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.

10. Just More Names on a List

King's Landing 300 AC.

Randyll Tarly.

The things the king could do gave him pause and he was not alone in that. Mathis was ever more of a religious man than he and Randyll could see it in his friend's eyes each time he looked at him. Never more so than when as Tywin Lannister, their king held a mummer's parley. Riding back from it, Randyll knew there were questions to be asked of Jon Connington and he was proved right in this. His words and the words of the new Hand of the King both were enough to assuage Mathis' worries and concerns.

In truth, the fact that the king had certain skills and talents and had shown them just how beneficial they were, and had been more than enough to keep him and the others on his side. The next morning when they rode to accept the Tyrell's surrender, Randyll could see that Mathis and the other lords of the Reach now wore expressions more suited to those worn by the men of the Golden Company. Men who had believed and followed the one true king for far longer than he and men that he'd soon be naming as fellow lords of Westeros if the words he'd heard were true.

That it was to be the West rather than the Reach that most of them would make their home in, suited Randyll all the better. For while they may not be the same as other sellswords he had known, sellswords were what they were and always would be in his eyes. Try as he might, the idea of rewards had reared its head and his mind refused not to go there in regards to his own. What he sought was far more likely now than it had ever been and as he looked to Olenna and Margaery Tyrell, as Mace and Ser Garlan were shown to them both, Randyll would be a liar if he said that he didn't dream of being named as Warden of the South.

"You can see that both your son and grandson are unharmed, my lady. You know our terms and I'll add this one final caveat to help you come to the right decision. Position aside, it'll not be overly harshly you'll be treated by his grace. We seek not your life, Lady Olenna, nor the lives of your kin, only your fealty, and surrender." Jon Connington said.

"I believe you can accept these words, Lady Olenna. My fondness for your son is well known and so on my friendship with Lord Willas, I'd name them as true." Prince Oberyn said and Olenna sighed as she nodded.

"Tywin and his brood scurried away like rats in the night, Lord Connington, I cannot offer them up to you much though I may wish to. King's Landing however is now yours and your king's."

"A wise choice and one you'll see is so most soon, my lady." Jon Connington said and with that, it was done.

A war had been won in a single battle, Tywin Lannister had paid the ultimate price and a true king would sit on the throne once more. Though it was on the last of those things that Randyll pondered on as they rode into the city. Until he saw the king standing in front of him, and knew that he was safe and sound, he'd worry about his fate. He'd not be alone in that as Mathis, Jon Connington, the two Stark girls, and to his surprise, Prince Oberyn, all seemed worried too.

He didn't hear it when Jon Connington sent men to the docks, though he did notice the horses ride away. When they reached the Red Keep, he noticed how both the Stark girls seemed to like it not that they were there and he could well understand that. Especially given all that had happened to them and their House when last they were here. Olenna and Margaery were allowed to speak to their kin and then all four of the Tyrells were joined by their other brother who reluctantly handed over his arms. Then as one, all eyes turned to look behind them and Randyll once again wore a smile on his face.

It was something he'd worn more since Varys had spoken to him about a son of Rhaegar living than he had in most of the years up to that point. The reason for it was one and the same, as it had been then. Now he once again took in the sight of Rhaegar Targaryen's last remaining living son. Daemon Targaryen wore his own face, thanks be to the Seven. He was unharmed and unmarked and along with him and his men, he was joined by Tywin Lannister's children and his grandson. The Kingslayer looked angry, the former queen was distraught, while the Imp's expression was hard to read. Randyll felt some sympathy for the younger boy, Tommen, who was naught by a child. Yet he remembered too what that boy's grandfather had done to his prince's children and so the well of sympathy was not a deep one.

"You are well, your grace?" Jon Connington asked.

"I am, Lord Hand." King Daemon said before turning to one of the Serjeants of the Golden Company " See that our prisoners are treated well and given suitable accommodations. All of them, Lysono."

"As you command, your grace."

"The men are securing the city?" the king asked Jon Connington.

"They are, your grace."

"Good, then shall we?"

Usually, the king wore a more practiced look on his face, a more restrained one. It had been one of the things that Randyll had noticed early on with Daemon Targaryen. Something he'd welcomed, as a king's intent shouldn't be easily discerned by how he looked at you. At times during the ride to King's Landing, he'd seen the other side of the young man too. A far less serious side and as he watched him move to the two Stark girls, his cousins, he noticed it once more. Far more around the older one than the younger one it seemed.

"I believe we're looking at our future king and queen, Randyll," Mathis said from beside him and Randyll found he quite enjoyed the thoughts of that.

Stark and Targaryen had already given the realm one young man they could be proud of, the thoughts of the future heirs to House Targaryen coming from another union of wolf and dragon were ones that all would take comfort in. Watching the king walk beside his two cousins, seeing him so at ease and so relaxed, Randyll was taken back to another time and another place. To a dream of what the future held and though that dream ended up being shattered, he'd do all he could to see this one come true.

By the time they reached the Throne Room, the anticipation had begun to build. He like all who had managed to make it inside, stood with bated breath as the king moved to the steps that led to the Iron Throne. Randyll looked to Jon Connington, who he swore had a tear in his eye, to Sansa Stark who wore a smile that was like a gift from the Maiden herself, to her sister who almost bounced from one foot to another, and finally to the king himself. Daemon seemed nervous and apprehensive, and for some reason, Randyll felt this to be apt. You should never be comfortable on the Iron Throne and simply sitting on it should give you some pause.

That pause was gone in the blink of an eye and as he and all those present took a knee, King Daemon Targaryen, the First of his Name, the son of the last dragon, took his seat and looked out upon them as the one true king. As one the chants began and he shouted out his as loudly and as proudly as he could. For five and ten years he'd known naught but regret for not being by his prince's side when he was most needed. As he now with his voice named Daemon his king, in his head he made a vow to the Seven who are One.

'I'll not fail again.'

Less than two hours later he was summoned to the royal chambers and he was happy to see the men of the Golden Company were stationed all over the Red Keep. The celebration of their victory had not yet truly begun and to see that the king and those around him were still as focused and as wary as they needed to be, was something that relieved him greatly. Some men dally and fall into idleness after victory, they see no danger where there still may be some. Daemon Targaryen it seems was not one of those men.

Nodding to the two guards, he entered the room and was shown to the solar where Daemon and Jon Connington both awaited. He was offered wine which he refused, water which he accepted, and was bid to take his seat.

"Lord Tarly."

"Your grace, Lord Hand."

"We needs must speak on the Reach, my lord, and your part in its future."

"Of course, your grace."

"I would name you my Warden of the South, Lord Tarly." Daemon said and Randyll felt his heart begin to race.

"You honor me, your grace."

"You'll accept?"

"Humbly, your grace."

The king offered him a small smile and turned to Jon Connington, a small nod of his head soon had the Hand of the King speak and his words were ones he wished to refuse, refute and deny and yet could very much not.

"I dissuaded his grace from offering you a seat on the Small Council, Randyll. Not to slight you nor that you'd not serve it well, but we need you in the Reach. Removing the Tyrells will cause some issues and we seek to alleviate as many of those as we can."

"Of course, Lord Hand, Your Grace." he nodded.

"To that end, we'd seek to name your son in your stead." Jon Connington said and Randyll were he a different man would have risen to his feet to cheer loudly at the honor he was been given. He was not that man and so he remained silent in his seat.

"However to do that he needs to have the right bride by his side." Jon Connington said looking not to him but to the king who nodded his head "And so we intend to see him wed to Margaery Tyrell and to see them both housed here in the Red Keep."

The thoughts flew through his mind. Margaery Tyrell being forced to wed who the crown decided was one of the many options that the crown would consider, and to keep her as basically a hostage would make sense too. Though did this mean that Dickon was a hostage too? Was this not just to keep the Tyrells and their extended family in line, but he too? He was about to ask if that was the king's intent when the king decided to speak instead.

"Your son is not being punished, Lord Tarly, nor is he bound under the same restrictions as his prospective bride will be. A good match is needed not just for who your son is now but who he's to be in the future, and there are still few better matches than a granddaughter of Lord Leyton Hightower. I had considered Lady Olenna's other granddaughter, Lady Desmera, but while the Redwyne fleet played no role against me, she brings less to the table than her cousin does. "the king said and Randyll nodded "Besides in time I'll seek a suitable match for the lady too."

"You will?" he asked.

"It is the way of the world we live in, Lord Tarly. If we're lucky we find a match that we seek, if not others will find it for us. So what say you to your son, and Lady Margaery?" the king asked.

"Dickon will do his duty, your grace. The honor you've given me and my House is one I'm most grateful for. I give you my vow that never will you need to look to House Tarly or to the Reach and not find Leal men true to your cause."

"I never doubted I would, Lord Tarly."

Walking from the room he let the thoughts of what had just happened sink in. He was Warden of the South, in time his son would succeed him and until then he'd serve on the Small Council. Dickon would be wed to Lord Leyton Hightowers granddaughter, for that was how he wished to think of her and not as Mace Tyrell's Golden Rose. The king was right, that would help him greatly with bringing the Hightowers to his side. All he'd ever wished for had just been granted and yet it was the fact that a dragon once again sat on the throne that brought the smile to his face.

King's Landing 300 AC.

Jon Connington.

They'd been in the midst of discussing the rewards that their allies and their men should receive and had barely covered the punishments that Daemon would need to dish out. Jon wanted him to be harsh but fair and yet he wasn't certain he agreed with him when it came to the Tyrells. Appointing Randyll Tarly as Warden of the South was a given. There may have been some other contenders but he was Leal and true and had come to their side at the first chance he'd gotten.

Jon had agreed that the lord of Horn Hill couldn't take up a position on the Small Council either, even though having him serve there would be a boon. The Reach needed to be led and led well, and once they removed the Tyrells, there would be those who saw an opportunity or bristled at their judgment. With Randyll Tarly as their Warden, they'd very much not. So on that point, he'd been with his king. He'd even somewhat agreed with naming the man's son to sit the Small Council in his stead. Though he was less enthused by this idea than he was about the father's role.

The wedding though, matching Margaery Tyrell to Dickon Tarly, on that he wasn't in total agreement. Still, he waited until Randyll had left and held his tongue while Daemon spoke the words and explained his reasoning for it. Now that they were alone once more, he looked to his king to find Daemon pouring them both out mugs of water and he welcomed the coolness of the drink when he brought his mug to his mouth.

"Ask you questions, Jon. Feel free to do so always." Daemon said after he too had taken a drink from his own mug.

"The wedding, Daemon."

"You disagree?"

"I understand your reasoning somewhat, but there will be those who won't and others who'll see this as rewarding the Tyrells. Not to mention the other questions that the lady in question brings up."

"Other questions?"

"She's the former queen, Daemon. There will be those who see her as that. This will be her fourth wedding and though Lysono may have named her as thrice wedded and never bedded, there will be those who don't accept that as the truth."

"You think she'll shame Tarly's son?"

"I'm surprised that Randyll didn't put forward a bigger argument, Daemon."

He watched as Daemon took another swallow from his mug and then placed it on the table. It was clear that he was contemplating the words he'd said and Jon welcomed seeing that. Yet in less time than he had expected, Daemon began to speak again.

"I had considered far harsher punishments, for each of them. Sending Margaery Tyrell to the Silent Sisters or seeing some of the Tyrells lose their heads. And I dismissed that not because I fear some would look to me and see my grandfather, but because as guilty of the crimes I'd charge them with as they are, it matters not." Daemon said resolvedly "Not only can their punishment be not seen to be as harsh as the one I'll sentence the Lannisters to, but politically the Tyrells are a trickier proposition than others as well."

"Daemon?"

"My cousin was helped by them, Jon. Oh, they did it for their own benefit, and had things turned out different, then it would have been Willas Tyrell who she'd have been wed to and not Tyron Lannister. She named Margaery Tyrell a friend of sorts and while she's since come to know the truth of people far more, she would like her to be a friend still." Daemon said almost wistfully and it was something he'd come to see more and more when he spoke about or when others spoke about Sansa Stark.

"She suggested that you wed her to Dickon Tarly?" he asked and Daemon shook his head.

"Not quite. My cousin does understand politics far better than she once did, a harsh lesson learned having forced her to need to do so. She suggested that I think far more mercifully when it came to the Tyrells, pointed out their ties in the Reach, and drew the line in the sand, so to speak, between them and the Lannisters in my mind. Her words, your own, and understanding that while my nature and upbringing may seek me to act one way, I'm no longer just a servant of the Many-Faced God." Daemon said before rising to his feet.

Jon watched him as he walked away from the table, as he moved to the window, and looked out at the grounds below. He knew full well the view that he'd have from that window, though he'd not truly looked out from it himself. The silence was welcome and he allowed his mind to consider the words that Daemon had spoken to Randyll, now even more truly. Before he could reach the same conclusion as his king, however, Daemon turned and began to speak again.

"The vengeance I seek is not against the Tyrells, Jon. I blame them not for Lord Mace's ineptitude during the rebellion nor his lack of action, for a fool leading men into war speaks not of malice nor intent. I blame him not for facing us across a field either, for once again a fool leading men into battle may be disastrous and in this case even treasonous, but I had the chance to reach out to them too and did not."

"They still need to be seen to be punished, Daemon."

"And they will be, most severely, but mercifully too, Jon. For if I can't show that then I am lost before I even begin."

He nodded, reluctant though it was, and then he asked about the rest of the Tyrells. Jon soon found he was more in agreement with their fates than he was with Margaery's, and yet he could see it more clearly now too. When it came to the Lannisters, he both agreed and disagreed. His objections were listened to, some were acted upon and others were dismissed. Both of which brought him equal satisfaction as he wanted not to control his king, but to be listened to when he counseled him.

"Prince Oberyn, Daemon. Dorne?"

"Will get their due. In time they'll get one of theirs on the Iron Throne as a consort, and Oberyn will retake his place on the Small Council. Taxes and other boons will be given when it suits my needs and not theirs, but I've already gifted him most of what he wished for. Tywin Lannister is dead, The Mountain is dead. They can do with their bones whatever they wish, Aegon, Rhaenys, and Elia have been avenged and for Oberyn that means more than anything."

"Doran?"

"Will find that while I'm sympathetic, I'm not some pup who's willing to roll over and allow himself to be tickled on his belly," Daemon said making Jon chuckle just a little.

They talked then of the Golden Company and the lands that they'd be given. Jon was happy to see they were being rewarded and while it would mainly be in the West, there would be other lands that needed new lords to rule over them as well. Talk turned then to the plans Daemon had for the rest of the realm and how to bring it under their control. They truly only controlled King's Landing and the Stormlands, though, given the men of the West and the Reach they had as prisoners or allies, both kingdoms were theirs too when all was said and done.

The Vale would need to be called to heel and Jon knew that both Lysa Tully and Littlefinger's names were on Daemon's list. Whether that meant that his king would go to them and remove them from the board or he'd call for them and do it when they came, he knew not. When he asked about Edmure Tully, he found himself looking at a face he liked not. Black Walder Frey would be key to seeing the lord of Riverrun was released and given who his niece was, named as Lord Paramount of the Trident once more.

"The North, Daemon."

"My cousin lives, Jon. A son of Stark lives and there must always be a Stark in Winterfell." Daemon said with a soft smile on his face "Rickon Stark will be named as Warden and lord and I'll name Howland Reed or Wyman Manderly as regent."

"Not your other cousin?" he asked having known that Daemon's original plans were either to name Sansa Stark as Warden or should he find more of his mother's family still lived, Regent.

"No, not my other cousin," Daemon said firmly.

"The names on your mother's list?"

"Will not live to see the morrow, Jon. They've breathed air they deserved not to for far too long and the Many-Faced God is not the only one who'll welcome seeing them both fall."

"Good, for few deserve it more," he said, believing his words completely and he'd mourn Varys and Pycelle not.

"I'll leave for the North once things are settled here. How long I'll be there for I know not. I can count on you to rule in my name?"

"Of course, your grace."

"It means much to me to know so, Jon. I hope you know that."

"I know," he said almost choked by the emotion he felt at Daemon's words.

"Now, let's see to the rest of it. The day is almost at an end and there is much work yet to be done."

He smiled as Daemon took his seat beside him. The papers were soon being moved over the desk and some of them signed by him, by his king, and some placed to one side for the morrow. It felt different to him, to be a true Hand of the King, and to serve a king he actually wished to serve. A future that he had once dreamed about coming true had in some fashion done so. And though Daemon was not his father, he was his father's son. For Jon that was more than enough.

King's Landing 300 AC.

Sansa Stark.

It felt different to be here, for her, for Arya. Both of them actually enjoyed walking around the Red Keep and having the guards that accompanied them. For Sansa, it was almost the same as her first few days upon arriving here for the first time. Thoughts of making a life for herself here, of this being her home and just what that meant, were once again not far from her mind. As once again thoughts of being a queen and married to a handsome and gallant-king were not. Though in these she was at least comforted in knowing that should it come to pass, that were the words that Daemon had spoken to her what she believed them to be, then she really would be marrying a man she wished to spend her life with.

They were accompanied by guards wherever they went and in this, it was almost as if she was back in those early days too. Sansa could look to those men with her as she once had to her father's men and know that they were here to protect and not to confine. She was not a prisoner, for they would take their orders from her and no one else, and she most welcomed the feeling of freedom that it brought to her. If there was one thing she'd very much not welcomed since arriving in the Red Keep, it was that Daemon had been so very busy. Hopefully, that wouldn't last for as long as she feared it would though. Besides she had yet another reason to be cheerful today, as she'd be seeing her brother again.

Waiting for the news that the ship had been sighted was akin to being a young girl on her nameday for her and she wagered that Arya felt exactly the same. Each moment that anyone passed them as they strolled around the Red Keep, Sansa expected to be told that the ship was in Blackwater Bay and they could ride to the docks to welcome Rickon to King's Landing. That the reunion that she feared would never take place, was finally upon her. Just as she had when she was a younger girl, she expected each moment to be the one when she was gifted her presents and told she could open each and all of them.

"Do you think he'll remember us?" Arya said taking her from her thoughts.

"Of course he will, you remembered me and me, you, did we not?"

"We were older, Sansa, Rickon was almost still a babe when we last saw him."

"Arya, it's been two years, not a lifetime. He'll remember us, as we do him." Sansa said resolvedly and yet she wasn't as certain in her words as she'd have liked to have been.

Truth be told, she could barely remember what her brother looked like. He and Bran were almost lost in her memories and only Robb's face was one that she could easily recall. Other than her father and mother's that was. She believed that once she saw him again then it would all come back, she hoped it would. They turned yet another corner and she found she knew not where they were, only to find that the gods had decided it was to be then that they shared with her the news she'd been waiting for.

"Lady Sansa, Lady Arya, the ship has been sighted. If you'd accompany me, the carriage awaits." Ser Franklyn Flowers said and though Arya scrunched up her nose at the thought of traveling in a carriage, she quickened her footsteps when Sansa did.

Soon enough they were riding to the docks and again Sansa found herself enjoying the differences that her second time in King's Landing was showing to her. She could still remember the riot, what had almost happened during it, and just how angered the people of this city were at the king and his family. Now she could open the window and not be worried. The sounds that she heard as they passed people on their daily routines were far different from the ones she'd been subjected to that day. Smiling to herself, she sat back and looked at her sister.

Arya looked eager, nervous, and yet content. Her friend Hot Pie had been given a job in the Red Keep's kitchens and Gendry was once again working for the Qohorik smith that he'd been apprenticed to. Each morning would find her sister in the sparring yard and though it had only been once that it had been with Daemon, there had been no shortage of others who were willing to offer Arya the training she so longed for. She'd even been gifted a sword to replace Needle. Though knowing her sister how she did, Sansa would wager that one day she'd find that sword returned to her too.

Feeling the carriage come to a stop, Sansa looked to the door and was stunned to see Daemon being the one to open it for them. A smile came to her face unbidden as he helped first her and then Arya from the carriage. The question she wished to ask him was on the tip of her tongue when he placed his hands on her face and turned her head towards the water.

"I believe that's your brother, Sansa," Daemon said softly and as she focussed her eyes she saw him standing on the deck of s ship, the black wolf that stood by his side was proof enough of who he was.

"Rickon," she said softly as she fought the tears she felt welling in her eyes.

"He's so big now," Arya said as she wiped her own eyes.

It seemed to take an age for the ship to dock. The black wolf barely waited for the gangplank to be laid down before it raced down and ran towards them. Behind it, Rickon ran just as fast as Shaggydog did and yet it was the black wolf who greeted them first. Sansa knew that Arya felt just as she did, that she too looked upon their brother's Direwolf and wished their own was here by their sides. She knew now that she had failed Lady. By not speaking the truth she had ended up costing herself and her sister their truest protectors. Her Direwolf had paid the ultimate cost of her betrayal, while Arya's was out there somewhere still, Rickon's though had been by her brother's side when they could not and Sansa now thanked the wolf for all he had done.

"Thank you for keeping him safe, thank you," she said as she rubbed the black wolf fur and laughed when it licked her face before moving to do the very same to Arya, and then within the blink of an eye, she was face to face with her brother for the first time in two years.

"Mother?" Rickon said and the battle she had fought with her tears was now one she lost.

"Oh Rickon, my sweet brother," she said as she embraced him tightly.

"Sansa?" he asked and she hugged him even more tightly.

Though she wished not to let him go, she knew she must and he moved from her to Arya and was soon embracing her just as truly as he had Sansa. Her eyes took in the sight and she almost jumped when she felt a hand touch her own, the silken handkerchief it placed there feeling almost feather light to her touch. Looking to Daemon and offering him a warm smile for his gesture, she wiped her eyes with the handkerchief, and then her breath stilled as Shaggydog moved closer to the new King of the Seven Kingdoms.

She heard a growl as hands moved to swords and then she watched as Daemon shook his head and reached out his hand. Rickon and Arya had moved from their embrace and both of them were watching just as keenly as she was as Daemon's hand edged ever closer to the black wolf's still snarling head. When the hand made contact you could hear a pin drop. Then Shaggydog leaned into Daemon's touch and welcomed it as much as Sansa had these past few weeks. The look she saw on Daemon's face as her eyes met his was one she'd remember for a very long time and one that filled her dreams when she took to her bed later that night.

It was a look that proved him as true as she had dared to believe he was. A look that named him every bit a wolf as the dragon he was. Watching him then greet Rickon and then join them as they moved to the carriage, Sansa felt what it was like to be a family once more. Other than Bran who as she listened to Rickon speak to Arya about, she now believed lived too, she was with her whole family once more. Looking at Daemon, she wondered if he was thinking as she was of a different family and one that they may share together one day. She hoped he was.

The ride back to the Red Keep allowed her, Arya, and Rickon to truly speak and she both welcomed that Daemon allowed them to do so without joining in and wished he would in equal measure. Once they reached their destination, Daemon departed and she felt his absence almost as if it was a physical thing. She spent the day with her sister and brother, reveling in being together and in the fact that Rickon was as mischievous as he'd ever been. He'd grown and like both her and Arya, a lot of the innocence that they'd all once known was no more, but there was still much of her youngest brother in him.

They ate that night as a family. Daemon joined them and after she'd tucked Rickon into his bed, a bed that Arya shared with him at his behest, she was then escorted to her room. Sansa felt her anticipation build as she and Daemon walked down the corridors and past the guards who were on duty. At times she licked her lips as if she was wetting them for the use that she hoped they'd soon be put to and in that, she found much to her delight, that she was right. As soon as they reached her room, Daemon moved toward her and a moment later they were kissing each other most passionately. It left her breathless and almost unable to think of anything but the thoughts of the two of them doing other more intimate things together, only for Daemon's words to somewhat shatter her good feeling.

"You truly must leave?" she asked dejectedly when he was done telling her so.

"I must. I knew not about him, Sansa, knew not that I had more kin out there and he calls for my aid. Were that not all then it would be enough, but given his age and that I'd soon have had a need to travel North to deal with Stannis Baratheon and then later the Boltons, it seems I'm being called to leave much sooner than I had wished."

"You would have wished to stay longer?" she said, not truly a question and yet very much one all the same.

She felt his fingers touch her cheek and she leaned into them, her eyes closing of their own accord as she truly welcomed the comfort they brought to her.

"I would have wished to stay longer, I do wish it so." Daemon said and then he kissed her once more, this one a far softer and far longer kiss." I have many things I wish, Sansa. None more so than what I wish to speak to you on, the things I wish to tell you and only you." he said after the kiss had ended.

"What things?" she asked breathlessly.

"I believe we could have a life together you and me. Were it to be something you wish for too?"

"I do wish it so," she said and the smile that appeared on his face sent a jolt right to her heart.

"Then we'll speak more on my return."

"I…"

"Jon and the men of the Golden Company will see you safe, Sansa. I trust he and them with my life and I'll ask Jaqen to watch over you, Arya and Rickon too. No man is more capable than he and no man do I trust more than him to protect you."

"Who'll protect you, Daemon?" she asked worriedly.

"My god granted me his favor long ago, Sansa. Though I'd accept yours were you to offer me it as well."

Despite the sadness she felt, she reached for her hair and undid one of the ribbons she'd tied to it. Asking for Daemon's arm, she tied it to it and her eyes never left his as she did so. She saw what she believed to be joy in those eyes, happiness too, and she thanked the Seven that it was her actions that brought that to him.

"I shall return as quickly as I'm able, Sansa, and each time I look to my arm it'll be with thoughts of you in my head and in my heart."

"Be safe, Daemon, be safe and return unharmed."

They shared a final kiss and she then walked into her room. The tears came long before she lay down on her bed and they continued for some time her dreams that night were both wonderful and fitful at the same time. When she awoke the next morning it was to find that Daemon had already left and she barely ate when she broke her fast. Was it not for Arya, Rickon, and the knowledge that she had to be strong even if she felt weak, she'd not have made it through that day or the one after it. If it was not for the faith that she had and the eagerness for the conversation with Daemon about their future to truly begin, then she'd have been miserable for days on end. Instead, she simply counted down each one and hoped it would be the one that saw his return.

King's Landing 300 AC.

Jaqen H'ghar.

The Many-Faced God will have his due. It was something that each and every single one of those who served him knew to be true. They were merely instruments to his will, tools to see that will enacted, and so they played their part in his great plan. Many years earlier, he'd played a big part in that plan when he'd traveled to Dorne and returned with a young babe. Now that babe was to be a king and each time he looked at him, Jaqen could see that he was moving further and further away from being a servant such as he.

What it was he was becoming instead, he knew not. That he still held the Many-Faced God's favor and was about his work, he very much was certain of. Never was this more clear than in how he had dealt with the two names from his mother's list and never did something prove to him just how his god worked than that. Jaqen remembered well the words he spoke to the woman as he took the list from her hands. The promise he'd made was one that he'd seen fulfilled ever since Daemon had arrived back on these lands.

The Mountain that Rides and Tywin Lannister. Both had found that the years they'd had since their names had been offered to the Many-Faced God were years that were granted to them by him alone. Their fate had been sealed the moment the woman had named them as who they truly were. Daemon had been both his god's will and tool as well as his mother's vengeance, in bringing about their ends. As he had with Varys and Pycelle and Jaqen remembered now the screams of one and the acceptance of the other.

"I understand this not, I harmed you not, I never even knew of you." Pycelle cried out.

"Yet my mother knew of you," Daemon said as he laid the knives down on the table in the cell.

"Your mother?"

"Lyanna Stark," Daemon said.

"I had no dealings with Lyanna Stark."

"No, but you had dealings with my sister and brother, and with their mother, did you not?" Daemon said as he drove a knife deep into Pycelle's shoulder, the man screaming out in agony as Daemon severed the nerve and made the arm useless in the process "You think I forgive you for your part in their deaths?" Daemon said as he drove another knife into the old man's older shoulder "You think my mother did."

"I….I…It wasn't me….it was the Mountain, Amory Lorch….I …I…played no part…" Pycelle lied and neither Jaqen nor Daemon needed to know how to play the game of faces to know that was true.

"Who convinced my grandfather to open the gates, who whispered in his ears?" Daemon said as another knife was brought to bear, this one slammed deep into the Grandmaester's thigh and Jaqen could see just how close it came to ending his life. One more inch to the left and he'd have bled out in moments, Daemon knowing just how to miss and just how to cause as much pain as he wanted.

Again the scream was loud and it was not something that Jaqen was used to. When they gave the gift, they did so as quickly and efficiently as possible. They sought to take no more than the life of the name on their list. Death was its own reward, the only one that any of them sought and the only thing that the Many-Faced God demanded of them. For Pycelle, it was to be more than death that he'd find here this night.

"I know who you served, Pycelle. Why you did what you did. So you can lie or deny all you wish. My mother knew the truth of you, else you'd not have ended up on her list." Daemon said as yet another knife was stabbed into the old man's body "For her. For Elia, For Aegon, and for Rhaenys, your end is something I welcome, and crossing your name off her list, is something I'll most enjoy."

There was pleading, begging, and then silence. Jaqen said no word as with a slash of the knife, Pycelle's throat was cut and his life was ended. Nor did he speak when they walked from one cell to the next one. This one though contained a far different type of man than the last. Varys didn't beg, he didn't plead, but he did suffer. Daemon spoke questions that he sought no true answer for and as with Pycelle, each question was accompanied by a knife being stabbed into the body of the man he asked them to.

"How many whispers did you utter in my grandfather's ears?"

"How many tales did you tell to fuel his paranoia?"

"Did you revel in the carnage you wrought?"

"Take pleasure in the lives you destroyed?"

"Did you think yourself untouchable and free from wrath and retribution?"

"You cheesemonger friend will meet his end just as you will."

"His name is on mine own list while you were always placed so high on my mother's."

"Know this and know this well, Varys, death is only the beginning and your suffering ends not in this world."

"Time to join your nephew."

Varys suffered more than Pycelle. Daemon brought all his training to bear on the eunuch. More than fourteen knives had been used and each placed where they'd cause the most pain. He'd dragged out the death, made it last and once it was done, Jaqen was surprised by the look in his eyes and the deep breaths that he took.

"This is not our way, Daemon," he said after a few moments.

"This is what they deserved, Jaqen. Each of them, all of them. Where it not, then I'd suffer our god's fury for ending them in such a way. These names weren't just owed to the Many-Faced God though and so their suffering was not just acceptable, it was demanded."

"And the other names on the list?"

"Will suffer too," Daemon said as he walked away.

Jaqen had sought answers since that night, he asked for and believed he'd received them. Daemon was still about the Many-Faced God's work and so when he'd asked him to look after and protect his cousins, Jaqen had agreed immediately. Then he'd bid him farewell and watched as he set off to offer other names to the Red God. Names owed to him and him alone and he knew that even they would not be the last names offered by Daemon before his own time came.

The Wall 300 AC.

Stannis Baratheon.

One thousand men give or take, that's all he now had under his command. It included the men he'd left to guard Selyse and Shireen and was far from enough to win him his rightful throne. They'd lost men on the march back to the Wall, had been helpless to do anything about those with injuries and their morale was at its lowest ebb. Not even Melisandre's words seemed to have any effect and she'd lost the favor that most had held for her and for her god. Stannis would be a liar too if he said that his own faith in her wasn't wavering. Were it not for the visions she showed him in the fires, then he doubted he'd have any faith left when it came to her and R'hllor. Yet those visions had strengthened his resolve and given him the strength to do what he must. Now he only needed to be certain of what it is that he must do.

Seeing the sheer mass of men and women that they had to pass through to get to the Wall, Stannis was both comforted and angered in equal measure. These Wildlings should be fighting on his side, as when the time comes it would be he they looked to in order to save them from the oncoming darkness. It would be he that they would turn to for aid when the Great Other finally looked their way and a part of him wished now to deny them that aid, as they had denied him theirs. A larger part of him hoped that the Boltons would march on him and seek to finish the job they started in the Wolfswood. For Stannis knew if they did, then the Wildlings would have no choice other than to fight or die.

As he entered the gates of the dilapidated castle, he was welcomed by his wife and daughter, with only one of them looking happy to see him. Shireen though was always a happy child when he gave her any attention at all, something he was most remiss in. While his wife was rarely so at any time. He greeted them formally as befitted a king and then made his way to his rooms in the King's Tower. Davos would have to see to the men and to the explanations, for his king was tired and in need of his bed. The fire that was already lit in the room was a welcome sight and though it didn't do much to remove the chill he'd felt ever since his defeat in the Wolfswood, it did at least allow him some respite. Removing his cloak and his sword belt, taking off his crown, and laying down on his bed, Stannis was asleep in moments.

The dreams came later that night, the terrors that Melisandre would oft say the night was full of were ones that Stannis now knew all too well. Renly was a wraith at first and then he was everywhere that he looked. He'd hear his voice and turn his head to see his brother bloodied and pale, his eyes full of accusation and reproach. Then his brother would give voice to what his eyes had already told Stannis the truth of and that was when he truly felt the terrors of the night.

"Kinslayer."

"Kingslayer"

"Abomination."

"Heathen"

"Adulterer"

"Murderer."

"Traitor."

He woke and felt the sweat run down his back. The fire had long gone out and yet he sweated and felt far too warm. Removing his clothing so as to cool himself, his hands shook and barely answered his commands. Soon enough he was naked and shivering and yet he liked it far better than the warmth he'd felt not but a few moments earlier. Looking around the room, he could see no light other than that which reflected off the ice of the Wall and the shadows it cast upon the floor in front of him were monstrous. Stannis had seen such things before when he looked in the flames with Melisandre, yet now they nearly made him cry out in fear and desperation. Only his nature had allowed his words to be spoken and not screamed.

"I have not the men."

"I cannot beat him."

"I cannot save them."

"I need more than I have."

"I deserve more than I have."

"Show me the way forward."

"Tell me what I must do."

"Remove these terrors from my heart and cleanse my soul. I beseech you, as your chosen I beseech you."

By the time day broke, he felt the cold had seeped into his bones. His fear remained though it for now was a lesser thing. Rising to his feet, he dressed and felt the crown's weight when he put it on his head. Walking from the room, he put on a mummer's face and was once again the man all those who served him knew. It would fool them, some of them at least, but it would not fool her. She would know the truth about him when she saw him and so he resolved to not see her for as long as he could this day. In this, he was aided by her mother and as he made his way across the courtyard with his guards at his back, Shireen and Selyse were nowhere to be seen.

He ate heartily, as he always had done when he was able. Stannis knew better than most what true hunger felt like and so while he could go without when needed, he very much would not when it was not. Not that he was a glutton or overindulged as his brother had done with all things, he was far too dutiful for that, but a full meal was always a welcome sight and never one to be sniffed at. Once he had finished breaking his fast, he made his way to the Lord Commander's solar which was once again his own. Entering the room, he was relieved to see the fire burn bright and as he took his seat, he found that his resolve had returned.

For the first part of the day, he held meeting after meeting with his closest men. Davos had taken a tally of his numbers, their supplies, and stocks and had requested a meeting with some of the clan leaders of the largest wildling tribes. Stannis listened to him explain and though he wished to deny him leave to do what he suggested, his truest man spoke far more sense in this regard than most.

"You cannot speak to them, your grace. The Free Folk cannot be ordered or demanded and as the one true king, your right would ask nothing less of you."

"And what do you suggest doing, Ser Davos? Asking, requesting, begging in my name?" he asked annoyed.

"Convincing them of the threats they face, your grace. I'm not beyond lowering myself to do what needs to be done, but I'd do it in mine own name, never yours, your grace. I ask for leave to do it and for it to be seen as mine own idea, your grace."

"For why?"

"Were you to order it, was it to be a mission that you sent me on, then should I fail then that failure would reflect upon you, your grace. Let any failure be mine own and be one that you can rightfully deny should word of it spread."

"You have my leave, Ser."

There was no need for him to ask what words Davos would use, or what promises or threats he would make to try and bring the Wildlings to his side. Though he'd failed him with some lords of the Stormlands and with Lord Manderly, he'd brought him some successes too. There had been a time that he'd only have concentrated on the former, but he'd known his share of failures since he set his sights on what was his by right and some of them had almost devastated his cause. So failed words spoken in his own name would not be something he'd take issue with and mayhap just once those words would not fail him.

In some regards, this proved to be true as when Davos returned he at least had gotten men to agree to fight on his side, even if they'd not knelt and named him king and had put conditions on their alliance. Something that he bristled over, but he was in no position as of yet to look this gift horse in the mouth. Should the threat come from either south or north of the Wall, should the Boltons march or the Great Other send his army to end them all, then he'd find an army to stand by his side. Yet for now, that army would not march with him or move from where they now named their home.

She came to him only when Davos left and as night was beginning to fall. He'd not yet truly spoken to his wife since he returned and had barely acknowledged his daughter and et the Red Priestess, he was not only willing but eager to see. Melisandre glided across the room and moved to the fire, a smile on her face that he knew far too well. Though he remained seated for some time, his eyes had followed her every step and were focussed on her even now. Her beauty, how the silk clung to every curve of her body, the fact she was as vibrant and exotic as ever, and even the smell of her, all made her the woman he wanted more than almost anything in this world. Yet at times he'd name her as the woman he hated most too and had he known what she was about to ask of him, then he'd name her so now.

"R'hllor has shown me the path, my king. He's given me a vision of how you'll not only win your throne but the great war when it comes too. I've seen your mount. Seen the dragon that you will awake after you've shown your true worth to the Lord of Light." Melisandre's voice was euphoric as she bid him to join her "Come, see what the flames have shown me."

He rose to his feet and moved to the fire and the woman that it seemed to want to embrace just as much as he did. Her hand was held out to her side and when he touched it, he felt the jolt run down his body. It was different than before, even more, true and powerful than the one he felt whenever they lay together. Melisandre's power seemed to have been restored as if she'd had an influx of it from he knew not where Stannis wished to ask her about it, and yet instead it made him even keener to look to the flames for the answers she had promised. He very quickly wished he had not.

An army marched, riders on dead mounts at its head and one in particular who stood out from all the others. Dead men, dead women, dead beasts, and dead giants all marched behind him and the others that were like him and yet not. It stretched as far as the eye could see and no army of its like had ever been assembled before this one. Yet the one that he saw next almost seemed to be it's equal. This one was filled with the living and though he could not see the man who led it, he did see the sword of light that he wielded in his hand.

Then he saw it and it was glorious. Its cream scales were interlaid with gold and it seemed like a beacon of light as it soared in the sky. One moment it was riderless and the next it was very much not, the dragon now looking even more ethereal and almost glowing as the light from the sword reflected off its scales. Such a thing could only be a gift from the Lord of Light, for only R'hllor could have brought this dragon into the world. As he watched it lay down its flames upon the dead army beneath it, Stannis felt the same euphoria that he believed Melisandre had shown.

He was beneath the Wall, Lightbringer was in his hand and the golden dragon flew overhead. The thing in front of him was bathed in shadow and he could not see its face. No, that wasn't the truth, it had none. Sword clashed against sword and sparks flew as they did so. Who won the fight he knew not, at least not at first. Then he saw the golden dragon land and then take off with a rider on its back, a rider who wielded a flaming sword and who was cheered by the crowds of men and women who were now beneath him.

An army, his army. A dragon, his dragon. Had that been all he'd seen, then he'd have found himself to have finally known what true pleasure felt like. To be feted, to be shown that all he'd done was good and true, to be forgiven, and to even dare he say it, to be adored. It was more than he had ever hoped for and yet, like everything in his life, it was something he needed to earn and was not just given to him. His throne, his rights, fealty, loyalty, respect, love, all those things had come so easy to others and not so to him. Though none would cost him as much as what was now asked of him by his god.

She cried, she begged, she pleaded and her eyes looked at him with such fear and loathing that he could barely look back at her. Around him, men watched in silence as she was tied to the stake and as Melisandre moved forward with the torch in her hand. Whatever words she spoke, he listened to them not. Selyse's pleas, he ignored. Shireen's cries for her father to put a stop to this, for him to save her from this, somehow he left unanswered.

Stannis staggered back from the fire and slapped her hand away when she tried to touch him. He felt the bile rise in his throat and yet somehow, that was as close as he got to losing the contents of his stomach. Every fiber in his body wished to deny her, to deny her god, and to shout out loudly that he would not pay a price such as this. The fate of the world meant nothing to him next to the fate of his daughter. A crown meant nothing to him without having Shireen to pass it on to. He may not have been a good father, at times he may even have been a terrible one, never, never, did he ever imagine he'd become a monstrous one.

"NO!" he said loudly.

"My King…"

"NO!" he said once more "I'll not….You ask too much, your god asks too much," he said a little more weakly.

"A sacrifice is required, one that will break your heart to be true but one that you must pay if we are all to survive the coming storm."

"I'll find another way."

"There is none," Melisandre said shaking her head.

"I'll make one," he said resolvedly.

"All paths lead to this or defeat, my king. Just as Azor Ahai had to drive his sword into Nissa Nissa's chest to prove he was worthy, you too must give up that which you love the most. I wish it was not so, I beseeched my lord to make it not so, but I am his servant, he is not mine." Melisandre's words were barely heard by him "You say the truth of things, my king, you are his chosen, and yet in this, you have a choice."

"I choose her," Stannis said, and he hated the lack of conviction he said it with.

"Then we are doomed."

He watched her as she moved to the door and then his hand shot out of its own accord and stopped her in her tracks.

"How do I know what I saw is true?" he asked.

"Faith, my king. Faith in my God, faith in your destiny, faith that you are Azor Ahai and you and only you can bring the Dawn."

She moved away from him and had barely reached the door when he called her back, his mind made up even as his heart begged him not to do what he knew he must.

"Three days. I owe her three days at least," he said resignedly.

"As you command, my king."

Stannis wept when she left him, for the first time since he'd looked down and saw the greyscale on her face, he actually shed tears. He didn't sob, though he wished to and felt he should. She deserved that from him, though thinking about what Shireen deserved soon showed how much he had failed her in life.

"I'll not fail her in death." he said as he wiped his eyes "One life for the world, her life for everyone else's. May she and her mother forgive me what I must do, for I'll not."

Eastwatch by the Sea 300 AC.

Torrhen Snow.

Torrhen stood on the deck of the ship and looked out on the cold water they sailed through, the knowledge of where he was going, who he'd meet when he got there, and what they'd do after, all bringing a smile to his usually far more serious face. He had welcomed the raven when it had arrived, read the words the scroll it carried contained, and had immediately set to work. While their men had been scattered across the North, with most of them assembling near Moat Cailin, he still had more than enough to counter Stannis Baratheon's numbers should it come to a full-scale battle. So after bidding his farewells to Howland Reed, Maege Mormont, and Galbart Glover, he, Brandon Snow, Ser Marq Piper, The Greatjon, and a dozen of his men had made their way to White Harbor.

Along the way, messages had been sent and riders would have by now delivered them to the most experienced men of the Company of the Rose. Knowing his men as he did, they'd arrive at Castle Black long before he did and would await them there. As for the king himself, Torrhen believed he'd beat him to Eastwatch, but not by much. Upon their arrival at White Harbor, Lord Manderly had wished to add some of his own men to theirs and Torrhen knew he had no choice but to accept. He turned down Ser Wylis' offer of aid and instead told the man that when they marched on Winterfell, he'd more than welcome his company and support.

Wyman gave them his fastest and best ship and before he knew it, they were sailing further north than he had ever been before. He felt the chill of the air and longed to see the Wall for true, just as he longed to see the last Stag brought low. Torrhen had never understood how Eddard Stark had grown so close to Robert Baratheon. True, they'd fostered together, but by all accounts, the Lord of Winterfell had seen the Lord of the Stormlands and then King of the Seven Kingdoms as a brother by choice. So much so that he'd agreed to wed his daughter to the man's son. Though time proved that in truth he was no son of his and that Robert Baratheon had been given the horns by his wife and her brother.

Just as his father before him, another Stark had looked south rather than north and so even after hearing of all they'd gone through, Torrhen felt no shame that they'd not come to the aid of the wolves. He'd told both Wyman and the Greatjon that had Robb Stark returned north to deal with the Ironborn, then he and the Company would have set sail and joined him. What he hadn't told either man was that he believed the Old Gods had been at work to stop him, because only a few moons after the first news came from the North, Daemon Targaryen arrived at their gates.

"Torrhen." The Greatjon's booming voice called out and Torrhen turned from where he was standing at the bow of the ship.

"Lord Umber."

"Jon." The giant of a man said and Torrhen nodded "You truly believe he's already done in the South?"

"No, he's far from done in the South, Jon. The Lannisters however have been dealt with and King's Landing is his."

"And Ned's children?" the Greatjon asked worriedly.

"Have the Golden Company, Prince Oberyn Martell, Randyll Tarly, Mathis Rowan, and their men. As well as a Faceless Man all who bow to one man and one man alone."

"Daemon."

"Aye. They are as safe as they can be and soon enough they'll be back in the North where they belong," he stated definitively.

"You have some faith in the lad."

"Do you not?"

"No, I do. How could I not, for if it wasn't for him I'd still be rotting in a cell in the Twins." the Greatjon's words showed he still bore some of the scars, and only when the Freys had truly been dealt with would they begin to heal.

"But?"

The laugh was loud and boisterous, as were most things when it came to Jon Umber. It took him a few moments to stop and when he did he stared at Torrhen with a look that was full of determination and yet one that seemed to show something else too. It took Torrhen a few moments to figure out what that was and if it was not for the words that the Greatjon spoke, he may not have. The Greatjon speaking of his remembrance of a fallen friend.

"Ned Stark used to say that anything before the word but was horseshit. He was not a jovial man by nature, nothing like his brother Brandon or even Benjen, and not one of them could even come close to the She Wolf. I miss the man, miss his way of looking at things, and yet, I'm glad he's not here to see what has befallen his House."

"His House will rise again, Jon, higher than it's ever known I wager."

"They were kings once, and were once again and they'll never reach those heights, Torrhen."

"Tell that to the son of Stark who sits on the Iron Throne, Jon."

It got him another laugh, though this one was far shorter. The Greatjon then turned serious and looked at him, a question on the tip of his tongue and so Torrhen decided to speak the answer before he was even asked.

"For nearly three hundred years we waited for the call, Jon. We looked to the North and longed for it as a hungry man longs for a morsel of food or a thirsty man a drop of water. Commanders watched as the North stagnated and did little with what it had, as it allowed Moat Cailin to become a shadow of what it once was and allowed the dragons to take lands that were rightfully theirs and give them to the Night's Watch. We watched as time and again it was looked down at by its southern neighbors. As a son of the Kings of Winter forgot who he was and allowed a Sept to be built in the heart of the North."

"Ned was…."

"A fool. He may have been your friend and you may hate me for naming him so, but he was a fool who raised his children to be southerners and not northerners. A fool who clung to honor in a world filled with men with none. He was not alone in the blame, for his father was not much better than he in that regard. Gifting a son and daughter to southern houses." Torrhen snarled.

"You truly hate them, don't you?" the Greatjon said surprised.

"No, mores the pity." he sighed "I wanted them to be wolves, Jon, to be the wolves they were always meant to be."

"Yet you follow a dragon."

"Do I?" he asked smirking.

His mind turned to that day almost two years ago, to the man who walked right up to the gates and who demanded not asked to see them. Looking to the Greatjon, it was Torrhen who now wore a full smile on his face and he readied to tell a tale that he knew would be told for years by those who descended from his men and mayhap even by his own sons and daughters too.

"Let me tell you about Daemon Targaryen, Jon."

2 years earlier.

The commotion at the gate got his attention. Torrhen was walking across the yard of their barracks, the day looking as if it was going to be the same as any other. They had no true contact at the moment, some minor ones but none that involved the entire company which was a rare occurrence. So for the first time in more than a few years, the barracks were full and men were at work doing repairs, building work, and numerous other tasks to keep them busy. Little did he know at the time, but the more he thought it about later, the more sure he was, that the Old Gods had been busy at work to see this was so.

Looking to the gates, he caught sight of a tall young man who was arguing with the guards and would have just turned and left it for them to handle. For some reason, mayhap because he was bored, he did not. Instead, he walked to the gates, and the closer he got to them, the more the young man seemed to stand out. He was younger than he thought he was, black of hair and grey of eyes and while he was prettier than most men he'd ever seen, something about him looked or felt familiar to him. What he could say for certain, was that despite his youth, the four guards he was arguing with were outmatched.

Calling for more men, as he now began to consider that this man may be there to actually cause them some harm, he moved to the gates slightly warier now. The young man was well armored, he bore a decent sword on his hip and Torrhen would wager that was not the only weapon he carried on his person. Again though it was how he stood, how he held himself, and the look in his eyes that Torrhen believed named him the warrior that he believed him to be.

"Rickon, Artos, what's the issue here," he called out loudly.

"This man demands a meeting, commander. Says he has come to fulfill a prophecy." Artos sneered.

"A prophecy?" he asked looking at the young man.

"The Song of Ice and Fire." the young man said and Torrhen felt his mouth go dry.

"You'll give up your weapons and accept guest right?"

"I will." the young man said and Torrhen nodded to Rickon to move to take them, Artos misliked the man for some reason and Rickon it seemed was the calmer of the two of them.

As he suspected, the young man carried more weapons than even he did when going into battle. Daggers, knives, some odd cutting tool, a thin line of rolled-out steel that was fashioned into a rope, and some other items that made no sense to him at first. Foodstuffs, bottles of liquid, and a wolf pendant. The latter of those things made him look to the boy once more and he finally figured out where he'd recognized him from, he looked a little like a Stark and Torrhen wondered if the new King in the North had sent one of his relatives to call for their aid.

"Robb Stark sent you?" he asked as they walked and the young man looked at him confused.

"Who?"

Torrhen asked no more and by the time they reached where he held his meetings, he was certain that this man had not come from the North at all. His accent was even more Essosi than Torrhen's was and yet he'd mentioned the Song of Ice and Fire. To say he was intrigued would be an understatement, so he bid him sit and sent for food and some drink.

"Don't." the young man said when Artos went to open one of the small bottles of liquid.

"I take no orders from you, boy."

"Tell your man to leave the bottle alone if he wishes to see the morrow. The poison in that bottle is mine own concoction. In the hands of someone who knows it not, it's even more lethal than it is in mine own."

"Put it down, Artos." he said but Artos was well ahead of him "Why does a man such as yourself need to carry poison?"

"Because sometimes my sword or dagger is not enough." the young man said and Torrhen smirked.

"Who are you boy, what know you of the Song of Ice and Fire?" he asked curiously.

"I am the Song of Ice and Fire." the young man said.

Now.

"Four days we tested him, he told us things that none of us knew and you've seen Brandon, Jon, you know how good he is at finding out the things that people wish to remain secret." he said and the Greatjon nodded "Four days and I tell you this, I'd not have made it one."

"What kind of tests?"

"Pray you never undergo them." he said "He bested me with a blade in hand as if I was a green boy. Seven and twenty years I've been battling men and fighting for my life and he beat me as if I'd never handled a sword afore. Me, Brandon, Rickon, Artos, all the commanders as if we were flies buzzing around a dragon's head."

"And that's how you knew he was true?"

"Look around you, Jon, see where we are. I knew he was true the moment he named his mother and father. For who else could be the Song of Ice and Fire but a son of a dragon and she-wolf."

He left the man to his thoughts, the chill in the air starting to affect him and night beginning to fall. At their meal that night, they drank far more than they should and he listened as Jon Umber the Greatjon, sang and entertained them all with a far better voice than he'd have wagered the man had. Sleep came to him easily and when he woke and broke his fast the next morning, it was to find that they had arrived.

Walking from the ship he looked to the great wall in the distance and was awed by its majesty. He, the Greatjon, and Ser Marq Piper rode to speak to the commander and to deliver him the supplies that Lord Manderly had sent with them. He found the man was Ironborn, Cotter Pyke, and while he would normally hate the man for being from those accursed islands, he was a man of the Night's Watch now and that alone earned him his respect.

Cotter told them much about Stannis Baratheon and his men, about his wife and daughter and the Red Priestess that traveled with him and that was yet another reason why Torrhen looked forward to seeing him fall. Daemon may not follow the Old Gods as they did, but he sought not to force his own god upon them. Other than for himself, he rarely spoke of the Many-Faced God and he certainly didn't burn those who followed a different deity. Finding out just how much Cotter disliked the Stag King, was a boon in other regards too as he was certain that he had no reason to worry about their arrival being spoken about.

Two days later.

The ship bore Martell sails. Torrhen looked out and saw the gold spear piercing a red sun on an orange field. When it docked he wondered if Daemon would be alone or would there be men of the Golden Company with him and in truth, he was unsurprised to find that it was to be the former. As Daemon walked down the gangplank, he wore the same expression that Torrhen himself had when he'd arrived, the awe and wonder clear in his eyes.

"Your grace," he said with a small bow of his head.

"Daemon, Torrhen. I find I hate the title already." Daemon said with far more of a jesting attitude than he'd known him to have "Lord Umber."

"Daemon."

"Ser Marq."

"Your grace."

"The horses are ready?" Daemon asked and Torrhen looked at him unsure if he really wished to ride right away.

"They are, we've not much light left in the day, I'd thought…"

"We have many miles to cover, Torrhen and it's not just a Stag King I ride to deal with."

"It's not?" The Greatjon asked.

"I have kin at the Wall, Lord Umber, kin that calls for my aid and kin I long to see. We ride and we ride hard, I intend to be there in less than a week."

"And when we get there?" he asked curiously.

"I intend to send a faithless man to a true god, Torrhen. To show Stannis Baratheon that he and his family were never meant to wear my crown. I ride to kill a man who thinks he's a king."

They were riding less than an hour later and Torrhen found himself eager for the battle or fight to come. Thus far he'd not actually seen Daemon in battle or even fighting for true. While he had no doubts that he'd acquit himself well, a part of him, a small part, still needed to see it before he truly believed. A much larger part wished to see and hear the song be sung.

A/N: Thanks to all who've read and reviewed. I had hoped to have this out last week, but some personal issues and some family health problems delayed the, thankfully all seems well now. Up Next: At the Wall, Stannis readies to become a monster and faces off against a man with no face. We find out more about Daemon's trials with the Company of the Rose. In King's Landing, Sansa, Arya, and Rickon spend time together and Jon Connington speaks to the Tyrells and the Lannisters informing them of the sentences they're to receive. While in Winterfell strange tales from the North and the South give Roose Bolton sleepless nights.

For those following my other fics, The Dark Prince is up next, probably Friday.

Unanswered Reviews.

Tsoughrhs: At this point, I'm not sure if you simply trolling my fics or not. How is the Daemon/Mountain fight copy and paste, other than the goal of getting him to confess. Yes, he used a spear, because that's the most logical way to fight the Mountain and any true warrior would understand that, but I must have missed the torturing that Oberyn did, the use of the spikes of the use of a sword too.

Daemon's personality or lack of it at the start is down to his training, just as Arya, you do remember her right, had no personality nor did the Waif you know because of their training. His personality comes as he moves further away from being a FM to being a more balanced one. So if my MC is boring and my story is bad, then here's the door, there's your cue, and thanks for dropping by

Nagiten: Torrhen and Brandon are basically in the same places or more to be precise traveling in the same general area so both are somewhat with the Greatjon, or close enough to be with him at different points of his journey.

Guest: No, I write what I want to write, there are a million other stories that go with a different version of Jon or a different version of a character wank as you call it, my stories are Jon-centric and are in a direct response to the show's terrible use of him. Do I lean too far in the other direction, yes, do I care, no.

Lord Grace: So very glad you liked it.

Chapter 9 reviews.

Daryl Dixon: So glad you liked it.

Isles: Very much so.

Vfsnake: We'll see this, even more, sow with the Boltons.

Celexys: Thanks so much for saying that. I do have a couple of good moments to come.

Annie: Is it romance in general? Or is my version of the romance that's the issue? As if it's the latter then any thoughts to improve it you may have would be welcome but if it's the former then I can understand that as some people just don't like that aspect of things. So far I've kept that aspect mainly in Sansa's pov so it does allow the skipping to be easier. I'm glad you're liking the rest of it.

Creativo: lo jugaron por una vez.

Xan Merrick: I am the same with Sansa mainly, I think she and Jon can't work at any point in a proper canon story, so once he's raised in WF that's it for Jonsa as far as I'm concerned and so it needs to be non-canon, an au, where they can be together which is partly why I went for them here. But I do get that no matter what fic, the romance arcs are not going to be for everyone. Anyway, thanks, my friend.