Lyanna

Castle Cerwyn had turned out to be a complete waste of time, as they'd come hardly as close as half a league away before seeing banners sporting a flayed man adorning the battlements, at which point they abruptly turned around and galloped back to the crossroad. The North had changed a lot, Lyanna had noticed—when her father had been in charge, as harsh and unrelenting as he'd been, no true northerner would have dreamed of turning to the Boltons while there may still have been living Starks.

Or maybe they might have. Lyanna, as she'd come to realise whilst dying in a tower in Dorne, had been terribly naïve.

They'd been on the road again for a few hours since the disappointment, their horses in a loose formation as they progressed.

'How far to White Harbour, my lady?' Lyonel asked, his horse ahead of hers. It had been unanimously agreed that it was safer for a man to lead, given the less-than-progressive views of those they may encounter, and Lyonel had been the obvious choice given the rather simple fact that he wasn't a Valyrian. The North remembered, they'd often boast, and despite any misconceptions regarding her own kidnapping at the hands of a Targaryen, the fact remained that one had murdered her brother and father, and another had raped and left her to die. No, if Aegon took the lead, in spite of the hood concealing his hair, it would be far more likely that they'd run into trouble

'A day, ser. Maybe two?' As she replied, she could hear the man behind her murmur something that sounded suspiciously like fuck.

Aegon Targaryen, fifth of his name was not at all what she'd expected him to be based on the stories of Old Nan or the teachings of Maester Walys. In fairness, the stories had focused on him as a child, and the teachings were more about his policies, but Lyanna still felt as though she'd had a decent grasp on the man himself.

How wrong she'd been.

True, he was intelligent and kind, and he clearly had a fair amount of common sense. He was tall, not slender like Rhaegar or well-built like Aegon, but rather gangly, as though he'd never truly grown out of boyhood. He was no great leader of men as she'd have thought him to be, but rather someone who's found himself in certain circumstances all is life and been forced to make the best of it.

His horse tripped on a stone and he lurched forward, only catching himself and retaining his balance at the last moment with a cry of 'bollocks!' It had also become apparent that Aegon Targaryen swore like a Rhoynish sailor.

'You alright, Egg?' Lyanna asked him.

'Fucking spectacular. Tell me, lady Lyanna. How is it that you're so unbothered by this damned cold?'

'What cold? If you think this is bad, wait until winter. Then you'll see just how cold the North can get.'

The king—or was he one? Lyanna was still confused by this resurrection nonsense and frankly didn't have a clue how she was supposed to address him—scoffed. 'I'm afraid I don't have a clue what you're talking, my lady. Come winter, I'll be relaxing in my bath at Summerhall with a good book and a glass of Dornish red. Can you think of any reason for me to stay in the North?'

Lyanna laughed. 'Not at all, your grace. You'll certainly have a time of it, fishing your somehow-intact bathtub out of the wreckage. Certainly is lucky that books are notoriously fireproof and that improperly-stored wine can never go bad.'

'Wait,' Aegon called, his tone suddenly serious. 'You mean to tell me that it was never rebuilt?'

'Never.'

'And what of the dragon eggs?'

'I don't know. Sorry, Egg.'

Aegon fell silent, and they carried on in silence for many more miles, until it began to grow dark and the winds grew louder.

'Gods!' Lyonel suddenly shouted. 'It's the river, the, uh…Lyanna, what's it called?'

In the distance, the end of a river had come into sight, slowly meandering through the frigid North into a shallow pool that reflected the crescent moon.

'The broken branch. The southernmost, by the looks of things. That means we're about halfway there by my estimate. Should be able to reach it by sundown tomorrow, or maybe dawn the day after if something happens in the meantime.'

'We're the only people around for miles, Lady Lyanna,' Lyonel laughed. 'What could happen to us that could prevent us from reaching White Harbour in good time?'

Lyonel

Lyonel cursed himself for the words that had left his mouth barely an hour before—if life had taught him one thing, it was that if something could go wrong, it would. The first trial of the seven had ended with Baelor Breakspear dying, his family's betrothal into the royal family had ended with the prince running off with a peasant, and a simple journey to the bushes to go for a piss had ended with his companions being accosted by bandits and him being forced to hide in a bush.

There were four of them, each scrawny and clothed in rough-spun cloth that looked as though it wasn't holding up particularly well against the cold, and each armed with a piece of cheap weaponry that Lyonel was sure was stolen.

'I beseech you, man to man' Egg began from his position on the floor with his hands tied behind his back. 'Get out of here while you can. Our companions will be back any minute, and they will not be feeling very merciful if you're still here. Run while you can, please.'

'Ha! This silvery little bastard thinks he can tell us what to do!' The man who Lyonel presumed to be the leader shouted, prompting laughter from his men. 'I fucked a Lyseni whore with hair like yours once. Was she your mother?'

'Speakin' of whores, Will, That lass there, she fair game or what?'

'Mmrrmrmmr Mmmrmrrmmr!'

Aegon had clearly seen that they were badly outnumbered and opted to co-operate until Lyonel made his move—after all, there'd be no point getting hurt before the final push. Lyanna, unfortunately, had no such reservations and now found herself with a gag in her mouth.

'Sorry, Darling. What was that?' The leader—Will, it would seem—loosened the gag and crouched over her, ignoring the glare that looked as though it could've cracked stone.

'If you fucking touch me I'll geld you myself, you bastard! Understand?'

'Ha! Anyhow, you spoke of companions?'

'Aye.' Aegon remained passive, but Lyonel could see nervousness enter his eyes.

'There are three bedrolls, three packs, three weapons, and three horses. You have a single companion absent, and my boys will find him and kill him within the hour. No-one's coming for you. You, my friend, are fucked. Fucked.'

'How many men do you have then?' Aegon was a cunning bastard when it came down to it—he had no idea where Lyonel was, or even if he was nearby, but was getting the man to reveal his strengths—and hopefully, weaknesses.

'Well, there's me an' Reg here, Karl's just gone to have a shit, and then three more looking for your comrade, 'though I'm sure they'll be back soon.' He smirked down at Lyonel's companions. 'Even if you did somehow get free, get your weapons, and kill both of us, you'd still be outnumbered two-to-one.'

He was right, damn him. Egg and Lyanna were both tied up nice and tight, there were two men already there with more incoming at any moment. If he'd had his sword, Lyonel was confident he'd be able to take them, but it currently lay in the dirt, the black leather scabbard dully reflecting the firelight, positioned uselessly between the two bandits.

No, he'd have to make do with his knife. He made to move—if he struck swiftly, he'd be able to get to the leader without even being seen, overpower the other one, and then he could free his companions and make his escape before any of the other bandits returned. He raised himself into a crouch, his body poised to attack when—

'Oi, Will! I've found one!'

The voice came from directly behind him, from a pock-marked man who was currently fumbling for his sword, his hands shaking as he laid his eyes upon the massive form of Lyonel Baratheon.

Shit. Oh well, a bit of improvisation never went amiss.

The Laughing Storm sprang into action, his knife finding itself buried in the bandit's throat while his other hand pulled out the sword in one swift motion, before spinning round on one foot to meet the gaze of the two bandits at the camp.

'Get the fucker!' With Will's shout, Reg sprinted toward Lyonel with an almighty cry, sword in hand, ready to meet the attacker in furious battle. And then the massive knight was gone, with only an instant of pain across his back being felt before collapsing into the dirt, blood pooling around him. As his opponent bled out with a sword stuck in his back, Lyonel stepped ever closer to the leader

'Aaaarrrghhhh!' Three more men emerged from the trees, their weapons flailing wildly as they charged toward the Baratheon knight. He dodged and ducked and weaved with surprising speed for a man of his size, the swift movements of his knife mere flashes in the flickering light, the true embodiment of his house's unadulterated fury. One fell, then another, with only the last man successfully disarming him, the knife stuck into the bones of his ribcage as he fell backwards.

'Stop!' Lyonel turned, panting heavily, to see Will with his sword against Aegon's throat. 'You're fast, big man. Very fast. But are you fast enough to reach me before I slit your friend's throat here?'

No-one moved. No-one spoke. All was still as Will stared deeply into Lyonel's eyes, a thin bead of blood starting to trickle down Aegon's neck.

'Fuck!' The Bandit cried suddenly. Lyanna viciously tore her mouth—the same mouth they'd forgotten to put the gag back on—away from the bandit's leg, spitting out the chunk of flesh she'd just bitten out as he dropped his sword, his attention momentarily taken away from the stalemate between himself, Lyonel, and Aegon.

A moment, however, was all that Lyonel Baratheon needed. He leapt forward and tackled the man into the mud, raining his fists down into his face over and over before Will kicked him off and tried to run. He made it two steps before being yanked back, the massive fist of Lyonel clutching at the hood of his cloak, pulling him back into a headlock, his windpipe being crushed between the colossal bicep and forearm of the Laughing Storm. Will struggled momentarily but fell prone to the floor after Lyonel gave a mighty twist, the crack seeming to echo in the silence of the night.

'Well,' he said, yanking his knife out of the ribcage it had been sheathed in. 'That certainly could've gone worse.' He cut Lyanna and Aegon free before promptly collapsing onto his bedroll, a quiet snore coming mere moments later.

Aegon

No matter how you looked at it, White Harbour was a fine city, with all the splendour of King's Landing but none of the stink. The white spires rising before them were designed to inspire, rather than to intimidate, and Aegon couldn't help but think that this was how a capital city should look.

Their horses were brought to a halt at the gate to the new castle, the guards in their fish-scale armour emblazoned with the Manderly merman crossing their tridents in a manner that had clearly been rehearsed.

'Halt!' the taller of the two cried. 'State your business!'

'We're here to see lord Manderly. The fate of the North may depend on it.' They'd decided beforehand that it'd be best for Lyanna to speak, as her accent and Northern bearing would be most likely to put whoever they'd encounter at ease, and that would allow them easiest access to Lord Manderly. It was becoming ever clearer, however, that this was not necessarily the case.

'Oh, well, if it's the fate of the North, I suppose we must let you through,' the shorter one retorted. 'Fuck off, before I make you fuck off.'

Lyonel bristled, clearly ready for a fight, but Lyanna steadied him with a simple touch to the arm. 'No matter.' With that, she turned her horse around and began trotting away.

Egg and Lyonel followed her for half a hundred yards, at which point she promptly dismounted and approached a young girl sat to the side of the path.

'Girl. Can you get into the castle?'

The girl nodded.

'Can you reach Lord Manderly?'

Again, she nodded.

'Excellent.' She tossed her a copper. 'There's another one of them for you if you deliver this note to Lord Manderly, and tell him that we'll be found in the…' She looked around for a sign for the closest tavern. 'The Lazy Eel. Two if he arrives by sundown. Understand?'

The girl nodded, snatching the note away from Lyanna, her grubby hands crinkling the parchment before she tore up the paved street, past the guards and through the gate.

'What…' Egg began, 'was that?'

'I'll explain when we're inside. Uh, Lyonel, dear, I'm sure you've noticed those men in the alley?'

'Ha! Harder not to notice them, my lady.'

Aegon, it turned out, hadn't spotted them.

Lyanna continued speaking. 'Would you mind handling them while me and Egg go inside? I'll get you an ale?'

'Two.'

'Done.' She smirked. 'My thanks, Lyonel. See you in a minute.'

They'd hardly sat down with their drinks before he entered, cracking his knuckles with a satisfied grin as he joined them.

'Gods, those bandits last night, those shitheads in the alley just now. It's been a long time since I've had a good fight.' He downed his first pint. 'Here's to more soon,' he carried on, lifting his second tankard to toast.

'Not too many, though,' Aegon responded. 'Winterfell and the Long Night will be enough for me. After that, I'm going to travel, Dorne, or perhaps Essos. Like me and Ser Duncan used to do, before I was king and before he was lord commander, just Dunk and Egg doing hedge-knight things.' A melancholy smile spread across his face as he took a sip of his ale.

'What…what was he like?' Lyanna asked. 'I heard stories as a girl, of Ashford and Chequy Water and even Winterfell. Was any of it true?'

'All of it. Or at least by my death, the stories they told were, for the most part, true. And he…he was the best man I ever knew. Wouldn't you agree, Ser Lyonel?'

'Aye. He was a damned good knight, but rarer than that…he was a damned good man before any of that. If there'd been a choice between his sticking squarely to his oaths and helping a young child, he'd pick the child every time.'

'Very true. And in regard to his oaths, he certainly took some more seriously than others,' Aegon said with a wry smile. 'Loyalty to the crown, aye, he had in buckets. Fathering no sons…that's another story.'

Lyanna gasped. 'The Puppeteer!?'

'Aye. Tansielle was her nam—'

A dozen soldiers burst through the tavern doors, the stocky man at their head clutching the scrap of parchment Lyanna had stuffed into the urchin's hand.

'By order of Lord Wyman Manderly, I demand to know who this belo—'

'It's about bloody time!' Lyanna stood up, gesturing for Lyonel and Aegon to do the same. 'Might we see Lord Manderly now?'

The man eyed her suspiciously before giving a slow nod. 'Aye. I trust you'll hand over your weapons to my men here with no trouble?' He waved his hand and a soldier stepped forward, his hands outstretched toward the three of them.

Aegon and Lyanna immediately complied and gave their weapons without a word. 'Lyonel!' she hissed under her breath. 'Give the man your bloody sword!'

'Last time I was without my sword we got badly fucked,' he responded, glaring at the men. If they want it, they'll have to pry it out of my cold, dead hands.'

Aegon leant over to Lyonel, putting his mouth to his ear. 'Give them the sword. You still have your knife, yes?'

'Hmph…yes.' His jaw was clenched but Egg could see that he was about to give in.

'If anything goes wrong, I'm sure you'll be able to get your sword back without any trouble.'

'Gods, man!' The soldier shouted. 'I don't have all day! Hand over your sword so I can get out of this cesspit!' His nose was wrinkled and his eyes were filled with disgust as he looked around the tavern that could, admittedly, only be described as such. Still, Aegon thought. The ale was actually ale and only a small fraction of the patrons looked as if they'd happily murder you for a handful of coppers—in short, he'd been in far worse taverns in the past, and likely would be in more in the future.

Lyonel handed over the sword and the soldier immediately swivelled with military precision, marching out the door without another word. The men-at-arms followed suit, bringing the three of them up the street, through the gates at which they'd been rebuffed less than an hour earlier. They reached the solar of Lord Wyman Manderly, with all the soldiers but two marching away. The door was ajar and they entered—Lyonel first, then Lyanna, with Aegon at the rear.

It was large and spacious, lit with numerous candles covering almost all the surfaces to drive away the gloom of the impending dusk, with the man himself sat behind a stack of parchments, three goblets of wine before him.

'I'll be blunt, whoever you are,' he said angrily, his chins wobbling as he spoke. 'I want to know who told you about the contents of that parchment, and I'm willing to go to any lengths to find them. Now, who are you?'

'Is that any way to speak to an old friend, Lord Wyman?' Lyanna asked sweetly, every inch the blushing maiden that she was, to anyone that knew her, clearly not.

'I've never met you!'

'Oh, but you have. Don't you remember Harrenhal? Myself and Howland Reed—you know, the Crannogman—were in the woods behind the pavilions, and who else was there? Why, if memory serves, I think it was Lord Wyman Manderly and his pet knight, Ser Bartimus, humping behind the trees.'

Gods. That certainly took an unexpected turn.

The lord's face turned a furious crimson, his eyes widening and his brows turning down to the point that they resembled a letter V. 'Impossible! Aye, the little frog-eater was there, but you weren't with him, that was Lyanna Stark!'

She nodded, and realisation began to dawn on his face.

'L-lady Lyanna? It can't be, you, you died!' His gaze focused on her. 'Didn't you?'

'Yes, my lord. I did. But I'm back, and I need your help.'

Wyman

'Gods…it's really you. I must be going crazy.' The Lord of White Harbour was sat with his head in his hands, notably shaken at the ghost in front of him.

'You're not crazy, Lord Manderly. At least, no more than I am.'

He looked up at her. 'I'm not quite sure that's as reassuring as you think it is.'

They sat in tense silence as Wyman tried to comprehend what he'd just heard—Lyanna Stark, alive and well, sitting in his very solar. None of it made any kind of sense, and yet he could not think of any alternative—if someone was trying to lie to him, to manipulate and fool him, surely they'd pick a more believable falsehood?

'Lord Wyman,' the young man with silver hair spoke up at last, having remained silent so far. 'I hate to be crass, but we had a purpose in coming here. We, uh…' The man trailed off.

'We need your men, and the support of House Manderly to get the Boltons the fuck out of Winterfell.' The large man beside him cut in, his goblet already empty.

'I'm sorry, but who are you? I know Lady Stark, of course, but I'm not sure we've had the pleasure, ser…?'

'Lord. Lord Lyonel Baratheon of Storm's End. Well, I'm not sure if I still am technically the lord, what with my death and all, but…'

'And you?' Wyman turned towards the other man.

'Aegon Targaryen.'

'Y-you're a Targaryen?' Gods, as if this hadn't already been crazy enough.

'Yes. The unlikely, I believed they called me.'

Wyman reached for the bottle of wine with shaking hands, spilling as he poured but not particularly caring. He needed a drink, and a few spilled drops were a small price to pay for the inevitable numbness. The Unlikely, the Laughing Storm, and the She-Wolf of Winterfell, all sat in front of him. Had he been any other Northern lord, he'd likely have had them arrested and killed—claiming to be a Baratheon these days was a risky claim at best, as was being a Stark while the Boltons ruled the land. Being a Targaryen, however, was another kind of death sentence entirely.

'Lord Manderly?'

He was snapped out of his musings by Lyanna Stark. 'Yes?'

'How do you respond? Will you fight with us?'

'I…I'd like nothing more than to pledge my men to the Starks. But they're already at Winterfell. The Bolton bastard has been paranoid of late, something about his bride escaping, so called all the houses of the North to rally to him.'

'And you complied? You're loyal to that traitor's bastard!?' When enraged, he remembered, Lady Lyanna was a force to be reckoned with.

'Of course not, Lady Stark! I'd love to drive my sword through his belly, and if I were twenty years younger I might even try it!' Wyman lowered his voice, a tone of desperation seeping in. 'But after the Red Wedding, who else could we turn to? King Robb was dead, as were Lords Brandon and Rickon. Sansa was a Lannister, no-one had heard from the lady Arya since Ned died, and the bastard was at the wall! I am a loyal man, lady Stark, loyal to the death. But I could choose between loyalty to the Starks and the lives of my daughters. Would you really have chosen differently in my position?'

Lyanna Stark, to her credit, looked abashed. 'I…no. I would not. My apologies, Lord Manderly.'

Wyman waved it off. 'Unnecessary, Lady Lyanna. But as I was saying, I am loyal to the Boltons in name only, and have been waiting for an opportunity such as this one. I will send a rider to the captain of my forces. They will march with the Boltons in battle, yes. But,' he continued, a devious smile forming on his face. 'They will not fight for them. The North remembers, Lady Stark. The North remembers.'

Robb

That, he thought as their boat set out from Sea Dragon Point, was surprisingly easy. Lord Galbart Glover had been shocked to see him at Deepwood Motte but had fallen to his knees and pledged his support to House Stark without a second thought, even though he'd clearly been unnerved by the Valyrian man behind Robb.

Aegon, for that matter, had not liked the idea of Robb leading the negotiations. As far as he was concerned, Robb was a child, who'd lost a war by thinking with his heart instead of his head, whereas he was the man who'd conquered the Seven Kingdoms by the time he was thirty.

'Six,' Robb had replied. 'It was Daemon who got Dorne. You gave up after the death of Rhaenys, if memory serves.' That had shut him up—for such an otherwise pragmatic man, Aegon the Conqueror was also very proud. 'Me surviving the wedding? There's a chance he'll believe that. You being alive three hundred-odd-years after your death? Not so much.'

Aegon had begrudgingly accepted, Lord Glover had been immediately loyal, and Robb was now freezing his balls off on a boat to bear Island. This, he knew, would be harder by far. The ladies of House Mormont were notoriously proud and prickly—Dacey had been a force to be reckoned with in every battle he'd been at her side for, only to be taken down by some chinless Frey through treachery, while few he'd ever faced had intimidated Robb as lady Maege had. If they were anything to go by, he'd have his work cut out for him trying to win over Lyanna Mormont.

'Can I ask you something?' The words were out of his mouth before he even realised he'd said them.

'You just did.' Aegon didn't move from his position on the floor, his eyes closed and his back against the wall. 'But why not?'

'Orys Baratheon. Is he…you know, your brother?'

Aegon opened one eye. 'Does it matter?'

'Not particularly, but you can't blame me for being curious. After all, it's not every day you're in the company of a living legend.'

The king cracked a smile. 'You've been in the company of one every day since we met, if it is indeed me that you're referring to. But I suppose I can't. The fact is, I'm not sure. His mother was a scullery maid at Dragonstone with the Baratheon colouring, and no father made himself known. Aerion may have been his father, or he may not have been. No matter what, he was my brother—if not by blood, than by bond.'

'I think I understand. Finding out that Jon was not my brother, but my cousin, it…it changed everything and it changed nothing, you know? As much as I could easily view him in a completely different light, the fact remains that he's the same boy who I played at being a knight with. No revelation of parenthood could ever change that.' Robb frowned, before looking Aegon in the eye. 'I have another question, if you don't mind?'

'Go for it.'

'All those people north of the wall. Many of them fought against your house, destroying your dynasty. Aren't you angry with them?'

'Have you ever seen an infected leg, Robb? One that is green and leaking. One that will surely kill the body if not removed?'

'Aye.' Every night while reliving the War of the Five Kings, with the screams of that Westerling soldier burnt into my mind as his leg was taken off.

'From the sounds of it, that was House Targaryen. Rhaegar was a madman with the trappings of a prince, and by all accounts his father was ten times worse. Whatever misconceptions there may be regarding your aunt, the fact is that Rhaegar appeared to kidnap the betrothed daughter of the warden of the North without a word to the contrary. They destroyed Westeros, Robb. So no, I was not particularly angry to hear that my descendants, unworthy as they were of the Targaryen name, were knocked off the throne.'

'But King Robert allowed the murderers of your relatives to go free! He laughed at the corpses! Doesn't that make you angry?'

'Of course it does!' His anger was now showing. 'When I heard what happened, I wanted nothing more than to kill Robert where he stood. But then I saw his eyes, Robb. They were filled with shame, the kind of shame that few men will ever feel, and fewer still will show. It is crueller to let him live, to allow him to try and atone for what he did. Tywin Lannister. Gregor Clegane. Amory Lorch. They are the men who I blame. They are the men who will get what they deserve.' He sighed. 'Maybe then there can be some kind of peace. For him, for me, for all of us.'

They sat in contemplative silence, neither looking at each other, until the boat hit land and they lurched forward, landing in a heap in the corner of the brig. As they made their way to the surface, Robb noticed a small legion of heavily armed islanders. They had no uniform, no shared weaponry or sigils or gender, but all appeared to have the hardiness shared by all the Mormont loyalists he'd known. All, including the young girl at their head who could not have been more than ten, who was fiing them both with an intense glare.

This, he knew, must be Lyanna Mormont.

'Lady Mormo—'

'Who are you?' Her voice was high, but loud and unwavering. 'Yours is not a ship we have seen before. Make your identities known or I'll have Harys here—'she gestured toward the large man beside her who vaguely resembled the bear on the Mormonts' sigil—'beat them out of you.'

'I am Robb Stark. I knew your sister, Dacey.'

The young lady of Bear Island scoffed. 'You expect me to believe that you're the King in the North? The same one who died at the Twins, alongside the sister you supposedly know so well?'

'Aye.'

'Bollocks. Hallis, do what you will,' she said before turning round, the rest of her retinue in tow.

Aegon tensed beside him. 'Robb, we need to do something,' he whispered.

'Dacey had a broken nose as a child!' He shouted. 'It was crooked, even as an adult.'

Lyanna didn't even stop or turn around. 'As any idiot who ever laid eyes on her would know.'

'But would they know how it happened?' This, fortunately, stopped her in her tracks. 'She was five. Lady Maege had left her morning star on a table somewhere, and Dacey tried to lift it above her head to prove how strong she was. It didn't quite work.' He smirked. 'She told me and the Smalljon after the battle of the camps, when she was deep into her cups.'

'Fine. Strangely enough, I believe you. You may come inside for bread and salt. And then,' she continued, her cold stare moving over to Aegon, 'you can tell me what the fuck a Targaryen is doing on my island.'

Aegon

'You can fight for them.' Having heard their story, Lyanna was blunt as ever.

'I'm sorry?'

'The men and women of Bear Island,' Lyanna said, in a tone that suggested she was talking to a simpleton. 'If you win a fight against my champion, I'll send my men back with you.'

'But—'

'But nothing, Lord Stark. My kin fought for the Starks and died for it. They fought against the Targaryens as well, and now you ask for us to follow you both? The Mormonts have always been loyal to the Starks, but if we are to survive the winter we must know we'll be looked after. My sister died for you, Lord Stark. The least you could do is fight for us.'

Robb looked pensive. 'If I win, you'll come to Winterfell? No questions asked?'

'Do you take me for a liar? I said we would, so we would.'

The young Stark clenched his jaw. 'Aye. I acce—'

'No. I will fight him.' Aegon said, before thinking of both Lyannas he'd met—formidable women both, each of whom he'd discounted at first before seeing the steel beneath. 'Or her. The Starks have earnt your loyalty. I, on the other hand, have not. The pledge will still stand?'

She glared. 'Aye. Harys?' The behemoth who'd accompanied her at the shore came forward, a dim flicker of acknowledgement of being called flitting across his face. 'You will fight Lord Aegon. Here. Now.'

'Are they to use live steel? Tourney swords?' Robb asked.

'Fists should suffice,' Lyanna replied. 'I should warn you, however. Fists happen to be Harys' speciality.'

Aegon shrugged off his thick cloak and began to remove his furs, the lingering cold of the North biting at his milk-white flesh, until he was undressed from the waist up, his feet bare against the stone floor. He loosened his shoulders, his elbows angling out and his palms flat out toward Harys, shifting his feet until they were two-odd feet away from each other, one in front of another.

'Forgive me, Aegon, but that doesn't fill me with much hope that you know how to box,' Robb called out.

'I don't. Boxing is for lackwits that have more muscles than brains. This is a Valyrian fighting style.'

'Does it have a name?'

'None that need concern you.' Aegon turned to Harys, who appeared to be loosely punching at the air, his eyes unfocused as though he were only going through the motions. 'Come on then, you great lummox! Are we going to fight or just stand here?'

Without a word, Harys charged, his shouldered hunkered down as he moved toward Aegon with surprising speed. As he reached him, he swung his fist at his head, only to hit naught but air. He was not pleased.

Aegon, however, was very pleased. The man had done exactly as he'd planned and was now where he wanted him. He swept his leg, hitting Harys' knee with tremendous force, while his right palm slammed into his jaw, sending the giant sprawling to the floor, a thin stream of blood trickling out of his mouth and pooling onto the stone floor. Harys did not move again.

Overall, the whole fight was ended in under three seconds.

Aegon looked over to Lyanna. 'My lady! Would you mind if we accompanied your troops to Torrhen's Square? I'm sure both Robb and I would feel safer in the company of warriors of such…' He looked down at Harys, a faint mist of breath now coming from his mouth '…Calibre.'

Lyanna Mormont simply looked at him, her eyes giving nothing away. 'Aye.' With that, she left, not saying another word as she exited through a rear door.

Robb came over, handing over Aegon's clothing. 'You were amazing! That was incredible!'

'That was nothing.' The Conqueror looked at the window, shivering for the first time since he'd undressed. 'The real fight is yet to come.'

A/N: Another chapter done! Hope you're all staying safe, still enjoying the story, and doing all you can to help those in need right now. As usual, thanks for following, favouriting, reviewing, and forgiving the unholy mix of book and show canon. Nearly 6000 words (longest yet) so cheers for bearing with.

Next chapter-the calm before the storm.

-Kinginthenorth1

Shadowhunter2099-The Lannisters will definitiely be making an appearance some point after the battle of Winterfell.

Freelook-There's no point in bringing characters back if they immediately have the medieval equivalent of a nuclear bomb at their disposal-I wanted to show why Aegon was a hero of his own merit, rather than just a fella who owned a dragon. In regard to Orys, Aegon, and Robert, there will be some confrontation about Aegon and Rhaenys, but the Targaryen dynasty of the Conquest is vastly different to that of the Rebellion. Based on the story he's heard of the Rebellion, Aerys wanting his descendent's head, and his hatred of the Dornish, I'm not so sure he'd be quite as angry as you believe.

Jeremiahkelley93-Cheers! Glad you're enjoying it.

Moshi-My god. I'm so so sorry that such a colossal mistake has completely ruined your enjoyment of the story. Can you ever forgive me?