—Near Riverrun—

Two days later…

*BANG!*

*BOOM!*

*SSSSHBLAMM!*

It was barely nighttime deep within the heart of the Riverlands, but already the landscape had changed drastically with the barrage of musket shots and mortar fire; the sounds of explosions and shouts were deafening. The first wave of House Lannister's army had arrived earlier than expected and had camped themselves on the highest hill a few meters out, armed with infantry soldiers, artillery, cavalry, and heavy weapons, including cannons and mortars. Samson, Petyr, and Daemon were running as fast as their legs could carry them through the battlefield since their horses had been shot from underneath them. Tully militiamen and Royal Army defectors scrambled all over the place to avoid getting hit—though some were too late.

"Gods dammit! Where did they come from?!" Petyr hollered.

*WHOOSH!*

Balls of lead whizzed past their heads so fast.

"How did the Lannisters get here so fast?!" Daemon shouted.

"Don't let up! Keep pushing ahead!" Samson replied. "Put your heads down! And watch that damn cover fire!"

Both Petyr and Daemon huffed and panted, trying to maintain their composure as they ran in the middle of the war zone. However, as this was Daemon's first time, his adrenaline levels shifted into overdrive. He had some initial training from the Red Keep's Master-at-Arms but had no combat experience under his belt as most of his family had. The young Prince was terrified.

"There it is! Off in the distance!" Petyr pointed.

What seemed like a couple of hundred yards away past the first checkpoint laid the castle of Riverrun, ancestral seat of House Tully and regional capital of the Riverlands sitting along the river road at the confluence of the Tumblestone and Red Fork rivers. Even as an ancient fortress, Riverrun was a strong three-sided castle, even though it was nowhere near the size of the Red Keep. In times of danger, the sluice gates can be opened to fill a wide moat and leave the castle surrounded on all three sides by water, turning Riverrun into an island and leaving it practically unassailable and commands a view of many leagues—meaning getting to it will be difficult and many stationed atop the battlements would see them coming from miles away on all sides.

Before the trio could progress any further, armed Tully guards pointing their muskets at them stopped them in their tracks.

"Stop right there!" shouted one of them.

"Identify yourself!" exclaimed another.

"Whoa, whoa, hey!" Daemon tried to defuse the situation. "It's okay. We're friendly. We mean you no harm."

"They're not wearing the standard Lannister uniforms—"

"We've had six Lannister spies already try to infiltrate Riverrun and assassinate the Colonel! I know little about you," the agitated guard pointed his weapon at the Prince's face, "but there's no way in Seven Hells I'm taking a gods damned chance!"

"Damn it, lad! Put the gun down!" exclaimed Petyr.

"YOU WANT SOME TOO?! YOU WANT SOME TOO?!"

Samson intervened. "ENOUGH!" his voice echoed a loud, commanding boom. All guards flinched. "I'm General Samson, commander of the rebel army and Master of War to Prince Daemon Baratheon. Now put. Your guns. Down."

The Tully guards were clearly intimidated, unsure what to believe until a Royal Army defector approached.

"G-General Samson? The General Samson the Tenacious?" he asked.

"Yes, you dolt." Samson turned to the two youths. "This is Ser Petyr Harding of the Vale, a major in the Brotherhood of Winged Knights. And this is Prince Daemon Baratheon. We're on a sensitive diplomatic mission to Riverrun. Which way is it to your commanding officer?"

The officer nodded. "Y-yes, of course. Chief Warrant Officer Bryant of the 29th Battalion, r-reporting for duty, ser. M-my apologies, General. We're all on edge here." He pointed at Riverrun. "The Colonel's on the castle walls, past the next four barricades."

"Then we need to move fast before more Lannister soldiers arrive—"

*BANG!*

*BOOM!*

"NOW! We need to go!" hollered Petyr.

"Double time!"

*BANG!*

*BOOM!*

*SSSSHBLAMM!*

*BANG!*

*BANG!*

*SSSSHBLAMM!*

Once the group was off running towards the Tully stronghold again, it seemed the fighting between both the loyalists and rebels were intensifying. Gunfire, mortars, close-range combat… Samson, Petyr, and Daemon fought tooth and nail to make it to their destination. But after a long struggle, they arrived at the castle gates—which remained sealed off and left a wide moat preventing their crossing. Two more Tully guardsmen up top pointed their guns at them.

"Stop or we'll—!"

"Wait a minute! Hold your fire!" one squinted. "Is that… General Samson?"

"Yes, it's me! Open the bloody gates! We need to get inside now!"

Sheesh, these people practically worship the professor. They listen more to him than they do me, Daemon thought.

"A-all right, you heard the man! Open the gate!"

The scouts above released a lever, causing the rusty gate hinges to let out a harsh, audible shrill grating groan before the gates themselves were lowered—allowing Daemon, Petyr, and Samson entry before the gates were closed back up behind them. Daemon surveyed his surroundings as he followed Petyr and Samson; this was his first time in Riverrun, though he had hoped it would have one day been under different circumstances. The castle had red sandstone walls sheering from the water with crenelated battlements and arrow loops with its towers on opposite shores. The intense fighting was still going on outside with multiple troops inside the castle garrison running past each other frantically getting to their stations or tending to the wounded/dying. Properly garrisoned, Riverrun can hold supplies for men and horses for as long as two years; a garrison of 200 men is larger than Riverrun requires in most circumstances.

But these were not most circumstances.

Despite their situation, all remaining forces converged on Riverrun, intent on heavily defending it. If Riverrun falls, then so too does the entire Riverlands. All other river lords north near the Neck would most likely surrender to the inevitable. Daemon could not allow that to happen. He would not! But where was the Lord of Riverrun?

"You there! Lass!" Samson called to a servant girl. "Which way to the senior officer of this place?"

She pointed left. "U-up the stairs th-that way around the corner!" she said.

These people are desperate, Daemon saw the look in their eyes. Madness. Just madness!

They soon traverse the main hallway before turning the corner and ascending the stairs leading to the battlements up top. Things looked grim upon their arrival; Tully sappers and Royal Army defectors were snipping Lannister infantry soldiers and took cover behind the walls to reload their muskets and rifles. Engineers nearby were cleaning the canons preparing for another blast but were downed by two shots as soon as more tried to take their place as best they can. Nearby was a small group of 12 healers and House Tully's maester, Lawsen, tending the wounded.

Daemon noticed a rather noticeable group of body bags before spotting a rather tall, middle-aged man donning blue breastplate armor with a rather noticeably high-ranking insignia on his right shoulder standing over a map of the surrounding area with two attendants at his side. He had to be the Colonel, otherwise, why would he have a commanding aura about him?

"Lieutenant Kiyana," he barked with a thick Volantene accent, "get your men on the southwest battlement!"

"Yes, ser!" she saluted before running off.

"Sergeant Aren, find a way to get that damned supply line open!"

"Ser!" he saluted before running off.

Samson furrowed his brow. He recognized that voice. "Colonel Vargo Maegyr," he mentioned.

"WHO IN THE HELL LET IN MORE DAMNED REFU—?!" Vargo turned before being stunned into silence. "Samson? General, is that you?" he asked surprised.

"At ease, soldier."

"Ser," Petyr turned to Samson. "You know him?"

"I know him well, lad. He was my second-in-command during the War against the Band of Twelve thirty-four years ago," he nodded. "Came over to this country from Volantis with almost nothing, so I took Vargo on as my apprentice until he was able to look after himself. King Ormund III rewarded him for his service by granting him Westerosi citizenship and a place within the Royal Army. He rose through the ranks rather quickly after that. We became friends ever since. Despite being a foreigner, Vargo is a fine officer with an impressive record. Tough, but fair. He was commissioned for a promotion when I retired eight years ago, but that process stalled when Queen Shiera III died."

"Well, as touching as this reunion is, I'm in the middle of fending off a Lannister invasion," Vargo returned to the map.

"We've noticed." Samson glanced at Daemon. "Vargo, this is—"

"I know who he is," he interrupted with a frown. "Prince Daemon of House Baratheon, second son of Queen Shiera the Pure and Jaerys Velaryon, Lord of Driftmark and Master of the Tides… and let us not forget the brother of our oh so illustrious 'King' Argilac, the Fourth of His Name… Argilac…. the Malevolent. How is this… child any different?"

Daemon gulped. Has the prestige of his family name fallen so far that many had lost faith because of his brother's actions? He had not even met Colonel Vargo before until now, and already the sight of his presence offends him. But the sudden rudeness directed at him was quickly replaced by a sense of frustration. He was not going to allow anyone to judge him because of his brother again.

"Why did you bring him here?" he pressed.

Before Samson could say anything, Daemon pushed past him. "Colonel, we've come seeking an emergency audience with Lord Edmyn of House Tully, Lord Paramount of the Trident. It is a delicate matter of utmost importance. Is he somewhere nearby?" he answered.

Vargo stopped before glancing up at the boy; the boy's got balls of steel if he were to approach him like that. If it had been one of his troops, that would have been marked as grounds for insubordination. He glanced at Samson, who nodded. However, Vargo shook his head.

"If you've come all this way… You're a tad bit late for that, boy."

"What do you mean?"

"Lord Edmyn Tully is dead," he announced. "He died at the Battle of Harrenhal, buying us time for the rest of us to escape. The Lannisters sent us bits and pieces of his corpse along with his dismembered head long before you three got here."

"Damn it!" Samson cursed.

"That's… going to be a problem," Petyr looked concerned. First Myranda at King's Landing, now her brother at Harrenhal.

"No shit, Major," Vargo spat.

"All right, so who's in charge now?"

Daemon turned to Samson. "Professor, if I may?" he got his attention. "Among the hundreds of noble houses in Westeros, each one maintains a clear line of succession dating as far back as 14,000 years—this includes the rights of inheritance as lands and titles. Many nobles who marry into other families also need charts to prove their blood ties to the other at all in the event of one house going extinct. Every castle library, even the Citadel, has such scrolls. If we research House Tully's lineage from past to present, we could find out who is next in line."

"He's right," Petyr chimed in; even the major was born into a noble house and understood how the line of succession works.

Vargo, however, did not look convinced. "Huh! Even if that is the case, it is practically impossible for us to find out who the next Lord of Riverrun and Lord Paramount of the Trident is. We can't even make a move, nor can we afford to abandon such a strategically important defensive position," he scoffed.

Just then, another soldier rushed in a hurry.

"Ser!" she panted. "Our supply depot along the western perimeter is under attack! Lannister forces are approaching from the Golden Tooth! Wayfarer's Rest is requesting immediate reinforcements!"

"DAMN IT! We don't have enough troops to spare!" the Colonel cursed loudly. "If those damned lions seize that depot, they'll starve us out this castle! Why hasn't Sergeant Aren opened up that blasted line yet?!"

"Has word been sent to other houses?" Samson calmly inquired.

"All remaining troops in the Riverlands are assigned to defend Riverrun at all costs! The Northmen have crossed the Neck, but they're still a few miles away!"

Daemon's eyes shifted between the two back and forth. If Wayfarer's Rest surrenders, the Lannister army will be able to march on Riverrun from the west in addition to attacks from the south and east. The North had indeed opted to send troops to the Riverlands to break the siege, but the Lannister army was still well-provisioned, funded, and had elite artillery. Best they could do would be to bring the conflict to a stalemate; but even so, with the threat encroaching from the west, someone had to go slow them down long enough for the river lord's supply depot to be secured and hold off enemy troops long enough for reinforcements to arrive. Whoever volunteered for such a dangerous task would have to leave on the fastest horse available.

"I'll do it!" Daemon blurted out. "I'll go. Send me to Wayfarer's Rest. Let me prove myself to you that I can be trusted."

All looked either surprised or shocked by the Prince's bold (or suicidal) declaration.

"You? Impossible! You're not even a soldier!" Petyr shook his head. "If you go out there, then you will surely die. And then what happens? It'll be all for nothing!"

"But what other choice do we have? Sit here and do nothing? We just need to simply delay their advance, right? Slowing them down with—"

"Espionage," Samson finished. "We don't have enough to mount a counteroffensive, but…" he turned to both Daemon and Petyr. "A small strike team could sneak behind enemy lines undetected and cause a lot of chaos and confusion. Keep them away from the supply depot long enough, ensure morale doesn't deplete further until the Northmen arrive." He scratched his chin. "But have you used one of these before?" he pointed to a flintlock pistol.

"No," Daemon shook his head.

Samson then had to provide a quick tutorial. His former pupil was a good listener at the University of King's Landing, so he had to take some mental notes by now while giving him the necessary supplies. His index finger and thumb traced the four pieces of the flintlock. "Pull the safety back, half-cock the hammer, pour a measure of gunpowder down the barrel," he instructed. Daemon's eyes watched closely. "After that, you wrap a lead ball in a small piece of cloth, ram it down the barrel on top, place a small amount of gunpowder into the pan, snap the frizzen in place over the pan, fully cock the hammer, aim down your sights, and squeeze the trigger to shoot. When you reload, you simply repeat the steps I've shown you. Understand?"

The Prince nodded and nervously took the flintlock as well as some of Samson's supplies.

"I'll go with him," Petyr volunteered. "Not out of impulsiveness, but Sharra would never forgive me if something were to happen to the Prince. Besides, he'll need an actual soldier with real combat experience accompanying him."

Samson nodded. "Good," he said. "I'll stay here with Colonel Vargo and coordinate our efforts from here. In the meantime, the maester here," he referred to Lawsen, "will get the archives we need from the castle library to find out who we're going to be looking for next."

"M-ME?!" Lawsen exclaimed fearfully. "But these people are wounded! They need me here!"

"And we have many more who will temporarily take over until you get back."

Vargo sighed. "You're sure you trust him? This… boy?" he referred to the Prince.

"Prince Daemon may be young and inexperienced…. but he was one of my university students," Samson confirmed. "And as his Master of War, I'm to advise him on how to run a military campaign. Besides, my old friend, the boy is nothing like his brother. He has a good heart—like his mother did—and he wants to help your troops voluntarily."

The Colonel sighed again with exasperation. "Go do what you must then," he relented.

"Good luck out there, you two."

Daemon and Petyr nodded and turned to march downstairs to the rear entrance of Riverrun. The gates opened and lowered the drawbridge, allowing them to leave before it was raised and sealed off again. Donning a cloak over his head, Daemon made certain his flintlock was prepared… and Stormbringer was ready for close-quarters combat if it came to that. However, he was not sure if the ancient Valyrian steel sword of his legendary ancestor could hold up against an opposing blade as it had not seen any combat in centuries. Daemon was scared and nervous as hell but was forced to steel himself as from here on out it was just him and Petyr.

*BANG!*

*BOOM!*

*SSSSHBLAMM!*

Taking what might be one last look at Riverrun, the Rebel Prince and Young Falcon began the forced run to their destination.

—At the Eyrie—

Lady Sharra Arryn was reviewing important documents in her chambers, examining each word carefully before taking her stamp and pressing the blue wax down to mark her approval before moving on to the next. Such documents included daily reports from her frontline military officers, petitions from Gulltown's merchants on how to address the civil war's economic impact on the Vale, old letters from old acquaintances, even love letters from potential suitors… which crept her out. Each day was proving more stressful than the last.

Such as it was in her duties as Lady of the Eyrie, Defender of the Vale and Wardeness of the East. Daemon's dog rested its head on her lap, begging for attention. The canine missed its master terribly. Sharra gently stroked the dog's ear.

"*Whine!*"

"Well, at least I have you, boy," she smiled warmly.

"*Whine!*"

*KNOCK! KNOCK!*

"Enter."

The door opened, revealing Jarger holding a tray of tea, cups of cream, and sugar cubes. It had a fascinating aroma, one which filled the head of House Arryn pleasantly as the tray was set down next to Sharra on her desk.

"Would you like a cup of tea, my lady?" he offered.

"Yes, please. Thank you, Jarger."

Sharra cradled the tea in her hands and blew on it to cool it. Jarger and some of House Arryn's handmaidens were tending to her well-being after Alayne passed away. Even the senior officers from houses Royce, Waynwood, Corbray, and Hardying declared Sharra's safety to be of utmost importance as she was the last of her proud prestigious bloodline. Jarger bowed his head courteously and left the room, closing the door behind him. Silence filled her bedroom once more when Sharra began sipping small sips of her hot tea… eliciting a small hum.

"Mmm. Good tea," she sighed. Sharra placed the cup down and stood from her seat. Hard to imagine that this was once her parents' room, and now it was hers. Large, yet eloquent in its design. The mountains of the Vale would get cold in the winter, but she was used to it. Her eyes examined the small painting showing a much younger Sharra Arryn with an equally younger Daemon Baratheon.

They were both children then, childhood sweethearts. And yet here they were now. Eighteen years old and in a bloody civil war against a brutal tyrant who happens to be his brother. But that is not what is bothering Sharra lately. She knew armed conflict was inevitable. But it was the last time she saw Daemon in the Eyrie before his departure. Her mind recaptured the magical scenery of their kiss by the window. And somehow it made her sad.

"No… I-I shouldn't have done that…"

"But… I love you, Sharra. Don't you feel the same for me?"

"But I don't… I mean… The stress of it all, it-it… You-you mean it, don't you? But how can I be sure you aren't making a mistake? When you kissed me…. I-I… no. I'm so sorry."

"Sharra…"

"Please, Daemon, I know we both wanted it – but… I'm sorry. I don't blame you… I-I have to go before somebody sees us."

"Daemon…" I didn't mean to hurt you, she reflected. Her mind was plagued with guilt and remorse for how she handled herself that night.I never meant to push you away, but please don't blame yourself. You did nothing wrong. Sharra placed a hand onto one of the stone pillars on her balcony overseeing the valley below. Just… stay alive out there, Daemon. For my sake.

*KNOCK! KNOCK!*

Sharra snapped out of it and turned again to the door. "Oh! Uh, who is it?" she called out.

"It's Laina, my lady," a feminine voice called out from behind the door. "Your bath is ready."

"All right. I'll be right there."

Once the footsteps faded away, Sharra prepared herself to leave her quarters and went to her private personal bathhouse. The Eyrie's bathhouse was made of stone and marble, built over a natural hot spring with rose petals scatted across the steaming surface. Closing the door behind her, Sharra slowly began to disrobe. Accessories to clean herself with including a sponge, fragrant oils, and some towels were laid out for her. Sharra undid the final lace to her dress and pulled it over her head, revealing her naked form. She possessed an attractive curvaceous figure, large D-cup-sized breasts, and her hips were full; she embarrassingly covered her chest with her arms while she approached the tub. As she slowly placed her toes into the hot and steaming water, she began her slow descent. Her reflection was almost clear as if the water had been filtered up here from Alyssa's Tears itself.

Sharra groaned as she felt the heat. It made her feel relaxed, clean. She grabbed the sponge to scrub her arms, stomach, legs, and feet—although she always had a hard time trying to scrub her back. Her shoulders ached so she laid her head back against the edge.

"Always had to come to help your mother and grandmother bathe you when you were just a wee babe," an elderly woman called out. "Now look at you: all grown up. A lovely young woman in your own right."

Sharra nearly jumped and turned her head whilst covering herself. "AH! T-Teressa! By the Gods, please don't scare me like that," she gasped.

Teressa, an old woman 76 years old, was a longtime servant of House Arryn—having served three generations of Arryns in total. As intelligent as a maester and a stern mistress, yet warm and grandmotherly to little Sharra. To her, Teressa was more a friend, confidant, and parental figure she could turn to whenever she feels upset.

"I do hope our visitors haven't been bothering you," Teressa knelt beside the bath's edge to scrub Sharra's long dark brown hair with essential oils, her frail fingers gently scrubbing her scalp and gently undoing the snags. The old woman even helped wash her back.

"Oh no, no, Teressa. Jarger's been no trouble at all. As for Jaqoros and Jacaerys, well… I'm not too entirely sure. But they did help us escape from King's Landing."

"Yes, deary. What an awful thing to endure! We were worried dearly about you." She scooped up a pale of water and dumped it over Sharra's head to rinse. The Arryn lady shut her eyes tight to prevent any substance from stinging. "But when we heard about that brute Argilac…"

Sharra flinched as the painful memories of her torment flashed. She still remembered the public beatings, the humiliation, and the way Argilac's henchmen tried to strip her naked before Daemon intervened.

"Daamn! Did you see that?"

"I sure did! Her tits are huge!"

She could still hear their laughs in her head. Her body began to tremble.

"I. Said. ENOOOUUUUUUGHHHH!" […] "Argilac, you son of a bitch! Leave her alone!"

"Deary?"

"It's… it's nothin—OWW!" she flinched when she felt her hair being pulled.

"Don't tell me it's nothing to me, young lady," Teressa scolded before gently cleaning her. "Now… you'll never be able to move past the trauma unless you learn to open yourself up."

"I know. But… Teressa…"

"'But' what?"

"I still feel and hear what Argilac's men did to me in the throne room," Sharra choked. Damn it, not now. Not here. "They beat me, they humiliated me. They… they tried to…"

"I see."

"But… Prince Daemon saved me from them. He fought them off even if it meant being beaten bloody and bruised. All to protect me. Ever since parliament was disbanded and my colleagues were executed, I have been a hostage in King's Landing… until the riots. Aside from Daemon, Jarger, and Professor Samson, I had no friends left in the capital." Sharra fought to calm her emotions. "But before I sent Daemon to aid us, he kissed me."

Teressa raised a curious eyebrow. "Did he force himself on you?" she inquired.

"What? Oh no! Gods, no. No, he didn't. I mean, I kissed him too, but that—" she tried hiding a faint blush before her elder spotted it.

"Ah! You're in love."

"Teressa!"

"I hear it in your voice—even if you try to hide it. But yet you fear your commitment to your duties as Lady of the Vale and the yearning for what lies in your heart may one day lead to the unthinkable which could end in an everlasting heartache."

Sharra was nearly silent. "How did…?" she asked silently.

"Would it surprise you to know I was in the same situation you were when I was your age?" Teressa implied. "Yes. I was in love once. I remember how it feels."

"You never mentioned that to me before."

"Oh, it was a long time ago. I was once a young girl after my 16th nameday. But before that… I grew up with a simple stableboy who was fat, hair matted, and overall stank. We were both inseparable when we became friends. Over the years, he changed."

Now Sharra was curious. "How so?" she asked curiously.

"Ah-ha. He grew into a handsome young lad," Teressa reminisced. "Strapping, smart, clean. And all muscle, he was a maiden's fantasy. He asked my father for my hand in marriage."

"And did you accept?"

The old woman frowned with disappointment. "No. However… when I turned 18, a group of outlaws came into our village, set fire to every home they came across, caught me, and took turns raping me one at a time behind the stables. They violated me and laughed in my face. The pain was bad, but I still felt everything they did when they were done with me."

"Oh my Gods, I'm so sorry," Sharra gasped horrified.

"Don't be, my sweet child. It was all so very long ago. But my trauma left an ever-lasting effect on me. I ended up distancing myself from Harry instead of telling him… until it was too late. He seemed to lose hope and left in the middle of the night. I never saw him again after that." Teressa cupped Sharra's chin to make her look up at her. "Do you know why I'm telling you this?"

"Uh-uh," she shook her head.

"Not a day goes by when I could just simply tell Harry how I felt. Today's young love reminds me of what might have been if I had not simply been more honest about myself. Harry was to me as His Highness was to you based on how you described it. We could spend all night trading tales of lost love." She slowly stood up. "You have your duties to the Vale and all of its people, but do not close yourself off because of the trauma. Learn to know who you can trust to help ease your burden, and with those who care about you." She glanced out at the full moon. "Don't stay in there too long, young lady. It'll be past your bedtime soon."

Sharra nodded. "I understand. Goodnight, Teressa."

"Goodnight, my sweet child."

And with that, the door to the bathhouse gently closed shut. Sharra still sat in the tub thinking about Teressa's words carefully. But trying to confront the trauma was going to be an emotionally challenging one. She sighed and stood up, grabbing a nearby towel to dry herself. Sharra grabbed her nightgown placed on the counter by Teressa before her departure and returned to her quarters. As she lifted the sheets, Sharra crawled into bed with the dog jumping on top to join her.

"Daemon…" she yawned before finally falling asleep.

Chapter End

Author's Note: Another chapter done, and Daemon is off to fight in his first major battle in the Riverlands. However, with the Lord of Riverrun confirmed as dead, who else might be around to assume the role as Lord Paramount of the Trident? Can the Rebel Prince and Young Falcon make a difference at Wayfarer's Rest or will it be too late? And how about Sharra Arryn learning how best to confront her inner demons? What influence might this old woman Teressa have over the young Lady of the Eyrie? Let me know and guess what you think might happen next.

C.E.W: So now Daemon and Pyter are going to sneak passed the lines to disrupt the Lannister forces. They make it passed the battle, then perhaps they can form a militia like on The Patriot. Disrupting supply lines can help take the pressure off of the rebels. That tactic although might not be much helpful if the Stormlands, and the Reach send their armies north for Argilac. Only two ways out of that problem is if either Dorne or the Vale side with the rebels.