Jon quietly crept into the unguarded room. Inside, there was no one about apart from the lone body lying in the bed. It was almost too easy; the door hadn't even been locked. All he had to do was take his sword and drive it through the chest of the warlock. Give him the same fate his sister had. But that wouldn't be good enough. No. He had to suffer. He'd keep the old man on the bed and torture him. Maybe a few fingers could come off. He'd slowly send cuts along his body. Make him whimper and beg and then he would show enough mercy to end his sorry life. Bruda's staff was across the room as well, meaning that he wouldn't be able to perform any of his magic. He was defenceless. It gave him pause. What would his father think about this? This wasn't noble. Cutting down an enemy when they had no time to fight back. But his other enemies hadn't killed his sister. He made himself believe that Eddard Stark would approve of what he had planned.

He walked over to the bed and loomed over the body. He watched as his chest rose and fell as he breathed. Arya's had done that. Before she...he didn't like saying that, as if it made it more real. He roughly shoved Bruda's shoulder, prompting him to wake up quickly. For a moment, he stared up blearily in confusion before he realised who it was. A smile graced his lips, despite the scowl looking down upon him.

"Jon? Has one of those hapless fools sent you to tell me that my torturous confinement has ended and I'm free to wander around once again?" He pushed himself out of bed, stretching as he did so. He walked slowly in a small circle as the feeling in his legs steadily returned. "I tell you something...when I see those two, I'll be having words. Telling me to stay in bed! I'm a grown man, older than both of them put together. The nerve!" He was rambling, pent up energy being released as he moved about. He finally noticed that Jon hadn't said a word. He stopped and looked at the younger man, searching his dark face. "Snow? What's the matter with you? You look like you've seen a...oh no. No she hasn't. Arya...I'm so sorry Jon. She was far too young. Too young to be involved in this. A girl her age should have no worries apart from dreaming about her first kiss or what her life has in store for her. A real shame."

"Stop!" Jon barked at him, his anger finally spilling over. All this sympathy being shown, it was a lie. A facade. An act to make him believe he was actually sorry when he couldn't care less. He was almost believable too, something which sickened Jon. "You have the audacity to speak her name?" His voice was still raised. It would probably attract the attention of the other people on the ship. He'd have to this quicker than he had wanted then. It was at this time that Bruda noticed Jon's right hand strongly gripping the hilt of his sword at his hip. He warily took a step back. "You made me choose!" Tears stung his eyes as he let his fury escape him at last. "You said that we couldn't take both of them! Sam or Arya. You made me pick! And now they're both dead! Because of you!" His sword came out and he began to swing it dangerously. Bruda raised his right hand in front of him. A haze of blue light appeared and Jon was suddenly thrown through the air, before he was pinned against the wooden wall by the magical force. The warlock's face was one of pure anger. Jon was confused and now scared; he had underestimated Bruda's capability, even when he was in a weakened state.

The sound of Jon hitting the wall and the commotion that had occurred beforehand had obviously caught the attention of some of the people on the ship as Jon had predicted since Davos and Jorah came rushing into the room. They stopped in their tracks when they saw the scene playing out, both of them perplexed as to what had happened.

"Bruda!" Davos shouted at the warlock. "What the hell are you doing? Put the lad down!"

"Why don't you ask him why he's in this predicament?" Bruda responded. "This is all self defence." He lowered his hand and Jon slumped to the floor. He made himself get up rather quickly but, when he looked at Bruda's facial expression, as well as the confused looks of the other two men, he dropped his sword to the floor with a loud metal clang. He was slowly coming to his senses. Maybe they had been knocked back into him when he hit the wall. A feeling of embarrassment was filling him, although there was still some overlying hatred.

"Care to explain what is going on now?" Jorah asked him. The last thing he needed right now was another dead body.

"Arya's...dead." It was the first time he had said it out loud and the fact stung him deeply.

"We know." This time, Davos's voice was a lot softer. "But that doesn't explain why you came here looking for a fight with someone you had no chance of beating."

"He blames me for his sister's death," Bruda interrupted, still slightly seething. He was more annoyed at the absurdity of the notion than Jon's actions. "Says I made him choose between her and Sam and now they're both dead. But what he's really trying to say is that he has a guilt hanging over him." Jon hung his head at the words, proving to the warlock that he was correct. "He blames himself really. Thinks he failed both of them. But he wanted to lash out at someone and I was the easiest choice in his mind."

"Is this true?" Davos looked at the young man by the wall, looking defeated. He nodded his head.

"I'm...sorry." Jon's voice was broken.

"As you should be," Bruda retorted. "Look, Snow. We are more than sorry about what you have been through and we understand what you are currently going through."

"You wouldn't understand," Jon said, that anger still lingering. The fury quickly returned to Bruda's face though.

"Excuse me? Excuse me?!" His voice rose in volume as he tried to comprehend the apparent stupidity in front of him. "Look at me!" he shouted at Jon, who did as he was told. "We don't understand? Of course we understand! You think you're the only one who has ever grieved before? Who has ever lost someone? Get over yourself. Davos lost his son. Jorah lost his father. Probably everyone on this ship has lost someone."

"Have you?" The question caught him off guard. Bruda wanted to shout at Jon that it wasn't any of his business but he knew that he needed Jon to see some sense.

"Yes. A long time ago. Isabella. She was injured. It was fatal, sadly." He gave a sad laugh. "It broke me, especially because I had to look her in the eyes and do what I had to do to Sam. You look at me and think, because of my abilities, that I don't have human emotions. Let me tell you something, I have felt more in my life than you ever will. So yeah, I have lost someone." A silence hung over the room. Jon stood there wanting the floor to swallow him up. He couldn't believe how much of a fool he had been. "Jon, we are heading to war. Many people will die, that's an inevitability. But if you react in this same way again, we'll lose. That's the harsh reality we're facing." He walked across the room and picked up his staff. "I want everyone gathered together. I'm tired of waiting around." He made for the door but Jorah stopped him.

"We still don't think you should be walking about too much." He didn't get a verbal response. Bruda swung his hand in a small circle and the bed he had been confined to suddenly burst into flames before it crumbled into a pile of ash.

xxxxxxxxxx

Olenna poured some red wine from the ornate jug into two glasses waiting on the small table in front of her. Once both were filled with a respectable volume, she took ahold of them both and turned around. Her eyes scrutinised the young woman sat waiting before her. She resembled herself so much that it was frightening at times. Margaery gave a small smile as the drink was placed in her hand but the older woman could tell that her mind was elsewhere. She needed her to say what she was currently thinking. Taking a sip of the fruity liquid, she stared at the other woman, almost making her squirm in her seat.

"So…" she began, swirling the wine slowly in the glass. She was acting as if what she was about to say was nothing more serious than the latest gossip. "That was quite some show from our young king." Margaery hesitantly nodded her head in agreement.

"It was. I believe my husband is just having his first taste of the real pressures of being the king. He'll soon learn how to deal with it better. I bet every king before him had these moments at some point." Her eyes betrayed her true feelings on how she actually believed it was becoming too much for him.

"Does a king normally order the execution of his own soldiers?" Olenna asked, knowing the answer fully well already.

"...when he has to. As King Tommen said, any show of cowardice has to be punished."

"Then put them on the front line of the next battle!" Olenna roared in response, putting her glass down as she got closer to Margaery. "Teach them a lesson of how cowardice is punished by being forced to fight again. By setting this precedent, he'll lose half his army in a month. He is not a great tactician, that is for sure."

"Any person has to learn these skills to grow as a ruler. Give him time. Have patience." Her pleas did nothing to change Olenna's mind.

"I'm a good judge of character. The power has simply gone to his head and he feels that he can take on any opponent. What he fails to take into account is that he is facing a threat that past kings, who are greater than he by a long shot, fell to. Two allies joining together is certainly bad enough but when both have a legitimate claim to the throne and one has the backing of dragons then stronger leadership is required."

"What you speak of is treason. I won't have a part in it, especially when I'm married to the one you want rid of."

"I don't want Tommen gone from the throne. He's young, which means he is malleable. Open to ideas from people he listens to. His wife." She gave a meaningful look to the young woman. "You need to start whispering in his ear. I need you to be that strong leadership but from behind the scenes."

"What exactly do you want me to do?"

"Do you not have your own brain, girl? He is paranoid as it is but, if you slip the notion into his head that people close to him are tempted by betrayal, do you not think he will instantly believe you? Convince him. Use what the gods gave you. A pretty face and a sharp mind. A dangerous and often deadly combination."

"Do you think that something along those lines is actually happening?" Olenna gave a small smirk.

"Dear, I have been involved in this game for too long for me to admit. Everyone has their own agenda, that's the only truth you can ever rely on. Even the High Septon, who pretends to be absolved of all his sins. Do you think he really cares about what reforms King Tommen puts in place? Do you think he gives a toss about the wars the realm will face? No. But he tells the king he does because, otherwise, he would not be allowed a seat next to him. Every person on the king's council has grovelled at the feet of someone else. They'll continue that pattern long after Tommen is gone."

"You want him to be rid of them." It wasn't a question; she was beginning to figure out this plan.

"That is the preferable option," Olenna said, shrugging her shoulders slightly. "Although a king does need a council or else he'll become a tyrant. The look in that boy's eyes today told me that he is susceptible to that path. What we can accept is if he has advisors but the people he only truly trusts are us two. We can guide him through this god awful political landscape but everyone will feel as if they are being listened to. The worst thing that can happen to destabilise the crown is a group of unhappy men who want more power than they deserve." Margaery nodded her head, her smile now echoing the one Olenna had worn moments ago.

"I will speak with Tommen later tonight in bed. That is when he is most relaxed, as I'm sure you have realised."

"Why do you think I'm trusting you with this?" She gave a bark of laughter as she spoke. "You understand how men work. You want to control a man and make him do your bidding...grab him by the cock and don't let go."

xxxxxxxxxx

Stannis ran his hands through his hair in frustration. He noted how it was beginning to grow slightly wild and untamed; he hadn't had time to take care of such menial matters recently. Still he waited for news regarding the young Targaryen girl and her men. He was still uncertain whether that Jaime Lannister had been telling the truth when he spoke about the king's plans. They sounded rash and ill advised; a decision he would never make if he was the one sitting on the throne. That angered him greatly because he knew he would be doing such a greater job than his nephew. He shook his head whilst he thought for this, not for the first time during the many occasions he had alone recently. A sense of bitterness ran through him but he couldn't let that control him. Especially with activity ramping up in Winterfell. Daenerys's entire fleet carrying dragonstone and soldiers had reached the shores of Westeros little over a week ago and they had reached the castle within a few days. Almost immediately, he had given the instruction to start forming the dragonstone into usable weapons, although he had allowed for the arrivals to rest up beforehand. People had questioned whether work would pause whilst they waited to see if their ally had survived the attack, if there actually had been one. He didn't see any point in doing that, knowing that, even if she did not join him at Winterfell, the dead certainly would. No matter what, they had to be ready for that.

The door opened to his room. He looked up, expecting the intruder to be Melisandre or Mance. Possibly even the Lannister himself. He was surprised to see that it was his daughter, Shireen, who had interrupted his thoughts. With all the chaos going on, he had made little time for her, something that he knew he should have felt guilty for. He didn't want her involved in this war or anywhere near it. Yet she stood in front of him, wearing a determined but patient look on her face.

"Shireen…" he began, his voice questioning. "This is unexpected. Is there a reason for you to visit?"

"Do I need a reason to see my father?" The cold question hurt him but he didn't let it show. "I just wanted to check up on you. I rarely get to see you and I just need to know that you're still coping with all this." He was proud of how mature she sounded in that moment. He beckoned her over to him before he gathered her gently in his hands.

"It is not your job to worry about me," he quietly whispered in her ear. "But I am grateful for your concern. It is just a difficult time, as you can probably tell." His voice sounded almost rueful.

"Why not just leave? You could have a quiet and fairly comfortable life if you really wanted." He'd often dreamt of exactly that but knew that would never be possible.

"Oh Shireen...you are wise beyond your years, that is certain. But the troubles and horrors we face are greater than you could ever imagine. Those stories you read...think of the monsters written about. I shouldn't tell you this but you deserve to know - they come for us now and it is my duty to face them." He expected her to recoil in fright or shock, to yell at him in derision for such astounding lies. She remained calm, which prompted him to send her a questioning look.

"I already know." She had to explain quickly when she saw his expression darken. "The soldiers are wont to talk a lot when they have had a lot to drink. It was rather easy to pick up on what is happening right here. I knew something was different when I saw that strange material brought in and it being used to create horrendous looking swords." Stannis chuckled slightly.

"The last place a young girl like you should be is anywhere near my men in a drunken state." His comment wasn't one of anger; that hint of pride still rang through. He was about to apologise to her for not telling her sooner when the door opened once again. Melisandre, her red robes billowing behind her, stepped inside with a frantic look on her face. She barely processed the fact that Shireen was there before she started speaking.

"The Lannister was right. Dragonstone was attacked on the orders of the Crown." Stannis stood up immediately. Shireen's face turned to one of horror.

"What about ser Davos?" she yelled. "He went to Dragonstone! Is he okay?" Her father wanted to shush her before he saw the extent of her worried facial expression. He bent down to her level, crouching next to her as he rubbed her arm.

"Well?" he asked the Red Priestess. "Do we know what happened?"

"It seems that the Lannister's advice was fruitful. The fleet commanded by the Greyjoys was able to finish off the ships that remained."

"The ships that remained?" he reiterated in disbelief. "You mean to say that they managed to hold back and defeat an armada without the use of their own fleet of ships?"

"It appears so. The dragons made quick work of them on all accounts." He shuddered to think what the final thoughts were of those who had perished in those flames.

"What about ser Davos?" the young girl repeated. Melisandre looked almost annoyed at the interruption but answered anyway.

"We have no way of knowing who survived the attack or if there were any casualties at all. Daenerys Targaryen is said to still be alive at least." That was good news it seemed. Those dragons appeared to be a mighty weapon that would be useful in the coming war. Stannis noted how Shireen had begun to cry and wiped away the few tears.

"Davos is a wily character. A survivor. I'm sure he will return to us." His words seemed to help soothe her at least a little bit.

"That might be sooner than you think. Word says that they joined the Greyjoy fleet and are on their way here. We'd best get ready for their arrival."

xxxxxxxxxx

Bruda sat at the head of the room, his eyes closed as he rested his head on his hands. His fingers were steepled together as if he was in deep thought. In truth, he was merely waiting for everyone to survive. Once he had sent Jorah and Davos to send the message that everyone who was in Daenerys's close circle should gather here, it had been a quick process. The door to the room was shut, the noise causing the warlock to open his eyes. He stood up from his chair and took a couple of steps forward. He eyed the people standing around him. The old guard, Jorah, Davos and ser Barristan Selmy, were stood together, eyeing Bruda warily, unsure as to what he was planning. Jon, still unable to fully hold the gaze of the older man, was resting on the wall in the far corner. To spare any embarrassment, Bruda wasn't planning to mention their brief scuffle. No one so far had asked about the commotion. Daario, standing in a similar way to Jon, was in the other corner, twiddling with his fingers as if this impromptu meeting was of little interest to him. The last to arrive had been Varys, along with Tyrion and Missandei. When they saw the tense posture of the mage, they had said nothing, waiting to see what this was all about.

"The last couple of days have been far from ideal," Bruda began. "We've taken a hit, that's for sure. And right now you may feel that our situation is a dire one."

"Has there been any word from Daenerys?" Tyrion asked him. Bruda's face saddened even further at the question. It was actually Jorah who replied.

"Not as of yet," came the blunt answer. The shortness of the response made sure that the imp would hold back on any questions for now."

"You all know that we're heading for Winterfell. We begin the final leg of the journey tomorrow, I'm told by the sailors on deck. We can not let this setback affect us. The King felt he would be able to crush us but we, in the end, came out victorious." He held his hand up in a placating manner when he noticed Jon tense up once again. "That doesn't mean that we didn't take losses and tragically, good men and women were taken from us. But that is war. This group standing here will be depleted if we make it out of the wars we are set to face. The sooner we accept that, the sooner we can move on and focus on winning." He stopped for a moment as he saw everyone nodding their heads. His face darkened all of a sudden. "I have one serious issue though. The reason we lost the people we did was because those soldiers knew how to get into the castle without us initially finding out. The only reason we did find out when we did was because I accidentally stumbled into them."

"Which means they got a tip off," reasoned Varys.

"Exactly," Bruda said, nodding his head in the general direction of the eunuch. "I was talking to Jorah and Davos a bit ago and we discussed the possibility that someone on the outside may have told them."

"That's impossible," inputted Tyrion. "You know as well as I do that Dragonstone has been closed off to most people since it was a Targaryen stronghold. Even more so since Stannis took control of it. The only outsiders with that knowledge would be working for him but it wouldn't make sense for any of them to spread those types of secrets."

"We also came to that conclusion," Bruda said to him. He was walking in a small circle, looking at everyone as he passed them. "Which means that someone here has loose lips. And, at first, I couldn't fathom why anyone would betray Daenerys and us in such a way. It simply doesn't make sense. And yet it really does. Someone became disgruntled with their position here and thought they'd be rewarded more spectacularly by the young boy sat on the Iron Throne. Isn't that right...Daario?" The man in question, who Bruda had already noticed had become tense at the way the conversation was going, tried to make it to the door but he was stopped in his tracks when the warlock waved his right hand. With a move of his right arm, Daario was sent surging towards the seat Bruda had been sat in before. Ropes that had been sitting in the corner suddenly came to life, wrapping themselves around the struggling body. Bruda, stopping the other angry people in the room from advancing, walked up to the trapped sailor.

"I understand where you're coming from, I really do," whispered the wizard in Daario's ears. "You thought you were special, being Daenerys's second hand man for a brief time. But then Jorah came back and you were quickly forgotten, relegated to simply watching over your ships. You thought she cared for you and that turned out to be a lie, didn't it? It was so hard to accept and your denial soon became anger at such a large injustice. So you bide your time, waiting in the wings. Always there but no one really pays you any attention. You're free to do what you want and you choose to send a letter to King's Landing about the one weakness Dragonstone has, or I should say had. Clever and obviously effective. You didn't expect us to survive, did you?"

"But he waited for us in his ship," Tyrion interrupted, perplexed at this turn of events. "Surely that means he's on our side." A couple of them nodded in agreement.

"Sadly not. You're forgetting that I was the one who told him to stay back when the ships left. If he didn't, he knew I'd figure out why. I already had my suspicions though, which is why I ordered him to do that." Daario hadn't said a word. "What I can't understand is how you were able to still look at us, knowing that your actions cost the lives of people we cared about. Snow, you wanted someone to blame for Arya and Sam's deaths...here he is." No words uttered by the betrayer. "Nothing to say? That's probably smart. If I was in your position, I'd also save my words for when Daenerys sees you again."