Oldtown 306 AC.

The Unfulfilled Knight.

As he stood in front of the looking glass, Humfrey stared at the white cloak and the sigil that was embossed on his armor. A red dragon spewing flames faced one way while a white wolf in full roar faced the other. Ser Humfrey Hightower, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard of Jacaerys Targaryen, The first of his name, King of Andals, Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms. Protector of the Realms of Men. Never had he imagined his path was to lead him to this and never had he felt as proud as he did today.

In front of his family and the lords and ladies of the Reach, Humfrey had been called forward. He'd knelt and Jacaerys had stepped forward and removed his cloak himself. The High Septon had then anointed him with holy oil and then the true King of the Seven Kingdoms, for that was what Jacaerys truly was, had placed the white cloak on his back and named him as his Lord Command and bid him rise.

"My lords and ladies, I give you the first of my Kingsguard. My Lord Commander, Ser Humfrey Hightower."

The words had brought a tear to his eye, no lie. As had the conversation he'd had with the king later that day after he'd sworn his official and then true oaths. Oaths that only true men of the Kingsguard had ever been privy to according to both his sister and Jacaerys. To think that Ser Ryam Redwyne, Aemon the Dragonknight, Barristan the Bold, the Sword of the Morning Arthur Dayne, and his great uncle The White Bull himself had sworn such an oath had made him feel unworthy at first. His king's words had very much not.

"I choose you, Ser Humfrey. Not simply because it's what you wish, though I know that's the truth. Nor because I understand the politics of it, for I do. Though I care for them not, as my next appointment will show. I choose you because I feel you are best suited for the many tasks we have ahead of us. We walk the path together, Ser Humfrey, know that always." Jacaerys said.

After he'd sworn the true oath, he'd then watched as Sigorn was first knighted and then given his own white cloak. There was no anointing of the Thenn in holy oils, for his gods were not the Seven who are One, and not a word was raised to question the king's choice of the Wildling either. Not only had Sigorn shown his prowess in the sparring yard, but he was a man that the king trusted too and Humfrey had come to know that there were few of those for true.

That he too was now one of them was something he was as proud of as the white cloak and armor he wore or the position he now found himself in. Leaving the looking glass behind, he walked out of his room and made his way to the king. Sigorn stood outside the king's door. After a few moments of conversation where he asked if anyone had come to see the king, only to find out he was the first, Humfrey then knocked and entered the room.

"Your grace."

"Lord Commander." Jacaerys said and Humfrey felt his throat tighten at the emotion hearing the words invoked in him "From now on you'll be present at most of my meetings, Lord Commander. Both for the message it sends to those we meet with and so you're aware of most if not all of my plans."

"Your grace," he said with a bow of his head.

"My inner circle is a small one, Ser Humfrey. My trust is a finite thing. I'll not say what I'd do to a man or woman who'd break that trust, for the actions we'll soon be taking will show that clearly enough. And I say this not because I question your integrity."

"I'm relieved to hear that, your grace."

"I trust the Free Folk because we've bled together. Ser Davos may feel he's broken my trust and yet I never once held him as doing so. Your sister has proven herself in more ways than one and now I add you to that very small list. Together we have much to do. I'll accept questions and doubts even. Yet the path I choose is the path we walk. You take no issue with this?"

"None, your grace," Humfrey replied instantly.

"Then let us speak of such things no more." Jacaerys said and Humfrey nodded "I had hoped to march by now, but your sister bids me hold back. A visitor from the North bearing good tidings is all she'll tell me."

Humfrey almost chuckled, the king's frustration was clear and he was not the only one to feel that way about Malora. His father, Baelor and Garth, they'd all been left annoyed at times by how much or how little his sister would say or not. More so now that the king was among them, as there were things she'd not speak on no matter how much they prodded. Soon enough, they'd feel that way about Humfrey too. For a Kingsguard not only protected his king's life, but his secrets as well and Humfrey would never break the trust he'd garnered.

"Ser Jon Fossoway has taken charge or will of the main force of our army here and has set off towards Highgarden. Lord Rowan has set off for Goldengrove and his banners have already been called. Though they'll form up far from the keep itself. As will those from Cider Hall and Bitterbridge."

"I understand it not, your grace." Humfrey said looking at the map the king had laid out on his desk "Surely it would be better to bleed the Sellsword and his army before we face them?"

"I want them confident, unbloodied, and unhindered, Ser Humfrey. At no point do I want their hackles raised at all. Let them think they march to an easy victory, for the truth of their folly will soon be known."

"Your grace?"

"In time, Ser Humfrey, in time."

They spoke then of the ravens that had been sent out. Humfrey was not sure if it was as good an idea as the king seemed to think it was. He listened as the king said that while tactically keeping in the shadows was mayhap a sounder plan, strategically and politically it was not.

"How so, your grace?" he asked curiously.

"I am the rightful king. My cousins have usurped my good and true rule. Let them try and paint me any way they wish once they are aware of my truth. Yet they'll not hide it from anyone any longer. I'll not hide from anyone any longer. The truth of who I am will reveal another just as important truth." Jacaerys said as he reached for his mug and took a large swallow from it "The truth of who everyone else is too. Let them welcome me or deny me. Support me or stand against me. I'll know the truth about them before I welcome them to my side or send them to meet their gods. Would that I'd known the truth of those I'd named as kin before I marched to see the Iron Throne restored to..." the king's voice trailed off and Humfrey prodded him not.

The rest of the day was spent in meetings and making plans. Later that night, the ship arrived carrying the visitor from the North. None of them, other than his sister, expected the banker who entered the Great Hall nor the smile he wore on his face when he gazed upon the king. Tycho Nestoris was given rooms, allowed to bathe, and was back in the Great Hall no more than an hour after he'd arrived in the Hightower. He sat beside the king and the conversation they had was pleasant if non-illuminating. Through it all, Humfrey and Sigorn stood no more than a few feet behind the king and Ghost lay by his side.

He stood guard at the king's door that night and allowed Sigorn to get some sleep. They'd need to bring more men into the order over time. More than the standard seven, the king had suggested much to his surprise. A Kingsguard of White Cloaks seven strong, a Royal Guard of seven who'd wear red, and a Dragonguard of seven who'd wear black. Three separate orders for three heads of the Dragon. Seven men of each, for the Seven who are One. Jacaerys may claim he cared not for politics, but he still played the game though and the Faith was as much players in that game as any usurping king or queen that his king named as kin no more.

The next morning the king didn't even break his fast before the banker was sent for. Once again, Humfrey was asked to stand inside and behind Jacaerys. Tired as he was, he did as he was bid. Tycho Nestoris didn't take long to answer the summons and seemed most pleased to have been sent for. To Humfrey's surprise, food was then sent for too and at Jacaerys behest, he broke his own fast as the king and the banker broke theirs. Though he did so standing while they sat at the king's desk. Both Ghost and Syrax were present as well. With the eagle especially watching the banker with a keen eye.

"I thank you for the food, your grace. I'm not usually a big eater of a morn, but I find the weather in Westeros has awakened my appetite."

"I take it you liked the weather of the North not at all, Tycho?"

"I'm sure for one such as yourself who grew up there it's almost pleasant, your grace. For those of us born in Essos…."

"I too was born in the sun, Tycho, though I knew it not." Jacaerys said wistfully "I look forward to one day visiting the land of my birth. To see where my mother and those who guarded both her and I met their ends."

"Would Dorne welcome you is mayhap the question you're considering, your grace." Tycho said and Jacaerys nodded slightly "I believe the Iron Bank can help in that regard."

"And that is why you're here, Tycho, to help?"

"No, your grace. I'm here to help the rightful king regain his throne and to offer the Iron Bank's assistance in doing so."

Humfrey looked from the banker to the king and could see the doubtful look that one was giving the other. Nothing that Tycho Nestoris had said or done yet had proved him true and his own time with the king had shown that he was not a trusting man. Not initially at least.

"Why?"

"There are many reasons, your grace. That we have no faith in the two monarchs who sit on their respective thrones. Your true and legal claim. What we know of you and of them and how we judge your odds of success compared to their own. All of these play their parts." Tycho said before lifting up his glass and drinking what seemed to be milk of some sort "The truth, however, is that the Iron Bank always gains most with a Targaryen on the Iron Throne, your grace. The last twenty or more years have shown that to be undeniable. Westeros thrives under a dragon's rule and you are the last dragon, your grace."

"Indeed." the king said as he looked at the banker, then at Ghost, and finally at Syrax before then continuing "So what form does the Iron Bank's help come in and what price must I pay for that aid?"

Humfrey listened as Tycho Nestoris spoke about the Pact of Ice and Fire. He saw how Jacaerys moved forward in his seat at the mention of Jacaerys Velaryon and the agreement he'd signed with Cregan Stark. How a prince or princess of House Targaryen was promised to a son or daughter of House Stark and along with it, certain considerations. Trying to keep up with all that Tycho said and the many questions that Jacaerys asked was beyond him. Some of them passed him by they were asked and answered so quickly. Others made no sense to him while a few were such obvious boons that he himself smiled. Even if the king did not.

Coin, loans at a smaller interest rate than was normal for the Iron Bank to offer. Access to the many contacts the Iron Bank had in Essos so that trade deals could be offered and used to sweeten whatever pot the king wished to offer to a potential ally. Withdrawal of access to the very same and a suspension of agreements to any who the king named as his enemy. The two biggest boons were ones that actually did bring a half-smirk to Jacaerys' face. One of them almost sounded like a tale from the books that Humfrey had long since stopped reading.

"The Company of the Rose, your grace, you are aware of them?" Tycho asked.

"I am. They were founded by my kinsman Brandon Snow and exiled themselves to Essos because of their refusal to kneel to the Conqueror and my House."

"Indeed. They swore an oath they'd not return to Westeros as long as a Targaryen sat the Iron Throne."

"As I am a Targaryen, Tycho, I can see not what use they are to me."

"You are not only a Targaryen, your grace. The white wolf by your side names you as much one side of your kin as you are the other."

"You believe if I reach out they'll join my cause."

"No, your grace. I am here to tell you they already have."

"How?"

"You are aware the Iron Bank and the Golden Company had an arrangement, your grace?" Tycho asked and Jacaerys nodded "Once they set sail for Westeros, we then made another with the Company of the Rose. There is always someone who wishes to test our patience, your grace, so we are always in need of how shall I put it….a persuasive argument to make them reconsider." Tycho said amusedly.

"And this helps me how?"

"When news of your truth reached us, a colleague of mine was sent to the Company of the Rose to change our agreement. I beg your forgiveness for the truth we needed to share with them in order to get them to agree to our new offer, but they did agree. They now just await your grace to call and tell them where it is you wish them to land."

"And what of my cousins? They are Starks. True-blooded ones at that."

"But not wolves, your grace."

"No, not wolves." Jacaerys said bitterly "Dorne?"

"Have many dealings with the Iron Bank, your grace. Many debts are outstanding. Fealty or they incur our displeasure. We may not be able to get them to fight by your side, for not even we can soothe over truly hurt feelings." Tycho said apologetically "We do intend to get them to both name you as their king and to accept the need to fully immerse themselves with the crown once more, however."

"You'll sail there from here?"

"If you bid it of me, your grace."

"I've sent ravens out declaring myself as who I truly am. No doubt they'll have received it before you arrive. They may be more hostile than you expect, Tycho."

"I'm well used to dealing with those who start off as hostile to the Iron Bank's interests, your grace. Thus far I've found they rarely remain that way."

"Then I bid you good fortune on your travels and must now make ready for mine own. I'll see to where I wish the Company of the Rose to land and write letters to their commander, a…"

"Torrhen Snow, your grace."

"Aye, Torrhen Snow. I'll see that you're given that letter and one for the Prince of Dorne too before we both depart this city, Tycho. I look forward to a long and prosperous relationship with the Iron Bank."

"As does the Iron Bank with you, your grace."

Humfrey watched as the banker rose, bowed his head, and then walked from the room. Jacaerys only remained sitting long enough to write out two letters and to blow upon the parchment so the ink was dry. He then sealed it with a ring that bore his sigil and again Humfrey marveled at how quickly his father had managed to get the accouterments for a king and a new dynasty made ready. Banners, jewelry, and armor that was embossed with the king's own sigil and with the sigil of House Targaryen. Even the king's armor now bore the red dragon and the white wolf upon its breastplate where once it had borne the white dragon of Bloodraven.

By noon, all that was left was to say their goodbyes. Humfrey to his father and brother. Malora to their father and Lady Desmera. The king to all of them, while taking extra time to say his goodbyes to the red-headed lady of the Arbor.

With Syrax in the sky above them and with Ghost by his side, the king mounted up. As did both Humfrey and Sigorn before moving their horses alongside the king's own. His sister too would be coming with them on this march and she too wore armor and the king's colors. With a nod of his head to Malora, Humfrey then turned and looked back at the fifty or so Free Folk who were all newly armed and armored. Tormund Giantsbane sat upon his black horse looking fierce. He wore red armor that matched his hair color and had a huge double-sided axe strapped across his back. Val looked like a vision that only the Warrior and the Maiden combined could have brought to life. The Wildling Princess, as he'd heard some name her, was resplendent in her white armor and fur-lined white cloak. Along with fewer than two hundred other men at arms, all of them wearing red cloaks and some carrying the king's banners. This was the army that to all intents and purposes the king had gathered.

At the king's signal they rode out and Humfrey heard the screech in the sky. For once it was not followed by a raven falling to the ground, this one was simply chased off before Syrax returned and landed upon the king's shoulder. The smile upon Jacaerys' face was a true one and Humfrey could sense no doubt or worry in his features. Were he to look upon his own, he'd see none there either. For this was a mummery and nothing more and by the time the truth of this mummery was known, Lord Bronn of Highgarden and the Broken King would have heard a dragon roar most loudly.

Winterfell/White Harbor 306 AC.

The Leal Merman.

He'd had to ride back to Winterfell to see it for himself. Even though men he trusted had told him of it, he'd needed to actually witness it with his own eyes. Two thousand Knights of the Vale had ridden into the North and made their way to Winterfell. Were it not for who ruled there, then Wyman would have named them a threat and gathered an army to deal with the invaders. Yet given the woman who'd named herself as his queen, these men were anything but.

"We didn't invade, we were invited."

The Wildling's words rang out in his head and almost brought a smile to his face. Jon Snow had called for aid and the so-called savage heathens were the men and women who'd answered that call. While he and others had been craven and thought the cause already lost, it was men and women of the True North that had fought and bled with the man that Wyman had happily named his king. As the walls of Winterfell came into view once more, Wyman found himself lost in past conversations he'd had with the last true wolf of House Stark.

"The Wildlings, your grace. I know you feel you can trust them…"

"Finish those words not, Lord Manderly. For I'll not have men I bled with, men who marched when I asked, questioned by those who did not." Jon Snow said angrily, yet his voice rose not as he spoke and after a moment he continued "My father used to say we find our true friends on the battlefield, mayhap you heard him do so?"

"I did, your grace."

"I understand why you didn't march with me, Lord Manderly. I blame you not for it. Though my sister seems less forgiving than me in this regard."

"She suffered greatly, your grace."

"We all suffered, Lord Manderly. The North has known little else these past few years."

"Would that was not true," he said softly.

"I trust the Free Folk with my life, Lord Manderly. There are few others I do so. They know best of all what comes for us in the night. For they've seen the storm and the thing that brings it our way. Be wary of them if you must. Suspect them if you must. As Tormund said they didn't invade, they were invited. Anyone who takes issue with that must then take issue with the man who invited them."

"I take none with you, your grace." he said to a nod of Jon Snow's head "So I'll take no more with the Wild…the Free Folk."

Those men and women had proved themselves true not just in the fight that had come, but after it too. They'd offered to travel south with Jon Snow when he'd followed after the Dragonqueen. Some had named him a fool for doing so. Wyman, however, had very quickly understood one thing about Jon Snow, his word was his bond and he'd given it in return for the aid that Daenerys Targaryen had given to the North. The Free Folk had given it to him too and only at his bidding had they not followed him when he'd left Winterfell, never to return.

What had happened in King's Landing was still a mystery to Wyman. A queen who'd shown no signs of it up to then had suddenly become her father reborn. A man who he'd never imagined could do so had killed a woman that he clearly loved. Then rather than Jon Snow coming back to reign as King of an independent North, they'd gotten a Red Queen and a tale of exile that made little sense to him or to some others. Wyman had accepted it, liked it not, but accepted it. Just as he'd accepted a queen he'd never chosen nor would have.

Entering through the gates, seeing just how many Knights of the Vale were there, he now found his doubts about Sansa Stark's character to be proven as true as his gut had told him they were. He wasn't greeted and was barely welcomed. As he made his way to the Great Hall, he was repulsed by just how comfortable these Southern Knights seemed to be making themselves in the heart of the North. Little did he know that it was not to be the most repulsive sight he'd find in Winterfell over the next few days.

"Your grace," he said, offering a bow of his head to Sansa Stark who sat upon the Winter Throne.

She wore a dress that was far different from the styles of ones she'd worn as Lady of Winterfell. Then it seemed she had dressed down, now she was doing anything but. Even Wynafryd and Wylla would not wear such a dress lest it was for their Nameday or some other celebration. It was made of silk, was certainly expensive, and added to the jewelry she wore, it was more fit for a southern court than a northern one. As was her company, to Wyman's mind.

"Lord Manderly, we'd not expected you to return," Sansa said with intrigue.

"I had heard tale of the Knights of the Vale, your grace. I worried that their visit was unplanned or mayhap even one fraught with danger."

"Be at ease then, my lord, for the Knights of the Vale are most welcome here," Sansa said, and the way she looked at one man in particular raised Wyman's hackles.

Ten days later.

Were it not that he claimed a need to see his granddaughters attended, then Wyman would have wagered he'd have already seen Sansa Stark wed by now. The way she fawned over that golden-haired fool was unbecoming of a lady, let alone a queen. As for the haste the wedding was being arranged with, Wyman would name her with child already if the timing matched up. Given that it didn't, he found himself contemplating what else could require such urgency.

Ser Harrold Hardyng was no fit consort for a daughter of Ned Stark. Certainly not for one who named herself Lady of Winterfell and Queen in the North. While Wyman understood better than most the need for matches outside the North, this was not one that brought much benefit other than the men he had with him. There was no trading opportunity or access to items that the North desperately needed and that Harrold Hardyng was best placed to see them have. No great deal of coin that would fill Winterfell's coffers and see them through the winter that had already come.

The more he'd thought about it, the more he'd liked it not. There was more at work here than he knew and he hated being in the dark. Truly hated it. So he'd made haste and hurried back to White Harbor, keen to set those who served him to task. He needed to know more about the Vale and Ser Harrold, and he needed to find out if there was some reason why Sansa Stark was now so keen to be wed. Hearing the knock on the window of his large covered sled, Wyman slid the wood to one side and felt the cold winds immediately.

"White Harbor, my lord." Artos said and Wyman nodded before quickly closing the window back up and wrapping himself back in his furs to regain the warmth he'd just lost.

His granddaughters awaited him and he greeted them both warmly as he exited the sled. Wynafryd spoke softly in his ear and told him that two raven scrolls and a letter awaited him in his solar. His granddaughter waited until they were inside before speaking more about who the ravens were from and her words almost took the breath from him.

"Howland sent me a raven?" he asked and Wynafryd nodded.

"A letter too, grandfather."

"And the other?" he asked curiously, as he wondered what Howland had to say that required both a raven and a letter.

Wynafryd took a moment to make sure they couldn't be overheard and even when she was sure they could not, she still moved in closer to whisper the words in his ear.

"From House Targaryen, Grandfather, at least that's who I believe it's from. For it's a most strange sigil, a wolf and a dragon."

Wyman quickened his steps and was soon at his rooms. He barely took a moment to gather his thoughts before he was opening the first of the raven scrolls. The one bearing what his granddaughter had rightly described as a wolf and a dragon as its sigil. As soon as he read it, he was breaking open the other scroll and read it and the letter. He thanked the Old Gods and the Seven who are One that Howland was making his way to White Harbor, for he had many questions he needed answers to. Though one he very much did not.

To the Lords and Ladies of Westeros.

I was named Jon Snow though it's not my true name. Named a Bastard, though I was trueborn. Named a Murderer, though the woman I slew had been called a tyrant. Exiled without a true trial and my truth kept hidden by those who wished it so. It's time for that truth and for the truth of my actions in King's Landing. Time too for the actions of a Broken King and Red Queen to now be named for what they truly were, treason.

My name is Jacaerys Targaryen. Trueborn son of Prince Rhaegar Targaryen and his wife, Princess Lyanna Stark. Hidden by my uncle from those who'd wish me harm. Lied to and denied my birthright. Raised to believe that the Wall and service to the Night's Watch were all I was owed or all I deserved. I lived, fought, bled, and died while wearing the Black Cloak. Fulfilled my oath before gods and men. Then with a girl that I'd named a sister true, I marched to regain what I believed to be my family home. I was named King by the good and true men and women of the North, though I sought it not. I allied with Queen Daenerys Targaryen and gave up my crown to her and her alone. For she came to our aid when asked and did so at great cost to herself and her cause. I marched with her to King's Landing and after she'd committed her terrible act and with the promise of more to come, I slew mine own aunt with mine own hands.

I seek no forgiveness for this act and will find none in this world nor the next. I did what I felt was the right thing and once again I was punished unfairly because of it. The Broken King and Red Queen hid my truth to take what was not theirs to take. They used my actions to sentence me unjustly and without the offer of a fair trial or leave to speak my side of things. For they feared I'd speak on things they wished none to know. No longer will I remain silent. No longer will I accept injustice. No longer will I allow usurpers to sit on thrones that are rightfully mine.

To the Leal, I call you to my side, and to those not, I dare you to stand in my path. I march for justice. For vengeance. I do so with the surety now that I had not known for so very long.

I am my father's son.

My mother's child.

The One True King.

March with me or face my fury, I leave it to you to decide

King Jacaerys Targaryen. The First of his Name. King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men. Lord of the Seven Kingdoms. Protector of the Realms of Men.

"My King." Wyman smiled.

The Realm Reacts.

Pyke 306 AC.

The Lady Reaper.

More than once Yara had considered taking some of her ships and sailing after Jon Snow. Had she not found a new target for her anger then she may have done so. Even if in truth she didn't relish the idea of traveling through the lands Beyond the Wall in search of the Kinslaying wolf. He should be dead. His head should rest on a pike somewhere for what he'd done and yet he'd paid not for his crimes. How it had been left to the bloody Starks of all people to not only decide Jon Snow's fate but the fate of Westeros too, was beyond her.

To sit and watch as a crippled king, who hadn't even sounded grateful or sympathetic when he'd spoken of her brother dying so that he could live, was named king by another Kinslaying cunt had been almost too much to bear. Then for that redheaded waste of breath named Sansa Stark to simply ask for and be granted the crown of the Kings of Winter, had left Yara furious. Sitting and watching as Tyrion Lannister was named Hand of the King only further raised her ire. The dwarf was a man who'd cost her queen more than any, other than Jon Snow, with every terrible decision he'd made and had then betrayed her just as truly as Snow had in the end.

All of it had then been rendered as mere annoyances when it came to what she'd been promised. Her agreement had died with her queen, the Kinslaying Hand had said. Sansa had earned her crown, the Broken King said. The realm needed stability and could ill afford another kingdom seeking to split off from it and on and on the excuses went. Not a word of hers was listened to. Her angry declaration that if sitting in a fucking crypt and hiding away while around her good men and women died was enough to earn a crown, they should have fucking asked her to do so, had not gone down well.

They'd even had the fucking temerity to warn her. The sheer bloody gall to tell her that if she didn't accept that the role of Lady Reaper was to be the limit of her rise, then they could so easily find someone to replace her. Had she been unaware of just how dire the conditions of her fleet, people, and stocks were, then she'd have simply sailed away and named herself queen. Yara would have bid them come and pay the iron price for her crown and made sure they felt the true power of the Iron Fleet.

For the Broken King was no Robert Baratheon and his Kinslaying Hand was no Jon Arryn. The Red Queen may carry the name Stark but she was no wolf and there was no Stannis Baratheon to beat her Nuncle at sea this time around. The horrible truth was that she didn't have the ships or the men. Her Nuncle Euron had left them some wealth, but that was all he'd left them. Yara knew full well too, that the wealth was needed for food to see them through the Winter. It could not be wasted on ships, arms, and armor. So she had held her tongue and sailed away as angered as she'd ever been in her life.

"We just accept this? "Tristofer Botley asked as King's Landing faded from view.

"For now we have no choice." she seethed.

"For now?"

"Aye, for now."

She'd put the Iron Islands to right. Had seen their food stocks replenished and had seen to repairs of the ships where it made sense to repair them. They had a smaller fleet than the one she'd sailed to Meereen. Fewer than a hundred ships in all, but they were fully crewed. Sitting atop the Seastone Chair, though not wearing the Driftwood Crown, Yara dealt with the mundane and what to her was inconsequential. While each day, in her mind she went over plans and plots and had even begun a timescale for when she'd claim what was owed to her. The day drawing ever closer when she would pay the Iron Price and win back her crown, or so she had thought. Until the raven arrived bearing what she'd expected to be news from a Broken King only to instead be carrying dark words from one who was very much not.

"A Targaryen sigil?" she asked as she looked down on the red dragon and white wolf.

"I know not, my lady." Maester Wendamyr said as he looked at her while she broke the seal and read the scroll.

Queen Yara,

I name you as what you are and make you one simple offer. You were promised a crown and independence by the woman we both named as queen. Denied that crown and had no such offer agreed to by the Broken King and his Kinslaying Hand. You were not the only one denied that which was yours by right.

My truth was withheld in a vain effort to stop the plots against Queen Daenerys. Had it not been then who knows where we'd be today? The people of King's Landing would not have suffered from the actions of a woman now named the Mad Queen. I would not have felt the need to stab the woman I loved in the heart. Yet, there is no going back and no chance to right wrongs that have such final outcomes.

My name is Jacaerys Targaryen and I will take back that which is mine by right with fire and blood. Join me and the agreement you entered into with Queen Daenerys will be honored. Do not and accept your fate as it is now. Should you oppose me, stand against me, or come seeking retribution for Daenerys' death then remember but this. I killed the woman I loved, even though it caused me great pain to do so. I stabbed the woman I loved in the heart. What think you I'd do to a woman I care nothing for?

I await your answer.

King Jacaerys Targaryen. The First of his Name. King of the Andals, Rhoynar, and the First Men. Lord of the Seven Kingdoms. Protector of the Realms of Men.

"My lady?" Wendamyr asked when Yara had not spoken for a few moments.

"Send a raven to the Reader and call for the Captains."

"My lady?"

"No longer, Maester. The time has come for the Driftwood Crown to be worn once more." Yara said as she smiled a somewhat evil smile.

Casterly Rock 306 AC.

The Last Lioness.

Hand of the King. Lord of Casterly Rock. Warden of the West. Her nephew had taken leave of his senses if he thought that any in the West would accept this simply because he named it so. Genna Lannister certainly would not. Tyrion had been the main architect of their House's downfall. Oh, Cersei had played a huge part and Jaime had been such an incredible fool as well. Tywin had been far too ruthless and yet not ruthless enough at the same time.

Tyrion. Had he not done what he had, then she'd have two brothers, a niece, and a nephew and two sweet and innocent children would live still. Joffrey had been a lost cause and may have always been destined for a violent end. Tommen and Myrcella certainly wouldn't have been if not for Tyrion's actions. Kevan would not have been blown up in the Great Sept by her crazed niece had Tywin breathed still. Tywin only did not because his son had turned Kinslayer.

No, not she and not the West would accept the words sent from King's Landing and so Genna had set herself to task. It was time to find out what the true state of their finances was and just how many men they could call upon. She'd sent for Daven Lannister and had tried not to scold her cousin for his ridiculous beard and long hair. Let the fool think himself a lion and that he somehow honored his dead father in doing so. Genna cared not for how Daven looked, instead it was his skills as a warrior and commander that she took solace from. Far better than Emmon at any rate, Genna had cringed at the thought of her fool of a husband leading men into battle.

"I need a full accounting of our men, Daven. Horse, arms, and armor, but men mostly."

"You seek another war?" he asked almost too eagerly.

"I don't seek one, but I wish to be prepared for one."

"And the West?"

"Will remain under House Lannister control as it has been for thousands of years. Just not the Kinslayer who no longer deserves the right to be named as such."

"Then who?" he asked and she knew had she been a man, it would fall to her. It still did, yet it needed a man as Warden and Lord.

"Lyonel is next in line and so I'll name him with you as his second, Daven."

"Yet in truth, it'll be you who rules here, my lady. Am I right?"

"You are."

"Then you have my sword and my fealty, my lady."

It had taken Daven little time to gather the information she needed. Nearly 15,000 good men with another 10,000 who would need extensive training before Daven would feel confident of leading them into battle. They had close to 3,000 knights or cavalrymen and more than enough horses for them and more. Arms and armor-wise they were as well set as they had ever been. Her brothers had always made sure of that. Genna was happy too to find that amongst the men that Daven had sought out, more than one of whom were former commanders in Tywin's army.

Coin was where they had more issues. The Rock was still well-provisioned and far from a poor House, it just was nowhere near as rich as it had once been. Tywin had wasted coin in propping up Robert Baratheon's rule and their mines produced little if anything of note. Still, the Westerlands itself was rich enough, and in taxes, especially since they'd deny them to the crown, they'd make up most of the shortfall. Should they actually need to go to war, they could afford a campaign of some length and in the end, they would win or die.

For weeks though, Genna sat and did nothing. Lyonel was named Warden and Lord of Casterly Rock and a wedding with Daven's sister Cerenna was swiftly arranged. No army was formed, but their borders with the Reach and the Riverlands were garrisoned far better than they had been for some time. Things in the West carried on almost as if there had been no changes made whatsoever and Genna waited to see if the Broken King or her nephew would react. Fell deeds had been ascribed to the Broken King and tales of what he may or may not be able to do had reached her ears and the ears of others in the West. So she waited to see if he knew what they'd done and looked to the sky in search of ravens carrying dark words upon their dark wings. She did not have to wait too long. Though the words the raven carried were not the ones she had expected.

"My lady, a strange message." Maester Cressen said as he hurried into what had been her brother's solar and now was supposed to be Lyonel's. Though she used it far more than her son did.

"How so, Maester?"

"The sigil is not one I've seen before, my lady. A white wolf and a red dragon." Cressen said confused.

She took the scroll, broke the seal, and each word she read was one that she knew not how to take. A Targaryen King? A bastard who was not? Ned Stark had somehow managed to pull the wool over the eyes of the entire realm. That Jacaerys Targaryen admitted what he'd done and named himself a Kinslayer in the process should give her pause and yet it did not. For he was not the Kinslayer that she took issue with. After reading the words it contained. Then beginning to contemplate both the offer to join and the warning as to what would happen should they not. Genna handed the scroll to Cressen and bid him give his own opinion on what the words meant to her and to the West.

"A great opportunity, my lady. Or the doom of House Lannister." Cressen said after a few moments.

"How so, Maester?" she asked, though she'd come to her own conclusions already and just wished to see if the Maester concurred or had come to a different set of them.

"Despite naming himself as a Kinslayer, there will be those who name the woman he slew as in dire need of slaying." Cressen began and Genna nodded, she'd thought so too "While the Broken King and the Red Queen as Jacaerys names his cousin sit in positions of power, that power is not as resolute as it may be. It was not Sansa Stark who commanded the Northern army. Nor Brandon Stark who flew upon a dragon's back during the Battle of Winterfell."

"No, it was not." Genna sneered.

"House Targaryen still has those who'd swear to them, my lady. The Lords of the Narrow Sea. Some Houses in the Reach. I'd wager that given time, Jacaerys Targaryen would gather the largest force in Westeros, and in truth who is there to stand against him? The Broken King led no men. As for….well, we saw the extent of his military prowess." Cressen said not saying Tyrion's name as he'd not done since word had come of Tywin's death and who was responsible for it.

"What do you suggest, Maester?"

"That you speak to Ser Daven. Confer with some of the Lords of the West and we make an approach to Jacaerys Targaryen to see if terms for an alliance can be agreed upon."

"You'd have us ally with a Kinslayer?" she asked, pretending to be shocked but very much not.

"The right Kinslayer, my lady."

Genna bid Cressen make the arrangements and once she'd spoken to Daven and some of the lords, she'd compose a message of her own. Be it the gods or good fortune, the second raven that arrived bore words that offered her exactly what she wished for. Now it would need only her to agree to them rather than to negotiate for them.

Lady Genna,

I make you one offer and one offer only. As for the consequences of rejecting this offer. My words sent to you and the rest of the realm speak of my intent should my offer be accepted or denied. Though there are others for your House alone too.

I march for my crown, for justice, and yes for vengeance too. Something you no doubt seek for the death of your brother at your nephew's hands. I cared not for Tywin Lannister and I'll not be a liar and say that his death was one I mourned. Yet I understand the loss of kin far better than most and the wishes to see those responsible for that loss pay dearly for their crimes. So I offer you your nephew's head on a pike. The chance to see him dead and payment for his many crimes to be paid in full.

I shall name someone of your choosing as my Warden of the West and Lord of Casterly Rock and accept your fealty in return. March with me, send men to aid my cause and I'll reward you further. Yet I need your men not and will remember should they hold their swords back in the wars to come. March against me and I promise you the same fate that befell my brother, sister, and their mother at your own brother's hands. I shall avenge them and my brother by choice Robb Stark's death at the Red Wedding. I'll turn loose my rage upon House Lannister and I'll not rest until every man, woman, and child is in the ground. The Rains will be visited upon your own House, my lady. I doubt very much you'll enjoy the song as much then.

King Jacaerys Targaryen. The First of his Name. King of the Andals, Rhoynar, and the First Men. Lord of the Seven Kingdoms. Protector of the Realms of Men.

Genna shivered as she read the words. Felt her fear as if it was a physical thing. She had no doubt of their sincerity and though she took note of one side of the message, very quickly it was the other that she concentrated upon. An alliance was now not only most advantageous, it was most necessary. Taking a quill, she dipped it in the ink jar and began to write out a message of her own. Ser Daven and the Lords of the West would still be asked their opinions. They'd just find that the choice had already been made.

"The right Kinslayer," Genna whispered as she blew upon the parchment to dry the ink.

Storm's End 305/306 AC.

The Bastard Smith.

Being a lord was daunting enough without being Lord Paramount. Gendry had hoped to have Davos with him to offer him, counsel. Especially since he'd no longer be serving with Jon Snow. However, he'd taken up a role with the Small Council and instead given him the names of some men he felt that Gendry could trust. That one or two of these men were ostensibly kin to him did help smooth things over when they'd met.

Gendry looked so much like his uncle Renly that it too helped quieten any dissent with his being named over someone else who may have a claim to his House's heritage. He soon left King's Landing behind and was happy to do so. Though not so much the girl who he wagered he'd never see again. They set sail for Storm's End and Gendry took the time to get to know his new family and the men who'd serve as his advisers. Ser Aemon Estermont was his cousin or so he believed. His family tree was a complex one and technically he was now related to Lannisters too or so some would say. Ser Cortnay Penrose had been the Castellan at Storm's End and had refused to give the keep up to Gendry's uncle Stannis. Which was a true point in his favor as far as Gendry was concerned. Both men had it seemed taken their measure of him and found him acceptable and not lacking. Something that relieved him greatly.

By the time they arrived at Storm's End, Gendry was as nervous as he had ever been. He didn't have the bearing of a lord, certainly not the training of one. Gendry knew too that for the next few weeks, moons, and mayhap even years, he'd be completely out of his element. Truth be told, if there was someone else with as much Baratheon blood running through their veins as he had, then Gendry would be more than happy to pass his responsibilities over to them and return to work as a smith. Mayhap even one he owned, he thought wistfully. Other than a half-sister somewhere in the Vale, however, he was the last of his father's bastards that still lived. Joffrey or Queen Cersei, whichever of them had given the order had seen to that. So it was left to him and he fought down as much of his nervousness as he could when they left the ship and began to row to shore.

"Keep your chin up, my lord. People will expect it of you." Ser Cortnay said as the boat he was being rowed in neared the shore.

Ser Aemon had already told him that he could not be one of the oarsmen when out of force of habit, Gendry had picked up one of the oars and tried not to think of the last time he'd rowed himself somewhere. "It was not a done thing for a lord," his cousin had said. Something else that Gendry would need to get used to over the next few days. He had never been served before. Not even in Winterfell which was truly the only Keep he'd spent much time in. While he'd seen how servants picked up after and followed Sansa Stark, both Arya and Jon Snow would go out of their way to do things for themselves. Yet while that may be how the North worked, it would not be seemly to attempt it here in the South, Ser Cortnay had told him.

Taking to his bed that night, he was more than ready for the sleep to come. The day had been a whirlwind of faces, places, and things he needed to know. Very little of it had actually stayed in Gendry's head and were he to be tested on any of it, then he'd fail miserably. His rooms were like none he'd ever seen before. A huge soft bed and the best of linens. There was a solar, a privy for his use alone, and a large wardrobe of clothing that had once belonged to his uncle Renly and which mostly fit him. Clothing of a standard that Gendry had only seen the noblest of the nobility where. Certainly, none that he'd ever dreamed of dressing in. Then again, his dreams had always been far simpler and as he closed his eyes, they were simpler still. Dark brown hair and grey eyes. In his dreams, she waited for him and she always said yes.

A few moons later.

Gendry believed he'd taken well to the life of a lord. He listened to the advice he was given. Took lessons from the Maester and learned to read and write to a decent standard. Though his penmanship was still passable at best. The Lords, Ladies, and Knights who were to serve as his Bannermen had been far more welcoming than he'd expected. He'd even found what he felt to be friends in one or two of them. Sebastian Errol and Rolland Caron the newly legitimized Lord of Nightsong. A giant of a man who far better than most, knew the struggles that Gendry now faced.

He'd found an almost empty treasury and a keep that was badly supplied in terms of both men and food. In less than two moons, he'd turned both around with the help of Ser Cortnay especially. The knight was once again his castellan and other than his cousin, his truest counsel. Though he was far from being a comfortable lord, he was much better at hiding it than he once had been. Daily he'd sit and listen to petitions from those who sought Storm's End and its Lord's help in some matter or other.

At night, he'd thrown more than one feast or ball and had found that being a lord of a great keep came with certain expectations. As did being the last of your line. Marriage was not only expected of him it was required and there was no shortage of ladies from the Stormlands who seemed eager to become the next Lady Baratheon. Yet each night, the lady he most wished to be his wife was only found by him in his dreams. Still, between him and his advisers, they'd narrowed it down to two ladies from the Stormlands and less than five others from the other regions of Westeros. Gendry had then left the final decision to those who knew what was needed better than he.

Had it not been for that accursed raven, then he'd almost have enjoyed his time as Lord.

"My Lord, a raven bearing an odd sigil." Maester Jurne said as he hurried into his solar.

"How so, Maester?"

"A white wolf and a red dragon, my lord."

He'd broken open the seal and read the words far more quickly and easily than he'd ever imagined he'd be able to. Words that named Jon Snow, not as a bastard, but as a trueborn son and which showed his intent plainly and clearly. They were words that angered him greatly. Gendry for the first time felt the rage that had given rise to his House's words. Ours is the Fury, and furious he was. Jon Snow should have died for what he'd done. He should have been put to the sword and not exiled. That would have been his vote had he not seen how her grey eyes had looked at him and not still held out hope that she'd change her mind.

His position had been given to him by the woman that Jon Snow, Jacaerys Targaryen as he now named himself, had murdered. Even in that accursed raven's scroll he'd not denied it and had named himself for what he was, a Kinslayer. The damnable thing was that he'd actually liked the man. He'd have almost named him a friend of sorts and he'd not lie and say he'd not had dreams of being his Goodbrother, or Goodcousin as it now would be. Now Gendry believed he was right to hate the man and wish him dead. Given what he sought to do with her brother and sister, what he may seek to do to her. He was right, wasn't he?

Those who served and advised him named it so. Ser Cortnay, Ser Aemon, Maester Jurne, Sebastion, and Rolland had all said the Stormlands would never accept a son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark as their king. More than one had even said that Gendry himself had just as true a claim to the throne as Jon Snow did. For not a single one of them had named him as Jacaerys Targaryen other than Gendry himself. It left him with no choice really. The Stormlands had suffered enough and would not seek another war, but should one come calling, the man who brought it to their doors would find them more than ready for it.

"We look to our borders. Make sure the keeps are well provisioned and that we have arms and armor enough for as many men as we can."

"I'll begin preparations, my lord." Ser Cortnay said.

"Will we be responding in words, my lord?" Ser Aemon asked and Gendry shook his head, which garnered a smile from the older man.

"No. Let us keep our intent to ourselves only," he said to what seemed to him to be approving looks.

That was it, simple in its saying and even in its execution. The Stormlands were placed on alert but not put on a war footing. Things may have remained that way for some time were it not for the two events which then took place. Firstly, a raven arrived from King's Landing, one that called upon the Stormlords to hold to the oaths sworn to the new king and to rise up and strike down any enemy that marched against him. They were in the process of discussing how to respond to it when Ser Davos Seaworth arrived at their gates and Gendry wore a true smile when he then greeted the former smuggler. One he wore all the way back to his solar and one that was only then wiped from his face.

"I'll find a place in my service for you, Ser Davos. A high place for I've much need of a good man and true such as yourself," he said, sounding more a lord than a smith which was becoming something easier each day.

"They've trained you well, my lord." Davos said with a fond smile on his face "Yet I must say no. I come here as a friend and the man I'm friends with would expect me to return to him with an answer."

"Jon Snow." Gendry almost spat "You're here on behalf of Jon Snow."

"Jon Snow is dead, my lord. Jacaerys Targaryen is the friend I come to speak to you on behalf of and if you listen to nothing else other than what I'm about to say, then I'll have done my part."

"Speak," he said disinterestedly, angered that Davos would name a Kinslayer as his friend.

"King Jacaerys offers an alliance between the crown and the Stormlands. An offer of friendship between him and you. He seeks no quarrel with House Baratheon or its lord and takes no issue with anything done in the past between your House and his own. His grace blames not children for the sins of their fathers and only judges a man based on his actions and his actions alone."

"Coming from a Kinslayer, I doubt anyone will accept him as their judge, Davos."

"Yet judge he will be, Gendry lad." Davos said with a sigh "Daenerys Targaryen had to die, you know it as well as I do. We were both raised in Flea Bottom, did you look at it before you left to sail here?" Did you see the damage that was unleashed upon it?"

"Aye, I saw it," Gendry said sadly, the poor had suffered most of all as they always did when the nobles played their game of thrones.

"She promised more and whether you believe me or not, no one mourns her more than the man who took her life."

"Yet still he took her life, Davos. Now he wants to take more. Or can you look me in the eye and tell me he doesn't seek the heads of Sansa Stark, King Bran, and Tyrion Lannister? For if you can I'll name you a liar."

"No, I'll not lie to you lad. I'll tell you but just this."

"Speak your words, Davos. Speak them and let us be done with this bloody business."

"'Tis better to sail with the wind than into it."

"Davos?" he asked not understanding the words.

"Jacaerys Targaryen will be king, Gendry lad. To stand in his way is folly and you are no fool. Speak to your council, to the men you trust. But when you do so, make sure to tell them this. Not even death itself was enough to stop him and he was the only one of us man enough to go up against the Dragonqueen and stop her from the path she'd have put us all on. By the gods, in Winterfell alone, he tried to fucking fight an undead dragon with naught but a fucking sword in his hand." Davos laughed "He has far more than that this time around."

Gendry took the night. He spoke to Ser Cortnay and Ser Aemon. Listened to Rolland, Sebastion, and Maester Jurne. They talked about who or what forces Jacaerys Targaryen may be able to call upon and what forces the Broken King could rally to his side. Given that he was threatening not just Bran Stark but Sansa Stark too, the alliance formed against Jacaerys would be a huge one. The North, the Riverlands, and The Vale, alone would rise for their kin. Ser Cortnay believed the West would too as would most of the Reach. While Rolland suggested that the Reach may seek to rise for a dragon once more.

In the end, it mattered not. The next morning he called for Ser Davos to join him when he broke his fast and once they were done eating, he bid the man join him on a walk around Storm's End. Gendry enjoyed the wind on his face and the crispness of the morning air. Looking out on lands that he was no Lord of had become something he'd done more and more. He wished to enjoy the company of the man he was with for much longer than he did. Yet he could not.

"The Stormlords won't support a Targaryen King, Davos. Certainly not this one. A son of Lyanna Stark. No, not a one will swear fealty to him, and neither will I."

"Then they and you are bigger fools than I feared. I'll not bid you good fortune in the wars to come, my lord. For you'll not find any. Death will come to you all. When it does, remember well that you had a chance to be a true lord and to save your people from a dragon's wrath." Davos said as he turned to walk away.

Both Ser Aemon and Sebastion had bid him take Davos prisoner. To wait until he'd left and guest right was no longer valid and see him in chains. It was not something that he could agree to. Given the debt he owed to the man, it was not even something he could consider. Watching him as he walked away, Gendry wished to call out and bid him stop. To call him back and offer him a different higher place by his side. He did not. Instead, he stood on the parapets and looked on as Davos rode off in the direction of the sea. When next they met, they'd be on opposite sides of two armies. His banners had been called and war was now inevitable. Closing his eyes, he saw her grey ones looking back at him and he swore he saw her smile. He prayed he did.

The Battle of Highgarden 306 AC.

The Wildling Princess.

They'd ridden hard and covered much ground. Along the way, they'd added men to their number and were close to a thousand now. Each and every one of them rode a horse for King Crow wished them to move and move quickly. Two rides a day. One for a few hours before they stopped and rested and then another even longer one before they set up their camp for the night. There had been no need for fires or furs as the weather was unlike any she'd ever known before. As too was the food.

Never had they eaten so well or been so well armed and armored. Had Mance been able to outfit them so then they'd have broken the Stag King instead of being broken by him. At night, Val would sit and try not to laugh at just how fucking ridiculous both Sigorn in his white cloak and Tormund in his red one looked. They'd sit around the fire, King Crow by their sides, and each night would see different men that rode with them join their company. None now raised even an eyebrow that there was Free Folk amongst them. King Crow had made it clear just how valued they were. He had told more than one man amongst these kneelers that they'd be more than thankful it was Free Folk they fought with when the battle was upon them.

As for the battle itself, it drew ever closer and she understood it not. They had the numbers if what the strange lady from the tower said was true. Simply showing them to this fool who thought he could face King Crow and win would end the battle before it began. For some unknown reason, King Crow wished that not. Instead, a mummery was to be played out. An offer was to be made. A battle to be fought and a message sent. Val left such things to wiser minds than she and instead simply concentrated on the battle to come. It had been too long since she'd wet her blades. Given these were new ones, they'd not actually been wetted at all, she thought as she smirked to herself.

"Who is this fool who marches against us, King Crow?" she heard Tormund call out loudly and drunkenly, Val rolling her eyes as he asked the same question he had most nights.

"Lord Bronn of Highgarden. A sellsword and a cutthroat. A man who rose simply for serving the Kinslaying Hand." King Crow replied, somehow not being annoyed by Tormund.

How he had the patience for dealing with the Tall Talker, she knew not. She'd lost her own with him many times, but King Crow just smiled a smile that sent her stomach into a twirl and said no more. She'd wanted to steal him, yet he'd made it clear it was not to be. Val would have accepted it being a simple tumble. Especially since she'd seen him make moon eyes at the woman kissed by fire they'd left behind. King Crow was broken though. From the loss of Ygritte and the Dragonqueen, no doubt. He was a man who'd not open his heart even for a moment or at least not to her.

So she'd set her sights elsewhere and there were few men she'd found worthy enough to consider letting steal her. Fewer still that she'd consider stealing for herself. In the end, it was only the other white-cloaked guard who caught her eye. The one that followed after King Crow as faithfully as his wolf or eagle did. Val had made it clear she was open to it, yet just like King Crow, the man had made no move. Though, unlike King Crow, she believed it was not out of lack of interest. More it was because the man understood women and Free Folk women especially, not at all.

Rising to her feet, Val made her way to her tent and though she hoped she was to be followed, she knew she'd not be. It was to be her fingers that brought about her pleasure that night as it had been on far too many nights since Jarl had been taken from her. Her release came to the images of various faces. Jarl's, King Crow's, a man she'd once seen and had no name for, and finally the white-cloaked guard. It felt stronger, and truer and left her ready for her sleep. It was the first time that King Crow's face hadn't been the last one she'd seen before she'd fallen over the edge.

Val woke early the next morning and they broke their fast quickly. Today was to be the day and as they rode, she looked to see Syrax take to the sky and fly on ahead of them. By midday, they'd reached where the battle was to be fought and from atop her horse, she'd seen the huge keep in the distance that they'd avoided. She'd looked on as King Crow had ordered the men to form up and do so badly. To look lesser than what they were and again it had confused her greatly.

"Does he know what he's doing?" she whispered to Tormund.

"Fucked if I know, Har," Tormund laughed back and Val glared at him "Aye, he knows. Look to the sky."

She did as she was bid and saw Syrax was now flying back towards them.

"Look to those at the end of the line."

Val turned and saw the archers and the small fires beside them.

"Look to her."

The strange woman from the tower was surrounded by a small flock of birds. Falcons, hawks, and gyrfalcons among them, and Val looked on as she seemed to tie messages to their legs and as the birds then took to the sky. Each of them flew in what seemed to be a different direction and she remembered now some of what King Crow had said.

"They'll look to us and see no danger. Then find themselves to be very wrong and shit out of luck."

As the sight of the army they were to face finally came into view, Val offered a prayer to the Old Gods that King Crow was in the right of it.

The Sellsword Lord.

They were only a few miles from Highgarden and were he a bird in the sky, then he'd have seen his keep by now. The thoughts of a warm bed, good food and wine, and the company of a willing wench were more than enough to make him order his army to quicken its pace. Bronn had to resist the urge to simply ride on ahead. If he could trust his army to keep marching, then he would have. Yet while they'd fight with him to lead them, left to their own devices they'd more than likely just reave and raid.

He was surprised and yet not that he'd faced no obstacle on this march. The Reach Lords were a craven bunch, he'd told Tyrion so. No matter their harsh words in a raven's scroll, faced with his sword they'd kneel and cower like the cowards they truly were. He'd seen it in the keeps they'd passed. Gates were locked up and not even a guard party was sent out to ask them who they were or where they marched to. So when he did finally see a force in front of him, it took him by surprise. Though not as much as the sight of the banners they carried.

"Who the fuck are they?" he heard from behind him.

"A white wolf and red dragon? I've not seen it afore."

Neither had Bronn and it made him wonder if the craven cunts he'd come to put in their place had sought out some sellsword company or other. He knew some of those from Essos. The Golden Company, though they were fucking fools and golden no more, he thought wryly. There was the Company of the Rose, the Company of the Cat, the Windblown, and the Strom Crows, but these fools in front of him were none of those. It mattered not. His army outnumbered them by five to one and it would be good to get his men bloodied. Stretching his arms out and feeling the crack of his bones, he bid his men form up and then sent word for a parley.

Less than an hour later, he rode out to speak to the leader of these sellswords. A part of him almost wished for him to make them an offer to join his side. Had there been more of them, he probably would have done so. But there were enough mouths to feed at his table as it was and he needed these men not. So he'd make them a much simpler offer. Turn around, fuck off back to Essos and do so quickly, or not one of them would see the sun in the east ever again. As they drew closer to those he was to parley with, a sense of trepidation soon washed over him.

Bronn swore he saw a white wolf, yet dismissed the thought from his mind. Instead, he concentrated on the two men in white cloaks and the man who wore a hooded smoke-colored cloak and seemed to bear two swords on his hips and a white bow upon his back. Something about the man seemed familiar and yet he couldn't place him until he eventually could. When he did, he gulped a little and felt a shiver run down his spine. Jon Snow was supposed to be far from here and while Bronn had the numbers, according to some tales that man had survived death once before.

"Lord Bronn." Jon Snow said as he lowered his hood.

"Jon Snow."

"King Jacaerys Targaryen, sellsword." a knight who bore the sigil of House Hightower called out and Bronn wished to slap the man for daring to do so, only for the idea of the Hightowers and Jon Snow being in league to begin to take shape in his head.

"We already have a king," he replied.

"Aye, but your king is broken, I am very much not." Jon Snow said with a half smirk on his face and Bronn looked behind him to see the white wolf now move and take its place beside its master.

Though he sat on a large horse, Jon Snow was easily able to reach down his hand and stroke the white wolf's fur. Something that should scare the living daylights out of a man with half a brain. Though one look into those red eyes of the wolf should be enough for that.

"You working for the Hightowers, your grace." he chuckled, trying to put on a front, "I'd have thought they'd have taken your head for your desertion at the Wall."

"I served my time at the Wall, Lord Bronn. Should any man feel the need to seek my head, then they're free to make the move to remove it from my shoulders. They'll find it the last move they ever make. What say you, feel like you're the man to do so?" Jon Snow asked, his smirk replaced now with a sneer, and yet again it was behind him that Bronn was soon looking. This time at what may very well be the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen.

"No. But I'll ask you to leave my lands and to do so quickly. Lest you leave me with no other choice. I've no quarrel with you, your grace. Go name yourself king somewhere else and I'll seek none today."

"These are my lands, Lord Bronn. They're all my lands. But I'll make you the same offer only with less flowery words." Jon Snow said to laughs from what looked to be Wildlings but surely couldn't be given how well they were armed "Fuck off and fuck off quickly. Or by the end of the day, you'll find the choice is no longer yours to make. You've been stripped of your lordship and of your keep. Are you sure you wish to be stripped of your life too?"

"I have the men." he said with a laugh "You're outnumbered, your grace. I've not killed a king before, but there's always a first time for everything."

"Or the last." Jon Snow said "Very well, ride back and remember it didn't have to be this way. Or mayhap this was the only way it could be. When you meet the gods, tell them a king sent you to them and bid them get the rest of the seats ready for you'll soon have company"

Riding back to his army, he felt something was off. Jon Snow was never that confident before. He sent outriders to see if there was another force in waiting somewhere and even sent some to Highgarden to bring more of his men to bear. Ordering the charge, he sat and waited, and then when it came, he knew it was too fucking late to do anything about it.

"FIGHT OR DIE!" he shouted as the army he'd been so fucking proud of was now swamped by three separate forces all at once.

The Green Apple.

Less than a hundred men it had taken for him to make Highgarden his. Over four hundred or more men at arms, the sellsword had at his command and to a man, they'd been poor soldiers. Drunk and lax, they had been taken with barely a token resistance from them. Leaving a garrison of eighty men, Ser Jon Fossoway had ridden with the other twenty to join up with the rest of his forces. The gyrfalcon was waiting for him when he reached them. Its message was the one he'd been waiting for. So, with his full force of over three thousand, Ser Jon now moved to end the sellsword once and for all.

Nine hundred cavalrymen. Two hundred archers and over two thousand infantrymen moved across the ground far more quickly than a force that large had a right to do. Atop his horse and through a Myrish Eye, Ser Jon looked at the army in the distance. The king marched with what he'd wager was a thousand men, all of them cavalry. Though the Free Folk amongst them were certainly more adept on foot than atop a horse.

Turning to look at where Mathis and the largest part of their army would arrive from, he smiled a true smile. He'd wager it was close to ten thousand that Mathis had managed to gather together. Mathis' fealty to and desire not to fail the son as he believed he had the father, had only made him even more eager to prove himself this time around. Ser Jon would wager that more than half the men that Mathis had gathered were true cavalry. Heavy horse and lancemen could clearly be seen through the Myrish Eye and so he finally turned his attention to what forces the Sellsword had gathered.

"Pitiful," he said as he looked at them.

Numbers-wise, Bronn had gathered a decent force. Quality-wise, they were poor indeed. Poorly armored, few true cavalrymen and Ser Jon would wager that most were sellswords, cutthroats, and vagabonds like the man who led them. Good men to have in a fight in a tavern mayhap. Not ones to rely upon in a proper battle. As he put the Myrish Eye away, he smirked as he thought about the king's plan. Death was the only outcome that could be given to the sellsword who thought himself both a Lord and Warden. Bronn could not be allowed to live or to turn tail and simply ride away. In time, he'd prove himself too dangerous a foe and so he needed to fall here today. Something the king seemed most keen on.

"Were he another man then I'd seek to bring him to my side. I'd make him an offer and take him into our ranks."

"Yet with him, you will not?" he asked, though he had no wish to see Bronn among their ranks.

"The only thing you can trust a man who sells his sword to do is to sell his sword, Ser Jon. No offer I make him could make up for what I intend to take from him and so even were he to accept, he'd always seek to pay me back for that alone. One day he may find a man willing to pay him to do so. So no, better to see him in the ground than to give him the chance to stab me in the back."

Given the betrayal the king had known, Ser Jon felt there would be few men ever in a position to stab him in the back again. Bronn certainly was not to be one of them.

"We give him a fight he thinks can be won. Then we close up the box that we put him in. Accept surrenders my lords, even his. For either way, he sees not the morrow once we give battle."

They had now reached archer range and so Ser Jon gave the order to fire.

"Nock."

"Aim."

"Loose."

The sky was filled with arrows coming from his men, from Mathis', and from the king's. Two volleys were fired before Ser Jon bid the cavalry forward.

"We ride! For the Reach! And For King Jacaerys!"

As one, his cavalry moved forward. Lances pointed forward as they rode and they were not alone in doing so. Mathis' cavalry and infantry had split into two. The infantry both blocked any escape or retreat from Bronn's forces and the cavalry charged them from behind and from the side. His own cavalry came from the other side while the king led his own from the front. Ser Jon looked to the sight of the king in his black armor, his weirwood bow in hand as he fire arrow after arrow. Beside him, the white wolf kept pace with his horse and his two white knights rode on either side. Their swords were raised to cut down any who got too close.

His lance stuck home more than once before he lost it. Then it was with his sword that he began to cut down men. He heard the loud laughter of the red-headed wilding as he cut through men while wielding his huge ax and Ser Jon thanked the gods that Tormund and the rest of the Free Folk were allies, not enemies.

"The King." he heard a shout and he looked to see the king was no longer on his horse and was now wielding his Valyrian steel sword.

The white wolf pulled men from horses or took down any who moved too close to the king. His Kingsguard stood on either side and offered their own aide. Behind him, the blond-haired Free Folk woman fought as fiercely as any man he'd ever seen. Yet his eyes remained upon the king and Ser Jon almost cheered loudly when Jacaerys and Bronn began to fight.

The Golden Tree.

Mathis looked out on the battlefield and found himself to be both worried and very much not at the same time. The battle itself was long a foregone conclusion. From the moment the king had come up with the battle plans it had been one they'd not lose. Not only did they have the numbers and would have the ground, but the men that the Sellsword would gather would be a poor bunch indeed. His worry was not one truly born out of fear they'd not carry the day. Instead, it was one that had its roots in a far different day and far older battle.

For more than twenty years he'd wallowed in a form of grief. Life had gone on and he had a keep and family that any man would be proud of. Yet he'd never truly gotten over what had happened at the Trident and more so that he'd not been there to stop it. It was a stupid thing really. Mathis was a decent sword but he'd not have been able to stand against the Demon of the Trident. Though in truth it was more his men than him that he sometimes dreamt of bringing to bear. Dreams, where he'd lead a charge right into the heart of the ranks of the rebels and helped to turn the tide on that most fateful of days.

It was a dream he knew was shared by other men who'd been forced to accept their liege lord's orders and besiege a keep that had no chance of falling. Words may have been spoken up against Mace Tyrell's orders, but none were loud enough and not a single one of them was forceful enough to just march to their prince's aid regardless. Had they but done so then who knows what the last twenty or more years would have looked like. So as his cavalry swarmed the Sellsword's army from behind and one of the sides, it was these thoughts that filled Mathis' head. These and the worry that fate would rob him of yet another dragon he wished to serve.

"They're done for, my lord." Ser Eustace Osgrey said as he handed Mathis back the Myrish Eye.

"The king?" he asked worriedly.

"In the middle. Look for the white wolf, my lord."

Mathis took the Myrish Eye and did as Eustace had suggested. It took him little time to find the king and the sight he was greeted with was one that brought a smile to his face and lightened his heart. Jacaerys wielded his Valyrian steel sword like a man who'd been born with it in his hand. He cut through men as easily as Mathis had seen him win spars in Oldtown. His two Kingsguard moved with him as did the Wildling Princess and the white wolf and Mathis would be hard-pressed to say which of them moved more gracefully.

Ser Jon Fossoway's men had joined up with the king's own as had, much to his delight, Mathis' forces. He'd sent the best of his swords, his fiercest and truest men into battle with but two orders. Fight their way to the king's side and kill anyone they needed to get there quickly and protect him with all they had once they did so. Looking through the Myrish Eye, it was clear his men were doing just that. With the king's safety as assured as it would or could be until the battle itself was ended, Mathis turned his attention back to the battle itself.

This had not been the one he'd envisioned fighting and he'd tried to take the king out of it. Mathis had at first worried that Jacaerys was leaving himself too open and taking far too many risks. He'd wanted them to gather the entire force of their army and simply crush the Sellsword with the might of numbers. The king wished for a different battle. Or to be more precise, he wanted to leave the Sellsword with no escape from one. Jacaerys wanted the man dead and as around the field, the last remnants of the battle took place, the Sellsword's death drew ever closer.

"Send more men to the rear," he ordered as he looked at some men turning tail and making for the trees some distance away.

"Make sure the path to Highgarden is closed."

"The river, send men to the river."

His orders rang out as he looked through the Myrish Eye. He'd not wet his own sword here today and yet felt no shame that he'd not done so. Better the fighting was left to men more capable of it than he and someone needed to coordinate their forces. Sending close to 10,000 men into battle was no easy feat. Especially when you wished for that battle to be fought a certain way. Splitting up your forces, timing your attack just right, and making sure that you head men in reserve to offer aid where it was needed. All of that required a mind as much as the army itself required swords and armor.

Certain now that not only was the battle truly won but that no man from this poor excuse for an army would be allowed to roam the Reach freely., Mathis turned his attention back to the king. Around Jacaerys it was clear the fighting was all but done. His Kingsguard stood protectively and yet were not wielding their swords, just holding them. The white wolf had finished its deadly work and its fur was matted with the blood of those unlucky enough to have faced it. As for the Wilding Princess. While Mathis was certain that she'd killed her fair share of men today, her cloak and armor were still pristine.

Looking to the king, he saw who faced him and wished to shout out and tell Jacaerys to leave it to some other to see Bronn dead. To have his wolf or his Kingsguard fight in his stead and yet the words wouldn't come to his lips. Heart in his mouth, he watched the fight as it began and offered a prayer to the Warrior to give Jacaerys the strength to be victorious. He offered a prayer to the Stranger too and bid him stay far away from his king this day.

The White Dragon.

He'd heard them name him as it and cheer for him as he rode into the thick of things. The White Dragon, The Wolf of the North, The Dragonking. Even despite the dragon he now bore on his armor being red, the name had stuck and who was he to change what men who'd bleed with him named him. Other than naming him Jon Snow, he was more than happy to have them name him as they wished. Forever would he be King Crow to the Free Folk. So what mattered if they got the color of his dragon wrong?

Jacaerys was certain now the dragon would be mainly red in color. More than certain that Malora had spoken the truth and that before the week ended, his dragon would hatch. It made him feel excited at the prospect and yet sad too at the same time. For had he been able to deal with his truth more easily, then he'd already have a dragon to call upon.

"I failed you, Rhaegal. As I did her. I'll not fail again."

He repeated the words in his head and thanked the old gods that fighting had become second nature to him. There had been a time when getting lost in his head would have led to him being knocked on his arse. Be it in sparring in Winterfell with Robb when he was but a boy. At Castle Black when dealing with Throne. Or even here today against truer opponents. Against the men he fought against, however, he may as well have his eyes closed.

Jacaerys could sense them as they came at him. Through his bond with Syrax who flew overhead and would warn him of danger before it became truly that. Or through his bond with Ghost who snarled silently and yet was heard loudly in Jacaerys' head each time a blade even looked like getting too close to him. There was something else guiding him too. Memories of battles he'd not fought in and only read about. Battles fought by dragons who came before him. From the Young Dragon to Bloodraven and even dare he say it, his father. Some remnant of the fights his ancestors before him had fought in had now seemed to find themselves in his head.

They strengthened him. Helped him. Guided him. Allowed him to fire his weirwood bow from atop his horse as if he was one of Daenerys' Dothraki and not the average archer he'd always been. To cut through men as he rode into them, even though he'd never truly fought atop a horse. It allowed him to ride even better than he'd ever done before. Holding his reins one and then no-handed as he and the horse moved as one. Glimpses of a dark-haired woman riding over the Barrows of the First Men almost made him wish to look only at that and not at the death and destruction that he and his army were in the midst of.

"King Crow." he heard a voice call out and shaking his head he looked to see Sigorn by his side.

"I'm well," he said to a relieved look from the taller man, a nod of Jacaerys head enough to make them move forward.

There was no memory of being unhorsed and looking around, he breathed in relief when he saw that the horse itself was unharmed. The momentary lapse could have been costly, however, and so Jacaerys cleared his mind of all but the task at hand. With Val, Sigorn, and Ser Humfrey, he moved forward in search of Bronn. Ghost moved with him, his ever-true companion almost scolding him with a look before once again taking up his position as his truest of protectors.

A loud roar, laugh, and then a snort from Val behind him told him that Tormund was alive and well. A stiffening of Ser Humfrey and Sigorn's stances soon warned him that enemies moved their way. Yet it was allies that arrived first and foremost. Men wearing the green apple of House Fossoway. The new Lord of Highgarden made sure that the king who named him so was well guarded. Ser Jon would not be alone in seeing that was so as men bearing the golden tree of House Rowan and the red spider of House Webber soon joined them.

"You'd think I was incapable of wielding a sword." he japed as men now moved towards him to test that out for themselves.

"No, just staying on your horse, King Crow." Val retorted and Jacaerys welcomed the laughs that came from Sigorn and Ser Humfrey.

The men they faced were poor swordsmen indeed and it soon turned out these were the last men that Bronn had to throw at them. When they saw each other, both of them knew it had always been leading to this. Despite his Kingsguard's protests, though there was none from Val, Jacaerys moved forward and readied himself to do what he'd truly come here to do.

At what point he'd truly decided that Bronn had to die, he knew not. Though were he to wager on it, he'd name it as when Bran had ordered for Lady Desmera and Bronn to be wed. Thoughts of his mother and her own forced wedding. As well as thoughts of what Daenerys had been forced to endure had combined with other thoughts that he'd not been certain of. Ones that he'd not give a name to for fear of where they would lead. For he had shit luck with women that he loved and so it was far better for him to fight against it for as long as he could.

"You'll offer no quarter I expect," Bronn said.

"I offered it to you already. You turned me down."

"And if I kill you? Will those fuckers just cut me down?"

"Should you win you're free to go." he lied.

"When I fucking win."

"You can't argue with a confident man," he said as he moved towards Bronn.

His cloak and bow were now held by Sigorn. Dark Sister rested on his right hip and Longclaw faced off against a sword and a dagger. Bronn was fast and sneaky. Jacaerys would expect and be ready for him to fight dishonorably. Words he'd heard spoken about his father now rang out in his head as the two swords crashed together.

"Rhaegar fought valiantly, Rhaegar fought nobly, Rhaegar fought honorably. And Rhaegar died."

"I am not my father, only his son," Jacaerys whispered as he crashed his head against Bronn's, catching him by surprise.

He missed with the sweep of his legs that he tried and had to duck out of the way of a vicious slice from the dagger that Bronn held in his left hand. Thrusting out Longclaw, he caught Bronn but barely and left a slim cut on his cheek. Jacaerys was faster and more skilled, but Bronn had fought against skilled and fast men before and he knew when to dodge backward and when to move forward. Around them, the battle was now over, and more and more men watched their fight than did anything else.

When Bronn used both his sword and dagger to catch Longclaw's blade and stop it from hitting home, Jacaerys thought nothing of it. A moment later he heard the loud gasp as with a twist of his hands, Bronn took Longclaw from Jacaerys grip. Moving as quickly as he could, the sellsword was almost upon him and then Jacaerys heard his angered cry when Dark Sister was unsheathed and blocked the strike that Bronn believed would win him the day.

He'd not wielded the sword as much as he could, not on its own. Instead, he'd tried to get used to dual wielding both it and Longclaw together, and other than being able to parry with one while using the other, that was as far as he'd gotten. Now though it felt different. Its weight suddenly felt balanced in his hand and the memories he'd had earlier now became memories of a different sort. Of Visenya as she wielded it against Aegon and Blackfyre. Of Baelon the Brave as he slew the Myrmen to avenge his brother's loss. Jacaerys almost saw the Rogue Prince as he jumped from one dragon to another and drove the thin blade home.

He began to move even more quickly. Then he heard the pained cry as he took both the dagger that Bronn held and the hand that he'd held it in. Dark Sister had a hunger for blood or so they said and with each strike, thrust and slash, Jacaerys now fed her and she drank greedily. A slash down Bronn's chest, a thrust into his shoulder, and a strike that cost Bronn an ear. Another that cost him his sword and finally one that cost him his life was all it took to end the fight and win the day for true.

"Hail to the King."

"King Crow."

"The White Dragon."

Jacaerys heard the cheers not. He looked from the sword he held in his hand to the man whose life it had taken so easily and he swore he saw the blood of that man almost seem to be absorbed into the thin blade. Shaking his head, he was relieved to see that Dark Sister was still covered in blood and he moved to pick up Longclaw from the ground. Once he'd cleaned both blades, he sheathed them and turned to look at his men. They'd won him this day as much as he may have ended it and he'd honor them now and later tonight.

"To the brave and true men of the Reach and to the Free Folk. The day is yours," he said loudly to boisterous cheers.

Closing his eyes, he saw Syrax as she chased down the raven and bid her leave it free to fly back to its master.

"I'm coming for you, cousin. That thing you feel deep within you, that's fear and you are right to fear me." his words were spoken softly but somehow Jacaerys knew they'd carry all the way to King's Landing.

A/N: Thanks to all who've read and reviewed. Up Next: we see more reactions to Jacaerys' reveal. Bran and Tyrion scramble to come up with a way to counter Jacaerys claims and try in vain to stop a battle that has already taken place. In the North, Sansa and Harrold's agreement is revealed and a nefarious act changes the landscape in the Vale. Desmera awaits news from the battlefield and finds herself worrying about the fate of a King. While in Highgarden, Jacaerys proves he truly is the son of the dragon as he welcomes a new addition into the world.

For those following my other fics. The Winter King is up next and I'm working on another one of my stories for hopefully this week. Though it's going right down to the wire to see if I can get it done. Next week should be the next chapter of When the Dragonwolf Danced and Live as a Wolf.

Xan Merrick: Thanks so much, my friend.

Biohazard: Really glad you liked it.

Daryl Dixon: it may take a few chapters, but it is coming.

Nagiten: So they crossed the Wall at CB then rode along it to Eastwatch, in the shadow of it. Coming back they came through Eastwatch.

Tsroughs: Seriously, five chapters in and you argue about the premise, honestly if you're not trolling at this point then you really don't pay any attention to plots at all. Jon is OOC, of course, he bloody well is, he's meant to be. This is him reacting to what he's done and what he now believes happens, it's not the same mindless robot that the show turned him into. As for Malora, she, the dragon egg, and Dark Sister are literally parts of Bloodraven's contingency plan. You know, the thing spelled out in the first pov of the first chapter. So no, Jon did not just get a dragon egg out of nowhere and no Malora having all this knowledge is not unrealistic, not if you actually read the damn premise and understand it.

If you're going to try and poke holes in my stories, at least take the damn time to read the premise and try to comprehend it before you do so. I'm all for constructive criticism and I will at times make big mistakes and get things wrong, but almost every one of your comments seems to miss some key point which shows you're either missing that point or deliberately ignoring it to make invalid criticisms. Complain about my characterization, my plot, my writing style, or whatever other faults there may be in my work, but again, at least understand the premise before complaining that certain things don't work.

Lord of the East: Thanks so much, glad you liked it.

Veronno: Exactement, il n'avait pas les mêmes informations qu'eux. En quoi Desmera est-elle stupide ?

Celexys: Thanks, my friend. Gendry is stubborn and on a terrible path as you see. We'll see how Davos reacts later.

Irish Hermit: Very much so. Among the many gripes, I have regarding how they characterized Jon as Ned 2.0 is that he shows no effect of the betrayal that led to his death. It's almost mentioned in passing. I mean yes, he kills those responsible, but there is no way that anyone who suffered such a thing would then behave honorably and expect everyone else to do so, that just makes no damn sense. So here, it's been added to by a realization of just how he was played by Sansa, Bran, and Tyrion and it's made him somewhat bitter, very much warier, and now ready to play the game. Honestly, I think bookjon already showed those qualities, but once he returns from the dead to me he'll show them even more.

I think for Davos the saving grace is that they don't mention who Jon truly is, which sort of gives him an out. But the whole Trial is a sham, hell Jon could have called for a Trial by Combat and they'd have been fucked. Who was there to beat him, Brienne, Yara Greyjoy, Grey Worm? Arya isn't going to stand against him, and even if she did, IMO Jon beats her. Also not having him present when he's actually able to be, renders the judgment moot IMO. But as I said it does give Davos an out and allow it that he was sort of played too.

Initially, Jace is almost unable, scared to love. Little by little the walls will come down and they sort of already are, even though he's trying to not let them. So I won't say there won't be love between him and Desmera, just that it won't, on Jon's side be a quick thing. So with Gendry, the showrunners deleted a scene of him calling for Jon's head. I think here, him being a Stormlord, Jon going against Sansa, Bran, and Arya, allied to him killing Dany, all the pressure would be on Gendry to go against him, which is what he does.

Kitsuna G: So glad you're enjoying this. I sort of have that in my head with Arya at the moment. Were she to arrive back right now, then Jon would certainly consider that in regard to her. He can't not think that she allowed him to become a Kinslayer, that she had the skills to do so herself and stop him from being one, and that she understands, where Sansa did not, that to slay kin is to curse yourself. So it begs the question in his head, why didn't she stop him? On Arya's part, she may try and reason with Jon if she came back now, but if she comes back after he's truly gone against Bran and Sansa, whose side would she choose? So far she's chosen Sansa's over Jon's once already. I've just not decided the when of Arya's return as of yet, though we will see a little of her in a chapter or two.

Anon: I fear it'll be just Jon beyond the wall dealing with threats to the Free Folk and won't even pay more than lip service to the events on the other side, or make him somewhat the same guy he was at the end. My one hope is that Kit hated what they did with Jon and wanted to play Bookjon and he's the showrunner almost.

Allysanne: Other than betraying Dany to Varys and so starting the plot against her. Tyrion is also the one who came to Jon and used emotional blackmail to get him in the right frame of mind to see Dany dead. Then pretty much cast him aside once he was done. He goes from telling Jon he must do this, this is the right thing, to we're punishing you because you did this. Not to mention the countless errors he was responsible for that pretty much set the things in motion, including convincing them to listen to Cersei, when he of all people should have known his sister better than anyone. Tyrion cared only about his family and his own head, which is fine, there's nothing wrong with being selfish. Jon is now being selfish too, so Tyrion has to die because Tyrion will try and kill Jon before then. As for Arya, so far she's far from Westeros and so out of sight and out of mind. Jon has her in his though, Sansa, Arya, Bran, Tyrion, and Sam, he wants them all dead.

Chrissykat: They pretty much rushed to the ending and so most of it makes no damn sense. A slow decline of Dany's mental health, erratic behavior, and worries that actually made sense. I mean Varys reconsidering Dany because she looked sad at a feast is just dumb. Had they done all of that, then Dany losing it would make sense. Bran has no claim to the IT and so people would never accept it, nor simply accept that because she asked for it, Sansa got the North. Not when Yara was promised the Iron Islands and Dorne is Unbowed, Unbent, and Unbroken. So it really does become an annoyance and inconceivable when you think of it.

Once Jon's claim was out there, more people would want him on either throne than his sister or brother, so he's sent to the Wall and doesn't want it, yeah, too much for me to take.

Anyway, hope you continue to like this.

Guest: You'd be wrong to think I don't like Dany, I would think most of my reviews, comments, etc, would make that clear. However, I write Jon as protagonist stories, and not only is it easier for me to focus on Jon in them, but most often the plots require certain things of other characters. There is a logical question too when it comes to Dany and it's this. If she's not to be Queen, then what is she?

Let me put it another way. If Jon's claim supersedes her own, which you can argue it does. And if Jon is actively going for the throne, but is not paired with Dany, then what actual role can she take in Westeros? Either she supports Jon and so becomes a secondary character or she goes against him and becomes an antagonist, in my stories at least. If she supports him, then she becomes a princess, and her agency is immediately reduced because she's a secondary character and isn't the main driving force of the plot how she would be in canon. I have no real wish to make her an antagonist, though it's possible at some point.

When I pair them up, again Jon's is the agency I'm focussing on. His story is the element of change and so Dany's story revolves automatically around Jon's. So for example, in Live as a Wolf, we start with canon, but because the change is to Jon, he drives the changes and Dany almost reacts to them. Her agency is reduced because again Jon is the element of change. In Winter King, I've tried to balance it more and in some other stories, I've been looking to give Dany a larger role outside the main events. So my new fic, Last Wolf, will have Dany on an almost separate arc, in My Name is Daemon, she and Drogo are off conquering Essos, and so just mentioned. But the thing for me is that there are countless fics where Dany has the same agency she has in canon. Where Jon plays a similar role to the role I have Dany play here. It's rare that both are given equal agency. Most of those fics stick very close to canon and I try to play with them more. So again, you get a Dany like in My Honor, who knows she's not to be queen and so her role is reduced or in Different Song.

I think the big issue is that one character will always somewhat rob the other of agency based on the writer's own preferences for their lead. My stories are and always will be Jon-centric and focused and so while I may try and spread the agency around, it'll always tilt one way more than the other and in certain scenarios, very much more. But I am a Dany fan and a Jonerys fan. Though where it was once my main ship by a long way, Jon/Margaery has crept ever closer to it and in some ways suits things more.

I do get you're not attacking and just expressing a preference, and I will try and keep it in mind for the future. As I said, in Last Wolf, I have some big plans for her arc, away from the main one, but more than likely, subconsciously I'll always somewhat reduce her role.