My Name is Daemon Targaryen and I am Going Home

by Alperez16

A different champion steps up for Tyrion changing the outcome of the Trial by Combat and the game itself.

8. No One is to Blame

The Great Grass Sea 298 AC.

Daenerys Targaryen.

She had thought she'd lost it all. Her precious little boy, Rhaego, The Stallion who Mounts the World was lost to her. He'd been born a small misshapen babe instead of the warrior he was meant to be. Yet had she been gifted back her husband, she'd have born that loss and mourned him by Drogo's side. The witch though had been cruel indeed and Drogo too was lost to her. He lived but didn't live for true and it pained her to see him as he was now.

After pleading with him to come back to her, to give her a sign that he was still her Sun and Stars, she resigned herself to the fate that awaited them both. He to rest with the Great Stallion forevermore and she cursed to walk this world alone and without him. She'd held the pillow in her hand and then the commotion from outside the tent had stopped her from doing what she'd planned. Instead, she'd risen to see what the reason for that commotion was.

The man was dark of hair and eye, smaller than Drogo but of a size with Jorah and Rakharo. It was clear he was a warrior and yet he looked at her with something akin to compassion and certainly with fondness. His words were ones she wished to believe and yet she'd been lied to and given false hope already, and so she accepted them but warily. Yet each little thing he did brought her more and more hope and when Drogo expelled the green bile from his throat, she truly began to believe this man was truly their salvation. Drogo gulped down the water when the man suggested he'd needed some and then seeing all those in their tent, he began to fight, fearing them enemies. Her words were enough to stop that fight and turn his attention back to her.

"My Sun and Stars, you have returned to me."

"Moon of my life," he replied and though she heard the shuffling of feet as they were left alone, she was too focussed on his eyes and the look in them to pay much attention to it.

The kiss they shared would have led to more, but it was clear that while he'd returned to her, he was still not the man he had been. Rest, food, and time would only make him so and she believed with her whole being that he would be who he once was again soon, which was more than enough for now. She wished him to sleep, yet knew for now he could not and so calling for Jorah and Rakharo, she and they helped him to leave the tent.

"The Khal has recovered and soon will ride again," she shouted out loudly, though Drogo looked confused by the size of their much smaller Khalasar.

He had many questions for her when they brought him back into the tent, just as she had for the dark-haired stranger who'd saved his life. So after answering the ones which would fuel his anger and not cause him pain, she left Drogo and moved to speak to the man who'd saved him. A man she still had no true name for.

She found him sitting a few feet from their tent, Jorah guarding both it and him she believed. Yet again he seemed to look at her with a fondness that took her aback. It was a look she had known little in her life, one that she somewhat remembered Viserys would wear and Ser Willem too, back when they lived in the small house in Braavos. There was no lustful gaze, no to her, unwelcome interest. This man wished not to bed her, but to help her and she needed to know why.

"I thank you for my husband." she began "He will recover fully?"

"In time, Khalessi. There are some potions that will help him recover his strength more quickly, though rest and food are still the best ways of doing so."

"And he will be as he once was?" she asked worriedly.

"I do not understand?" the man asked confused.

"The witch, she promised me his life and though she somewhat fulfilled that promise, the life she returned to him and which cost me, my son, was not a life worthy of him," Dany said her anger somehow held back in her words if not her expression.

"I'm not a witch nor do I deal in that sort of magic, Khalessi. I know men who have been poisoned as the Khal was and not all return to what they once were." he said and her breath hitched in her throat "Yet if the Khal does as he must. If he rests when he needs to, eats when he needs to, and drinks the potions every other day, in a week or so he'll be a stronger man than any under your command. In two, he'll be the Khal of Khals once more."

"Why?"

"Khalessi?"

"Why help me? What reward is it you seek?"

"A smile, Khalessi. I would see you smile as truly as you did when Drogo awoke. I seek no more than that." he said and his words were as confusing to her as the warm expression on his face was as he spoke them.

"Who are you?" she asked as she stared at his face, certain parts of it stoking some emotion in her that she knew not what to name it as.

"You wish the truth?" he asked and she nodded "I am your nephew. My name is Daemon Targaryen, trueborn son of Rhaegar and Lyanna Targaryen and I'm here because you and I are family, aunt," he said and she so very much wished to believe him to be speaking true.

Over the next few days, Drogo grew stronger. He was strong enough to ride a horse when needed and yet she had things she wished to do before they moved on. The first of those was to see to the end of Mirri Maz Duur. While Drogo wished to take her head or remove her insides and leave her to die a long agonizing death in the sands, she had other ideas, and Daemon, her nephew, bid her follow them through.

She had felt the call and so it was a fire that would take the witch from this world. Yet little did she know that the very same fire would gift her something as precious as it did. Daemon stopped Drogo as he moved to her when she stepped into the fire, he being the only one who was with her completely in what she knew had to be done. Probably the only one who was able to stop her husband as well. When the smoke cleared, long after the witch had met her end and once Drogo had seen that other than her hair and brows, she was unburnt, then and only then did the truth of the dragons she'd birthed become clear.

Days later, any doubts she had that Daemon was indeed her nephew had been completely taken from her by how the dragons responded to his presence. Other than her, he was the only one they allowed to touch and hold them and he seemed to know more about them than even she. She'd named them after her brothers and her husband, Drogo looking at her with such love when she'd named the black and red one Drogon after him. The green she'd named Rhaegal after Daemon's father and her brother. While the gold was named Viserion after the brother she'd once known. It was the last of these who seemed keenest on Daemon. Viserion would fly and wrap himself around her nephew's neck and it was he who brought his flames to bear first of all.

"Dracarys," Daemon said holding up a piece of meat which Viserion quickly burned, and then Drogon and Rhaegal soon followed after she'd bid them do the same.

They rode, set up camp, and though she knew her husband wished to lay with her again, something they'd done more than once since his strength had truly returned, it was to Daemon and her dragons that her attention first turned to.

"How did you know?" she asked as the dragons finally rested and she and Daemon sat alone.

"In the fire. I saw things in the fire after you walked into it. The Red God may not be mine own, but for some reason, he seems to have gifted me somewhat too."

"You truly follow the Many-Faced God?" she asked shuddering slightly as he now knew far more of her nephew's past and his future intent.

"He's the only god I know, aunt. All I've truly known since I was but a boy. Had I not been told the truth of who I am then I'd be out there still offering the gifts to him that he seeks. Just because my path takes me in another direction, does not mean that I forgot who set me on that path. So yes I follow him still and my service to him is long from being done."

"Your mother's list," she said softly and he nodded.

"Let's speak more on dragons, aunt, I know you like it not to speak on the Many-Faced God."

"What did you see, Daemon?" she asked and then listened as he told her, the words taking root and they were ones she'd do her best to see followed.

"You're leaving aren't you?" she asked a few moments after he was done speaking to her on her dragons.

"The time has come for me to do so. I'll stand with Drogo while he faces those who stole his Khalasar from him, though he needs me not. Once they've been returned to him, then I'll take my leave of you all."

"And Viserion?"

"Needs a mother for now far more than a rider. In time he'll come to me, but what I must do before then would only put him at risk. Let them fly free, aunt, all of them, no matter what they do or how fearful people become, let them fly free."

"Zaldrīzes buzdari iksos daor."

"Zaldrīzes buzdari iksos daor."

A week later as she watched her nephew ride off towards a city where he could take a ship to wherever his path took him, she held Viserion tightly to her and promised her son that he and she would see him again. Drogo and he had parted as brothers, Daemon doing as he had told her he would and standing by her husband's side. Though he'd been right and Drogo had needed him not. Their Khalasar had grown even larger than it had once been, the dragons she now had, saw to that. She'd found she now believed her nephew's words, even more, when before he left he'd said that she'd fall with child again soon. Looking at him in the distance and knowing he'd do in Westeros what she had once wished to do, she smiled.

"A dragon is not a slave," she said before turning her silver and riding to Drogo's side.

The Wall 300 AC.

Mother Mole.

Her dreams had led her on this path, confusing though they were. She'd seen some of what was to come to pass and yet so much of it had been hidden from her. Never would she have allowed so many of their people to fall to the swords of the false king had she known what he'd planned. Nor would she have risked Mance falling to the fires that the Red Witch sought to cleanse the taint of a religion that was not her own.

Yet she'd seen Mance meet with a man with no face. Had looked on as the King Beyond the Wall had knelt and saved their people by doing so and had watched with eager eyes as two servants of death had faced off, with only one of them fighting for the living. Many faces she'd seen their savior wear and it had left her more and more confused each time. So much so that she'd doubted herself more than once and so when this last vision had come, she'd almost ignored it. For what use could her people have with an old blind crow?

In the end, she did as she always had, she served her gods. She bid Karsi to ready the cart and Sigorn, Tormund, and others to join her. They rode to Castle Black and faced the scorn and anger of the crows once more. At first, they were not allowed to enter and she had to calm those with her so there was no fight. Then she spoke her words and the crow who ran the Wall finally agreed that she and one other be allowed in through the gates. She picked Sigorn as her escort. Tormund was too loud and too prone to anger and Karsi though fierce, was a woman. Women did not do well at the Wall, she knew that as well as any Spearwife. These men may claim to have forsworn off women and their flesh, but more than one of her people knew the truth of things. Beneath the heart of men lay a beast and these men were as beastly as any.

"Your guard will remain outside, Mother Mole. I trust you not with our Maester's health." the gruff crow said and she nodded.

She was bid to walk up some stairs that made her bones creak, then down a long wooden walkway until they reached the door of the Maester's rooms. She entered alone, finding a man inside who was as old as she and who sat by the fire looking to the flames, though he saw not what lay within them. Not because he didn't possess the gift that the Red Witch claimed she did, but because his eyes no longer saw anything at all. His ears though heard everything and she chuckled when he turned to face her.

"You are no man of the Watch. No man at all I'd wager." the Maester said.

"That is true. Though if what I've seen is true then you're no man either."

"What makes you say such a thing?" he asked curiously not angrily which pleased her.

"I saw you soar high in the sky upon great wings and everywhere you looked was soon ablaze. I saw the dragon you truly are and my gods bid me come and see you and prove their vision true."

He laughed as he bid her sit, poured her out a terrible ale though she drank it down, and looked at her through milky white eyes that proved her right.

"My father was a dragon, my brother, too. At one point those in my House could actually do those things you saw me do. They would soar in the sky on majestic beasts and bore the favor of the gods. Those days are long since past and other than a young girl and a boy who's as mad as his father was, I believe, my House is no more. Soon my time is to come to an end and I'll do so here alone at a Wall of Ice and far from the warmth of a dragon's embrace. My name is Aemon Targaryen and yet I'm a dragon no more."

"You're wrong about that, for my gods have shown me the truth of you and the truth of your house. They've spoken in my ear for many a year and each time with the same words I've heard since I was but a girl."

"What words?" Aemon asked curiously.

"That in our time of greatest need, A Dragon would save us all."

Aemon sent out for a meal for them both and soon she was eating and japing with him, yet not speaking of what she'd come to speak to him on. Sigorn had been allowed to enter the room at Aemon's behest and he'd warmed himself by the fire and eaten too. Only when they'd done so did she speak to Aemon Targaryen about the true reason she'd come to see him.

"I dreamt of a Tower in a land far from here. A land where the sun shone down and snow fell not. I saw a man with silver hair and a young girl whose hair was dark and had the greyest eyes I've ever seen afore or since. Her belly was full and the man's smile true and yet it was but a fleeting image of a life that could never be. For no matter whether it's the true gods such as mine own, or false ones such as those the Red Witch serves, they will have their due. And for the gifts they gave to their chosen, their due was one that cost much indeed."

"This tower, this man and woman, can you tell when this was?" Aemon asked and she shook her head before she realized that he couldn't see her.

"No, only that when I was a girl it had not yet come to pass and now I'm an old woman it has."

"How old are you?"

"Six and seventy, eight and seventy. It dispends on how you see it. My first two years I bore no name so did I live them still?" she asked and this time it was his turn to shake his head "It matters not. I was but seven Namedays old the first time I saw the man with silver hair and the girl. Then I saw it from time to time, but truly I saw it in full no more than seven and ten years ago."

She heard the gasp and saw the excited look on the old Maester's face, his nod bidding her continue.

"I saw the silver-haired man fall to a blow from a hammer, the girl bleeding out in a bed of blood, and the babe being taken across the sea to lands I know not. A few years ago I started to see a man with no face, a servant of death, and yet one who fought for the living. Though it was not clear to me then, I now believe the babe, the man with no face, and the servant of death to be one and the same man and that man to be a dragon just like you."

"The dragon must have three heads." Aemon said almost giddily "You believe this man is here now don't you?" his words were hurried and excited.

"No. I know he is."

Aemon bid her and Sigorn stay the night and made a jape about his brothers thinking he'd broken his oaths by having a woman in his rooms. The old Maester's mood had improved greatly with the words she'd spoken to him. As it did even more when she bid Sigorn boil some water and placed the roots and leaves inside of it. While he didn't like the smell, not once did he refuse to drink all that was in the mug. There was no fear from him that he was being poisoned or that this was some diabolical plan cooked up by Wildling Scum, as some may have seen it.

It was Aemon who bid her rise the next morning. The dreams had come to her the night before once again and she saw the man with no face arrive with two girls and boys and five wolves. Not just any wolves, but Direwolves, and if she needed a further sign that he too served the Old Gods, then she needed it no more. Nor did she need on to tell her that she held their favor still, as the way Aemon Targaryen looked at her was a clear enough example of that.

"What was in that tea, Mother?" Aemon asked and she shook her head as she sat up on the bed she'd laid down on.

"I am not one of the Old Gods, Aemon, I do their bidding and seek not answers to questions they wish me not to know."

"We have much work to do, for it's not only with mine eyes I can now see. I too dreamt of my kinsman last night, word soon is to arrive of him and in time he too will arrive, best we be prepared for him when he does."

King's Landing 300 AC.

Varys.

Though he'd longed to stay and watch the battle and revel in Aegon's victory, his absence was too close to it and would raise too many questions, and so he rode hard and back to King's Landing. He hoped to arrive before the news did and to even, if lucky, be the bearer of said news. Once it had, he could then focus on readying the city for Aegon's eventual march on it. Though when that would be or what form it would take, he knew not.

He wished so very much to see the expressions on Olenna and Cersei's faces when news arrived that their army had been defeated. In the end, it took him much longer than he hoped for to finally reach the city and he was tired and out of sorts as he snuck back to his quarters. As expected his absence had been noted and there were signs that his room had been searched, no doubt on either Cersei or Tyrion's orders. Though he'd not put it past Olenna either. Luckily he never kept anything incriminating in them and his little birds used his drop points and not his rooms to place their songs when he was not in residence.

After a quick bath, he doused himself in his perfume once more and wore the clothing most had come to expect of him. Then he made his way through the keep and to the Tyrion's quarters, only to find that the man himself was not in residence. The throne room was his next destination and there the young king and queen sat and held an audience. Olenna stood not too far from them and noticed him as soon as he entered the room. While she was an astute player of the game, she was not as schooled when something surprised her or caught her interest as she may have believed she was. Her expression upon seeing him gave away that surprise immediately.

Within a few moments, it wouldn't only Olenna who was aware that he was back in King's Landing and the Red Keep either. As Varys had noticed that Tyrion's man Bronn had popped his head in and then hurried off to let his master know of him. He waited around for a few more moments to ensure that even Cersei's own spies would have reported back to her and then he moved slowly from the room. Olenna's men were the first to come to him and soon enough he was being led to the Small Council Chambers. Not more than the blink of an eye after he'd taken his seat, Olenna herself arrived, then Tyrion. Finally, Cersei and Jaime Lannister arrived a few moments later.

"And where have you been all this time?" Cersei sneered.

"Searching for as much news as I could find, your grace. About the forces allied against us," he replied instantly.

"You had to leave the city for that?" Olenna asked as she looked at him curiously.

"I needed to see things for myself, Lady Olenna. The songs from my little birds conflicted and made little sense to me and so I needed to see for myself the words being written."

"And what did you see?" Tyrion asked while looking at him with suspicion.

"That it's as expected. The Golden Company has landed and taken some of the Stormlands. Some of the houses formerly sworn to Stannis Baratheon have joined them, be it willingly or because they had no choice."

"Traitors, I'll see them all lose their heads when father beats this army back." Cersei declared though not even Jaime seemed to be listening to her.

"Why unwillingly and what men do these houses bring to bear?" Olenna asked.

"More than likely at the threat of being sacked, my lady. As for men, the Stormlands lost many at the Battle of the Blackwater, and those they did not, Stannis has taken North with him. I'd wager they could garner not more than a thousand, two at a push." he said to a small nod of the woman's head.

"And our own forces?" Tyrion asked.

"Though I didn't travel to the camps of either Lord Tywin or Lord Mace and had no desire to travel on further to Prince Oberyn's, the songs I received on them all are no doubt the same as you yourself already know, Lord Tyrion."

"Know what? What are you keeping from me you little monster?" Cersei's shrill voice called out.

"That we outnumber the Golden Company by almost three to one, four to one with the Dornish forces and so despite their reputation this is a battle and war they cannot win," Tyrion said and his words had the desired effect and calmed his sister's growing answer.

He was asked then about Stannis and told them what he knew. The man had marched on Winterfell with not enough men or supplies and was soon to meet his end at the hands of the Flayed Man. When he turned the talk to even duller things, Cersei was the first to rise to her feet and leave. It was hard enough to keep her attention at the best of times, for what he was speaking on, it was impossible. Olenna stayed a little longer before she then left, eager to be back by her granddaughter's side no doubt. Which left him alone in the room with the one man he both wished to and wished not to speak to. Tyrion was far too clever for his own good and always in conversations with him, one needed to be on guard.

"Who leads this army, Varys?"

"I know not who in truth, Tyrion. I know however that the Captain-General of it is a man we all believed dead." he said pausing for effect "Jon Connington."

"The Griffin lives." Tyrion stated and Varys could see his mind beginning to work and so left him to it, sitting quietly while Tyrion came to the conclusion he wished him to "He still serves the dragons no doubt, could it be the girl?"

"I heard no songs of dragons, Tyrion and last I heard of Daenerys Targaryen was that she and her husband along with their babe were busy taking most of Essos for themselves. One day she may look to our shores." Varys shivered at the thought "But that day I believe is far off in the future if it comes at all."

"So he's doing this himself. For what? Vengeance? A sense of misplaced justice?"

"Redemption, Redemption for past failures, Tyrion." he said and Tyrion looked confusedly at him "The Stoney Sept and the Battle of the Bells."

"Had nothing to do with us, it was the North, Vale, and Riverlands that defeated him there, not the Lannisters or the Tyrells."

"True. Yet had he done what your father would have and simply torched the town, then Robert Baratheon would have been no more and the rebellion he gave his name to may have just floundered and faltered."

"As if Eddard Stark or Jon Arryn would not have sought vengeance of their own. Stark never fought to crown Robert Baratheon, I'd wager had that been brought up to him before it was then he'd have had even bigger problems with his brother by choice." Tyrion said and Varys couldn't fault his logic "Had Robert died, then true it wouldn't have been his hammer that killed Rhaegar Targaryen, but that does not mean he'd not be killed. I'd wager Eddard Stark's sword and fury would have been just as true as Robert's was that day."

"As would I. But were you Jon Connington and had you felt for Prince Rhaegar what he did, do you think even seven and ten years later you'd not seek to avenge him and not blame yourself for not being by his side when he fell?"

As with the very best of his lies, there was always enough truth in the words for the lie to ring true. What he'd said about Jon Connington was true enough. It had been how he'd been able to bring him to his nephew's side after all. The promise of future vengeance against those who'd brought down the dragons, added to the lie of who Aegon was, had bought his loyalty more truly than any amount of gold ever could. Tyrion now digested his words and by the time he rose to his feet, Varys knew that once again his value had saved his head.

"How long do you think?"

"A few days, a week at most. This won't be a series of battles, Tyrion, nor a long drawn out war, this will be a single one."

"Thanks be to the gods," Tyrion said as he walked from the room, Bronn beside him and Varys following a few moments after.

This was another lie on his part. He'd know by the morrow at the latest. Had he waited one extra day to return, he'd know by now but he couldn't take the risk. It was clear that his absence and the timing of it had raised far too many questions and while he could steal away and march with Aegon and the Golden Company, safe with his nephew and his men, he still had work here to do. What form that work would take and what Aegon wished him to do so that the city fell easier than a long-drawn-out siege, that he knew not as of yet.

Moat Cailin 300 AC.

The Greatjon.

Deepwood Motte had fallen to them easily. The Squids were no match for the Company of the Rose, Men from the Mountains, and those from Bear Island. He'd felt alive once more as he'd cut down Ironborn scum. His strength was not yet back to what it once was, but it was far closer than it had been since he'd been thrown into that damn cell at the Twins. He wasn't the only one who'd reveled in battle either. Ser Marq Piper had cut down as many men as any of them. The young man took his frustrations out on men who deserved and were given no quarter.

Yet even in their victory, there were some defeats too. The Lady of the House was safe and well, her children were very much not. Both were being held as prisoners now in Ten Towers on the Iron Islands and the lady was distraught. Though given the prisoner they'd captured and the words she'd spoken, they at least had a chance to bring some comfort to Lady Sybelle. By now Asha Greyjoy would be on a ship leaving the North and heading to the Iron Islands. A prisoner exchange and an escape from the fate she deserved mayhap, but she wasn't the Greyjoy he wished to see dead. That honor belonged to her turn cloak of a brother.

They had garrisoned the Motte as best they could. Ensured its defenses were set and that it would take a larger force than either the Squids or the Boltons would send to it to see it fall again. Then they had marched once more, this time to retake Moat Cailin. He'd spent his days trying to build back up his strength and his nights eating, drinking, and japing with those he marched with. The men of the Mountain Clans were as fierce as ever and he and Ser Marq had become close friends thanks to their shared experiences a the hands of the Freys. Yet it was the men of the Company of the Rose that he wished to get to know and to hear more about. Something they were more than happy to have him do.

"Why didn't you come back sooner? Why not when the North rode to war?" he asked as they sat around a fire while camped in the Wolfswood.

"Brandon Snow and the men who formed the company vowed they'd not set foot in the North while it swore to a man who was not of the blood of the wolf. Though the oath was for him and them, we lived it still." Torrhen Snow said.

"King Robb…" Ser Marq said and Torrhen shook his head.

"A man is not a king just because he names himself so. Had Robb Stark sought to close the North off and had news reached us of him doing so, then we'd have risen for him. Yet it was to the South he looked as his grandfather did and Starks don't fare well in the South." Brandon Snow said and his words raised questions that begged answers.

"Is not Daemon Targaryen doing likewise?" he asked to loud laughs.

"Aye, he is. Can you not tell the difference though?" Brandon asked and the Greatjon shook his head "Robb Stark was named King in the North and the King in the North belongs in the North. Daemon Targaryen names himself as King of the Seven Kingdoms, he belongs to all of them equally and his fight is not just with those who sit the Winter Throne, but those who sit the Iron Throne too."

"Is that why you follow him?" Ser Marq asked.

"Partly." Torrhen said "He fulfilled the prophecy, passed the tests, and bears the blood of the wolf. Would that have been enough to bring us home? Aye, it may have done. But had you seen him when word of the North's fall came, had you spoken to him as I did, as others did, you'd have followed him too."

Little more was said that night and the next one was interrupted by a visitor. A man who was lucky enough to be taken by the Company of the Rose's scouts and not killed by them. Seeing him, he smiled and made his way to where he was held. He quickly removed his blindfold and welcomed the relief he saw in Artos Bogg's features.

"Thank the Old Gods, I feared it was Bolton's that had taken me." Artos said as he looked at the men around him and him in particular "We'd heard a tale of you, Lord Umber, a tale my liege prayed was true."

"It's good to see you, Artos, Howland is well?"

"Aye, as well as can be expected, my lord. He wishes to speak to you, to you and the men with you."

"In the Neck?"

"Aye."

They were still a day or so away from the outskirts of the Neck itself, a few days from the Moat, and so he, Brandon Snow, Marq Piper, and a dozen other men were given the fastest horses and rode with Artos. They'd meet the main force of their men closer to the Moat in three days' time and the Greatjon was both loath to ride away from the men and keen to see Howland once more. Artos would tell them no more than what he already had and the Greatjon was sure he was keeping things from them. If he was another man, then he'd be wary he was leading them into a trap of some sort. But if that was his intent then they were truly fucked. For if the Crannogmen had turned their coats, then the North was no longer a place he'd name his home.

It wasn't to Greywater Watch they were taken, instead, it was to one of the few open enough spaces within the swamplands and what he saw waiting for him there brought a tear to his eye. Men he'd long given up for dead, lords, soldiers, and one of the fiercest ladies in his life were all camped there and it was a glorious sight to see.

"Jon Fucking Umber, as I live and breathe." Maege Mormont said with a loud laugh.

"By the Old Gods, you're a sight for sore eyes, Maege, Galbart, you too Howland." he said to the She-Bear and two men closest to her "How?" he asked a moment later after greeting them.

"All in good time, Jon. Your friends?" Galbart asked looking at the men with him and then he and Maege, though not Howland, looked shocked by his answer.

"Men of the Company of the Rose, Galbart. Brandon Snow the Company's spymaster." he said as Brandon moved towards them "Ser Marq you know." he added to nods of their heads.

"We have a fire going, Jon, some stew on the go. Lizard Lion tastes like shite but the frogs are good." Maege said and he, Brandon, and Marq followed after Maege and Galbart while Howland stood still for a moment with a small smile on his face before doing the same.

King's Landing 300 AC.

Tyrion Lannister.

Varys' sudden departure and return during his father's march vexed him. As did the eunuch's answers as to where he'd been and why. Tyrion knew there was truth in the words that were spoken, it was the lies he knew were in them too that he wished to discern. Something that was beyond him for now. So he instead concentrated on things that were not and began to see to the defenses of the city. Something that Cersei mocked him for and showed her stupidity ever more clearly as she did so.

"Father will win easily."

"Why bother with such pointless things?"

"I can't spare men for such folly."

It was a sad state of affairs when he found himself wishing that Joffrey still lived. His nephew was a sadistic and cruel cunt, but he at least deferred to him on such matters and had allowed him to ready the city for Stannis Baratheon's attack. Were it not for Olenna, Margaery, and most especially Jaime, then the city would be left as undefended as Cersei wished it to be. Yet with the queen whispering in his nephew's ear at her grandmother's behest and with Jaime doing likewise in their sister's, he was given leave to ready the city just in case the worst happened.

He welcomed the days he did so with Jaime by his side far more than those with Bronn. The one was less likely to take the piss out of him than the other. Both though were equally adept in seeing things readied and where he would occasionally falter or suggest something that wouldn't do as he wished it would, they would be right on hand to correct it. Even if it came with a running diatribe from Bronn before, during, and after he'd done so.

"You know this is fucking pointless, right." Bronn sighed after they walked the walls of the city and checked the positions and supplies of the men who'd stand the wall should the need arise.

"Now you sound like my sister." he japed.

"Well in this she was in the right, just not for the reason she thought she was," Bronn said and Tyrion looked at him curiously.

"Pray explain further oh wise Ser Bronn," he said holding out his hands and smirking at the man.

"Fuck off cunt." Bronn replied before laughing and pointing to one of the catapults "Dwarves can fly too you know."

"Point taken."

"Were your father to lose, then we're fucked, Tyrion. We can't hold this city, not with the men we've got. Even with the Roses, we'd be outmanned."

"We've shored up the Mud Gate," he said having learned that lesson at great cost.

"This is not fucking Stannis and his piss poor attempt to take a city by sea. This is the Golden Company, Tyrion, they know what they're fucking doing."

"You truly believe we'll lose?" he asked worriedly to a shake of Bronn's head.

"No, I think we've got the numbers and your cunt of a father learned his lessons well after being played with by the Young Wolf. The Golden Company will attack full-on, it'll be one battle and while our army will take losses, I'd wager it'll be the Roses and not Lions who bear the brunt of them."

"And the Dornish?"

"Are not to be fucking trusted," Bronn said and Tyrion couldn't help but agree.

"So if not this then what should I be concentrating on?"

"Finding a way out should the worst come to pass," Bronn said leaving him standing there alone for some time.

At dinner that night, he was quiet and contemplative. So much so that even his sister commented on it, though she believed he was up to some nefarious plot against her no doubt. Laying alone in his bed he cursed Shae and what she'd done to him. He needed to distract himself, to force his mind away from the worst thoughts that threatened it and she had been most helpful in that regard. Since she'd testified against him, he'd not had the will or inclination to find another woman to share his bed. Tyrion wasn't sure he ever would again.

The next morning he broke his fast alone and made his way to the Small Council meeting. He was the first to arrive, followed by the King and Queen along with the girl's grandmother. Varys and Pycelle both arrived before his sister and brother did and Cersei found herself with more than one person to glare at as she took her seat, Margaery Tyrell competing with him for his sister's disfavor it seemed. There was no news of the battle, other than that which they had already heard and yet it seemed Varys wished to share other news with them. News which forced his sister's attention from him and the queen, and to someone she hated just as much if not more than either of them.

"What do you mean Sansa Stark is to marry the heir to the Vale?" Cersei almost screamed.

"My little birds sang me a song of a wedding in the Vale. Ser Harrold Hardyng is to wed Lady Sansa Stark." Varys replied simply.

"I'll have her head, I'll have all their heads. Littlefinger, this was Littlefinger's doing." his sister was in mid-rant now and yet she'd hit on something too.

Jaime moved to calm her down and then her eyes turned to him, a smirk on her face that he liked not.

"She can't wed. She's still your wife in the eyes of law is she not?"

"Unless she has an annulment," Olenna said and Tyrion turned to see the Queen of Thorns had jumped many steps ahead of whatever was going through Cersei's mind.

He too had done likewise. They'd not lain together, Sansa was a maiden still and so their marriage could and would be annulled. Littlefinger had been who'd stolen her away from his nephew's wedding and had hidden her in the Vale.

Why?

For what reason?

What was his goal?

No doubt it was the same as his father's had been, to bring the North under his control. With the Knights of the Vale to call upon, the Boltons could be rooted out and the North would swear to a Stark once again. The Riverlands were in disarray now with what had happened in the Twins and yet a combined Northern and Vale alliance would be something they'd welcome joining with. So they too would swear to a Stark once more and in one fell swoop, Sansa Stark, and Littlefinger through her would control three of the Seven Kingdoms.

'The Golden Company, he knows about the Golden Company' the thought took hold and he followed it as around him voices were raised and lowered and arguments took place.

By the time he'd gotten to where he'd wished to, he believed Olenna was there too and to his annoyance had reached it before him. Though he wished to speak to Varys to find out more, he wasn't sure he could trust him to give him truthful answers and he certainly didn't wish him to know of his plans. So he was forced to keep his thoughts to himself and it was not until much later in the day that he got to share them with his brother.

"I don't understand any of this," Jaime said after he'd spoken on what he now believed to be the truth.

"Littlefinger's family was originally from Braavos, his grandfather was a Braavosi sellsword," he began and Jaime nodded "Where is the House of Black and White, Jaime? Where are the Faceless Men from?"

"Braavos." Jaime said and Tyrion nodded "But Littlefinger?"

"We've been played for fools and I believe we need to make plans should the worst happen."

"Father will…."

"Even if he does, the war is not over, Jaime. How do we stop the combined might of three kingdoms after we've been bloodied and battered against the Golden Company? And what happens to us should father lose? It's not defenses we need look to, it's an escape, Bronn was right."

"You're sure about this?"

"I'm sure. If father wins, then he'll be pleased we made the arrangements regardless, and should they be needed still, they can be used by all of us."

"Tommen won't leave his wife, Tyrion."

"He will if we make him," he said.

It took him another day and a half to put the plan in motion. The ship was on standby at the docks and Bronn would be ready with horses and men to get them there. From there to Casterly Rock and then they'd see how to bring down a Mockingbird from the sky. Though as he slept that night it was a wolf he dreamt of. Red of fur and fangs dripping with blood and in his dreams, it feasted on not just a white lion and its lioness but a stunted lion too.

The North 300 AC.

Stannis.

The march was hard, as the weather in the North only grew worse each mile they traveled. Morale was low and he feared that it and the men he had would both falter before he took Winterfell. Yet in the fires, he saw himself fighting not under grey walls, but white ones. His sword was aflame as he fought against a shadow that could only be the Great Other himself. A man with no face who matched him blow for blow and the result of their fight remained unknown to him, no matter how often he looked in the fires for it.

Melisandre too saw the same fight he did. The Wall as its backdrop and his fiery blade facing off against one cast in shadow. Yet she said she saw him facing off against Flayed Men too and saw them retreat defeated when he did so. Stannis wondered how that could be. How it was possible for him to win a victory against the Flayed Man when none had come when called. The Mountain Clans hadn't even allowed his men to ride to meet them to ask them for their support. Bear Island and the child who ruled it had practically laughed in his face and as for White Harbor. Davos had been given short shrift and only because he now hated the Northmen as much as he did the Lannisters, it would have been the Onion Knight that his wrath was directed at.

He had less than four thousand men, of that less than half were mounted and while he believed they'd be worth twice and thrice their number in Northern cavalry, he couldn't be certain. In the infantry, he'd be severely overmatched. It would be tactics, cavalry charges, picking the right ground, and luck that would win him his fight against the Boltons, or gods forbid, lose him it. As he gave the orders to set up camp for the night, he wondered how far he truly was from the great keep. Days, weeks, mayhap even moons if the weather worsened and the thoughts of the latter had him grounding his teeth while his own tent was being set up.

"Make sure the fires don't go out, I fear it'll be a cold night this night." he heard Ser Davos say from behind him.

Was he a different man, he'd have laughed loudly at the Onion Knight's words, for every night here was a cold one he'd found. Soon enough he was in out of the wind and the fire burned in his tent, its warmth and the flames themselves almost forcing him closer to it. He ate with his commanders and knights, with Melisandre and Davos, and was relieved to find that they were much closer to Winterfell than he'd feared. Once everyone was fed, talk turned to their plans and he'd send his outriders off on the morrow to scout the best lands for the battle to be fought on.

"Are you certain they'll give us battle, your grace?" Ser Justin Massey asked.

"They'll fight, the Lady Melisandre has seen it in the flames," he said to nods of heads.

"If we pick the ground and hide the true might of our cavalry." Ser Richard Horpe began before looking to him and worrying if he should continue, a nod of Stannis' head enough to tell him he should "Then we could hit them hard and quick, your grace."

"Isn't there a large forest near the keep itself?" Ser Clayton Suggs asked.

"The wolf wood." Ser Godly Farring said.

"Wolfswood," he interjected.

"Of course, your grace."

"I shall consult with R'hllor tonight, discern our path from the flames," Melisandre said and all eyes turned to her at her words.

"We'll send the outriders on the morrow, firm our plans up with what they and the Lady Melisandre find for us," he said bringing the meeting to a halt.

Soon there was only he, Davos, and Melisandre alone in his tent, and the Onion Knight left without saying a word when Stannis looked at him. Though there were things he'd much prefer doing with the lady rather than sitting and looking into the fire, it was that and that alone they did for the next hour or so. Stannis saw nothing at all, while Melisandre said that she had seen a battle in the snow and the Flayed Men racing away from it.

His sleep that night was a fitful one, his dreams were filled with images of Robert and Renly as they seemed to beckon him to join them in the darkness. At one point the saw Shireen but she looked at him with such a look of anger and defiance that he was certain it was not her that he saw. The dream ended at the Wall, a fight beneath it and Lightbringer being swung against a sword of shadow. Stannis was face to face with a man with none and once again he saw not who won that fight.

They marched the next day, his outriders were sent out and he felt somewhat better than he had the days previously. He was not to meet his end in the snow outside Winterfell. The dreams and what he'd seen in the flames had been enough to convince him of that. His destiny was still to face off against the Great Other at the Wall, to fight against pure and true evil. So while neither his dreams nor the flames showed him his victory, he believed that he would win there, as he would here.

Three days later.

His outriders had found the perfect place, the tree line would help cover most of his cavalry's approach and make him look weaker than he truly was. The ground to reach him was open and vast and once he painted himself as an easy enough target, the Boltons would have no choice but to ride out from behind the walls of Winterfell and face him head-on. They could not be seen to hide behind the keep's defenses, no matter if it was the right strategy and would win them the day. He needed to be beaten and beaten comprehensively, else the Northmen who had not yet declared for them would see them as weak.

Yet the night before they reached the lands he'd chosen for his battle, a sense of foreboding came over him. He heard voices in his head that were not his own. Voices he was sure were those of men lost since passed. His father, brothers, Maester Cressen, were all laughing at him and naming him a fool and this a folly. He tried to shout them down and yet found no words would come to him to do so. Instead, he was mute while they were very much not.

"She's led you astray, my lord."

"Stags who use the trees for cover all found to their cost that it was very much not and all fell to their King."

"The Starks were wrong, brother, Winter is not Coming, It is here and it'll be the last Winter you ever know."

Cressen, Robert, Renly, those three were loudest of all and yet it was his father's words that truly cut him to the bone.

"Cursed is the Kinslayer and though you may name it the work of someone else, the true gods know the truth. You cursed yourself under the walls of our family's keep, shamed our House and our line. You cursed yourself and the true gods will have their due."

He slept little that night and the next day it was clear the gods had indeed cursed him. They came from everywhere, his march had not gone unnoticed and the trees he'd sought refuge in were very much not.

"Form up! Form up!" he shouted as he ran from his tent, unable to understand how they'd gotten past his pickets and guards.

Around him it was carnage, men were falling as easily as the Wildlings had to his own charge beyond the Wall. Eventually, he mounted his horse and he led what men he could to try and repel their attackers. Lightbringer led the way as he cut down flayed men and Ryswell men along with those from House Dustin, none of them was a match for him or his sword. He chased them to the trees and out from them. Then he saw the army in the distance that they rode off to and so they chased them no further than that.

Looking from where he sat on his horse and at the forces that would have been aligned against him, the truth of his situation soon became apparent. They'd been outnumbered before the attack by more than two to one, now it was three or even four to one and he resigned himself to his fate. The skies opened though. The snows fell and fell hard and he looked on in amazement as the Bolton's turned and rode back to Winterfell and he swore that it looked as much a retreat as the one he'd dreamt of or seen in the flames.

"Your grace, your grace?" Ser Davos asked and it took him some time to look to the Onion Knight and even longer to respond to him.

"We march, Ser Davos, form the men up, for we march even through this storm," he said firmly, and yet Davos looked at him with incredulity.

"March? March Where, your grace?"

"To the Wall, Ser Davos, we march back to the Wall. Order the retreat," he said bitterly as he turned his horse and rode away.

The North 300 AC.

Asher Forrester.

Fifty men was all it had taken to break an army. That and knowledge of the lands they had camped in that the army itself did not possess, and in that regard, no one knew the Wolfswood as well as he. Not even the Starks themselves had spent as many hours as Asher had amongst the trees that grew there. Coming from Ironoath, he'd felt more at home in the forests than he did in the wide-open spaces of the North, and he knew its signs better than any man in the Company of the Rose's, Stannis Baratheon's, or Roose Bolton's armies.

Their orders had been to do all they could to ensure that Winterfell didn't fall to Stannis Baratheon. To make sure that he built up no base of power that he could rule from and to ensure above all. that he had no keep that they'd need to besiege. Stannis had forged his reputation as a hard and unyielding man in such a siege and Winterfell in his hands would be an impossible nut for them to crack. So he'd set out with fifty men, shadowed Stannis' movements, and had thanked the Old Gods when it had been to the Wolfswood, that the man who thought himself a king, had decided to travel through.

Asher knew full well that he'd seek to use the trees to keep his movements hidden from the Boltons, and as plans go, it was not a terrible one. Roose was smart and his son, though a monster, had a wild beast's cunning. Yet neither was as adept in military tactics as the last remaining Stag. It would be brute force and more men that they'd use to win the day, and against Stannis that may not have been enough to do so. So when he'd seen where Stannis had set up his camp, he knew what he must do and the raven had been sent to Winterfell to both inform the Bolton's that Stannis was closer than they thought and to give them a layout of his camp.

"You're sure this will work?" Cregan Snow asked.

"Aye, the Whitehills are allied with the Bolton's, so they'll believe the raven," he replied.

"And they'll attack?"

"Once they see the signal, aye. You have the bodies ready?" he asked Rickard Snow.

"They're ready."

He'd sent two of his men to scout Winterfell itself, not the keep mind, but close enough to see the army being prepared and once he knew that they were, he'd then waited for night to fall. Leading his men through the trees and around the sightlines of Stannis' pickets was easy for him. The trees, the wind, snow, and the darkness of the night's sky all worked in their favor. Asher had felt that the Old Gods were with them in their endeavors as they'd done so.

While Stannis had set up his defenses well, these were men of the South, not the North. They misliked the cold nights that the North was famed for. Hated its winds and snows and wished to be far from here and back in the warmth of the lands they'd grown up in. Asher may have been the only one amongst his fifty that had been born and bred in the North, but the rest of his men had it in their blood as much as he and so like him, they'd reveled in its harsh weather. That, surprise, and the skill of those with him had been enough to see to the ends of those they faced. Death had come to one and all and as the dawn broke, the arrow flew high, and the true battle was upon Stannis' army.

He and his men had laid the bodies close enough to the camp so they'd be discovered. Whitehill men who'd been unlucky enough to cross their paths as they too had shadowed Stannis' army. There had been little regret or doubt when he'd ordered the men brought down, only some when he decided to bring their bodies with them, and none at all in using them how he had done. They needed the lie to be sold, for there to be no questions in the Bolton's minds about who helped them win their victory, and his and his men's actions could not be discovered. At least not until the time was right.

"Would it not be better to let the two armies knock seven shades of shite out of each other and then take the victors?" Cregan asked.

"No."

"Is not the Boltons holding Winterfell just as bad for us as Stannis doing so?" Rickard asked.

"No."

His answers had been simple and the orders he'd been given had never been about the Boltons truly. Their own day of reckoning would come soon enough. Just as Stannis' and his army's day had come today. He looked on as the broken and the much larger force both moved amongst the trees. The Boltons were riding back to Winterfell victorious and so they now once again went about their work, shadowing what was now a shadow of an army it had been just one day earlier.

More than half of Stannis' men had fallen and mayhap half again wouldn't make it back to the relative safety of the Wall. Not that they'd find any safety there as by the time they reached it, the true king would walk the North for the first time. Reaching into his pocket, he took out the crumpled piece of parchment and untied the ribbon that bound it. Somehow he resisted the urge to bring that ribbon to his nose so that he could smell her scent and instead as he most often did, he read the sweet words that Gwyn had written to him before his exile. Placing it back into his pocket after a few moments, he looked to the men with him and then to those they were shadowing.

"Should we thin them out more?" Cregan asked and Asher shook his head as he looked up to the snow that was falling.

"Let the North have them, their lives are in the hands of the Old Gods now."

"And Stannis?" Rickard asked as Asher looked at the broken king.

"His fate is in the hands of the Many-Faced God."

The Stormlands 300 AC.

Daemon.

He'd had clothing made for her, no that wasn't completely true, he'd given her clothing that she'd quickly adapted to suit her needs. A part of him had feared she'd not wish to ride, that she'd find much discomfort in it and yet she very much did not. While not as comfortable as her sister, Sansa rode fast when they did and complained not about the amount of time she spent in the saddle or the weather that they rode in.

Still, he would be happier when they rejoined with the army and they could ride at a more leisurely pace. As they rode, she'd occasionally turn from speaking to her sister to look his way. A small smile on her face as she either caught him looking back at her. She'd at times wear that smile even in the moments when she did not find him looking at her and he'd feel her gaze upon him for some time until he did so. As for Arya, she rode with her friends as much as she did with Sansa. Though both girls had told him that they now felt closer than they had ever done before. So at times, Arya would look to Sansa as much if not more than Sansa would look to Arya. The two girls had believed each of them was the last of their kin that lived for far too long and they reveled in the fact that not only were they not alone anymore, but that there were even more of their kin out there.

"Rickon lives for true?" Sansa asked excitedly.

"He lives," he said and before he knew it he was being embraced and peppered with kisses to his cheeks and once accidentally, he believed, his lips.

"Where is he? When can we see him? Is he safe?" Arya's words stopped Sansa's exuberant reaction for a moment and Daemon thought he'd not seen anything as pretty as the blush on his older cousin's face when she realized just how openly affectionate she'd been.

"He's with my men. They're taking him to White Harbor and yes he's safe."

"When can we see him?" Sansa asked, blushing still.

"Soon. We must take King's Landing first and once we do, then I'll see him brought to you both."

"Why can't we go to him?" Arya asked annoyed.

"The North isn't truly safe as of yet." he said then held up his hand when his younger cousin went to speak "Rickon will be well protected in White Harbor and be there but briefly. Yet I'd not risk any of you in the North for long. Not until the Boltons are broken and Winterfell belongs to your House once more."

They had kissed again later that night. A true kiss shared between them that had almost led to more and one he had not been the initiator of. Sansa had not blushed when she'd kissed him, nor after it, and at times he swore that her bright blue eyes stared intently at his lips as if she wished to kiss him once more. Or mayhap he was projecting his own feelings onto her. For he knew he wished to kiss her again, a part of him even longed to.

With night falling, they set up camp, and the young boy, Hot Pie, began to ready their night's meal. He'd made himself a firm favorite with his men with his cooking. Their meals were now far better than their usual fare would be without him. Even something as simple as rabbit stew would taste so much better after Hot Pie prepared it and yet, as he ate and looked at his cousin, he found that he wished it was he that was cooking and he alone that she was traveling with. Sansa he knew would not feel the same, nor would he wish her to, yet he'd be a liar who'd lose the game of faces were he to name what he felt as untrue.

"We should join up with the army on the morrow. Things will be more comfortable from then on until we reach King's Landing."

"Will the siege take long, your grace?" Gendry asked, the young lad had taken to calling him king as soon as he heard his men do the same.

"No, the siege will be a mummery," he said to some confused looks but no questions.

They spoke, told tales, his cousins were fascinated by the tales of Essos and there were two or three of his guards who'd serve just as well as bards as they did as men at arms. When he was asked to tell a tale of his own, he spoke of his aunt and her dragons, of Rhaegal, Drogon, and Viserion, and he tried not to think too much of the Golden Dragon. He could still feel him when he searched deep within himself, could still hear his voice calling out for him and waiting for him to respond. Yet the time was not yet right for the two of them to be as one. Though it was drawing ever closer.

"We should be abed. We'll have a hard ride on the morrow to ensure we reach the front of the lines," he said and with that, their night drew to an end.

At what point the knew he wasn't alone, he couldn't be certain. But his fingers gripped the dagger and if she hadn't smelt how she did, or he'd not memorized that scent. Then his cousin may have ended up with a dagger in her cheek instead of his fingers caressing it softly.

"Sansa?" he asked.

"I had a bad dream," she said softly and he reached out his hand and helped her lay down on his bedroll beside him.

"You wish to speak on it?" he asked and she shook her head.

"Can I….would you hold me as you did in the Vale?" she asked nervously.

"Of course," he said and he moved his arm so it was around her shoulder and felt her head rest on his chest, her hand softly brushing over his open shirt and drawing ever closer to the skin it left exposed.

"Would you promise me something?" she asked after a few moments of silence and it took all he had not to reply with 'Anything" instead he replied far simpler.

"Ask it of me."

"Promise me you'll be safe, that you'll return and be…"

He kissed her. His lips silenced her words and he felt her tongue seek his own as she kissed him back hungrily, passionately, needily. She felt him. He knew the moment she felt his hardness and he felt her stiffen against him before she relaxed and broke the kiss to look at him. Never before had he seen what he saw then in her eyes then, nor had he ever felt what he then did because of it. Yet he could and would not shame her so. Not even if it was what both of them wished for. So instead, he brushed his fingers over her lips, bid her closer to him, and kissed her more softly. Mayhap more truly even.

"I promise." he said as he kissed her "I promise," he repeated even after she'd fallen asleep in his arms.

A/N: Thanks to all who've read and reviewed. I've spent the last couple of weeks not feeling well and even a few days in the hospital, I'm much better now and so updates should be back to normal this week and next. For those following my other fics, The Dragonverse is up next later this week.

Up Next King's Landing faces an army and Olenna, Tyrion and others try to make sense of things. Varys is confused and confounded, Jaqen completes a task and Daemon plays out a mummery while in the North, the Company of the Rose and the Lord of White Harbor discuss the future Lord of Winterfell.

Vfsnake: Very much so, LF will live a little longer than Varys as time and distance give him a slight advantage but not much longer.

Daryl Dixon: Really glad you liked it.

Scarilla: So happy you enjoyed it.

Osterreicher97: Really happy you liked it.

Celexys: We'll see more on the HOBW and their motives for helping Daemon as we go, as well as a look into Daemon's childhood and training there.

Xan Merrick: Thank you my friend, glad you liked it.

MSKN: I get that about the paring, for me this is the only type of story where Jon/Sansa works, one where they don't grow up together. I think in canon it's one of the worst pairings that can ever be imagined. Like I find it funny that so many people think Jon/Margaery couldn't work because they're so different and yet think Jon/Sansa could. Post Season 8 Jon/Sansa fics are the very worst for me, the thoughts that Jon could ever be with her after Season 7/8 are just mind-boggling. So for me it has to be with them not knowing each other that well. Like a Rhaegar wins AU with Jon brought up in the Red Keep or something like this and I wanted to so at least one Jonsa fic before I was done.

Some of those conversations are about to begin.

Michelle Amethyst. So very glad you liked it.

Jonsmom; So happy your enjoying it. With the marriage thing, it will come up but it won't really be a hugely important thing, more something they'll discuss with each other. It will and is a par of their relationship though and so will be addressed. I hope you like the plans I have with it and it'll be a chapter or two down the line that it'll be discussed. Really happy you like the premise.