Welcome back everyone! I'm back, hopefully consistently once more, from my hiatus. I'm pleased to inform you all that I have officially welcomed a new little bundle of joy into the family! But with that comes pretty much the sacrifice of any free time I have. That and work being an absolute mess right now with how busy we are…and yeah. I'm going to do everything that I can to keep my monthly update schedule, but as of right now I do not know just how strictly I'll be able to hold myself to that schedule.

Thank you to everyone who has alerted to this story, added it to your favorites or left a review! All of your continued support of this story has really been amazing and keeps pushing me to make sure that I finish this story!

Also, my friend, beta reader, and brainstorm partner Tellemicus Sundace has started up a new story of their own. It's a Horizon Forbidden West / ASOIAF cross over. And trust me…they've got number of interesting and fun ideas about where to go with it! So if you get the chance, I'd recommend checking it out!

And credit to where credit is due, I'm going to be using the name 'Norfolk' for the free folk that have traveled south of the Wall. For those of you who might recognize this, it is from 'The Difference One Man Can Make' by joen1801. If you haven't read the story, I highly recommend it as it is a fantastic piece to read for GOT/ASOIAF fans.

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


Chapter 31

Standing upon the raised platform overlooking the Greenblood River near Planky Town, Princess Arianne Martell watched with rapt interest as the pumps rose and fell out of the Greenblood. Turning with the aid of the large waterwheel and lifting considerable quantities of water into a massive basin where the water would sit and fill, allowing any sediment or debris to settle out before flowing into a channel near the top that led into a newly created aqueduct. The aqueduct would then channel the newly collected water around Planky Town before heading towards Lemonwood, the seat of House Dalt, to provide them with a steady supply of water for their crops and people. Ideally, she would have preferred the aqueduct to run all the way to Sunspear to provide her own House with the highly valuable freshwater. But the distance was simply too great for an untested and unproven method of water delivery. So, until she could prove the idea valid, which she was sure would happen in no time at all, she would have to settle for providing water to one of her more powerful bannerman.

"Everything seems to be working perfectly Princess Arianne, not that I ever had any doubts."

Glancing towards her companion on this inspection, Arianne discreetly eyed the Head of House Dalt and ruler of Lemonwood, Ser Deziel Dalt while she kept her person facing the flowing water before her. She could feel his eyes on her body, particularly on her rear as she walked around the platform inspecting the basin and pumps for any signs of leaking water. The man was unmarried and nearly ten years her senior, but she knew that he had once considered himself the premier match for her hand. In fact, so had his brother, Ser Andrey, for mostly the same reasons. And apparently not even her father's longstanding and continued rebuffing of his offer of marriage was enough to keep his eyes from wandering.

"It is just a shame that you are unable to stay longer to enjoy the fruits of your labors, Princess," Ser Deziel continued as the two completed their inspection, finding no issues with the process. "Blessing Lemonwood with this gift Princess, it is beyond priceless and will do much to aid our people. And I would be remiss if I could not show you my full appreciation for all that you've done for my people and the people of Dorne."

'Apparently he still harbors thoughts of becoming my Prince Consort,' Arianne wanted to huff. She knew that when she'd selected Lemonwood and Planky Town as the first place to build the waterwheel and pump system that she would have to deal with Ser Deziel. She'd had hope that the years had cooled his infatuation with her. But she was wrong. Very, very wrong. Unfortunately for Ser Deziel, and the many other men of Dorne that hoped to capture her hand, there was only one that she would even consider taking as her Prince Consort now. While part of her wanted to drag her beloved wolf to the nearest place of faith and seal their bond in the eyes of the gods and the law, she knew that she had to be careful. Her father and uncle knew of his true parentage. She could see the game they were playing, how they hoped to get her beloved to declare for the Iron Throne, making her not just the Princess of Dorne, but also Queen of Westeros. And while it would be a lie to say she had not also thought such thoughts, even perhaps fantasized about them, she would not push Jon to take the Throne. Should he wish it, he would have her and Dorne's support. But she wanted the decision to come from him and him alone.

"You should save your appreciation for the creator, Hilda of Winterfell," Arianne rebuffed gently. "While your offer is appreciated, Lord Deziel, my return to Sunspear is necessary as an envoy of the North is due to arrive soon. With my father back in the Water Gardens for now, it falls upon me to see to their arrival and settling in the Sunspear."

The Lord of Lemonwood did nothing to hide his displeasure at her mentioning of the North. He was one of the many nobles of Dorne that painted all of those who fought for Robert Baratheon with the same brush, regardless of their reasoning for rebelling against the Throne. "Pah, those barbarians. They're beneath you Princess, and the fact that you even graced them with your presence in the North should be more than enough to show them that Dorne…appreciates their trade. You shouldn't have to sully yourself by being in their mangy, filthy presence."

Her arm that now wore the water talisman twitched reflexively as she itched to call up a sphere of water to encase the man's head. But she resisted the urge to drown the man. 'He dares to insult Jon! I'll – no. Calm yourself, Arianne. Ygritte is the rash one. Not you.'

"Have a care how you speak, Lord Deziel," Arianne replied coolly, keeping as much anger and frustration out of her voice as possible. "The North has become the premier trading partner of Dorne. Despite our differences arising from the events at the end of the Rebellion, which nearly caused the North to turn against their allies. They have been nothing but cordial and welcoming to Dorne and her people. And until that changes, we will show them the same respect."

Deziel looked like he would rather eat a slab of rotten meat, but the man was loyal enough to her family to respectfully keep his more colored opinion to himself. "As you wish, Princess. But I feel I must warn you. There have been…rumors. Most distasteful rumors regarding yourself and the wolf bastard boy. Rumors that he and some wildling barbarian tried to steal their way into your bed while you were in the North."

Looking at the man, Arianne could see that he knew that these rumors were not mere rumors. Yet how he'd come across this information was anyone's guess. Though it had been some time since she'd left the North, her wolf, and their spearwife, given how fast rumors and tales spread across the land, especially when it came to the nobility, she was surprised the news hadn't reached the shores of Dorne sooner. "I thank you for informing me of such rumors and I will see that appropriate steps are taken regarding them. Now, if you'll excuse me. I can see my cousins have arrived with our mounts. I must begin my return to Sunspear."

Deziel didn't appear satisfied with her non-answer to his unspoken question, but again his loyalty won out and he merely nodded and stepped aside. "As you say, Princess Arianne. It has been a pleasure housing you, Princess. And if you need anything, House Dalt is always open to yourself and those of House Martell in whatever capacity you might require of us."

Nodding, Arianne made a quick retreat away from the Lord, feeling his gaze on her as she made her way down the platform and to the ground where her cousins Tyene, Nymeria and Obara were waiting for her with several steeds and the men of House Martell that she'd taken with her when she'd set out from Sunspear several moons ago.

"Everything to your liking, cousin?" Tyene, her closest cousin and all but her sister, asked as Arianne quickly mounted her sand steed and urged the beast forward.

"Yes," Arianne nodded as their horses walked across the wooden roads of Planky Town. "The basins are holding, and the water is flowing without issue."

Nudging her horse forward, Nymeria glanced first at Arianne before turning her sight back to the platform they'd just left. "Lord Deziel is still watching you."

"Watching my ass and trying to picture my tits bouncing, more likely," Arianne replied, drawing a laugh from Nymeria and Tyene.

"No doubt," Tyene managed to get out between chuckles. "Though I must say, I highly approve of your current choice of bedmate. Speaking of the wolf, any chance we will finally be able to fulfill the pact we made while he and your spearwife are residing in the Sunspear? After hearing of your nights…I'm anxious to see if he truly is as skilled as you so loudly proclaimed back in Winterfell from behind closed doors."

Arianne's face heated slightly at the tease. Her cousins, and her uncle for that matter, had not let her forget just how…vocal she and Ygritte had become when they were with Jon. And as for the pact she'd made with Tyene… Well, she was sure that, given the proper timing of her asking, she could convince Jon and Ygritte to allow Tyene to join them at least once. The two had made the pact when they were younger and as thick as thieves, promising each other that at some time they would share a man between them. The pact had almost led to them sharing their first time together with Ser Andrey Dalt. The two had even managed to get him into a room with them. But before they could even start, Andrey finished in his pants, ending the encounter in a more than slightly awkward manner.

"I'm not the one you need to convince, cousin," Arianne replied, fighting to keep her composure as thoughts of her, Tyene, Jon, and Ygritte began running through her mind. "Convince Jon and Ygritte of the matter, and I will welcome you with more than just open arms."

Tyene got a bright look in her eye as she urged her horse ahead at a trot. "Well, what are we all waiting for then? Let's get back to Sunspear already and greet our friends from the frozen wasteland and introduce them to true Dornish hospitality."


Staring out the small open window in his cabin and letting the cool sea air wash over his face, Jon watched with excitement coursing through his body as the tall tower known as the Sunspear steadily grew larger and larger as the Sea Wolf approached the small port situated just outside the walls of the city.

"Ye been watchin out dat window since ye got up from bed dis mornin, Jon. Are we finally at this damn Sunspear place da Princess kept talkin about?"

Turning away from the window, he eyed one of his two companions. His heart racing as it always did when he saw her, especially as of late. Ygritte was sitting up in their shared bed, even though the cabin had room for a second cot she had refused to sleep separate from him. And as was usual since they'd past the Stormlands, she was not wearing a single stitch of clothing. Her reasoning for not being dressed so was simple. It was far, far too hot to wear clothing in their cabin or anywhere, for that matter. But thankfully he had managed to convince her to at least put on a loose shirt and pants the few times she left the cabin. Men of the North were made of cold and iron, but even he did not want to test a bunch of sailors who'd been at sea for weeks by having a beautiful woman like Ygritte prancing naked around the deck. Jon at least had experience with the heat, otherwise he'd probably be in the same condition as Ygritte. The same could be said of the sailors with them. In fact, there was only one other that disliked the heat as much as Ygritte, and that was Jon's other cabin mate, Ghost. The direwolf pup, though he couldn't really be called a 'pup' anymore seeing as how he easily came up to Jon's midsection, spent every moment on board the Sea Wolf either hiding in their cabin, or being up on deck and moving from shaded area to shaded area.

"Almost," Jon nodded before motioning for her to join him. "You can see the Sunspear from here."

Ygritte gracefully slid out from the bed, letting the thin sheet that'd been covering her slip from her pale skin and to the bed, leaving her completely bare before him and instantly making him uncomfortably hard. "Gods, woman," Jon sighed as he watched her hips sway and her tits bounce. "Do you have any idea what you do to me?"

Ygritte's smile was positively wicked as she shamelessly reached down and grabbed his length through his pants. "Of course I do, Jon. Why do ya think I do it? And besides, ya give back far more when yer worked up to the point where ya lose control of dat wolf will of yers." Leaving him, Ygritte leaned her head out the small window and looked out into the distance. "Dat's the Sunspear? Da big tower over there that looks like a cock?"

"It doesn't look like a cock," Jon replied almost immediately. A few months ago, her comment would've more than likely gotten a rise out of him. But after being with both Ygritte and Arianne, at the same time no less, and after spending months with Ygritte, he liked to think he'd developed something of a resilience to her constant relating just about everything to sex.

"Ye don't look at your cock from the same direction I do," Ygritte shot back, jutting her chin towards the tower. "That tower got something like a round head at da top and a long smooth length. And if it has two buildin's at the base…then ye can't tell me dat the one who built the thing wasn't tryin to compensate for his wee cock."

Shaking his head, Jon decided to drop the topic as he knew there would be no changing her mind. He just hoped that Ygritte wouldn't comment to Arianne that she thought her home looked like a cock. "It shouldn't be too much longer until we're ashore," Jon said, moving away from her and looking around the room as he started to go through what they needed to pack away. "The Sea Wolf is too large to fit into the small harbor attached to Sunspear, so we'll have to take a skiff ashore. But before we do that, we need to pack up all of our stuff. The Sea Wolf won't be waiting around for us so—"

His words died as he turned around to find Ygritte standing right behind him. With a shove, Jon fell backwards onto the bed. Not giving him a chance, Ygritte then quickly straddled his waist and began working on his pants and shirt. "I won't be havin ya too meself for some time once we're back with our Princess," she said, managing to expose him enough so that her warmth was pressed against his length. "And while I don't mind sharin ya with Arianne, I know she is gonna want some time with ye on her own. So, I intend to get one last good fuck out of ya bef—"

A loud knock stopped her words, and Jon had the sudden urge to violently kill whoever it was that'd knocked. "Who is it?" Jon near shouted, his hands caressing Ygritte's hip and encouraging her to move against him.

"Um…Beggin yer parden, milord," a voice stuttered from outside his door just as Ygritte let out a loud throaty moan of pleasure as he slid into her. "But Cap'n Manderly requests yer presence up on the deck when um…when yer um…done."

Ygritte leaned down so that her lips were near his ear as she continued her leisure pace of raising and lowering her hips upon him. "Ya think he's tuggin his wee cock while listenin to us?"

If there was one thing that he'd learned about Ygritte during his time with her, it was that she seemed to enjoy fucking in almost public places rather than the isolated safety of their shared chambers. For her, it almost seemed like the greater the chance of being caught, the more she enjoyed it. And honestly, it would be a lie to say that he didn't also enjoy it. Though the one time he had to cover her mouth to prevent her from making any noise in the library while his sister Arya walked by was too much for his tastes. Tightening his hold on her hips, he started going harder, urging her to make those delicious noises he enjoyed. "Then let's give him something to listen to."

By the time the two had finished and packed their belongings, the Sea Wolf had closed the distance to the Sunspear and the crew was working on lowering the heavy anchors to keep the ship in place while others worked on lowering the skiff and getting the trade supplies loaded. Walking towards the bow of the ship, Jon immediately spotted the round form of Ser Wendel Manderly.

"There yer are, lad," Ser Wendel said as he nodded his head towards Jon and then again towards Ygritte. "My lady."

Ygritte immediately frowned in distaste. "I ain't no 'lady' like Val."

Ser Wendel smirked and winked towards Jon. "Well, if ya stay around Jon long enough, you're bound to end up becoming his Lady Stark. Especially if you two continue the way ya have been during this voyage. I swear, you two were almost as bad as Prince Oberyn and his Lady Ellaria when they were aboard."

"Just almost?" Ygritte tsked in disappointment. "Guess we'll just be havin ta try harder next time then, Jon."

Shaking his head, Ser Wendel's amusement slowly faded from his face as he turned his gaze towards the shoreline and the people gathering on the docks, waiting for their arrival. "I hope yer ready for this, lad. This will be the first time you'll be away from yer father and the Sorcerer. And you'll be alone in Dorne. House Martell might like ya…but keep your eyes open. Just like the North, Dorne remembers, lad. There are many here that were old enough to fight in the Rebellion against the Targaryens. They remember well what the end of the war cost them. And that they were snubbed any form of justice or reconciliation."

"I know," Jon nodded as he watched the last of the supplies be loaded into the longboats before the crew started lowering them into the sea. "But we are not friendless here either."

"No, no, I suppose you are not, boy, especially if the tales of you, your spearwife here, and a certain Dornish Princess have any truth to them," Ser Wendel said, a gleam in his eye telling that he knew that the tales going about the North were in fact truth.

"Depends on the tale yer hearin," Ygritte shrugged. "If ya heard we be fuckin like bears in heat, then ye be right."

Coughing, Jon tried his best to put Ygritte's comment aside as he faced a now smirking Ser Wendel. "Thank you for allowing us passage, Ser Wendel."

"No problem, lad. House Manderly and the Sea Wolf are always willing to bring aid to those of House Stark," Ser Wendel nodded. "Now don't let me hold you up from your…diplomatic rendezvous with the Princess of Dorne, young Stark."

Soon after, Jon and Ygritte were both settled onto the small skiff and being rowed away from the Sea Wolf and towards the waiting crowd of Dornish that'd amassed in the small harbor. His attention though, was focused in on a small group of men wearing yellow cloth standing straight besides a small pavilion that'd been erected just off the docks. Underneath the cloth were four young women, one sitting and three standing. It was the one sitting that drew Jon's attention the most and made his heart race. If anything, Arianne had grown even more beautiful than he remembered. And now that she was back in her homeland, she had discarded the heavy furs she wore in the North, wearing just a lighter fitting sheer purple gown. 'By the gods…how is that each time I see her, her beauty seems to grow?' Jon thought as the workers on the docks began throwing ropes out to the various skiffs that were within reach.

As his own boat was tied off and Jon was able to put his feet back on dry land, hesitation and uncertainty suddenly shot through him as he watched Arianne gracefully rise from her spot and march towards him, a light smile playing across her lips as her dark hair swayed in the light breeze. 'What if she doesn't wish to continue our relationship? What if her people have put pressure on her to end things with me? Does she…Does she even still want me? And if so, how do we act? She made a spectacle with both myself and Ygritte when she left the North. But…can we repeat the same here? Before all of her people watching us?'

Deciding to be cautious just in case things had changed between them, Jon bowed politely as Arianne drew close to himself and Ygritte. "Princess Ari—"

That was about as far as he got as Arianne closed the distance between them, grabbed him by the front of his tunic, and pulled him in for the same type of smoldering kiss as she gave him when it was time for her to depart the North. "Now that," Arianne breathed, breaking the kiss. "Is how you properly greet your lover in Dorne after being separated for so long."

Letting him go, Arianne turned and repeated the same show with Ygritte, pulling the spearwife into the same type of kiss as she'd just bestowed upon Jon. The only difference between them, was that while Jon had been stunned into just standing there, Ygritte was more than ready, and willing, to reciprocate Arianne's show of affection with one of her own.

"Glad to see your time south of the Wall hasn't dulled your boldness, spearsister." Arianne smiled as the two pulled apart from one another. "Though I must say that I'm disappointed in you. I would've thought by now that you would've been able to get our man past his shyness."

"He be gettin better," Ygritte smirked as the two women talked about him as if he wasn't even there. "When we be alone, he ain't so shy. And his skill with da Lord's Kiss has certainly gotten better. But when we be out with others, he still be as shy as any of dem pious southern maids."

"Well then," Arianne smirked, looping an arm with Ygritte and all but leaving him alone on the dock. "I will have to…judge firsthand just how skilled he has become. And perhaps between the two of us we can teach him even. Whenever we are not too busy learning from each other, of course. Now come, there is much I wish to show you, my dear spearsister. Oh, and Jon, do be a dear and carry yours and Ygritte's belongings, as well as anything else we pick up on the way to the Sunspear, will you?"

Arianne didn't give him a chance to respond as she half led, half pulled Ygritte towards the road leading away from the docks and into the winding road that encircled the Sunspear. 'By the gods…these two women are going to be the death of me,' he thought, picking up both his own and Ygritte's belongings, but not before taking a moment to admire both woman's backside as they walked away from him. 'But, by the gods… What a way to go it would be!'


Dany had known, ever since she was a little girl and old enough to understand what would be expected of her, that her future husband would be chosen for her one day. At first her dreams would be of her being married to a handsome young knight or lord that would whisk her away on his steed and give her everything she ever wanted. As she grew, that knight changed from some faceless man to her brother, as she thought that, as the last two Targaryens, that her brother would take her as his wife once they'd reclaimed the Seven Kingdoms. But, as the day of her wedding came, none of her dreams or fantasies came to be. Her husband was chosen for her, yes, but it was no lord, knight, or king from Westeros. Rather it was a Khal, a Horse Lord of the Dothraki that was the one she would marry. And if she were being entirely truthful, she could've done far worse for herself. Drogo was handsome, strong, and carried himself with a confidence that she had rarely ever seen. But while she had no real complaints about her husband… It was the wedding itself that was testing her ability to remain calm as she watched the spectacle taking place before her.

A Dothraki wedding was…chaotic, to say the least. And festive…very, very festive. Meat of just about every variety she could think of was roasting on multiple cooking fires while ale, wine and spirits flowed freely through those in attendance. As for those in attendance, most of whom were part of her husband's khalassar, they were clearly enjoying themselves to the fullest. Men and women were…copulating in the open while both men and women surrounded them, cheering them on. She knew, after talking with Dorea, that such acts were common amongst the Dothraki. And that her first time with Drogo would be out in the open, albeit away from everyone else to give them some measure of privacy.

But while she could handle the wanton sexual displays, it was the violence that was making her knuckles turn white as she gripped her dress tightly. The celebration had been going for perhaps less than a quarter of the day, and already she'd counted five deaths amongst the ones who were soon to be her people. After watching the second death, this one caused by two men that were fighting over the right to mount a woman who was on her hands and knees before them, she overheard Illyrio say to her brother that a Dothraki wedding without at least five deaths was considered a dull affair.

'Well…I guess by my husband's standards this is not a 'dull affair' at all,' Dany thought to herself as she watched a sixth man die. 'Though I don't know how much more excitement the people of Pentos can take. First the arrival of the Northern dreadnaught a few days past…and now the largest khalassar in Essos arriving at their gates. I'm sure the people of the city will be glad when we leave.'

The unexpected arrival of the massive vessel that'd quickly become a legend on the Narrow Sea was a cause for no small amount of tongue wagging. Her brother had raged at the mere sight of the vessel. Yelling to any who listened that the North had no right to control such a vessel, and that one of his first acts once he regained his throne would be to demand the ship be gifted to him as part of the North's tribute to his reign. She'd even overheard her brother having to be talked out of some insane plot to steal the ship while it was in port. Mercifully, the vessel left almost as quickly as it arrived, leaving many to wonder just why it had even stopped in port in the first place. After all, how much trade could be done in less than two days at port?

Hearing a grunt from her husband, accompanied by a smirk and a light comment in the Dothraki tongue, Dany forced thoughts of the Sea Wolf from her mind as she noticed a line of people, mostly Dothraki, had formed before the two of them. 'Time for the gifts,' she realized as the first man came forward, one of her husband's bloodriders, and presented an arakh to her. She once again thanked whatever gods, or the Force, that she'd been blessed with Dorea's service as a handmaiden. The former pleasure slave had a surprisingly extensive knowledge of the Dothraki and had imparted that knowledge to Dany when it became clear that Drogo would be the one to claim her hand. Meeting the bloodrider's eyes, she gave him a curt nod before motioning for him to present it to Drogo. The bloodrider froze. Normally she was to deny the gifts given to her by her husband's bloodriders before presenting them to her husband in a show of submission. But she would not be subservient. And judging by the smirk, and the quick words from Drogo which brought the bloodrider out of his stupor enough to give the arakh to the Khal, she guessed that he liked her show of strength.

After the bloodriders had presented their traditional gifts; an arakh, a bow, and a whip, the rest of those who'd brought gifts were allowed to come forward with their gifts. Having been on the run with her brother for almost her entire life, Dany had rarely, if ever, received any gifts besides maybe a new dress from those who'd taken her and her brother in for a time. But now, now she was being almost besieged with gift after gift after gift. Lace dresses and underclothes. Riding leathers. Hair pins made from gold and silver and adorned with more jewels than she'd ever seen in her life. One man had even come forward and offered them a variety of snakes, though for what purpose a box of clearly poisonous snakes could serve, she hadn't the faintest idea. And there were even a few who presented her and her new husband with bags or even small chests of gold. It'd taken her a while to realize, but soon enough as more and more gold was being presented to her and her husband, she began realizing the gifts for what they truly were. They were not gifts meant to be well wishes. They were bribes. Offerings presented to a Dothraki Khal and his Khaleesi in hopes that once the ceremony was completed that they would take their khalasar and leave without bloodshed.

As the last of the offerings were being made, Dany noted a man approach, unlike any of the other's that'd approached her and Drogo so far. The man was, old. Not old enough to have white hair yet, but old enough that he could have children her own age. The man's clothes, while clearly finely made, were worn. And in his hands, instead of gold or silk or jewels, he held a collection of books. After giving a bow and greeting to her husband, the older man turned his attention to Dany and held the books out to her. "A small gift, for the new Khaleesi. Songs and histories of the Seven Kingdoms."

While Dany didn't know who this man was, she knew where he was from almost immediately as his crisp accent was the same as Jon's and Lord Nox's. "You…You are from the – from Westeros," she said, just barely managing to catch her slight slip. It wouldn't do her any favors for others to know that she could spot a Northern accent.

"Aye, khaleesi," the man nodded. "Ser Jorah Mormont of Bear Island. I served your father for many years, Khaleesi. Gods willing, I look forward to serving the rightful King of Westeros once more before my time comes to join the gods in eternal rest."

Daenerys was immediately set on guard. There was something in the man's words that just…screamed wrong. She could sense…so many conflicting emotions coming from the man that it was next to impossible to tell just what was genuine from him and what was not. "You have my thanks, Ser Jorah, for your fine gifts," Dany nodded, taking the books from him and handing them off to one of Drogo's bloodriders, who gave the books a look of disgust before turning and adding them to the pile of presents off to the side.

His gift given, Ser Jorah nodded his head and moved to stand off to the side, only to be hailed by her brother who invited the man to sit next to him. 'I'll have to ask Jon about him later,' Dany thought, as she kept an eye on Ser Jorah as he sat down next to her brother and began talking to him. 'No true man of the North would so readily and gleefully say that they served my father…not after what he did. And he said that he wanted to serve the true King of Westeros. Not a lie. But he didn't say who that King might be. A clever usage of words to speak the truth without truly speaking the truth.'

Hearing a slight disturbance from the Dothraki, Dany put thoughts of Ser Jorah out of her mind as she readied herself to receive the next well-wisher. But she nearly jumped to her feet as she saw just who it was that was approaching her and Drogo. 'Wha…What is he doing here?' she thought, her heart thundering in her chest as she watched Domeric Bolton walking towards them with his head held high while four Unsullied guards and a young woman she recognized as his translator walked behind him, three of whom were carrying chests of varying sizes.

Coming to a stop before the dais, Domeric bowed politely as the young translator stepped up next to him, ready to do her duty. "Mighty Khal Drogo, Khaleesi Daenerys. It is an honor to meet you both today, I am Domeric Bolton, formerly of the North and now of Pentos. I have come before you today to wish you both good fortune, and to present you both with gifts worthy of two such as yourselves."

Off to the side, she could see that Ser Jorah had quickly risen to his feet, hand on his sword. Standing beside the older man, looking a combination of furious and curious was her brother. The action hadn't apparently gotten past Drogo's notice either as her husband tilted his head towards where her brother and Ser Jorah were standing. There was a slight grin on his face as he spoke, his words being translated almost as quickly as he spoke them. "My khaleesi's brother and the old bear don't seem to like you."

Domeric's eyes passed over her brother and Ser Jorah Mormont. While he looked indifferently at her brother, his eyes held little more than disdain and disgust for the older man. "My family, and the North, fought against your Khaleesi's father and overthrew him when he proved himself unfit for rulership, and I make no apologies for that. However, we in the North believe that the sins of the parents are not inherited by the child. And as for Jorah Mormont…while neither of us can return to our homes, I at least live with the knowledge that I did not run like a coward when Lord Stark came for me."

Both her brother and Jorah took a step forward, but Drogo stopped both men with a mere gesture. 'That—That is true strength and power,' Dany realized, as she watched her husband look appreciatively at Domeric. "Strong words, Domeric Bolton," Drogo said, his words once again being translated as he spoke. "You may present what you have to offer. But if your gifts displease, I will leave you to my khaleesi's brother and the old bear and enjoy the outcome."

Nodding, Domeric motioned for the three Unsuiled carrying his gifts to come forward. "Your strength and skill as a warrior is one with few equals, Khal Drogo, and as such, you deserve a weapon worthy of your skill."

One of the Unsullied set down the longest of the boxes and lifted the lid. Laying within on a bed of red silk was an arakh. But it was unlike any she had ever seen. The blade was so…pure. Shining so brightly it almost appeared white with ripples interwoven throughout the blade. It was…beautiful. "Valyrian steel," Domeric stated, drawing more than a few murmurs from the assembled crowd.

As for her husband, even though he maintained his stoic façade, Dany could feel the excitement rolling off him in waves. Getting up from his spot, Drogo waved off his bloodrider that had stepped forward to receive the gift for him. Reaching down, Drogo picked up the Valyrian steel arakh. Giving the blade a few test swings, her husband proceeded to twist and turn, the blade moving in a blur of movement as Drogo fought against an enemy only he could see. Seemingly satisfied, Drogo nodded and, instead of placing the weapon with the rest of the gifts, he instead attached the weapon to one of his belts and retook his seat beside her.

"And for your Khaleesi," Domeric said, motioning for the next box, this one also long and thin. "A gift of beauty that once belonged to the dragon lords of old."

Rising, Dany approached the slim chest just as the Unsullied guard opened it for her. Just like with Drogo's gift, there was a bed of red silk within the chest. But unlike her husband's gift, instead of an arakh inside there was a scepter that easily measured from her elbow to the tip of her fingers. The scepter itself was made of what look silver with an ornate dragon head at the end with rubies for eyes. It was beautiful, and more than likely worth enough to purchase an entire sellsword company for time. But…there was something strange about it as well. She could feel some sort of…resonance with the scepter. And, part of the handle was strange. Ridged. And while it blended it with the rest of the scepter, it stood out to Dany as seemingly not belonging within the piece.

Taking the scepter in hand, Dany took a moment to marvel at the craftsmanship and riches that went into creating this piece. But more than that, she felt a slight…resonance within herself through the Force as she held the scepter in her hands. 'I know Domeric still has ties to the North, specifically through the Sorcerer. Did the sorcerer wish for me to have this? Or is this just a gift from Domeric without the North's knowing?'

"I have one more gift for you, Khaleesi. Or rather a gift for yourself and for your children," Domeric stated, motioning for the last Unsullied to come forward. This one holding a chest perhaps only slightly larger than a man's head.

Dany was expecting gold or perhaps jewels like many of the others had gifted her. What she was not expecting was a large scaled black egg with red markings on the tips of each scale to be within the chest. An egg. No. Not just any egg. A dragon's egg.

"Where…Where did you find this?" Dany asked, not even noticing as Illyrio frowned at the gift before whispering to one of his servants who took off running.

"In the ruins of Old Valyria," Domeric explained, earning a few sharp looks from the nearby Dothraki once his words were translated. Which was understandable, considering it was the Valyrian Empire that truly kept the Dothraki horde in check for centuries. "Ever since the Northern Sorcerer led his expedition to Valyria, a few desperate or idiotic individuals have attempted to repeat his success. Few to none have succeeded in returning. And those that have didn't last long. This egg came from one such group."

She could tell that the tale was a lie. A believable lie, but a lie nonetheless. Though, in truth, she didn't care. Especially not as she reached out and picked up the egg that laid within the chest on a bed of silk. "It's…It's warm," she breathed, looking down at the egg in her hands as if it were the most precious thing in the entire world.

"You might be able to hatch it, or perhaps not. Truth is, even with warm eggs no one has been able to successfully hatch a dragon's egg since the early days of the Seven Kingdoms. But regardless of whether it hatches or not, this egg belongs in the hands of a descendant of the Dragon Lords of Old."

Nodding her head, Dany carefully put the dragon egg back into its box and set it down next to her, waving off the bloodrider that'd stepped forward to take it from her. There was no way in any of the hells that she would allow this box to be out of her sight, or away from one she trusted any time soon. Drogo's eyes stayed on her until she was once again seated beside him, and only then did he turn his attention back to Domeric. "You may sit and eat there," Drogo said through the translator, waving towards a spot close to the dais, a place of honor. "You may kill any who disagree."

"You have my thanks, Khal Drogo," Domeric said before bowing and moving off to the side and towards the spot Drogo had given him. She had a feeling that Domeric didn't necessarily want to stay, but it would've been rude of him to decline her husband's offer, especially as he'd given Domeric a spot that was essentially equal to that of her brother's and Magister Illyrio.

Speaking of the Magister, once Domeric had taken his seat, the fat man rose to his feet and approached the dais, bringing with him two young Dothraki girls and an armed guard who was carrying a long chest that she had not seen before. "Khaleesi Daenerys, may I present to you these two as gifts from your brother," Illyrio said with a bright smile, motioning towards the two young women who were standing side by side with their heads bowed. "This one here is Irri. She will work to teach you how to ride a horse in the Dothraki style. And this one here is Jhiqui, she will teach you the Dothraki tongue."

'Slaves,' Dany quietly seethed, shooting a glance towards her brother, who was just sitting there smiling at her as if he'd done her the greatest of services. Granted, the lessons she could and would learn from these two would be vital to her adapting to the Dothraki way of life. But still…to be given to her as slaves. "I welcome you both to my service and I look forward to your lessons," she said, motioning to her left where Doreah sat just off the dais. "Please, have a seat with my other handmaiden, Doreah. And know that now that I have taken you both under my service and protection, any action taken against you will be considered taken against myself."

The two young women both brightened slightly before nodding and moving quickly to join Doreah at Dany's side. The gods only knew what the two girls had suffered through so far. But she would not let their suffering continue. "And as for myself, I have brought you a gift that, much like young Domeric here, belongs in the hands of a descendant of the Dragon Lords of Old." Grabbing the lid of the chest, Illyrio paused for dramatic effect before slowly lifting the lid to reveal the contents within.

Dany's breath caught in her throat once again as not one, but three dragon eggs, each of differing colors, were revealed to her and everyone else. "Dragon eggs, found in the Shadow Lands of Asshai," Illyrio said proudly. "Like all dragon eggs, time has turned them to stone. But they still hold some warmth and belong only in the hands of one of Valyrian descent."

Leaning forward as the chest was set down at her feet, Dany reached out and gently ran a finger across the surface of each egg. True to his word, each egg had a warmth to them. But they were mere embers when compared to the heat of the egg that Domeric had given her. And there was something else, something…dark about the eggs that she couldn't figure out. "Thank you, Magister Illyrio…brother," Dany said, nodding to each man, this time she didn't stop her husband's bloodrider as he stepped forward and collected the chest from in front of her, moving it off to the side with the rest of the gifts.

As Illyrio took his seat, she noticed that he was the last of those who had gifts to give. And as she watched her husband set his cup aside and get to his feet and walk off into the crowd, she felt the bundle of nerves that she'd managed to keep down rise up once again. 'It's time,' she realized, doing all she could to keep herself under control given what she knew was about to happen. 'Perhaps I should've done as Jon had done and gotten drunk beforehand…It would've made this…easier…maybe?'

Rising from her seat, she gathered all the strength she had as she watched her husband reappeared leading a beautiful white mare towards her by its reins. Moving slowly, yet with purpose, Dany approached the mare that her now husband was holding for her. Raising her hand, she gently caressed the horse between its eyes. While her actions might've seen ordinary, they were anything but. As her hand caressed the mare, she opened herself to the Force, using what she'd learned from Lord Nox to try and forge a connection between herself and the beast.

She was surprised at just how…easy it was to forge the connection between the two of them. And it was also, a strange feeling. One moment there was nothing, and then the next she could feel a second presence in her mind. Not dominating her mind, nor could she hear its thoughts. But she could…feel what her horse was feeling. It was beyond strange, yet also beautiful and wonderful. Turning her attention to Drogo, she didn't bother trying to say 'thank you' to him. Several talks with Doreah had educated her that there was no word for 'thanks' in the Dothraki tongue. Instead, she simply gave her husband a slight smile and a nod to show him her appreciation for her gift.

Drogo made to help her up, but she simply grabbed hold of the saddle and swung herself up onto the back of her new mare with the ease of an experienced rider. A feat which drew no small amount of appreciative murmuring from the Dothraki. Then, without waiting for anyone to say anything, Dany snapped the reins and urged her new mare to run as fast as it could towards the setting sun. Behind her, she could hear the hooting and hollering of the Dothraki as they urged her husband to mount his horse and give chase to complete the Dothraki marriage ceremony. 'A dragon is not a beast to be chased,' Dany thought with a smirk as she risked a glance over her shoulder and saw her husband mounting his own horse before giving chase. 'Dragons are the hunters, not the prey.'

Urging her mare to run faster, both with her actions and through the Force, Dany felt a small thrill run through her as the wind blew threw her hair as she guided her mount towards the sea and small section near the shoreline that she'd found earlier after Doreah had explained to her the specifics of a Dothraki wedding ceremony. She knew that the custom was for her marriage to be consummated beneath the sky, but that did not mean that she was willing to have an audience to the act. Pulling her mare to a stop, Dany found the small alcove once again and dismounted before walking towards the soft sand near the edge of the water.

Dismounting her mare, she kept facing the sea even as she heard Drogo's heavy horse coming upon her. Once she heard him slowly approach, she turned around and stared at him. Her warrior husband was still astride his horse and was looking down at her with a mixture of confusion and respect. "A dragon is not prey to be chased, Drogo."

Drogo's head tilted to the side at hearing her speak the Dothraki tongue. Unfortunately, that was all she knew. And it'd taken her some time to even learn that one little phrase. So, when Drogo responded to her, all she could do was continue meeting his eyes while doing all she could to keep any fear and apprehension over what was about to transpire away.

Sliding from his horse, Drogo silently approached Dany as she kept a tight hold on his eyes. The only time their eyes broke from one another is when Drogo slowly started circling her. Her tight hold on her nerves failed her when Drogo reached out and touched her shoulder and she couldn't help the slight flinch that his touch brought to her. "No."

Blinking, Dany turned and looked at her husband. His hand was backed away from her shoulder just a bit and he was staring at her. Lowering his hand, he continued walking around her, occasionally touching her in…mostly appropriate places. Whenever he touched her, if she didn't flinch, he didn't say anything. But if she did, he responded with a simple 'no'. It took her longer than she would admit, but soon she realized just what he was doing. He wasn't just taking her; he was trying to get her used to him. Finally, when Drogo was in front of her once more, she reached out and took hold of his wrist. Meeting his eyes, Dany raised his hand and placed it firmly against her breast. "Yes."


Walking out of the gates of Winterfell facing Winter Town, Robb Stark, Heir to the North, almost didn't even recognize the town laid out before him. Normally, Winter Town was sparsely populated during the Spring, Summer and Fall years yet almost overcrowded during the Winter years. But now, in the midst of a Summer year, the streets of Winter Town were not desolate. Instead, they were a hive of bustling activity as men and women, those both born in the North and those not, went about their daily lives. At first Robb had been hesitant about his father's and Lord Nox's plan on incorporating former slaves from Essos into the Northern way of life. He worried that they wouldn't be able to accept the North as a home nor the old gods. But he had been proven wrong. The former slaves, and even those from the south, took to the North with a zeal he hadn't expected. Some of those who came from the south still held to the Seven-Who-Are-One, but they were very few. And strangely enough, to him at least, almost all of the former slaves from Essos had fully converted to the faith of the old gods. 'Though I don't even know who they used to pray too…but they couldn't have been that benevolent of gods if they allowed such a vile practice like slavery to become the normal way of life.'

Hearing a low rumble that near shook Robb's chest, he glanced to his left and spotted another of the newest additions to Winterfell and Winter Town. The giant, Wun Wun, was standing guard beside the gate, the giant having forgone the normal mismatch of furs that the giants had worn north of the Wall in favor of a mixture of cotton and leather clothing with large pieces of metal scattered across his body to give himself armor akin to the type worn by the men of House Stark. It'd been quite a surprise to everyone in Winterfell when the giants finally showed themselves after walking all the way south from the Wall. Robb's father had ridden out to greet them and speak with the chief of the giants, a large giant even by its own people's standards, named Mag the Mighty. The two had talked for some time out in the open lands around Winterfell, and by the time night was beginning to fall, the giants were once again on their way south. This time heading for the Barrow lands where they would be able to roam free. Only Wun Wun had decided to stay behind. The giant had taken one look at the massive double walls of Winterfell, nodded, and then took seat next to the gate between Winter Town and Winterfell while stating, "Wun Wun, guard wolves". And given the fact that Wun Wun was, well, a giant. No one saw fit to argue with his ability to act as a guard to House Stark.

Giving Wun Wun a nod of acknowledgement, Robb set off towards the bustling Winter Town, without any guards or escort. His mother, may the gods grant her peace, would probably have lost her mind if she knew just how common it was for Robb, or of his siblings, to leave Winterfell without an escort. But lately Robb had found the idea of taking an escort with him, especially just out into Winter Town, a waste of manpower. After all, he had all the protection he needed through the Force and with the lightsaber he always kept on his hip. Besides, there were only three in all of Winterfell that could best him. His lord father, Lord Nox, and his brother Jon. And Jon wasn't even in the North right now.

Walking through the throngs of people, Robb took his time greeting the few that recognized him, all of whom bowed and a few even went to a knee before him in respect. 'Respect for myself, or for what my father and Lord Nox have done for them?' he wondered idly as he accepted the thanks of yet another former slave before moving on. 'Gods be good…I do not know how I will ever be able to carry on my father's legacy once I take over as Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North. After everything that he and Lord Nox have done for the North and her people…'

Shaking his head to clear it, Robb looked up just as he arrived at his destination. It was a small building with no real discernable markings, but everyone in Winter Town and Winterfell knew what this place was. Opening the door, Robb was struck by a smell he'd come to know quite well. A smell that tingled his nose. A smell that…well for lack of a better word smelled clean. A clean brought about by using a high concentration of alcohol that could catch fire, but according to Lord Nox and Talisa, did wonders for cleaning. And speaking of Talisa, he immediately found her within the main room, speaking to an older woman and holding out a small bottle for her to take.

Catching Talisa's eye, Robb knew well enough to stay near the back lest he incur her wrath by interrupting her while she was dealing with the sick or wounded. Waiting until she was done, Robb pushed himself off the wall he'd been resting against as Talisa went about cleaning up her small workspace. "I told you that I would only be down here for the night and part of the day," Talisa said, not even giving him a chance to properly greet her as she hurried about her clinic, as Lord Nox called it.

"Aye, you did," Robb nodded as he approached her. "However, you said that two days ago. And based on the fact that you didn't realize that, and the dark circles under your eyes, I'm willing to say that you haven't even realized just how long you've been down here. And that you haven't slept a wink either."

Talisa blinked, then looked around as if she were trying to find a way to disprove what he'd just told her. "I–It can't have already been two days… There's still so much to do an—"

"And it can wait," Robb said, walking towards her, stopping only when he was close enough to reach out and touch her, which he didn't do despite how badly he wanted to hold her. "You've berated my father and I more than once about the importance of rest. Well, now it's time for you to take your own advice, Talisa. You need to rest and relax. You've been running yourself hard since even before the southerners left Winterfell moons ago trying to help the people of the North. And the people are appreciative of everything you do, but please. Just for a day. Rest."

Sighing, Talisa glanced around her small work area. Seeing no one else in the small room besides the two of them, Talisa nodded, "I…suppose taking a day of rest will do me good. If for no other reason than to prevent you from using my own words against me Robb Stark."

"Good," Robb smiled, hold out his arm for her to take. "Then the timing should be just about perfect."

Taking his arm, Talisa gave him a firm look. "Timing for what, Robb Stark?"

Smirking, Robb led her towards the door to her clinic. "That is for me to know and for you to find out, my lady."

Walking in silence, Robb and Talisa made their way out into the streets of Winter Town, and almost immediately ran into a pair of stable hands that Robb had arranged to bring his and a spare horse down from Winterfell. On the back on his saddle was a large basket that he'd specifically sent down to the kitchens for as well. And like the loyal friend and companion that he was, Grey Wind was sitting patiently next to the horses' flanks.

"Lord Stark," the stable hand holding the reins to his horse said as they approached the two. "Yer horse, and a horse for da lady. Just like ye asked, milord."

"Thank you," Robb nodded to the two men before taking the reins of his horse as Talisa, after giving him a questioning look, took the reins to her own horse.

"And where are we going, Robb?" she asked as she effortlessly went up into her saddle.

"Somewhere you can relax for a time," Robb responded, not wanting to spoil what he had planned as he hoisted himself up onto his horse and urged his mount forward, towards the outskirts of Winter Town.

The two rode in an easy silence as Robb guided them out of Winter Town and onto a well-traveled path that led into the Wolfswood. The moment they entered the woods, Grey Wind immediately took off into the underbrush, terrorizing or playing with whatever unfortunate creature crossed his path. Laughing, Robb shook his head at his direwolf's actions. "He might be bigger than almost any dogs by this point and capable of taking down even a full-grown stag…but he's still just a pup at heart."

"Just like yourself," Talisa responded lightly as she tilted her head back and breathed deeply.

Not bothering to reply, Robb continued leading them down the path towards his intended destination further in the woods. It wasn't until midday that they finally reached their location, and the look on Talisa's face was well worth the wait. "Robb," she breathed, looking around at where he'd led them.

It was a small clearing near a stream deep within the Wolfswood. But the most noteworthy part of the clearing was the small waterfall that fed into the stream. It was a well-known place for many to visit to rest. Even his father had taken his mother here several times whenever they wanted to be away from Winterfell if even for only a part of the day. It was just as captivating as his father had made the place out to be, and he could only imagine it was even more so during the winter years. Heading over to an area with softgrass, Robb dismounted from his horse and tied the reins to a nearby fallen tree before doing the same for Talisa's horse.

"For generations, the Starks and the people of Winterfell and Winter Town have been coming here for a moment of peace that even the godswood cannot bring them," Robb explained, helping Talisa down from her saddle. "I thought that with everything you've been doing for the North and her people, you of all deserve a moment of peace and relaxation."

Once she had her feet on the ground, Robb immediately went back to his own horse and got the basket and a blanket from the pack the servants had prepared and made a place for him and Talisa to sit on the grass. But even as he laid out the food and drink on the cloth, Talisa remained standing, her eyes fixated on the falling water before them. "I know what you're doing, Robb."

"Oh?" he asked, sitting on the cloth and patting the spot next to him. "And what am I doing?"

The look she gave him was anything but warm. "Do not play the fool with me, Robb. You are not a fool, and neither am I. We know what this, what all of this, is leading towards. And I've told you…It is but a dream. A pleasant dream, but a dream."

"And why must it only be a dream?" He asked. Every time he'd brought this up in the past, she had always evaded him and the conversation, which is why he'd brought her out here, away from everyone else. Not only so that she could relax, but so that she could no longer avoid what they needed to talk about.

Shaking her head, Talisa began a slow pace back and forth before him. "I've been in the North long enough to know her people, Robb. I also know nobility. The Lords, Ladies and smallfolk of the North won't stand for another Lady of Winterfell who is not of the North. At least not one right after the other."

Smirking, Robb was glad that he'd prepared himself well before ever taking up this talk with her. "You say you know the people of the North so well that you know what they want…and you might've even been right about that before. But tell me, Talisa, do you know just how many betrothals or courtship requests my father received before your arrival? At least one a moon from the northern Houses and perhaps as many as two or more from the southern Houses. But since you've been here, since you've shown the North just who you are, how strong you are and what you are willing to do, do you know how many of those same requests my father has been sent from the Houses of the North? None. And do you know why? Because the people of the North already recognize and accept you for who you are and what you might one day become."

Getting to his feet, Robb slowly approached a still Talisa. Reaching her side, he slowly, deliberately, took her hand in his own and held it gently. "Despite not even being born in Westeros, you are as much a Lady of the North as Maege Mormort or even Val. And everyone can see that…except you apparently."

Biting her lip, Talisa couldn't meet his eyes, "Robb…I…"

"Tell me truthfully that you don't want this, Talisa," he said firmly, drawing a quick look from her. "Tell me that you do not have some feelings for me. That you truly have no wish to become the next Lady of Winterfell. That you have no wish to see what children we might have and raise and love together. Tell me to stop, Talisa. To truly stop…and that will be the end of it."

This was the moment of no return. He knew it, and he knew that she knew it as well. And it was on her to make the final decision. He could do nothing but stand there with her hand in his own and with his heart threatening to hammer out of his chest as he waited for her to speak. "Gods damn you, Robb," Talisa sighed heavily. "You're a pain in my arse. You know that, right?"

Smirking confidently, Robb took a step towards her and took her into his arms. "You might want to be careful with a phrase like that now, my love. I've learned a few…interesting ways to respond to that phrase."

Talisa gave him a hard look worthy of any Northern Lady. "Begin acting like that man-whore from Dorne or thinking that I will stand to have us in a similar situation as to the one your brother has stumbled into…and you will find yourself without me by your side or in your bed ever again."

Smiling, Robb leaned his head down so that his forehead was touching hers. "I can live with those terms, my lady. So, does that mean 'yes'?"

Talisa's lips twitched, then her arms slowly snaked up around his shoulders and pulled him close, "Aye, Robb Stark, it's a yes."


Sitting deep within the catacombs of Winterfell with his knees pulled up to his chest and his direwolf resting behind his back, the now youngest of the Stark children Bran Stark sat in silence, watching the dim fire light of the torch bouncing off the statue before him.

A statue depicting his mother and his brother. His mother and brother only passed onto the realm of the gods, or the Force, perhaps a year or two past… But already he was finding it hard to remember them. He could remember his mother's soft voice, the songs she used to sing him when he was scared or when she was putting him to bed. And Rickon…He could remember his laughter. But, with each day that went by, he was starting to forget just what they looked like.

He wanted to go to father and tell him, perhaps his father could do something to help him, or Master Nox. There was nothing that Master Nox nor his father couldn't do! But…But he didn't. He didn't want to admit that he was so weak that he was forgetting what his brother and mother even looked like! He'd been so weak that night when they died. While his brothers and even his sisters were fighting against the ones who broke the laws of gods and men…all he could do was hide in a corner like a craven and pray to the gods and the Force that he would not be found. He never wanted to feel that…helpless again! Which was why he put so much effort into his training under Master Nox. He wanted to be the best knight, or sorcerer, in all of Westeros! He wanted to make sure that what happened to his mother and brother would never, ever, happen again.

"Come on, boy," he said to his still yet unnamed wolf as he stood up, a fact that his brothers and sisters teased him about. But he just hadn't found the right name yet! "Let's go before father or Lord Nox…or gods forbid my brother or sisters come lookin for us."

Casting one last glance towards his mother and brother, Bran set off down the barely lit catacomb passageways towards where he knew the exit to be. As he walked, he gazed down the different pathways that led deeper into the catacombs. His father had always warned them not to wander through the catacombs. After so long of the Starks holding the North and being put to rest beneath it, the catacombs had become what Master Nox referred to as a labyrinth. So whenever he came down here to visit his mother and brother, he kept to the exact route that his father had shown all of them a long time ago.

But this time, as he passed by a darkened passage he stopped. He didn't know why he stopped. He just…felt something was…different. He could see the catacombs being lit with daylight a few turns ahead of him, meaning he was close to the surface. But…he couldn't make his feet move for some reason as that strange…feeling, like cold water being poured down his back, kept him firmly in place.

Hearing his wolf whine, Bran turned and faced down the dark passageway. It was wrong. He knew it was wrong as his father always told him never to go where he didn't know…but he couldn't help himself. There was something close. Something calling out to him. Something that he needed to find!

Holding the light in front of him, Bran slowly made his way deeper into the catacombs, his heart beating hard in his chest as the…feeling grew stronger with each step he took forward. Eventually he found himself almost knocked off as feet as it felt like he took a training sword to the gut. Turning in place, he tilted his head as he found himself standing between two tombs belonging to Starks that he didn't know. The gap between the two tombs was…wider than others. But there was nothing here… Just a blank wall. Yet the feeling that'd led him here told him that there was something here. He just didn't know what. Wedging his torch into the leg of one of the Stark statues, Bran stood before the blank section of wall and stared at the space, trying to figure out just why he'd even come here in the first place.

"Bran!"

Jumping, Bran raised his hands and his direwolf turned ready to face whoever had called out to him. But his hands fell as he spotted his brother Robb, the Lady Talisa, and Theon running through the catacombs towards him. "Robb," Bran said, blinking at all three who were still running towards him. "What is—?"

That was as far as he got as Robb grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him against his chest and held him tight. "By the gods, Bran," his brother said, pushing him back by the shoulders and leaving Bran very confused as to what was going on. "Do you have any idea what you've done? Father is going mad trying to find you…and even Master Nox is confused as to why he couldn't locate you."

Now Bran was really confused. "But…I just wanted to see mother and brother…after my lessons with Maester Luwin."

His brother stared at him, "Bran…How long do you think you've been down here?"

Bran shrugged. "Not long. I came down to see mother right after my lessons…sat before her and Rickon for a little bit…then left."

"Bran," Robb said, his voice sounding strange as he forced Bran to meet his eyes. "Your lessons were done before midday. And now the sun has long since set. You've been missing for almost the entire day."

Bran looked at his brother, trying to see if he was trying to pull a joke on him. But his face was as serious as Bran had ever seen it. "But…I…That's…"

"Come on," Robb said, standing to his full height. "Let's get you out of here and back to father before he fully loses his mind in worry."

"We can't!" Bran said, taking a step back from his brother and facing the wall again. "There's…There's something here. Something that…that called out to me. I know it!"

Just behind his brother, he heard Theon scoff and laugh. "There's nothing down here but bones and stones, Bran."

Bran kept his eyes firmly on his brother, hoping that at least he would believe him. Robb looked unsure, but unlike Theon, he didn't simply brush him off. "Where?"

Bran smiled at having won, even more as he heard Theon scoff. Turning, he nodded towards the wall between the two crypts. "Right there. There's something there, I know it."

His brother gently pushed him off to the side, and Bran let himself be moved as Robb stepped past him and walked up to the wall. Raising his hands, Robb placed his palm against the cold stone walls of the catacombs while Bran stood by and watched, praying to the gods and the Force that he was right and that there actually was something down here.

"Bran's right," Robb said as he took a step back and drew his lightsaber from his hip. The blue blade gave off a light that was brighter than the torches on the walls. Then Robb did something Bran was not expecting. His brother leveled his glowing blade and…thrust it into the walls.

"Carefully," Talisa said, walking up beside his brother as Robb slowly moved his lightsaber within the wall. 'He's cutting through stone like it is nothing! Or…no…That's a wall made up of stones and mortar…and he's cutting along the mortar.'

Slowly, carefully, Robb traced his lightsaber, which was buried almost up to the hilt in the wall, along the path of the mortar between the stones that made up the wall of the catacombs. After completing a circle, Robb took his blade out from the wall and made it disappear. Raising his hand, Bran could feel something shift as he knew his brother reached out through the Force. Slowly, and with a grinding that hurt his ears, a stone slab the size of a man's chest came away from the wall and fell to the ground with a heavy thud.

Bran had to push himself up on his toes, trying to see what was behind the slab that Robb had removed, but all he could see was darkness behind the stone. Leaning close, Robb stared through the hole he'd made. "Give me a torch," he said, holding out his hand, which Theon immediately put a burning torch into.

Raising the torch, Robb pushed the fire into the hole. The flames went into the darkness, then the handle, and then most of Robb's arm. "There's a passageway behind here," his brother said, withdrawing his arm and torch before handing the torch off to Talisa, "Theon, give me a hand clearing the way."

Bran was surprised when Theon didn't make any comment and instead got right to work aiding his brother in removing the stones from the wall one at a time while he stood next to Talisa, nearly bouncing with excitement. 'I did it! I found something worthwhile! I just know it!'

The two eventually managed to clear away enough stones so that Robb could squeeze himself through while turned sideways. Once he was through, Bran watched as the blue glow from his brother's lightsaber lit up whatever was on the other side of the wall. "It's safe to come through," his brother said, and Bran wasted no time in rushing forward and squeezing himself through the opening that Robb and Theon had created. The room beyond was… Well, he wasn't sure just what he'd been expecting or hoping for…but…

"Well, little wolf," Theon chuckled as he held his torch high and looked around the newly found room. "It looks like you managed to find a tomb…within a tomb."

"But a tomb for whom?" Talisa asked quickly, raising Bran's spirits slightly and making him hope once again that he'd found something of use. "This tomb…It was never used. The stone casket in the center of the room is open and empty…and these markings…They're everywhere. The walls. The casket. Even the floor and ceiling are covered in them. And I've never seen their like before. Perhaps a dialect of the old tongue?"

"No…they aren't," Robb said, his brother was standing still over the open and empty casket with his lightsaber held high to provide light. "You're right…These are not just markings but a written language…but it's not the Old Tongue. This…I've seen these symbols before."

Lowering his blade, Robb looked more serious than Bran had ever seen him as he turned to Theon. "Theon. Go and get my father and Lord Nox. Tell them that my brother Bran has just discovered the unused tomb of Bran the Builder. The founder of House Stark."


Riding her horse with her head held high and her back straight Val of the House Norfolk, the family name she'd decided to take to honor her people North of the Wall, eyed the keep that was to be hers with a growing lump in her throat. She'd been learning the ways of the kneelers from the Lord Wolf and Lord Sorcerer for some moons now, and she'd been a chieftain of the Free Folk for years before that. But now that she saw the impressive keep that was to belong to her and her children should the gods bless her so… Her nerves were finally starting to get the better of her. The Dreadfort, and by the gods she couldn't wait to change that name to something more suitable, was aptly named. The walls surrounding the fortress were tall and thick. Not nearly as tall or thick as the Wall nor the ones surrounding Winterfell, but she knew from experience that the walls would not be easy to overcome. Especially not with the tall towers scattered along their length giving archers a perfect view of any attackers.

But as she rode through the gate, she realized that it wasn't just the keep itself that gave this place it's foreboding name. The moment she rode through the gates with Karsi at her side, she could sense…darkness. For that is the only way she could put it. It was as if the gods had abandoned this place and taken any light or joy with their departure. And then there were the people living within the walls, the few that remained anyway as Lord Stark had informed her that many of the castle garrison and small folk had all but abandoned the place after the Boltons had been executed and exiled. They looked…dreadful. As if sorrow was the only state that they knew how to exist in.

"By the gods…Lord Wolf warned us about the state of this place…but I thought he was just fuckin with us." Karsi sighed as they watched more than a few mothers pull their children into their homes so that they were not in their way.

"As did I," Val answered honestly as they made their way into the center of the fortress. Standing before a large squat building, which she assumed was the main keep, was a man who immediately set her teeth on edge. A man wearing thick grey robes with a heavy chain around his neck. "Karsi…see to your children and get them settled. Then I assume you have a letter to write and send south. I'll deal with this fuck."

Karsi nodded before responding with no small amount of mirth. "Aye, Lady Norfolk."

Cursing under her breath and vowing to geld Rayder the first chance she got for convincing her to become some 'southern lady', Val urged her horse forward towards the grey cloaked man. Surprisingly, he wasn't nearly as old as she expected. Though he was still shivering, even in the summer heat, well at least what she considered heat. "Lady Val Norfolk," the grey cloaked man bowed lowly to her as she dismounted from her horse, "I am Maester Yeoman, the Maester and temporary custodian of the Dreadfort. My lady, the Dreadfort is yours. I trust the roads were not much of a bother for…one such as yourself?"

Stretching her neck, Val eyed the shifting Maester. "And what do you mean by 'one such as yourself'?"

The Maester's shifting became even more obvious, something Val took a small amount of pleasure in, seeing the man squirm just from asking a question. These kneelers, well at least those not of the North, were all so squeamish. "I – I just meant that one from – well, given your former people, I –"

"Not my former people, Maester," Val countered with a hard look. "I am still of the Free Folk. I am just now also a…Lady of the North as well."

"Of – of course my Lady, that was what I meant," she was surprised that the Maester hadn't fallen over by this point, given how badly his body was shaking.

"Good," Val nodded, looking around she noticed a severe lack of people, be they guards or just regular folk. "I thought this place had more people to it than…this."

The grey rat nodded nervously, wringing his hands together as he spoke. "I–I have only been in the North for barely two moons, my Lady… The Citadel has been hard pressed to replace the Maesters who were exposed to be part of the Order of the Guiding Hand. When I arrived, the keep was already much depleted. Part of the reason is because it is still the summer years and many in the North stay outside the walls. But the reason for the lack of guards is simple. After Lord Stark exposed Lord Bolton as a traitor, many of the guards feared they would be held complicit in their former lord's crimes. Because of that, the guards mostly fled. Some went north to take the Black. Others turned brigand. And others still went south to seek other fortunes. There were a number of smallfolk who called the Dreadfort home…but I fear that when news reached them that my Lady would be taking Ladyship of the Dreadfort…many fled due to their fear of your…history."

'Fearful fools,' Val wanted to growl. Even with the Lord Wolf's backing, peoples fear still didn't allow them to see past the fact that she was born north of the Wall and not south of it. "Is there a Commander of the guards?"

The grey rat quickly shook his head. "No, my Lady. He left with the young former Lord Bolton with his exile."

"Then Karsi will take up the position." She said quickly. Karsi was a fellow chieftain and a good warrior. She knew that she could trust her to handle the guards.

The Maester however just frowned. "Forgive me, my lady, but… Do you mean to say that you are appointing a…woman as your Commander of the Guards?"

"Is there a problem with that, rat?" Val asked, narrowing her eyes at the man who immediately took a step back from her. "Karsi is a fellow chieftain and a warrior that I would put up against any man in the North or north of the Wall. She will take up the position and that is final."

The grey rat swallowed nervously again but nodded his head. "As you wish, my lady."

Moving to walk into the keep, Val stopped once she was shoulder to shoulder with the man. "And one last thing," she said lowly, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Should you betray me or the North as the others in your order have…then I will make the death the Lord Wolf brought to your order seem merciful in comparison to what I do to you."

She could feel the man shaking under her hand. "Y–You can trust me, my Lady."

"Trust is earned, not given freely, Maester," Val said with a hard edge. "Now come. We have a lot of work to do and I am not one to sit idly by and wait for others to do what needs to be done."


Easing into his seat at the head of the Small Councill, Robert Baratheon marveled at just how easy it was to move around now that he had lost a fair amount of his girth. He still wasn't anywhere near where he was when he was heralded as the 'Demon of the Trident'. At least he was once again able to make the walk from his chambers up to the Small Council chamber without having to stop at least once to catch his breath. That honor was now reserved for the Grand Maester Jeorge and the fat Spider himself. Both of whom were the last to arrive in the Small Council Chambers, drawing a displeased look from Stannis, who'd just returned from his trip to the North and brief stay in Dragonstone.

"Finally," Robert drawled, motioning for both to hurry up and take their seats next to Baelish and Renly. "Sit your asses down and let's get going. Stannis, what news of the North? Varys here has heard some word that Ned and Nox have once again managed the impossible, but he hasn't been able to figure out what that 'impossibility' is. And how are these new batch of acolytes coming along under Nox's tutelage?"

Varys's face twitched at the slight against his ability to gather information, which just went to show how many steps ahead Ned and the sorcerer were. Next to him, Stannis remained his normal expressionless self as he began going through his time in the North. "The Acolytes, including my daughter, are coming along well. Already they can stand in the yard against grown men and hold their own. And their powers are developing along acceptable patterns…at least according to the Sorcerer that is. It is difficult to tell their current abilities or just how powerful they will become in the future. But they are progressing. As for this 'impossibility', I know exactly what they achieved as I was there when it was presented to Lord Stark."

Shifting in his seat, Stannis produced a sheathed dagger from his waist and set it down on the table before pushing it towards Robert. Normally, it was against the law for an individual outside the Kingsguard to carry a blade in the presence of the king, but Robert had made exceptions for his brothers. Taking up the dagger by the hilt, he pulled out the blade and was immediately met with a bright red, rippled steel that was shining brightly even in the dim light of the room.

"Looks like Valyrian steel," the fat Maester said, leaning towards Robert slightly to get a better look at the dagger. "But it's unlike any Valyrian steel I've seen before. Have they figured out how to reforge it to brighten the steel?"

"No," Stannis replied immediately. "That is not a piece of reforged Valyrian steel. That is newly forged Valyrian steel from Winterfell."

It took a moment for Stannis's words to sink in, but once they did there was such a shift in the air that it was akin to a ship that was taking on water. "What?" Robert gaped, staring from the blade to his brother and back. "You're telling me that the Sorcerer managed to figure out how those dragon-sister-fuckers managed to forge their steel?"

"Yes," Stannis replied plainly. "Though while the Sorcerer does deserve most of the credit for figuring out how the Valyrians were able to create their steel, he made a point of including the fact that without one of his acolyte's help, he wouldn't have been able to complete the task."

"And which of the Sorcerer's chosen do we have to thank for this marvelous rediscovery?" Renly asked with none of his usual lighthearted tone. Apparently, the shock of seeing newly forged Valyrian steel was what it took to make his youngest brother take things seriously.

Stannis, in a rare showing, hesitated and appeared uneasy with the answer he was about to give. "The acolyte's name is Gendry. One of the ones he took from King's Landing when he visited…and the boy is one of your bastards, your grace."

Robert's mind went blank upon hearing what his brother said. One of his bastards. His…His son…was an acolyte for the Sorcerer… He hadn't even known the boy existed in the first place, let alone that he was now in the North with Nox and his brother in all but blood. But while Robert was at a loss for what to say, the others on the Small Council were not.

"And how do we know this boy is a bastard of his grace?" Baelish asked pointedly.

"The boy has the Baratheon look to the point where he and Renly could use each other as shaving mirrors," Stannis replied.

"Gendry…That was the lad that was apprenticed to one of our best blacksmiths here in the city, was he not?" Jon asked curiously.

Stannis nodded. "Yes. The bastard said that he was an apprentice under Tohbo Mott here in King's Landing before the Sorcerer noticed his potential and took him north to train him."

Robert watched as Jon nodded, seemingly lost in thought. "Then he is indeed your bastard son, Robert. I have been making a point of keeping track of them over the years. Gendry showed strength beyond his years while he was still but a child, so I convinced Tohbo Mott to take the lad in. Last I heard, he was one of the man's best until Nox scouted his potential."

"Them?" Robert questioned, trying to wrap his mind around everything that'd been revealed. He had a son. Well, he knew that… But he had more than just the two with the bitch, Cersei. "How…How many are there, Jon?"

The look Jon gave him was one he knew well. It was the look of disappointment. "Somewhere between ten and twenty. I've tried to keep track of most, but many were the children of whores. Therefore, it is difficult to tell if they are truly yours or not. And given the queen's state and her family's history, I felt it best not to draw attention to them as only your recognized bastard Edric Storm can claim some sort of protection behind nobility."

If Robert hadn't already been sitting down, he was sure he would've dropped. Sure, he knew that he wasn't always that careful when he was with a woman. Who was, honestly? But to think that he had that many bastard children? And his own true born children.

"I know of at least one other that is in Winterfell as well," Stannis said, either not noticing or not caring of Robert's current state. He would be willing to bet it was the latter. "There was a former whore that Lord Nox brought North with him. But it was not her that drew his attention. It was her daughter named Barra. Another child with the potential to learn this Force magic. After pressing on the former whore, I learned that the girl is another of your bastard children, your grace."

Robert's shock at finding out the true extent of just how many children he had unknowingly fathered suddenly gave way to pride. "Two of my bastards have the ability to become like the Sorcerer? …Ha! Fucking wonderful!" he laughed, a laugh which slowly died as a thought struck him. "But what about my trueborn children? Why the fuck didn't the sorcerer take any of them north to train?"

The members of the Small Council all looked at one another. "During the time the men of the North and the Sorcerer were in King's Landing, the Queen made sure that her children were kept away from the Sorcerer and the Northern retinue at all times," Varys spoke up as the others all refused to say anything.

Rage slowly ate away at his joy. "That fucking bitch," he cursed lowly. "First, she gives me nothing but golden-haired children. Now, she hides them away and prevents them from potentially learning from the Sorcerer. If my bastards have this magic, then my trueborn children should as well."

"That may not necessarily be the case, your grace," Jeorge said slowly, his right hand coming up and tapping one of the links on the length of chain around his neck. "Part of my studies into the deeper mysteries was to study the patterns of inheritance of magic. What records remained of the Valyrian Empire gave significant insight into this, and they discovered that magical inheritance was mostly by chance. Even if a father or mother or even both had magic, there was no guarantee that their offspring would have the ability. And there were even a number of documented instances where a child of magic was born to parents who had no magic affinity. Families like the Starks, where all the children have magic to some degree, were considered a rarity to the point of almost being mythical."

Robert ground his teeth together. The Maester's words aligned with Nox's own words when the two had had the chance to speak briefly on the matter. But the fact that he'd missed out on finding if his trueborn children had magic just like his bastard children… Gods damn that spiteful harpy to all Seven hells and back! And he couldn't very well just send his children to the North. Sending the royal children to an unlanded Lord was one thing, having them sent back home because they failed to impress upon the unlanded Lord? He may be a shit king with no care for the workings of the court, but even he knew that that was not a situation he could afford to put his family in. Which made getting the Sorcerer to King's Landing so that he could take up the post waiting for him all the more important.

"Send word to Winterfell," Robert grumbled. "The moment all of Nox's current Acolytes are at an acceptable level, I want his ass here in King's Landing taking up the seat of Master of the Arcane on the Small Council."

"I will see to the raven personally after the meeting, your grace," Jeorge nodded before falling silent.

Nodding, Robert turned to Jon about to ask what was next, but Varys spoke before he could. "If I may speak next, your grace. I have news that I feel you will be most interested in. News of the exiled Targaryen siblings."

Thoughts of his children having magic and of the newly forged Valyrian steel fled his mind immediately, replaced with hatred that burned so hot he was sure it could smelt iron. "You found them?" he all but demanded, leaning forward in his seat.

"I have, your grace," Varys nodded with almost agonizing slowness. "Or more precisely, I have found where they were and can theorize as to where they will be going next."

Robert wanted to bash the man's skull against the table. "Out with it! Where are they!?"

Varys seemed completely at ease, despite Robert wanting to tear the cockless bastard limb from limb. "They were in Pentos for a time, your grace. As for who was sheltering them while they were there, I do not know. But what I do know is that they recently left the city and headed east after Daenerys wed Khal Drogo, the leader of a Dothraki horde of over forty-thousand strong. And perhaps even more concerning, there are rumors spreading that the young girl may in fact be a sorceress herself with powers similar to those that are growing in the North."

Robert felt…conflicted at hearing the news. Part of him felt the rush of excitement that only the prospect of war could bring. But another part, a part that'd been growing within him as of late, felt a small tingle of anxiety. For years, the Beggar King was no threat to him or his reign because he had no army nor the coin to purchase an army. But now, by selling his sister to a horse lord, he'd gained an army of over forty thousand overnight. And the little cunt had magic as well?

"This news is…concerning," Jon muttered as he turned his head towards one of the open windows in the room.

"Concerning?" Renly gaped. "That's the only thing you can say about this? Is that it's concerning? Viserys has just gained an army of forty thousand strong by selling his sister! An army he no doubt intends to drag across the Narrow Sea and use to wage war against us! And that incest-born cunt has fucking magic as well!"

"You didn't listen very closely to what Varys said, did you, Renly?" Stannis asked of their younger brother, leaving him sputtering. "Varys. You said that they were heading east, did you not?"

"I did, and they are," Varys nodded.

Nodding, Stannis fixed Renly with a hard look. "East, Renly, not west aboard ships. East. Meaning they will not be crossing the Narrow Sea for some time. And, as I'm assuming you have already forgotten from your lessons. The Dothraki, while strong warriors and ones to be feared, fear water which their horses cannot drink. Even if Viserys finds the coin to purchase enough ships to ferry forty thousand Dothraki across the sea, he still must find those ships and convince their captains to take the coin and convince the Dothraki to cross the sea. None of which are an easy task. And even if he does, he will not be able to hide such an armada easily. Our replenished royal fleet, along with the Northern fleet and the Redwyne fleet will be able to sink them at sea well before they can reach landfall where they are the most dangerous. As for the girl having magic, she is still but a girl. A single untrained girl against the likes of Lord Nox and those he is training? Perhaps ten years ago her having magic would be concerning. But now? Now it means nothing against the power the Iron Throne can command."

"But is that a chance we wish to take, my Lord?" Baelish asked, leaning forward calmly, and placing his elbows on the table as he leaned his chin onto his hands. "Such a sea battle will be costly, both in terms of ships and coin. Perhaps it would be far better for us to ensure that such an instance never comes to pass. We know who the Targaryens are with now. And it is not so easy to hide such a large force. A brave man with a sharp dagger or a potent poison could end a potential war before it ever reaches our shores. The keystone to Viserys's army is Daenerys. Remove her, and everything falls apart for him. Then we can kill Viserys at our leisure later. And not to mention, it is well known that the Sorcerer likes to collect those who have the same power as he. What is to say that he does not spare the girl and take her under his tutelage? If that comes to pass, how long would it be until she truly became a threat? Killing her serves multiple purposes and prevents much."

The members of the Small Council went quiet as they considered what was before them. Renly was the first to break the silence, "I can't believe this…but I'm agreeing with the flesh peddler. Best to just kill the Targaryen bitch before she starts whelping out little horse lords."

Robert didn't like it. No. He hated this. He wanted to fight the Targaryens on the field and kill the bastard just like he'd done with Rhaegar. Assassins in the dark and poisons…? Those were women's weapons and left a bad taste in his mouth. But Baelish had made a point. And Renly agreed with him. Stannis obviously didn't as his distaste for assassinations was just as strong as his own. But looking across the table, he could see that even Jon was agreeing with Baelish.

"If I may your grace, I would offer a dissenting opinion."

Chairs creaked as all eyes in the room turned towards the Grand Maester. "I didn't take you for a dragon lover, Maester," Robert growled, his voice coming out in a low rumble laced with anger.

Jeorge shook his head. "I am not, your grace. My loyalty is to the Iron Throne and the one who sits upon it, not to a single House. And while I can admit that Lord Baelish's suggestion of assassination does have some merit in potentially stopping a war from reaching our shores, I do not believe that Daenerys Targaryen should be the target."

Leaning back, Robert eyed the Maester warily. "Explain."

Nodding, Jeorge idly fingered one of the links on his chain. "Part of my studies at the Citadel was into different cultures across the known world. While there are many interesting cultures, I found the Dothraki particularly fascinating. By marrying Khal Drogo, Daenerys Targaryen has gained the rank of khalessi, a queen of Khal Drogo's horde if you will. And as such, she will be protected by the horde as steadfastly as our own Queen Cersei is guarded by the Kingsguard and the Goldcloaks. Even a skilled assassin will find difficulty in getting close to her, and that is without even taking her magic into consideration. Launching an attack against her, even from the shadows or with poison, would be suicidal. I doubt your grace would be able to find any who would be willing to undertake such a risk. I doubt even the Faceless Men of Bravos would be willing to take such a contract. And I can say more as to why she would not be the target. Khal Drogo is currently moving back east, which means he is returning to their city, Vaes Dothrak. And Khal Drogo will not move his army again, no matter how much Viserys protests, until he feels the time is right. However, an attack against his khalessi and the potential mother of his khalakka, his child, would enrage him to the point where he would immediately order his entire khalasar back west to wage war against us."

Robert had to admit, much to his chagrin, that the man was right. "So, what do you suggest then?"

Jeorge paused, seemingly thinking over his words before saying them. "I can think of two targets that would be better suited and more accessible than Daenerys. The first would be Khal Drogo himself. Without the Khal, his khalasar will break apart as those of skill will begin cutting their way through everyone in their attempt to take over leadership. Killing Drogo will turn Daenerys from a Khaleesi to a dosh khaleen, a widow of a Khal. Becoming such would make it so that no Khal would ever think of laying with her, nor marrying her. And she would be expected to live out the remainder of her days in Vaes Dothrak, by force if need be."

"But your plan has a problem, Grand Maester," Baelish interjected. "Killing a woman is one thing. Killing a Khal who lives for little more than bloodshed is quite another. And even getting close to the Khal would require an assassin to make their way through the horde."

"You are correct, Lord Baelish." Jeorge nodded. "Which is why I believe the best choice would be to target Viserys, who is traveling with the khalasar, is he not, Lord Varys?"

"He is," Varys nodded.

Nodding, Jeorge turned and locked eyes with Robert. "Drogo's deal was with Viserys directly. That is the way deals work amongst the Dothraki. And while Drogo will not bring harm to Viserys unless the man does something incredibly stupid, Drogo will not go out of his way to protect him either. And should Viserys meet his end before Drogo orders his khalasar to march. Well, Drogo will no longer have any reason to keep to the bargain struck. And even if Daenerys manages to convince him to make war on Westeros, who amongst our nobility will stand with her? She is married, and therefore unable to make anyone a King. And she would be looking to put a horse lord's son on the Iron Throne, a savage. Even the most loyal of those to House Targaryen would be hesitant to join such a cause."

Robert couldn't help but stare at the Grand Maester, seeing the man in a new light. "The fat Maester has the right of it," Robert grumbled, unhappy with the idea of leaving any dragon alive, but realizing that perhaps the Maester's plan was the best path forward. "Spider. Send out your little birds. I want Viserys dead at the first opportunity. I don't care what the cost is or who you have to hire, see it done."

Varys nodded. "As you wish, your grace."

"Damn right," Robert grumbled before pushing thoughts of the Targaryens forcibly from his mind to focus on something better. "Jon, we cannot wait any longer for your plan to bring the Dornish back into the fold. Varys, I seem to recall last meeting that your little birds have said that Jon Stark and that wildling girl have gone to Dorne right?"

Varys nodded, "that is correct your grace."

"Good," Robert nodded, meeting Jon's eyes. "You and I are going to send a letter to Ned. You say the Dornish will baulk if betrothal comes at a request from the crown, so we'll stay out of it. We'll tell Ned everything, you're plan to bring the Dornish back into the realm by marrying Jon to Arianne. And we'll ask him to arrange the betrothal. If Varys's little birds in the North are worth anything, and I'm starting to doubt that, then the two have already fucked. So getting them married shouldn't be too much of a problem. And if Doran makes requests that the North cannot meet, then tell Ned that the Crown will, descretly, aid in meeting any demands of Doran."

Jon nodded, "as you wish, your grace."

Nodding, Robert got around to the next topic, and one that he had been looking forward too for some time now. "Now, I've decided that is high time we had a Tournament and a celebration."

He didn't miss the uneasy looks that crossed Stannis's and Jon's faces. "For what cause, Robert?" Jon asked.

"Three hundred years of a united Seven Kingdoms," Robert replied with a smile on his face.

Jeorge coughed uneasily. "Um…Your grace…The year of 298 since the conquest is less than a half past."

"Which means we have plenty of time to plan and find the fucking coin to make this a tourney to be remembered," Robert countered, which seemed to surprise Jon as he usually called for tourneys at the last possible moment. "I want jousting, melee, archery, strength competitions, and games of wit. We'll even take a note from my own namesake, Robb Stark, and add in an Inventor's Fair to the celebration as well. And I want all the Houses of Westeros to make an appearance. All of them. Even the fucking snakes. It's high past time they remember they are still subject to the Iron Throne."

Baelish was immediately writing down notes, no doubt counting coppers already. "And where will we be holding this celebration, your grace?" the copper-counter asked.

"Where the downfall of the dragons began," Robert answered. "Harrenhal."


Sitting in his moveable chair within his private chambers high in the Tower of the Sun overlooking the grounds of the Sunspear, Doran Martell idly stretched his legs and rubbed at his knees as he watched people of Dorne go about their daily lives as he played out the moves he'd made in the great game, trying to reconcile as to whether he had made the right decisions as of late or not.

Sending his daughter and Oberyn to the North had indeed been the right choice. His only wish was that he'd made the move sooner as their visit coincided with visits from the Tyrells and the Lannisters. Each House had tried to quickly grasp onto the Starks to tie themselves to their growing power. And much to his chagrin, both Houses had succeeded to a degree. The Lannisters had managed to place one of their own amongst Nox's acolytes. The girl was a bastard, but Doran knew Tywin well enough that he would overlook her status in favor of what she could offer the Lions in the future. And the roses had managed to snag themselves one of the wolves by betrothing Willas to the eldest Stark girl Sansa.

And while both developments were unfortunate to his long-term goals, the disappointment was offset by what his daughter had brought back with her. The plans for the new system to move water long distances without the need for transport was a major boon. But it was the magic that'd been awakened within her that was the true boon. The ancient magic of the Rhoynish, a magic last truly seen within the Rhoynish warrior Queen Nymeria. And already the people were beginning to spin the tale that Arianne was Nymeria reborn. Perhaps not in terms of martial prowess, but in influence. And even more, Arianne had managed to gain the full attention of Jon Stark, the secret child of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark. Though that bit of information was proving to very well be a double-edged blade.

The boy had clearly become infatuated with his daughter. But as strong as his attraction to her was, it was returned in equal measure by his daughter. If that wasn't concerning enough, then the fact that they'd also added a third to their interactions in the form of a wildling girl was just aggravating in the tediousness such a coupling would cause later on. 'I sent her North to seduce Jon…and in the end she is the one who ends up being seduced. And not only by a boy slightly younger than herself. But by a wildling as well.' Upon her return, he'd sought about testing just how strong her attraction to the boy was, and it was during that talk with her that he realized that he would have to alter or completely abandon many of his plans. Arianne had made it abundantly clear to him that she knew just who Jon's mother was, and that she knew that he knew as well. And that she would do everything in her power to help protect him from anyone seeking to use him for their own means.

It was a powerful declaration, and an annoying one at that. He couldn't help but wonder if he'd once again been played by the Sorcerer. While Jon may have helped Arianne discover her abilities and aid her in learning her foundation, he was under no delusions that the Sorcerer played no part in the discovery. It was even a possibility that Nox had had a direct hand in Jon's seduction of his daughter. Though now that he'd met the boy, he tossed that idea out the window. The boy was a good sort, if more than a bit oblivious to the subtle art of seduction and politics. No. It was indeed his daughter that seduced the boy. But then the question remained: how did she become so infatuated with him and the wildling girl in such a short time?

Setting aside thoughts of what could have happened in the North, he focused on what had been happening within his own domain since Jon and Ygritte arrived and were welcomed with open arms by Arianne. The two had been given separate rooms in the guest quarters, but it was clear to everyone within the palace after the first week that the rooms were merely a formality and that neither spent any nights within them. Another action of his daughter no doubt. But what had surprised him was the fact that Lord Stark and the Sorcerer's reasoning for sending the two to Dorne had been genuine. The wildling girl Ygritte had, somehow, come into the same type of Rhoynish magic as Arianne. Albeit where Arianne excelled at controlling water, the wildling girl excelled at controlling fire. The two had immediately put their heads together and spent nearly every spare moment Arianne had in trying to learn and control their newfound magic.

And as they did, Jon Stark did not just sit idly by. True to his upbringing in the North, the boy had immediately set about trying to find a way to make himself useful while he was not…entertaining his daughter. He'd found his calling, unsurprisingly, in the yard training not only the men at arms of House Martell, but also by training with the nobles who came to Sunspear to call upon either himself or his daughter. The boy was a complete natural with a blade and in training. And he thoroughly trounced everyone who crossed blades with him. But to Doran's surprise, and pleasure, the boy did not gloat in his victories. Instead, he worked diligently with those he defeated, showing them their weaknesses and how they could improve. He had no doubt that had things played out differently, that Jon could've one day become the most sought-after Master of Arms in all of Westeros. 'But that is not to be his fate,' Doran thought with a note of finality.

"Prince Doran. Your daughter is here to speak with you and – Wait, Princess, your fa—!"

Doran just barely managed to get himself turned around in time to see the doors to his chambers be flung open, revealing a clearly irate Arianne who marched into his room just far enough to turn around and slam the doors shut behind her. And she wasn't alone either as the great white direwolf managed to slip into the room right alongside her before planting itself firmly in front of the door as if to act like a sentry. "Why did you do that, father!?" she asked harshly through gritted teeth as she rounded on him, her eyes alight with a fury he truthfully did not know she possessed. 'So, this is the fire she has within her when she is properly motivated. Good. Now, we just need to work on harnessing this fire.'

"Arianne –" was as far as he got before she started in on him.

"Don't give me 'Arianne' father," she hissed, marching towards him. "You've been in Sunspear for three days. Three days! And already you've sent Jon and Ygritte away from the Tower of the Sun!"

Keeping quiet, Doran waited to see if that was all she had to say before answering her. "Yes. I have only been here for three days, daughter. But if you remember clearly, I did not send them away from the Tower of the Sun. They went of their own accord with your Uncle Oberyn, might I remind you."

His words did not appear to appease his daughter, who began pacing. "Do you honestly expect me to believe that you did not have a hand in this?" she asked, casting glances towards him as she spoke. "You spend moons at the Water Gardens, and now only return with the tale that brigands are wreaking havoc to the north of Sunspear. You call for an assembly, which Jon and Ygritte are invited too, and you announce publicly that you are looking for able-bodied men and women to deal with the brigands. You knew before you even spoke the words that Jon and Ygritte would both volunteer to help deal with the brigands."

"Yes, I did," he nodded. It'd been a ploy to see just how the boy and the wildling would react. And he'd been pleased. Neither had hesitated to answer the call to bring justice to the brigands despite the risks and despite Dorne not being their home. "Believe what you will, but I had nothing to do with the formation of these brigands. And they are something that needed to be dealt with. I merely used the situation at hand to get a better read on the boy and girl that have apparently captured your heart and mind."

Arianne stopped her pacing and glared at him. "I told you before, father, when I first returned from the North. I know full well just who Jon is. And I know that you know. And I will not allow you to pull him into any of your games."

Frowning at her naivety, Doran motioned for Arianne to take a seat next to him. His daughter hesitated a moment, but in the end relented and took the seat next to him. "My daughter, as nobles we do not have a choice when it comes to our participation in the game. The only choice we truly have is whether we are a simple piece to be moved. Or a player who moves the pieces."

"You've said that to me before father," Arianne muttered. "Several times over."

"And it still holds true, daughter, only you're just now starting to realize it instead of just ignoring my advice."

Arianne folded her hands in her lap, her eyes downcast. "I know what you want, father. I'll tell you again. I will not allow you to use Jon, Ygritte, or myself as mere pieces in your game."

"Then you'd best become a player of the game, dear daughter," he commented back, drawing another harsh look from her. "It will not be just I that tries to use the boy, Arianne. There is an old saying, my dear. 'Three can keep a secret, if two are already dead'. How many know of Jon's parentage? I can count seven, perhaps more at least that know the truth of him. It will not be long until that number grows, Arianne. And when it becomes known, make no mistake others will see him as a piece within the game. Either one to use, or one that needs to be removed. The only way that he will survive is if he learns how to play. Or if he has someone by his side to teach him and to protect him."

Getting up from his seat and making his way across the room, a feat which took far more out of him than he cared to admit, Doran retrieved a raven's scroll from a locked box on his desk before returning to his daughter. "It wasn't just the brigands that encouraged me to return from the Water Gardens, Arianne. But this as well."

Taking the scroll, he saw her eyes bounce off the broken wax direwolf before quickly unrolling the scroll and reading its contents. "Father…this…"

"A request from Lord Stark to enter negotiations of a betrothal between yourself and his 'son', Jon Stark," Doran finished for her. "One that, now that I have a proper read on your intentions and feelings and after having felt the boy out as well, I am tempted to pursue."

For the first time since her mother left them, Doran saw tears starting to form at the corner of his daughters' eyes. Though this time they were not from sadness, but rather from joy. "I – I am in support of such a union as well, father. And…And those lessons you spoke of. Lessons on the game. I – I would like to begin them on the morrow, if that is acceptable."

"Of course, it is my daughter," he nodded. "Now run along, Arianne. I'm sure that you are itching to share this news with your cousins. And with your intended upon his return. Tomorrow at first light, I will begin teaching you how to truly be a player in the game, and not just a piece to be played."

Nodding, Arianne turned and left his chambers with the raven's scroll from the North still clutched firmly in her hands and Ghost trailing behind her, acting as her guard while the boy was away. As he watched her leave, his thoughts idly traveled back to the fool Rhaegar and his obsession with bringing about the return of Aegon the Conqueror and his sister-wives. 'In the end, it looks like that bastard dragon Prince will get his way. Though not in the manner he'd thought. It will not be an Aegon, Rhaenys, and Visenya that bring about a newfound stability and peace to the Seven Kingdoms. But rather it will be Jon, Arianne, and Ygritte. Jon will be the figurehead to lead them. Ygritte will be the Warrior Queen to fight their battles. And Arianne will be the Queen that protects them from being swallowed whole by the great game. Now…the only question that remains is how to 'arrange' for such a future to come about.'