The White Wolf of Westeros

by DrakeCross

The Wild Hunt is defeated and Ciri steps beyond to face the source of the White Frost. However something goes wrong and Geralt risks himself as he follows her, ending up in the land of Westeros. Dealing with new intrigue and politics, he will have to decide who he can trust while trying to save his adopted daughter...along with the lives of both worlds!

47. S2-E23: Epilogue Part 1: The Dawn of War

Chapter 46 Epilogue Part 1: At the Dawn of War…

Forward: Editing credit to Rainsfere. Expect more edits soon.

…

The Aftermath
An Hour Later – Fairmarket – Geralt

The following hour was a hectic one for the Winter Wolves as they worked with the Fairmarket Militia in rounding up the Brave Companions who had surrendered. There were some small groups of resistance, leading to a few short scuffles, but led to no deaths towards their side. While they were still clearing up the battlefield, it seemed the Companions had taken heavy losses between their multiple pushes against the town's defenses and being completely caught off guard by the Winter Wolves' arrival. At least half their forces were either severely injured or dead, a considerable loss for the mercenaries. Just fully clearing the trenches take days of work.

However the people of Fairmarket had suffered losses, around fifty dead and around the same amount wounded. Thankful the caravan of supplies and healers the Winter Wolves had was gladly accepted, undoubtedly saving lives. As for the Winter Wolves themselves, they only had a few casualties, mainly from the clash with Hoat's formation. Despite the few loses, the capture of the mercenary commander and most of his lieutenants were critical in suppressing the Companions.

"Going to be difficult keeping all these men captive." Geralt remarked as he watched both his troops and the Fairmarket militia binding up the mercenaries before leading them to a holding spot.

"Can't just execute them all." Beric muttered.

"As simple of a solution as that would be." Thoros chuckled, earning a narrow look from the lord.

"At least with Vargo and his inner circle, their crimes are clear. It's more of a matter on who judges them."

Geralt glanced to the town itself. So far they hadn't let the Winter Wolves' soldiers in yet, only accepting supplies and medics. "They should considering." He simply stated before a yell from behind drew attention. Rounding about they saw some of the craggon scouts riding towards them, odd since they didn't have mounts before.

"Commander Geralt." One of the scouts grunted, nodding his head. "We snuck onto the Companions camp during the fight. Only a light number of guards minding injured and other staff. They had cage wagons too, no doubt for captives."

"Well, at least those we will have a use for." Graffin remarked. "Guess by right of victory what is theirs is ours now."

"Anyone of importance among the other staff?" Geralt questioned.

The scout nodded. "Aye, some medics and cooks, press ganged into working with them. They even had a Maester…well…former Maester. Goes by the name Qyburn. Said he wished to offer his services in exchange for protection."

"Ugh…sounds like a rat for sure." Thoros grumbled.

Yet Geralt gave a more thoughtful look on this news. "I take it he hasn't been brought in yet?"

"Aye. Once the camp has been packed and looted, he'll be brought along."

Glancing to Beric, the Witcher spoke up. "Care to lead a few dozen men to help? The sooner we get those extra supplies, the better."

"Consider it done. We'll have it all over before evening." With that, Beric gestures for his personal troops to follow him, heading east for the mercenary camp.

"So maybe we should focus on the main reason we're here." Graffin spoke up. "We haven't gotten a chance to speak with the leaders of the town. The few folk I've spoken to only mention some fellow named Marcus being in charge."

"Then we best find him and properly introduce ourselves." Leading Roach along, the group began to make their way towards the gates…what was left of them at least. In that direction he noticed the rest of his companions in the middle of a conversation.

"Telling ya, my lancers did the most work in this fight! Must have taken out half that group of riders with our charge." Smalljon boasted.

Dacey sighed, patting her round shield against his armored side. "More like a third! Sure you bashed through the lot, but more of onto their asses instead of into the dirt."

Theon smirked at their banter. "Considering what I saw, it's the people here who get all the credit. Nothing but their own planning and grit against such odds."

"For once Theon I have to agree with you." Dacey's soft smile did make Theon grin back while Smalljon scowled slightly. Before they could say anything more, they all noticed Geralt's approach. "Ser Geralt? Time we speak with the leader of this militia?"

He nodded back to the Mormont. "Have to ensure we're welcomed here. Even if we saved them along with baring the King's authority, they still have the right to decide. So all on your best behavior."

Riding closer, they got a full look of the damage on the palisade and gate, with the opening blocked off by a wagon. The men on the wall did eye them, muttering about with the Witcher catching the words 'Mountain Breaker' a few times. "I am Commander Geralt of the Winter Wolves, serving under Lord Robb Stark, Warden of the North and King Stannis Baratheon." He declared. "I wish to speak with whoever is in charge, be it of the town or the militia."

The men muttered for a moment, seeming to realize the position of authority. "So you are Geralt? The Witcher so many talk about?" One young man questioned.

"Damn right he is!" Thoros spoke out. "Don't let the scars and eyes scare ya, he's a kind soul."

While the priest's words drew some chuckles, the militia archers spoke between each other before one nodded. "Very well. We'll get Marcus and the others."

"Thank you." With the guards away, Geralt sighed as he got off his saddle. "Don't know about you, but I don't want to spend another minute sitting. It'll be better to talk face to face anyway."

The others seemed to agree as they did the same, dismounting and letting their fellow troops handle their mounts. After a few minutes waiting, the wagon at the gate rolled aside to let a group march pass. It was made up of the more better armed militia along with two individuals who were definitely not locals. One was a Dothraki, a muscular man who wore a mix of tribal furs and leather covering over a bronze colored breastplate with a massive arhak strapped to his back. Walking close by was an imposing knight in dull grey armor, a heavy mace at his hip and broad shield at his back. Leading them all was a gruff yet very average looking man wearing leather garb fitting for a Northerner scout, along with a heavy crossbow slung over one shoulder. The militia group came to a stop a short distance away, their leader giving a calm yet calculating look towards the Witcher.

"Welcome Ser Geralt. Have to admit, your arrival was unexpected though fortunate today." The man at the front spoke. "I'm Marcus, leader of Fairmarket's militia and the refugees of the area." He glanced to his left at his two odd companions. "Our resident Dothraki is Ogatto, an exile from the Dothraki Sea. As for our knight, his name is Doric, holder of the title of the Gray Knight."

Doric bowed his head slightly. "I have heard of your honorable deeds Ser Geralt. Today showed just how true the stories are." Speaking quite clearly despite his great helm.

Ogatto chuckled in agreement. "And today just adds to that legend, rightly earned!"

The remark on Doric's title did draw a curious look from Geralt's gaze, since the man indeed matched the description of the knight in Shireen's book. Looking more closely at the group, it was clear that the three were very experienced and trusting fighting along aside each other. It made him wonder just what was the story to this colorful group.

"Wasn't just me who decided this battle. Just as much credit goes to my companions and soldiers of the North." The focus to them made Geralt's companions give short nods and greetings back to their informal introduction. "We knew the small folk here were making a stand against the Lannister's mercenaries, though didn't expect such an organized force. Seen a lot of groups in my travels, very few as organized as yours though."

"Heh…much like you, I had a lot of help in doing that. Though in dark times like this, we were forced to take matters into our own hands."

The Witcher nodded. "Yes…we've heard only rumors of what has been going on in the Riverlands. No ravens from the Houses, not even House Tully. Any idea what has happened?"

The militia leader scoffed slightly. "I can say we've been in the dark as well. All travel from Riverrun has stopped in recent months and gradually the lords had shut themselves up in their holdings. The lack of protection led this scum to raid us…pushing us into this conflict."

The hint of frustration in his voice along with the looks on the militia's faces showed anger they felt. Geralt couldn't blame them, the lords who were meant to protect them had failed to do so and thus struggled for survival. "I can understand there being grievances, yet I hope that doesn't cloud their judgement towards us." Geralt calmly stated. "We're here to help the alliance between the North and Stannis bring order back to the continent. With matters in the Riverlands so chaotic, Fairmarket seemed the only place for us to approach."

Marcus nodded, glancing aside to think. "Aye…it makes sense if Lord Robb and King Stannis want to set a staging ground here. King's Road is blocked off and allies are silent." His gaze returned to the Witcher. "Which means of course having a whole army camping right around our town."

"I know it doesn't sound welcoming to have an army at your doorstep, especially after fighting for your home." Geralt spoke back. "The King and Lord Robb has given me the authority to negotiate the terms of letting their armies be stationed here."

The militia glanced at each other with thoughtful looks, some seeming mistrusting with the hint in their eyes, except for Marcus who remained composed. "Quite the position of power to give you, though fitting of your reputation talking down even the most stern of nobles." A small chuckle did escape from the group from that remark. "So how about I ask a blunt question. Say I tell you and your men to leave? I can imagine you could try Raventree Hall further east…but that would no doubt be a hassle considering the extra days of travel."

There was a tense silence now, everyone's eyes set on Geralt who stared down Marcus with that unblinking gaze. Sighing, he short shrug. "I'd just have to accept it. Like I said this is your home, so you get the final say."

That just as blunt reply took everyone off guard, even Marcus who's calm expression faltered. Suddenly Ogatto burst out into a hearty laugh, which made Theon yelp in shock. "GAHAH! I like him!" The Dothraki declared. "The look in his eyes…yes the man truly means what he says."

Doric only gave a small hum of agreement, an effective show of approval.

Marcus couldn't hold back an amused chuckle, breaking the tension in the air. "If my companions feel you're that honest, I say we're off to a good start." He nodded towards the town. "Course, it'd be better we discuss the details back at my tavern, The Three Kegs. After today I'm sure everyone could do with a stiff drink."

Thoros chuckled out at the offer. "Can't argue with that! The man understands civility!" The rest of the group chuckled and nodded in agreement, all welcoming to the invitation.

With everyone in agreement, Marcus and his group turned to lead Geralt and his companions into Fairmarket . Most of the tents damaged in the attack were being repaired or replaced along with any scrapped wood being repurposed to make holding spaces for the captured mercenaries. A few of the men were being rounded up into such holdings, one group being kept watch by two large canines…one that looked like a black furred half-wolf and another…

"Wait a moment." Geralt muttered, slowing his pace, making the others give curious looks. The Witcher stared at the gray furred she-wolf. It seemed to realize it was being stared at, though focused those dark golden eyes on the Witcher. "Nymeria?!"

Speaking her name made the direwolf give a happy yowl before bounding away, surprising the black half-wolf. Nymeria quickly reached Geralt, the Witcher giving a happy chuckle as he crouched down enough to embrace the she-wolf who was quick to lick at his face. Everyone seemed very confused and surprised, especially from Marcus's group.

Realizing everyone was staring, Geralt ruffled his hands along Nymeria's head to calm her down before looking to them. "Right…a bit of explaining here…"

"Well, another tale to add over drinks." Marcus said as everyone continued on to the Three Kegs.

…

A Few Hours Later

Geralt was quick to explain the full story about Nymeria, of how she was a direwolf taken in by the Starks and raised by Arya. "Didn't doubt she could survive on her own in the Riverlands, though didn't expect we'd ever find her." The tale about what happened at the Crossroads Inn drew an angry glare from Marcus hearing about what happened to Lady, Sansa's direwolf who died in Nymeria's place.

"Always heard that the Queen was quite a bitch." He muttered with a low growl. "At least this one will get a chance to return home when the time comes." With just a small gesture Nymeria moved closer to get her ears rubbed, showing to the Witcher how quickly the innkeeper had won the canine's trust.

Moving onto the subject of the Winterstorm Alliance setting up base by the town, it was agreed that it would be allowed so long as the common folk were treated fairly and protected. It would take over a month to get the full forces there, but in the meantime Geralt assured Marcus that the Winter Wolves' builders and medics would offer their skills for the town.

"Any resources or aid will be rightfully compensated for be it through trade, coin or services. Our caravan has plenty to offer." Geralt assured.

Doric would share his thoughts on this matter. "We should see to expanding the towns defenses. More space is going to be required, both for the refugees in the town and for the army when they arrive. Any builders and masons will be invaluable."

Graffin nodded in agreement on that. "Got such talent covered. Even the vets know a thing or two on building fortifications. We'll do our part in such constructions. Until proper shelters are built, we will camp north just outside of town."

Marcus stroked his beard in thought before speaking. "Overall I don't see any issues on these arrangements. So long as discipline is kept among your troops, the Winter Wolves and the Winterstorm Alliance will be allowed to stay within Fairmarket."

The Witchers companions muttered in agreement, many pleased with the arrangement. Not long after, Beric along with some of his men, approached their table who were leading along an aged figure in faded gray robes.

"Commander Geralt, I brought the captive we spoke about, the former Maester."

The old man stepped forward, bowing slightly to the group. For a Maester he seemed to be the 'youngest' from Geralt's encounters. "It is a pleasure to meet the famous White Wolf…despite the circumstances." His tone was soft and well-spoken, very grandfatherly. "I am Qyburn, at your service."

Geralt gestured for Beric's men to relax along for the old man to take an empty seat by the table. "So Qyburn, we best get to the point on what led to your expulsion from the Maesters and becoming under the services of the Brave Companions."

"Of course. It is a long story so I will keep it short and simple." Qyburn replied. "I served as medical practitioner at the Citadel, teaching others and conducting research. The Archmaesters took…issues with my studies, leading to them stripping me of my chain. After that I drifted through the Westerlands and into the Riverlands where I was…pressed into service for the Companions."

"Right…I'm sure Hoat would understand the value of your knowledge." Geralt remarked. "Still, what were these studies that had you removed?"

Qyburn was silent for a moment, clearly thinking over what to say. "On the matters of death."

The answer drew confused looks among the group before Theon spoke up. "What, were you cutting open living folk instead of the dead?" Despite the dry jest to his words, Qyburn's calm look showed that was the correct answer.

"Ugh! That is deplorable." Smalljon muttered. "At least on the field of battle a man can get a clean death…but under the knife in some lab…"

"You wanted the truth, so I gave it.' Qyburn calmly stated. "The men I studied were already doomed. Be it disease, injury or age, I was simply learning how such ailments affect the body, to better understand it. My… subjects were given the best care."

Thoros frowned at such words. "Dying or not, the body is sacred. Not something you can…open and prod!"

Qyburn sighed. "That is your belief Red Priest. Mine is that of understanding and logic. The Citadel is commits many acts that would shock all of you."

Dacey nodded slightly. "I've heard of what they do to those with Grayscale. Just lock them up to watch them turn before ferried over to Essos. Don't even bother ending their suffering." Her gaze focused on the old man. "Right or wrong, we have to consider your talents. Fairmarket's militia has many injured, some too difficult for our medics to tend."

"Lives that I will gladly save if I'm allowed to." His calm brown eyes looked towards Geralt. "I don't expect you to accept my past actions, but I can assure you I have no interest in betrayal. Have me watched and guarded as I work, I will prove capable."

Everyone huddled slightly to mutter between each other. "Can't say I've heard of him among the Companions. I doubt he's taken part in their more infamous habits." Marcus shared. "He is right though, a lot of our people need special care. Surgery and complex treatment."

"He's a devil for sure." Thoros warned. "Truthful as he may be, he is out for himself, that is for certain."

"As much as I agree with you, we need his skills." Geralt remarked back.

"Well if he does pull any trickery, I'll make sure he doesn't live to enjoy it!" Ogatto swore.

"Hah! Count me in on that promise" Smalljon said in agreement with the Dothraki.

The former Maester seemed to overhear the two men's sworn threats with the small frown he had, though didn't react any further.

Geralt looked back before speaking. "If you are willing to help then I'll accept your skills. Beric, see that you keep one of your best men to watch him for a time, along with a medic to observe and assist."

"If you are certain Commander." Beric replied, his tone cautious.

"A wise choice Ser Geralt." Qyburn thanked, even giving a short bow of respect. "Once I have my tools and proper supplies I will get to work." With that, he was escorted away back outside to begin treating the injured.

Doric hummed slightly in thought before the knight spoke. "As concerning as that man is, he was at least forthcoming about his past."

"I'm sure most of us are keeping dark secrets." Thoros mused.

"Not a simple matter in dealing with someone like him, but I'll trust your choice Geralt." Marcus added. "With that matter settled, it'd be best to move onto the issue of Hoat and the other leaders of the Brave Companions."

"What is the issue?" Theon questioned. "They're either dead or captured, mostly settled."

"Aye but they're a slippery lot." Graffin warned. "The mercs can still organize against us still, especially if Hoat or his lieutenants start scheming. If anything they are war criminals for attacking the small folk."

Geralt would speak up as well. "None of them have any noble status as well, so they have no protections as well…though I'm sure some of us wouldn't care on such formalities." Letting that sink in, he looked to Marcus before speaking. "What I can guess is that you want them executed."

The Northerner smirked before nodding. "The bastard and his band of cutthroats have been a blight on the world for over a decade. I plan to have them hanging by the main road, to make a clear example of them."

"Heh, that'd give the other mercenary groups second thoughts. If clear proof that Vargo Hoat is dead, many will no doubt abandon their employment to the Lannisters." Smalljon mused.

Dacey though spoke up. "Yet I assume they'll be interrogated first? We need to know the situation within the region and at Harrenhal before planning our next move."

"Already have someone doing such questioning. A lone mercenary who's…talented in such skills." Marcus explained. "Though with Hoat it may be best if I and the commander question him, try to pressure a few answers out of him."

Smalljon laughed at the idea "Hah! Easy for the Witcher! With a wave of his hand he-" Yet a sharp elbow by Dacey made him grunt out, shutting him up.

At this point Geralt spoke up. "It's be best if we question him now before it gets too late." Getting up from his seat, he glanced to his companions. "See to it that our troops have camp properly set up and double the rations served. Everyone can do with a hearty meal after today."

With the orders given, everyone got up to get to work, Marcus taking a moment to talk with his unique companions before going to Geralt and Nymeria waiting at the inn's doors. "Made an arrangement to get some ale kegs out for your troops. Least I can do for your efforts." The gruff man informed.

"Doubt anyone in the Wolves will complain and I have no issue with the kind gesture." Geralt remarked as they left the Three Kegs. Marcus took the lead with Garm and Nymeria following close behind them. Being led around the large inn, Geralt glanced over it with a casual interest. "Quite the business you've built here."

"I can say I have a lot of pride for the Three Kegs. Put a lot of heart and coin into making a dream real." Marcus replied. "Came to Fairmarket a few years after the Rebellion. Had little more than a cart with handful of kegs and Garm who was barely a year old. Pretty much was working off a stand at the start."

"Humble beginnings as they say." Geralt remarked. "Though I guess you didn't expect to put your old fighting skills to use again."

Marcus shook his head. "Not the first time I had to rely on them, but that is a long story." They would reach the stables at the back of the pub, where a few of the militia were on watch around one closed stall. As they neared, the door to the stall opened as a man in a dark hooded cloak stepped out. While his hood was low, Geralt could see a scowl on his face, which was quite badly scarred along one side. In a way it reminded the Witcher of Eskel, though it seemed this man's scars weren't caused by an animal or monster. While he didn't get a clear look of his eyes, he caught a hint of…tension from the shady man. While he had a short sword at his hip, his more notable weapon was a sturdy blackwood longbow strung along his back.

"Uhh…Evening Marcus…and Geralt I assume?" The man muttered. "Just finished trying to question Hoat. Bastard is very tight lipped despite my methods."

"Would have preferred if you told me before trying." Marcus muttered. "Anyway this fellow is-"

"William." The cloaked man spoke up before giving a low chuckle. "Come on Marcus I can say my own damn name."

For a moment, the Northerner seemed a bit baffled but cleared that look from his face. "Right… anyway Will here is a lone sellsword…well bowmen. He has no love for the Companions or Lannisters, so he offered his unique skills to us."

"More dubious skills from my guess." Geralt commented bluntly.

William gave a small smirk, though his scar made it seem like a scowl. "That judgement I hear?"

The Witcher shook his head. "Sometimes such talents are needed from what I've experienced. Worked with my share of rogues, spies and cutthroats."

Will's smirk relaxed slightly, a mix between curiosity and amusement. "Well…seems even someone as righteous as you can be understanding." With a shrug, he moved aside. "Anyway, Hoat's all your's. For me I need some damn sleep after today." With that, the man walked off into the darkness, disappearing between two nearby buildings.

"Uh…Will had it rough at the battle today. He was in the watchtower that got knocked down by the ballista." Marcus informed Geralt.

"Huh, quite lucky and tough to survive that." The Witcher remarked. "Though best we focus on Hoat, doubt the bastard is in a good mood now."

Entering the stable stall, it must have been empty considering how clean the hay looked beyond some fresh blood splatter. At the back of it was the mercenary commander himself, both arms tied overhead through a loop piece in the wood, keeping him from escaping. Though considering one leg was in a splint, he wouldn't get far at all walking. Still being in his armor, it was roughed up from his fall under his zorse along with being handled around by both the soldiers and militia. His goat like face though showed some fresh injuries though, mainly a black eye and a bloody split lip.

With the two walking in, Hoat glanced up as he seemed to have been resting, jaw shifting as he lightly grate his teeth. Without hesitation he spat a bloody glob at Geralt's feet before giving a toothy scowl at both men. "Ugh…sorry, normally I'd go for the face." He muttered spitefully, glaring between the two. "So…I take it you're the Marcus everyone fawns over. Dirty Northerner…makes sense that you're in bed with the wolves up there."

"Just as foul mouthed as the rumors say, eh Hoat?" Marcus countered back. "The North's aid today wasn't of any planning from my side. Just luck."

The answer made the mercenary chuckle darkly. "Which means I had this battle…stolen by you White Wolf." Giving a pained sigh, he continued to speak. "So…you're going to question me? Get some answers your scarred man couldn't?"

"Matters what he was asking." Geralt replied back.

Hoat was silent for a long moment. "About the south western region of the Riverlands and all this talk of the three oracles…or seers…whatever the hell they go by."

The mention did draw a more curious look from both Geralt and Marcus. "So what do you know then?"

"Heh…so you're in the dark as well? All I can say is that any patrol the Lannister's ordered into that area hasn't come back. If it weren't for the worries of the Black Fish or the North, they'd put more attention there."

"Strange indeed." Marcus muttered. "Will did his own scouting there. Found…strange things for sure. We can discuss more on it later, but I feel these seers are separate from everyone else in this war."

Geralt nodded in agreement. "Then let's move onto more tactful information." He directed towards Hoat. "I want to know everything about the Lannister's forces here. How strong is their hold in Harrnehal, what Riverland Houses are currently siding with them, supply lines and so on."

The mercenary commander laughed at the demands. "Right…well I don't feel like chatting on all that." He growled back. "I know these peasants, they have no intent keeping me alive longer then needed."

"Aye that is true." Marcus admitted. "You're too vile and dangerous to keep alive. You'll be swinging on a noose tomorrow, along with the rest of your captains." Kneeling down slightly, he glared into that hateful gaze. "That kind of information could save a lot of lives…but I doubt you care on that."

"Lost that sort of feeling a long time Marcus. It's a weakness men like you cling to so desperately." Hoat snarled. "I know your type. The killers, the survivalists…only to go soft when the right kind of whor-"

Marcus' calm expression didn't change as he suddenly jabbed his fist into Hoat's busted knee, the crack and howl from the man showing just how much it hurt. "So do I need to start working on the other leg next?"

"AAGHHH! Fuck you! I'll tell you or this freak nothing!"

Geralt the whole time was quiet, only stepping in to put a hand on Marcus's shoulder to calm him. "Force isn't going to work with his type, especially if he has nothing to lose." Glancing back at Hoat, his calm cat like eyes studied him closely. "Let me talk to him alone. I think I can at least get something out of him."

Marcus paused in thought, still a glare anger in his eyes. Geralt could tell there was a lot of hatred in the man towards Hoat, though considering everything the mercenary had done, it was impressive how much restraint he showed.

"Fine. Doubt you'll get much out of him though." Standing up, Marcus turned to leave the stable stall. For a moment Geralt listened, making sure the man didn't come back to try spying on them.

"So…too shy to show off your magic?" Hoat chuckled. "Whatever tricks you have, I won't break easily."

The Witcher ignored his remark as he flexed his hand into the Axii Sign, his eyes glowing as he mentally attacked the mercenary commander. "You will tell me everything you know about the Lannister army. Numbers, supply routes…" He started listing off.

Hoat's eyes widened as the Sign affected him, his bound body tensing then struggling. Geralt could feel the man's mind resisting, a rare show of willpower. "No…Get out…of my head!" He hissed in irritation.

Maintaining the Sign, he pressed the magic stronger onto Hoat. He knew forcing this kind of power on the mind was dangerous, yet considering the man, Geralt didn't care of any passing damage. "How strong are the forces on the King's Road? Harrenhal?"

"They…have…no!" Hoat started before thrashing. "Curse you…we…several thousand…numbering…twenty thousand…" Yet he stopped himself, biting at his own tongue as his mind and body battled itself. He coughed, blood dripping from his mouth.

"So around twenty thousand? Tell me more."

…

Marcus hung back with the guards, sharp ears only faintly overhearing a few words from the Witcher. As for Hoat, he seemed to be babbling. One moment he spoke clearly only to break down into a mix of curses and pained pleading. He was still doubtful about the claims of the Witcher indeed having magic of some kind, but how else could he make a hardened man like Hoat act this way? Whatever the case, he felt he wouldn't learn much just standing around. Right now, they needed to know everything they could about this Geralt…the real facts beyond all the rumors and tales.

"Problem is…most of it seems very much true." He muttered to himself as the Northerner made his way back to the front of the Three Kegs to chat with the soldiers about their commander.

"Hold it Marcus!"

Hearing Shadow's gruff voice did surprise Marcus, who by reaction had one hand back gripping his hunting knife.

"Hells Shadow! Don't fucking jump me like that!" He growled back, relaxing slightly. "Or should I call you Will now? Nearly fumbled there when you dropped a name like that. Was that some cover name?"

For a moment, the assassin was silent before sighing. "No…it's my real name. Didn't know what else to go with at the time." Yet he shrugged. "But it follows up on my promise. We lived through hell today after all and considering the tower…I owe you for that."

It was a bit odd for the assassin to be grateful to him, since all these years the man seemed to be only smug or spiteful. "Well better share that name around. Rather not have the Witcher suspicious when he talks with the others." The two at this point were walking towards the front of the pub, for once on equal footing. "So what about that life story?"

While the Northerner words were dry in his jesting, it seemed to draw a rare scoff of amusement. "Not expecting some twist are you? I'm not some last son of a fallen House or a Targaryen in disguise." Will shrugged. "Just a low born like you who picked the way of a sellsword to get by."

"You worked alone or with a group before you joined us?"

Will didn't answer at first, though a hint of anger showed in his eyes. "No, I had a partner. My brother, the only other family I had." He went silent, teeth gritting. "All our lives we had each other's backs…until he left me for dead."

At this point Marcus felt he heard enough for now, not wanting to flare the man's temper any further. "Well…thanks for sharing that much. Can't imagine that being easy."

The assassin nodded in agreement. "It's personal. Some days I wonder if the bastard is still out there…or died years ago in some ditch." Sighing, he stepped away. "Anyway, I need some damn sleep. See you in the morning." With that he walked off to his own tent, though lowly he muttered to himself. "Survived another day just for you Bronn. I still plan to send you to Hell…"

…

The Serpent's Bargain
Lannisters – The Red Keep, Small Council Chambers

Bronn loudly yawned as he leaned back in one of the Small Council chairs, the sellsword's boots up on the table as he lodged back. He was in his usual leather and chain armor, along with the gold cloak of the city watch. The silver stripe along the back was the only show of his higher ranking as head captain, though to the sellsword it felt like a bigger target on his back. One hand brushed over his scruffy face in thought slightly, eyes straying over to Tyrion who was already sitting in his seat. The dwarf was in his usual red and gold finery, the pin of the Hand set clearly on his chest. Beyond the two of them, the chamber was empty as they were waiting for the rest of the Council to arrive for this sudden meeting.

"So…any idea what this is about?" He at last spoke. "After that pirate fellow swept in, I've grown quite nervous of these sudden meetings."

Tyrion sighed as he sipped at his cup of wine, needing something to keep him up. The last few days had been busy for him since the Dragonpit project was rapidly progressing along with him managing both his father's and Joffrey's demands. "At this rate I'm expecting Daenerys to just swoop in on a dragon and swear fealty to us." He muttered with a mused smirk. "Really I have no idea, only that Joffrey is behind this."

"Huh…so the br-...I mean King is taking his job seriously now?"

"Considering how father has been keeping him away from his coddling mother, could be he's gaining some confidence." Sipping more wine he sighed. "Between that and all these unexpected allies…I don't want to be surprised."

On cue, the two could hear many footsteps approaching the room, making Bronn quickly shifting out his seat to stand dutifully near Tyrion. As usual Tywin was at the lead, the stern king regent casting his calm gaze over Tyrion before taking his spot at the head of the table. Joffrey was close behind with three of the Kingsguard being Jaime, Sandor and Meryn Trant.

After so many months in recovery, Trant had returned to duty despite urgings to retire. He had been lucky to survive the slash across his back by the Witcher and the right side of his face disfigured from having a training sword shattered against it. Now he had an eyepatch along the right eye along with that side of the jaw having a permanent toothy scowl since extracting the thick splinters had ruined his lips. In more formal gatherings like this, he wore a fitting white facemask to cover that torn face, though his one good eye glared with fierce anger.

Joffrey took the seat at the head of the table with Sandor and Trant standing behind the young Lannister. The young king was dressed in his usual finery, though lacked his leather hand brace. It had been a month since his broken hand had healed, though the boy still complained of phantom pains which only milk of the poppy dulled. The boy had a calm yet serious look about him, gaze drifting to his grandfather and uncles tensely as they waited for the rest of the Council to sit.

Jaime took the other seat by Joffrey, leaning back slightly with his hand rested on the ruby pommel of Brightroar. As Lord Commander of the Kingsguard and one of the generals, he had been busy preparing to lead troops in supporting their forces in the Riverlands. Yet with the strange lack of communications there, he felt uncertain of marching blindly into the region. For him he hoped this meeting would bring some insight on the matter.

Petyr Baelish, Varys and Pycelle soon took their usual seats, the three men having alert looks in their eyes. Considering their scheming habits, they no doubt found this sudden gathering to be quite unexpected.

Lastly was Cersei, the former queen calmly strolling in, stunning as usual in her red and gold gown. Her gaze though was cold towards her father and dwarven sibling, only warming up as it settled on her son on the other side of the table.

For a long moment there was just silence at the table, though all gazes were on Tywin who normally opened these gatherings. At last the stern man at last spoke up. "Seems our worries have come true."

"Huh…that is understating things." Joffrey muttered, Tywin ignoring it as he took out a rolled letter.

"A raven arrived a few hours, a decree of this…Winterstorm Alliance between Lord Robb and Stannis. Though we all suspected that was inventible."

Mutters filled the room as everyone mused over the official news, understanding the great shift in the conflict. Stannis now had the soldiers to effectively use his fleet to threaten King's Landing while Robb could wage war on land. That wasn't even including possible allies from the Stormlands who favored this alliance over supporting Renly.

"The question is how much time do we have?" Jaime was quick to state. "Let's assume this alliance was set not long after Euron's visit and forewarning. If Stannis plans to invade by sea, we have perhaps…two months or so until that happens?"

"Makes you wish we had a proper Master of Ships doesn't it?" Tyrion dryly jested.

Petyr would speak up. "If we know how they'll attack then we best invest in our sea defenses. Euron's…gifts…were quite worthwhile after all."

"You do realize that Stannis is a masterful tactician, especially when it comes to ships. I doubt a few extra ballista or ships will do much against his talents." Varys calmly stated. "As distasteful as it sounds, the Grayjoy's offer may be our only hope for survival."

Pycelle scoffed at the suggestion. "Personally I ummm…doubt that pirate braggart is reliable."

Tywin was oddly silent on the matter. Everyone knew well what it meant if Euron could truly back the promise of bringing the Ironborn onto their side. If there was one thing the head of the Lannisters welcomed, it was results which the Grayjoy had shown clearly with the return of Brightroar.

Cersei meanwhile had a more bemused look on her face. If anything she had developed an interest in the bold pirate, especially considering one of his requests if he could succeed in his next impossible task. Coyly she sipped from her cup, letting everyone throw their theories around.

"What we need now is more allies, no matter who they are." Joffrey spoke up to silence the yammering. "Renly right now is the more pressing threat. When he's done trying to pander to his supporters, he'll no doubt prance to our walls expected a swift surrender."

Tywin raised an eyebrow, wondering where this was going. "Lord Renly with House Tyrell does outnumber us greatly, yet I fail to see how you expect to even such odds." His gaze did drift towards Petyr. "Though from my understand we may see some support from the Vale, considering the growing divide between Lady Lisa and the rest of the Tully's."

Baelish smiled. "Lisa is keen on seeing stability return to the realm. While most of the other Lords are loyal to her, it will take time to convince enough of them to take a more proactive role alongside us."

"Hmm…from what whispers I've heard, there is talk of her remarrying…" Varys coyly mused. The more intrigue driven of the Council knew very well of Lisa's passion for Baelish, considering the rumors that existed from both noble's childhood.

"Gossip, nothing more." Petyr casually dismissed. "Whatever Lady Lisa wishes is a personal matter that we do not need to concern ourselves with yet."

Bronn did scoff slightly before muttering to Tyrion. "No doubt wants to put a whole Kingdom in front of him to keep the Witcher away."

"Makes me wonder if that will be enough." The dwarf jested back.

Joffrey obviously was running out of patience with banter. "Well unless Lady Lisa plans to hand you half of her riders within the week, consider your romantic pursuits noted Lord Baelish." The young King's dry sarcasm did take the Master of Coin by surprise, much to the amusement of the others. "Meanwhile, I have found an unexpected ally with the Martell's."

"I find this curious considering they have been…slow on agreeing to any clear alliance beyond neutrality." Tywin stated.

"As usual." Cersei mused. "The Dornish seem to enjoy hiding behind their arid mountains and desert."

A short look from her father did silence the former queen before Tywin continued to speak. "Besides, any communication by raven, be it sent or received is reviewed by me personally. Surely your studies on rulership have taken much of your time."

A twitch of a sneer crossed the teen's face, a mix of annoyance and strange confidence. "The tutors you have picked are quite keen on keeping me educated and watched. Despite this I have reached out through more local means." Calmly he brought out slips of paper which had a modified seal of House Martell, the spear piercing the sun having a snake coiled at the lower shaft. "Read them yourself."

There was a new tension in the air from this reveal, Tywin's stern gaze glaring at the boy as he collected the short letters to quickly read through them. A small scoff escaped from the older man after a minute of reading. "I find it hard to believe this and that your new…friend…could be capable of such cunning, your grace."

"Well I am learning from the best, grandfather. After all you've been doing such things all your life." Joffrey countered.

"Forgive me for speaking, but I am dying to know what secret friendship you've established exactly, much less with a Martell." Tyrion spoke up.

A smug grin crossed the youth's face. "It'd be better that I introduce her directly." Glancing to Trant, he nodded to knight who gave a short grunt before marching out of the chamber.

"Despite your amusement your grace, I prefer not to have such things done behind my back."

"What I did was take personal initiative. As Regent, you are after all terribly busy helping manage the realm. Besides, you do have a colored history with the Martell's as you have said."

Soon Trant returned to the chamber with a stunning woman, a Dornish considering her fair olive colored skin. Her style of clothing was befitting of her culture, a scaled bronze colored leather with tanned cloth garb suited for traveling. Like most women from Dorn, she was slim and athletic, clearly trained in the more graceful art of battle. The most striking features though being her bluish gray eyes and a faint scar along one cheek.

"I present to you Alya Sand. Eldest daughter of Lord Oberyn Martell." Joffrey introduced with a small grin.

A small chuckle escaped from the young woman. "My sister would argue that claim your grace. Still, I am thankful for being invited to meet all of you Lords…and lady." She bowed slightly towards Cersei in respect, though the golden haired lady having judging look.

"So one of the infamous Sand Snakes of the Viper himself? Curious." She mused.

"Indeed it is." Tywin muttered, attention focused onto him. "Alya…that is a name few beyond Dorn know, mainly since few in your Kingdom speak it."

"Not surprising considering my history with my father and uncle. They have been set on having me forgotten, thinking ignoring me will get rid of me."

"Considering you were scheming a coup against your own House, you are lucky to still be alive." Varys commented.

"I had no intentions of murdering my family just for the sake for power, but to pull Dorn out of the isolation for the last hundreds of years." Sighing, the woman's eyes did show a passionate flare to what she said. "For years I've been planning, gathering allies back home and beyond."

Tyrion hummed slightly in thought. "So Dorn isn't as unified as it seems."

"I have to ask…" Jaime spoke up calmly. "Why seek to ally with us, considering the recent history between our Houses? Why not our enemies?"

The question made Alya smirk. "With Renly allied with the Tyrell's, they would never welcome me. Our Houses have been at each other's throats long before the Targaryens took over. As for Stannis, I doubt he'd be willing to side with a rebel like myself."

"So with us, it's about practicality. Business."

The Dornish woman gave a musical chuckle. "I help you, you help me. It's the most basic aspects of politics is it not? Besides, if there is anything the Lannisters are known for…"

"…It is paying back debts…yes." Tywin muttered, hands cupped before him on the table. "Perhaps we should discuss just what you can offer us before we agree to anything."

"That I can agree with grandfather, but I can assure you Alya has much to offer." A short gesture had Trant pull up a seat for the woman to join at the table, giving a smile to the young king.

…

The next hour was dedicated to the Martell bastard proving just how worthwhile of an ally she could be. Her connections within Dorne stretched to nearly twenty years back when she was just reaching womanhood. They were not empty claims either as she presented letters with seals of minor Houses, merchant companies and renowned individuals within her home kingdom. Members of the Council like Varys and Baelish could confirm the seals and documents seeming real enough, even more with their own intel.

"It seems you have quite the sizable following." Tyrion remarked after the last of her notable supporters were listed. "You have taken quite a long time to build up such support."

"My father gave me the skills for negotiation while my current mentor taught me patience." Alya replied, a hint of fondness in her eyes. "If it wasn't for him…well…perhaps you will understand when you meet him."

"Meet him?" Tywin questioned.

"If you would allow it, my mentor has arranged a demonstration tomorrow not far from the city."

Jaime scoffed at the invitation. "Forgive me if I'm not trusting the idea of leaving the safety of the keep and city."

"Lord Commander Jaime, you are free to bring a small army of soldiers if you wish." Alya assured him. "What my mentor offers though…it is far more then wealth, influence or soldiers. It is the future."

Her choice of words was perplexing to everyone, mainly because of how certainly she spoke, genuinely believing it. Joffrey grinned, seeming thrilled and curious. "I can say I'm intrigued! Besides, I feel most of us could enjoy a short trip beyond the city."

"I feel you're being a tad too optimistic on this." Tyrion warned.

"Well if you disagree I say otherwise." Cersei spoke up. "As they say, nothing ventured nothing gained."

Tywin was silent for a moment as he stared across the table before focusing on Alya. "We'll arrive at this meeting late tomorrow morning. Yet if there is so much as a hint of betrayal…" That hanging threat and stern glare made even Alya feel tense. Even with all her talent and confidence, she knew Tywin wasn't someone to trifle with.

"Would you wish to stay at the Red Keep for the night Alya?" Joffrey then offered to calm the mood. "I can have one of the best rooms arranged for you."

By now the Dornish woman was composed, giving a charming smile to the young king. "The offer is kind, but I am needed outside the Keep. Though after tomorrow, I'm sure we can arrange that." Getting up from her seat, she bowed slightly to the group. "I wish you all a good rest and to see you all tomorrow." With that she moved to leave, with Joffrey having the Hound escort her out of the Keep. As she walked by though her gaze did linger on Bronn for a moment before she continued on out of the chamber.

"A spirited woman... though not one we should quickly trust." Pycelle warned.

"Really I could say that about everyone in this room, myself included." Tyrion dryly jested. "I believe her intentions are clear enough, it is all for her benefit for whatever schemes she has back home."

Tywin nodded in quiet agreement. "I'm more interested in this mentor. Despite her position, I feel whoever it is is the real mastermind behind this." His gaze focused on Baelish and Varys. "I'm sure you will keep me and the King informed on any leads?"

"Certainly, sire." Varys formally replied, slipping his hands into the sleeves of his robe before standing up from his sea. "The hour is late, so I believe we all need our rest for tomorrow."

Baelish smirked before getting up as well. "I can agree on that. Need to be sharp for this demonstration. Good night to you all." With that the spy master and treasurer left, with Pycelle quietly following along.

Gradually the rest of the Lannisters would get up to leave, Jamie escorting Joffrey out with Trant. Cersei moved to follow along, quietly speaking with her son and glancing towards her twin brother. For Tyrion, he had noticed the two becoming more distant and it wasn't just their new duties causing it. When he tried to leave his seat, Tywin spoke up.

"Not you. We need to talk…alone." His stare moved to Bronn, who knew very well what to do.

"My lords. I best see to the...umm…patrols." With a short bow, the sellsword walked off, leaving the two alone.

Tyrion fiddled with his wine cup slightly, a small grin on his face. "Considering last time…I wonder if this is the point you plan to give me another promotion."

"It's about the boy and how he is working behind our backs."

"Our backs? Quite sure as a family we all share the same one. Joffrey despite his many faults is trying to show his capability of…trying to be a leader."

Tywin sighed, not amused by his son's wordplay. "Good or bad intentions, what he did compromises us. The worst enemies are the ones who are standing right in front of you, gifts in one hand with a knife behind them."

"Right…you know that tactic quite well." The dwarf muttered. "Look…I understand your issues of trust with us all. Yet you seem to forget that most of us here share the same feelings towards you." There was a hint of anger in his words. It was hard every day having to deal with the past, the things his father had done to him…to Tysha. The bitter glare in his eyes was clear on that cruelty given.

Despite that stare, Tywin's own gaze didn't falter. "Yet despite it all you put such emotions aside for the greater good of our family." He calmly stated. "All I do is for the betterment of us all, for the family."

"Well I hope they realize that before stabbing their knives into your back." Tyrion grimly warned. "Often times the worst enemies are the ones you make in the seat right next to you." With a sigh, he shifted out of his seat. "But…right now we both could do with some sleep. Need to be sharp for what's in store for us tomorrow."

Tywin was silent as he watched his son hop off his seat and move to leave, his dire warnings lingering in his mind. The aged lord always believed his cunning and intelligence could overcome any challenge be it political and combative. Chaos…it was the one force that no amount of reason and preparation could truly counter. Just as the Rebellion was cause by it, so too was this civil war. Getting up from his seat, Tywin paced towards one of the windows that faced northward, looking over the many lights of the city and the night shrouded hilled woodlands in that direction.

"I've worked too hard to lose now. Not when my family's legacy will reach it's peek." He muttered to himself. No one, be it not the ignorant of his own House or rivals across the country would stop the grand ambition he had set before him.

…

Among the Roses

Renly and the Tyrells – High Garden

By pure coincidence, a similar meeting was happening further south of the capital, with Renly and his own council of friends and allies. While the news of the Winterstorm alliance had reached them more swiftly, the official letter that had arrived that day had confirmed it.

Renly had one hand touching his face, rubbing the bridge of his nose trying to ease the headache he had been enduring for well over a week. The frustration he felt right now had a low ringing in his ears, muting out the yammering of his advisors and the leading members of House Tyrell. Slightly he shifted so his tired eyes could gaze over the others, who were too absorbed in their discussions to see the stress on his face.

Lord Mace Tyrell was a fat and boastful man, dressed in the evening finery of bright greens and trimmed gold. He was renowned for his infectious jovial charisma and having quite bold ambitions despite the great success his House had. After all, as Lord Paramount of the Reach, the holdings here produced the majority of the Seven Kingdoms food, which had ensured great wealth for the Tyrells. Yet despite such comforts, Mace was set on putting his family line onto the Iron Throne.

Of course, the real political cunning came from his mother, Olenna Tyrell. The small, wizened woman looks like the ideal grandmother, though Renly knew better. Her guile throughout her life had set the groundwork for the current members of House Tyrell, a sharp wit that even at her late age hadn't dulled. He had endured her sharp words of her quite blunt opinion, her harsh way of giving advice. Yet with the title of Queen of Thorns, that was to be expected.

Next was Lady Margaery, Olenna's protegee and in his opinion the most beautiful woman in the Seven Kingdoms. While many praised Lady Cersei of that title and his interest in companion was…of the opposite choice, Margaery was the definition of kindly grace. From her long curly brown hair, deep hazel eyes and slender womanly figure, she could allure any man with her looks and courtly manners with ease. Part of him felt that she'd be the right companion for Lady Sansa, someone to edge the more naïve woman into noble intrigue. Though that future seemed to be distant now…with how events had played. Now she was his wife, the means of sealing the full loyalty of House Tyrell. While his passions belong to Loras, he did love her as a close friend, since she knew and accepted the relationship he shared with her brother.

Lastly though was his most dutiful protector, Brienne of Tarth. Tall and muscular with short cut straw colored hair and broad face, she was very much the opposite of a proper lady like Margaery. As the only living child of her father, she had filled a more masculine, though even at a young age she took a swift interest in martial skills. Ever since they met, the simple show of kindness had won her heart, ensuring a worthy loyalty. At times he felt guilty on playing on that affection, but he'd ensure that Brienne become the first and greatest female knight to grace the Kingdoms.

At that point someone nudged his shoulder, snapping Renly from his musing on his council. Looking to his side, Loras had a concerned look in his eyes. The handsome knight of the Tyrell family helped Renly regain his composure as he took a deep breath. All eyes were on him now…and he had to show leadership in this moment.

"The fault on this matter is mine." He at last spoke. "When Robert died…was murdered, my fear made me leave King's Landing hastily."

"Very much so." Olenna muttered. "The Starks were cornered, and you could have simply swept them away, ensuring an alliance…or at least denying the others."

"The situation was chaotic at the time." Loras defended though gave a heavy sigh. "Perhaps if we did stay we could have made a difference when Lord Eddard confronted the Lannisters. I owed Geralt that much for what he did for me during the tournament."

Mace grumbled slightly, waving his large hands. "What is done is done. All that matters is how we deal with this new…development."

At that point Margaery spoke up. "Considering Lord Stannis now has some of Westeros's most determined armies at his backing and the strongest fleet, it feel that is more than a 'development'."

"She makes a fair point your grace. This unexpected alliance is costing us much support with the other Stormlanders. Most of the lords aren't willing to battle against the North." Brienne muttered in agreement.

"So what is strategy then? Have we pandered to our allies long enough with all these deal making and entertaining tourneys? Until our flag is waving over the Red Keep, we have achieved nothing." Olenna stated.

That stern statement made Renly a tad nervous as he looked to the map on the table. Really he had simply planned to win the Throne through his popularity and force of numbers. Before news of the Stark and Stannis alliance had spread, his numbers were over hundred thousand between the armies of the Reach and Stormlands. Now it had lost around thirty thousand. Yet they still outnumbered the Lannisters forces which was totaled to around sixty thousand, perhaps with reserves equaling ten thousand more with mercenaries. With their forces though split near evenly between the Riverlands and Crownlands, Renly's forces still outmatched them two to one.

"We still have the advantage over the Lannisters, be it in troops and supply lines. One strong push for the capital and we can take it." Renly stated. "Even with the defenses of the city, we have all the tools needed to break it…and I am certain the Small Folk will favor our leadership over theirs."

No one could argue on those factors, not even Olenna who was silent in thought for a long moment. "Yet let's say that approach works smoothly? The march and capture of the city with minor losses. What of your brother? His forces equal ours and let's admit, they are far more experienced and battle-hardened."

"Olenna…" Mace chuckled. "…that is a bit hasty to compare-"

"Oh just because you struck a victory against Robert during the Rebellion? True you planned well for that battle but look at the Reach's history where a minor loss has us scampering back to our holdings." The old woman sighed. "The point is that both Lord Stannis and North will be unrelenting, even if we take King's Landing."

"Then why not a deal?" Margaery proposed. "Capturing the Lannisters will no doubt win over the Starks and as for your brother, surely even he will understand a prolonged war will look poorly for him aspiring to be king."

Renly was silent at the idea. His mind drifted to Robert's hunt, of watching their guards and servants being killed by the mercenaries…of seeing his older brother slumped against a tree with a near split belly. True he had been in fights during tournaments but seeing the brutality of a real skirmish…it put a sickening feeling inside of him. Yet he realized his thoughts were being clouded by these doubts and fears, making him give a low sigh.

"Securing King's Landing and the key members of the Lannisters will no doubt draw Stannis and the Starks to the negotiation table. If my brother was willing to ally with the North, then perhaps he'll see reason to strike a truce with us." Taking a deep breath, it was hard for Renly to be confident. "Tomorrow we will no longer delay for King's Landing. We may have a few thousand not marshalled yet, but they can be counted as reserves if needed."

"Well…we'll leave such planning to you and the other Lords." Olenna sighed, the old woman getting up from her seat, supported up by a sturdy cane. "Care to help me to my room dear?" She requested to Margaery.

"Of course grandmother." Giving a parting nod to the rest of her family as she escorted the elder Tyrell out of the meeting room.

Mace meanwhile chatted with the other lords at the table, arranging another early meeting to discuss the march before they all began to leave as well. Brienne glanced to Renly questioningly if he planned to retire for the night as well.

"In a moment…I just wish to talk alone with Loris."

The female warrior nodded, bowing slightly. "Then I'll wait outside you grace." With that, she left the room, making sure the door was closed to leave them alone.

Loris sighed, one hand gently gripping Renly's shoulder. It was just a moment of calm, something the aspiring king needed right then. "I didn't want it to go this way…having to fight Stannis." He at last muttered.

"What did you expect it to come to? That he sit on Dragonstone when he's the rightful heir instead of that brat Joffrey."

Again Renly sighed, understanding very well. "I know. He's a man driven by duty and deep seeded ambition. He has always craved recognition, a real position of power not the scraps he's had all his life." Standing up from his seat, he paced around the table. "Just a man sticking to the old ways, set on keeping a system that is clearly failing. Even if he could hold the country together, his passing will just bring a new cycle of chaos as everyone makes a grab for power."

Loris was silent, the knight feeling that in the end this current civil war was just that, even if Renly and the others made it more colorful. "I feel that talking with Stannis is the best approach, even if we don't control King's Landing." Already he could see the spiteful doubt in the young noble's eyes. "Just what pushed you against your siblings so much?"

"Because no matter what they always looked down on me!" Renly snapped. "Despite my leadership of the Stormlands and later on as Master of Law, I could never could truly earn my brothers respect. Only if I wasted my time on some senseless hunt or leading a charge on the muck of a battlefield. That's all they cared and valued!" He clenched his fists, his frustrations vented. "Yet despite how I feel to Stannis I…the thought of him dead sickens me. Seeing Robert gutted during the hunt and choked on his own bile in bed…" Suddenly he went silent from the painful memory.

"I think I understand. It's like those childhood moments were you just get mad, snap out about how much you hate them and wish they were dead." Loris mused, giving a grim chuckle. "Yet when they are…gone…you realize just empty it feels."

Renly's expression softened listening to his lover's advice. "Heh…maybe…" There was a long moment of silence as really moved to stare out the window, gaze lost to the distance. "Loris…I'll…see you in the morning."

The subdued dismissal did catch the knight off guard, yet he nodded in understanding. "Of course Renly…goodnight." Renly didn't look back, waiting for the door to close behind his lover.

For a minute he stood there in thought, shifting slightly in uncertainty as his gaze drifted to scattered parchment and bottle of ink. Giving a low sigh of frustration, he collected a few sheets along with ink and quill before sitting back in his seat. "I must be going mad even bothering to do this…" Despite his personal complains, he dip. At last, he thought up the right words to start this letter.

"To Lord Stannis, my brother…"

…

Rivers Running Red
Midnight – Lady Catelyn – Riverrun

Catelyn's eyes snapped out as a beastly growling echoed through the halls, making her heart race as she clutched the crossbow in her arms. The noble woman tired gaze was locked on the sturdy doorway which was barricaded by a heavy dresser she had been able to move. More harrowing sounds could be heard, from mad laughter, a faint scream and then violent slamming sounds.

"Gods…what madness have we have brought …" She muttered to herself, holding back a terrified sob.

The three seers…or whatever they were, had been invited into Riverrun just a week after their mysterious introduction. While the trio were rarely there together, one usual lurked around, often by her brother Edmure and other nobles. At first the seers seemed helpful enough, seemingly offering insight about Lannister scouts and roving mercenaries movements along with medical knowledge that baffled even their Maester. Their unique insight even aided her father Hoster who had been bedridden in recent months and mind slipping with age, the aged lord now able to roam the halls with the aid of a cane.

Despite such boons though, her uncle Brynden didn't trust the trio no matter how helpful they were. She wished she had heeded his warnings of how the Sisters were earning such trust with Edmure and the lesser lords, soon having more sway over advisers who had been counseling them for years. Not long after, stranger things began to happen. Livestock in the keep began to disappear, with a few bloody hints to their fate. Then servants began to act strange, becoming sickly or tired until some just disappeared completely.

The most shocking event though was the suddenly death of Hoster, as one morning he was found dead in the moat, having seemingly fallen and downed late in the night. There was uncertainty if it had been a mishap or an assassination, which only made what followed all the more troubling. Because of the conflict in the region, the funeral had a smaller gathering though followed the tradition of burial by boat. That even seemed to trigger the darker mood in Edmure, especially when Brynden had to step up to set the funeral boat aflame.

It was obvious they played off his insecurities, feeding a toxic ego and paranoia bottled up within him. That darkness became clear when he ordered the Blackfish to lead an attack on Harrenhal, leading only a small fraction of Tully bannermen. It was practically a suicide mission or at least a means of forcing their uncle out of the politics in Riverrun. Despite the clear madness in these orders, their uncle obeyed the orders though there were reports of soldiers breaking ranks to join his march. All of that had been over a month ago, with no word on his fate. Because of this she had sent Rodrick and his men to find anything about her uncles fate, along with keeping them safe from Edmure. Yet she believed Brynden had a plan, both to tackle the threat of the Lannisters and the corruption settling within their House.

"Should have left with them…gods why didn't…" She cursed herself. Perhaps part of her hoped that she could help Edmure, pull him from the self-destructive path the Sisters had put him down. Yet any show of concern or council was rebuked, each time with growing hostility. The Sisters knew this, as the few times she was alone with them they toyed with her, mocking her naivety and soft-heartedness.

"A heart of stone would do well for you." The one called Weavress had wickedly mused. "Cold and ruthless. Perhaps in another life that suit you."

Catelyn had no idea what the Sisters had planned for her. Be it luck or their choosing they hadn't bothered to sway her and if anything seemed to just enjoy seeing her tormented. Despite the cruelty, it was obvious they needed her still, perhaps as a means of manipulating the rest of her family. "I won't let them…I'd rather…"

Yet her muttering was interrupted by yells and the clanging of metal, weapons clashing. Tensing, she sat up more and clumsily aimed the crossbow at the doorway, scarred hands trembling. Even after months and the treatment Geralt had given, her grip wasn't as good as it used to be. The sounds of fighting drifted closer before heavy feet neared the doorway. The door shook strongly as someone tried to open it before knocking hard against it.

"Lady Catelyn!"

The voice while muffled was familiar, making a spark of hope come to Catelyn. "Rodrick! Gods is that you?" Getting up, she hurried to the barricaded doorway, fumbling for the key in her gown. "I'll get the door unlocked but…you'll have to force your way in past the furniture."

Once the key clicked and she stepped aside, she could heard Rodrick and his men pushing at the door, forcing the dresser back. Seeing the old master-of-arms made a weary smile cross her face. It was obvious that the loyal knight had been through rough times, his beard having grown out from his unusual style along with his armor and clothes being road worn. The same could be said for the other men watching the hallway, bloodied weapons gripped tightly in their hands.

"I'm glad you are safe my Lady. After what we've seen in the castle…we feared the worst." Seeing the crossbow in her hands, he reached out for it. "It…may be best if I handle that."

"I…yes" Catelyn handed the weapon to her trusted companion before giving a tired breath. She closed her eyes for a moment, so worn yet knowing she had to be strong. "I have a pack ready. Just…I need a minute." Hurrying to the closet, he grabbed the pack along with her favored traveling cloak. Lead out to the hallway, she could see aftermath of the fight, a few Riverrun guards strewn across the hall with six men wearing the sigil of the Blackfish on their tabards. "How many are with you?"

"A bit over a dozen. The rest are securing our escape" Rodrick replied. "The Blackfish has learned just how divided the Riverlands are, not just from the Lannisters by these Sisters. They are planning something horrid no doubt…"

"Oh? I prefer glorious." A raspy voice cooed out from down the hall. Everyone turned around, Rodrick and the five other men putting themselves in front of the Catelyn. At the end of the hall was one of the Sisters, Weavess, who despite her fair looks and plain outfit gave off a threatening energy. Her one revealed eye that her cap didn't cover glared balefully. "Did you expect to come back here and not be noticed? Then again it should be expected for an old knight like you to leave a fair lady behind. Too bad this rescue will not have a happy ending."

Rodrick didn't hesitate as he leveled the crossbow at Weavess before firing. The bolt flew right at her face, only to be snatched from the air just before reaching her. Everyone gawked at the sight of the woman eyeing the bolt with a bored look before glancing back at them.

"How rude. To attack a lady like that." Her words started to sound warped, like multiple voices speaking over each other.

The woman's fist clenched until the bolt shaft snapped like a twig, the hand looking long and gnarled fingered. Before their very eyes the fair woman's body seemingly changed as she grew a head taller, limbs becoming lanky along with her skin becoming wrinkled and discolored. Her outfit even changed as the workers garb seemed more fitting for a butcher, the front of her gown having a pair of womanly legs attached like some trophy. Despite the red coned cap on her head, her face was truly monstrous with her bared teeth sharpened, nose large and misshapen while her one exposed eye was replaced with a small buzzing hive.

"Ah much better. A glamor can be so taxing at times" She sighed, stretched her elongated arms, claw like fingers flexing. It was obvious she was in no rush, savoring the pure looks of shock and horror of the others.

"Rodrick…" Catelyn stammered, a fearful hand gripping the knight's shoulder.

Even the battle hardened soldier looked shaken at the sight of the Crone as she slowly stalked closer, making the group step back cautiously. "Everyone…run."

With that order he tossed the crossbow aside before grasping Catelyn, practically carrying her off with shocking strength before rushing down the hallway. The other men turn and ran as well, no doubt faster than they ever had in their lives.

"That is right! Flee…see if you can outrun the wind itself!" The Crone cackled before the echoing of cawing crows followed. Catelyn dared not look back yet could hear as one of the men at the back screamed in pain followed by the splattering of blood and tearing of flesh. By now they reached one of the spiral stairs going down, though halfway down it there was sound of something scampering up the stairway.

"Stay behind me my lady!" Rodrick warned as he drew his sword and a small shield "I need help up front damn it!"

Despite the panic the other men felt, they trusted the master-of-arms as two of the other men hurried to back him up. The stairway was quite narrow, only allowing two people at most to stand side-by-side. One of the fellow rescuers was armed with a heavy mace while the other a short spear as he stood behind the two. Soon their approach would near whatever was hurrying upwards towards them…and it was horrifying.

Rodrick yelled in shock as a snarling…thing…lunged out from around the stairway bend, his shield keeping jagged jaws and filthy claws from reaching him. Despite its weight pushing back on him, he was able to hold it back while his fellow soldier struck at its back, driving a howl from the ghoul along with the crunch of bones breaking under its malformed flesh. With a fierce grunt Rodrick shoved it back to tumble down the stairs, the monster flailing despite its crippling injury.

"The hells was that?!" Yet any banter was cut off as another one of the vile creatures rushed forward, this time at the soldier. He barely got the shaft of his large mace up to stop those biting jaws from going for his throat, though the slashing claws started to shred across his chest. "AGH! GET IT OFF! GET IT OFF!"

"Just hold it back!" Rodrick thrusted his sword right into the ghoul's throat, giving a fearsome yell as twisted the blade to slice downward into the chest. As good as his blade was, the monster's dense muscle and unnatural skeleton made it difficult to cut into anything too vital at least for it. Even as thick blackish blood gushed from the monster's snapping jaws and split chest, it teared into the soldier who howled in bloody pain. The one behind them both stabbed out with his spear, piercing into one of the beast's misshapen eyes to make it rear back in pain. Despite his chest and sides being shredded, mace soldier had the adrenaline and strength to push the ghoul back before roaring out as he swung his mace into side of the shrieking creature's skull. The blow crushed it's head into mush against the stone wall, dense bone and gore coating across the stone.

The effort and his injuries had the soldier coughing up blood, tumbling to the side against the stairway wall as he couldn't stand now. Catelyn just stared in shock, seeing how badly the man's wounds was. Leather was torn like cloth with the chainmail even pulled apart, fleshy and muscle ripped to just faintly expose the ribs.

"I…I…got…" Yet whatever dying boast the man had was lost as he gasped and trembled, the pain too much as he pass on, thick blood oozing out from his mouth.

Despite the soldier's sacrifice, the horrid cackling of the Crone reminded the group they were very much in danger. Grabbing Catelyn once more, Rodrick continued to lead the way downward, making sure to avoid the first ghoul which twitched and snarled at the bottom of the stairway, still paralyzed by it's broken back. Ahead was a doorway which they rushed through, the last of the rescuers slamming it shut and grabbing a barring bean off to the side to block it off. Door was soon slammed into followed by the Crone's frustrated growls as she continued to bash at it.

"Gods…w-what the hell were those things?!" One of the men gasped as they took a moment to catch their breath.

"Bloody monsters of course! Out of the fucking stories."

Rodrick growled to get his men back on focus. "Monsters or not we have to get to the courtyard. The others should have secured horses and the drawbridge by now."

"If there not dead already…" The soldier who gave that grim muttering then yelled out as the upper half of the door started to break apart, clawed hands tearing through to widen the gap. Weavess snarling face showed as the Crone reaching for the wooden bar to open the door. "You freak!" Despite his fear the soldier lashed out with his axe at her exposed arm, gripping the weapon with both hands to put full force into the blow. Such a strike would normally cleave a limb, yet against her withered skin it hardly left a gash.

Weavess growled in annoyance as one hand grabbed the man by the throat, yanking him forward to violently bash his head against the door. He howled as her nails sunk into his neck, the Crone starting to tear out his throat. In bloody desperation, he blindly kept hacking at the arm, though the weak blows didn't even break the unhuman skin.

"GO! I'll slow her down!" One of the men yelled out, rushing in with his short blade, just as Weavess gleefully chuckled as she had the other guard's throat pried free from his neck.

The others didn't delay in fleeing, Catelyn clinging to Rodrick as they hurried through the maze of hallways. Despite her shock, she recognized the route they were heading which was the entrance hall. "Rodrick wait…" Her pleading had everyone else stop before she gestured down a side corridor. "If they know we're here, we should take the servant door to the yard…avoid an ambush."

The harrowing escape had the knight forget the possibility of such a tactic, making him nod in agreement. "You know the keep better then even us. Lead the way."

Nodding, Catelyn did so with Rodrick close by her side. It was a longer route to the courtyard, but no more obstacles were in their way. Suddenly there was the ringing of a bell, the pattern being the signal of a firing breaking out. "The others must be up to something." Catelyn muttered. "The exit should be ahead but…"

"There is fighting…get ready men, this is the last push!" Rodrick was back in the lead as muffled yells and fighting could be heard beyond the final door. Kicking it open, courtyard was in open chaos as soldiers for the Blackfish were clashing with a mix of Tully bannermen and a few more of those ghouls. The stables was on fire as well, a bold approach to deny the Tully soldiers any other mounts to pursue them. The group was currently holding the main gate, keeping the enemy back while the drawbridge was being slowly lowered. Yet it was clear they had taken losses, no doubt from the monsters being too viscous and durable for even a trained soldier to fight.

Rodrick's group charged in to flank the enemy with Catelyn staying close though out of the brawl. Up close she could see the Tully soldiers seemed strange with how slow their movements were along with there skin being pasty and eyes having a hazy look to them. Whatever dark trickery the Sisters used to enthrall them was clearly dulling their senses as their slowed reactions led to nearly half of them being cut down by the flanking attack. The ghouls however were still a deadly threat as the feral creatures focused on the few soldiers trying to keep the horses under control. One of the monsters slipped by the defenders, pouncing one of the handlers who yelled out as he was clawed and mauled at, killed before the others could slay the beast. In turn, a few of the horses bolted to escape the monsters, a few of the men having to hurry out of the way, though one of the Tully soldiers was trampled by the panicked animals.

At that point though the drawbridge was lowered with a heavy slam, the trio of soldiers who had manned the crank rushing out from the gatehouse. "We'll hold them back! Ride!" One of the yelled out, forming up to keep the remaining attackers back.

Rodrick scowled at the thought of leaving more men behind but knew the lacked the horses to have everyone ride out. "This one my lady!" Leading Catelyn to a black mare, he quickly helped her up before mounting onto his own horse. "Ride men! Don't stop for anything!" With the order given the group rushed their mounts across the drawbridge. Just as they were leaving, Weavess hurried out from the keep, bloody clawed hand gripping the heads of the two soldiers who dared oppose her. The Crone would suddenly give out an inhuman yell that echoed loudly into the night, making the escape party even wince in pain from the piercing noise. The shock from that cry left a few riders fazed as archers from the walls fired at them, one soldier unlikely to get an arrow to the throat while an other shielded Catelyn from a few stray shots. By the time they were far away down the road and beginning to enter the woods, only six included Rodrick had died in the rescue.

"So many gone…" Catelyn muttered mournfully, doing her best to keep her horse in the center of the group. All the Black Fish soldiers were also harrowed by what had happened, blooded from battle and shaken from seeing real monsters. If it weren't for strong leadership and determination, they would have broken into a panic. A few minutes into the ride though, the group heard…something.

It was a low bestial groan, like if a bear and elk crying out as one. "Weapons out and torches high! Gods…what the Hells is it now?!" Rodrick cursed, the survivors doing as he ordered. They're pace slowed as eyes were focused on the surrounding forest, torches only illuminating so far. There was something moving ahead, large enough to push through the dense tress like it was brush. Suddenly a large tree creaked then cracked as it suddenly fell down, cutting off the way forward. The riders at the front had to pull as hasty stop, yet that left them exposed for what happened next.

A mass of muscle and fur the size of a large carriage charged out from the darkness, bellowing out as it thrashed it's goat like head about, curling horns thrusting forward. One of the riders was right in its path, the beast's horns slamming into both rider and horse, flinging them away like ragdolls. The other soldier tried to swing his torch out in defense, yet the fire did little to force this new creature back as it brought it's massive forelimbs up, slamming them down again and again. The sheer weight and strength of the monster pounded both man and horse into a glory mess before claws and jaws tore up the rest. It roared out before it's three baleful eyes focused on the others, its bloodlust far from sated.

"Gods this is it…we're going to die…" One of the soldiers sobbed. Everyone had their weapons at the ready, though they doubted they had the strength to even scar this beast.

"Aye…maybe…" Rodrick muttered, glancing between the beast and then to Catelyn. "Lady Stark…we'll draw the beast's attention. You'll have the make a run for it. Keep going eastward and you'll surely be found by your uncle's troops."

"Rodrick I can't…I won't abandon all of you!"

"Catelyn!" He snapped only for the beast to pace closer, moving with intelligent caution. "Your escape is all that matters. We lose you now, it will make our losses meaningless." A strange look showed in the man's eyes, mournful of what he knew was going to come. "It's has been an honor serving you and House Stark…" Raising his sword and shield, he gave a yell to begin the attack. The other men despite their terror charged in, closing in from the sides against the chort. If anything, the relict would be pressed against a mounted group, only they lacked the knowledge and weapons to properly outmatch it.

One soldier with a spear charged in from the right side, going full speed to try driving his weapon deeply into the thick hide of the chort. The weapon did sink in, yet the shaft snapped when the relict thrashed about. Its twisting head made one horn bash the rider off his mount while the horse bolted into the darkness. The rest hurried in, riding circles lashing out with weapons and torches, though all it did was irritate the chort as it swung its powerful arms about. While the horses helped keep the soldiers out of reach, the monster got lucky as a claw raked high, violently taking one man's head off.

Catelyn for a moment is paralyzed watching the fight before gripping her reins and kicking her horse into a sprint. She had never been good at riding a horse, but with so much at stake she had to press on. She weaved past the fight, the chort seemingly tracking her with it's three eyes and even trying to lumber towards her.

"No you don't!" Rodrick took the opening to hack his sword into the side of the chort's head, the full force letting him draw a gash over the brow. The knight kept swinging, even chipping at one horn while the rest pressed in to gang up on the monster. An axe to an arm, mace across the back and blades jabbing into the sides. Anything else would be a bloody pulp under the assault of the soldiers, yet for the relict it suffered only minor injuries. By now the chort lost sight of Catelyn, the noble woman riding around the fallen tree and spirting down the road, the light of her torch rapidly fading. A sudden rage filled the creature, both from the pain and failure in obeying its creators orders.

It gave out a furious roar that made the men yell in pain and horses to rear in fright. With everyone else off balance, the chort lashed out with brutality. The soldier who had fallen earlier was shambling to get up, only for the monster to grab him by the legs. Screaming, the man was swung crudely at the nearest rider to sweep them off their saddle. As for the human club, his fate ended with his head getting splattered across the ground he was slammed into the ground.

The other who had fallen off his mount tried to crawl away before one clawed forearm slammed into his back, bones snapped like sticks. Thick blood spewed from his mouth as his bones pierced crushed organs, screams of pain now just gargled wheezes as he struggled to even breath a last breath.

Now it was down to Rodrick and one last soldier, who was in full panic now. With the chort's back turned, he made a break for it to get past the fallen tree. Yet the relict wouldn't be tricked or distracted this time as it's rear legs bucked up in a duel kick that pulverized both horse and man. Alone, Rodrick glared down the beast as his mind was torn between the instinct to run or fight. Tossing down his torch, shifted off his saddle, deciding not to waste the horse's life in what was to be a suicidal last stand. Now on foot, he drew his shield up as the chort stared him down before roaring into a charge. Rodrick stepped back to avoid those bucking horns, only for the relict to snap it's jaws at him. With his shield up, the monster chomped down onto his shield, ripping the wood apart like it was a cracker. Despite this, the knight took the chance to hack his sword at the beast's head, landing solid blows that staggered the chort. By now his shield was ruined, the next bite sinking into his forearm as those powerful jaws pierced through his armguard with ease.

While he yelled in pain, Rodrick didn't relent as he used the closeness to stab his sword forward, aiming at the chort's left eye. Despite it thrashing his arm, his blade was able to sink into that massive eye, a mix of blackish blood and yellow fluid gushing out. While the weapon turned, Rodrick couldn't pierce deep enough to sink into the monster's brain. With another violent thrash, the old knight yelled out as the furious monster's jaw twisted, at last tearing through muscle and bone completely.

The snap of his forearm being torn off made blaring pain course through the aged man, force of the tear making him fall back to the ground roughly. If it weren't for the adrenaline, he would have most likely black out from the pain as he howled out, grasping at his stump. Rodrick's vision was a blurring red, his sense of hearing warped as his worn heart was racing from pain and blood loss. Meanwhile chort huffed and snarled as the sword was still embedded into it's eyes, the relict blindly trying to get it out though only to suddenly stop as it's one good eye focused on the road leading back to Riverrun.

"Interesting…it seems humans of this world have a stronger…determination." Weavress mused, her bare feet shuffling across the earth as she soon stood over Rodrick. Her deformed visage glared over him, a smug look showing across her face. "Yet in the end pointless. Such heroics wasted." Reaching the chort, she carefully pulled the imbedded blade out from it's eye, the monster giving a whine while the crone cooed to it. "Now then…care to tell us where the lady is heading off to? It save me and my sisters time and effort…along with a swift death for you." She waved his sword over his head, misshapen hand broadly gripping the hilt to wield it.

Rodrick didn't answer as he laid there, breathing deeply as his body was numb from the pulsing pain of his missing left forearm. With the crone looming over him, he lurched his good arm for the dagger tucked at his belt, driving it between her ribs. Yet her unnatural body stopped the weapon from piercing beyond her clothes and the skin, even bending the weapon slightly.

"Tsk…such rude manners." She then lashed with his own sword, a swallow slice across one cheek that had him reeling in pain.

Gasping as he gripped his cheek, he hiss out in anger. "To the Hells with you!"

"Oh my sisters would know, but sadly their not here." Weavress cackled in amusement. "Though what will follow will make you wish you end up there." Tossing the bloody sword away, she gestured as from the darkness, ghouls stalked forward, snarling as they eyed all the fresh meat for them to feast on. "Feed my children! Yet take your time with this one…eat his limbs first…draw out his terror!"

Hearing her sadistic intent made Rodrick's pained defiance fault into shock as all the ghouls started to close in. Clenching his dagger, he slashed out at one that stalked close, nicking its shoulder which it growled in anger over. Then they surrounded him, jaws and claws attacked at his legs then gripping his arm before they began to rip and tear.

Weavress watched smugly as he petted the wounded chort's head, the old knight's howling and screaming going louder and louder as he was being eaten alive. "Such fine music indeed." She sighed, chuckling as he stared up at the moon up high. Tomorrow would be grand day as their plans would reach the next stage. Fairmarket's battle would provide hundreds of corpses for the pool and by sundown the threat of Raventree Hall would be dealt with.

"Yes…it will be a true symphony tomorrow night." She sighed as she savored the knight's last gargling sounds in his gory death. "Then the Riverlands will be ours!"

…

Notice: I do deeply apologize again for the long wait for this chapter. I really underestimated how dense it would be and its only half of what I wanted to cover. It seems season ends will be quite thick, since I am trying to cover so many character perspectives. However, I do hope these give good insights on what is building up for the next season.

That aside, I had some rough personal matters in recent months. I got sick with Covid which had me out for nearly a month, then a bad flu later. Plus my cat sadly passed away, having lived a full fifteen years. At the least work has calmed down a lot more with a change of management.

I am also having a Discord channel set up! Sometimes I find it welcoming to chat with others about writing ideas, games and other projects I have in mind. I have been working on a original story that I'd enjoy sharing, helping me iron it out. If anyone is interested, please contact me directly through a private message and I'll give you an invitation!