said nothing as he continued to flip through the notebook Tyrion had handed him. Eventually coming to the end of the book, Tywin closed it and set it back down on his desk. "You will write out what is required to build each contraption, Tyrion. Kevan and Gerion will begin assembling the craftsmen to construct them once the materials are brought into the Rock."

"Shouldn't take me more than a few days to get the list compiled," Tyrion responded with a shrug. In truth, he'd already compiled everything that would be needed to create each item he'd copied from the North. But he wasn't about to tell his father that. "After that, I'll be departing for King's Landing."

His father narrowed his eyes at that. "And you will be going because?"

"Because my brother, sister, niece, and nephews are in King's Landing and it has been some years since I saw them last," Tyrion responded. "In fact, I do believe the last time I saw them, Tommen was still just a wee lad sucking at his mother's tit. However, I've also learned a bit more about those smallfolks that Nox took an interest in and brought back North with him. But, to confirm what I've learned, I need to speak to a few people in King's Landing."

His father appeared to think about what he'd said for a moment before giving him a curt nod and then abruptly dismissing the three of them from his presence. 'Plus,' Tyrion thought as he made his way out of his father's room, 'Jamie and I are long overdue to have a conversation about family…and the cost of betrayal.'

Sitting in his study, leaning back in his chair with his feet propped up on his desk, Alim Nox idly rotated a chunk of silvery metal the size of a fist in the air before him. His forefinger on his right hand moving in tandem with the piece, creating its path in the air as he stared in contemplative silence at what he was now fully convinced was raw beskar ore. 'Despite being allies of the Empire, the Mandalorians were quite secretive with their forging techniques. Especially when it came to beskar. Understandable of course. Beskar is the one metal in the known universe that can truly stand up against a lightsaber, the primary weapon of the Sith and the Jedi. They would be foolish to let the knowledge of how to forge it out into the hands of those who could be, and were, their enemies.'

The metal had an extremely high melting point as well as an extremely poor thermal conductivity, which made it so that even if you could reach the required temperature to melt the metal for the purposes of working on it, you would have to act quickly before the heat dispersed. The problem was, on this yet still primitive world, the capabilities of reaching the temperature required to work the metal was out of their reach. Yet despite this, the Valyrians were still able to work it. And he was now positive that the reason why they were able to do so was because of their dragons. As his acolyte Gendry pointed out, dragon's fire could melt even the hardest of stone. The only problem was that dragons were extinct from this world. So, using them to forge the beskar into something useable was out of the question. 'At least for now. But until that changes…an alternate means of forging beskar is needed. An army, or even a squad of well-trained individuals wearing beskar armor and carrying beskar weapons could easily turn the tide of any war. And for the wars that are coming, we need every advantage we can get.'

Sensing one of his acolytes running as fast as his legs could carry him up the tower, Nox kept spinning the metal ore with his right hand while he used his left to open the door to his study. The door hadn't even had the chance to open fully before one of his newest acolytes, Gendry, rushed headlong into the room. The young man was panting as he tried to catch his breath, only just barely managing to stop himself once he entered the room so that he could drop to a knee. "Mi'lord, for – forgive my – my intrusion."

Lowering the metal ore to his desk, Nox waved off the large young man's concerns. "There is no intrusion, Gendry. Though, you should be at your lessons with Samwell, should you not?"

"Aye, milord," Gendry nodded, hastily rising to his feet and working to get his breathing under control. "But d – during the lesson Samwell said somethin and I – I had a thought. And then, then I remembered somethin about me time with me former Master, Master Tobho Mott in King's Landin. And – and I think I know how he was reworkin Valyrian steel."

Now the young man had Nox's full attention. Lowering his feet, Nox turned so that his sightless eyes were towards the bulky lad. Nyra had tasked young Gendry and Master Mikken with trying to uncover the secrets of how to forge beskar. But so far despite nearly two months of work, neither Master nor Apprentice had made any headway into even getting the ore to a point where it could be shaped. "Talk."

Nodding, Gendry took a few cautious steps closer to Nox. "I – Samwell was talkin about history, about the Targaryens and how they lost their dragons and were trying to hatch da eggs they had. He was sayin that it was believed dragons used they're own flames to warm and help hatch the eggs. But with no dragons around, the Targaryens had to use something else. Then he was talkin about some place called Summerhall and how it was believed that the Targaryens burned the place down while they were tryin to hatch the eggs and…and some that survived were said to have seen green fire…green fire that could melt stone. And – And there be only one thing that can make green fire that can melt stone and it be –"

"Wildfire," Nox finished for Gendry, resisting the urge to smash his head against the surface of his desk as he did so.

Honestly, he was completely stumped by the fact that he hadn't thought of it first. The one encounter he'd had with the volatile substance during his brief stay in King's Landing had given him a firsthand perspective as to the true nature of it. The shit certainly could create enough heat to melt stone. And perhaps with a slight adjustment with his own knowledge of Sith Alchemy, he could improve upon the formula. Make it more stable. But the issue was, at the present time, he had no clue how to create it.

"—curious as to how Master Tobho managed to rework Valryian steel because he was always very secretive about it. But I do remember seeing some men in robes delivering a few vials of green water or something when I was still apprenticing for him. And after listenin to Samwell describe wildfire, and how it's green before it's set aflame, I realized that—"

"Gendry," Nox said, cutting the boy off. "You've made your point. And I do believe that you are onto something. But wildfire as it currently stands is highly dangerous, even in small quantities. We will have to take precautions if we're to use it to forge new Valyrian steel."

Grabbing a quill and a blank piece of paper, Nox began jutting down a few notes while Gendry stood before him, nervously shuffling his feet from side to side. "Um…milord? Do you…Do you need me for anythin else?"

"Yes, you can," Nox finished, using the Force to create a small blowing of air to quickly dry the ink he'd just written before handing the note off to Gendry. "Take this down to Master Mikken. You two will have whatever you need to create a smithy outside of the Walls of Winterfell."

"Outside of Winterfell?" Gendry asked, his attention flickering to the note in his hands.

If he could've, Nox would've rolled his eyes at the young man. "Unless you plan on working on a highly volatile compound that is capable of destroying a building even in small quantities within the confines of Winterfell…?"

Recognition flowed through Gendry, as well as a touch of embarrassment. "Of–Of course, milord. Master Mikken and I will get workin on it immediately. But…what are we gonna do about the wildfire? How do we plan on gettin some? From what Samwell has said, and from what I saw in King's Landin, it really isn't a good idea to be cartin the stuff across the land."

"No, it isn't," Nox acknowledged as he began formulating the message that he needed to send out. "But we won't be looking to gather wildfire itself. But rather the ones who can, and have been, producing the substance for years." 'Let's just hope that Robert hasn't gone and killed them all after their failed assassination attempt.'

Standing upon the balcony overlooking the sprawling mass that was King's Landing, King Robert Baratheon, First of His Name, watched wistfully as the people of the city went about their daily lives with seemingly little care besides trying to keep a roof over their family's heads and food in their bellies. How he envied his people for their simple existence. They didn't have to care about trying to appease those beneath them. They didn't have to care about some brats across the Narrow Sea potentially returning to wage war. They didn't have to worry about whether former dragon boot lickers would finally work up the nerve to try and put a dagger in their back. They didn't have to care about the finances of the realm…or the blasted 'game' that all these upstart 'nobles' insisted on playing. No. All they had to do was wake, go out for the day, and make some coin then go home. 'Such a simple existence. One I would've been more than suited for. But no. That life was denied to me since birth. Instead, I am cursed with having to sit through endless meetings, having to listen to ass kissers day in and day out. And constantly worrying about whether the former dragon loyalists have finally grown a spine and decided it was time to eliminate me and end my reign.'

Sighing, Robert turned his attention away from the people of his city, and instead focused on the cup of Arbor Gold that was in his hand. Despite the sun already approaching the horizon, this was still his first cup of the day, and it was still mostly full. Raising the cup, he took a small drink, allowing himself a chance to taste and savor the wine instead of just drinking it down as fast as he could. Another change that the Sorcerer and Ned had brought about in him. And one that he could tell Jon Arryn greatly approved of. The old man always did say that Robert drank far too much and far too quickly.

"Your grace."

Turning his head slightly, Robert saw his squire Lancel…no…Tyrek, the other nephew of Tywin Lannister that he'd been forced to accept as a squire because of the gold he owed the fucking man. "What is it?" he grumbled, unhappy that his brief respite from the weight of the crown was about to come to an end.

"The Lord Hand, Lord Jon Arryn is here to see you, your grace."

Even though Tyrek was another golden-haired shit that he was forced to be around, he found himself not minding the lad, which made him one of three golden haired youngsters he didn't mind spending time with as the other two were his own children, Tommen and Myrcella. Tyrek wasn't a scared little shit like his cousin Lancel and could talk to him without stuttering out every other fucking word. He was even decent with a blade in his hand and wasn't scared to put his full effort in the yard against Robert. And best yet, as of the last few days the lad had started asking him of war stories of the Rebellion. Something that few, if any, did anymore.

Knowing that his respite was over, Robert cast one last longing glance at the simple life below him before nodding, "Show him in. And pour him a glass as well. Then get out."

The lad didn't say a word as he went about letting Jon in and pouring him a glass of wine before making a quick retreat from the room to leave the two alone. "Well, Jon," Robert sighed, making his way towards his father in all but name. "What has gone to shit now?"

Jon's old eyes narrowed at Robert, but he honestly didn't care. He was making the effort to be a King, a real King. But he knew that he would never be the King that Jon wanted him to be. That just wasn't him. "Nothing is wrong, Robert," Jon replied, setting his untouched wine glass aside. "We received a raven from the North this morning. A formal request from both Ned and the Sorcerer."

"The man's name is Nox," Robert scoffed, taking a drink of his wine, and finishing half of it in one go. He had a feeling that the way this meeting was going, he would need both his own wine and another. He loved his Jon, he truly did. But Jon always acted…strange when the topic of the Sorcerer came up. He outright refused to refer to the man by either his name or title that Robert had bestowed upon him. "What do they want of the crown? Whatever it is, send it to them."

Jon frowned, shaking his head. "This request is not so simple, Robert. They are asking for wildfire. Or rather, they are asking for the pyromancers who make it to be sent to Winterfell."

That was not what Robert had been expecting. Gold, manpower, more prisoners or volunteers for the Wall? Any of those and he wouldn't have even batted an eye. But the pyromancers? What in the name of the fucking gods did Ned and Nox need those fuckers for? "Did they say why they wanted them?"

"They didn't say," Jon responded, clearly not pleased with his own answer. "The only thing Ned was willing to divulge in his letter was that having a pyromancer, or several, in the North would aid them in something to combat against the enemies from the Far North."

Robert's blood began to race at the mere mention of the White Walkers. 'An enemy from the Age of Heroes…the greatest foe ever to stand against the world of men! Fuck…I can't wait for the day I take the field against those fuckers! That's the kind of King I can be! One to lead his armies from the vanguard! Not one to sit his ass on a throne day in and day out listening to one ass kisser after another trying to raise themselves to higher and higher positions of power.'

"Fine," Robert said with a wave of his hand, doing what he could to calm his need for a good fight. "I guess it's a good thing you convinced me not to kill all of those fire-fanatics. Send a half a dozen that are still alive North with whatever supplies they need to create their shit. And have Stannis go with them. He might be too fucking proud to admit it, but I know the uptight shit misses his daughter. And this will give us a chance to have one of our own assess the progress of those under Nox's tutelage."

"I do not believe that this would be a wise course of action, Robert."

Blinking, Robert stared at his foster father and closest advisor. "Why not? Stannis is more than adequate to judge the progress made by those training under Nox."

"I'm not referring to Stannis. In fact, I agree that sending Stannis north on a formal inspection by the crown is a good idea," Jon replied. "I'm referring to sending the pyromancers North to serve under Nox. Unsupervised and without knowing just what he is planning on using them for. You've given the Sorcerer much leeway, Robert. But now it appears as if we've given him too much such that he now believes he can make demands of the crown without providing much in the way of reasoning and expect it to be fulfilled. He's becoming too powerful, and we need to reign him in. At the very least, we need to know exactly what he wants the pyromancers for. And we should have a representative of the crown with him at all times from here on out."

"The man has more than earned it, Jon," Robert growled, starting to grow tired of his foster father's recent distrust of Nox. "He has arguably done more for the North, and by extension the rest of the Seven Kingdoms since Aegon the bloody Conqueror united Westeros three hundred years ago."

"I do not question his contributions to the realm, Robert, merely his motivations. Which even to this day are a mystery to all but him." Jon countered. "His influence has grown greatly across the realm and continues to grow with each passing day. What happens when the day comes that he decides that he is no longer satisfied with his current lot in life and sets his sights on the Iron Throne?"

Rolling his eyes, Robert set his now empty wine cup down. "If Nox truly wanted the Iron Throne Jon, he would've claimed it years ago. And we know his motivation, stopping the White Walkers."

This time it was Jon who rolled his eyes at him. "Yes…the White Walkers. Creatures of legend that no one has seen in thousands of years since the Age of Heroes and Bran the Builder. Do you not find it the least bit suspicious that, mere years after Nox arriving in the North, we are suddenly faced with an enemy that only he can truly provide a counter to?"

"I would say that it is by the grace of the gods that he arrived when he did and is willing to help us," Robert shot back before stopping as a thought struck him. "Or perhaps that is the very reason why you don't trust him. The gods. I know you're devoted to the Seven, Jon. Do you perhaps think that your devotion to the Faith is clouding your opinion of the man? And if that's the case, then do you have the same thoughts of Ned's children? Or of my own niece, Shireen?"

Jon hesitated, clearly weighing his words carefully before speaking. "It would be a lie for me to say that I am not wary of the magic Nox possesses. Such power should be in the hands of the gods, or those the gods have chosen. Clearly, Ned's children and those who have been found with the power were blessed by the Seven and the Old Gods. However, Nox is not of any faith of the land. He is not beholden to our beliefs. Our morals. And, while you may not like to hear this Robert, perhaps it would be best for us to begin planning how to start…removing Nox's influence now that those under his tutelage are coming into their own."

Robert merely stared at his foster father, unsure of just how to answer the man's thoughts. But then the answer came to him. Not in words, not truly. It started low in his chest, then moved up and soon he couldn't hold it in as he laughed out loud, nearly doubling over as he did so as he tried desperately to breathe through his laughter. Jon, however, did not appear to share in his amusement.

"This is not a laughing matter, Robert." Jon tried to cut in harshly, which only made Robert laugh harder. "Nox has too much influence. The North, and by extension the Riverlands. With Sansa Stark now being betrothed to Willas Tyrell gives him access to the Reach. The Westerlands through Joy Lannister as his acolyte. And Dorne through his friendship with Prince Oberyn. If it was just his power, his magic, he would be manageable. But now with his connections and influence, he could very well be a threat to yourself, your children, and the realm."

Slowly getting himself under control, Robert sat down heavily in his seat and continued smiling at Jon. "I'm not laughing at the thought of Nox taking the throne, Jon. Gods know he would most assuredly do a damn good job of ruling if he did. I'm laughing at the fact that you think that, if he wants to take the throne, that we can actually stop him from doing so."

Jon really did not care for that answer. "Robert, I don't think you fully understand—"

"No, Jon," Robert countered, leaning forward in his seat and meeting his foster father's eyes head on. "In this instance, it's you who doesn't understand. I know I'm not the King you wanted me to be. Hells, the only reason I'm not a complete shit king is because some of the dragon fucks before me were far, far worse than I could ever be. The inner workings of the court are a fucking mass of tangled strings that I don't want to even look at let alone interact with. But I do know men of skill and warfare, Jon. I remember well what I saw that day when Nox practically took the Pyke singlehandedly. I saw him when he brought the Greyjoys, brutalized and defeated, before me and threw them down to their knees. He was bored, Jon. He'd just stormed a keep that was, and still is, considered one of the most defendable structures in the land. To him, it was little more than a nuisance. A fly to be swatted away. He wasn't taking it seriously. Now, knowing that Jon, what do you think the man would look like if he did start taking things seriously? Actually, we don't even have to speculate on that either. Just look at what he did to Corbray. He ripped the man's soul out of his body and entrapped it in stone before throwing it into the sea. That is the type of man we would be facing should he ever wage war for the throne. So, it isn't a question of whether he would be able to claim the throne should he make a play for it. But rather, it's a question of how much blood would be spilled before he did claim it. And before you get the idea in your head about removing him permanently, don't. We've all seen what that outcome looks like. Doing so now will also turn the Starks fully against us, despite our relationship with Ned. And I'm sure the snakes and those grasping roses wouldn't hesitate to join his side either."

Jon's eyes narrowed even further till they were little more than slits. "You make it sound as if the kingdom has already fallen to him. And you intend to do nothing."

"I intend to do something, Jon," Robert countered, earning a quick look of satisfaction from Jon. Though he knew from the way this conversation had been going that it would be short-lived. "I'm going to offer Nox a seat at my table for both himself and his wife. To take him in as an advisor and appoint him to the Small Council. Instead of pushing him away or minimalizing his accomplishments and denying him his due, I'm going to befriend the man, not chase him away and push him into the arms of our enemies."

Jon was clearly not pleased with his decision. "And when he decides he doesn't have enough and wants more?"

Robert just shrugged and poured himself another glass of wine. "Then I hope that he will only do so when he is in a position to achieve his goal with as little bloodshed as possible. Because in truth, Jon, when it comes to Nox, that is the only thing we can do."

Sitting on her bed within the manse of Magister Illyrio Mopatis, Daenerys Targaryen took her time in composing herself as she readied herself for what she was about to do. It had only been but a few days since her and her brother had arrived in Pentos, and less than half that since they reached the manse of Magister Mopatis, but already the troubles of her past seemed like a lifetime ago as they were quickly replaced with new troubles.

Upon arriving at the magister's manse, Dany and her brother were received with open arms by the Magister, who had sworn his fealty to the one he called the 'One True King' of Westeros. While her brother immediately embraced the man and promised him that he would be rewarded once he reclaimed his throne, Dany was skeptical. If this man truly wished to aid them, why had he waited for so long to offer them shelter? Why now and not back when the Usurper's reign was still young and weak? And his motivations aside, there was something about the Magister that just didn't feel right to Dany. The man had once been a sellsword who'd later made his fortune trading cheese, spices, and slaves. Even though slavery was against the law in Pentos, one need only to look around Illyrio's manner at the silent guards and marked servants to know that the vile practice was a live and well within the city. And for that one fact alone, the man had drawn Dany's suspicion. A suspicion which only grew as the man and her brother were constantly in talks with one another. Talks that would cease the moment she entered the room.

Rising from her bed, Dany tilted her head up slightly and closed her eyes as the light of the morning sun filtered into her room and rested on her face. 'There is no try. No room for failure. I can do this. I will do this.'

Hearing her door creak open, Dany opened her eyes and turned her head just in time to watch the young woman Illyrio had assigned to her as a handmaiden, Dorea, walked in. "Mistress Daenerys," Dorea greeted, dropping her eyes almost immediately and shuffling herself back towards the wall to give her as much room as possible.

"Good morning, Dorea," Dany greeted the woman back, giving her a small smile, one which the woman returned with one of her own.

After being assigned to serve as her handmaiden, Dany had done all she could for the woman. Which unfortunately wasn't much as, even though she was servicing Dany, her 'debt' was still owned by Illyrio. A debt that was acquired after Illyrio had purchased her from a pleasure house in Lys. A fact which was well known throughout the manor and was taken advantage of by more than one visitor, her brother included. Walking up close to the former-pleasure slave, Dany immediately noticed the light marks across her pale skin. Marks on her neck and arms. Marks that would be almost unnoticeable given the way Dorea had arranged her clothes and hair this morning unless you were looking for them. 'Not marks…bruises.'

Stepping closer to Dorea, Dany reached out quickly and pushed her hair aside before she could pull away, her fingers passing gently over the black marks on Dorea's skin. "My brother's appreciation," she stated rather than asked, letting her hand fall to her side.

Dorea blanched and trembled slightly. "It is nothing, Mistress. It is an honor to be able to service one such as your honorable brother."

Even though Dany was still a maiden, she wasn't wholly innocent in the ways of men and women. Not after she'd had to sit outside a brothel as her brother entertained himself with what little coin they had. And especially not after she'd inadvertently seen a bit of Jon's…interaction with a dark-haired woman and a red-haired woman. Just the thought of which was still enough to draw heat to her face and leave her stammering.

"Horse shit," Dany countered, drawing a quick look from the woman. "I know exactly who and what my brother is. Now, tell me truthfully. If you had the choice, would you share his bed again. And know that I will find no anger in your answer."

Dorea was clearly struggling as she tried to avoid answering her. But that in and of itself was all the answer that Dany needed. "Then he shall not touch you again, nor shall anyone else unless you wish it to be so."

A look of hope spread across Dorea's face, only to immediately disappear as the woman shook her head. "Forgive me, mistress. But I know what I am. I thank you for your care, mistress. But you need not concern yourself with me."

"I know who you are as well," Dany countered, making Dorea blink. "You are who you wish to be. Not what others force you to be. And I'm going to prove that to you right now."

Sweeping past Dorea, Dany left the woman hurrying to catch up with her as she made a brisk pace through the halls of the manse. Keeping her head high, Dany ignored the various servants and guards she passed as she made her way towards where she knew Illyrio's solar was located. It was a gamble that he would be there. But given the time of day, it was a fair assumption. And even if he wasn't she was sure that she would be able to locate him quickly enough. Sure enough, as she and Dorea made her way towards Illyrio's chambers, she spotted two of the silent guards standing watch outside. The two guards didn't say a word as she approached, and neither made a move to stop her as she raised her hand and rasped her knuckles against the door.

"Who is it?" she could hear Illyrio's muffled voice come from within.

'There is no try, Dany. Only do. Do not even invite the thought of failure to enter your mind,' she thought to herself as she straightened her shoulders and answered. "Princess Daenerys Targaryen, Magister Illyrio. I wish to have words if you have the time."

Dany could distinctly hear the rustling of parchment and the sounds of something heavy being moved hurriedly coming from within the Magister's solar. "Please come in, Princess!"

Pushing open the door, Dany quickly passed her eyes over the room. Magister Illyrio was standing tall behind his desk, his golden beard seemingly freshly oiled. His desk was a mess of parchment and books that looked to have been just thrown upon its surface without care. 'He's hiding something, but what?' she realized before banishing the thought and giving the man a warm smile. "Thank you for seeing me, Magister Illyrio."

"No trouble at all, Princess," Illyrio responded, smile nearly splitting his face in two as he motioned for her to take a seat. "I am at your disposal, Princess. Please, take a seat and tell me what I can do for you."

Taking the offered seat, Dany purposefully tried to make herself appear nervous and unsure of herself. A trick she'd learned from Jon: appear weak, and people would always underestimate you. "I–I just wanted to thank you Magister, personally, for your generosity. Not many are willing to even speak to my brother and I, let alone give us shelter, for fear of the Usurper's wrath catching up with us."

Illyrio smiled warmly at Dany as he made his way around his desk, taking care not to catch his protruding stomach as he did. "You have no need to fear the Usurper's reach here, your grace. His reach may be far, but he has limits. I swore to you and your brother the day you arrived that I would do my all to see the Targaryens restored to the Iron Throne through any means necessary. And I intend to hold true to that oath, your grace."

"And you have the thanks of House Targaryen for your loyalty, Magister Illyrio," Dany responded almost without thought. There was something…off about the way he'd phrased his promise. But she couldn't figure out just why it sounded so strange. Nor why he felt…different when he'd said it. "There is…another matter I wish to discuss with you, Magister. Though, I don't feel right asking this of you considering all you have done for my brother and I."

"Nonsense, your grace," Illyrio smiled, motioning her to continue. "Whatever you need will be provided to you, your grace. Within reason, of course."

"Of course," Dany nodded, her eyes flickering back towards Dorea just enough so that Illyrio could catch it. "I wanted to thank you for offering Dorea's service to me. She has been a true gift. But I had a thought that…as a Princess, I have need of handmaidens…and I would like Dorea to fill the first of such roles."

As she spoke, Dany crossed her arms and folded them in her lap. An act that might seem normal to some, but for her the act was anything but. As her hands moved, she pushed out with gentle waves of the Force, lightly touching on the mind of Illyrio just as she had done numerous times before this to make sure others did not bother her, or to calm her brother.

The effect on Illyrio was almost immediate as his eyes glossed over briefly before he began nodding enthusiastically. "A sound thought, Princess. A handmaiden is indeed necessary for a Princess like yourself. Woman, consider yourself from this day forward Princess Daenerys Targaryen's handmaiden."

'Now for the last touch.' "Thank you, Magister Illyrio, for your generosity," Dany replied diminutively while subtly moving her hand once more, sending another light touch against the man's mind. "But there is one more thing. I've heard talk of the servants of Pentos acquiring debts to those they serve, and I'm sure that she has such a debt owed to you. I would have her debt given to me, to ensure that her loyalty is not divided. And I would have it be known that she is under my protection, and that any untoward action taken against her will be considered an act against myself."

Illyrio's eyes went vacant once more as he nodded before moving to a set of drawers and opening them, searching through the piles of scrolls within before pulling out a single small scroll and presenting it to her. While the practice of slavery might be outlawed in Pentos by order of Braavos, the Magisters had devised a way to thumb their nose at the law and keep the vile practice under a different name. Forced servitude through debt.

"This is Dorea's debt that she owes," Illyrio explained as Dany unfurled the scroll and looked over the numbers on the page. The totality of the debt was…ridiculous. Even if Dorea was of a highborn noble or a merchant of substantial wealth, she could never hope to pay the debt off. "With that in hand, she is yours and yours alone. And I will send word amongst the staff that any act taken against her will be considered an act against yourself, Princess."

Rising to her feet, Dany rolled the scroll back up and held it tightly in her hands. "You have my thanks, Magister. Your generosity will not be forgotten, I assure you."

Illyrio merely spread his arms and bowed slightly. "I live to serve the return of the dragons to the Iron Throne, Princess."

Nodding, Dany turned on her heel and swiftly walked out of the room with Dorea once again scrambling to keep up with her. Neither spoke a single word until they reached the safety of Dany's room once more and shut themselves in. Using her powers to make sure that there were no unwanted ears, something she'd learn to do frequently after sensing a spy hiding in her walls on her first night, Dany unfurled the scroll and stared down at the contents.

"A single piece of parchment is all it takes to own another," Dany muttered in disgust as she glanced towards a fidgeting Dorea, who was staring at her with a mixture of bewilderment, uncertainty, and a slight touch of fear of the unknown.

Walking over to the small desk in her room, Dany used the flint and striker that she'd been provided to light the wick of a candle. Once the flame had caught and was able to hold on its own, she brought the scroll up to it and set the accursed parchment alight. "I will never own another," she said, glancing towards Dorea, who was staring at her in awe as she watched the parchment burn.

Curiously, despite feeling the warmth of the flame nearing her hand, she felt no pain. Even as the flames grew to within a finger width of her hand, she felt nothing but a warm comfort at having the fire so close to her. Just before the flames could reach her flesh, she set the parchment down on the silver tray on the small desk and watched as the flames devoured it till it was nothing more than ash. "Your life, Dorea, is your own. Should you wish to stay with me, I would have you, and I will shelter and protect you as best I can. Should you desire to find your own way in life, I will respect your decision and will even help you find a way to a new life away from the cruelty of the slave masters and the magisters. But make no mistake, the choice is yours, Dorea."

The woman looked near to tears as she almost immediately went to her knees before Dany. "I will serve you, my lady – Princess Daenerys Targaryen. From this day till my last. I am yours. Not…Not because you bought me or set me free…but because I choose to do so."

Smiling, Dany reached down and took Dorea's hands in her own. "And I promise you, Dorea, that as long as I breathe you will always have a place by my side and that I will ask of you no deed that I am unwilling to do myself." The oath was not one that was common in Essos. She blamed Jon's influence. "And, on that topic, I fear that I already must ask something of you."

"Name it, Princess."

Looking around her room, Dany lowered her voice as she spoke her request. Not that she was overly concerned with spies, but she'd learned over her life that caution often saved one's life. "I need to leave the manse and make my way through the city… Preferably without any eyes following that would tell my brother or the Magister where I am going."

Dorea's eyes widened, and a slight grin came upon her face. "I can do that, Princess."

Later that evening, with Dany wearing a shawl over her head and across her face to hide her features, the two made their way out of the manse through one of the servant doors and into the city of Pentos. A not so small part of her wondered about just how wise her current course of action was, especially as she noted the looks her and Dorea were garnering from some of the men, and even women, as they traversed the streets of Pentos. But this was something that she needed to do. Plus, she trusted that Jon would not have led her purposefully astray.

It wasn't overly difficult to find the manse that Jon had suggested she visit when she'd told him that her and her brother were heading to Pentos. Though when he told her just who called the manse home…well, it did take a bit for Jon to even convince her to visit. But he'd promised that it would be worth her while, and that she would learn more during her visits to the manse than she could during their brief encounters in the strange world they called their own in the land of dreams.

Finding the manse on the outskirts of Pentos, a manse that was easily equal in size to Illyrio's, Dany hesitated for only a moment before approaching what she recognized as a pair of Unsullied guards standing watch next to the main entryway. Lowering her shawl enough to show her face, Dany addressed the two guards, hoping that they both understood the Westerosi tongue. "I am Daenerys of House Targaryen. And I believe that I am expected by the magister of this manse."

The two guards said nothing to one another, just a mere passing glance towards the other before one turned and walked through the open gate. Once through, the man paused only long enough to motion for her to follow before turning his head and continuing into the yard of the manse. Seeing no other option and not about to leave as she wanted to learn just why Jon had told her to come to this place, Dany masked her emotions and held her head high with her face exposed and followed the silent guard into the manse. Not a word was spoken as the guard led her around to the back field behind the manse where she noticed a small pavilion had been erected in the middle of a garden. The garden itself was beautiful, full of bushes and flowers. But it was the small tree in the center of the field that truly drew her attention. A tree with red leaves and a white trunk. A tree that she recognized. And one that she knew was certainly not native to Essos.

The guard stopped and motioned towards the rotunda in the middle of the garden. Looking at the structure, she could clearly see two individuals sitting in the shade provided. But as she walked past the guard, one of the individuals, a woman if she had to guess based on her curves, quickly vacated her seat and left the garden in such a hurry that Dany couldn't make out anything about the woman besides the fact that she was a woman.

Putting the occurrence out of her mind, Dany kept her head up as she approached the rotunda and the man, who was now on his feet, that was within. Approaching, Dany quickly looked the man over. He was clearly not of Pentos, nor even Essos as she'd been around the land enough to tell. Which meant only one thing. This man was a man of Westeros. His dark hair was pulled back into a simple knot behind his head and his skin was pale. But it was his eyes that were the true telling of his heritage. Eyes that were beyond pale, almost white in coloring. Eyes unlike any she had ever seen. And from what she knew during her brief conversations with Jon regarding the recent going's on in Westeros, she knew exactly who this man before her was. "Lord Domeric Bolton."

The man gave her a smile, which amazingly actually lightened his face ever so slightly. "I am no longer a 'Lord', Princess. My father's ambition, cruelty, and stupidity saw to that."

Dany could sympathize with the man, at least now that she knew the truth of her family. Or rather her father. "Something that we both share, Domeric Bolton. And as such, you may refer to me as Daenerys while we are alone."

The man gave her a slight bow, "As you wish. Would you care for a cup of tea while we talk, Daenerys? I never really cared for the drink while I was in Westeros. But now I've come to realize that what passes for tea in Westeros is little more than horse piss. Whereas this tea comes straight from Yi Ti. One of the few indulgences I allow for myself."

Dany's mouth watered at the thought of the tea. She hadn't had a good cup since her and her brother's brief stay in Norvos. And tea from Yi Ti was by far the best there was! "A cup would be much appreciated, Domeric," she said, taking the invitation and walking into the pavilion with Dorea right behind her.

To Dany's surprise, instead of insisting that her handmaiden move away, Domeric insisted that she take a seat at the table with them and even poured Dorea her own cup. "I must say, Daenerys," Domeric said after he'd finished pouring a cup for the two women. "That sitting down and having a cup of tea and a conversation with a Targaryen was certainly not one of the things I expected to have happen in my life. But then again, I never expected to have been exiled from my homeland either."

Blowing on the hot liquid, Dany slowly sipped at the brew, savoring the taste on her tongue as she did. Gods only knew when she would be able to drink tea of this quality again. "Exile or no, you seem to have done quite well for yourself here in Pentos."

Domeric nodded. "Aye, I have, Daenerys. But that is mostly because Northerners prefer to do business with one of their own, even an exile like myself. And I've been able to take advantage of that fact. But I doubt that you have come here today with the intent of discussing my business. Though I must admit to my surprise at you being here. I was sure that it would take you several more days before you made your way to me."

Dany eyed Domeric wearily over the rim of her cup, while beside her she could see Dorea shifting herself uneasily. "And why are you so certain that I would come to you eventually?"

Domeric just smiled. "More than likely through similar means as how you ended up coming to me. Though I do wonder if our interaction was originated by the same source."

'Is it possible that Jon told him I was coming? No. There would be no time to send word…and Jon told me that the connection that we have between us would not work beyond the two of us. So how did Domeric know that I would be coming to him eventually?' "I see," she said simply, setting her cup down. "Then let us be candid with one another. I was led to believe that you can help me with my own studies in matters of the Force, can you or can you not?"

She could feel Dorea's questioning gaze on her, but Dany would explain everything to her later. After she was done with whatever it was she was here for. Domeric didn't bat an eye as he stared at her. His gaze was…unnerving. "You know quite a bit more than I thought you would Daenerys. Unfortunately, I cannot help you with your studies in the Force as I have little to no affinity for the art. However, I can help you by placing you in direct contact with one who can. And I can do so in such a manner that you won't even need to leave my manse. There are two stipulations though. The first being that the means to make this contact must remain a secret, even from your brother and Magister Illyrio. And the second is that the means must remain here with me, as they are vital for my role here in Essos."

The demands were not unreasonable. To be honest, if it meant learning more about her powers beyond what Jon had taught her so far, well she would've agreed to far more demands than just those two. But just as she was about to give her consent, something he'd said caught her attention. "And pray tell, what is your role here in Essos Domeric?"

Domeric's face gave away nothing as he sipped his tea dry. "I fear we do not know each other that well, Princess."

Dany conceded the point. "Very well then, Domeric. Your secrets are your own. I will agree to your requests if it means you can provide me with the means to continue my learnings."

"Then we are agreed," Domeric nodded, setting down his cup and getting to his feet. "If you will please follow me, Daenerys. Your handmaiden can come along as well. But for secrecy's sake, and for her own safety, she will need to wait outside the room you will be training in."

Nodding, Dany set her own cup down and gathered herself to follow after Domeric with Dorea following a step behind her and one step to the left. As they walked into the manse proper, Dany couldn't help but notice a few more of the Unsullied guards, and more than a few marked servants. 'Slaves,' Dany nearly spat, though she didn't want to raise the matter with Domeric seeing as how, at least now, he had something that she needed. 'And here I was thinking that those of Westeros truly opposed if not outright despised the practice.'

"I can feel your eyes and your distaste, Daenerys, regarding those who I have taken under my care," Domeric said, surprising her as she'd thought she kept her feelings masked well enough to avoid suspicion. "I assure you, Daenerys, my hatred for the vile slave trade is as true as any man of the North. There is not a single slave in this manse, nor is there any that is beholden to any debt. Every man and woman here receive their fair share for the work they do. And they are all here of their own volition."

"I see," Dany responded, feeling the slightest bit of shame at having to jump to such a conclusion so quickly, "I apologize for my improper thoughts regarding your honor then, Domeric."

"No need, Daenerys," Domeric replied as he led them into what looked like a small library. "Given my family history, I am used to being looked upon with suspicion and scorn. But that is a tale for another time. For now, here we are."

Walking over to one of the shelves, Domeric removed two large books before touching something on the shelf that was being hidden behind the books. Hearing something click, Dany watched in mild amazement as Domeric replaced the books before pulling on the shelf, which easily swung open as if it were a door and not a shelf. "Your companion will have to stay here for now," Domeric said, grabbing a candle and lighting the wick.

Looking back at Dorea, Dany gave her a nod for the former bed slave to stay put before following Domeric into the darkened hidden corridor. Once she was inside, Domeric pulled the shelf closed behind her, leaving the two alone in a dark stairwell with nothing more than a candle to light their path. Holding the candle, Domeric led her down a short flight of stairs and into what looked like a large room, though it was difficult to tell as there was no light beyond the candle. Setting the candle aside, Domeric began pulling on something on the wall nearest to them. To her further amazement, a panel in the ceiling opened, revealing the sunlight. But that wasn't all. The light reflected itself off what looked like a mirror, and in doing so brightened the entire room to the point where she could see everything within. The room was…surprisingly sparse. There was only one thing in the entire room. An altar of sorts in the very center of the room with…some sort of…candle made from glass.

"This here is a relic of Old Valyria," Domeric stated, walking towards the candle, and motioning for her to join them. "And it is how I knew to expect your coming."

Feeling excited at being able to interact with something from the Dragon Lords of old, Dany slowly approached the candle. And with each step she took, she could feel an almost…pull to the candle. Like it wanted her to come closer to it. "What does it do?" she asked once she was within arm's reach of it.

"Honestly, I cannot say for sure," he answered, "I can tell you some of what it does…but I do not know if what it is currently being used for was its original purpose, or if someone more skilled than even the Valyrians altered it before giving it to me to use."

"And how does one use this…candle?" she asked, her excitement building.

"Well, I've never been able to get it to work myself as I unfortunately do not have the gift required to use it fully," Domeric stated. "But from what I've been told, you need to…reach out and touch it with the Force. I'm sure you know what that means and how to do exactly that."

Nodding her understanding, Dany closed her eyes and centered herself, pulling on the well of power she felt within her as she raised her hand and pushed her power out through her hand and into the glass candle. Almost immediately, she felt something from within the glass latch onto her power and pull, as if she were a fisherman and her power was the line in the water. As quick as the sensation came, it went, leaving Dany confused as to what had just happened to her. That was until she heard a voice coming from beside her. "Well done, Daenerys Targaryen. Apparently, my Apprentice does have a skill when it comes to teaching others."

Jumping in fright, Dany immediately threw her hands out, ready to use her powers however she could to defend herself against whoever it was that managed to find their way into the room with her and Domeric. But her powers failed her as her eyes fell upon the intruder. He was…gods…attractive. A strong face with silvery hair, yet not due to age. But it was more than just his looks that made her falter. She knew this man. Knew him well, or at least as well as anyone else in Essos who'd heard of him. For there was only one man of note that wore a black cloth across his eyes. Yet strangely…he didn't seem to be…well…here. In the room with them. His body was…well, she could see through his person. As if he were here, yet not here at the same time. Fighting back her fright and surprise, Dany swallowed hard before greeting the man of legend, "Sorcerer Nox."

The man turned towards her, and Dany felt her back go stiff. Gods…just being in his presence, even if he wasn't here was…taxing. "Daenerys Targaryen," the Sorcerer replied in greeting before turning his head towards Domeric as if he could see him clearly through the cloth covering his eyes. "My thanks for bringing her here, Domeric. You may go for now. And have no fear, your honor and guest rites will not be violated."

"I appreciate the confirmation, Lord Nox," Domeric said, bowing to the Sorcerer before doing the same to her. "Daenerys, I will be just outside in my library should you have need of me. And I will see to it that your companion has been made comfortable."

Watching Domeric leave the two of them alone, Dany fought with everything she had to remain calm. "There is no reason to fear me, Daenerys Targaryen," the Sorcerer stated, surprising her. "My Apprentice has spoken quite highly of you, and your abilities with the Force. And I must admit that I have been eagerly awaiting the chance for us to talk like this."

"And just how are we 'talking', Sorcerer Nox?" Dany asked, managing to regain some measure of control over herself.

Smiling, the Sorcerer turned and motioned towards the glass candle in the center of the room. "Your ancestors' manipulation of the Force was truly remarkable. But even as remarkable as they were, there was still much they did not know, or understand. Even around their own creations. These glass candles of theirs, marvelous pieces of Force artifacts that they are, were incomplete. And I've been working on completing them ever since I managed to recover a number from the Valyrian Freehold some time ago."

"I…see." She really didn't, but it was the only thing she could think of to say at the time. "Jon…encouraged me to seek out Domeric. I assume for this purpose…so that we can…talk? On your request, I assume."

Nox nodded, "you are correct in that assumption. However, I didn't just arrange for us to meet so that we might 'talk', as you say."

"Then why have you arranged this meeting between us?" Dany asked. "I doubt it is to swear your loyalty to my brother and I so that we might retake the Iron Throne from Robert."

"Indeed," the Sorcerer nodded, not even bothering to hide the fact that he had no intention of helping Dany or her brother return to their family's ancestral place in Westeros. "But in truth, is that what you want? Or is it merely what your brother wants?"

Jon had asked her the same question before, multiple times. And in truth, part of her did want to go back to Westeros, to her home and reclaim that which once belonged to her family. But another part of her realized now that such thoughts were naught but a dream. No. Going back to Westeros was her brother's dream. Not hers. Not anymore. "It was…once. But not anymore," she answered truthfully. "Now I want to forge my own path in life. And I want your help to do so. Yours and Jon's."

Nox gave her an appraising look, or at least that was what it felt like as it was difficult to tell given his eyes were covered. "And what makes you think that I will help you?"

This time, it was Dany's turn to grin. "If you had no intention of helping me, Sorcerer, you would not have gone through all this trouble to make contact with me."

"Well spotted, Daenerys," the Sorcerer praised, conceding the point. "I can give you what you want, Daenerys Targaryen. I can make you strong enough to forge your own path in the world. However, you are going to have to go through the hells themselves to get there. And even once you pass through the fires and achieve what you want, your battle will not be over. Claiming what you want is but one battle. Keeping it is a constant war. Are you ready for that?"

Back straight, Dany nodded. "I am."

The Sorcerer smiled, "Good. Then let us begin, Daenerys Targaryen."

Leaning back in his seat with a mug of fine wine in his hand, Tyrion Lannister waited patiently for his brother to arrive in one of the quieter rooms of Chataya's, perhaps his favorite establishment in all of King's Landing. But despite what many would think, he was not here to indulge in his favorite past time, well one of them at least. No. He'd chosen to meet his brother here because he knew that this was perhaps one of the only places in all of King's Landing where the two could openly meet without fearing being spied upon. And what he needed to say to his brother…it certainly did not need to go beyond the two of them. Gods only knew what his father, or 'beloved' sister for that matter, would do should they learn what he'd learned. He honestly didn't care what could happen to himself, but he would be damned if he let either of them ever get within arm's reach of his daughter.

"Your guest has arrived, little lord. Will you two be requiring company? Or just drink?"

Blinking, Tyrion cursed himself as he hadn't even realized that the proprietor of the fine establishment had walked into the room with him. "Just drink for now, Chataya, and a lot of it," Tyrion said, making a motion with his empty cup. "This cup seems to have quite the sizeable hole in it and needs to be constantly refilled. Though have two of your best at the ready. While I doubt my guest will indulge himself, I have a feeling I will be needing their company right after he leaves."

"Of course, little lord," Chataya grinned as she eyed him up and down. "Though from what my girls have told me, such a name is unbefitting for one such as yourself as you are anything but 'little' where it matters."

No sooner had Chataya left than the door to his temporary sanctum opened, revealing his brother in all of his golden-armored glory, his white cloak almost glowing behind him and his hand resting comfortably atop the Valyrian steel sword strapped to his waist.

"Well, brother," Jamie said, his usual easy smile on his face as he looked about the room Tyrion was in. "I must say that this is a first. Me coming to find you in a brothel, only to find you not enjoying yourself with their services."

Seeing his brother was…odd to say the least. For so long, his only source of family comfort he could find was in the presence of his brother, especially after his uncle Gerion disappeared. His brother protected him when no one else did. He understood him. Made him feel safe, protected. But now, now he didn't feel that comfort or protection. Now he just felt anger. And betrayal.

"It seems to be an era of us experiencing firsts, dear brother. Though not all of them pleasant." Gods help him, he had gone through this conversation a hundred times since leaving the North, planned out exactly what he wanted to say and how he wanted to say it. But now that the time had come, he found himself at a complete loss for what to say. "First time magic has returned to Westeros in hundreds of years. First time it has truly been accepted. First time a non-Targaryen has sat on the Iron Throne…and a first time my brother has betrayed me in the worst way imaginable."

Jamie's joyful expression vanished almost immediately as he set his cup of wine down. "Tyrion…Had I thought of any other way to protect the girl by sending her to you, I would—"

Tyrion couldn't help the scoff that escaped him. "You think not telling me about my daughter and sending her to the North is the betrayal I speak of, brother? No. Gods no, that is not it at all. In fact, I would dare say that sending Anna to the North and under the protection of the wolves was probably the smartest thing you've done in a long time, Jamie. No. The betrayal I speak of does not concern my daughter, but rather my wife…My late wife."

Jamie sat down heavily as a worn look came over his face. "Tyrion…I…"

"You betrayed me, twice," Tyrion scowled, glaring at his brother with hatred, a truly strange sensation as he had never once held even the slightest touch of anger or hatred towards his brother, his protector. "The first when you stood aside and let father carry out his plot to get rid of my wife. And second, when you stayed silent on the matter and let me believe the lie he spun. Even cooperated with it. You let me standby and watch as my wife, not some whore, was raped again and again. And then when it was all over, you let me believe the lie and did nothing as she was sent away with the silver spent on her that night. Silver she never spent…did she?"

Jamie seemed to shrink into himself more and more with each word Tyrion said. But as painful as it was to see his brother in such a state, Tyrion did not relent. He would not give in. Not yet. Perhaps not ever. Not over this. "Did she…Did the girl tell you about that?"

"Yes, she did," Tyrion replied, his teeth grinding. "And her name is Anna. Anna Lannister, brother, not 'girl'. Though, thanks to our father's obsession with his legacy and your betrayal, it is a name she may never be able to hold."

Jamie's head hung low. "Where does this leave us, brother?"

Setting his now empty cup aside, Tyrion sighed. "I don't know, brother. I truly don't know."

Standing in the courtyard of Winterfell, Stannis Baratheon, Master of Ships and brother to his grace King Robert Baratheon First of His Name, watched in rapt attention as his daughter, his only child, take on men twice her age in the training yard. Not a single man, but two men that were both twice her age and size. And she was handling them both with apparent ease…with her eyes covered. Granted, he could see that both men were not going nearly as hard as they could. But the fact that his daughter was able to dodge, parry, and block every strike they sent against her was nothing short of amazing. If only she had been born a boy, she would've been a perfect heir.

Taking his eyes off his daughter, his gaze passed over the others in the yard that called themselves 'acolytes'. The two eldest Stark boys, the heir and the former bastard, were sparring against one another. Their weighted tourney blades moving so quickly that even an experienced soldier like himself was having difficulty tracking their movements. But as fast as they were, they were still not the fastest. That honor belonged to the youngest Stark girl, who was currently using a staff as tall as she to fight against three full grown men. None of whom were holding back as far as he could see, yet they were still losing against the little girl. Badly. He knew that there were many women in the land who longed to become knights. His brother Renly often spoke of one such, Brienne of Tarth, who was said could best even the best of men. But, honestly, he never truly believed that a woman could ever match a man on the field…until now, at least. Watching the young Stark girl get the better of so many men, at her age…the gods only knew what she could become when she reached full womanhood. And he found himself pitying Lord Stark in having to find a suitable husband for the girl.

The remaining acolytes: the eldest Stark girl, the youngest Stark boy and the Lannister girl were all off to the side of the yard, sitting in a circle facing one another with their eyes closed. Meditation, his daughter had called it. A way to calm one's mind and connect with this…Force that apparently empowered them all and allowed this lot to use their abilities. Abilities that defied all laws of nature. Of all those gathered however, there were two notable absences. The Sorcerer himself. And the last remaining acolyte, a lad named Gendry who'd he yet to meet in person.

The two, along with the Winterfell blacksmith, had disappeared the moment he'd arrived with the two pyromancers in tow. The sorcerer barely even gave him a proper Lord's greeting before turning his back on him and disappearing without even a word about why he had need of the pyromancers in the first place. And now three days later, he was still in the dark about why he'd been sent north to deliver the men. He'd questioned Lord Stark, but the Warden of the North had been silent on the matter. Saying that he would not give voice to what they were trying to accomplish until they had succeeded. An infuriating lack of respect for the brother of the King…but he was unfortunately in no place to press the issue as he was but a guest in Winterfell. He'd even gone through the trouble of personally delivering a load of brimstone to the man, but apparently whatever he'd planned to do with the pyromancers was far more interesting as he gave orders for the stone to be brought to his tower before dismissing it completely.

"Lord Stannis." Turning his head, Stannis watched silently as he was joined by Lord Eddard near the edge of the training grounds.

"Lord Eddard," he replied as his host drew level with him before turning his attention back to his daughter, who had just used her strange magic to send one of the men tumbling onto his back a good ten or more paces away from her person.

"It took me some time to get used to seeing my daughters in the yard as well," Lord Eddard remarked, somehow guessing upon Stannis's unease. "But then, I thought of the times when my sons first started in the yard, and how I never batted an eye at watching them being knocked and bruised as they learned one end of the sword from the other. And I thought on why watching my sons in the yard seemed natural, while watching my daughters put me ill at ease."

"It is…unnatural," Stannis replied. "The women tend the household, and the men defend it. It is the way it has always been."

"Here, perhaps. But such is not the norm across all lands," Lord Eddard countered. "Nox is, without a doubt, the most well-traveled man I have ever met. He has seen and interacted with more cultures than you could possibly imagine. He's told us tales of more than a few cultures where the roles are reversed. Where men are expected to stay at home while the women guard the household. It was a…hard concept to wrap my mind around. But I have resolved myself to the thought that just because we have done something a certain way, does not mean that we must keep doing it. And these uncertain times…our ability to adapt, to change, will be our saving grace."

"Perhaps," Stannis conceded, not wanting to admit aloud that Stark had a point, especially as he had to fight to stand still as he watched his daughter get knocked to the ground with a sound hit to her stomach. "It is still unnatural."

Any further conversation between the two was put on hold as a loud commotion sounded from behind them. Turning, Stannis narrowed his eyes as he noticed the source. The Sorcerer had returned, and he wasn't alone. At his side was a young man, a young man that made Stannis want to shake his head to make sure he wasn't seeing an illusion. The young man looked almost exactly like his brother Renly, though he had Robert's build. 'This boy…He has the Baratheon look. More so than any of my brothers' children. A bastard? And seeing as how I know Renly nor I frequent such establishments…it is obvious as to which among us sired the bastard.'

"Nox, Gendry. Were you two successful?" Lord Eddard greeted the two as they approached. And while the man hid it well, Stannis could note just the slightest touch of eagerness in the man's voice and in the way he was looking at the two.

Stannis could practically feel the smugness coming off the sorcerer. "Indeed, we were, Ned," the sorcerer said, making Stannis want to grind his teeth in frustration at the man's lack of respect for his Lord. "Now that I've had a chance to watch how those fools were making the wildfire, I can duplicate the process using my own means through Sith Alchemy, and I daresay that the results will be a far more stable product. And as for what we needed the wildfire for, well, I'll let my acolyte here show you the fruits of his labors."

The young man, who could only be his brother's bastard, stepped forward with his head held slightly down to not meet their eyes. "Milords," the lad said awkwardly, holding out a sheathed blade perhaps a hand and a half in length.

Stark immediately took the offered blade and pulled it free, revealing a red rippled steel beneath. Valyrian steel. Although this blade was unlike the other Valyrian steel swords that were now held by the Kingsguard, curtesy of the sorcerer as part of his tribute to the crown. Unlike those blades that were smoky in color with the occasional red tints at times, this one was almost pure shinning steel with dark rippled patterns that was so…perfect that he was sure one would be able to see their reflection clearly should they stare at the blade.

"You've found a way to rework Valyrian steel?" Stannis surmised, knowing that the North now had a fair amount of the steel to experiment with.

"Not exactly," Nox smirked, clapping Gendry on the shoulder. "Thanks in no small part to this young lad here, and more than a touch of Sith Alchemy, that is the first newly forged Valyrian steel blade since the fall of the Valyrian Empire over four hundred years ago."

Stannis's calm demeanor fled as his jaw dropped. Valyrian steel was the most sought-after steel in all of Westeros and Essos. It'd been so during even the height of the Valyrian Empire, and even more so after its fall. Even the greatest of minds in Westeros had been unable to figure out how the steel had been forged. And now, now the sorcerer had once again made the impossible possible. 'Though not alone,' he thought as a crowd began to form around them as everyone marveled at the new Valyrian steel in Stark's hand, 'The sorcerer said that Robert's bastard played a part in its creation…When I return to King's Landing, I will have to do all in my power to see that lad is brought back under the banner of House Baratheon, where he belongs.'

Sitting next to Jon in one of the many halls within the great fortress of Winterfell, Ygritte resisted the urge to tap her foot impatiently as she waited with the man who'd stolen her for their time to speak with Lord wolf of Winterfell. It wasn't that she was nervous, well, not entirely. It was just that the Lord Wolf had suddenly called for both herself and Jon to come and speak with him without any explanation. And for the life of her, she couldn't think of any reason why the man would call for them. At least now that is.

The first time the two had been called to speak with the Lord Wolf had been after Arianne and all the other southerners had left Winterfell. And while Ygritte was not one to ever be embarrassed or ashamed of her actions, especially those beneath the furs, the lecture, or rather the lack of lecture, had managed to unnerve her. The man didn't raise his voice nor hand against either herself or Jon. He'd just called them both to his room and had them stand there in silence as he went about his work. It'd been infuriating. Just standing there watching the man work while standing next to a clearly uneasy Jon. Eventually she'd snapped and asked why they'd been called before him. To which he simply asked her why she thought he'd called them. And now looking back, she could easily see the trap. A trap that she'd run headlong into. She scoffed and responded that they were called to him because they'd both fucked Arianne, multiple times. She'd been fully expecting some southern lording lecture about maintaining one's virtue or some such nonsense. But what she had not been expecting was for the Lord Wolf to instead lecture them on responsibilities and expectations that were now upon them as they were engaging in such activities. It was…not a talk she ever wanted to repeat. Especially not with the Lord Wolf of all people! And by the redness of Jon's face, it was clearly not a conversation that he wanted to have again anytime soon either.

The second time she'd been called before not only the Lord Wolf, but the Sorcerer and Val as well was no more than a week past. Honestly, she'd been adjusting well to her new life south of the Wall. Though she did, at times, find it just so…easy. Almost too easy. There wasn't a daily struggle to find food or warmth or even shelter. And she was beginning to understand why so many kneelers truly chose to live as they did. But with that ease came something else: boredom. There just wasn't much to challenge her. Within her first moon at Winterfell, she gained a reputation as the best hunter in the keep, as well as the best with a bow. A skill that even the Sorcerer acknowledged her for and even helped her to cultivate further. And her time with Jon…well given that everyone already knew about the two of them she saw no reason for them to remain separated, so she simply moved her few belongings into his room within the Sorcerer's Tower. He'd protested at first, saying that it wasn't proper or some shite. But a single night, and day and following night, beneath his furs and he was brought around to her way of thinking on the matter.

But within a moon, she was bored. Time with Jon was beyond pleasurable, and she was not about to leave him. And showing up the fancy kneelers in the yard with her bow was always good for a laugh. But there just wasn't anything to challenge her. She'd even given up and decided to attend…lessons with Jon and his siblings and the others. But by the gods…they were beyond boring and yet challenging at the same time! Boring because there was nothing but thinking to do, and challenging cause, well…she didn't know how to read or of the things even the youngest wolf pup was able to do. She'd nearly given up after the first lesson, but she didn't. She wouldn't let some children kneelers think they were better than her. So, despite being utterly bored most of the time and having far more troubles than the others, Ygritte did her best to sit through at least every other lesson Jon and the others sat through.

Which of course was how she ended up getting in such deep shite. It'd been while Jon and the others were at a lesson she'd decided not to go to that she found herself in the Sorcerer's library. With nothing better to do, she wandered the shelves, trying to make sense of the strange books and crystals the man had lining the shelves. But when she came upon a set of chairs surrounding a small table, she stopped her wandering. Sitting on the center of the small table was the strange ring-and-chain thing that Jon and Arianne were constantly talking about. Apparently, the two had managed to create another one, the one which Arianne always wore. And apparently it was what helped her to control her magic. Her curiosity getting the better of her, Ygritte picked up the ring-and-chain piece and slid it over her arm, securing it to her wrist and slipping the ring on her hand. The moment she did, she immediately felt something…strange. Like there was something within her, a beast that'd been awoken and wanted to be let out. And in a moment of stupidity, which even she would admit to, she concentrated on the strange feeling while waving her hand towards one of the candles in the room. And that was when everything went to the hells. The flame of the candle burst into a wildfire and immediately caught some of the shelves on fire!

She couldn't really remember too well what happened after that. She remembered screaming, or maybe it was someone else. But the next she knew, the Sorcerer, Jon, and all the others were running into the room trying to put out the flames while saving everything they could from being destroyed. Once the flames had died down, she'd been taken to task…hard. Lord Stark had yelled at her, his eyes those of a wolf the entire time. Val had quietly condemned her stupidity for using something she knew nothing about. And the Sorcerer…he'd made her life a living hell for days. It would've been one thing if he'd pushed her in the yard to the point where she fell from exhaustion. She could live with that. But, no, the man had found a new hell to put her through. She'd been forced to sit in the gods damned library with no reprieve save to relieve herself or to sleep. And while she was there, she was expected to…write from the books that'd been damaged by the fire. Copying the books, the Sorcerer had said, so that they would still be useable. They'd had the dark-skinned girl that the eldest wolf pup fancied watch over her. By the gods, the woman was unbearable! If she didn't like a single character Ygritte wrote out, she would make her redo the whole damn book! Even if she'd been working all day on it! And now that her…punishment was finally at an end, she'd been called to the Lord Wolf's chambers once again. Only this time she at least had Jon at her side.

"So…why is yer father callin on us?" Ygritte asked, growing more than slightly irritable at having to wait for, well whatever it was they were called for in the first place. "We ain't been caught fuckin by nobody yet. And I haven't burned down no other books or other shite since last time."

Jon colored slightly at her mentioning of their time together, which lifted her mood somewhat. She might be his, but it was still fun to tease him. Especially cause it was so easy to do. "I don't know," Jon answered. "But we're about to find out."

Hearing the door behind them open, Ygritte held her head high and marched into the room with Jon at her side. But her confidence faltered as she found not only Lord Stark on the other side, but also the Sorcerer, his woman, and Val as well. And if that wasn't bad enough, her eyes immediately caught sight of the blasted talisman that'd set the library on fire sitting before the lord wolf. Swallowing, Ygritte immediately jumped to her own defense, "Whatever shite went wrong this time, it wasn't me. I was sittin me arse with Talisa copyin those burnt books from me last fuck up."

"This is not about the incident in the library, Ygritte," the lord wolf said, raising his hand. "However, this does concern the talisman that you wore that day. And more specifically, your apparent connection to it."

Frowning, Ygritte watched in silence as the sorcerer picked up the armlet and held it towards her. "Put it on. But think of nothing when you do."

With only a slight tremble to her hand, Ygritte took the armlet from the sorcerer and slowly put it on her arm, making sure to think of nothing as she did so other than putting the thing on. But then the fucking sorcerer pulled out a lit candle and set it before her! 'Shite! What the fuck is the fucker thinkin?'

Stepping back, the Sorcerer turned his eye-covered face towards her. "This time do not let your fear get the better of you. Focus on the flame before you. And command the flame to rise just a hand's width into the air. Do not doubt. Do not question. Command the flame."

Swallowing, Ygritte felt the same beast within her rage to life, demanding to be let out. 'Shut the fuck up!' she screamed at the beast, which amazingly seemed to work as whatever the fuck it was within her immediately quieted. Holding her hand out towards the flame, she tried to copy what she'd seen the others the sorcerer taught do during their exercises with their magic. But the flame didn't rise. It just sat there on the candle, mocking her by staying put. 'Come on, you fuckin little cunt flame! Fuckin mo – ah shite!'

The flame didn't rise, it jumped into the air just like before in the library. Only this time she was ready…or at least more ready than the last time. 'Stop!' she screamed in her mind. And the flame…stopped. "What in da hells…" she murmured, staring in awe at the flame dancin in the air with no wood nor cloth to keep it alive. Moving her hand, Ygritte smiled as she watched the flame follow her hand. 'Ha! I got fuckin magic too, Princess!'

"Impressive," the sorcerer called out, making her jump slightly as she'd completely forgotten where she was while she was playing with the fire. "Lead the fire into the hearth and let it die against the stones within."

Ygritte honestly wasn't sure just how she was doing this, but she wasn't about to complain as she moved the small flame towards the hearth and let the flames die against the stone. "So…Does this mean I got da magic in me and not just Jon's cock dis time? Or did his cock give me me magic?"

The four standing across from her and Jon didn't seem to find her words nearly as amusing as she did, nor as embarrassing as Jon did. "Between you and Prince Oberyn, I'm not entirely sure which one of you has the more one-track mind," the sorcerer said, confusing Ygritte slightly as she didn't catch onto his meaning. Though that wasn't unusual. The man was always saying things that she didn't understand. "But now that we've seen just how natural you are at using the talisman, we need to discuss the best means for your training."

Ygritte didn't see what there was to discuss. "Just let me practice with the fuckin thing, just like with me bow. And if I have…problems, I can just ask ye or Jon here."

"If only it were so simple," the sorcerer stated. "Training with such powers in an uncontrolled environment without one who knows the specifics of your skill could be…catastrophic. And I doubt Ned here would appreciate you burning down half of Winterfell by accident. Despite Jon and the others being able to use the talisman, they can only use it to a slight degree and only with great concentration and effort. But you? You do it naturally, as if it were as easy as breathing. Which is a blessing and a curse. A blessing because you will be able to learn quickly. A curse, because as we've already seen, it is easy for you to loose control of your powers. There is only one other individual that we have come across that has had the same affinity for this particular Force ability."

"Arianne," Jon said quietly, though not quietly enough as all eyes in the room turned towards him. "I – I mean Princess Arianne. She—She could use the talisman, and the one I made, as easy as Ygritte can."

The sorcerer nodded. "Indeed, she can. It's curious as to how Ygritte came to have the same affinity for a Force skill that was unique to the Rhyonish, but that can be discussed later. What matters now is getting Ygritte the training she needs without burning down most of Winterfell in the process. Unfortunately, Arianne left with the only book we have on the Rhyonish and their abilities. And seeing as how we can't just ask for the heir of House Martell to simply drop everything and come back to the North…"

Ygritte didn't necessarily understand where the Sorcerer was going with his words, but Jon apparently did. "You're…You're going to send Ygritte to Dorne?"

"Ygritte and yourself, Jon," Lord Stark said, speaking up for the first time since they'd walked into the room. "I have already written to Prince Doran. And he has agreed to host both yourself and Ygritte for a period of two moons time for Ygritte and Arianne to learn more about their abilities together. Jon, you will be going as well to help the two in whatever manner they need."

Ygritte felt herself grin like a wolf that'd just caught a nice large buck. A chance to see Arianne once more, with Jon. And to visit a land that apparently never sees snow even during the coldest of years…? Hells, she was ready to go right now!

"Now," Lord Stark continued, his face hardening. "I know of the…relationship you three have formed and of your activities. And while I would be a fool to demand that such things do not happen during your stay, I expect you both to hold yourselves to the standard of the North and House Stark, whom you are both representing."

"In other words, Ygritte, don't fuck up and piss off some fancy kneeler cunt," Val added. "Those south of the North view us Free Folk, even those of us who've sworn to House Stark, as little more than animals. You're to show them wrong."

"You can rely on us, father," Jon cut in before she could. "We will not disappoint you, or the North with our actions."

"I know, son," the lord wolf said, and it might've just been a trick of the light, but Ygritte could've sworn she saw the eldest wolf smile. "You never have before. Now I suggest you both make yourselves ready and say your goodbyes. The Sea Wolf is set to leave White Harbor in a fortnight's time. And they will not wait long for your arrival."

"There is one more thing, Jon," the sorcerer said just before she and Jon could leave. "I have a…package that I need you to deliver to Ser Wendel. The Sea Wolf will be making a rare stop in Pentos on it's return voyage from Sunspear. And there is something we have that needs to find its way into certain hands soon."

Ygritte didn't know what the man was talking about, but apparently Jon and even the Lord wolf did. "I'll see it delivered to Ser Wendel, Master."

"Good," the sorcerer nodded. "Now, you two best make your goodbyes. You'll need to leave by nightfall at latest if you're to make the journey to White Harbor in time to catch your ride."

Dany was nervous. No. Nervous was too light of a word to use. She was terrified. She'd known that this day was coming, had known ever since she fully realized what would be expected of her because she was a woman. Now the day had come. The day when a potential suitor for her hand would come to meet her. And not just any potential suitor. No, her brother and Magister Illyrio had managed to convince Khal Drogo, a leader amongst the Dothraki and the leader of one of the largest khalasar ever assembled. Over forty-thousand strong. Which was exactly why her brother had decided on him as a husband for her. His men. Never mind the fact that the Dothraki were considered by most to be little more than savage raiders. Skilled warriors to be sure, but still little more than savages. But her brother didn't care about their unsavory reputation. He only cared about their skills and the number of warriors Khal Drogo commanded. A number he planned to bring back to Westeros to take back the Iron Throne by force.

The only reason she hadn't gone immediately to Domeric Bolton and sought the first vessel to take her…well, anywhere was because she sought out Jon immediately after learning of her brother's and Illyrio's plan. Jon had lent her a sympathetic ear and had listened to her as she ranted and raved about her brother and Illyrio. About how her brother had all but told her that he would not only let Khal Drogo do whatever he wanted with her, but that he would allow Drogo's entire khalasar to rape her before letting their horses rape her as well if it meant that he would get what he desired.

Throughout her entire rant, Jon stayed quiet, merely letting her vent her frustrations. When she'd finally calmed enough to talk reasonably, Jon asked her a single simple question. What did she know about the Dothraki and about Khal Drogo specifically? Not what she'd heard, but rather what she knew personally about the people. The question had brought her up short. She'd heard plenty about the Dothraki, it would be impossible for one to live in Essos as she had and not hear about them. But she had never personally had any interaction with the infamous horse lords.

Jon went on to say that he only knew small bits about the Dothraki. About how they were horse lords who knew few rivals. That they were renowned warriors and that most of those who considered themselves 'civilized' thought them to be little more than savages. Then he followed that with saying that there was another group of people that were considered little more than warrior savages that deserved only disdain. The wildlings, or rather the Free Folk. While Jon admitted that there were some amongst the Free Folk that deserved the disdain and were all the bad things people thought about them, the Free Folk were just people. Just like them. He encouraged her to not let what others had told her to color her opinion, but to rather form her own. And he also added that there was a chance that, should she find the Dothraki not nearly as intolerable as many found them, that she would be able to forge her own path. One free of her brother and free of her family's past. That thought, the thought of freedom from her brother and the chance to forge a new way forward, was what stilled her from fleeing. At least for now.

And now, the day had come for her to meet this Khal Drogo. Her brother and Illyrio had had the servant's bathe and clean every part of her, which was beyond embarrassing. Then they'd presented her with a thin silken dress that, after putting it on, she realized did very little to hide what was underneath. After dressing, she was then led by her brother's firm hand out to the front steps of the manse to wait for the arrival of her potential husband and his blood riders.

"They say the Dothraki are little more than savages who take anything they please. From gold to horses to women. If they want it, they take it no matter what resistance is offered. And if they have to chase after what they want… Well, it never ends well," her brother commented idly, hinting at what might happen should she flee.

Holding her head high, Dany did her best to ignore her brother's taunts as she tried to calm her racing heart as she heard the cluttering of horses moving fast towards them. 'Do not show weakness, Dany,' she suddenly heard Jon's voice in her ear, making her start slightly. 'The Dothraki, just like the Free Folk, respect strength. Show them your strength, Dany. Show them the strength of the last daughter of the Dragon Lords of Valyria. Make it so that this Khal Drogo is not coming to find a bride. But rather that you, Daenerys Targaryen, are instead searching for a worthy suitor for your hand.'

Her back straightened as she hung onto Jon's voice like an oasis in the middle of a desert. All too soon, five riders wearing leather clothing that left their arms and chest bare rode swiftly into the yard. The five gave no heed to any in their way, leaving many to hurry and even trip over themselves as they tried to get out of the horses' paths. The five were…impressive to say the least. Their horsemanship was superb, even to her novice eye. But her attention was focused solely on the man in the front. The one she assumed to be her potential husband, Khal Drogo.

He was…impressive. But even that word was understating it. He was tall, impressively so even from atop his horse. His black hair was pulled back into an impressive braid that went down past his waist, a symbol to show that he had never once met his equal on the field of battle. And his muscles…by the gods she swore his arms were the size of her head! Yet despite his impressive size, he moved with a grace that she found captivating. That and his pitch-black eyes… Well…she supposed that her brother could've done far worse for a suitor. He was something that she could work with, provided everything went as she'd planned.

As the riders approached the main steps leading up into the manse proper, Illyrio calmly stepped down into the yard with a young servant girl following him. "Khal Drogo, I am Illyrio Mopatis, and I welcome you and your bloodriders into my home." Illyrio said as the young serving girl, who Dany now realized was a translator, spoke quickly to the riders in a tongue she did not recognize.

Pulling his horse to a stop in front of Illyrio, Drogo gave the Magister merely a grunt in reply before seemingly dismissing him as his black eyes passed over each face in the yard before coming to a stop on her. The moment his eyes landed on her, she felt her back stiffen on its own as he stared at her like she was a fine piece of meat at the market. But that look quickly faded, only to be replaced by something else. A look that while she couldn't tell what it was, it was a look that made her feel…good. Strong. Desirable.

"I present to you, Khal Drogo, Princess Daenerys Targaryen."

Hearing Illyrio say her name snapped her out of her reverie as she made her way down the steps of the manse towards the towering form of her potential husband. Drogo's eyes never left hers despite her rather revealing dress, something that she appreciated. As she passed Illyrio by, she purposefully kept her face passive as she walked forward until she was just beyond arm's reach of the Khal and his horse.

"I would have you dismount, Khal Drogo, so that I might see the man who would be my husband," she said, only to frown as Drogo stayed on his horse, which caused her to realize that the translator had not spoken her words. Turning to the Illyrio and the girl next to him, she fixed the two with a hard look. "Say my words to the Khal."

The girl looked unsure, but after a nod from Illyrio she spoke in the Dothraki tongue. When her request was spoken, Drogo tilted his head at her as if trying to decide what to do. Dany met his silence with one of her own, staring right into the man's eyes without blinking as the two, and the entire manse, stood in silence. Eventually, the corners of Drogo's lips twitched and with a grace that went against his size, he slid effortlessly from his horse and stood before her. Even now on equal footing, Dany still barely came up to the man's chest and she had to tilt her head back to look him in the eye. Keeping her eyes on his, Dany slowly walked around the Khal, taking note of everything that the man had to offer with her eyes. His muscles. His braid. His coppery skin. Just as he had appraised her, she in turn appraised him. Coming back around to his front, Dany thought she noticed the slightest bit of amusement showing on the man's hard face.

"Repeat my words, exactly as I say them," Dany called back to the translator, her eyes finding Drogo's once more. "I am Princess Daenerys Targaryen, the Stormborn, the Last Daughter of the Dragon Lords of Valyria. And I would know what makes you, Khal Drogo, greatest of the Khals, worthy of claiming my hand."

"Dany!" she heard her brother hiss as he no doubt started rushing towards her. "What the fuck ar—?!"

"Be silent, brother," Dany hissed right back, her hard tone clearly drawing her brother up short even though she never took her eyes off Drogo. "You may be content to offer me in marriage to whoever can provide you with warriors. But I have standards, brother. And the Last Daughter of Valyria can only be wed to the best amongst the best of men."

She wasn't sure, but she could've sworn she saw something shine in Drogo's eyes at the way she handled her brother. Without saying a word, Drogo reached behind himself and raised his long braid for all to see. "Your skill as a warrior is well known, Khal Drogo." Dany said as the translator behind her kept pace with each word she spoke. "There are few, if any, that could ever be considered your equal. But the Last Daughter of the Dragon Lords of Valyria deserves more than just a warrior. If it is your desire to claim my hand, Khal Drogo, then you will complete a challenge I set upon you."

One of the other riders behind Drogo said something, or rather grunted something, that Dany assumed was unflattering given the snarl upon his face. "What did he say?" Dany asked the young translator, still not taking her eyes off Drogo. "His exact words."

"He—" the translator girl started before stopping, clearly not sure if she should say what was said or not. "He…the bloodrider of Khal Drogo wonders why this…this bitch with nice tits thinks she can talk so amongst the great Khal Drogo and his bloodriders."

Taking her eyes off Drogo, Dany turned her attention to the rider who'd spoken. The man was smirking at her, as if daring her to try something. Raising her right-hand palm towards the man, Dany made a show of turning her hand sideways before slowly curling her fingers in and closing her fist. It started slowly, with the offending rider coughing, then looking confused as he rubbed at his throat. But as Dany's fingers closed in tighter, his eyes widened in panic as he wheezed, his hands frantically going to his throat trying to remove whatever was preventing him from breathing. A futile effort, and one that made Dany smile as she savored the look of panic and fear coming from his eyes.

"If I am nothing more than a 'bitch with nice tits'," Dany practically growled as she raised her hand, lifting the man partially out of his saddle and holding him in the air as his panicked horse ran out from underneath him. "Then what does that make you? Considering this bitch managed to unhorse you without even having to lay a hand on you!"

Her last words were practically a shout as she opened her hand, letting the man drop down heavily to the ground where he began greedily sucking in air. Looking around the yard, Dany noticed that the other three bloodriders were all trying to get their horses under control while staring at her warily. The servants who lived in the manse were also staring at her in fear, while Illyrio and her brother were staring at her in complete awe. The only one who wasn't showing fear or awe was Khal Drogo. There was no fear on the Khal's face, nor even a hint of wariness. No, the Khal was staring at her as if he had just found the greatest treasure in the world, and from the look on his face, he was clearly not going to go anywhere without it. The Khal spoke again, and it took a not-so-gentle slap from Illyrio to bring the translator girl out of her stupor enough to speak his words. "T–The great Kh–Khal Drogo says to name yo–your challenge, Princess Daenerys."

Dany felt something give within her. She was in control of what happened next. And that was exactly what she wanted. To be in control of her own life, to be free to make her own choices. "A day's ride south of Pentos, there is a manse under the control of one Magister Rabier," Dany began, giving the translator girl time to speak her words. "The challenge for my hand, Khal Drogo, is thus. You will prove your skill as a warrior by assaulting the manse with only yourself and your bloodriders. You will prove your cunning by making sure that your actions will not be known beyond those of us here. You will show your control, both over yourself and those you command, by leaving those who do not fight against you untouched by blade or flesh. And you will prove your desire to be my husband, by placing the head of Magister Idol Rabier at my feet."

Drogo's head tilted as the translator finished saying her words in the Dothraki tongue. He said something in return, and Dany waited patiently as his words were spoken to her. "The great Khal Drogo asks what this man has done to earn your mark of death, Princess?"

In truth, the magister had been one that deserved death many, many times over. During one of her visits to the Bolton manse, Domeric had told her about the man, about how he made his fortune in the slave trade. About how he kept his wealth and influence by catering to a very select clientele. How any slave who was purchased by him was never seen again. And about how it was well known that the man and those he served enjoyed torturing slaves to death. And the younger the slaves, the higher the price of their entertainment.

"Does it matter?" Dany asked to which Drogo merely smiled as he heard her words in his tongue. "I want him dead. And if you want my hand, you will put his head at my feet and meet my challenge. Do this, and I will consider you a man worthy of the Last Daughter of Valyria. Fail or refuse…and I will find someone who is."

Drogo's smile was…feral as he turned without a word and slid effortlessly up onto his horse. With nothing more than a grunt, Drogo led his bloodriders out of the manse at a quick pace before turning them south the moment they cleared the gates. 'You did well, Dany,' she felt no small amount of pride within herself as she heard Jon's praise. And she couldn't help but agree. Everything had turned out quite well in her opinion. While she would've preferred to keep her abilities a secret for a while longer, she knew that keeping them a secret indefinitely was not an option. 'I'll just have to deal with the reveal of my powers sooner rather than later,' she thought, turning just in time to see her brother descend upon her, his eyes wide in either fear, terror, anger, or awe, she couldn't quite tell.

"Dany!" he gasped, looking towards the gate then back at her. "Wha–What was…?! What did you – How – What?!"

Arching a brow, Dany regarded her brother coldly. "Perhaps you need to take a moment to remember how to speak, dear brother."

"I believe his grace is surprised, as we all are, at your…display, your grace," Illyrio cut in as her brother started turning an interesting shade of red as he fought a losing battle against the controlling of his anger and letting loose the 'dragon'. "I…was not aware that you were blessed with the magic of your ancestors. The magic upon which the Dragon Lords of old built their empire upon."

Turning her attention to Illyrio, she gave the man a level look. "Would it have mattered had I made my magic known to you both?" she asked, turning from the magister to her brother. "Would you, dear brother, have still made the threat to allow all forty-thousand Dothraki and their horses to rape me if it meant that you would secure their allegiance?"

Her brother sputtered, trying to come up with something to say. But Dany was past the point of caring. With her powers now known there was no reason for her to hide. Though still, there was a part of her that still ached at seeing the look of hurt and confusion on her brother's face. There was once a time when her brother was a true brother. One that protected and loved her, and she had loved him. But now, now the brother she'd once known was nothing more than a faded memory.

"Come, Dorea," she said, brushing past the two men and making her way back into the manse. "I have need of your advice."

Maintaining her composure as she walked through the manse was perhaps the most difficult thing she'd ever done to this point in her life. But somehow, she'd managed to keep her head high and her face emotionless the entire way to her room. But the moment the door closed behind Dorea, Dany let her mask go and she sagged. The weight of the day and everything that'd happened rushing through her, making her knees grow weak and nearly causing her to collapse in on herself.

"Princess!" Dorea gasped, as she appeared at Dany's side, the woman's soft yet strong hands keeping her steady.

"I'm alright," Dany nodded, leaning on Dorea's support as she calmed her racing heart. "Today was…taxing."

"Taxing?" Dorea marveled. "Princess, I have never even heard of anyone, let alone a woman, stand up to a Dothraki Khal as you did today! But I must say, you were fortunate that the Khal you exposed your powers to was Khal Drogo. The Dothraki are very weary of magic. But Khal Drogo is…different. He is like, yet unlike any other Khal to come before him. And if I may be so bold, Princess… He is a fine man and certainly not one that would be hard to bed."

Dorea had the right of it. Drogo was…quite a man. His coppery skin, his braided hair and his dark eyes…yes. She could certainly have worse in terms of potential husbands. "Dorea…I have need of your advice."

Her handmaiden blinked. "I–I don't know what advice I can offer you, Princess. But whatever you have need of me, you need only ask."

Nodding, Dany felt her face heat as she prepared herself for what she was about to ask of the woman that she'd grown so fond of. "I – I have heard that it is…possible for a woman to…take control of – of what happens between herself an – and her husband. While…in bed. I, gods…I wish you to teach me how to do this."

Dorea's face split into a wide grin. "I can do that, Princess. Before the Khal returns, I will teach you enough so that you will be able to bring even a man like Khal Drogo under your control."

For the next few days, Dany kept primarily to her rooms. In part because she wanted to avoid her brother and Illyrio. But also because she was learning as much as she could from Dorea about how to take control of a man in bed, as well as trying to learn as much as she could from Jon. If things went the way she believed they would, she knew that it would be sometime before she would be able to truly take a lesson again from either Jon or Lord Nox.

On the eve of the third day since she'd issued her challenge, Dany once again found herself standing on the steps of the manse. This time she was wearing a dress that, while still accenting her curves, was not nearly as revealing as the dress her brother had forced her to wear the first time. Speaking of her brother, he was currently standing just behind her alongside Magister Illyrio, clearly wishing to say something but for some reason was able to hold his tongue. She wasn't quite sure what had brought about his silence, but she was glad for it.

Hearing the telltale sound of horses quickly approaching, Dany pushed all thoughts of her brother and Illyrio to the back of her mind as she watched Drogo and his four bloodriders race through the open gate. Each of them were covered in dirt and blood, and two of the bloodriders appeared to have wounds on their person that'd been quickly bandaged with whatever they had on them. But her eyes went past them all and focused on Drogo. His hair was disheveled slightly, and his body was covered in dirt and blood, but he didn't appear to be wounded at all. In fact, the Khal looked every bit the triumphant warrior she'd heard of him to be. Urging his horse forward, Drogo stopped at the base of the stairs, a slight distance away from Dany. Watching Drogo reach into one of his saddle bags, Dany forced herself to remain completely unphased as he pulled out a severed bloodied head. Giving her a smirk, Drogo casually tossed the head at her feet.

Glancing down at the severed head, Dany fought against the revulsion she felt in her stomach. 'I must not show weakness! This…This is what I wanted! He…He deserved this. And worse.' "Magister Illyrio?" she called out over her shoulder while motioning down to the severed head at her feet.

"That…That is indeed, or at least was, Magister Rabier your grace," Illyrio replied calmly, as if the sight of a severed head did not bother him in the slightest.

Forcing herself to stare at the bloodied head, Dany calmly used her foot to kick the head off the sides of the stairs. With her path clear, Dany walked down closer to Khal Drogo. No words were said, and none needed to be said. The two merely met each other's eyes, knowing that Drogo had completed the task Dany had set upon him. Giving him a curt nod of acknowledgement, Drogo smirked wildly before wheeling his horse around and racing back out of the yard, leaving his bloodriders once again hurrying to catch up with him.

"Wh–Where is he going?" Viserys asked, clearly confused as to what had happened.

"There is no need for concern, your grace," Illyrio said, trying to placate her brother. "Khal Drogo is indeed pleased with your sister. Had he not been…well, we would know."

"Then, what in the hells happens now?" Viserys asked, clearly impatient.

"Now, dear brother," Dany responded, rounding on her brother. "I have a wedding to prepare myself for."