The White Wolf

by BIGT707

Jon Snow leads the free folk to reclaim the North as the King beyond the wall holding the duty of a Night's Watch first ranger guarding the realms of men. Jon Yara Euron and Moqorro sail west in search of Arya. In King's Landing houses of Westeros gather to discuss the future of their countries and kingdoms as a whole. Tyrion tells the Field of Fire story during Aegon's conquest.

8. These Corpses We Bury

In the Riverland's heart stands Riverrun, a strong three sided castle constructed to a tenth the size of Harrenhall, by far the six kingdoms largest castle sitting in ruins unlike the immaculate Tully ancestral house. The great river Tumblestone flows east into Redfork of the trident; Riverrun sits on a spaced junction of two rivers equally branching off to west houses: Fairmaker, Old Stones, Seagard, and The Twins. In the east stands Lord Horroway's town, Saltspan, Maidenpool, and Harranhall ruin. Riverrun's watergate opened on the river running beneath the main castle's underground dungeons allowing supples and weapons directly into their battlements, also serving as an emergency escape route should worse case the trench fill with water intended as defense surrounding Riverrun on three sides making it practically unassailable viewing enemies invading miles away.

The castle's Scarlet Sandstone walls rise sheer from the water, the crenellation gaped walls hold arrow loop openings through fire at attackers, and its towers guard the opposite shores. Riverrun's keep is located inside the fortress itself. A properly garrisoned Riverrun holds supplies for men and their horses for approximately two years. The permanent two hundred enlisted guardsmen wore the fish crest prepared to never forfeit their home again. Over the past few weeks major houses from the north and east arrived welcoming the Ironborn with open arms to their caravan traveling to King's Landing.

In the front land area the fortress grounds are surrounded in Lords' tents, campfires, supply wagons and Westerosi gathered from the north, east, and western coast over the cover of darkness. For a second time in modern history major houses from the continent are meeting for a gathering of solidarity. Northmen, Valeman, Rivermen, and Ironborn joint festivities are spread throughout camp stretching to the south east woodlands. The Blackfish, a legend among those living in Westeros steps on the lowered drawbridge striding to the encampment, anyone born in Riverlands knows the man's impeccable battle record and strategic mind. An aging knight of a different era, there weren't many warhorses left like him in the world—only him. He misses roaming with his older brother Hoster Tully, former Lord Paramount of the Trident, and his nieces and nephew; Catelyn Stark, Lysa Arryn, and Ser Edmure Tully.

"Good evening sir, the lords are all awaiting your appearance." A squire says appearing out the mosh pit crowd trailing the lord.

"Another one, where do they find you lot, and tell me what else is new," Brynden Tully adjusts his gloves placing an arm in front of the young squire preventing his trampling by passing horses and wagons, "you don't watch where you're going son, you'll die before you reach King's Landing, we haven't left camp yet." The elder Tully chuckles as the squire fell in line with his stride.

"Your nephew is already there in your place."

Brynden stops him once more, "you foolin me boy? Tell me honestly."

He bows his head, "no sir he's taken stead as Lord—" Brynden tosses him aside departing faster to the Queen in the North's tent in the central clearing surrounded by soldiers from the other great northern houses; Hornwood, Mason, Dustin Manderly, Mormont, Dustin, Flint, Tatthatt. Among the extinct or non attending houses; Bolton, Umber, Karstark, Glover, and Reed.

Brynden halts turning away from Sansa's tent heading to the festivities facing the camp south east outskirts. Soldiers sprint to the commotion pushing past one another out in the distance. "The champion and contender step up go head on for the price."

A Valeman and Northmen aim the modified crossbows over a hundred yards away to a target brightened by a single lantern hanging above the swinging target giving contestants a beacon to shoot for in the night. Their grip graze the trigger latches as the riverman host raises an arm firing at the drop of it. One misses as the other plunges in a nearby tree nearly killing the nearby judge. "Aye for fuck's sake you couldn't hit the target hoisted on a crate you short Valeman shit cunt!" The spotter yells having fallen to the dirt in a panic.

A Northmen soldier chugs the ale spilling on his belly stumbling toward the vale groups taking their coin, "fuck off you lots! Declan grazed the target, it's the North's victory!" The Northmen crowd rise from their five tables and gathered gamblers waging on the crossbow and archery games.

Brynden whistled silencing them snatching the crossbow from Neil, "are you fuck sticks telling me out of all you hardened soldiers not one can hit a moving target that size from a hundred yards away. Shame on ya!"

"Bet on ya lord!" Landen, Riverrun's unofficial ringleader says rallying the soldiers collecting coin giving a nod to the buy ins. He halts at the shorter man snorting at him, "You're short Wyatt, pay up or get out bloody bastard."

"Charging Ironborn more are ya? Fuckin greedy river scabs." He shoves the gold in whistling and hollering as Brynden took position sticking a foot on the bow yanking the string back securing the metal tipped arrow. He took time aiming taking due diligence gaining precision and sight. The arrow shoots at the moving target missing wide right. A group of soldiers snicker while Brynden reloaded the crossbow undeterred by his miss.

Neil laughs crossing his arms, "lost your touch my lord?"

The crossbow's strikes Neil as he clutches his face. "I'm old." Brynden hides a grin as soldiers bellow laughs at Neil's bloody nose. The shot burst out the chamber piercing the target center earning cheers from Riverrun's warriors.

"Double or nothing my lord! Put coins in you mutts and shut your mouth."

"Where are you going Lord Tully?" Declan asks slinging the crossbow over a shoulder.

"An extra twenty feet for the winnings." He aims the bow a more considerable distance away nailing it same as the previous shot. "Alright that settles it for the time, hand over the coin Landen." He says approaching the exuberant faces seeing him in action.

Neil shoves Landen aside throwing an absurd amount of coin in the archer's helmet, "for the rest of ya, third bets on for two hundred yards!" The spectators clamor in their pockets scrambling to the half filled helmet tossing coin in one after another. There wasn't a chance in hell he's denying the amount of money wagered —One would argue no sane man would. Declan and Neil trail the Riverrun's lord measuring additional space.

"You sure you got this Lord Tully? We could reduce the distance some," the short bald man says keeping his eyes on Brynden's movements, "our finest archers couldn't hit that target fifty closer." Declan arches a brow stepping back as Neil does the same watching Brynden take one glance at the target shooting the arrow high in the night sky.

He tosses the crossbow in Neil's arms marching toward the tent as the crowd witness the arrow pierce the lantern igniting the target in its epicenter consuming the straw in flames. Soldiers roar to life impressed and thrilled at Lord Tully's mastery archery. "My lord your earnings!" Landen shouts to the retreating legend too far gone.

Brynden smirks, the Blackfish was back in action not halting his strides for a moment. It is never about the money or glory. Only proving a point, doing the work that needs doing. His golden years are well behind him, there is none like him anymore, the last of a dying breed. The others are long dead or missing across the world.

"Join in the on the next round Lord Tully."

Brynden takes a glance at the table's serrated blades chunked in the table and spread fingers between the two across the wood. "You both are mad fucking dip shits." He says stepping through the tent as a guard lifts the flap allowing him entrance to the northern alliance meeting. All eyes place on the peppered hair Tully as he ran a hand through his curls taking a seat beside Edmure, his nephew and heir.

Edmure grimaces leaning to his uncle's side, "you going to explain where the hell you've been, everyone's asking when the legendary Blackfish would show. Really uncle? Bedding handmaidens at your age." He says draping an arm on the table facing his lord.

Brynden pours a full wine cup saluting the lord across from him glancing at the ally forces taking three quarters of the queen's tent. "If you don't quit asking me questions by the old gods and the new ones I will backhand you with my ring hand Edmure." He gulps the wine quickly avoiding his nephew's gaze as he shifts in his seat taking his uncle's threat at face value, the last time didn't end well.

Sansa smiles warmly noticing her great uncle relax taking a nearby food tray. "Shall we continue where we left off? Lord Arryn I believe the Eyrie had an announcement regarding foods and supply wagons traveling south tomorrow morning before sunrise."

Robin stands offering the queen a nod, "thank you Lady Stark. As you know Lord Tully is kind enough to allow us use of the river to carry large supply amounts for our houses directly to King's Landing. This will accelerate the trip by more than a few days so by the time we reach the capital our necessities will be met." The Warden of the East turns toward the Ironborn faction, "Lord Drumm, Lord Blacktyde will your houses ensure our supply reach the reserved campsite on the outskirts of the capital."

"It shall be handled Lord Arryn." The younger of two agreed to the terms.

Lord Drumm cleared his throat earning the room's attention, "there isn't any report that came in within the last few hours from the Iron Islands. Our bravest stayed behind to fight whoever had invaded."

Robin places his hands on his sides gliding a loose map across the table glancing at Sansa as she shifts uncomfortably, "you've known me for years Lord Drumm back at capital court."

"Yes your grace, I witnessed the pain you went through at the hands of that cunt Joffrey—"

Sansa put a hand up, "I'm grateful for the concern my lord, it was sometime ago." She holds a hand over a breast taking a steadying breath, "I grew up alongside our warden, you can trust him to defend your home and rightful queen. By the time we reach King's Landing I'm sure they'll send word, trust me my lords, your home and your queen is safe."

Sansa's gaze flickers to Robin's as they glance in opposing directions, "back to the matter at hand we need to stop and supply food rations for the duration of our trip back home from Highgarden's caravan traveling east to the capital, it shouldn't take more than a day and a half—" Robin raises his hands as grumblings increases in volume. I know it isn't the best considering the given circumstances. Our three kingdoms couldn't sustain a caravan of this size especially during the festival. Feeding our people is the number one priority."

"Should've asked me I would've handled the problem. Rations are plentiful in my castle, we can feed our people for two years held up," Brynden grit his teeth pushing the wine away, "the Valeman weren't lying when they said the red wine is shit, funny it used to be better."

"Lord Tully try Arbor Gold, much better than the Reach's horse piss they pass as wine." Lord Manderly says handing Brynden the bottle.

"Thank you Lord Manderly its been awhile since I've received such exquisite wine, Dorne and Stormlands have the luxury living near King's Landing."

"Great uncle Brynden—"

Brynden is all smiles sipping the Gold Arbor wine, "I'm old your grace, not useless, uncle is fine."

"Uncle Brynden, you've given us full reign of Riverrun and stocked our people with proper southern attire. To ask even more from you would be too much on my end."

"It's no trouble at all your grace, feel free to ask if you need something else." Brynden smirks sipping the goblet content to be reunited with his extended family.

"That concludes all matters my lords if there is any concerns feel free to ask." The lords pile out the tent carrying maps to the capital should a group stray from their path.

The Tullys stay behind noticing the white direwolf asleep in the corner near a large ham bone "I hope you know that mutt isn't a pet dear niece."

Brynden hugs Sansa tightly rocking her gently.

"How are you uncle?"

"Managing," he offers holding Sansa's shoulders taking a look at the young woman he hadn't known as a girl. She's been through too much for her age, yet she resembles her mother in every way. "You're as beautiful as if not more than your mother, it's good to see you." He also wishes to see Arya, he can imagine she resembles her aunt and father in many ways sharing Ned's fierce spirit unwilling to compromise even in the face of death.

Sansa greets Edmure to which he returns shyly, "beat it." Brynden nods toward the entrance as Edmure's bows to Sansa exiting without argument. Brynden exhales shaking his head, "forgive your uncle, can't imagine it was easy dealing with him in my absence."

"Please uncle, Edmure is harmless, he's kind, though not the best leader." Sansa throws a hand over her mouth suppressing a chuckle.

Brynden smirks, "you seem well Sansa, that's good. It has to do with Winterfell's bastard returning doesn't it?"

"He's not a bastard uncle, he's aunt Lyanna's son, a Stark." Sansa says taking a seat on the lounge.

"Also a Targaryen." Brynden sits across the queen in the North, "suppose it doesn't matter, I'm glad you're cooperating as siblings should in an unsure time. I know how it was before you left for King's Landing."

"It's in the past now, I'm sure Jon would say the same."

Brynden musters a solemn smile, "you're not worried about the warden...Something else is troubling you."

Sansa fiddles her hands feeling a shakiness overcome, "Jon can take care of himself, he was gone beyond the wall for months when I had no idea where he was, he'll be fine. Sansa's gaze finds her hands unable to look at her uncle, "I had a chance to keep Arya in Westeros, I should've done more to convince her to stay. The more I'm sure there would've been nothing I could say to change her mind to reside in Winterfell."

Lord Tully sits on the adjacent cushion resting a steady hand on her shoulder, "ah yes, Ayra would be stubborn as your girl's father was, I'm sure she's fine Sansa. You trust Lyanna's son, from what I've heard he's a war hero, he's got a good chance at finding her." Brynden smiles seeing Cat all over again, "I haven't seen you since you were a child, now you're a grown woman resembling your mother at this age." Brynden sighs removing his hand, "it won't mean much but now until the dying day I'm going to do everything I can to assist you. I wasn't there when we were under siege by the Lannisters when you needed me most. It won't happen again your grace I swear it." Sansa wraps arms around Brynden glad to have a proper conversation after years hearing stories wondering what The Blackfish was really like.

Handmaidens enter the tent signaling his exit. "Well," the Blackfish offers Sansa a hand up," don't let an old man like me bother you." He strolls to the table taking the Arbor wine, "do not worry Sansa," he calls halting her entrance to her private quarters, "I'm sure your cousin will bring Arya back, if not you can count on me to try a hand at finding her."

Sansa smiles graciously, "thank you great uncle, goodnight."

Brynden bows replacing the half full bottle with an unopened one earning a growl out the waking direwolf. He smirks tossing a half eaten turkey leg on the mat shutting Ghost up. "Such a pup over a good meal, smart mutt." Brynden uncorks the bottle sipping as he exits the tent finding camp wilder than before. He quickly evades a thrown punch as it connects on a wasted soldier knocking him into a dazed snore. The Blackfish steps over soldiers crashing onto to grass passing incoherent stumbling soldiers rambling horeshit laughing hysterically as others vomit ale uncontrollably. "Fucking idiots every single one of em." Take some time off and all hell breaks loose, the countries are in parlay. Then again maybe he's wound too tight; it isn't any fault of his, the man is a product of his environment. Growing up in the Riverlands the idea of unifying would've gotten a lord killed yapping that nonsense. Perhaps Westeros is headed for brighter days. It wasn't too long ago he didn't think he'd live to see this day—There is someone he'd never get to thank for sparing his life.

Jamie Lannister holds Widow's Wail, his late son Joffrey's sword melted down and reforged from the Stark House's ancestral blade, Ice. The straight Valyrian blade can carve through a small army without much effort. He can't help pondering what the sword would feel like in his right hand, if it were still flesh. Instead a gold stump weighing down his arm throwing his core balance off, something he took pride maintaining over the years. Fighting with one hand is a death sentence, it's only a matter of when.

It's common knowledge in Westeros Jamie Lannister didn't need a Valyrian sword rising through the ranks of Knighthood and commander of the Kingsgaurd. He often says, "it's a waste, having a Valyrian sword is useless against soldiers who wield ordinary steel. Its like fighting against dagger-wielding warriors, when I fight I want it to be fair from the start so they know no matter if they trained every hour of everyday for the rest of their lives, they would still end up dead at my feet." All that is behind him now. He needs the Valyrian steel to be on par with fierce warriors roaming the world. The days he wishes to go back to are long gone.

"Ser Jamie we found the Blackfish, Lord Tully is defusing to surrender, he wants a fight to the death." A Lannister soldier leads Jamie through the castle halls to the commander and his guards backing down Brynden Tully against a wall.

Jamie pushes aside the guards standing against the legend himself, "leave us, await my orders in the grand hall."

Brynden smirks, "you head to finish me off? You wanted to siege my castle, relocate my people, set up a war council deciding the fate of my nephew Edmure. Should've kept the guards, I wouldn't want my victory to come easy against a cripple."

Jamie bows his head sighing, he deserves that and a whole lot more. "I'm not here to fight." He says as Brynden sheaths his sword.

"What the fuck are you here for then Kingslayer?" The silence is telling, he guesses right away, "you're here cause of that knight serving my great niece Brienne of Tarth. Since when has Jamie Lannister ever cared about anything other than his pride and his sister."

Jamie's jaw clenches tightly exhaling, "it's not of your concern my relationship to her," he took another breath, "what did she tell you?"

"My niece Sansa Stark requested aid in a battle against Ramsay Bolton. She's amassing an army to retake Winterfell under her family name."

"An army of what? Wildlings and a few meager northern houses."

"The Vale is at her command."

"The Vale?!" Jamie silences his stupor as he mulls it over recalling Littlefinger's influence over the young girl taken out of his brother Tyrion's marriage vanishing without a trace after Joffrey's death to the chagrin of Cersei, something that made his very soul bleed. Sansa Stark, Cersei and the Mockingbird's pupil. "She is sending the those Northmen and Wildlings to death as an attack run and flank the Bolton army when they surround the allies."

Brynden is not easily impressed, Tywin's eldest son is well versed and studied in Westerosi battle tactics. "Its a simple strategy enough, Bolton's used it for years. This Bolton bastard is no different from his father."

"He's worse, far worse than expected." Jamie met Brynden's gaze, "is it me or is the world getting a lot worse than we started out? Whatever happened to common fucking decency? I'll be the first to admit I'm going to burn in hell every person I killed...But this, young men flaying enemies, killing their own fathers and brothers, others wanting to burn the world down cutting out tongues to gloat about it forever about it, a Targaryen with three matured dragons. Where does that leave us? The last decent cultured men in Westeros."

He doesn't disagree, the world isn't getting smaller, the familiar faces they'd once known are gone leaving them the sole torch bearers to carry on their legacy and memory. "You know you're the last person to talk about common decency, you're a piece of shit Kingslayer." Jamie nods accepting the statement, "you're different, you want to regain honor, it's too late for that though we can always try to reclaim it. I wish I could tell you you're one the last cultured men in Westeros," Brynden pats Jamie's shoulder plate, "you Kingslayer are not one of those men. No matter what happens tonight and all the night to come you'll go running back to Cersei betraying your oath, your family name, and yourself, thats who you are Jamie Lannister, the man with no honor."

"You're right about one thing, I'll do anything to get back to Cersei even killing you if it came to it." Jamie tightens the golden hand adjusting the leather wrist straps, "I'll send word at King's Landing stay put until then," Jamie holds a hand up preventing Lord Tully from speaking, "you're to stay here not interfere in the North. That happens we're retaking the castle and we'll kill you or starve out your forces."

Brynden smirks shaking his head gripping the specially crafted leather Tully sword belt, "that's you alright Kingslayer, what do you expect me to do then?"

"Take your men underground and don't come out until morning. Two guards are going to come find me after coming here, you better be gone by then."

Two Lannister guards approach their commander standing in the crenelate wall center, "Ser Jamie, the Blackfish is dead, went down fighting." Jamie turns nodding to the Lannister guards dismissing them to the drawbridge, it is time to leave. Back to Cersei. Only to Cersei. Forever Cersei.

"Lord Tully! Lord Tully!" Edmure yells catching his father's strides hunching over.

"Its you, whatdya want?" He asks sipping the Arbor Gold holding in a laugh at the Ironborn cutting off a finger using the serrated knife from earlier. He told them they were crazy fuckheads.

"Thieving stragglers were sighted not too far from here raiding villages south, less than an hours ride, I fear our messenger didn't make it, saw the a signal beacon light from the sept tower." Edmure says placing his hands on his sides wincing as the other Ironborn cauterized the wounded man's limb earning hollers and raised cups."

Brynden places a hand on Edmure's shoulder, "then let's not waste time, gather fifteen men, meet me at the southern maple gates. "Edmure is off doing as instructed as Brynden storms through camp in search of someone.

Robin runs into Brynden unaware he's standing in the Blackfish's path. "Apologies Lord Tully I wasn't minding where I was—"

Brynden waves him off, "save it, you there with the winged helmet, what's your name young Ser?"

"Harrold, Harrold Hardyng, Vale's first shield." The knight's look differs from his battle weeks earlier with the North Warden. The clean shave bow replaced by a beard, his hair grew wilder due the trip south.

"Right you're being sworn in the Kingsgaurd to act a guard for my great nephew. I'm going to need to witness your skill out in the field, I can't imagine you'd do much with a mere shield. Come on son, keep up I work quickly." He says leaving the taller knight behind.

"I'll return shortly Lord Arynn," Harrold calls trailing the Blackfish through the rowdy camp side stepping snoring soldiers and crowds shoving bodies into one another around bonfires and tents.

"You got a family Harrold?" Brynden asks ducking underneath logs of cedar by two builders.

"Yes sir I do," Harrold places a hand on the shield draped on his back, "I have a wife and son waiting in Gulltown, got another on the way. I didn't want to risk settling her in the capital while she's a couple months from birth."

"Noble cause, though not unique," Brynden shoves a puking grunts out his path, "if you do intend on keeping em' safe being a Kingsguard is a way to do it even if you won't see them much."

"I'm well aware of my decisions sacrifice Lord Tully. Who're we looking for?" He questions watching a soldier trip over a tree root chasing a laughing whore in a red silky sheet clinging the fabric to her curves.

"Helena!" Brynden calls as another woman laughs running through camp, "where did that broad run off to—" Brynden lifts a nearby tent flap. Red head Helena throws the covers back revealing a breast resting it at her hip. "Who's with you?" A brunette and raven hair beauty appear beneath the furs drawing a smirk from the elder man, "carry on soldier," he says dragging Harrold away out of sight line as the flaps close.

"Why not these men Lord Tully?" Harrold asks. Far as he's concerned, they had armor, swords, and are soldiers trained for combat, even drunk taking out bandits ransacking an area.

Brynden snorts, "these lot will shit themselves running their own sword through belly before they jump on a horse."

"Point taken." Harrold adds witnessing a group laugh as a drunk soldier rolls with the pigs in mud after catching fire, these men are slaughter bait.

Fifteen Riverland soldiers await their lords arrival at the southern gate prepping horse saddles, "there you are uncle where have you—"

"Edmure," Brynden backhands a palm sending his nephew scrambling to fetch their horses, he is learning to take orders well, a steep learning curve leading the Riverlands. "I hope that shield can kill people as well as it draws attention."

The Vale knight smile proudly every place he visits everyone has a comment about the shield placed on his back. It is more than a steel physical weapon, the shield represents the ideals instilled in him in the Vale's civil wars for mountain territory. He didn't desire to kill, but he would if it were cane to it as everyone else. Unlike the wars North beyond the wall and the successfully integrated Northern mountain clans. His country has an epidemic of mountain fighters disgruntled at the lack of inclusion in society. For their low status they were stepped on and killed rather than reintegrated a far easier yet left him questioning his morale and ethics more than usual. The shield is a greater than him, representing a symbol that anyone can be more than they believe they're told. He was just a scrawny kid unfit to be a knight relating more to a jester, now he stands by the legendary Blackfish and is being sworn in to guard a king. "It will get the job done, just tell me where I need to be." Harrold steadies his horse grouping with the Rivermen.

"Spoken like a true knight of Westeros. You'll be a fine Kingsgaurd should you don't deny tonight." Brynden says handing fellow soldiers torches.

"I'm honored to hear the Blackfish say that. It will be a greater honor serving your great nephew in King's Landing." The soldiers give chase to the fleeing Lord Tully driving his horse into darkness lighting a path through the forest.

Sansa sinks in the tub submerging herself up to her nose releasing an exhale allowing heated water to encompass her soreness and aches from the long trip south. She declined Brynden and Edmure's invitation to stay inside Riverrun's fortress. It isn't the same as sleeping under Winterfell's familiar roof. The water surrounds her neck keeping her straightened hair draped down the back. Sansa emerges slowly exposing neck scars given to her by Ramsay Bolton. The scars trace to her chest to the right side of her breast down to her ribcage. The physical pain subsided after she and Theon left the fortress behind heading North however emotional scars remain carved into her porcelain skin using bare teeth. The more she washes the more they cling to her skin—She hates her body. More she hates the person who did it. The outside world sees her untouched face, rosy red lips, fiery hair, and Tully blue eyes able to disarm the most of dishonest people into truth tellers. They didn't see the hideous form of pain inflicted along her body. His death didn't satisfy her as she thought but she'd do it again changing nothing.

Handmaidens emerge chuckling in their palms assisting their lady out of the tub covering her. "Was your bath enjoyable my lady? You outta be exhausted from the weeks long trip."

Sansa smiles using the other to balance stepping out the tub into warm towels, "I'll be fine ladies, I will sleep when we reach King's Landing."

"I cannot wait to go to King's Landing, I hear..." Ghost drops the bone perking his ears at a distant noise. The direwolf rises trotting outside the tent brushing past soldiers leaving camp following a distant noise.

Sansa half dressed emerges in a night garment calling for Ghost receiving silence. She signals her handmaidens to stop as she calls for him again stepping into the main tent area near Ghost's resting spot. "He'll return soon I'm sure of it my lady."

"He's never strayed from me." Sansa throws on furs fleeing the tent in pursuit of Ghost. She runs reaching the distant tree line tripping over a rock scraping a knee. Ghost's distant barks grow near over the upcoming hillock.

Robin paces back and forth speaking lowly to himself shaking his head folding his arms sighing heavily leaning on a tent canvas, "no, no stupid stupid," he places his hands at his sides pacing once more clearing his throat, "I didn't mean to intrude my lady, Sansa—" He slaps just forehead, halting his steps pinching the bridge of his nose, now he just sounds a fool even he knows that.

Lord Royce and Sansa's handmaidens appear through the soldiers, "Lord Arryn there's a urgent situation at hand—"

"What situation Lord Royce?"

"The queen ran off into the east forest, we lost her after that." The maidens hung onto Yohn as Robin sets off east.

"Come with me Lord Royce, we won't rest until we find Lady Sansa." Robin whistles corralling the nearest man, "get off your drunken asses the queen is missing from her tent." Soldiers converse unsure of the situation at hand.

Yohn shoves apart a large group gathering at the shooting range, "hold your fire you drunken fool," Yohn snatches the crossbow slinging it on a shoulder whistling to silence the gathered forces stumbling over each other. "The queen sets off in a direction gathering any and all weapons we will not rest until she's back at camp." Yohn says yanking a torch out a soldiers hand pointing east, "follow Lord Arryn!" The armies spread through the forest trailing Robin and Yohn cutting their way through forest branches blocking their path forward. Northern lords shout their queen's name desperately hoping to receive an answer back, they will be executed by the warden if something happens to her.

"Lady Sansa!"

"Lady Stark!"

Sansa is close, she can hear Ghost's low growls and distant howls echo further away closer than a few minutes prior. She steps over an elongated tree trunk descending into the grove avoiding wild thorne berry patches, "where are you Ghost?" She asks softly holding a hand to her chest. Sansa holds in a scream tackled playfully by the white direwolf, "there you are..." she hugs Ghost tightly, "don't scare me like that, why did you run off?" Ghost turns standing in front of Sansa, "Ghost..." Gray wolves surround them as he growls scaring some off. The search party closes in halting at the hillock edge. "Lady Sansa are you alright? Are you hurt?" Robin asks making his way down signaling archers to take aim at wolves.

"Wait Lord Robin don't!" Sansa holds a hand out halting the attack. The search party stare in awe as Ghost and Nymeria circle one another meeting together.

"What is it Lady Sansa?"

Sansa can't help shedding a tear, "they're siblings." Nymeria releases a great howl running into the clearing with her pack trailing closely. Sansa crawls over to Ghost holding him, "Ghost don't leave, stay with me." Ghost glances in the howl's direction turning to Sansa a final time running after the pack leaving her stunned at the soldiers surrounds her pursing the wolves.

Sansa's handmaidens are the first ones to her side, "are you alright my lady?"

"You must be freezing?" The girls throw extra furs on their queen rubbing her shoulders, "lets get you back to the tent your grace."

Robin descends the hill's other side coming to stand beside the maidens, "Sansa, what was that? Ghost doesn't take off like this does he?"

"I don't know...Ghost hasn't left my side like that before."

"Already have a tracker group ready we'll take horses and hounds to follow their trail."

"It's not use, Ghost isn't going to be found. Jon warned me this could happen, he's a wild direwolf not a pet."

Robin nods, "then he'll be better served in the wilderness, the capital is no place for a direwolf, I'm sure Ghost will return to you on the way up North. I am just glad your safe Sansa, sleep well." Robin watches her go regrouping with Lord Royce.

"Should we continue on Lord Arryn?"

"No need Lord Royce, Ghost is on his path and we're on ours. Something tells me even he's strays from his owner from time to time, he really isn't a pet at heart—Wish we had direwolves in the Vale."

"That I am vehemently disagreeing with you on Lord Arryn." He wraps an arm around the lord whistling to the Vale soldiers to retreat.

Brynden, Harrold, Edmure and the Rivermen descend their horses walking to the nearest home noticing blood smeared across the broken door, leading to a shambled interior, "it's too dim, quiet, eerie. The invaders could've possibly fled by now uncle." Edmure says walking around the other side examining the rowed houses lined on the paved road. This is a celebratory time in Westeros people should be living as if they wouldn't survive the night, he guaranteed it is happening everywhere in Westeros, even in the Twins, home of the Freys where his pregnant wife resides.

"One way to find out." The Rivermen spread out among the village looking for any sign of life. Every house holds the same, completely devoid of life.

Edmure covers his nose preventing himself from inhaling puking upon seeing shredded bodies laying motionless on the floor. Using his blade he lifts a bloodied cloth finding a severed arm and an overturned table as he smears it investigating into the nearby house. The blood is fresh and sticks between his fingertips as he wipes it. He covers his nose as the smell consumes him once more, "by the gods what could've done this? There hasn't been a wolf invasion in a town for decades, we killed off most of em', they're too resourceful to execute something like this." The wounds are precise but sloppy, it killed for pleasure not a meal. A loud scream forces Edmure into a dash to his uncle's voice drawing nearer.

"Hand me your canteen." Brynden says holding the unconscious woman in his arms.

"What? What?" Edmure heaves unable to look at her gaping flesh wound Harrold kneels holding a water jug to her dry lips.

"M-..." Harrold leans closer unable to hear the brunette clearly, "M-Monsters...They're here..."She collapses into Brynden as he lays her drawing a sword out his scabbard, "spread out keep your backs to the road, yell at the first sign." The elder warhorse marches off to the cemetery at the edge of the village.

Edmure bumps into Harrold trailing the Vale knight halting as he raises a hand, "don't move," Harrold grabs the shield signaling Edmure to follow into the sept lit by a lantern on the second floor. The two halt hearing creaking originating above their position.

Brynden grabs a nearby lantern off a supply shed containing burial tools glancing over. The graveyard is empty, completely devoid of life, half dug graves, displaying wooden caskets. On second viewing its apparent the makeshift shovel covered in a thin dirt layer. "They weren't burying their folk, they were diggin em' up." The Blackfish turns shining the light at a fading shadow on the other side of the small homestead.

He steps though the house's other side letting the lantern glow guide him through the darkness. Brynden glances over the turned table finding carnage and guts decorating the floor. He smells the foul odor long before entering; rotting eggs, vile shit, an overwhelming blood aroma so thick in the air it filled the senses full of iron—This village reeks death. Lord Tully kneels checking claw marks scratched into the floorboards, too big for a direwolf, this is something fiercer, foreign. The shadow hovers outside the house running a circle around Brynden disappearing into the night.

"Lord Tully!" Brynden checks his surroundings finding nothing rushing to the soldiers aid piling several bloodied corpses gutted head to toe same as the others. "Some of these aren't locals, the reports from our scout was true...A robbery was in progress by these masked bastards." The soldier removes a knapsack revealing a half chewed off face.

"For fucks sake cover it." Brynden says placing his hands at his sides. "This is strange, nothing about the situation adds up."

"I know what you mean me lord." He scratches his head, "what in the sixes could've done this?"

"Nothing, finish collecting the bodies with the others we'll—"

Edmure's screams brings the calvary rushing to the sept, "a red fox scurries across their sight vanishing in the night. "Edmure I swear by the old gods if that was your screaming." Brynden says jabbing a finger at his frantic nephew.

Harrold emerges holding a child's body as the hand clenches a stuffed toy, "whatever was here isn't here now, we should bury the bodies Lord Tully."

Brynden nods turning to his garrison, "gather the corpses bring em' to the square. Edmure fetch the horses, we'll bury them alongside the river, not in this place." He regards this place as cursed, evil spirits roam every shadowy corner, still this is a vacation compared to Harrenhall. 'I don't like this feeling, in battle the enemy make presence felt at the outset. Whatever is or was here, is fucking with us.' Brynden scans Edmure's movement to the tree line slipping deeper in the woodland spotting a shadow lurking.

"Check the barn, probably got livestock we can haul to camp." An older Riverman soldier drops a corpse on top of two others clearing the nearby house. "Hurry back lad best not keep ya lord waiting!"

The younger soldier strides to the half hinged barn door slamming against another in conjunction with fast winds rolling through, "what the hell? Not wolves." The lantern illuminates horse, cow, and goat carcasses strung decorating every square foot. There isn't any doubt whatever slaughtered the citizens and thieves fed off livestock hiding in the barn as everyone slept the previous night. "I'll let me lord and the others know of this." He backs away hearing meat and bones crunching loudly inside a boxed stable. The solider carries his blade to the tarp flipping it over shouting at a golden mane lion gnawing at a corpse roaring at the intrusion."

Brynden halts as screams consume the area as the shadow darts from Edmure's blindside. "Ed rally the horses!" He shouts sheathing his sword pushing aside brush pursuing the demon through the woods leaving his nephew to corral fleeing horses." The lion outpaces the aging Blackfish pouncing a soldier biting into his neck dragging him along the dirt as his torch catches a shack on fire illuminating the village releasing smoke in the night sky.

Brynden places a forearm on a tree heaving heavily, running in big fucking armor is a real problem in the open field. The soldiers appear down the path chasing after the fleeing lion. A lone solider turns falling over expecting death. He peaks an eye open feeling around making sure he is still in one piece. The soldier gapes at the falcon shield taming the second lion. "Go help your comrades out I'll handle this overgrown cat." The soldier slips away converging with the others at the barn. Brynden slashes at the lion missing due to its reflexes.

Riverrmen scamper and weave avoiding the demon pouncing on the last man tearing into his neck spraying blood on the grass. Brynden keeps a sight on the lion as he snatches a torch from a near solider keeping distance from the swords ready to pounce at a moments notice. burn the tall grass, keep them at bay with fire!" Hearing their lord's words takes fear out their hearts—-If he's willing to die this night, as are they.

Dry grass ignites creating a fire blockade forcing the lions to pace back and forth unnerving the group. "You trust me Lord Tully?" Harrold asks holding the falcon shield protectively at the helm. Edmure screams holding onto his runaway horse as the animals scatter fleeing present danger. The Vale's shield uses Edmure's distraction leaping out the fire pursued by the roaring lions into the two story sept narrowly avoiding the demon claws splitting apart the rotting wood forcing their way inside. "Don't stand there, seal the sept, those pussycats ain't leaving this town alive."

The rivermen board the exits using hilts hammering boards preventing an escape as they threw in torches burning the sept fueled from dry grass. Flaming wood crashes forcing the group back as the building burns, smoke ascends in the atmosphere. Brynden and the others watch in silence as Edmure rides keeping anxious horses in his grasp. Harrold dives out the top window sill knocking the bell of its perch using his shield's momentum rolling onto his feet. A flaming lion crashes through the second story slashing a soldier's throat open. They draw too late seeing another gutted another cracking his skull between its jaws as the third approaches behind knocked over before he could pierce busting his head wide open over sharp rocks. Riverman quickly stab the burning lion killing swiftly turning to the other lion descending the stairs as the fire level collapses dropping more wood in the dirt. Harrold sprints to the circling lion shield ramming a side window sending the beast flying back in the flames.

"Its stopped moving, Harrold slain the beast." A solider says ripping off the loose board poking the motionless beast's leg. He steps back waving the others to his side of the sept. "Wait till we tell the whole camp bout this," he shakes his head in disbelief, "they're not going to believe—" The lion pounces on him shredding his back spraying blood on the ground as he grips the grass. The group halt realizing it's too late as the golden feline emerges out the shadows illuminating its bloody mane.

"What do we do?" Edmure asks. Less than half remain and they're unequipped to deal with lions. He couldn't recall there being a living prime lion in Westeros that isn't taxidermy.

"Can you use that ridiculous shield of yours one last time, I need you to draw its attention."

"Consider it done Lord Tully." Harrold presents himself to the lion staring in its soulless gaze. This isn't an animal accustomed to humans. Bears, wolves, and mountain cats recognize a danger from humans over thousands of years. Lions don't need to adopt to humans, unlike the others, a lion considers itself an apex predator standing atop nature's food chain. Fearless, a terrifying species, if it ever came to Westeros permanently successfully adopting the environment. Harrold glances at the lion turning his back to the animal walking the opposite direction. The lion charges leaps at Harrold as he unsheathes his shield parrying the beast's attack, flipping the five hundred pound animal into Edmure and the others' rope net for hunting animals outside camp. The lion roars falling on its back pouncing to kill its captors. Brynden pierces the lion's heart halting its ambush, the guttural roar dies down as it lands motionless. The eight remaining soldiers glance at the animal as one steps up kicking it jumping away at a twitch.

"It's dead soldier, lets gather the dead and bury em, our nights far from finished." Brynden says marching in a direction leaving others to witness the sept burning to the ground.

They tie up their horses at the stable posts entering the camp as it began to die down, bodies lay motionless in the grass snoring loudly creating a unrelenting unharmonious echo. Lord Arryn and Royce are awaiting their return standing near the shooting range. "Great uncle, we have a situation."

"What situation?" Brynden nor the others are in a controversial mood, it is quiet enough taking care of corpses in the village.

Robin frowns placing a hand on a brow "Sansa isn't speaking, she's refusing to leave tomorrow unless we find Ghost."

"Who in the bloody fuck is Ghost?"

"Her cousin's direwolf, she probably feels most responsible seeing as the warden trusted only her to look after him while he's away searching for Arya Stark."

Brynden sighs, "Edmure," he pulls his nephew close, "take a tracker with you find the nearest den reported three and half miles east in Harrenhall's direction."

Edmure nods, "yes uncle I'll take a squadron and we'll return to the caravan in the morning."

"Good lad." Brynden says seeing him off, these are the moments he's proud to call Edmure a son to him. He turns to the Valeman forming behind their lords, "we have news ourselves, we think there's a location of the culprits attacking the Iron Islands."

"Report is true my lord, we had a situation of our own delaying a return. I think, you'd better take a look for yourselves." Harrold adds showing his lords claw marks indenting his steel shield differentiating from other incidents. "We shouldn't speak here." Yohn says.

"You're right gather your lords and meet me at the fortress drawbridge, urgent matters need discussing." Brynden leaves the Valemen pushing through the crowd rallying Rivermen, Northmen, and Iron Born for their hearing.

—-

XXX

—-

The small council lounge around the table short of some current members: Tyrion, Bronn, Davos, and Varys are present. Bran, Brienne and Podrick traveled for business to the Stormlands planning a return in the coming days before the start of the capital festival. "Surely I miss our king, Lady Brienne, and Pod as much as everyone else yet its gratifying having only treasury finances and food supply on our plate to discuss." Tyrion says toasting Bronn who fills his cup to the brim.

"Would've been better had we sent Ser Chum with em.' Bronn laughs glancing at Davos leaning in his chair.

"That's Lord Chum to you," Davos frowns crossing his arms, "just so you know I'd rather stand beside them then squabble around a table with former thieves—"

"I'm still a thief."

"My point exactly," Davos turns to Tyrion, "and you?" Tyrion arches his brows in surprise, "you are the king's hand, still you choose bedding ladies and drinking your day with thieves."

Tyrion sips his goblet, "as much as I hate my father he was always a step ahead of everyone, I was mistaken in that regard," he says swishing the wine around, "he just knew everyone better than himself, is that now you Lord, Davos?"

"Comparing me to Tywin Lannister? I don't know wether to be flattered or revulsed , I'm going say the latter." Davos sighs shaking his head, "it's times like these I ever wondered why I agreed to work with you guys."

Sam doesn't disagree without Bran they won't come together for their common goal. They will sit here bickering for hours on end. "There's no use arguing about trivial things. We should focus on the king's meeting Storm's Landing. Supposedly Bran considers Gendry as a replacement should something unforeseen happen."

"In the event Daenerys Targaryen decides to fly across the Narrow Sea into the capital burning it once more." Varys says.

Sam gulps nodding, "yes...That. Also in case the king dies of natural causes." The others turn to the maester listening intently, "there's isn't any way to know what will happen, our king is the three eye raven, not Bran Stark."

"I hear the three eye raven lives thousands of years giving up humanity obtaining the entirety of every past event in their arsenal, a truly marvelous, ambiguous power." Tyrion adds.

"Regardless of our king's abilities, power lies where men believes it does. We need people to at least believe our king isn't vulnerable like the rest. By all accounts the three eye raven can be killed as easily as an ordinary man despite living for longer past the standard lifespan." Varys says folding robe sleeves together, the master of spies words are a double edge sword. He offers a solution and a problem always critically thinking outside the box bringing a propionate balance of optimism and pessimism.

"This is an advantageous situation," Davos says perking up, "if we play this opportunity correctly there's a chance the situation will work itself out." The master of ships smiles pouring a wine cup, "all of us here are liars, good ones I add at one point we've lied to stay ahead—This is one of those times." Davos gulps the drink as they exchange glances.

Tyrion holds a finger in the air, "Let me take a wild guess. You want to portray our king in the same light as the other kings before excluding my nephew Tommen?"

Varys sighs, "unfortunately thats Samwell's point exactly Lord Tyrion. King Brain is susceptible to attack by living and undead armies."

"Don't think we got too much to worry from Ol Night Prick, they're all..." Bronn furrows his brows waving a hand, "you get the bloody point." Bronn swings his feet on the oak table drinking greedily.

"Regardless of the white walkers extinction, assuming our enemies due their diligence on us as we've done on them. If they find out we have a king who's immobile as Aerys II and has kindness rivaling our previous king, it is weakness on our part." Sam says surveying the table.

Tyrion folds hands over his face, "lets say you're onto something Sam; Our Westerosi people believe our king is kind and just. Enemies can obtain false intel to be convinced he's a soft cripple with folklorish power. We believe he's the best damn chance the world has at peace." Tyrion grits his teeth taking a larger chug than necessary finishing the cup, "so what next? We proclaim to the world our king murders people in their sleep giving him the name's of Kings past.

The table stands silent once more as they shift looking anywhere but one another. Having come to an impasse in their meeting the five contemplate their next words, "somebody best speak up," Bronn says refilling his cup, "you're putting me to sleep for fuck's sake."

Varys scoots his chair forward, "a suggestion on my part, perhaps we should take up arms against Daenerys Targaryen and her reinvigorated forces mounting toward Meereen at the moment. Essos's great powers hold us responsible for her untimely resurrection at the hands of the red priests in the city of Volantis." He shudders at the mention of those damn priests, one day they'll get what is coming to them, that he is guaranteeing.

"Varys I really don't see how that solves—"

"Hold on a moment Sam," Davos leans forward raising a hand, "you want to try assassinating the dragon queen? You're willing to risk hundreds of thousands of lives for a murder attempt. If we fail we're the idiots who got everyone, especially our king killed," Davos sighs staring at his resting hands on the table, "we succeed, we'll be hailed as heroes. Hell there's a high probability Essos will reopen their trade market."

Bronn glances between the others at the table, "you can forget about it, fought one dragon got one life, I prefer keeping mine thank you very much."

Tyrion coughs in a fist, "we're missing the point of endangering our king's life. If we want to show we're a power perhaps there is a chance we travel to Braavos's Iron Bank, buy the golden company adding to our military bulk. The revenue we'll receive from this national warg holiday will pay our debt and allow us to buy more ships from the Western free cities. Who would dare oppose us with elephants on our side?"

"Thought all the elephants went endangered?" Bronn asks.

"Harry Strickland and his bannermen were wiped out. Usually in an organized sell sword company for hire dies once the head is cut off the body withers away with it." Sam explains folding his arms.

"Strickland was the Golden Company's captain general. Yet they kept more than half their twelve thousand sell swords in Essos."

"Can I mention again, the fucking elephants." Davos said unable to contain a toothy grin.

Tyrion toasts the master of ships, "I've seen the wall, wights, direwolves. Since my birth I always wanted to see a dragon and here I sit wishing to see those magnificent elephants."

For the first time the room is in agreement, "I'd pay top shelf coin to ride around High Garden on an elephant. The fuck would I need to be king for? The girls will call me majesty from the Wall to Sunspear."

"Guys I think we're getting off track here..." Sam starts.

"Elephants are fascinating beasts however riding one is near impossible less you are born for it. Taming a direwolf requires duality, a dragon requires dominance, an elephant is more a mystery than anything. Warging into the creatures proved unsuccessful at times as it had every time for a lion, those beasts are kindred spirits." Tyrion says wishing to see Lannister's bannister animal one day, what he'd pay for even a deceased one to hang above Casterly Rock's great mantle above the fireplace in their great hall.

"Still Varys you must admit, with the amount of ships at our disposable we could trade a few for furs. Answering honestly I have to stay loyal to my fellow Night's Watch brother, I'd rather own a direwolf." Varys rolls his eyes, Davos drops his forehead in a palm, Tyrion stares stone face, watching Bronn peg Sam with a bread roll.

"Way to spoil it Tarly."

"Alright, enough games," Sams waves a hand pinching his nose inhaling, "we're not buying any elephants the king would never approve it and I bet the Golden Company refuses offers daily from high bidders across the world accumulating an elephant to their army. I don't even want to get into the cost of maintaining those great beasts."

Tyrion rubs a brow, "after the convocation I'm sure we'll be out of debt redline having more than enough to buy armies by the garrison or construct one from scratch."

After Tyrion was captured by Jorah Mormont I traveled the Valyrian roads east of Pentos past Ghogan Drohe's ruins in the Velvetan Hills. I learned from an old friend, Illyrio Mopatis—"

"Ha! The fat bastard hasn't dropped dead from the size of his neck, you could practically fit an entire ham hock underneath I find it satisfyingly laughable." Tyrion drinks smirking at thoughts of Illyrio chocking on a chunk of meat and cheese stuffed between bread loaves, a personal favorite of his. Though he'd give the man his credit, he could drink even him underneath the table any night of the week.

"On the contrary I think you'll be quite amused he's enlarged more, they call him 'Cheese Monger' and 'Lord of Cheese' for good reason. He had reappeared weeks earlier awaiting the dragon queen's reemergence as everyone else. Anyway this lord is backing the reinvigorated sell swords marching from Volantis to Meereen, the most likely event is they're accompanying the dragon queen as we speak."

Tyrion scratches his beard, "so Harry Strickland and his company were only the central battalion?"

"Strickland's loyalists in the company faded years prior, his once staunchest supporters and benefactors were few and far between."

"Makes sense," Bronn pours another resting his boots on the table, "sellswords follow whoever pays them the most gold. Thanks to our old weasel friend Littlefinger the crown's treasure coin left is in shambles due to all the loans he took out from the Iron Bank. Strickland wasn't followed because he took money holding no weight in gold, the currency probably didn't even matriculate though the bank. Real sell swords only fight with payment up front, coin in your hand is the only language we speak."

Sam leans on forearms, "if I'm understanding you correctly, your implying the Golden Company leaders rebelled splitting the factions. The bulk remaining in Essos march from Volantis for Daenerys, they're probably already at her side.

"Assume the Iron Bank has prior knowledge Cersei would lose the war over, if it wasn't obvious enough. The likely scenario is they sent Harry Strickland on a suicide mission to gauging the mother of dragon's strength. They only managed to kill Rhegal alongside the Greyjoy fleet but were absolutely massacred by Drogon." Davos replies.

"Still killing one dragon isn't anything to sniff at. I barley grazed her big boy and got good ol' kingslayer out the fire's path, you remember that?"

"I try to forget," Tyrion sighs remembering calling his brother a fucking idiot for charging Daenerys with Drogon on full alert, "let's not get sidetracked again; we can't simply buy the Golden Company then, Cersei used up our good favor even if we present a paid debt and money those bank greeds the company won't commit to us."

"I'm inclined to say you're both correct. The Golden Company are top sellswords who will only commit to the highest gold bidder. However even if we acquire the necessary currency their services aren't guaranteed. Sellswords as you know Bronn follow strong capable leaders, if they're under a newer captain-general it would've to be someone reliably capable serving under Daenerys." Davos places his good hand under his chin, "for the love of fuck I can't remember that commander leading the Unsullied."

"Who could forget the ball less leader invading Casterly Rock, gray storm—"

"Greyworm." Tyrion replies.

"It isn't our old friend Greyworm my lords. The new leader was selected after we sailed here our Unsullied commander fought for Daenerys and sailed to the island of Naath as his queen returned home."

"Daario Naharisis is the Golden Company's captain-general." Says hiding a smirk behind the cup.

Varys holds his mouth agape, "I take offense you stealing my thunder." He shrugs a shoulder continuing on ignoring Tyrion's widening smirk pulling a fast one on his old friend. "Our friend Daario served as queen regent during Daenerys's conquest on these shores. He was awaiting her return traveling from Myr to Volantis placing the seven sons at the head of the company now under Daenerys if they keep them paid that is."

"Seven sons ain't no fuckin pushovers. Though I heard one of the new Golden Company banners is 'Little Pussy.'" Bronn laughs heartily hitting a hand against the table slapping a knee, "think they're like you Varys? I'm betting, they're worse than the Unsullied. How the bannermen get such a name like that, lay down to get fucked instead of fighting?"

The table laughs as Tyrion passes the newly open Arbor to Davos, "this is exactly why we like having you on the council Bronn, not because you're a cheapskate with our finances."

"As much as I disagree with Lord Tyrion's statement about Lord Cheapskate," Davos sips the arbor passing the bottle down, "but that name is ignominy at its finest, no telling me otherwise. Though it can't be understated from what Varys and I spoke of earlier the name doesn't represent their spirit, it's an oxymoron at best."

"Can someone explain to me how a pussy is weak? Seems like the opposite to me can stretch giving birth to a fucking basin, and tighten to the point of strangulation. In my humble experience it's one the strongest weapons on earth." Bronn leans back resting his hands behind his head, "tell me I'm wrong I'll wait."

Sam clears his throat, "again try staying on topic Bronn. If this Daario guy is so great, why did you two leave him behind?"

Tyrion and Varys exchange a glance, "it wasn't our decision of course, Daenerys left him behind wanting to find a suitor accustomed to Westerosi culture, I'm sure she had someone southern in mind, a lord who kept a foothold in the capital court's political sphere. When we first arrived at Dragonstone, Jon Snow wasn't in her venacular, in all honestly she was too strong for him, hell for any one person."

Varys rolls his eyes once more, "no one and I repeat no one wants to hear your sob story about Daenerys not choosing you as a suitor."

Tyrion hit a fist off the table, "it wasn't about that." The council glance at the king's hand noting his change, "I truly believed in my heart she was the answer Westeros had been searching for in its history. A girl sold into slavery by her twin brother to Dothraki Bloodriders following only the fiercest Kahls in the land. She survived harsh conditions raising three dragons, gathering an army rivaling any in the world while becoming the enslaved people's liberator becoming a hero. Sure the road was bumpy at times but it was the best job anyone could've done given the circumstances." The table is silent hearing his impassioned admiration for who Daenerys was. In that moment he watched the Targaryens seek one another out that night on the ship. It was one of disappointment, not Daenerys it hadn't been the first time she went with someone who wasn't him. He was disappointed in choice of suitor. Jon Snow is respectable, the best Westeros offered, King in the North at that time. However he was far from the political savvy advisor who could have helped navigate her through Westerosi culture, their continent requires more discretion than Essos. Varys proved right as always, 'It didn't last and never had a chance to.' Perhaps Daario should've accompanied her or better yet had Jorah lived it might've been different, then again things are meant to be this way—Bran is a good king.

"Sounds to me you're ready to suggest siding with Daenerys over our king, make up your fucking mind you were suggesting killing her a minute earlier."

Tyrion points at the sell sword, "don't place words in my mouth, I suggested at one point she could've been the greatest ruler Westeros has ever seen."

Varys shut his mouth pondering a moment, "if you don't mind me asking, are you suggesting our current king isn't the best suited ruler."

"Sometimes Varys I can't tell if your enemy or friend, it bothers the hell out of me but it's what amazes me about you. I meant every word I spoke in front of the second Dragonpit meeting. Bran's story is remarkable yet is vastly unknown, our king isn't a fortune teller. The mere fact he can see any event in the past able to enter them at his leisure. My only trepidation is why we aren't given explanations for things." Tyrion says crossing his arms awaiting the others input.

"I for one appreciate the ambiguity of it all, I can only speak for myself." Sam sips the sweet wine allowing the buzz to repress pent emotions, "Bran has known Daenerys burned my father and brother alive, he chose to allow things to take their natural turn..." Sam knits his brows, "except when it came to Jon's heritage...He said it was time to tell him who he truly is. It's not that I disagreed with it but...I was angry," Sam shakes clenching his fists, "so fucking angry. It was nothing compared to his anger. I can't help wondering why Bran chose the most uncertain time creating doubt in an already conflicted Daenerys."

Davos glares at Sam as if a second head appears on his neck, "tell me I didn't just hear what I think did coming from you Samwell Tarly. Have you gone mad? Bran isn't held responsible for the outcome between Jon and Daenerys, whatever happened has no reprimands weighing on in our king."

"Lord Davos the facts are evident. Revealing Jon Snow's identity held no true purpose then to create division between the fledging pair and alert the Kingdom lords of Westeros Jon Snow was the true heir to the crown. With that prior knowledge floating abour in the realm's social sphere even when Daenerys seized power the Westerosi powers would've intervened, destroying them and their lands was a logical move in her case." Sam replies.

Tyrion settles his cup leaning further on the table clasping hands together rolling one into a circular motion reeling the information out of the whisper master. "Where are you going with all this Varys? You always have a point, I as everyone would like to hear it."

"Our king is the single most knowledgeable and resourceful entity in the world. What concerns me is he doesn't hold himself above using chaos as a ladder ascending to the highest authority in the land." The small council fall silent staring at space in front of them. It is easy to overlook the king's actions as they witnessed Daenerys's succumb to years of hatred for Westerosi choosing to rule by fear killing approximately two million in total or perhaps they're all overthinking it.

"Not to mention, the Night King specifically targeted Bran. Jon surmised he only resurrected Visceron to destroy the wall's magic and accelerate the long night's timeline killing Bran in a shorter span. He nor his walker generals weren't seen by anyone but Theon Greyjoy and the fallen Ironborn, they didn't bat an eye at anyone else except our king. If he was so powerful why risk everything to attack Bran? Why not kill us first securing the castle of Winterfell...It would've made sense considering his necromancy ability has the power to raise the dead to his leisure...It was almost as if..." Sam glances up at the ceiling unable to believe what he's saying, "the Night King's endgame was Bran the entire time. The walkers must've had their own prophecy, racing against time to prevent the king's ascension...The Night King was doing the right thing to him, they held a purpose."

"You're suggesting the white walker general waited patiently for thousands of years till a night he could attack the king? I don't believe that holds any validity to it Sam." Davos says.

"Night King this, Night King that," Bronn fills his cup pointing around the table, "last I heard the big bad waiting for our king you're fawning over was knifed to pieces by a faceless girl, don't feed me no more of that shit." Bronn gulps the Arbor finding Tyrion, "what I want to know is why were you hiding in a crypt with the fucking dead that can be resurrected? You're supposed to be the cleverest man in Westeros, that title went down the shitter pretty quickly."

Sam bursts out a laugh, the others join in as Tyrion nods accepting the failure, among the many in his tenure as Hand of the Queen. "I'll be the first to say I drank our entire ride north." He drinks again extenuating his point, "presumably its safe to say my mistake wasn't gravest considering every person emerged relatively unharmed." Tyrion drinks again emptying the cup, "we won't ever bring up what was spoken about our king. So far he's the best we could've asked for, we each agreed to our positions for a common goal," he holds a hand up halting Bronn's interjection, "we all want what's best for Bran and the six kingdoms under our jurisdiction collectively. When we host the houses here for a week we'll discuss everything we have listed, as hosts we cannot fail the king."

The small council nods in agreement, the week long festival is their only chance to prove the capital leadership is competent. They aren't the old council, only Tyrion and Varys had experience during the best and worst of times. It's time to show their neighboring countries despite cultural differences and past bloodshed they could leave everything behind.

Davos exhales, "that's quite a rousing speech you gave. We've talked this entire damn time without you coming to a solution on how to better protect our king deterring foreign invaders."

"We could go over the candidates for Bran's kingsgaurd as a start." The council shoot down Sam's proposal.

Tyrion scoots his chair sliding against the tile, "I think we've accomplished next to nothing today, good show everyone much better than yesterday's disaster." The previous day was a series of drunk shouting matches barley edging coherrant words into the conversation, today was more productive in his estimation. "Enjoy the rest of your evening."

Davos rises stretching, "so what're we all doing this evening? Dinner is on me tonight." He says strapping the satchel over a shoulder.

"Heading off to get drunk, discuss bullshit, probably hit a brothel later on, notin you two be interested in." Bronn laughs stacking loose letters in a bundle pack.

"I don't think Sam and I like what you're suggesting."

"Ah Davos Seaworth, I recall yesterday you referring to yourself in third person as the morale compass of our small council." Sam cracks a smile holding in a chuckle, "you don't belong in a room full of liars and thieves such as us." Tyrion says placing hands on his sides.

Davos opens his mouth shutting it quickly too flabbergasted Tyrion blacked out drunk recalled him blabbering that out. "Sam you in?" Bronn asks "you skipped out on us last time."

"Not tonight Gilly will kill me if I stay late past dinner two nights in a row." Sam is positive she is secretly still pissed he stumbled in too intoxicated passing out immediately upon arriving.

"Why am I the only one excluded in these thievery games?" Davos questions.

Varys chuckles folding his sleeves, "according to reliable sources Samwell is the greatest modern thief in the Watch's and House Tarly's history. He stole his house's ancestral sword, not to mention a wildling girl and her baby."

"Don't be ridiculous I didn't steal Gilly nor her baby, Now the sword I'll admit and the books from the Citadel I still have checked out..." Sam nods seeing Vary's point, "okay, I may, may not be, the greatest thief in Westeros."

Bronn laughs obnoxiously patting the spider on a shoulder, "goddammit Tarly you beautiful bastard, I taught you well." He sniffs wiping at his nose unable to contain his grin.

"You didn't teach him anything, except how to make an ass of yourself and get drunk. Fine enjoy wasting away your brains, I got business to attend anyhow." Davos says throwing his hands up.

"See you guys bright and early, don't black out Tyrion we've all seen how you get."

Tyrion arches a brow, "I have no idea what you mean Samwell."

Sam shakes his head, "don't be an asshole is what Sam is trying to say." Bronn says earning a scowl from the dwarf.

The pair exit leaving the trio alone, "now then lets quit wasting time the night is young."

"Outta wine," Bronn says halting Tyrion's tracks, "could take a bit, I'll make a trip to the marketplace."

"That could take a few hours—" Tyrion's minor complaint about his job would be the 'bring own wine' rule. They weren't authorized drink away the crown's reserves paying for it as everyone else does.

"Do not fret companions, I have more than enough stocked in my own reserve, I'll meet you both there." Varys branches off disappearing down a side corridor.

Varys pushes his solar doors open finding a trunk at the room's end. A whisper behind forces him to glance over a shoulder furrowing his brows unsure what what sounded a moment earlier. The trunk releases a chill breeze, ice crunches as Varys stuffs two frozen Arbor bottles in a open knapsack clicking the padlock tucking its key into a nearby desk drawer closing the door behind him glancing in both directions before making his way toward the former small council chambers. Strolling the Red Keep's halls are too familiar sights as shouts from the crowd can be heard below reminding him of cloudier times. Regardless his thoughts about their current Ring's autonomous intentions it is a welcome change than serving under Aerys II, Joffrey, and Daenerys herself.

The master of whispers steps into a familiar chamber surviving the dragon queen's pyro attack. His gaze roams the extensive court landing on familiar steps leading to an unoccupied space reserved for Bran's chair. In its empty spot stood the Iron Throne, a storied seat whom many had sacrificed everything they ever loved only to never come close to obtaining it. Varys gives a last glance toward the emptiness veering to Tyrion's meet. "Are you going to up and leave without talking to an old friend."

Varys halts, the same voice he heard earlier only it wasn't disembodied, "to call us friends would mean we conversed on more than a few occasions, it's to my short recollection we haven't."

Littlefinger smirks descending the step rotating the mockingbird silver ring set on a pinky. His silver garments sharp and clean, never a spec of dust or wrinkle present, Baelish considers fashion a mainstay aside from his businesses and financial responsibilities. "I may be very dead but you know memories never fade," Littlefinger shakes his head suppressing a laugh standing feet from Varys. "You look like hell, maybe worse, seems you barley managed to slip through Daenerys Targaryen's grasp, she succumbed to her family's madness quicker than I anticipated."

Varys grips the wine bag tight unable to shake whatever he's seeing, "her nature has always been fire and blood. During numerous small council meetings you always beat the drum about murdering a young child across the Narrow Sea."

"Ah, yet it was you Varys who sent a personal spy to poison her granting Jorah Mormont, a notorious slaver and disgraced knight in Westeros decreed none other than by King Robert himself, hunted by Ned Stark, a royal pardon."

Varys hand emerges out the sleeve, "lets not compare resumes', yours I'm sure need water blessed from the holy sept to cleanse the filth from it—This is coming from an atheist for the record."

Littlefinger places his hands behind his back behind his back, "its folly to acting as if you're self righteous." Littlefinger paces keeping his eyes trained on Varys, "you tried to unravel my plan after Ned Stark's capture, what reason would you have doing that?"

"Don't ask questions you know the answer to," Varys says guarding his composure the man before him is refusing to vanish. "You knew saving Ned Stark's life could've prevented the Robb Stark and the northern alliance's retaliation. The five king war was set in match for your selfish desire over a happily married woman whom never considered you more than her younger brother."

Littlefinger pulls down his collar slightly showing the gruesome scar, "from neck to belly I was sliced open professing love for a woman whom was betrothed to another. I never forgot what Brandon Stark did to me on me that day; humiliation, pain, anger, so much anger." The former master of coin meets Varys's eyes reflecting a cold soulless stare, "maybe it was being told I'll never use my arm again, maybe when I received no inheritance or when I was rejected entrance to the Vale's military ranks. I've never forgotten what Eddard Stark's elder brother did to me that day and I swore—"

"Revenge on the Starks is played out and has been for some time. Did you really expect to get Catelyn Stark after all you did?"

Littlefinger's smirk returns, "I'm not really here Lord Varys, I'm part of your tortured imagination a quite fascinating one really," he releases a slight chuckle connecting fingertips, "do you want me to tell you what that voice in the fire said when the warlock tossed your bits in the flames? No, you already know what it said, then again it doesn't matter," Littlefinger turns to the stair he descended minutes earlier, "I wanted to sit there one day with Cat raising children at the side. After the duel we hadn't spoken until—"

"You never tire using filibuster horse manure in court and life Lord Baelish. You lied. When you stowed always Catelyn Stark in your brothel you claimed you—"

"Lost the Valyrian Dagger used by a catspaw to assassinate Bran Stark in a wager against Tyrion Lannister, that is the lie. The truth is I lost the real wager to our king, Robert Baratheon. I know every move I made as well as anyone who would who ever walked through those small council doors during my tenure. I truly wanted what I said, but as you know Lord Varys we never truly get what we truly want."

Varys studies Littlefinger intently, only the gods knew what the deviant play none of them clued the mockingbird's next move. He recalls telling Illyrio the exact phrase when Eddard Stark asked if he joined forces with the Mockingbird he responds in kind saying he'd sooner rather wed the Black Goat of Qohor, 'a god residing in the free city rising as Rhllor's most prominent religious opposition threatening to spark crusades. "You were a good embezzler I must say, the best Westeros may have ever seen. Cersei hurt the crown's treasury more than your overdrawn loans from the Iron Bank." Varys will give him this, other than serving as master of coin keeping them financially stable for years were the only reasons Kings and Hands attention every time he spoke. "Not everything you say isn't false you made yourself vulnerable for one reason."

"Yes I'd given up everything for Sansa Stark, I loved her just as much as much as her mother." Littlefinger glances around the chamber wishing the great game played out a little differently, "I however had underestimated the Stark's bond to each other—"

"You encountered Jon Snow?"

"The previous King in the North didn't have a clue the betrayal I laid bare at his family's feet. He wanted to protect his sister he grew up with attacking me when I professed my undying love and devotion to Sansa. At first I assumed he caught me red handed for my crimes but he is like all the other Stark men. Quick to anger and their slow minds catch on too late until their head is rolling at their feet, have they learned honor gets you nowhere in this life." Littlefinger places a hand on his temple glancing at the marble floor, "it wasn't the bastard who worried me...Sansa's siblings Arya and Bran returned home unexpectedly. Arya Stark the Hero of Winterfell returned, unreadable, unpredictable, and faceless. Whoever Arya Stark was then isn't who she is now...Somewhere along the line I realized she was the closest to Sansa, not the cripple, not the bastard, Sansa chose her younger sister who she despised growing up. You see Lord Varys I wasn't the only one who slipped, except my intentions didn't hurt anyone—"

Varys arches a brow leaning toward Littlefinger, "you're really going to stand there and spoon feed me bullshit. I have no patience nor time for this, your intentions get most men killed the moment they decide to trust you. Honorable Eddard may have not been the smartest fellow, he certainly didn't trust you the moment he climbed off his horse, hell it was one of the smartest decisions he made. You sold his and Catelyn's first daughter to a monster, don't tell me your intentions never hurt anyone." Varys scoffs appalled those words were uttered.

Littlefinger tucks his chin staring at the floor for a moment. "Yes that is my single greatest regret along with not being able to save Cat's life." He remembers crying harder than his humiliating defeat upon hearing the love of his life's death. I sought my chance to take what was rightfully stolen, but you Lord Varys, what did you slip for? The good of the realm." Littlefinger's mouth laughs, his eyes don't staying trained on his long time rival, "what is your purpose you fight for? Friends and family aside from your own children are a waste, and since you can't have that, what is is you want?"

Littlefinger has a point, it's something he's been searching for his entire life. "I can't deny you're you had far more so called friends than I've had, I never sought something trivial, as you know friends are all too easy to manipulate," Littlefinger arches a brow Varys folds his sleeves pacing the floor, "you could say the small council we have is similar to the ones we served," Varys smirks facing Littlefinger, this council is different; we argue as children, hardly accomplish a diplomacy and are constantly at each other's throats bordering on a toxic environment. Through all that we'd protect each other and those we hold precious, despite everything we're good friends. Something you wouldn't know if it bit you in the ass." Littlefinger cracks a fox humored grin humored always by the spider, "I contemplated leaving everything behind once. Essos is a much nastier viler place than Westeros, far stronger much tougher men have been broken in a lot brutaler ways. Some would consider as a slave I faired lucky, naturally I didn't see it that way. By chance I came upon a game children played in the streets telling each other blabbering adults spewed reserving detail. It was then I knew my purpose Lord Baelish." Varys recounts the times they stood in this very chamber at one another's throats, "anyone can carry the name Varys the spider, little birds will become big birds and they will carry the torch set forth."

"And what would that be Lord Varys?"

"We're at odds in every conceivable way, that's something not up for debate. Your truth nor anyone else's, there's always the truth. That's exactly what I intend on carrying on before I meet my fate. I can't say the same for you Lord Baelish. You don't have a legacy, no birds carrying a will, just a memory set to fade."

Littlefinger frowns adjusting his gloves, "clearly I'm a memory, one you can't escape nor can say ever will. It's true I didn't leave any legacy, my plans for that died along with my cat. However I suppose its time for this joyous reunion of ours to end. I'll reaffirm this truth, what the small council discussed regarding our king. Bran repeated something interesting to me, the same words I said to his father as I held a dagger to his throat, 'I did warn you not to trust me' and he used my phrase 'chaos is a ladder.' Using others folly to ascend in power together the Starks handled it better than I'd anticipated."

"I understand concern regarding our king, what do you mean Starks?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Littlefinger's cape swirls revealing a silver patterned print covered in the mockingbird sigil as he paces, "Every pupil I've had taught them all they know, not all I know. The only exception being Sansa, she studied the game listened well, bided her time and now stands as the single power in the north. It was her who informed Tyrion Lannister Jon Snow's Targaryen heritage, it should have been obvious she wanted Daenerys gone before her fiery number on the capital. My pupil now is jointing with Robin Arryn—"

"Lord of the Vale, the sniveling boy who clutched his mother's dress."

"Precisely, two who I entrusted my knowledge obtaining power. It's evident in the way Lord Arryn slaughters the Vale mountain clans, he took my advice coming quite well into his own." Littlefinger halts his step unclasping his hands, "the moment Bran Stark said those words I understand at that moment what he planned on doing. Ironic isn't it Varys? The king found my method rising in power the only true way to seize kingship. At the first drawn blood in war you saw how it can break the most civilized person. When that happens they will become animals cannibalizing each other until the Orchestrator remains, the days of war heroes killing the king in a final battle are long over at least that's not how the Night King saw it."

Vary's grip tightens on the gripping wine knapsack, "I can't deny what you said though there are who oppose everything you and your pupils stand for."

"They won't be a problem if they don't return sailing west. Arya Stark is likely dead sunken at the bottom of the Sunset Sea as thousands of others have. There's an old saying Maester Pycell as thousands of others have, 'sailing the twilight sea is similar to traveling through Sothoryos; the irresistible pull of exploring the vastness beauty far away lands is a fool's calling. The unknown and unpredictable make even the bravest men naturally quiver which explains why not even dragon riders were able to put a dent in their travels.'" It is common knowledge there are some places inaccessible in their world based off environmental factors alone."

"Had you known how the old maester died I'm sure you'd forgotten those words. Those factors scare every man not applicable only to the brave. None of us know how things will play out, I can't disagree with any of your points. Our ideologies are night and day, we will never see eye to eye. I think whatever higher power above. It's as I always said, 'Even if I'm stranded in the open sea, the big fish eat the little fish and I just keep on paddling."

"Always the humorous one Lord Varys, it continually slips my mind you were a stage actor beforehand, took me quite a bit of digging on my end to find that detail. You won't show it, I know you better than most, probably better than yourself." Littlefinger meets Vary's gaze, "you're getting sloppy old friend, that trick you pulled won't work on Daenerys Targaryen a second time, especially in her stable mind. She finds out a duplicate replaced you during the day covering your tracks, you'll burn this time Varys...For good."

Varys smirks coming to stand only feet away though I've come close to death, many times I can safely say as of now I've outlived you after years pondering which of us would've died first, that's the nature of this conversation's nature. I live to see another while you Lord Baelish...Varys smirks folding his sleeves suppressing a rare chuckle, "well I don't have to state the obvious do I?"

Littlefinger finger grimaces, "you're indeed different then when we last spoke. I can't express how abhorrent I found your last remarks. No matter," Littlefinger strolls leisurely toward the stainless window clasping his hands behind his back, "two Starks mastered obtaining and holding power in Westeros. Should disagreements arise to a boiling point chaos will reign reconstructing the ladder once more as I predicted, don't believe for a moment the three eye raven belongs on any throne. It's an entity, only Brandon Stark in name, no humanity remains with your king."

"Bran Stark is Westero's best viable option better than what would've been in place—"

"The dragon queen is a superior solution by all measurables, If I were the bastard I would've stayed by her side—"

Varys rolls his eyes, "you would betray her the moment she stands in the north. You couldn't care less for Daenerys Targaryen, whom I for one much enjoyed until our time even in Westeros."

Littlefinger nods regarding Varys once more, "nothing any of us says makes a difference, the same problems arise again, in a way I'm free of all this you're the man destined to do this forever."

"I don't desire to live forever, the fact I'm seeing you means I already hold one foot in the grave."

"Half dead, seeing this is all in your head," he says retreating to the adjacent hallway near the stair, "see you soon Varys." He grins disappearing down the corridor as two guards emerge sweeping their assigned perimeter.

Varys nods smiling watching the patrol men disappear. He clutches his chest nearly falling onto a knee. He dabs his forehead using a half folded handkerchief sighing as he grips the wine noting water puddling the floor. Varys frowns glancing down the dark corridor Littlefinger disappeared down continuing to his chambers."

"What do you think they're discussing up there?" Sam asks pushing through the crowd.

"Nonsense, absolute nonsense." Davos says sliding between two carts unbelieving Sam executes it in stride.

"Look all I'm saying is we need to infiltrate one of their meetings, who knows they could be planning something. Why all the secrecy all of a sudden?"

Davos laughs holding his gut, "only thing those three are talking about is thieving off someone or something and drinking themselves to death."

"You left out the part where they plan on discussing what we did during the meeting. I-I don't feel comfortable—" Sam halts glancing at Davos narrowly avoiding a cart crashing through the fluid crowds weaving by traffic jams abundant until the harbor expected to be a hundred times more tumultuous than current conditions.

The former onion knight shakes his head unable to fathom witnessing a second miracle, "as I said before it shouldn't be any of our concern Samwell, we should be worried concentrating how in fuck's sake we're going to accommodate all the damn ships in the harbor for a week." Davos pursues Sam following him down a familiar side street, "and one more thing!" Sam faces Davos offering a smile, "it's going to take an entire day organizing a secure exit strategy before the vessels start fucking moving."

Sam clasps a reassuring hand on his shoulder, "there's a reason our king king appointed you as the master ships, I'm sure you'll find someway to manage."

Davos exhales heavily, "I think I'll be alright without your advice. You still don't have your chain crafted from the Citadel."

Sam furrows his brows, "these maesters, something needs to be done about them. They're guarding a precious in the reserve vault. I intend finding out whatever it is."

"Didn't mean to rile you up Sam, was only kiddin," Davos crosses his arms moving out of a drunk pedestrians path, "having a chain doesn't amount to making you a grand maester. You are a brother of the Night's Watch, much more a maester than those rats who spent three of my lifetimes researching the world instead of explore, "they'd rather hide in their ivory tower until the end of time."

"Sam nods smiling warmly, "you know Tyrion and the others are right, you're our self proclaimed morale compass."

"Alright, alright I said it once enough of that shite." Davos turns from a chuckling Sam into a crowd of children holding a hand out, "no today you threw bastards go on get out here. We can't have you caught stealing again."

The grand maester flips three gold coins to the orphans sending off the direction they'd come, "you disapprove? I help them out every once in awhile for helping out about the neighborhood. They nearly beat a grown man to death. An unsavory way to go getting stomped by some kids."

Davos tucks his arms underneath the cloak, "they'll be back demanding more money and most importantly in a larger cradle mob."

"Sam! Davos!" Gilly runs into Sam's arms nuzzling into each other, she turns hugging Davos staggering the elder gentlemen as he returned the embrace. "Ser-Lord Davos always wonderful to see you."

"Ser is fine always with me, heck even geezer," Gilly hits his arms breaking the embrace.

Davos bows, "radiantly beautiful as ever Gilly." Her cheeks redden as Sam places an arms around her holding his side close.

Sam jr. descends the steps hobbling over to them. "Come on, that's my boy!" Sam launches the boy in the air catching him, repeating the motion releasing laughs if his own. He holds little Sam against him slapping hands with Davos earning a rare grin.

"Its only been a few months and you're walking wait till you start talking. Do me a favor, bug the snot outta your parents." Little Sam giggles holding a finger in his growing teeth hugging tighter to his dad, "ah he loves his papa however he's a mama's boy." Sam yawns latching quickly around his mother's neck.

"Gilly, careful now you're coming along slowly but surely." Sam says holding her steady.

"It's alright Sam, I'll be alright. I'm going to put junior to bed, you be joining us this evening for dinner Davos?" She asks halting at the top step.

"Oh no I appreciate the offer you two but there's something I have to get done, duty call this time m'lady."

"I'm sure you two will work something out, your welcome anytime, Sam don't bother Davos too long he's still working." They wave watching the door close.

"You didn't tell her did—" Sam pushes Davos shoulder shushing him, "what the hells a matter with you—"

"Of course I haven't told her have you lost your marbles? I'm trying to raise a family here, if she finds out it will stress her with everything going on—"

Davos places a hand on him, "Sam, Gilly is a smart girl she'll find out the truth, all women do eventually, co workers, friend, spouse, it's a gift."

"I'd call it a curse if anything," Sam sighs shaking Davos hand, "you're right, I'll tell her over dinner, she deserves to know, we said we'd not keep things from one another."

"Good, see you bright and early." Davos says waving as Sam waits few moments before entering the home.

Davos pays a vendor for a turkey leg, having dinner on the go becomes a normal routine. Unlike the others he holds past outside city limits at the harbor keeping domain over it. The master of ships will occasionally asks Bronn for assistance for his experience in landing's harbor. As of recent he stopped asking due to the former sellswords disappearing act retreating to his pair of brothers in town depending on the day. "Lucky bastard," Davos finishes the leg tossing it aside striding to dock one. He holds a hand up receiving his second in command, "I don't care how we're going to pull this damn thing off, ain't got a fucking choice." Davos whistles loudly halting the workers on the docks, "we're not gonna get it done fast enough," he snatches the boards and planks from the nearest man, "move! I'm not staying all night for you lot." Workers began work on the sea docks stretching hundreds of meters taking lanterns illuminating the night.

"What in all the gods in the realm took you so long with the wine?" Tyrion asks running a hand through his hair."

"I was preoccupied with finding bottles that were suitable for the refreshments this evening. As promised I'm going to share with you two what I believe to be is my greatest achievement."

"Fascinating. So, that's how you did it, you had your successor take your place at Dragonstone the night before the execution. I feel sorry for the poor lad the least he could have had a final say in things. So he had all information on everyone," Tyrion sips his cup holding it in hands tapping fingers across the goblet. "Don't suppose it matters since he's dead after all, when did it happen exactly?"

"In the dungeons just before the dawn when the sun yet to rise he arrived hooded by boat holding a single lantern, there I gave him the final will. He knew his purpose is for the realm to serve as a duplicate, in exchange he expanded my empire in far corners of the world for the good of the realm."

"Must everything be a performance with you?"

"What ever do you mean? I hardly remember putting on any act as of recently."

"Seriously?" Bronn takes the glass Varys offers, "you don't remember prancing into the small council meeting acting under a guise?"

Varys tilts his head head slightly, " oh yes that part is all coming back to me now."

"Would it have been as easy as walking into the room saying 'well I'm back last time most of you saw me I was burned alive receiving shelter in the Grey Water Watch. Let's move pretend that never happened', would that have been better?"

"Yes." The duo reply.

Varys rolls his eyes, "you both are being as my little birds say, 'so over dramatic.'"

"I barley spoke a word of it." Tyrion grimaces slightly, he sloshes the wine around, "were you ever going to tell us about the switch you pulled."

"I pondered daily keeping it close to my vest, however I consider you both acquaintances of mine."

Bronn laughs leaning in his chair, "I'm glad we see eye to eye, ain't no friend a mine." Varys rolls his eyes folding his sleeves.

Tyrion sips his goblet savoring the wine on the rocks seated across the pair, "then I do hope I am a friend, if not you're sadly mistaken Bronn."

"Is that all you think about? Wine, Money, and harlots?"

"Yes." They answer once more, "what else is there to think about. Sure killin gets old not the payment, fuckin harlots never gets tiring. The older I get the younger they do. Speaking of, how in the gods names are they so young yet their tits grow larger every year."

"I know what you mean, as much as wine favors my palate. There's nothing like a firm pair of breast to draw my blank. I can't get through a day without wine either, imagine if I don't fuck, I'll go mad, perhaps I'll burn a city down." The trio share laughs toasting to the chilled wine.

"I've seen your father sit in that same chair hardly uttering a word as me and maester Pycell read our reports before waving a hand dismissing us as if we were children."

Tyrion settles his cup folding his hands, "you didn't know who he truly was, he will always be my father. But I hated him more than anything and wished him dead—" Tyrion's shakiness returns as he grasps the cup, "we're friends, we confide things to one another, no secrets—"

"I knew it you dirty cunt you fucked your cousin Lancel."

Tyrion furrows his brows, "close but no." He says holding the bird to Bronn who in kind smiles as if he stole something. "Bronn has heard some of this, but I'm done holding back."

Tyrion laughs bursting through the tavern doors holding Valeria tightly gripping her ass pressing the brunette into the carriage. Their laughter dies down as they share a kiss, "we're married now, we should elope somewhere, I hear Braavos is marvelous."

"A splendid idea darling, exploring the world's wonders with you. We can decide where we want to go later, for now..." Tyrion lifts her dress us kissing down her legs stopping at her thighs.

Valeria watches him tantalized by her small frame, "by a drunken sept and pigs as our witnesses we're joined together by the seven—" Her laughs echo as the carriage picks up speed descending the hill, "I have to thank your brother for saving me from my attackers, my these past few days have been a dream."

The carriage hits the bump sending Tyrion flying onto Valeria holding one another close. "Did you hear something?" Tyrion asks as branches snap in the distance.

"Tyrion what is it love?" She asks grabbing his cheeks.

"Nothing love," he places his hands on hers, "you make me the happiest—"

A several horse stampede race past their carriage cutting off their path as three horses linger behind. "Tyrion, Tyrion." Valeria grabs his vest attempting to refocus him as he stares at the familiar wagon.

The Kingslayer swings the door open pushing the newlyweds back, "Jamie what the hell are you doing here? I told no one where I was going?"

"The septon who married you notified us two nights earlier by raven saying you were marrying the—" Jamie shuts his eyes grabbing Tyrion's shoulders, "Tyrion, tell me you didn't marry her, right now say its a lie."

"I won't! We're in love," Tyrion grabs her hand, "where Valeria goes, I do as well."

The Lannister carriage door cracks open slowly catching their attention. "Wait here, this won't take a moment," Tywin steps from the carriage holding a hand on a lion hilt. Tywin places a hand over the the wagon top glaring at the lovebirds.

"F-Father we, let me explain this please!"

"Out."

"I'm begging you it was all me, I took her maiden hood, I enticed her into marrying me, punish me not her I beg you."

"It's true I thanks you Ser Jamie Lannister for saving my life!" Valeria says sitting beside Tyrion, "we love each other truly me lord, we can marry at Casterly Rock if that pleases you."

Tywin's gaze remains on his son, "out." He steps aside as two guards take his place jamming the door hinge open.

Tyrion notices the wagon driver scamper over to the Lannister carriage. "Hey! What's going on?!" Stop this instant I command you! I order—"

"You're in no position to command anything, stand with your brother."

"Valeria!" Tywin grabs Tyrion's shoulder. Valeria's screams as her dress is torn to shreds discarded on the ground. She grips on the guards as they force themselves in roughly breaking the young woman in. Tyrion wrestles away from Tywin hearing Valeria's yelps for the soldiers to stop pushing at their armor.

"Take this cunt from the back, break this bitch."

"She's already wet and she's married to the imp lord, fucking whore."

"Tyrion! I'm so sorry!"

Tears streaming down his face Tyrion grabs Tywin's dagger aiming at his side. Jamie tackles Tyrion to the ground, "Tyrion, you fucking idiot!" He hands Tywin his dagger as the head of the Lannister clan whistles signaling the guards to stop as Valeria's stops her screaming losing what voice she has left. "Take him to his whore." Tywin says stepping aside. "Jamie get up."

"Father that's enou—"

"I said get up or you can spend your days on the Wall."

Jamie removes himself letting the guards take Tyrion hoisting him above Valeria. Her legs bleed profusely as Valeria's fluids, semen, and urine drenched the woman's body. Tyrion climbs over placing a hand on her cheek, "Valeria, my darling I love you, so so much."

"As I you Tyrion..." Her voice comes out a whisper fading into silence stripping her of any fight left. Tyrion grasps her hand kissing it tenderly laying on Valeria's chest. "Look at me Tyrion," she places a kiss on his forehead, "I love you."

"I love you too." He enters her gently taking her her the same after their ceremony, "I'm sorry, so sorry." He sobs holding her tightly.

The guards snatch Tyrion away as he bit one's neck drawing blood scratching another's eye out as he falls in the dirt restrained by Jamie once more. "Take the girl in the woods, do what you want with her." The couple have no fight left frozen in place clinging to whatever was left of their fractured self. "Let him go Jamie." Tywin commands as Jamie assists Tyrion to his feet. Tyrion strikes Jamie's armor bludgeoning his fists into a bloody pulp collapsing onto Jamie. "Do you see where foolish incompetence gets you?! Hm, do you now? I will not have my disgrace of a family marry a whore!" Tywin tugs at his collar standing over a kneeling Tyrion. "You're already an embarrassment enough waddling about for twenty damn years on this earth, doing as you please with nothing to show for, I won't have it! Tywin clasps his hands behind him heading toward his ride, "let this be a lesson Tyrion, never go against your family the debt is paid now son."

Tyrion pushes off Jamie, "no! No, it is I who owe you a debt father and I'm going to pay it. Be in ten years, I will pay my debt to you."

Tywin shakes his head walking off, "my children make a mockery of me and my family name. I'd rather be consumed by maggots then let my house be consumed by its own follies." He opens the front carriage picking up his waiting stack of letters.

Tyrion collapses in Jamie's hold, "stay here brother stay—" Jamie clutches Tyrion as the imp wraps his hands around his neck attempting to strangle him. Jamie throws him off, "Tyrion don't move, I'll be back."

Jamie reaches Cersei in the back carriage, "how is he Jamie?" She asks meeting his eyes.

"How do you think he is Cersei?"

"Terrible, I'd imagine. Don't feel sorry for him, he brought this mess on himself marrying that lowly whore."

Jamie frowns, "you're starting to sound like father. I'll see you back at home."

"Jamie," she calls as he returns to the wagon closer than before, "is Tyrion going to be alright?" His crying starts again echoing across the field.

Jamie shakes his head, "no, no he's not." He leaves returning to Tyrion.

"Good," Cersei sniffles wiping at her eyes turning away from Tywin, "I'd like to head home father." Cersei speaks through the sliding latch connecting their carts.

"We'll wait for Jamie—"

"Now father!"

Tywin's hand halts on a brow glancing at his daughter. He sighs rubbing a thumb across his hand glaring out the side, "yes suppose it's been a long enough day, Tywin signals the driver crossing a leg focusing on the letters from the crown, "oh and Cersei?"

"Yes father?"

"Put an end to the filthy rumors between you and Jamie the foul things people will say to try dividing our family apart from the inside out. Jamie is going to take my seat at Casterly Rock and you will find a husband, Loras Tyrell is suitable, Lady Olenna and Margery are good people, one of the few in Westeros."

"My answer remains no, Casterly Rock is my home," Jamie said I was welcome to stay, I don't—"

"Cersei!" Tywin steadies himself, "you will do as I instruct and put the needs of your houses first. What is wrong with my children? A Kingslayer for a son, a daughter whom won't marry, and an imp." Tywin cracks a slight grin at the last one imagining Tyrion's waddling.

Cersei sits in a huff suppressing tears, the thought of Jamie and her's separation plagues her mind constantly. She wonders as they depart if their lives would be better without their father—"

"You're going to be alright Tyrion." Jamie says wrapping the blanket tighter around Tyrion. "I'll lead the wagon, just give me a moment..." Tyrion stares blankly at the wine cup shaking in his hands having Jamie assist a gulp. "Stay put Tyrion."

"I'm going to kill him," Tyrion croaks before the Kingslayer shut the door as he faces his brother, "I don't know when, I don't know how, but I'm going to do it," Tyrion releases a shallow hollowed laugh, "just wait, a Lannister always pays his debts." He holds a whimper choking back sobs.

"Okay stop, don't talk crazy about father, without him our house will fall apart and you'll be hung or sent to the Night's Watch." Jamie shakes his head placing a hand on a brow, "I never meant to hurt you Tyrion." Having lost his brother's attention he trotts into the forest finding the Lannister soldiers laughing around Valeria near a fire. Her hands bound above her are tightened around a tree, her body bloody and naked. Jamie swings a dagger overhead piercing the blade through the older soldier's heart.

"Ser Jamie what are you—"

Jamie chokeholds the soldier slitting his jugular holding the squirting wound open throwing him to the ground. He brushes stray hair off Valeria's face smiling at how peaceful she looks, her mind was on Tyrion until the end. Jamie cuts her down burying the bodies in a nearby ditch arriving back at the road.

Jamie pauses hearing wailing originating our the wagon where Tyrion was crying his life away. His breathing is erratic, he hobbles staggering falling to a knee, the world spins darkening around him. Jamie sobs clutching at his chest knowing he hurt one of the few people he loved dearly. He falls to his knees releasing a wail placing a hand over his eyes—This brought him more shame than killing the mad king, he'd stolen his brother's innocent dreams and delicate love, he would never be the same. Aside from Cersei, Tyrion is all he has to love in this world. Jamie rolls on his back sobbing louder staring up at the North Star placing a hand over his mouth, "forgive me little brother..."

—

XXX

—

A/N: Next time- Daenerys, Greyworm, and Daario are caught up to current events. Jon and Yara make a crucial decision about Euron's fate. Foreigners living in isolations for thousands of years opening trade every few centuries pays a visit to King's Landing on the Convocation's eve. Life's good, as always thanks for the read.