Jaime made his way into the bustling street of Kings Landing, hiding his face from the people. The public tended to despise the ones who languished in the Red Keep whilst they struggled to make a living. His head down, he began to walk, his destination the city gates and then...who knows. He noticed that at the end of every street corner stood a member of the Militant Faith. They had infected the city, their eyes always watching, waiting. That's why he had to leave; he wanted to be able to live his life. He had been imprisoned once before, he would not be caged again. Although he truly doubted whether he deserved to live a free life.

Walking past the carts and stalls that littered the cobbled streets, he took in the mundane lives of the commoners. He often wondered what his life would have been like if he had not been born a Lannister. Yet he felt that, given the choice, he would still choose a life of royalty and luxury, even if it had cost him his soul. He drank in the frantic goings on around him, as life played out its course. The journey he was going on would leave him without human interaction for long periods of time so he took advantage of this semblance of normality.

Lost in his thoughts, he failed to notice the man approach him. Despite the large, bustling crowd, the figure knew exactly who he had seen. That hint of gold gives you away you stupid cunt he thought. He grabbed a hold of Jaime's shoulder, who turned quickly in panic, thinking Cersei had sent someone to stop him leaving. Before he could shout out, Bronn put his hand over the Lannister's mouth, before directing him to a secluded alleyway. Lacking the touch of sunlight, the isolated corner starved them both of warmth. But they wouldn't be seen by the Faith for now.

"You're looking proper shifty, if I do say so myself," Bronn began, releasing Jaime from his hold. Jaime rolled his eyes in annoyance at his friend. Associate. He didn't really know what Bronn was to him. A nuisance right now, that was for sure. When he failed to respond to the comment, the sellsword continued. "If you ask me, I think somebody doesn't want to be seen. That's not usual behaviour for a fuckin' Lannister." He gave a sharp smile with that, prompting Jaime to finally speak up.

"Of course I don't want to be seen. But you dragging me over here will entice curious eyes"

"Well then, you best get telling me why you don't want to be seen, so that our little conversation goes unnoticed from curious eyes."

Jaime sighed. Bronn was a stubborn bugger at times. "I'm leaving."

"Aye, I gathered that much. But without an escort? How will you defend yourself if you face a bunch of assailants? You're not what you used to be."

"I can still hold a sword. Your worry for me is heartening but, if you please…" he moved in the hope that the other man would let him past. Like that was ever going to happen. Bronn stood in front of the exit, a condescending smirk on his lips.

"Why ya leaving?" he asked suspiciously. If there was gold involved, he wanted in on this adventure.

"You've noticed it, haven't you? The Faith, tightening their grips on the city. That High Sparrow is becoming more smug by the day. Soon the Keep will fall, and I've done some things they wouldn't particularly like."

"Ah, makes sense now. Ya fleeing, ya fuckin' coward."

"So what if I am. Rather be a coward than dead."

"That doesn't sound like the Jaime Lannister I know. You've fucking messed up, haven't ya?"

Jaime nodded his head at that, sorrowful eyes looking down towards the floor. "More than you could imagine. But I like to think there is still something worthwhile within me. That won't come to light until I'm away from here."

"Well that's understandable. But my point still remains - you don't have an escort."

"No. No….I'm fine. Really."

"I'm bored of this place actually. The whores here only have a few tricks, there's just no fun when there's no surprises left. You understand." He didn't. "I think I'll join ya on your noble quest of self redemption. Where is it that you plan to head?"

Jaime sighed, it was useless trying to persuade Bronn otherwise know. Stubborn. "I haven't really thought about it. Somewhere North?" he wondered, as they made their way back onto the main street.

"You? North? That I'd like to see. The cold will have your other fucking hand. But what's North? The Lannisters aren't exactly popular folk up there."

"The Boltons hold Winterfell. While not exactly allies, they're not our enemies."

"The line between acquaintances and enemies is balanced on a knife edge. You should know that by now."

"Do you have any other ideas? Dorne wants Lannister blood, further East you hear stories of dragons and their mother roasting men alive who go against them. The cold is much better than a fire sometimes."

"Right then, I'll get us some horses." Jaime was confused as to why Bronn didn't head off at that but then looked down to see his hand opened out flat. Frustrated, he reached into his pockets and produced a few coins, placing them in the waiting hand. "Oh, you're so kind," Bronn smirked.

xxxxxxxxxx

When news of Mance's decision to bend the knee spread around the camp, which didn't take long at all, the split in opinions across the Wildlings was tangible, and it added to the already tense atmosphere. Night had drawn in and, with it, an icy cold descended on the courtyard. A large circle of people surrounded the waiting Stannis, who had Melisandre stood next to him, as always. They weren't talking though; Stannis was looking around the camp, occasionally catching the eye of a wildling who would snarl in his direction, whereas Melisandre was staring into the flames of a large fire that had been lit in the hope of bringing some warmth to the area. Jon was off to one side, with Edd on his right and Davos, who Jon noted had taken a liking to him, on his left. He was still worried that Mance would go against his agreement, destroying his chance of uniting the people in the face of coming wars.

"Stop worrying," Davos whispered to him. He could see the younger man glancing around nervously, as they waited for Rayder to make an entrance. "We did all we could. If Mance decides to spit in the face of Stannis instead of getting down on one knee, then so be it. You can't let that hang on your conscience, there'll be other things to weigh you down soon."

Jon just nodded at that, wondering what else he would have to face in the upcoming future. He felt someone squeeze past him and looked down to see Stannis's daughter walk in front of Davos. In her small cloak, he couldn't believe how she was coping in the bitter cold this far North.

"Shireen?" the Scot asked, confused as to what she was doing.

"I wanted a better look. It's interesting, isn't it? This could be in the history books one day."

"Aye, that it could." Davos smiled down at her, enthused by her own energy and excitement, even when the climate was like it was. He had begun to see the young Baratheon as his own daughter, especially with the loss of his son at the Battle of Blackwater. Their bond had grown with her dogged attempts to teach him to read, which he thought was coming along nicely. He looked over towards the balcony and was met with a disapproving gaze from Melyse, Shireen's mother. He wondered where the blonde girl got her compassion from; she was completely different to the crazed religious fanatic, although he would never say this out loud. Spending time in the Dragonstone cells had been bad enough.

Before he could contemplate further the strange nature of the Baratheons' relationship, a silence washed over the crowd. The door to the room that held Mance had swung open, before Tormund Giantsbane, a ginger beast of a man, walked out, closely followed by his leader. Tormund stomped down the steps, eyeing Jon suspiciously before giving him a respectful nod. Rayder made his way down the steps with much less fuss, no ceremony whatsoever. As his feet landed on each wooden panel, the noise echoed as people waited with baited breath. He stopped as he reached Jon.

"I hope you're right," he murmured.

"So do I," came the simple reply. Mance seemed settled by that and continued on his way to Stannis, his boots squelching in the mud as he approached. Coming face to face with his counterpart, no words were said. An understanding seemed to be shared between the two men, before Mance slowly went down to one knee. Silence. People stood in shock, astounded that the Wildling king had actually given in. Jon knew what this properly symbolised though. Progression. An alliance. One, he noted, Alliser Thorne, the new Lord Commander, didn't seem too pleased about.

A shout was heard coming from someone in the crowd, filled with anguish at this new development. A wildling man, armed with a large axe, charged towards the three people on the middle. Jon didn't know how to react. He didn't know who the target was - would it be Mance for acceding to their conqueror or Stannis for conquering them? The axe was swung and Mance quickly got up from the floor, shoving Stannis out of the way. As the axe came down, Rayder's momentum brought him down on top of the Baratheon but not before the metal went through his right shoulder. His scream of pain rang out across the air. Vengeance was quick to come as Tormund punched the attacker in the face, knocking him to the ground, before he took the axe and sliced through his neck, blood splattering across Tormund's face. Everyone else stood in shock at the swift and brutal display. Mance was helped up, blood trickling down his arm. As Stannis stood up, he looked over to the rebel king. Rayder eyed him curiously and was then dumbfounded as Stannis too bent down on one knee. This was an unprecedented move and one that had Melisandre looking at him in awe and wonder. Maybe the God of Light was right after all.

Jon's mind, meanwhile, was thinking of the political consequences this could have. It would certainly make an alliance between the Baratheons and Free Folk much easier. Shireen was right, Jon thought...this will be remembered as history.

xxxxxxxxxx

A war council of sorts had formed in the largest room Castle Black had to offer. Its centrepiece was a large wooden table, on which plans were being made. Light was trickling in through the windows from the moon hanging above the castle in the night. Torches were hung up on the wall giving some more additional light. Despite the earlier accomplishments, there was still a tense atmosphere within the room. It would take time before they all somewhat got along.

By the table, stood Stannis and Davos, deep in conversation about tactics in regards to their approach with Winterfell. Mance stood nearby, listening into their conversation but not necessarily taking part. His right shoulder had been covered by a bandage after being cleaned out, the one person with any sort of medical training being able to provide a crude form of stitching. He was busy observing the map on the table. He wanted to know where he was possibly sending his people; they had just come past the Wall and now they were heading further South. He would have been a laughing stock if he had suggested such a proposal a few years, months earlier. Melisandre was slowly walking around the large table - war tactics were not her speciality but she felt that she was required to give any spiritual advice if necessary. She had fully invested in Stannis; if this was the path he was choosing, then she would help him with each step. Commander Thorne stood off to one corner, partially covered by shadow. He cut a sullen figure, obviously distressed and angered by the arrival of so many more people. It wasn't just that they were coming from beyond the Wall, something no other Commander had let happen (Jeor Mormont would be rolling in his grave if he had one), but the fact that the castle's supplies were quickly dwindling - they hardly had enough to last a year just for the Night's Watch. The sooner the Baratheon army was back south, and the wildlings wherever they intended to go, the better.

In one corner of the room, stood Jon and Tormund. The ginger wildling had been staring at Jon for a while, his blue eyes piercing into Jon's brown ones. It was unnerving him greatly and he kept looking away, wanting to get into discussion with the others about their next steps.

"You're a strange one, Crow," he finally muttered.

"Thanks...I think."

"You're not like everyone else. You want us here," his deep, raspy voice cutting straight to the point.

"It's not a matter of wanting your people here. It's about saving people. As many as I can, which is why I needed Mance to agree."

"Aye. I told him to do it."

"You..did?"

"Of course I did! I've seen things, Crow. Things that fuckin' scare even me. What I know is that I have a chance of defending myself. But there's women and children out there. Those dead bastards will pick em off with ease."

"I know. So I need your help with getting them past the wall. I don't know what they're like. I've only had a few experiences with them. They'll listen to you. They need to know that, once this is all over, they'll have the opportunity to live here."

"If this ever ends," Tormund bitterly added. His hair seemed more crazed recently; he much preferred the proper North. "I'll help ya. But only because you're growing on me." A bark of laughter erupted from his mouth as he patted Jon hard on the bark. He then stalked over to Mance to relay what had just been discussed. But now was the time to talk together, to plan what their priorities were.

Stannis noted that Jon had moved towards the table and so presumed they could start properly. He beckoned Melisandre over, who moved obediently to his side. "The Boltons are suspected to have around 6000 men, in and around Winterfell. They might be able to call for more from the smaller Northern houses. We currently have up to 3000 men and, with Winterfell pretty much an impenetrable fortress, the odds are not in our favour."

Jon was confused at this. "My lord, I was under the impression that your plans were being stalled whilst we focused on helping the Free Folk." Mance shared his apprehensive look.

"With each passing day, the Boltons grow stronger, whilst my men grow weaker. They have better supplies than us. We can't last much longer."

Davos spoke up. "I feel like we need to head Snow's words, my Lord. The dead are coming." That sent a chill throughout the room.

"I wouldn't think that we would need a lot of men," Jon added, wary of Stannis's dark expression as the conversation derailed from what he wanted. "It would be an extraction. We'd need boats of course but you wouldn't be using them. We could do this whilst you and your men make your way to Winterfell."

"How many men do you have?" Stannis directed the question at Mance this time.

"In fighting condition? You're looking at 2000, 2500, if we can get the men that are still north of the Wall." That got a nod from Stannis. That might be enough if they got their tactics right.

"And what about the Night's Watch?" he asked Thorne, who was yet to speak up.

"We're a small group. Less than 170. But they will be staying here. Whatever plan you choose." Stannis had expected no different but it was good to see where he stood with the Lord Commander. It would be an extra element to contend with when he became king.

"I'll allow you to go on your expedition, Snow. The Lord of Light has spoken with the Priestess and has spoken of the Great War. But know that my war is my main concern. Once it is over, I'll decide whether or not to support you."

"That's very gracious, my lord," Jon said. He realised that people like Stannis still didn't truly believe such a threat was coming until they saw it in person, when it would be too late. But the fact that he still contemplated helping was a promising sign.

"I'll take my men further south. Ser Davos has highlighted a strategic place for a camp, in the shelter of the mountains. Will mean that, if the Boltons go on the aggressive, they can only attack from one direction. Whilst we're gone, any people you manage to bring back can stay here."

Thorne bristled at that. "They will not! Our food stocks are already stretched thin enough as it is!" he barked.

"And who are you to defy what I say? I've made my decision. I hope this is satisfactory with the rest of you?"

Mance gave a firm nod of the head, as did Jon when he saw the older man agree. With that, the first meeting of Castle Black between the men and wildlings had finished. And Jon now could begin preparing to leave for the North.

xxxxxxxxxx

The boat gently bashed against the wall of the dock, as they were tied to one of the metal hooks available. They thanked the men that had got them there and then disembarked from the vessel, Tyrion having slightly more difficulty than his companion. The port of Meereen was a grand place, bustling busily with numerous people from all over the land. It was a melting pot of culture as people traded with one another. Jorah purposefully ignored some of the dodgier dealings as he focused now on his next mission. Daenerys was so close. But how would she react to seeing the old knight? As they walked further along the port, their attention became directed towards the large pyramid that dominated the skyline of the city. It was a grand feat of construction and it was an imposing beast compared to the rest of the area.

"So that's where she is?" Tyrion asked. Jorah looked down and gave him a nod. He could tell that the Northerner was more worried than he let on, probably concerned with how the dragon queen would react to his reappearance. He hoped that his arrival at the same time might distract her enough to quell any ferocity, although a dragon's bite was a substantial force to be reckoned with.

Making their way into the city proper, Jorah noticed crude posters occasionally adorning stone walls. They were what the people were talking about, the only gossip that was worth anything besides the occurrence of Harpies. The posters detailed the opening of the fighting pits and where one would have to go to have a chance of fighting for the Queen's approval. Smaller fights were being held in Meereen's numerous arenas and the victors of those fights would then get the opportunity to battle in the Great Pit of Daznak. Jorah realised that, by just entering the first stage, he would get to see his khaleesi again, although he then would need to make sure he won the battle. And he'd undoubtedly have to protect Tyrion, despite the tales he had been regaled with about his victories at the Blackwater.

Tyrion had come up alongside Jorah and followed his eyeline towards the poster. "No," he immediately said. "There's got to be another way." He knew though that the other man had already forged the idea. "I hope this woman is worth it."