Arthur

Ser Arthur Dayne,

It is of vital importance that the enclosed news is given Queen Daenerys as soon as you receive this letter.

We have recently received intelligence from the Kingslayer that wildfire—from either before rebellion, more recently, or perhaps even both—has been stashed throughout the city. We do not know where exactly, nor whether it will be at full potency. The use of dragons near the city itself, however, is a risk that we cannot take. With this in mind, we humbly request that her grace keeps her dragons focused on the Greyjoy fleet, far away from the city itself. Even without them, we still have a sound strategy, and the numbers to pull it off with as little blood being shed as possible.

I wish you good fortunes in the wars to come,

Lord Eddard Stark of Wintefell.

As he finished reading the letter aloud, Arthur smirked, recalling his use of the exact same words outside the Tower of Joy. The letter had arrived at a few hours past midnight and he'd wasted no time in rousing the queen's inner circle; a group that he was proud to consider himself part of. They were all, however, giving him glares, clearly displeased at the manner in which they'd been woken.

'Why should we believe the lies of the Kingslayer, Ser Arthur?' Daenerys asked. 'He would say anything to save his sister's skin, and—meaning no offence, Robb—Lord Stark has hardly proven himself adept at seeing through the lies of the Lannisters.'

'None taken, your grace,' the young Stark said. 'But I must say, my father is no longer the man he once was. Before he died, he believed that the queen, no matter how far gone she may have been, was capable of change. Losing his head robbed him of any such notions.' Robb rubbed his eyes and stifled a yawn. 'He'd no longer take such a risk, I assure you.'

'Not to mention, your grace, that he will surely be aware of our possession of his daughter,' Barristan said. Unlike the rest, he'd been awake when the summons had come, having been stood outside his queen's door. His armour was gleaming in the dim candlelight, just as it always had before Arthur had died. 'He'd never risk her life in such a way. No, I believe that the intelligence given to Lord Stark is correct.'

Daenerys grimaced for a moment before nodding. 'Fine. It is no matter. Our course remains the same—we will still engage the Greyjoys, although now we will send my children ahead of us to burn the bastards alive. Half of our force will disembark at Bronzegate as planned, whilst half will now remain at sea with the dragons. That will hopefully allow our forces to remain mostly intact for when we disembark on the shores of the Blackwater.' She delicately moved a small wooden dragon a few inches east on the map. 'We will strike hard, we will strike fast, and we will strike from all directions—Lords Stark and Baratheon from the North, the Tyrells from the West, myself from the East. Oberyn, Robb, you will lead the force from the South. By the time they realise what's happening, the throne will be mine.'

The room remained silent, but Arthur felt a familiar sense of pride welling in his chest, one he'd scarcely felt over the last few years—when Queen Rhaella had thanked him for his service, or when Rhaenys had insisted on him playing with her cat, or even those occasional sad smiles from Rhaegar before he'd kidnapped Lyanna Stark.

For the first time in a long time, Arthur Dayne was proud to be serving a Targaryen.

Ned

Their progress had been slow—painfully so, even—but Ned knew it was necessary. With such division amongst their allies, it was of vital importance that they struck once, as one, with lethal efficiency. There could be no second chances.

How many times is one bloody man supposed to attempt a coup? It was a thought that had entered his head far more often than he would have liked, and one that made it feel as though a knife was twisting in his gut. He knew it was a load of shit—Aerys had been a tyrant who'd have burnt the kingdoms to a cinder as soon as he'd have breathed, and Cersei and her children had had no true claim to the throne the first time round, let alone now. Not to mention the threat from beyond the wall, which all but necessitated the Seven Kingdoms being united by a sole ruler.

But he'd been raised differently—as a lord, his father had told him once, he was supposed to do his duty to the crown; no more and no less. It was not his place to question the Iron Throne, but rather fulfil its wishes, no matter how uneasily they might have rested on his shoulders.

Then the images of his sister, his brother, and his father dying, of his best friend bleeding out as his wife schemed to seize power, of those demons to the North entered his mind and he shook his head. This was the right course, and there could be no doubt about this.

Ned looked to his left, where Robert was smiling to himself as his horse slowly ambled forward, clearly unburdened by himself. It was as he'd wanted the last time they'd ridden south; the two of them side by side, ready to crack some skulls, just as it had used to be.

The wind in his hair and the sun on his face, Ned's questioning was gone. Last time he'd ridden south with army at his back, he'd lost everyone. This time, that would not happen.

Winter would come for the Tyrant Queen.

The Gallant

Garlan had begun to lose track of how many kings or queens his family would support over the course of the war. There was Renly, of course, who'd been a decent enough man even if he was in all honesty an idiot who'd done naught but play at war when other men had laid down their lives for him. Then there'd been Joffrey, sadistic little bastard that he was. Whilst he'd felt a pang of sadness upon hearing of Renly's death—on Loras' behalf if nothing else—he'd had no such feelings upon the death of Joffrey. Tommen had then seemed the decent enough sort, but Garlan's grandmother had made it clear that his mother was a fuse growing shorter and shorter by the day, and even being married into the family was no guarantee of safety; in fact, it may have been the opposite.

So there he was, leading the combined forces of the Reach east for what would, for many of them, be the second time in a generation where they'd support the dragons. He could only hope that this time, they'd have better luck in terms of the outcome.

'Everything alright, brother?' A voice chimed beside him and he turned to see his sister trotting beside him.

'Well, we're riding to war against a madwoman who will undoubtedly have a trick up her sleeve. Why shouldn't it be?' He shot her the charming grin that he was certain had gone a fair way towards giving him his famed epithet, but a slight frown from Margaery wiped it off.

Damn. It's Margaery. Of course she could see through it.

'The truth, Garlan,' she said, this time with notably less warmth than the first. 'Please?'

He sighed and rubbed his jaw. 'Seven hells. Fine. I'm worried. And why shouldn't I be? We're on the fourth monarch in as many years, one who we've frankly done very little to prove our loyalty to. Should we win, I suppose it'll all be fine since we'll have aided in the victory. But should we lose? Cersei Lannister will burn the Reach to the ground, putting every man, woman and child to the sword, and damning half the other kingdoms to starve come winter. So yes, Margaery, I'm worried. Happy?'

'Of course not,' she replied softly. 'But we just have to trust that grandmother knows what she's doing.'

'This is the same grandmother who had you married to Renly, then Joffrey, the Tommen?'

'Technically, that was father—'

'Technically, it is father who runs the Reach. Doesn't mean it's the truth.' He smirked as he said this and was met with a smile from his sister. 'Look, I apologise for my temper being so short as of late. I'm just anxious. There are fifty thousand men at my back, many of whom may not return home. True, it is necessary, based off of what grandmother has told us of the queen's habits, but it doesn't change the fact that I'll be likely to be the ones to lead them to their deaths.'

Margaery huffed. 'I know that there's no changing your mind when you get like this, so I won't even try. Still, if any of those fifty thousand men are half as determined to get home as you are to see Leonette again, I wouldn't be surprised if we returned home with our full force.' With that, she pulled at her reins and began to travel back down the column. 'Besides,' she shouted as she went further, 'didn't you hear? They're being led by the most gallant man in the Seven Kingdoms.'

As his sister went out of eyeshot, Garlan could feel a grudging smile play at his lips.

I bloody hate that name.

The Kitchen Wench

The Red Keep had been surprisingly easy to infiltrate. After all, no one ever looked twice at a kitchen wench—at least, not one who'd keep her head down and say Milady rather than My Lady. She wouldn't make her move quite yet, since Maegor's Holdfast was an entirely different beast, and there was only so far that the norms of social hierarchies could be utilised for her own gain. SO for now she'd live as Jeyne the kitchen wench, going about her day with nothing more on her mind that scrubbing pots and chopping vegetables. The castle would get used to her, and slowly but surely she'd begin to ingratiate herself in even the most exclusive parts of the palace.

Aye, she'd do this, and soon Cersei Lannister would be no more.

After all, the North remembered.

Cersei

'Our scouts report that they have seen a fleet sailing north from Sunspear, your grace, adorned with the sun and the spear, and the three-headed dragon. They'll likely be in the Blackwater within the week.'

'Is it something the squids can deal with, Qyburn, or should I be worried?'

'I shouldn't think so, your grace. None sail half as well as Lord Euron does, and he has the numbers as well.'

Cersei nodded and took a slow sip of her wine. 'Excellent. Keep me informed if the situation changes.'

'At once, your grace.'

'And Jaime? Has there been any word from my brother?'

'None, your grace. None since his report on the minor revolt at Pennytree. He put it down without much trouble, and—'

'Of course he did! He's a Lannister. You really think a few of those pig-fucking shits could best a Lion?'

'No, your grace. Not at all. I had simply thought to inform you of his victory.'

'Well, you thought incorrectly. It is hardly necessary to be informed of such minor victories, not when there is a fleet on the horizon. Again, I expect to be immediately informed if any word arrives from my brother. Is that understood?'

'Yes, your grace.' With that, Qyburn shuffled out of the room, and Cersei was once more left alone with her thoughts.

Queen you shall be... until there comes another, younger and more beautiful, to cast you down and take all that you hold dear.

No. The dragon slut would not claim her throne. She'd burn the city to ashes, Tommen and all, before she allowed that to happen.

She was Cersei fucking Lannister, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, and that would not be changing anytime soon.

Lyonel

They'd had no trouble with the outermost guards—upon seeing Jaime Lannister, the gates swung open and their party was admitted into King's Landing. Gods, it was strange to be back. After all, he hadn't been here since he'd fought Ser Duncan on his daughter's behalf, and even after that he'd ridden home with as little delay as possible. Still, in spite of spending so little time here, the familiar stench of shit and crammed together human bodies reminded him that he was most certainly in the capital.

With the citizens of King's Landing clearing the way for them, they made it to the sept in good time, dismounting and forming up ranks at the foot of their steps. The two guards there offered no challenge, both being knocked unconscious immediately. They entered the sept and turned back around, their shields forming a wall, with Lyonel ready to begin the next step of the plan. He saw Lyanna and her men in the streets, mock outrage on her face at the supposed desecration of such a place.

He glanced upward briefly at the sun. If any of you are listening, please know that I don't mean what I'm about to say. Well, most of it. Well, some of it. He swallowed and raised his sword.

'Fuck the Gods! Fuck the Queen! Fuck the King!' His voice was a thunderous bellow, and the manner in which the shocked whispers from the street were turning to outraged cries made him realise that his descendant's plan might just work after all. 'Fuck the Queen and her inbred spawn that sits atop the throne!'

They kept up their raving for mere minutes before the crimson-and-gold cloaked soldiers began to pour out of the streets. Lyonel could only hope that Robert and Ned would do their part.

'Well,' he whispered to himself as the wall of soldiers approached. 'Now it begins.'

A/N: Another chapter, here at last-I'm so sorry it took so long, but exams and deadlines have been taking up most of my attention over the past few weeks. These are now all over (at least, for now), so hopefully I'll be able to update the story more regularly. I know it's not the longest, but this chapter will act as a prelude for the battle of King's Landing, which will hopefully last two or three chapters. As always, feel free to follow, favourite, and review, and a massive thank you to those who already have.

There's a bit of a broad timeline for his chapter, mostly just to allow every moving part to be in the right position for the beginning of the battle. By the end, Lyonel is enacting his part of the plan, essentially prompting the rest of the battle. Apologies if this was vague.

Cheers again for reading and see you next time,

-Kinginthenorth1

Mister LaGuardia: Cheers! I completely agree, and hopefully they'll remember that their common enemy is not yet defeated. Then again, it's ASOIAF, so people acting in a way that doesn't make much logical sense is far more likely to happen.

kingmanaena: Thank you! And yeah, fingers crossed he doesn't fuck it all up for the rest of them.

Guest: Cheers! Sorry it's taken so long to update, but hope you enjoy it nonetheless.

aussieKayz: Thanks! Hopefully from now on I'll be a bit less shit at updating.