The Wall 300 AC.

Aemon Targaryen.

He'd heard the sound of the fighting outside the gates and had readied himself for the worst. The hope he'd felt at Mother Mole's words was now something that he was now sure was to remain unfulfilled. It was a strange feeling for him to know, especially in what he believed were to be his last few hours in this world. For so many years, Aemon had been ready for death. At some points, he'd have almost welcomed it. Yet now here where it was at its closest and he wished to be able to fight against it.

His eyesight had returned. He felt stronger and fitter than he had in years. The despondency that he'd felt over the loss of so much of his family had been replaced by the hope that the prince had lived. That, along with the thoughts that he'd see a member of his kin before he left this world, had been enough to make him hopeful. Aemon should have known better. Hope had long abandoned his House and these lands. What was to be done with the young girl that he shared blood with, was enough to show that.

As the sounds of the fighting became lesser, Aemon rose to his feet and made his way to the walkway outside his chambers. The Night's Watch may take no part in the affairs of the Realm, but Aemon doubted that would matter much to the Bolton men who by now had surely put Stannis Baratheon's own to the sword. He heard it as he walked from the room. The sound was one that his mind told him could not be true. Aemon's footsteps quickened and he reached the walkway just in time to see it fly and land. The Golden Dragon was as majestic as he had ever dreamed one would be and that hope he'd felt a few days earlier now rose once more.

"Is that a fucking dragon?" he heard young Eddison Tollet call out.

"What else would it be." an unknown voice answered him.

"How the fuck do the Boltons have a dragon?"

"I don't think those men are Boltons."

Aemon stood on the walkway and listened to the conversations that were being held in the courtyard of Castle Black. His eyes were focused on the grounds outside the gate where the golden dragon had landed. So much so that he didn't see the men who came in through the gate, nor did he notice that they weren't fighting or even arguing with his fellow brothers of the Night's Watch, far from it. Instead, Aemon's attention was fully on where he believed the golden dragon was. The sight he was then greeted with was one that would live with him for the rest of his days.

The Golden Dragon had taken flight once more and this time it was not alone. Atop its back sat a man who could only be his kin. Below him in the courtyard, his brothers were finding out the truth about the men who'd fought against Stannis' and that they were as far from Boltons as could be. Meanwhile, Aemon was looking at the first dragon and Dragonrider he'd ever seen. The first in Westeros in well over a century.

He was so engrossed and enraptured by the sight that he didn't hear the man speak to him for some time. Had he not reached out and touched him, then who knows how long Aemon would have stood there.

"Aemon Targaryen?" the northern voice asked as his hand on his shoulder finally garnered Aemon's attention.

"I am."

"King Daemon would like a word."

"As would I," he said happily.

It wasn't his nephew that came through the gates first, but his niece. Though Shireen bore not the name of his House, she and her father had been kin all the same. Not that either of them had been aware of it. Seeing her hale and hearty brought a smile to his face. The thought that his nephew's arrival had saved her from the terrible fate her father and his red priestess had in store for her, was one that Aemon most welcomed. Later when he found out it had been Daemon himself who'd cut her down from the stake they'd tied her to, he'd been so very proud of his family once more.

For now, he was led to the Lord Commander's chambers. As he walked toward them he noticed that the Lord Commander himself was nowhere in sight. Though given the man was a craven, Aemon would wager that Janos Slynt was no doubt hiding somewhere from the battle that they hadn't even been involved in. Aemon spoke to the men he walked with and was stunned to find out that they were from the Company of the Rose. He listened to them with an eager ear and while they spoke little on his nephew, they spoke enough to make him even more eager to speak to Daemon himself. To his great delight, he didn't have to wait too long to see him once he reached the Lord Commanders' rooms.

"The keep is secure?" Daemon asked as he walked in through the main gate of Castle Black, Aemon watching him from the door that led into Janos Slynt's room.

"It is your grace."

"See that those who surrendered are disarmed and placed in the cells and take great care that the red priestess is kept far from them."

"As you command, your grace."

His nephew spoke with easy confidence and walked with purpose. Aemon watched as Daemon looked around the yard and then he felt the spark of something as his gaze finally met his own. A soft smile that was so reminiscent of Egg's soon appeared on Daemon's face. Then with a nod of his nephew's head, he was brought into the Lord Commander's rooms and had only just taken his seat when his nephew joined him.

"Uncle?" Daemon said, his voice full of the self-same hope that had filled Aemon's heart these past few days.

"I am, nephew."

He was surprised and yet happy by the embrace from his nephew as Daemon helped him to his feet. The feel of kin in his arms once more was something that he'd not known for more than half his life. Though he was offered food and drink, he partook in neither and nor did his nephew. Instead, Daemon took the Lord Commander's seat and bid the men with him to give him the room. No words were spoken until they were left alone and Aemon thanked both the gods and Mother Mole for the gift of sight as he took his nephew in completely.

Daemon was dark of hair and grey of eye. Looking at him was like looking at Duncan reborn. Though it would be Duncan had Aemon but seen him grow into a man and not the young boy he'd been when he'd last seen him. There were others in his House that Daemon reminded him of too. His nephew had his sister's cheekbones and his brother's nose. For Aemon it was like looking at glimpses of the past and his silence reflected that.

"Uncle?" Daemon asked worriedly.

"Forgive me, nephew. For far too long have I not been able to see at all, let alone look upon kin."

"I remind you of our family?"

"Very much so. Your coloring reminds me much of my nephew Duncan, the Prince of Dragonflies. While your features are much like my two sisters, Rhae and Daella."

"I'm most happy to hear it, uncle. I've been told thus far I take much after my mother's family, 'tis good to know it's not only so."

"Your dragon, Aemon?" he asked.

"Viserion." Aemon said fondly "I had not expected him to come here, uncle. He was with his brothers and mother when last I saw him and though I knew that one day we'd be together, I had not thought nor hoped that day would be so soon."

"You met Daenerys?" Aemon asked breathlessly "She is well?"

"Very much so, uncle. My aunt is more than well. She's a true dragon."

He listened keenly as he was told of Daenerys and while he mourned somewhat Viserys' death, Aemon was more than happy to find that his niece was happy in her marriage and that she was safe, even given what she intended to do. Daemon spoke proudly of her and her husband's attempts to forge an empire in Essos.

"You truly fear for her not, nephew?"

"Her husband Khal Drogo, commands the largest Khalasar ever assembled, uncle. You know much of the Dothraki and Essos?"

"Only what I've read."

"They are unmatched by any but the Unsullied and outnumber even them by ten times or more. Drogon and Rhaegal, are as large if not larger than Viserion. What lands they seek to conquer they will conquer, uncle. On that, I have no doubt. Nor is there any fear in my heart that they and their children will thrive."

Children, the mere thought of it brought yet another smile to Aemon's face. Though it was quickly gone when he thought about Shireen and worried about her fate. So he spent the next few moments speaking to his nephew about his other niece. Aemon was happy to see that once he named her so, Daemon too welcomed having more kin in the world. They spoke then on Westeros and he was stunned to find that so much of it was already under his nephew's control. Though he took even more delight in hearing that those who'd wronged their House had paid severely for doing so.

The Old Lion had paid in blood for his crimes as too had the Mountain. Aemon was happy to hear that it had not only been one side of his family's blood that Daemon had avenged either. Though he was happier to hear how his nephew spoke about his cousins and about Sansa Stark in particular. Were he to suggest a bride that would help bring the realm even further to his nephew's side, then it would be a daughter of Ned Stark that he'd have named. It pleased him greatly that he had no need to. As it did by the words his nephew said when they were done speaking of such things.

"Truly?" he said excitedly.

"Truly uncle, I'm certain that Viserion would be most pleased to meet you too.

Walking out of the room and down the stairs, Aemon felt like a much younger man than his over one hundred years. He had met kin once more. Been told that more of his kin lived and thrived and that soon even more would. His House had regained the throne that had been taken from them. Yet all of that paled in comparison to the fact that he was about to meet a dragon for the first time in his life. If the gods decided to take him from the world after that, then he'd go to them happy. He hoped they did not. For he'd much like to spend many more days, weeks, and moons in this new world that each blink of his eyes revealed to him.

The Wall 300 AC.

Davos Seaworth.

He'd gone to try and bring the Wildlings into an even closer alliance and had once again been refused. Not once did he even bother to consider just why his king had asked him to do so. Now as he sat in the cell with other men, he felt his anger at himself grow. Though in truth that anger was a mere spark when compared to the raging inferno he felt when he thought about Stannis Baratheon. Never could Davos have imagined it. Not even with the darkest of his thoughts could he have believed what Stannis had intended to do. So much so that he'd even argued with those who'd spoken the words to him.

"He would not."

"Not his daughter."

"You lie."

Yet the more he began to hear it, the more true it began to sound. As he sat and looked around the icy cell and watched other men try to find some warmth with each other, Davos welcomed the cold somewhat. He felt he deserved it for letting her down so truly and completely. For not being there when she needed him most. As he once again was ready to wallow in his grief over her loss and his anger at the man and woman who'd been the reason for it, he heard the sounds of footsteps outside the cell door.

"Seaworth?" a voice called out, a southern one much to his surprise "Davos Seaworth," it called out a little louder.

Believing the time had come for him to lose his head and actually welcoming the thought, Davos rose to his feet and moved to the door.

"I'm Davos Seaworth," he said, his voice hoarse from thirst and the screams and shouts he'd let out during the two nights that he'd been held in this cold cell.

"His grace wishes to speak to you." the young man said and Davos glared at him for a moment as he thought of Stannis, before then nodding his head when he remembered that Stannis was long since dead.

The walk to the courtyard was one that was done in silence. The young man beside him was a Riverlander, A man from House Piper given the pink dancing maiden emblazoned upon his cloak. His presence here at the Wall focussed Davos' mind somewhat and bid him to ask the question that now came from his lips.

"You're a man of the Watch?" he asked, though he'd not noticed the man before in all their time at the Wall.

"No, I came here with his grace."

"His grace?"

"King Daemon Targaryen." the young man replied and Davos looked at him in disbelief.

Daemon Targaryen? There was no Targaryen that was named as such as far as Davos could recollect. There was a Viserys, who according to Melisandre had died in Essos, and a Daenerys, but no Daemon. Entering the courtyard, Davos looked around and could see only men of the North. They looked so very different than how they had the last time he'd truly looked at them. Then it was in the middle of the battle and he'd named them Boltons. Though given what the young man who escorted him had said, they were clearly not.

Unless?

"Your king allied with House Bolton?" Davos asked, almost sneering at the thought.

"Never. These are good and true men of the North." the young man replied, almost proudly.

He saw it then, or to be more precise, he heard it and then saw it. The dragon shimmered in the light of the day. Its golden scales sparkled as it flew over their heads and Davos was not the only man to look up at it and stare at it with awe. While it still made no sense to him why the Northmen, out of any of them, would ally themselves with a Targaryen King, a dragon at least gave them a reason why they should. It was this thought that he carried with him as he was led up the stairs and into the Lord Commander's chambers. Yet it was not a thought that he carried for long.

"Shireen?" he called out when he saw her sitting there.

"Ser Onion Knight." the princess said happily as she ran to his waiting arms.

"I….am I dreaming? Have I lost my head already and this is one of the seven heavens?" he asked to a giggle from Shireen that was like the sweetest of melodies to his ears.

"No, Ser Onion Knight, this is no dream and you live still," Shireen said as she pinched him, Davos then embracing her even more truly.

Though there were other men in the room, none of them spoke a word. So it was not until after Davos begged forgiveness for not coming to her aid, something that Shireen told him there was no need for, that he truly paid any attention to the three men who sat at the Lord Commander's desk. The first was a man he knew somewhat. Maester Aemon however looked far more healthy and alert than he had ever seen him before. Something which took him aback a little. There was a giant of a man who was clearly from the North and another who too looked Northern and yet not.

Given how he sat in pride of place, Davos would wager that this was the Targaryen king he'd been taken to see. Yet, if so, he was not more than a boy truly. Davos would wager he was no more than seven and ten or eight and ten, though his eyes bore a look that showed he'd seen much in those few years. Steadying himself and now worrying about the young girl who he'd up to then believed dead, Davos was happy for the feel of Shireen's hand in his as he moved to greet this new king as respectfully as he could.

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

"Ser Davos." the king replied, his voice making him seem much older than he looked.

"Are you hungry, Ser Onion Knight? Cousin." Shireen said looking to the king and Davos looked from the young man back to her.

'Cousin?'

"Forgive me, cousin, my manners desert me." the king said warmly.

With a nod to the young man from the Riverlands that had brought him into the room, a plate of warm food was soon sent for and Davos bid to take a seat. He was happy to do so when Shireen sat down beside him and happier still when she reached her hand out to take his own once more.

"I…I find myself lost, your grace."

"Understandable, Ser Davos. Cousin, why don't you tell Ser Davos what he wishes to know." the king said to Shireen, and this time, Davos asked the question out loud.

"Cousin?"

"Our families are bonded in blood, Ser Davos. Something that Robert Baratheon may have forgotten and yet we have not." Maester Aemon said and for the first time, Davos noticed that the Maester wasn't just looking at him, he could actually see him somehow "My niece Rhaelle was young Shireen's great-grandmother which makes Shireen as much my kin as my nephew Daemon is." Aemon added looking to the young king who nodded in agreement.

"Indeed. Yet, mayhap hearing it from you cousin, will comfort Ser Davos more."

"We are kin, Ser Davos. My cousin sees me as such and it's thanks to him that I'm able to speak to you. For was it not for his intervention then my father and his red witch would have gotten their way." Shireen said, shakily.

For the next hour or more, Davos listened as Shireen told him the true extent of Stannis' disgrace. Though he'd heard it from others, hearing it from her own lips was much different. Even hearing it being said once again that Stannis was dead, didn't do much to calm his rage at what he'd tried to do. Food had arrived and though he'd not wished to eat and felt he hadn't the stomach for it, Shireen had insisted and Davos could refuse her nothing.

By the time the story was over and done with, Davos cared not for anything other than the young girl beside him and whatever her future was to be. Melisandre would lose her head and she wouldn't be alone in that, yet he cared not to see it. Selyse had lost her mind and had taken her own life. Yet other than what it meant to Shireen, Davos cared not. Both Daemon and Aemon Targaryen named her as kin, but Davos feared still for her future. Only to find he had no reason to do so. No reason at all.

"My cousin will take up her family's seat in Storm's End, Ser Davos. There she will rule as Lady Paramount as is her right. However, as smart and clever as she undoubtedly is, she will need help and guidance too. Shireen." the king said and Davos felt her squeeze his hand and so turned to look at her hopeful face.

"I would name you as my regent, Ser Onion Knight. Please accept." Shireen said hopefully.

"I…"

"It must be you, Ser Onion Knight, I trust no one else."

"Then I will do all I can to prove your trust well founded, my lady," he said to a beaming smile from the young girl who he thought as much his blood as any of his sons were.

It was not the cells he was taken back to. Instead, he was given rooms close to Shireen's own. Though he bristled at first at the guards that were with them both, in time he understood the reason why they were Northern and not men of the Stormlands. Shireen wished for him to judge who could and could not be trusted. Some of those who they could trust not would lose their heads and others would serve the remainder of their lives as men of the Watch. Only a few would be traveling back with them to the Stormlands.

Later before the night truly fell, Davos held her hand as they stood with the Northmen, men of the Watch, Stormlanders, and Wildlings and watched the king remove the head from Lady Melisandre's shoulders. Not a single one of them mourned the woman as she breathed her last and damned them all as servants of the Great Other. For it would be better to serve any god other than Melisandre's own. As the night grew dark, Davos was joined in his room by Shireen and he held her in his arms while she cried herself to sleep. Despite it all, she still mourned her mother and father. As brave as she was, she still worried about her future. Through it all, he whispered softly in her ear that he'd stand there with her and help her through it all. By the time morning broke, Shireen was just as resolved as Davos himself was.

King's Landing 300 AC.

Sansa Stark.

Each day that Daemon and she were parted was one that Sansa liked not. It was more than just worries for him. Though they were there too. Sansa missed him terribly and longed to see his face once more. She wished to feel his lips on hers and for him to ask the question that she was so very ready to answer. As much as she wanted to see Winterfell once more and to be by her brother and sister's sides, her heart willed her to be somewhere else.

It was why she hadn't been able to give Rickon an answer when he asked her to be his regent. Why she'd needed Arya to tell her that she wasn't being a fool once more. More than anything though, it was why she needed to see Daemon and to hear him tell her that he felt as she did. That he loved her as she was certain she loved him. Sansa no longer wished to be a queen, though she'd welcome being one with Daemon as king. Now more than anything, she simply wished to be Daemon's wife.

Still, in some ways, she was acting like a queen in all but name. So after breaking her fast with Arya and Rickon, she made her way to the Tower of the Hand and with a nod to the guards, Sansa entered the room. Jon Connington sat at his desk, busy at work. There were so many papers, pieces of parchment, and books on top of it, that Sansa wondered how the man knew which was which. Taking a seat in front of him, she waited for him to finish what he was doing so she could speak to him about the requests that had been made of her. It was a much longer wait than she expected, but finally, he turned her way.

"Forgive me, Lady Sansa. I find when I'm in the middle of a thought…."

"You must finish it." she interrupted to a smile and a nod from Daemon's Hand.

"Indeed I…"

The knock on the door and the hurried way the guard walked in worried her greatly. Sansa felt her heart in her chest as the scroll was handed to Jon Connington. She was much relieved that he read it quickly and at the smile that appeared on his face once he'd done so.

"Stannis Baratheon is dead and Daemon is putting the Wall to rights before he returns. A return that we can expect to be far sooner than a ship's journey takes."

"Lord Jon?"

"Daemon's dragon has arrived, Sansa," Jon said and Sansa looked at him in disbelief, for surely this was a jest of some sort.

"Dragon?" she asked, feeling foolish about how she spoke the word and yet unable to put it more fully into words than that.

"When Daemon met his aunt Princess Daenerys, she then brought three dragons into the world. Drogon, Rhaegal and Viserion. The first she named after her husband, the second two after her brothers. Viserion, the golden dragon bonded with Daemon during his time with his aunt and her husband. Given what he needed to do and that it was for the best if the three dragons grew together. When Daemon departed he did so alone."

"You're saying he could have had a dragon with him when he came to Westeros?" she asked, unsure and somewhat still in disbelief that she was talking about dragons at all.

"He could have and when he comes back from the North, he will."

"Wait, you're saying that he's going to fly back from the North?" she asked looking at Jon Connington in disbelief.

"I am." Jon Connington said happily.

Sansa shook her head. The thought of such a thing was beyond her and yet the idea that Daemon would be back even sooner was one she welcomed. It took her a moment to think of other things and when it came to her that the Boltons would soon be facing an actual dragon, her smile soon followed.

"I look very much forward to seeing an actual dragon," she said happily.

"As do I, Sansa."

Putting thoughts of the dragon, and Daemon's return, somewhat out of her head, for now, Sansa readied to speak on her real reason for this morning's visit.

"Lord Tyrion and Lady Margaery, Jon. I've received requests from both of them to meet."

"Seeking for you to interfere in their family's sentences no doubt," Jon said, his good cheer now gone.

"Mayhap. I'd like to meet them regardless."

"Are you sure that's a wise idea, Sansa? I've heard somewhat about the Queen of Thorn's efforts to wed you to her grandson and that you hold Lord Tyrion in some regard."

"He was good to me, Jon. As too were the Tyrells in their own way. There are so few I can say about that were I to speak truthfully." she said and noticed the slightly angered look that appeared on Jon Connington's face at her words.

She got on quite well with Daemon's Hand. Partly because she was sure that he knew of their feelings for each other and partly because she had taken on some of the duties that he himself was ill-equipped for. Sansa acted almost as if she was the Lady of the Red Keep. It was her that spoke to the wives and daughters of the lords. Both those who'd come to Daemon's side willingly and those who'd not. While Jon Connington sat as Daemon's Regent, Sansa sat as if she and he were already wed and not just that she wished it so.

"I'll not deny you leave to speak to them, Sansa. I would warn you in advance that they'll try and use your past feelings to benefit themselves and see their sentences reduced."

"And is there room for them to be so?" she asked curiously.

"Some, but not much."

It gave her much to ponder as she made her way to where the Lannisters were housed. Sansa was well aware that they wished to use her to help themselves and she faulted them not for it. While it had taken her some time to realize the way the world worked, she had finally truly begun to do so. Her eyes were opened now, finally. No longer was she the foolish girl she'd once been. Or at least she hoped she was not.

She entered the room to find Tyrion sitting alone, just as she'd requested. Sansa had no wish to see Cersei if it could be avoided. While she had nothing truly against Jaime Lannister, other than his attack on her father and his name, she had no wish to see him either. As for Tommen, it was best that the young lad was left alone with his kittens. Offering Tyrion a warm enough smile, Sansa took her seat and asked for refreshments to be brought. Tyrion was pleased to see the wine when it came and poured himself a glass without being asked to do so.

"You look well, Sansa." Tyrion began.

"I am. My cousin has seen to that."

"Your family?"

"My sister and brother are with me. I've not heard much of my other bother as of yet, though given I'd feared I was alone, I'm more hopeful now."

Tyrion swallowed his wine quickly and then poured himself another glass.

"I'm sorry you took the blame for Joffrey. That I left you to face it alone," she said truthfully.

"it was for the best you did." Tyrion said surprising her "Given how my sister blamed me, your fate would have been much worse had you stayed."

"Very much so," she said, trying not to smile as she thought of being rescued by Damon from Littlefinger and Lysa and failing to do so when she then thought of them riding together through the Vale.

"You've heard of our sentences no doubt."

"I have," she said, her expression schooled once more.

"I would beg you to speak to your cousin, Sansa. To remove some of the worst of them. Mine own fate is not one I welcome, I'll not lie. I have no true desire to spend my time at the Wall. Even was that time to be spent with Jaime. As for Myrcella, the life of a septa is not one she deserves."

"And your sister, brother, nephew, and the rest of your kin?" she asked.

"I could plead for them. Beg you to help them and hope my words stirred your heart. There are some who'd name me selfish for asking only about mine own fate, though that's not why I asked over Myrcella's too. Yet no words of mine will save Jaime from the Wall or Cersei from the Silent Sisters. I understand too that Tommen can never be allowed to have a claim on the Iron Throne, not that he has much of one given the truth of his birth. As for the rest of my kin. While I care somewhat for them, I care not that much."

"Honest as ever." she chuckled.

"I try to be." he smiled.

She sat silently, her mind working as she contemplated what she was being asked to do. After a moment she rose to her feet and Tyrion looked at her worriedly.

"I know not what Prince Doran has planned in regard to Myrcella, Tyrion. Were I to wager, then I'd say he'll only agree to the marriage if Casterly Rock is the dowry."

"I'd concur."

"It cannot be, you know this." she said and Tyrion nodded "Yet I'll not see her confined to serve her days out as a Septa either. Myrcella was ever kind to me, she's a sweet girl who deserves better."

"Thank you, Sansa."

"As for your own fate. I owe you much, Tyrion. Were you a different man then I'd no longer have my virtue and that was not the only kindness you showed me. I've not known much of it since my family left Winterfell that fateful day and I do welcome it. I'll speak to my cousin on your behalf. Mayhap it can be the Citadel rather than the Wall that is to be your life from here on."

"I'd much welcome it."

Sansa moved to the door and stopped before turning to look back at Tyrion.

"I do appreciate what you did, Tyrion. Truly. I wish things could have been different between our Houses."

"As do I Sansa. As do I."

Walking from the room, Sansa was soon heading down the corridor and to where the Tyrells were being held. Unlike Tyrion, she had no such qualms about seeing more than one of the Tyrells. Though she wished only to converse with Margaery and had made plans that would see that so.

The North 300 AC. (Takes place before, during, and after Daemon's Pov)

Ramsay Bolton.

It had taken some convincing but his father had finally relented and given him the men to see his plan through. All in all, Ramsay had a little over two thousand in number, all of them mounted. That some of them were Frey's bothered him not. They rode down the Kingsroad and did so at a decent pace. Ramsay sent his scouts on ahead of him and hoped to find some entertainment along the way. He'd left Myranda behind in Winterfell and it was a long way to the Wall.

His nights were filled with dreams of what he'd do to Stannis Baratheon's wife and daughter. Not even the idea of Shireen Baratheon's age or scarred face was enough to stop his lurid fantasies as he lay in his bed. As for Stannis himself, Ramsay would take great pleasure in removing his head from his shoulders personally. Which of his men it was who first mentioned the red priestess that Stannis rode with, Ramsay knew not. Though soon enough it was Lady Melisandre that fuelled his nightly self-pleasuring. He'd never had a bitch from Essos before and he wondered if they tasted different than the woman of the North. He hoped they did and looked forward to soon finding out.

They rode through the North without any worries, cares, or fears of ambush. His father had bid him to be wary and yet Ramsay had barely listened to his words. If anything, he almost hoped that there would be someone to face them before they reached the Wall. Riding was a dull and boring business after all and he and his boys could do with some bloodletting. What did surprise him and concern him a little was that the villages they passed seemed to be recently deserted. So recent in fact that he almost expected to meet those who'd once named them as their home somewhere along the road they traveled on. Yet, there was no sight nor sound of life at all.

"I like this not, my lord," Skinner said as they rode through yet another abandoned village.

"Send some men east and west, see if they can find any sign of the pox-ridden villagers," Ramsay replied and Skinner and Yellow Dick hurried to carry out his orders.

That night they camped by the side of the river and he cursed the men he'd sent in search of the village's inhabitants. Either they'd found them and were having their own fun. Something that would cost them dearly. Or they'd not and were still riding. Though he tried not to let bother him, it was starting to do so. So much so that the next morning, Ramsay sent riders on ahead with orders to ride even more quickly to the next village.

Yet even here it was to the same uninhabited and recently departed homes and tavern that Ramsay and his men rode to a day or so later. What little the villagers had was mainly still there in their houses. Food was still in their larders and plenty of ale was still in the barrels in the tavern. Other than there being no sign of coin anywhere, nor livestock, it was as if the villagers had just upped and left all they had to run off to the Old Gods only knew where.

"Mayhap they fear us, milord." Yellow Dick said.

"Course they fear us" a voice that Ramsay barely listened to and couldn't have named had he done so replied.

"They be right to." another voice said to loud laughs.

Ramsay though was lost in his own thoughts by now. One or two villages was one thing, three or more of them being completely abandoned was quite another. It wasn't even the mere fact they were abandoned that he felt uneasy about. Instead, it was where they'd gone once they'd done so that gave him pause.

They'd been traveling for a week before they found the first signs of life. The snow had fallen little for the last couple of days and so they finally saw the tracks that showed both people and animals had come this way. Something that relieved Ramsay greatly if he was being honest with himself. Despite not giving in to the growing feeling that something was at work that he understood not, his hackles had remained raised. A part of him had wondered if his father's concerns about there being opposition to their rule, other than Stannis Baratheon and some cowardly Northern Lords, had turned out to be true.

Looking at the tracks though, it was clear that this was no well-planned-out thing. This was just sheep running from things much worse than wolves. From Ramsay and his Bastard's Boys. They were right to run from them too, though not to run where the tracks led. There would be no respite found at the Wall and Ramsay would take great pleasure in proving that to the fools who'd denied him his fun on this march.

"We camp here," he called out, having had enough riding for that day.

Looking at his map and the grounds around him, Ramsay would wager they were more than halfway to the Wall. They'd not yet reached the Last River and so were not yet on Umber Lands. Before he left, his father had Whoresbane Umber send a raven to Last Hearth asking for more men. Though Ramsay had not been told of this by his father, but instead by Steelshanks Walton. He didn't expect much from them given the men that Whoresbane had brought to his father's side. Yet he'd welcome more men all the same.

The one doubt that Ramsay had about his plan was how the Wildlings may react. Poorly armed and savage though they may be, they would hold the advantage of numbers. Were they to truly join with Stannis Baratheon, then the upcoming battle would not be as much of a forgone conclusion as Ramsay had claimed to his father it would be. As he took to his bed that night, other doubts began to creep into his dreams. Thoughts that the villagers would speak of their fears and give away the element of surprise that Ramsay's march would bring. Images of large groups of Wildlings overwhelming his army's attack. Even some visions of Northmen riding out of the shadows and cutting his men down as if they were nothing. Ramsay saw them all and slept little because of it.

For the next few days, his eyes looked everywhere as he rode. Ramsay cursed himself for not bringing his 'Girls' with him. For had he done so, then he'd have ridden out with them and chased down the missing villagers by now. It was not until they passed the Last River and came across the large camp of Umber men that he put the small doubt that had been growing in his mind to rest. Though it was only a hundred or more men that Whoresbane's raven had brought to him, the sight of them and the words they spoke were enough to settle Ramsay's unease.

"Lord Hothar sends his regards, Lord Bolton."

"And you are?"

"Alyn, milord. Alyn Snow."

"A bastard," he said mockingly.

"Aye, milord."

"Well, I'll not hold that against you."

"Thank you, milord."

Ramsay ate with Alyn Snow that night. He was given the choicest cut as was his right as the heir of Winterfell and the deer had been cooked just how he liked it, raw and bloody. It was Alyn who brought up the villagers and the words he spoke of them were like music to Ramsay's ears. They'd not headed to the Wall as he feared. Instead, it was to Last Hearth and other keeps they'd traveled to. That they did speak of him as part of the reason why they did so made Ramsay sit up a little straighter and prouder. Their fear of him was something well-founded after all.

"They'll find no room at Last Hearth, milord. Mayhap once we're done doing what we must, you can see to them then."

"Aye, that I will. You know what we plan?" he asked as he licked the blood from his fingers, the meat long since swallowed.

"No milord. I were just told to meet you here."

Ramsay saw the way Alyn stiffened when he explained his plan. The attack on the Wall was not something that the man agreed with and in this, he was much like his father. Though he cared not to explain himself to anyone, not even Roose Bolton, he somewhat did so to the man he sat with. Why he was so talkative, he knew not, only that he was and that he lied somewhat. Alyn relaxed when Ramsay told him that he wished no harm on the Night's Watch and that it was only Stannis Baratheon and mayhap some Wildlings that would feel his wrath.

His sleep that night was more akin to how it had been when he'd first left Winterfell a sennight or more ago. The dreams were ones that stiffened his cock and had him waking up to a small pool of drool on his chin. Dreams of rape, torture, and the hunting of a woman who named herself a queen. Of breaking in a girl some named a princess and of a woman in red being stripped for his pleasure. As they rode forward later that day, Ramsay did so with a smile on his face and without a doubt or care in the world. To the victor go the spoils, and his victory would be a sweet one indeed.

King's Landing 300 AC.

Margaery Tyrell.

All their plans had gone wrong. Everything they'd worked for had come to naught. As they had waited for their fate to be revealed to them, Margaery had feared that none of them would come out alive from the game that up to then they'd played so well. In the end, it turned out to be both a terrible, and yet not, fate that awaited them. Her father was wroth and yet greatly relieved at the same time. Loras had needed to be talked out of demanding a fight to change either theirs or his own fate. As for her mother and Grandmother, they had long stopped speaking to each other and Margaery had been surprised by the vitriol her mother had shown.

"This was your plan, Olenna. All you have sought has led to this and I curse the fact that I never stood up to you before."

"What would you have us do? Nothing?"

"Look at all we've lost, Olenna, doing nothing would have been far better than what we did."

The argument still played out in Margaery's head as did the comforting words she'd offered to both her grandmother and mother. Her mother bid her to not do anything stupid. While for once, her grandmother had no words of advice or plan for her to follow. It was left to Margaery to come up with one that would serve her family well.

Yet it had taken time for even the beginnings of one to form in her head. If it was not for the sight of the black wolf and the boy and two girls with it that she'd glimpsed from her window, then even now she'd probably have been just as lost as her grandmother seemed to be. The new king though had wolf's blood in his veins as much as he had the blood of the dragon. So upon seeing Sansa Stark and the guards that followed her. Knowing that she was present and would no doubt have her cousin's ear, Margaery began to consider things carefully.

Was this another time and they'd played things differently, then she could have offered herself to the new king and sold just what a marriage to her would bring to both him and the realm. A voice she had always listened to almost willed her to do so still. Yet it was quickly shouted down by louder voices in her head. She was to be wed to Dickon Tarly. One day her children would rule the Reach and to seek more than that was to risk too much. No, her fate was long since sealed. Besides, it was not her own fate that she was most concerned with. So she'd bid the guards to get a message to Sansa Stark and now waited for her to come and visit her or for Margaery to be given leave to be taken to see her. It turned out to be the former and not the latter.

The Sansa Stark who walked into their rooms was a far different girl than the one she'd met when they arrived in King's Landing. She looked for more poised and confident and so Margaery changed her plans somewhat. She was pleased that her family was greeted so warmly and even her grandmother showed more interest and signs of life than she had these past few days. Yet, when it came time to speak it was her and her alone that Sansa agreed to talk to.

"You are well, Lady Margaery. You have all you need?" Sansa said as she led Margaery out of the room and through the corridors of the Red Keep. The first time she'd been allowed to leave her room in more than a week or more.

"Other than being confined, Lady Sansa, I have almost all I could wish for."

"I'll speak to the guards and see if some restrictions can't be lifted. You and your mother should be allowed more freedom."

"Not my grandmother or brothers?"

"Not for now, no."

To her delight, it was to the small garden that Princess Myrcella had once called her own that Sansa led her. More so, it was the table and chairs that had been laid out that Margaery appreciated. That and the refreshments that were soon brought to them both. Not that they'd been denied decent food or even wine since they'd been taken, prisoner. But there was a difference in how things were presented and how they looked. So much so that for a moment, Margaery could almost forget what the last few days had been like.

"I saw you from my window, Sansa. Was that your sister and brother I saw you with? They and one of the famed Direwolves?" Margaery asked as Sansa poured them both some tea.

"Aye. That was Arya and Rickon, and the wolf is called Shaggydog?"

Despite the seriousness of what she wished to speak to Sansa on, Margaery couldn't help herself but giggle at the wolf's name. Something that Sansa joined in with. It lightened the mood somewhat and allowed for the conversation to flow a little more freely or it did until they got to the crux of the matter.

"You heard of the sentences imposed on my family?" Margaery asked.

"I did," Sansa replied, her posture and expression far more guarded now.

"I…I would like to plead for some of them to be changed." she asked, stuttering slightly on purpose and slightly out of nervousness "His grace has been most merciful, Sansa. I know I ask a lot, but they are my family, and the thoughts of…"

"What would you seek, Margaery?"

"Loras, Grandmother….."

Sansa said nothing. Margaery watched her as she raised the cup to her lips and drank a rather large swallow from it. It took her a few moments to place the cup back on the table and when she did, Margaery held her breath.

"And what of Willas? Garlan? Your father?"

"My father can never be a lord again, Sansa, I'm not fool enough to think that a Targaryen king would forgive him both for his actions during the rebellion or in actually leading men against him. Given that Lord Tarly is to be Warden, the intent is clear."

"And your brothers?"

"I had feared all three would be sent to the Wall or worse." she said shakily, reaching out to pick up her cup and finding her hands tremble without the need for mummery "Willas being sent to the Citadel instead….though not the life we would have wished for him…."

"Is more preferable than the alternative." Sansa finished for her.

"As for Garlan….out of all of us, he's the only one who met his grace even but briefly. I know not why he was given so much and Loras so little, yet I am most grateful for it."

"My cousin wished not to deny Lady Leonette her husband, Margaery. He believes Ser Garlan to be a man of honor and while he could still have sent him to the Wall, he's not a man without mercy as your own fate shows."

"I am most grateful for that too, Sansa, truly. I know little of Dickon Tarly though I've met him more than once. He's a far better man that I may have been tied to and it's a far better future I face than I may have done."

"It is."

"Loras though…my brother can be a fool and it's true he's served two kings as Kingsguard. But one of those was out of the love he felt in his heart for Renly Baratheon." Margaery said, revealing more of Loras' truth than she had intended "And the other was at his family's behest."

"Yet serve them he did, Margaery." Sansa sighed.

"I…"

"I believe Lord Connington suggested that Loras' sentence need not be for life?" Sansa asked and Margaery nodded "I'll speak to my cousin on your behalf, mayhap we can see that is so. Yet he'll still need to serve some time there regardless, Margaery, and I make no promises."

"Thank you, Sansa. It means much to me that you'll speak for him even a little."

"Your grandmother, Margaery. No words you speak to me will change her fate."

"I…"

"I know, it pains me to say it but not even were I willing to ask my cousin, would he agree to do so. Your grandmother's final days are to be spent far from where she can plot or plan. To seek to change that. Would mayhap lead to a reconsidering of your own fate and the fate of the rest of your family. I'd beseech you to accept that this is so and to give my cousin no reason to doubt your sincerity."

"Sansa?"

"Daemon is not my father or my brother, Margaery. He's beaten the Old Lion without breaking a sweat and rescued me from Littlefinger and whatever plans he had for me. A week ago he set off for the North to deal with Stannis Baratheon once and for all and now the Stag King breathes no more."

Margaery gulped as she heard the words being spoken. She noticed the pride and something else in Sansa's voice as she spoke and it took her a moment to realize just how right she was to shout down the voice which had sought to make her a queen once more.

"Daemon is merciful but only when it's warranted and his mercy has limits. Remember that and when you speak your oaths of fealty to him, speak them for true. For should you lie or play him false, then not even I will be able to change your fate."

Sansa rose to her feet and Margaery noticed then just how many guards were with her. While she was led back to her rooms, somewhat comforted and somewhat not, Sansa walked with the guards, and out of the two of them, only one looked like a queen. Laying in her bed that night, Margaery found she cared not and wished not for a crown. She cried herself to sleep over her grandmother's fate and the knowledge they'd soon be parting. Yet she was hopeful that when Loras left to go to the Wall and Willas to the Citadel, it would not be the last time she saw either of them again. She was hopeful too that she may find something with Dickon Tarly that it seemed Sansa Stark had found in Daemon Targaryen. That there was to be love in her future in some fashion and if so, then what cared she for a crown?

The Wall 300 AC.

Daemon Targaryen.

A little over two years ago, he was alone in the world. Unaware of who he was, who his family was, or that there were some of them still out there. Even after he'd been told the truth of things, Daemon had not truly felt anything other than the desire to follow the path that the Kindly Man had set out for him. Meeting Daenerys, helping her, and feeling what it was like to not be alone in the world had changed something in him. Following that up by meeting Sansa though, had truly changed him. This was why when he met with his uncle Aemon for the first time, he felt it deep within himself.

There was now a need in him that had not been there before. A wish for things that he'd never even considered and emotions raised that Daemon was unaware he possessed. Talking to his uncle about his life, his aunt, and the things that Daemon himself had done over the years, was both enjoyable and concerning. Feeling the pain in his heart upon hearing that his father loved him and had written to Aemon about him often, had been almost enough to bring a tear to his eye.

Daemon then learned he had more kin. Sansa had spoken of another brother of hers, Bran. While Aemon first spoke of an uncle, Benjen, and then to Daemon's great surprise, another cousin, Shireen. The girl he'd saved from being burned at the stake was a niece to his uncle too. She was cousin to him by blood and it allowed for talk to turn to the Stormlands, Storm's End, and what was to be done with it. Daemon quickly accepted his uncle's advice on that, as he did, even more, when it came to the Free Folk.

"There will be those who tell you not to appoint Shireen to rule over the Stormlands, nephew. Those who suggest that her family has risen against our own and so deserve it not."

"Yet you disagree, uncle?"

"I believe in kin above all, nephew. Even if at times they can let you down or disappoint, there is naught stronger in this world than the bonds of blood."

"Speak to me on the Wildlings, uncle. I gathered from what Mother Mole suggested that they seek an accord?"

"They do and it's one we should offer them, nephew. One you should offer them."

He'd listened to his uncle's tales of his life and what he knew about the life of his father. As he had to what Aemon had said about Shireen. Daemon had then spoken to the young girl in Aemon's presence and not. Smart, frightened, worried about her future, and yet glad that she had one. His cousin was incredibly grateful that Daemon had arrived in time to save her from her fate and blamed him not for the death of her father.

"He lost himself, your grace. Though he was helped to do so."

"Cousin, Shireen. We have little enough blood left in the world as it is.

"Cousin," Shireen said, her smile as bright as any he'd ever seen.

Both his uncle and cousin had been awed by seeing Viserion up close. The golden dragon almost preened as they gazed upon him. His arrival had been a huge surprise and a most welcome one and Daemon had felt their bond strengthen greatly even in their limited time spent together. He'd promised his cousin and his uncle that once he became comfortable enough with flying himself, he'd then offer them the chance to join him on Viserion's back. Though it was the image of red hair blowing in the wind and Sansa's arms wrapped around his waist as they flew high in the sky that Daemon fell to sleep with. Or as much sleep as he allowed himself in this place.

He'd arranged to meet with the so-called King Beyond the Wall in the morning. Now however he was dealing with things he was far more used to, death. The woman had asked to see him more than once and he'd denied her. So just before she was to be brought out to face her execution, Daemon along with the Greatjon and Torrhen Snow, walked to the ice cells and to the woman who was being held there.

"You've dealt with these priests and priestesses before, Daemon?" the Greatjon asked.

"A little. They and our own order follow different gods, Jon. As do you and me."

"Yet you hold it not against me."

"Your god doesn't seek to burn innocents, Jon," Daemon said.

They passed by the cells that were filled with men of the Stormlands. Some of them had almost sold their souls to R'hllor and Lady Melisandre while others just followed their liege lord and would soon be free to swear their vows to their liege lady. As for the lady herself, Melisandre glared at him and before Daemon even had a chance to speak, she began spouting her nonsense.

"Begone foul spirit."

"R'hllor protect us."

"You will not win."

Daemon looked back to the two men with him and somehow resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Normally, he'd have stood stoically or simply walked away. Lately, in yet another of the changes he'd noticed that had come over him, he would not.

"You'll meet your end here today, Lady Melisandre. The night is dark and full of terrors and so I'll not wait until it falls before I send you to your god. Speak to us of the threat you claim comes for us all and let that be the last service you do for Westeros and those who name it home."

"Azor Ahai, where is my prince, where is my king?"

"In the seven hells where he deserves to be. Speak your words, Lady Melisandre, for you'll get no other chance to do so," he said firmly.

They listened as she spoke of an army of dead led by the Great Other himself. Her eyes were on his all the while she spoke and at one point, Daemon believed he saw realization come to those eyes. Though it stopped her not from naming him as both the Great Other and his servant when she was brought out to the block. Melisandre damned him and them all for giving in to the darkness and not walking in her god's light.

"Fire, give me to the fire. Let the great dragon take me from this world." Melisandre called out when she saw Viserion flying some distance away.

"Our way is the old way," Daemon said, more for those watching than for anything else.

Shireen stood with Ser Davos and their uncle Aemon. The Greatjon with the men of the Mountain Clans and of the North. While all the while he was torn between glaring at the woman who was helped to her knees or the Free Folk who'd come to watch her die. Around the courtyard, men of the Watch, of the Company of the Rose, and of the Stormlands all looked on as Daemon unsheathed his sword. Blackfyre's blade glinted in the fading light and those who'd not yet seen the blade now looked at it with wonder.

"For the murders of Lord Guncer Sunglass, Lord Alester Florent, and the brothers Hubert and Harrold Rambton. As well as the attempted murder of my cousin, Lady Shireen Baratheon. I, King Daemon Targaryen, King of the Andals, Rhoynar and First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realms of Men do hereby sentence you to death. Do you have any final words?"

Be it hearing his name for the first time, seeing Blackfyre, or finally gaining the clarity she had mayhap lost up to this point, Melisandre pleaded for her life. She named him the Prince that was Promised, the true Azor Ahai, and offered the services of herself and her god. All of it to no avail. Blackfyre swung true and the cut was as clean as it could be. Melisandre's head fell to the icy ground below and once it was done, Daemon then ordered her body to be burnt.

That night, he supped with the men of the Watch and judged their Lord Commander to be a craven. Though it was not his right to do so, he ordered them to strip the man of his rank and to name another in his stead. Aemon quickly backed up his words as he then spoke of Janos Slynt hiding away when his forces had attacked Stannis' own. To his uncle's surprise, it was he who most wished to take over, especially now that he could see once more. Aemon had to deny them leave to put his name forward and then ask him to release him from his oaths.

"I had thought to die here, nephew. Was I still blind and as infirm as I was but weeks ago, I'd seek it still."

"Now you do not?"

"I'd like to see my home once more. To see you sit upon the Iron Throne and to meet this young lady you speak of so fondly."

"Sansa," he said, his smile appearing as he did so.

"You wish her to be your queen, do you not?" Aemon asked and Daemon nodded in reply "Then I truly wish to see her, nephew."

They made arrangements to leave once he spoke to the Free Folk and gave Torrhen and the Greatjon their orders. Sitting by the fire that night, Daemon was unable to sleep and so he made his way to the top of the Wall. He was looking out upon it when they came for him. Knives in the dark and ones that found he was far less surprised by them than they thought he was. How Janos Slynt had convinced four men to join him in his folly, Daemon knew not. Not that it mattered. They and Slynt himself were quickly offered up to the Many-Faced God and the Night's Watch were lucky that those who followed him, listened when he spoke.

The next morning, before he had a chance to meet with the Free Folk, it was Torrhen Snow who came to him with something urgent. Daemon was sitting in the Lord Commander's chambers speaking to his uncle when he did so.

"Ramsay Bolton, Daemon, he marches this way." Torrhen began.

"With how many men?"

"Two thousand or more."

His first instinct was to fly on Viserion's back and show Ramsay and the North what a dragon could truly do. Yet somehow he fought that down. Instead, he bid Torrhen to call the Greatjon and others to him and to arrange a meeting for when he got back from speaking with the Free Folk.

Later as he and his uncle rode to the Free Folk camp, Daemon thought more about his plans in regard to Ramsay Snow. He shouted down the voice which bid him to stay and wait for him to arrive. Just as he had the one that wished for him to fly and deal with him using Viserion. The plan needed to be smarter than that and though he needed to be here to see it carried through, he needed to be elsewhere too. Or if he was being more honest with himself, he wished to be. By the time they reached the Free Folk camp, Daemon's plans were set. Putting them aside, he dismounted and both he and his uncle accepted guest right when offered.

"You come without guards?" the red-headed man who'd introduced himself as Tormund Giantsbane said as they walked to where Mance, Mother Mole, and others awaited to speak to him.

"I need them not, do I?" Daemon asked and found his question answered with a shake of Tormund's head.

"We seek not to fight you. Not if what Mother says is true."

"What does she say?" he asked curiously as his uncle looked on.

"That without you we're all fucking dead."

The large tent was far warmer than it looked. Inside it, Mance, Mother Mole, and other men and women he'd name as elders or clan leaders, the leadership structure that the Free Folk employed not truly known to him, sat and looked at him warily. In the corner, two women sat and while one looked at a babe resting in a crib, the other looked his way almost angrily. Though Daemon was beginning to think that it was all but a show and that those he sat with were more hopeful than anything else. Something proved true when Mother Mole spoke.

"I dreamt of you, my prince. From when I was but a girl to even now. As I dreamt of the things that come for us, I dreamt of the one who'd save us from them. For only a servant of death can beat death itself."

Daemon looked at her curiously and wondered if she truly knew what she spoke. With a nod of his head, he bid her continue and said nothing when other voices soon joined in. One thing quickly became clear, the Free Folk were a proud people and their loud voices proclaimed they did and would not kneel. With a glance at his uncle, Daemon saw how it all seemed to amuse Aemon so. They'd spoken much of prophecy and destiny. Words that Daemon had heard spoken in the House of Black and White and yet were spoken very differently in his uncle's voice. He had liked them not. Yet he'd listened and fool that he may be, but some of it he'd actually believed. As silence finally descended upon the tent, he readied to speak and knew not which words would be uttered.

"I care not for prophecy, destiny, or whether or not I'm some fated prince or savior. For most of my life, I've served the God of Death." Daemon said to worried looks "For all lives are owed to him, including mine. Yet in serving the Many-Faced God, I've served life too."

Around the tent people relaxed and Mance especially looked at him eagerly.

"The North is not happy with you here, nor are the Men of the Watch. Were I not a king and held not a crown, my will alone wouldn't be enough to overrule theirs. I know not what comes for us. Nor even if anything does. Yet my uncle tells me it is so. He tells me that were you on the other side of that great Wall of Ice then death is all you'd know. That it's right you're instead on this side of it. He's told me other things. One of them being that it was by the will of both sides of my family that these lands were gifted to the men of the Watch. Good Queen Alysanne convinced Lord Alaric Stark to give lands to the Watch just as Bran the Builder had done thousands of years earlier."

He reached down and took a swallow of the foul-tasting liquid he'd been given to drink. Allowing it to wet his tongue and giving him the chance to look at the faces of those around the tent. All of them awaited what he would say next and with another glance at his uncle and a nod of his head, Daemon decided to put them out of their misery.

"I now take back these lands and offer the safety of them to you, but temporarily." Daemon said to some confused looks "You will not kneel and so I'll not ask you to. Yet should this war that you all believe comes for us actually be one we need to fight? Then you'll have no other choice but to fight by my side and the sides of those you've named your enemies. For there is no truer enemy than death and that's not a fight you can win alone."

"So we're allies then?" Mance asked hopefully.

"Temporarily we are and my protection is afforded to you as it is to those who've knelt and named me king. Once this fight is done, we'll all either be dead or you'll be forced to make a choice. Kneel or leave these lands forever. But that is not a choice we need to make today."

"No, it's not," Mance said happily.

Daemon allowed Aemon to speak on supplies and weapons. He listened as Mother Mole spoke of Dragonglass and Dragon flames being the truest weapons of all. Her eyes were on his all the while. They said their goodbyes and he stayed one more night at the Wall before together with his uncle, Daemon flew south. Uncomfortable though he was with Aemon on Viserion's back, it felt natural and true too. By the time they reached the Riverlands, even his discomfort of flying with a passenger was a thing of the past. While his bond with Viserion had grown stronger still.

He'd faced arguments from the Greatjon and the Mountain Clans regarding the Free Folk. His words somewhat won the day and the threat of Ramsay Bolton then focussed their minds where they needed to be focused. With Torrhen, Asher, and others he'd made plans. While Shireen and Ser Davos had then agreed to play their own part. Though his cousin and her regent would be long gone from Castle Black before Ramsay ever saw them.

A week, two at most he'd have with Sansa depending on how long it took him to fly to King's Landing. It was more than enough time to get back and do what he needed to do. Offering up a prayer to the Many-Faced God, Daemon prayed that the magic that allowed him to wear other faces was not yet gone forever. He knew though that there was a chance that it would not be him that carried out the plan that he had settled on. Or some of it at least. Though it would be his blade and his blade alone that ended the Bolton line for good.

"For House Stark." he whispered in the wind 'For Sansa' he said in his heart as Viserion flew him ever closer to the woman he loved.

A/N: Thanks to all who've read and reviewed. Daemon and Aemon return to King's Landing and he's reunited with Sansa. In the Vale, Littlefinger tries to decide how best to deal with recent events. Sansa speaks to Daemon about her conversations with Margaery and Tyrion before Daemon asks her to be his wife before readying to leave once more. While Arya, Rickon, and others try to contain their excitement at the sight of the Golden Dragon. At the Wall, Ramsay rides into a world of hurt and faces a both wolf's and a dragon's rage as Daemon makes a new friend.

For those following my other fics. When the Dragonwolf Danced and Revenge is a Dish are up next.

VFSnake: Daemon/Ramsay is next.

J: Ok so the big issue with the Tyrells is the fact they actually fought against Daemon, even if they thought him Aegon. Either way, they fought against a Targ and after the events of the Rebellion, that just means they can no longer be allowed to rule. Mace would hinder the Wall more than help it, so he's just removed. Willas is the heir and while he didn't fight personally, he suffers from that more than anything. Garlan, yes probably should be given a stiffer sentence. But he's married, so his wife would be punished too and he's considered honorable (enough to be nicknamed Gallant) Loras served two false kings, and to be honest, that's what the fate of KG would be. Robert only gave Barristan the choice because it suited him to have him by his side, more than it did to see him dead/at the Wall.

Both the Lannisters/Tyrells must be seen to be punished heavily, yet there are politics at work too. So Marge gets a marriage, Garlan gets to keep HG (reduced though it will be) while others suffer more. One last thing about Willas, he's far more like Olenna than Garlan is, so in some ways a much more dangerous threat than Garlan who just is a really good swordsman.

Myafroatemydog: Shireen was saved, you must have read it wrong. She was set to be burned but Daemon freed her and Ser Marq Piper rode off with her. Stannis believed she was dead, however, but she lives.

Guest: Mace would ruin the Wall lol. Yes, Garlan did get off easy, though Marge got off even easier considering she'll one day be just as her mother/grandmother before her, married to the Warden of the South. But there is politics to be taken into account and the Lannister sentences must seem harsher or be seen to be.

Bullshit: Thanks I think.

Celexys: It does completely ruin his character doesn't it? I mean he may not be likable to most up to that point, but that one is just game over for him. It's why I hope in the books, that if it's done, it's done when he's dead, and since Shireen isn't with him where Stannis is in the books, it sort of feels that could be so.

Dunk: I did think of Daemon arriving later after Shireen but we saw her die in the show and what's the point of fics if you don't change things that can be changed. So having Daemon arrive earlier allows for it. Yes, Mel seeing her vision proved false is always a good thing for me. There will be a version of the Long Night here, a battle at least, I won't draw it out, but there will be some version of it. Jaime being there will be helpful yes. So I'm still torn on Dany, we will see her again in Essos but I've not yet decided if she will come to Westeros or just end her arc over there. Viserion is pretty much Drogon in Meereen's dragon pit. So we're looking at him being bigger than he was when Tyrion freed him as he's been free for longer and ranging over Essos. I'm glad you thought that with the trials, it can be pomp and circumstance for no reason.

Arantxa: They very much are, starting with everyone's least fave bastard in GOT, Ramsay.

Mattblack: Thanks so much. For me with Sansa, there is sort of a sweet spot in her character development. She's like Goldilocks, though with red hair lol. But too early and you get the same naïve Sansa and too late and she's gone too far the other way. The perfect time I think is during the Riots in KL, if you got to her there (I did in WK) then she's primed just perfectly to be a really clever lady in the future and one who isn't bitter. Here in the Vale, it's a little past that but still before she realizes that Lysa would kill her in a heartbeat, which I think is the point of no return.

On Margaery. Renly couldn't rise to the occasion if you remember and the show aged Tommen up considerably, he's like 9 in the books when he and Marge are wedded. I've no doubt that Margaery was somewhat experienced, she certainly took lessons in seduction and the like. But given how high her family was aiming, her own wish and desire to be queen, and just how much it meant to remain a maiden. The idea that she would risk it all is a hard one to accept.

Now in the books, it's revealed that she has lost her maidenhead, Cersei gets a list of men to confess to being her lovers and Pycelle says he provided her with Moon Tea. So it's indeed possible that she's not a Maiden by the time she marries Tommen or soon after, still it's doubtful that she's not, as again it would be grounds to be set aside.

Supremus: Again the thing with Ned Stark is that he and his actions are not, nor should they be, universally accepted as the right ones. At best Ned was a naïve optimist whose Honor was his downfall. You can argue that he had the very best intentions in every action he took, but even if that's true, there is still the outcome of those actions that need to be addressed and dealt with. And let's face it, the outcome of almost all of them is a terrible one. So when characters call him out based on the outcome of his actions, that's all it is.

He may have thought what he did for Jon was the best, but it's clearly not. Not by any measure other than it kept Jon alive until he died at the Wall, and he got to have a good relationship with some members of his family. Can you honestly look at Ned and say that everything he did was perfect? That he was always right? That he took the right actions every single time? No, of course, you or I, or anyone can't. So we show those actions as being questioned by characters who may have a reason to question them and not see them in the same light as other characters may. So be it Targ Loyalist, who may praise Ned for not giving Jon up but would then curse him for raising him how he did and allowing him to go to the Wall, or countless other characters who may look at the North and what state it was in, is in now, and how it came to be in that state and not go, "Ned was great wasn't he" that's all I try to show.

I personally take no issue with Ned's initial choice in regard to Jon, it's the only one he could have made, and once made, he needs to stick with it. It's the choices he then doesn't make and any other choices he makes afterward that change my perception of him completely.

And since we can't know just exactly what Ned truly thought in regards to Jon, it's also open to interpretation just how good he truly was in this regard too. Remember he never once thinks of Jon as his son, never names him so in his thoughts and while he denies Jon leave to go to the Wall, he only does so based on age, nothing else.

Sventhedecoy: It's always Rhaegal lol. I wanted to go different this time. I've used Rhaegal in almost all my fics, other than when using an OC Dragon, here I just wanted to be different.

VwChick: Thanks for saying so.

Lazymanjones: Really glad you liked it.

Biohazard: Your wish is my command.

Mvletters: A certain white wolf may be appearing quite soon.

FluppyGhost: Stannis was too far gone at that point. Mel sort of picked the perfect time.