The Wall 300 AC.
Daemon Targaryen.
Had the raven not come from his granduncle then it may have been moons until he set foot in the North. With all he had still to do in the South, with how close he and Sansa were becoming to each other, he knew that to be so. In time he'd have needed to deal with the Boltons and Stannis Baratheon, but it was time he'd thought he had, or more truly, hoped he did. With the Company of the Rose bleeding the one so that he'd never get a foothold in the North, the other could wait, or so he'd thought.
Yet the raven had come and so rather than have much time in the South, he found he had little. He'd said his goodbyes, hard as they were, and left it to others to do the things he should. He had removed the two names from his mother's list. While those that were now held prisoner in the Red Keep and their fates meant little to him. Something that couldn't be said about those who stayed there now as his guests.
Feeling the cool wind blow in his face, Daemon wore a smile as he pictured riding through these lands with Sansa beside him. He imagined what it would be like to have her sitting behind him on his horse, her arms wrapped around him as they raced across the ground, or to have her sit in front as it was his arms that held her tightly. It was something he was doing more and more, something he'd not done before meeting her, and over time he began to wonder if it was always meant to be this way.
Was it only ever to be her?
Had he not met her would he know what it felt like?
Were they always meant to be?
As a servant of the Many-Faced God, you believed that your life was always owed to him, as was everyone else's. Be it the ravages of time, disease, hunger, or at the end of a false or true blade, one day your end would come and you would be welcomed into the God of Death's embrace. The gift they gave was his will and not their own, done in service to him and him alone. Yet the life that any lived up until the moment they did so no longer, that was now something that Daemon believed belonged to another.
Who that other was, he knew not. Yet the voice inside of him, the one he'd been listening to more and more said that were you to be lucky enough, that other was a mate of your soul. Another to share the world with, to bring you comfort when you needed it, or soothe your pain when you felt it. Were he to name that voice, he'd say it was his mother's. Or mayhap he just wished it was. Not that it truly mattered, because true or not, some mistaken belief that it mayhap be, it was one that he was putting more and more faith into. As he was that the Sansa Stark was to him what he hoped he was to her.
"Daemon." The Greatjon said and Daemon turned to look at the large Umber lord, who stared at him curiously.
"Forgive me, Jon, I find my mind wanders far more than it once did."
"To good places, I hope?"
"I believe so, yes." he smiled.
He'd talked much to both the Greatjon and Ser Marq Piper as they rode, Torrhen too. Yet with the Lord of Last Hearth, it seemed as if they'd built up a bit of camaraderie. Saving the man, seeing him back to the North, and leading him to men who wished for what he wished for had no doubt played its part. As had who he truly was. Yet were he to wager, he'd say it was because of his cousins that the man now looked at him and named him a friend.
As they'd sat around the fire near Woodswatch by-the-Pool, they'd talked much about Sansa, Arya, and Rickon Stark. Daemon had told the man of his plans regarding two out of three of his cousins, hinted at them with the third and the Greatjon had been more than pleased with what he'd heard. While he'd not come right out and said that he wished Sansa to be his wife and queen, he'd all but done so. From that point onward things had somewhat changed between him and the Umber Lord. He'd been bid to call him Jon and each time he grew quiet or began to get lost in his head, as was his wont, it was the giant man and no other who brought him out of it.
"We have the men, Daemon. The element of surprise too." the Greatjon said as they rode and Daemon nodded, letting the man think it was that he'd been pondering and not on a redheaded blue-eyed woman he missed more than he knew.
"We do. Though the witch with him gives me some pause."
"You fear the Red Priestess, Daemon?" Ser Marq asked worriedly.
"Not in the slightest, Marq. I am wary of her powers though. R'hllor's followers have been gifted by their own god, some more so than others."
"Gifted how?" the Greatjon asked.
"They see things, Jon. In the fires, they see visions of things yet to be. Some are confusing and can be taken to mean different things, others though are more clear."
"You think we're not as unexpected as we hope to be?" Torrhen asked.
"I hope not," he said, which changed the mood somewhat.
They were met with more of the men of the Company of the Rose at Oakenshield. The true numbers of Stannis' forces and what would face them at Castle Black were then revealed to them. While the Greatjon worried now about the Wildlings, Daemon did not. He'd listened to what Lysono had said, first about the attack on them Beyond the Wall by Stannis' army and then the offer he'd made to them. Not a single one of them had marched with him when he set out to take Winterfell. Daemon believed that they'd not stand with him here either.
If he had one true fear, then it was that his ties to Aemon Targaryen would be found out by Lady Melisandre. That she and the god she served would then use those ties against him. The idea of losing more kin, and kin he would have been in a position to save, was not one he welcomed. Yet there was little he could do about it other than to follow the plan of attack they'd agreed upon. He couldn't be certain that using a different face and making his way to Castle Black alone to see his granduncle to safety was the right course of action. As there was a chance that Melisandre would be able to discern his presence before he could see his granduncle to safety. No, a charge, an ambush, and a prayer to the Many-Faced God, that it seemed was their best and only hope.
While the others slept for the night, Daemon strolled around the camp. They had close to a hundred men with them here, with almost five hundred to join them on the march on the morrow and another thousand or more laying in wait. Men they had enough of and he'd name any one of theirs a match for two or even more of Stannis'. He'd name his god more than a match for Melisandre's too and so after less time than he thought, he too turned in for the night, knowing full well that he'd not go many more without being a true fight once more.
The dream came to him not long after he had drifted off to sleep. He felt the call and the bond strengthening over what felt to be a shorter distance than before. It fuelled him, gave him a resolve that forced away the fears he had for his granduncle's safety, then he believed it showed him the way and when he woke the next morning, it was with a different plan in mind.
King's Landing 300 AC.
Arya.
For as happy as she was to be with her brother again, she could see how much Sansa was missing Daemon. Her sister hid it well at times, but at others, she would get this look on her face and seem to be somewhat lost in her thoughts. Arya wished she could offer her some comfort, but if having Rickon back with them couldn't do so, then she knew not what anything she said or did would matter. So she just swore to herself that she'd be here for her sister and offer her whatever she could. As for her brother, his presence filled some of the hole in her heart that she'd been carrying with her since she'd left Kings Landing all those years ago.
He'd grown, spoke a little more roughly, and his eyes bore a wariness in them that she could see in her own and in Sansa's at times. None of them were sweet summer children anymore and while she was happy with who she now was and far preferred this Sansa to the one had once been, she'd not lie and say she didn't miss those far more innocent days. Not simply because of who they shared them with either, though that was there too. She missed them because each of them had gone through far too much to open their eyes to the truth of the world, Rickon more than most.
"You really spent your time on Skagos?" Sansa asked for the fourth or fifth time, Rickon laughing as he answered.
"Aye. I saw unicorns, Sansa." Rickon answered and for the briefest moment, her sister was the girl she had once been, wide-eyed and eager to hear more.
"You did not," Sansa said with her hand over her mouth to cover her laughter.
"I did. They ride them there."
"They do not." Sansa shook her head.
"OSHA!" Rickon exclaimed as he'd done more than once when even in jest his adventures were questioned.
"Aye, the little lord speaks the truth." the Wildling woman said confirming yet another thing that her brother had told them.
It had surprised her and worried her somewhat that her brother had been essentially raised by a Wildling. The tales that she and Sansa had heard of them were not ones that painted them in a favorable light. Yet in Osha, Rickon had found a Leal and true protector and her brother quite simply adored the woman. That she had been there for him when their mother could not be or when they were far from his side, meant that Arya owed her greatly. Yet it was Sansa's reaction to her that was the true surprise. As once again her sister showed just how different she now was, by not only welcoming her but actually embracing her as she thanked her profusely.
"It's time we ate," she said as she felt her belly rumble.
"Just us?" Rickon asked worriedly.
"Just us," Sansa said firmly.
Her sister had two dinners most nights. Not that she ate the second one, but she attended two. One with them and another with the new court that had built up around the king who wasn't there. Sansa somewhat served in Daemon's place, not as queen or regent or in any defined role, but in being the hostess for certain events. She and the Hand of the King, Jon Connington, would sit at the High Table and while he spoke to the Lords and Knights, Sansa would do so to their lady wives. It made Arya wonder even more if her sister wished to be queen once more, she hoped she did. For in their cousin she'd find a far better king than she ever would have found in Joffrey Baratheon.
Their own dinners were much simpler. She, Sansa, Rickon, and Osha, sometimes they'd be joined by Gendry and Hot Pie if their work in the Smiths and kitchens were done. At others, she'd have lunch with one or the other of them. Either being escorted to the Smiths and sitting with Gendry while they both ate or heading down to the kitchens and sitting at a small table while Hot Pie and her did. These though were her favorite meals of all and reminded her much of those at home in Winterfell. Mayhap that was why talk as always turned to them going home, as it did right now.
"Lord Walrus…."
"Manderly." Sansa corrected her brother who nodded as he stuffed his face and then at least waited until he had finished the mouthful of food before speaking again. Numerous telling-offs by Sansa having finally cured him of the habit of splattering them all with food as he spoke excitedly.
"Lord Manderly." Rickon said looking to their sister, his smile that looked so much like Robb's coming to his face when Sansa nodded "Says that I'm to be Lord of Winterfell, that I'll need a Re Re…Regent."
"Aye, you will." Sansa said.
"But the Flayed Men are there, Sansa," Rickon said worriedly, as he had the other times they'd had this conversation.
"Daemon will see them dead, Rickon," Sansa said firmly, her sister's faith in their cousin was unmatched even by those who fought for him.
"What if he can't? What if they….What if like with Robb they…"
She, Sansa, which of them moved first she knew not, only that both of them embraced him together. When he'd first arrived here, he'd only truly let Osha offer him that comfort, now he did so with them too.
"Remember what I told you about the Old Lion, Rickon?" Sansa said softly.
"The one who started the war?"
"Aye. Daemon ended him, he made him pay for all he took from us. All of them are in the cells here, almost every person who dared to harm our family. The Weasel, remember we spoke of the Weasel?"
Arya saw Rickon's expression darken, there was no man that he hated more than Walder Frey after he'd found out the truth of what he'd done to her mother and brother. After that and what he'd done to Grey Wind, there were few she hated more either.
"Aye."
"Guess who ended him?" Sansa asked.
"Daemon?" Rickon replied shakily.
"Aye, he did. He rescued me too, Rickon. Stole me away from those who wished me harm. He did so on his own with no help from anyone else, even though he has an army to call upon."
"The golden men."
"Aye, you've seen them here, the golden men." Sansa said as Rickon smiled a little "Yet he came alone and stole me away from a tower on high. Arya, it was his man who rescued Arya, was it not?"
"It was, you've seen him too, Rickon. With the painted hair," she said both answering Sansa's question and telling her own part of the tale.
"He did?"
"Aye, he did," she said firmly.
"So the Boltons are no match for him, Rickon, he'll see them ended. I know he will."
"Will you….Will you be my Regent?"
There was no answer from their sister and it confirmed much to Arya, it worried her too. The pack had only just come back together after being lone wolfs for far too long. She didn't want to even begin to consider that they'd not be staying that way. Yet, each day they were here and Sansa answered Rickon's question not, she was beginning to.
After they'd finished eating, they sat around the fire and spoke about more pleasant memories of their days growing up together. Nicer tales that each of them remembered and soon enough, their brother's eyes grew heavy. All three of them helped him to his bed and Shaggydog climbed in beside him. Osha took her place at the seat beside the bed and would wait there until Sansa's return. Her sister was, Arya felt, more than happy to share her bed with Rickon, and here at least, her brother seemed to need it.
"I'll not be long," Sansa said to Osha as soon as Rickon fell to sleep.
They walked from the room together, their guards behind them as they strolled down the corridor before parting. Sansa to head to the Throne Room for yet another feast of sorts, while she made her way to her own. As it had been each night, the question was on the tip of her tongue. Unlike the others, this time she actually asked it.
"You're not coming back to Winterfell, are you?" she asked, happy there was no anger or recrimination in her voice as she did so.
"I…I don't know, Arya, truly I don't."
"You don't wish to," she said, happy her tone was the same.
"I've wished for nothing more for so long. I'd not thought I'd want anything else other than that and yet…."
"It's Daemon isn't it?"
"Oh Arya, am I a fool still?" Sansa asked as she moved to embrace her "Am I nothing more than that silly little girl I once was?"
A small part of her wished to say she was, that she should abandon all thoughts of staying in this place. To tell her that she was needed in Winterfell, that Rickon needed her, she needed her. She so very much wished to tell her that they needed to be together., and yet she could not. Arya wanted nothing more than for each of them to be happy, content, and most of all safe. For Sansa, she believed she'd find all of those things with her cousin and she'd not deny here any of them.
"No, you're not that girl anymore. None of us are who we once were, Sansa," she said as Sansa let her go so she could look into her eyes and see her expression.
"You'd not hate me if I…."
"I could never hate you, sister mine." she smiled and was embraced once again.
It was the truth. At one time she believed she hated her sister, even though she knew she loved her too. There were times when she hated no one more than Sansa Stark. She'd been a green summer girl then and had no idea what true hate actually felt like. Now she did and the last thing she'd ever truly felt for her sister was hate. Anger, annoyance, and frustration at times, yes, but never hate. She loved her back then and loved her even more now. It was one of the few things about the last few years that she actually welcomed.
"I'll see you on the morrow, sister mine," Sansa said, her smile beaming somewhat.
"Not if I see you first." she japed, getting a laugh in return, and then they said their goodnights for true.
Her dreams that night were of grey walls and of flayed men and she welcomed them greatly. For moving amongst them and bringing death to them all was a white wolf with the reddest eyes she'd ever seen and once he was done, a dragon flew over the keep and let out a loud roar.
King's Landing 300 AC.
Jon Connington.
The city was secured and the ravens declaring Daemon as king had been sent. With Dorne declared for them under Prince Oberyn, the Reach all but theirs, and the Loyalist Houses they had a large chunk of Westeros under their control. They had the vast majority of the Lords of the West or their heirs here as their prisoners and though he wished it to be Daemon who took charge of the sentencing and their prisoners' fates, it fell to him.
So once he'd taken care of all other matters, he turned his attention to dealing with those ones. Jon thanked the gods that Daemon had held the meeting with Randyll Tarly, as he'd no wish to be the one to tell him that his son was to marry the Golden Rose of Highgarden. It was time for him though to speak to the withered old one and no doubt the Queen of Thorns would be happy enough with her granddaughter's fate, if not so much with her own.
Despite being Hand of the King and acting as Daemon's regent while he dealt with events in the North, Jon went to the rooms the Tyrells were being held in rather than have them brought to him. He arrived just after they'd broken their fast and he could see the apprehension in their faces when he entered the room. Olenna's own was schooled, but Mace, Garlan, and Loras' faces were very much not while Lady Alerie and Lady Margaery hid their own worries better than any but their matriarch.
"The time has come," he said simply and though he had no wish to cause them more discomfort than he must, he caused it still.
"And what is to become of us?" Olenna asked, hiding her worries well he had to admit.
"You're to be stripped of the Wardenship and as Lord Paramount of the Reach and to be replaced by House Tarly as such," he said simply as Mace gasped, Loras bristled and Alerie did her best to comfort her husband.
He looked to Olenna who seemed to have expected this at least, while Margaery and Garlan now bore the same worried expressions on their faces.
"Lord Mace Tyrell is attainted removed from ever standing as Lord of a House or any position of power and responsibility ever again. The lands around Highgarden are to be greatly reduced and as for the keep itself" he saw how Alerie now held a broken Mace Tyrell and felt some sympathy for the woman, if not for the man himself, each eye in the room now looked his way and he felt more than one of those watching were holding their breath "Is to be given to Ser Garlan Tyrell and his good lady wife. They will sit that seat as a major but not great House."
Jon caught the relieved look that Olenna shot her grandson. While the young man in question showed no joy in his rise at his father's expense, though given what was to come, he'd be getting off better than others.
"Lord Willas Tyrell is to join the Citadel and Ser Loras is to be sentenced to the Wall," he said to loud gasps.
"Surely not?" Olenna asked.
"There is no place for your oldest grandson, Lady Olenna. In time he could serve your House as it's Maester mayhap, but there is no place for him other than that or the Wall and given his injury, his grace felt this to be for the best."
"And Loras?"
"Has served two kings in wearing the White Cloak and can now serve a different order."
"Continue then Lord Hand," Olenna said, glaring at him as she did so.
"The Crown will take half your coin, Lady Olenna, we value it at a little over a million gold dragons, yet, it's only half we seek."
"And my granddaughter?" Olenna asked far more worriedly.
"Lady Margaery is to be wed, my lady. She is to be wed to a man of our choosing and will remain for some time as a ward of the Crown."
"A hostage, a forced marriage, and a hostage, that's what you would see my granddaughter face?" Why should we not just demand trial by combat and take our chances with that instead." Olenna asked angrily.
"If you have any amongst you capable of beating my king then feel free to do so, Lady Olenna. Though you should bear in mind it was King Daemon himself who took down the Mountain that no longer Rides. You should bear in mind too that once you lose, your sentences shall be that much more severe."
"What's more severe than what you and your king have just wrought down upon my House."
"Why death, of course. There's naught more severe than such after all," he said to a gulp from more than one of the Tyrells.
He sighed, he'd not mean to be so harsh in how he explained the sentences. Yes the sentences themselves needed to somewhat be, but he'd not meant to make it seem as if he was gloating or not to offer them some respite. Yet before he could offer that, he needed to pronounce the last one.
"You Lady Olenna are to spend your last days far from your family. You may contact them by letter and letter alone and each letter will be sent unsealed. In time you may be allowed supervised visits and you'll be kept in comfortable surroundings, but there'll be no plots made to regain position nor to influence events. For none shall be tolerated."
"Regain position, influence events, and how would I be able to even consider such." Olenna snapped.
"Through your granddaughter and her husband, Lord Dickon Tarly, who'll serve the Small Council and is his father's heir."
Olenna looked at her granddaughter and he could see the relief on both their faces, then a moment later he saw as the wheels started and then stopped turning. He was surprised to see the smile somewhat appear and then he offered some further relief.
"I shall speak to his grace about your grandson. If in time you prove yourselves as having accepted your sentences with good grace, then mayhap some of those sentences can be reduced somewhat. Ser Loras may not need to serve at the Wall for life and mayhap a number of years will suffice. Be thankful that you are not the Lannister's my lady, for their sentences will be even more severe than your own."
Jon turned to walk away and was surprised somewhat when Lady Margaery called him back, her voice sounding both sweet and pleading at the same time.
"My grandmother, Lord Hand. May we know how much time we have with her before we say our goodbyes?"
"You may, Lady Margaery. Two moons at most, though most likely it'll be just the one. I'd bid you use the time well and remember this as you do. Though it may not seem it now, his grace has been lenient. The Mountain, the Old Lion, Lord Varys, and Grandmaester Pycelle have all found out to their cost what happens when he's not. I leave you to ponder on that."
Leaving them so much time with each other was a risk, he knew it, Lysono knew it, and Daemon knew it even better than any of them. Yet there was a method in this too. For here they could truly keep an eye on them and in the walls watching each and every step they made, listening to each word they spoke, were eyes and ears that were his and his alone. Should they plot treason once more, then they'd find that Daemon's wrath was a thing to behold. As he walked back to the Tower of the Hand and readied to go speak to the Lannisters, he hoped for their sake that the Queen of Thorns was as smart as people claimed her to be.
Winterfell 300 AC.
Roose Bolton.
Each day he woke up to a new potential problem. He'd thought with Stannis Baratheon defeated that it would have led to the last holdouts to his rule finally coming around. Yet Manderly had still not answered the call, the Mountain Clans had not come, and nor had the rest of the Umbers or any of the Glovers. While he'd not expected the Mormonts to accept him as Warden, he'd not truly worried about them as much as the others. Old and well-liked they may have been, but the truth of things was that Bear Island brought little to his cause. The others, however, very much did.
He needed the Manderlys and White Harbor, both for their men and their access to trade. The Umbers brought men and a sense of legitimacy to his rule, while if he could get the Mountain Clans, then he was all but secured in it. House Glover at least had a reason for why they'd not answered and so for the past few days, he'd looked to Deepwood Motte with great interest. Normally he'd care not that one of his fellow Northern Houses was being held hostage, if anything, he'd revel in their misfortune. Was it anyone but Iron born holding them hostage, he'd still leave them to their own devices. Yet, he needed to establish control and show the North that he could be relied upon, and so despite his natural instinct, he'd drawn up a plan to see the Motte liberated. A plan that had somehow been rendered pointless.
"What do you mean Deepwood Motte flies Glover banners once more?" he asked Steelshanks Walton.
"Our men scouted as you asked M'lord. The Iron Born are no longer there."
Even now he still had no idea if the Iron Born had plundered and taken all they'd wished from the keep, been forced out due to some uprising, or if they'd left for some unknown reason. Was that not enough of a headache for Roose to suffer through, the news from Moat Cailin was even worse. For while he had no idea of what had happened at Deepwood Motte, at the Moat, he at least had some. Even if he wished he had not.
A force had come out of the Neck and had liberated the Moat. That alone was bad enough and yet it was who led that force that truly gave Roose pause, Howland Reed. For nigh on seven and ten years, not sight nor sound of Howland Reed had been seen by any of them. Other than an occasional raven to apologize for not attending some event or other, not a single word came from the Lord of Greywater Watch. So mysterious had he become, that there were those amongst his fellow Northern lords who were certain he'd long since passed and that his House was just keeping up a mummery that he still lived. He'd certainly not left the Neck since Robert's Rebellion. Until now that was and it vexed him greatly.
Today though it was not Deepwood Motte, Moat Cailin, reluctant lords, or mysterious ones that were causing Roose concern. Instead, it was the raven scroll that bore the Three-Headed Dragon and the words written upon it. Words that changed the entire nature of the game and which he'd not yet been able to decide their effect upon his rule. Looking at them once more in a vain search for clarity, Roose was soon frowning and not even the taste of his hippocras was welcome on his tongue.
To the Lord of Winterfell,
His Grace King Daemon Targaryen has retaken the Iron Throne and the Lannisters no longer sit a seat that belonged to them not. He calls upon you and every other lord to swear fealty to him and his House and intends to put the realm to rights. House Lannister and House Tyrell have seen the measure of his grace and found out to their cost that to stand against him is to reap the whirlwind. Do not make not the same mistake.
Your fealty, your oath, and your support of his grace are not requested but demanded. Should it not be forthcoming, then as Tywin Lannister has found out, dead men swear no oaths. We await your reply with interest, my lord, but not with patience.
Jon Connington,
Hand of the King.
His first instinct had been to send a raven, name himself for who he was and sign it as Warden of the North. To swear fealty and for his arrangement with Tywin Lannister to then become one with this new Targaryen King. He'd been on the verge of doing so when other ideas began to swarm around in his head. Different strategies, and ways to benefit from this news and use it to his advantage. Dare he say it, a plan to gain even more than he already had.
The North would never kneel to a Targaryen, not after what the Mad King did. They'd need someone to rally around, a Lord that they could look to. Someone to lead them and give them what they'd had but briefly under Robb Stark, independence. He'd begun to believe that it was time to name himself a king, or more precisely to have the North name him as such. That with an external and almost historical threat such as House Targaryen, he'd been given a chance to bring his errant fellow Northern lords to his side.
Yet something felt off to him, felt wrong, and he knew not what it was. He'd taken Rodrik Ryswell and Barbrey Dustin into his confidence somewhat. Not fully of course, for he'd not let anyone ever know the truth of his mind. Ramsay, he'd kept completely in the dark on things, however, as his son may have had a low cunning, but the real truth of the Game of Thrones was lost on him. Roose needed clever minds and he'd not find one in his bastard son. A meeting had been held between him, his former Goodfather, and Goodsister and he'd shown them the raven scroll and asked if they had received a similar one.
"Not that I'm aware of, though, with access to one of your ravens, I can soon find out," Rodrik said and Roose had called for Tybald who had then sent ravens to Barrowton and the Rills.
"Who is this Daemon Targaryen? I've heard not of him afore." Barbrey asked.
"I know not, Barbrey. Though given he has Jon Connington serving him…"
"Aye, ever loyal to the dragons was the Griffin, so whoever this dragon is, it matters not." Rodrik sighed.
"What do you intend to do, Roose? He heard Barbrey ask.
"I'll not kneel," he replied simply and noticed the smile on his former Goodsister's face.
"This could be useful, Roose. A rallying call."
"We'd need to secure the Moat, Rodrik. Men would have to march and winter is coming."
"As are the dragons," Barbrey said softly.
The meeting had brought him little comfort if the truth was told. Both Rodrik and Barbrey had told him things that he'd already discerned and had offered him naught that he didn't already know. So despite his better judgment, he'd called Ramsay to his solar and had spoken to his son. Surprised somewhat by what he suggested and that it actually was a good idea.
"Stannis Baratheon's head, father."
"What care I for a Broken Stag."
"It'll buy you peace with this dragon. For as much as he may wish your fealty, he'll want any claim against him ended even more."
"You wish to march on the Wall?" he asked curiously.
"A thousand men, that's all I'd ask, and once I've taken his head and that of his wife and daughter, we make a deal with the dragon."
"What deal?"
"The North and its Warden unchallenged."
Ramsay's words had given him much to ponder on. An independent North, a crown on his head, his Bannermen rallying to a united cause, were he a different man, then all would be too tempting to turn his back on. Yet, Tywin Lannister had pulled on the dragon's tail and had found out to his cost how foolish that had been. Roose Bolton would not make the same mistake. With his mind finally resolved, he called out to the guards at his door and waited until one of them stepped into his room. It was better to stand beside the dragon as it loosed its flames than it was to be in its path and he'd come too far and done too much to falter now.
"Find me, my son," Roose said as he decided to go with Ramsay's plan and then deal with the errant Lords of the North later.
King's Landing 300 AC.
Tyrion Lannister.
It had all come crashing down around them. His father's crimes were sure to cost them all their heads and there would be no shape coming out of the shadows to save him this time. Varys was dead, Pycelle too and though they'd been treated well thus far, it was only a matter of time until they were not. No amount of wailing from his sister, mewling from his nephew, or thinking on his part could help them out of the dire situation they found themselves in. Not even Jaime's sword would save them now.
They'd been so close, his plans had been sound. Had they just left a little sooner. No, that was a fool's game, he thought to himself. The truth of the matter was that they'd lost the moment that Daemon Targaryen had found his way into Tyrion's cell. From that point onward, a game was being played that they were ill-equipped for. Now the only thing that remained was to find out the true cost of losing that game and Tyrion welcomed not his sister's words when he heard them in his head.
"When you play the Game of Thrones you win or you die. There is no middle ground."
He tried not to think of the irony of him actually accepting words that came from the poisoned tongue of his sister. Even despite the direness of their situation, he couldn't help but laugh and laugh loudly at it. Moons ago, he'd thought he was to lose his head and a savior had come out of nowhere, or so he'd thought. In truth, he'd been bought just a few more moons of life, some extra days and nights, and he'd wasted each and every one of them. What he'd give for but one more.
One more night with Shae when he loved her and she allowed him to believe she loved him too.
One more night of drinking, whoring, of telling japes, and believing himself to be the smartest man in all the realm.
One more night where he dreamt of a small cottage by the sea and of a wife that he knew now had loved him for true.
One more night where he could lay abed and listen to her sing the Seasons of my Love.
Shaking his head to clear them of such thoughts, he got up from his chair and walked over to the water bowl.
"Foolish dreams, but mine own," he said as he looked at himself in the looking glass.
Though they were kept in separate rooms, they were allowed to eat their meals together. So after throwing water on his face, Tyrion waited until the guard came to bring him to his brother, sister, and nephew. He thanked the gods that his niece was far from here and worried about his uncle and cousins. They'd not seen sight of Kevan since he'd left the city with his father and only knew that he lived and was a prisoner too.
Within an hour, he was being led to the larger rooms they ate in and he entered to see Jaime sitting beside Tommen while his sister looked the same shell of a woman that she'd been since they'd been captured. Taking his seat, he tried to instigate a conversation for all the good it did him. Only Tommen seemed in the mood for such and even then, not truly. Still, he ate well and had a good appetite, happy enough to find that they weren't being denied anything in their final days in this world.
He'd only just finished when the man entered the room. Lysono Marr, Spymaster of the Golden Company and newly appointed Master of Whisperers to King Daemon Targaryen. It was a strange world he'd found himself in during these past few moons. A mercenary company founded to put a black dragon on the Iron Throne had instead placed a red one there. His father's army and Tyrell's army, a force so large when it was combined that none should be able to stand in its way, were now broken and defeated. The Lords of the West and Reach were prisoners. Other than Littlefinger and Lysa Tully, there was not a force in Westeros able to stand against the one which had broken and defeated his father's own. Not that he believed the Vale would fare any better should they try to do so.
Oberyn Martell had gone and allied with the son of the man and woman who shamed his sister. Then together they'd taken the Iron Throne, King's Landing, and Westeros and cast all who stood in their way, down. All that had occurred was at the behest of a man who wore many faces but only one true one. It was a world he no longer understood and so mayhap it was for the best if it was one that he bid farewell to. Though as he looked at his brother, his nephew, and even his sister, he wished he was bidding farewell to it alone. Or at least that he had some inkling of a plan to make that so.
"I've come to tell you that you may spend the rest of the day together. Your luncheon will be one shared with the rest of your kin." Lysono said and while Tommen smiled, he and Jaime looked at each other and said much without saying anything at all. Turning to Lysono, he knew he had to be sure.
"It's to be today then?"
"It is. Lord Jon will come by later and tell you what sentences await you. Until then, you are free to do as you please."
The next few hours were the longest and shortest of his life. He had so much he wished to say and yet found no words would come to him. Kevan and Lancel were brought to join them and while they were pleased to see each other again, it was clear that they too were well aware of what it meant that they'd been allowed to. Cersei seemed to somewhat come out of her state of apathy and yet he wished she had not. His sister crying hysterically and begging for the life of her son and daughter and Jaime doing his best to tell her that Myrcella was safe in Dorne. Not that Tyrion or even Jaime himself believed that any Lannister was safe anymore.
Eventually, the day grew longer. Tommen napped and Cersei calmed somewhat. He and Kevan spoke on many subjects but avoided the most important of them and Lancel and Jaime had probably the longest conversation they'd ever had. He spoke but briefly to his brother, simply because they'd talked everything out and had already spoken of truths that had long been kept hidden. So when the time came and the door opened, he was as ready as he could be for what was to come. Or so he thought.
"His grace has given me leave to pronounce sentence on House Lannister for its many crimes. "Jon Connington began.
"And we'll be given no leave to answer them in public?" Kevan asked angrily.
"No."
"Yet the man you serve and name as king would name himself as fair and just." Kevan spat.
"More than your brother was, yes. But no more than that, Lord Kevan. Be thankful for that for was he not, then your fate would be the same as Tywin's, and trust me, your brother suffered greatly before he left this world."
Tyrion saw Jaime move to Tommen, his arm going around his shoulder as his nephew shook at Jon Connington's words. He was surprised to see a look of sympathy on the Griffin's face, though it was not one that lasted long.
"House Lannister is to be stripped of all lands and holdings. Those who played no active role in the Golden Battle will be reduced to the rank of minor lords and given small holdings. They and their children will be held to certain oaths and agreements including but not limited to who they can be matched with."
"This is an outrage!" Kevan said rising to his feet.
"Sit Lord Lannister lest you be forced to do so." Jon Connington said and even Tyrion would have taken his seat had he not already been sitting, such was the tone that the Hand of the King spoke with.
"Continue, Lord Hand," he said when no one else seemed able to speak.
"Four-fifths of your coin is to be confiscated by the crown in reparations for all your House has done over the years. With the final fifth used evenly amongst those of your kin not facing stricter sentences. Which brings me to those who are."
"Ser Jaime, Lord Kevan, Lord Tyrion, and Lancel Lannister, by order of his grace King Daemon Targaryen you are hereby sentenced to live out your days in service to the Night's Watch. Lady Cersei Lannister, you are sentenced to serve the realm as one of the Silent Sisters. Tommen Lannister, it is ordered that you are to be taken to Oldtown where you will spend your remaining days in service to the Citadel as a Maester, one who will never be attached to any House or holding."
"And Myrcella?" he asked, trying to concentrate on anything but his own fate.
"We await word from Prince Doran as to what is to be done with Lady Myrcella. Should he still seek a match between her and his son, then she and Prince Trystane will be wed. Should he not, then she will be joining the Faith as a Septa."
"I thank you for letting us know, Lord Hand. My family and I will be given time to spend with each other and say our goodbyes?"
"They will, but not unlimited time, Lord Tyrion. There are those who wished for a harsher sentence my lord, some who would see that all those in this room and elsewhere lost their heads. I will freely admit that I was one of them."
"Then I'm relieved it was not your choice to make, Lord Hand."
"As well you should be." Jon Connington said as he turned to leave the room.
Jaime comforted Cersei and Tommen as best he could, while Kevan did the same to Lancel, leaving Tyrion alone and without any to offer him a comfort they'd not be able to bring him. He bristled, was angered, wished to scream and shout, rant and rave, and yet he sat silently. For in the end it truly mattered not. They had lost and yet kept their heads. It was a middle ground and he'd yet to decide if it was better than the alternative.
Castle Black 300 AC.
Stannis Baratheon.
He'd slept if you could call it that. The dreams came to him each night and each of them was worse than the one before it. His brothers, father, and his mother all visited him and not a single one of them did he welcome seeing again. The reproach in their eyes or in their voices was there with him even when he woke and yet nothing they said or did could dissuade him. Stannis' path was set, his course locked in, and not even his mother's pleading and telling him it was not too late to turn back was enough to make him do so.
As the time neared, he kept more and more to himself. He had tried to spend time with his daughter and found he could not. Each time he looked at her, he'd see her awash with flame, and every time she spoke, he feared it would be the sound of her screams rather than a simple question that he'd hear. It made him grateful that he'd never been a true father to her. Happy that her memories of him wouldn't be shattered by what he was about to do.
Selyse was as resolved as he was and that brought him little comfort. Though it did mean that he'd no need to listen to her whining or begging for their only child's life. His wife had welcomed R'hllor completely into her heart and had not cared when they'd burned the statues of the seven, she'd almost been euphoric about it. He wondered would she truly show the same euphoria when it was Shireen and not a piece of wood that was set ablaze. As he wondered whether or not he'd be able to show the resolve that he needed to in order to see it through.
"And he loved his people so much that he gave up his only child so he could save them."
Melisandre's words now rang hollow to him. Stannis didn't love the people, he didn't even particularly like most of them. Yet he was willing to give her up to save them regardless.
Did that make him a good man or an even bigger monster than the one he wished to save them from?
Was he doing the right thing?
Was there another way?
Were the voices and specters in his dreams there to guide him to his rightful path or to turn him from it?
He believed it was the latter. That the god of darkness was trying to sway him from what he must do. He had to believe it, else he was lost.
As day turned to night and the time drew ever closer, Stannis readied himself. He'd sent Davos to speak to the Wildlings one more time. Though not for the reasons the man himself may believe. It wasn't some vain effort to get them to commit even more fully than they had, instead it was to not have him here when they tied Shireen to the stake. Few loved his daughter as much as her beloved Onion Knight and while the rest of his men would stand idly by while she was given to the fire, Davos Seaworth would not. Stannis could let many things go, but the insults and actions that Davos would shout and take would need to be answered for and he'd not give up another life this night if he was able.
He walked from the room and down into the courtyard below. His men were lined up and waiting and while they knew some of what was about to occur, few knew the full truth of it. When he saw Selyse, he could barely look her in the eye and when he saw the sight of the red dress in the distance, he almost turned back. Duty though had been what had defined him all his life and his duty was to save the realms of men from what came for them. He'd not forsake it now.
How long it took him to walk to his place, he knew not. The sight of the stake, the wood surrounding it, and his entire army lined up so they could bear witness, all went barely seen by him. The sound of her screams very much did not go unheard, however.
"FATHER!"
"FATHER PLEASE!"
"MOTHER!"
"MOTHER HELP ME!"
Each word was like a knife to his heart and though he saw it not, around him men's heads dropped and only the most fervent supporters of R'hllor looked on for true.
"NO! NO! MY DAUGHTER NO!" he heard the voice cry out and it took him some time to realize it was not in his head.
Shireen had been tied to the stake already and Melisandre stood with the flaming torch in her hand. His daughter screamed his name, his wife's name, Ser Davos' and for the Seven who are One, yet it was only Selyse who answered her. With a nod to his men, he bid them to take Selyse away when she tried to run towards their daughter. Her own screams joined Shireen's and thankfully drowned out those of his daughter in their loudness. It was but a brief respite.
"FATHER PLEASE!"
"PLEASE DON'T DO THIS!"
"HELP ME! FATHER HELP ME!"
So loud were the screams that they hid the sound of the horses as they raced towards them. They covered the shouts of dying men as arrows came out of the night and bodies fell to the ground. Stannis was so focussed on Shireen and Melisandre that it took him some time to realize they were under attack and longer still to give any orders to his men. Yet even as he did so, it was the sight of the torch as it lit the wood that surrounded his daughter that took his eyes looked to. Only when he saw the fire catch did he turn to deal with the danger he now faced.
"FORM UP! FORM UP!"
"RALLY TO ME!"
His shouts rang out as Lightbringer was unsheathed and with nary a glance back at Shireen or the stake, it was to the men who attacked that he moved.
Who they were, he had no idea. They bore no flayed men sigil and yet he'd name them as Boltons for who else would attack him so. How many there were, was even less known to him and as around him men fell, he began to believe that not even giving his daughter to the flames was enough to save them from this fight, let alone help them win another. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw someone move toward the flames that surrounded his daughter. With Lightbringer, he cut down two men who came his way as he too moved to where Shireen was.
Around him, his men had been caught so unawares that it was a slaughter, a massacre, a rout. They would not win this fight, most would not see the morrow and in his head, Melisandre's words once again resounded.
"For the night is dark and full of terrors."
Never were words truer or the terrors made more real. Men on horseback cut down men who were not and did so without mercy. All sense of discipline or order had been lost and even those who'd rallied to him and Lightbringer had since abandoned themselves to panic. Stannis Baratheon had and would not. He moved to the flames, to seek out what or who he knew not. Melisandre? Shireen? Answers? One or all of these things mayhap? It mattered not.
He found an answer by the fire. The stake had burned away and with it his daughter and yet it seemed her sacrifice had been for naught. For surely there was no way he could beat the Great Other now. Then he saw him. His eyes were on his as he moved through the shadows. The silver sword glistened in the light that the flames cast upon it. He was here, the Great Other was here and his faceless form had met its match.
"FOR THE REALM!" Stannis shouted as he ran forward to fulfill his destiny and when he heard its roar and looked to the sky to see it as it flew overhead, he felt renewed.
The Wall 300 AC.
Daemon.
When they reached the first true settlement of the Wildlings, he'd thought they'd face trouble. Men rallied, weapons were drawn and he and his men were outnumbered, if not outmatched. Yet before the fight had even begun, it was stopped. The small woman who moved to the front of the lines of men who sought to defend their settlement was more than enough to get them to stand down.
"They are not Flayed Men, they mean us no harm!" the woman said loudly and though one of two of the Wildlings seemed ready to disagree and others kept their weapons at the ready, that was the extent of the opposition her words received.
He watched her as she moved toward him. Her eyes were on his all the way and she wore a smile on her face when she found whatever it was she'd been seeking. She looked from him to the sword at his hip, then to the men with him and her smile grew ever more true.
"Long have I waited for you, my prince. Both your uncle and I." the woman said as others came to her, a red-headed bushy-bearded man and a dark-haired one who looked at them both curiously.
"You know my uncle?" he asked, though he could see already that she spoke the truth.
"Aemon Targaryen, son of someone or other, your family names are bothersome to me." she japed and even he chuckled when he heard the Greatjon laugh behind him.
"He is here?" he asked to a shake of the woman's head.
"At the Crow's Nest."
"The what?" Torrhen asked.
"Castle Black." the dark-haired man said as he moved to stand beside the old woman "As is Stannis Baratheon and his men. Men we are allied with."
"A stupid thing as I've told you already, Mance Rayder. This is the only ally we need to see the Dawn."
He knew not what to make of her words, nor what to tell them in return. Stannis would die by his hands, which he could pretty much guarantee. More than that, it was only his Greatuncle that had brought him to the Wall, or so he'd thought. The more he'd rode alongside it, slept alongside it, the more he was beginning to think that he was always meant to come here. Though given that in another life he may have been sent to serve here, that had been a thought he'd had as they'd sailed north too.
"I mean no harm to you or your people." he said to an almost growl by the Greatjon "My quarrel is not with you but with Stannis Baratheon."
"Yet our accord is with him. Should you end him then who stands with us against the Boltons when they come?" Mance asked.
"The Boltons are my enemies and the enemy or my enemy is my friend," he said to a laugh from the older woman.
"Speak to your uncle, my prince. Speak to him and then let us speak again. Until then, the Free Folk take no part in your battles, but bid you good fortune in them."
They passed more and more settlements and the Greatjon grew even more agitated about them. Daemon knew some of the tales of the Wildlings, Free Folk as the woman who'd named herself Mother Mole, had called them. Yet, the Greatjon and Torrhen knew more than he and so he'd listened. Though he'd not agreed with some of what was being said too.
No one builds a Wall that stretches from sea to sea and rises higher than any other just to keep savage wildlings out. The Walls of Qarth were no more than mere stones compared to the Wall, and they had stopped Dothraki hordes more than once. From what he'd seen of the Wildlings, they were ill-equipped and untrained and far from the warriors that the Dothraki were. To build such a structure as the one they rode beside to protect you from these people, wasn't just overkill, it was madness. No, the Wall was built for far more than that and it worried even him to ponder on just what it was supposed to keep away.
It was nightfall when they reached where they'd part. Word had been sent to the other half of his forces and he trusted Torrhen and the Greatjon to lead them in the battle to come. The only thing left to decide was what form that battle would take. It would be an ambush of some sort, yet he knew not the layout of Castle Black nor the true nature of the men they'd be facing and would need to do so before they attacked. Numbers wise they'd probably be in the ascendancy, but to attack a keep would bleed his men more than it would those who defended.
"You're sure about this, Daemon?" Torrhen asked.
"I am. I need to see them for myself, Torrhen. To know their defenses and their mettle. Once I do, then we can adapt our plans to suit our needs."
"But walking into the enemy's camp, it's far too dangerous, Daemon." Ser Marq said worriedly.
"Not for me, it's not," he said as he turned and changed his face once more.
The Greatjon slapped his back and Daemon mounted his horse. He rode some of the way and then dismounted before going the rest of the way on foot. Good fortune smiled at him when he saw the patrol and he waited until one of them had separated from the others before making his move. After taking the man's face, he joined back up with the rest of Stannis' guards and before he knew it, he was strolling through Castle Black's gates.
It was pitiful, badly maintained, and offered little if any protection. The worries he'd had about assaulting a keep were now quickly removed and within an hour or so, he'd come up with a plan of attack. Yet no more than an hour later, he was dismissing that for a completely different one. For when he heard the tales of the meeting that was to be held on the night to come, he couldn't believe his good fortune. Every man under Stannis' command was to gather outside the gates and bear witness to some grand event. What exactly that entailed, none were sure of. Other than it had something to do with Lady Melisandre.
Daemon considered getting closer to the lady herself to find out the truth of things, yet he knew he could not. Not unless he was to bring her the gift that was. The red priests had their own magic and though not all would be able to tell that he was not who he claimed to be, some would. Far better not to take the chance than to risk being discovered. It was for this very same reason that he forwent the chance to speak to his granduncle and instead just looked forlornly at the walkway that led to the Maester's chambers.
"Soon," he said softly.
He snuck out early the next morning and made his way to the meeting point he'd agreed with Torrhen. To his relief, they were waiting for him there meaning he could do this quickly and then return. Torrhen and the Greatjon had been joined by a huge man from the Mountain Clans named Big Bucket Wull. Along with Asher Forrester, who acted as almost a go-between for the North and Company of the Rose. Daemon wore his own face and caught the look shared between Big Bucket and the Greatjon when the former looked at him.
"Well?" the Greatjon asked.
"I am, thanks for asking." he japed, something he'd been doing more and more lately "We won't need to attack the keep at all. They have some event or other going on tonight. A burning I believe."
"Burning?" Big Bucket asked.
"A sacrifice to R'hllor. They mean to burn somebody alive." Asher said and Daemon saw the disgust on both the Greatjon's and Big Bucket's faces when they heard those words.
"Every man in Stannis' command is to stand and bear witness. We attack them then." he said to some smiles "At my signal, horse, and archers, Torrhen. Bleed them and bleed them good and then hit them with all we've got."
"And you?" the Greatjon asked worriedly.
"Me, I'm going to kill a king," he said with a smirk.
Later that night.
Never could he have imagined it. The mere idea of it repulsed him. Hearing the girl's screams and seeing them ignored by her father made him hate Stannis Baratheon as much as he hated his brother. More so, as this was happening in front of his eyes, whereas Robert Baratheon's crimes were crimes of the past. He waited until the woman he assumed was the girl's mother had lost what little remained of her mind and then moved to give the signal. Once he'd done so, he moved closer to the stake and the red priestess who stood in front of it.
"The Night is dark and full of terrors, but our king brings us the Light. For he is Azor Ahai reborn. The Prince That Is Promised and he will wake dragons from stone." Melisandre said almost ecstatically as she moved the flame to the wood that surrounded the stake.
It was all bloody nonsense of course. If waking dragons from stone were to be the sign of being some promised prince then they'd got the prophecy very wrong. For it had been his aunt who'd done so and Dany was no longer even a princess, let alone a prince, she was a Khaleesi and all of Essos would bow before her and her Khal one day. Though the mention of dragons did make him think of Viserion and he wondered how the Golden Dragon was doing and if he missed him as much as he was being missed.
"Soon," he whispered as he moved to the fire.
The arrows flew, the horses rode and Daemon cut the ropes that they'd tied her to the stake with. Lifting the young girl in his arms and placing her on his shoulder, he jumped through the flames and came out the other side unburnt. As thankfully did Shireen Baratheon.
"Who? Why?" she asked as he looked around for someone to take her to safety.
"We are kin. Go with him, he'll keep you safe," he said as he saw Ser Marq Piper ride before he came to a stop when he saw Daemon and Shireen.
"I.."
"Go with him." he said softly as she nodded and then he called to Ser Marq "Take her to the others, ser Marq, see her safe."
"Daemon?"
"Go, my work here is far from done."
He watched until they were out of sight and then and only then did he turn back to the fight which was already won. Daemon barely saw her laying just out of the fire's reach and yet even had she been directly in its line, he'd not have gone to her. Melisandre had tried to burn a girl that deserved it not, her fate when it came to her would be one she very much did. As he moved into the fray, he saw him, Stannis was wielding a sword of light and then he was running towards him. Daemon stood his ground and readied Blackfyre to face off against a sword they'd named as Lightbringer and yet was as much a mummery as the man who wielded it.
The roar took him by surprise and he looked to the sky but briefly. He felt him then, felt his call to him, and answered it back in kind. Why he was here he knew not, though he'd always known they'd see each other again. Daemon sought to see if Viserion was alone and both welcomed and worried that he was in equal measure. Yet he felt that Dany was safe, that Drogon and Rhaegal were safe, and that Viserion had simply come to him because it was time.
Around them, the fighting had all but stopped. Men threw down their swords and their surrenders were accepted. It had been a rout, their attack had taken them completely by surprise, and trained men against those caught with their pants down led to but one outcome. This one. His own fight was not yet done with and as Stannis and he faced off, more and more eyes looked their way. Even Melisandre had woken from her slumber and now stood on her feet once more. Her words filled the vanquished with the hope that theirs was but a temporary defeat. They were the words of a fool. For there would be but one winner in the fight to come.
"Behold our great king! Azor Ahai! See his mount as it flies over our heads! Watch in awe as with Lightbringer in hand he defeats the Great Other" Melisandre preached to loud laughter from those who fought with him and hopeful looks from those who did not.
"I've used many names, never that one." Daemon said to even louder laughs "My name is Daemon Targaryen and unlike you, I am a King."
The two swords crashed together and Daemon saw how Stannis was shocked that it was his that gave way. Again and again, each time he brought Blackfyre against Lightbringer, Stannis and his fiery blade came off the worst for it. Viserion had landed behind him and when one of Stannis' men broke free from those who stood watch over him and tried to help the man in the fight he'd already lost, he found the Golden Dragon not to be on the side he believed him to be. Viserion didn't burn the man, so it would not be R'hllor's warm embrace that he'd feel when he breathed his last. Instead, it was tooth and claw that took him from this world and which then kept every other man there locked in place.
Daemon felt the first cut that he inflicted on Stannis, Blackfyre cutting through his armor and almost costing him his arm. The second was across the side and he saw how Stannis despite his wounds never wavered or believed he'd not win. When he knocked the sword from his hand and saw the flame go out, however, all fight left him and it was only that Daemon was already in mid-swing or he may have known a few more moments in this world. Had he been able to stop the blow, he would have, and instead, it would have been his head and execution that ended Stannis Baratheon. It was not, the slash opened him from shoulder to groin, Blackfyre cutting through the armor as if it was butter and not steel.
That he was dead before he hit the ground was Stannis' only saving grace and the loud wail that came from Melisandre, was the only sound that was heard. Without a look at either of them, Daemon walked to where Viserion was and smiled upon seeing the wing as it was laid down for him to climb upon. With all eyes now on him, he climbed up the wing and took his place on the Golden Dragon's back and felt Viserion trill as he did so.
"Paez, Visērion ziry iksos ñuha ēlī jēda. Sōvegon." (Slow. Viserion, it's my first time) he said as Viserion roared loudly and took to the sky.
A/N: Thanks to all who've read and reviewed. Up Next: Daemon speaks to his granduncle, Mother Mole, and to the King Beyond the Wall before he and Viserion journey south and bring another one of the Seven Kingdoms under his control. In King's Landing, Sansa speaks to Margaery Tyrell and Tyrion and takes their requests under advisement while awaiting Daemon's return. While in the North, Ramsay sets out for the Wall, and Stannis Baratheon, unaware of how events there have already played out.
For those following my other fics, Revenge is a Dish Best Served Cold is up next.
Missed reviews:
Velossian: I couldn't resist the Maximus quote it seemed apt and a nice little Easter egg.
Brezer: Yeah, it's such a fun quote, and who doesn't love some Inigo Montoya.
Myafroatemydog: So glad you're liking this.
Chapter 10 reviews:
Daryldixonslover: So very glad you liked it.
Anonymous Wandmaker: No, Mel wasn't lying she truly believed it to be Stannis. Benjen is alive and will be having a somewhat different fate than canon, no half-Wight Benjen here, we'll see him and Bran soon enough.
TheSphynx: Thanks, my friend.
Guest: you called it right, Shireen lives to see another day.
Tsroughs: Find a pier, a short one, take a long walk off it and maybe that will make you happy. In each of my fics, you comment the same BS every time, and every single time you show your ignorance. So as the poet put it best, don't like, then don't read, it's simple. But since I am in a good mood I'll humor your constant complaining once more time. Having an MC who is falling for another MC listen to something that MC says about people and a land that she knows more about than him, is not how you so wonderfully put it, making him a dog to a woman just because he likes her. It's the sign of an MC who's not a close-minded idiot. Sansa made a suggestion, and Daemon took that suggestion to heart and adapted it, as he would someone else's suggestion about a battle, a campaign, or any other thing he may do, she didn't decide his course of action, she simply suggested why he should consider a different one. If you however want to write your own story where your MC listens only to himself and never considers another person's opinion, then feel free to do so, I'd truly love to read your own attempt at a fic, since you seem to know what's wrong with every one of mine.
Celexys: I think it was the point of no return for us all with Stannis. We could sympathize with him somewhat and even like him a little, then he went and did that and he was dead to us. Here, well he's just dead lol.
Gamer85: So very glad you liked it.
Keb: Exactly. It's only in the past two years that Daemon has been more than well basically an empty vessel. I mean we saw the Waif and others at the HOBW and even Arya after only being there for a couple of years ends up almost devoid of personality. So Daemon is experiencing this for the first time really and is opening up more, becoming more likely to joke and smile, to feel. Sansa is a huge part of that for him, and yet by doing so he's also losing that which made him an FM too, so the magic's getting harder for him.
VFSnake: Your wish is my command.
Dunk: The kin was Aemon and I hope you liked how Stannis met his end. Yeah I ended up scrapping showing too much more of Daemon with the COTR, I may reference it later, but you're right it feels like it doesn't need to be shown more in-depth, and mentions of it work just as well. We see some of the hints about Roose's downfall here and earlier in Mother Moles's visions a chapter or so ago, we see some more. Now, of course with Viserion here, things are amped up too.
Irish Hermit: For me, I think there are sweet spots in regards to Sansa, that if you catch her at them, she'll be who she needs to be but won't lose too much of who she was too. Like in the show she was far too hardened by what she'd gone through, understandable though it was. You kind of want her to still have some of her romantic heart, but also to not be as naïve as she was early on. With Arya, it just felt too repetitive to have her be an FM here with Daemon being one and she's sort of needed to be more Arya as well. Bran is beyond the Wall with Jojen and Meera, but their arc is somewhat changed too as is Benjen's, we'll see them in a couple of chapters. In the books we see Stannis have nightmares after killing Renly, almost forcing himself into a sense of denial that he played a part in his death too, so for me, he has this guilty conscience. To be honest, I find it hard to see him actually agreeing to burn Shireen, more likely it's done to bring him back after he's fallen, but maybe I'm misreading his arc a little. Here, I wanted to have the guilt play its role and the doubt of it even more so.
The Real Tayler: Sorry about the delay.
Myafroatemydog: Hopefully the dragon arriving just after he got there makes up for it. I sort of wanted the dramatic entrance of Viserion during the fight.