Character Ages:

―Brynden "The Blackfish" Tully: 60

―Catelyn Stark: 37

―Edmure Tully: 33

―Missandei: 20

######

At the Tower of the Hand…

Tywin Lannister stood in the meeting hall of the Small Council. Pinned to his chest, like a prize and trophy, was the Hand of the King's badge of office. He wore a smug look upon his face as he walked around the table. A single chair at the head as six chairs lined up in total. He looked up just in time to see his grandson King Daveth I walk in.

"Your Grace," Tywin coolly greeted.

"Grandfather," Daveth greeted.

Soon after the brief formalities between the two ended, Varys, Petyr Baelish, Grand Maester Pycelle arrived, with Cersei Lannister and Tyrion Lannister in tow. Each spared each other a glance as Tywin and Daveth both took their respective seats. Tywin leaned back and tapped his fingers on the table; Daveth straightened his posture. With haste, each councilor took a seat as Tyrion appeared behind them. Soon the solid steps of heel echo the hall and the entrances way as Cersei became known; the Queen Mother let out a weary sigh and looked to a chair. Walking over to it, she picked it up and brought it over to Tywin's right side across from Daveth as Petyr stood next to the Young Stag. Tywin raised a brow at his daughter's actions as she was quite distance from him as of late.

All eyes turned to Tyrion, the Imp; holding his chin high closed his eyes and dreamed he was back in his bed chambers with Shae between his legs. With a sigh, he walked over to the last chair and dragged it to face opposite of his father. Climbing into the seat, he let out a sigh.

"Intimate. Lovely table," Tyrion commented. "Better chairs than the old Small Council chamber. Conveniently close to your own quarters. I like it."

'Very funny, Uncle, but now is not the time to be making snide comments like that,' Daveth thought unamused with a hint of mental exhaustion added.

Tywin paid no mind to Tyrion's compliment. "What news of Jaime?" he asked.

Everyone looked around, trying not to look the Old Lion in the eyes. The Young Stag, however, stood his ground and met his grandfather's gaze.

"You'll be pleased to learn that Ser Jaime is set to arrive at the capital by midday along the Roseroad soon as was required by the concessions agreement the Lord of Highgarden himself signed," Daveth spoke. "He gets his heir back, and you get yours."

"Hmmm," Tywin nodded in acknowledgment to Daveth's report – noting how the other councilors looked off to the side; uncertain as to whether it was shame or disappointment that the Oathkeeper delivered the news Tywin wanted to hear but they themselves couldn't provide.

Cersei looked off to the side; Tywin spared her a glance and went on.

"What else?"

"Robb Stark along with his mother and sisters are said to be preparing to leave the capital to travel to Riverrun for the funeral of their grandfather, Lord Hoster Tully," Varys said with a smile. "They have requested the King's leave to go with the promise of returning for the royal wedding."

"They have my permission," Daveth instructed. "And please inform Edmure that he is to now assume his late father's role as Lord of Riverrun and Lord Paramount of the Trident on a more permanent basis."

"At once, Your Grace," Varys said.

"There is also word that the widow Arryn is set to arrive at the capital soon," Tywin mentioned. "I assume that is your doing, Your Grace?"

Daveth shook his head and turned his gaze to Petyr. "It was actually the Lord of Harrenhal himself who suggested it, of course. The name actually suits our purposes far more than that useless pile of rubble."

"And the Lord of Harrenhal will in turn make a worthy suitor for the widow Arryn," Tywin said upon piecing the puzzles together.

"For which I am extremely grateful to you, my lord, Your Grace," Petyr said too proudly not to be noticed.

Daveth looked at Petyr, noticing how disdainful that demeanor didn't sit well with him at all. Smug, shrewd, self-serving and arrogant, his eyes didn't match the seemingly friendly face with a friendly smile. The Young Stag hated that; and he didn't like every word that came pouring out of Petyr's mouth. But if his plan was to work, he'd have to cautiously mask his intentions well and wait for the right moment.

"Lady Arryn and I have known each other since we were children," he continued. "She has always been… positively predisposed towards me."

Daveth swore he felt his stomach turn as old memories were brought forth. When he was a child, he met Lysa on several occasions back when Jon Arryn was served as Hand of the King for seventeen years. Something about Lysa unnerved him; Daveth considered her a rather odd fish, and somewhat mentally unstable yet did not display such traits whenever she was alone with Petyr. The Young Stag only grew increasingly suspicious of Lysa Arryn's behavioral when Jon died and she fled the capital immediately with her son Robin in tow, not even attending her husband's funeral and falsely accusing the Lannisters of being involved with Jon's death. Even if she was his future mother-in-law Catelyn's younger sister, Lysa's actions and behavior unknowingly told Daveth that she was hiding something.

"A successful courtship would make Lord Baelish acting Lord of the Vale," Pycelle added.

"Titles do seem to breed titles," Petyr remarked.

"Lady Arryn has been rather adamant that the two of you should be wed once she arrives, Lord Baelish," Daveth said.

"The deed has already been done; faded into nothing."

"And speaking of it can make it real."

Petyr sighed. "Once she arrives, then."

Daveth nodded. "It's settled then. Lord Baelish will wed Lady Arryn and bring the Eyrie and the entire Vale into the fold. This policy of isolationism has gone on long enough."

Tyrion soon interrupted the discussion. "Far be it from me to hinder true love, nephew, but Lord Baelish's absence would present certain problems," he pointed out, with Varys nodding in agreement. "The royal wedding may end up being the most expensive event in living memory. Summer has ended, winter is set to fall upon us soon, hard days lie ahead. Not a good time to leave the crown's finances unattended, wouldn't you agree?"

"If you—" Cersei tried to speak up but was silenced when Daveth raised his hand up.

The Young Stag pulled Tywin aside and started whispering into the Old Lion's ear. Each of the councilors tried to lean in to guess what the King was telling Tywin, but sadly none could make out a word. Even Cersei herself couldn't hear. All they could see was Tywin nodding his head before grandfather and grandson returned their attention.

"I agree," Daveth said finally.

"Which is why the King and I have decided to name you the new Master of Coin," Tywin replied.

Cersei chuckled silently.

"Master of Coin?" Tyrion questioned.

"It would appear to be a position to best suit your talents," Tywin said.

"And since you've been giving me such good counsel, uncle," Daveth added, "I would appreciate it if you would continue to remain as one of my principal advisors in the months and years to come. You've always had a knack of meeting expectations when put under enough pressure, if I remember right. Surely you can do the same when tasked with managing the Crown's budget and dealing with other financial matters, yes?"

"Nephew," Tyrion chuckled nervously, "I'm quite good at spending money, but a lifetime of outrageous wealth…? I'm afraid these things haven't taught me much about managing it."

Cersei looked at her brother. "I have no doubt you will prove equal to this challenge," she said.

"Here, here," Pycelle said as his hand connected with the table.

######

In Essos, somewhere at Slaver's Bay en route to Yunkai…

Daenerys Targaryen had reclaimed her dragons, but also punished those who betrayed her at the great city-state of Qarth and destroyed the ruling council, the Thirteen. Her once trusted handmaiden Doreah was revealed to have collaborated with Xaro Xhan Daxos in stealing the young dragons Drogon, Rhaegal and Viserion; but before doing so Doreah had strangled Irri to death while Xaro had staged a coup. As punishment, and despite their pleas for mercy, both Xaro and Doreah were locked inside the merchant prince's treasure vault to die.

"I am the King of Qarth. I can help you now, truly help you. We can take the Iron Throne. I'll bring you a thousand ships. All that you have dreamed is within your reach!" Xaro's pleas rung through her head.

"Please, Khaleesi, I beg you. I beg you, please! Khaleesi. Please! Please! Khaleesi!" begged Doreah as she and Xaro were being sealed inside.

Following such events, Daenerys, Jorah and her Dothraki followers had plundered Qarth of its wealth to buy a ship and sailed for Astapor to purchase 8,000 Unsullied from the slave-trader Kraznys mo Nakloz, one of the Good Masters of Astapor. The fool had been uttering slurs and insults at Daenerys in Low Valyrian; although Missandei left some parts out, Daenerys wasn't so easily fooled and knew exactly what Kraznys was saying.

"A dragon is not a slave," she told him in High Valyrian. "Dracarys!"

On command, Drogon shot dragon-flame out of his mouth and burned Kraznys alive. The Unsullied, now given their freedom, had slaughtered every slaver holding a whip and removed the collars off of every slave they could find. After sacking Astapor, Daenerys hired the Second Sons mercenary group to conquer Yunkai and Meereen. The first two leaders Mero and Prendahl na Ghezn were rather rude to her, but the other one – Daario Naharis – killed his superiors and took control of the Second Sons.

"The people here will not forget the kindness you've shown them," Missandei commented.

Daenerys looked at her new handmaiden. "If we can right so much wrong here, then we will make the world a better place; much more. No one—man, woman, child—will be forced to suffer the lash of the slave-master's whips. One by one, slavery will be abolished in every city. And those who've wronged innocent people will die screaming."

Missandei couldn't help but feel excited at the prospect of every slave living in Essos being granted their freedom, and all that comes with it. The will to decide one's own fate and live their lives the way they want to. Even Jorah couldn't help but feel a glimpse of hope at the prospect.

"The people living here have been through a lot, my Queen," Jorah added. "You'll be fair to them, righting every injustice. You won't mutilate any of them to make a point nor order them to murder babies. You'll see they're properly fed and sheltered."

The three passed by a couple of crates and a little girl came out of hiding.

"Excuse me, lady," she called out to Daenerys, holding out a hollow wooden sphere. "I got this for you."

Daenerys smiled warmly. "Why thank you," she said as she crouched to pick it up.

The little girl motioned for her to twist it. But as Daenerys was about to twist the orb, a hooded man branding a dagger ran by a knocked it from her hands.

*BAM!*

Jorah was quick to take the man by the throat as Daenerys fell to the ground and saw the ball unraveling before her, revealing a live manticore; highly aggressive and extremely venomous scorpion-like insects with six legs and a large stinger-tail, one sting is usually enough to kill a person.

Daenerys froze as she saw the manticore scurrying towards her. As Daenerys backed away, the cloaked figure managed to stab the insect before it could get close.

*STAB!*

They all looked on to see the same child glare at them with a blue mouth and teeth, like the deceased Qarth warlock Pyat Pree before her. The girl ran and jumped off the deck as the cloaked man gave chase. Looking over the side, he determined the would-be-assassin had disappeared.

"Warlocks," he muttered. "They never seem to learn."

Jorah turned to see the man garbed in a red wolf-skin cloak, red armor and red boots. Once he turned, Jorah could see his face. The man was clean shaven with a lined, leathery face with crow's feet at the corners of his pale, blue eyes. His red hair had turned grey, though still mostly red with ash showing here and there.

Daenerys got to her feet and turned to her savior. "I owe you my life, ser," she thanked him.

"No need to start thanking me yet, child," he said gruffly as he pulled off his hood to reveal his face. He had looked a few years older than Jorah. "Or should I call you… my Queen?"

Jorah looked at him closely, taking in every detail of his face.

"Ser Jorah," Daenerys asks. "Do you know this man?"

Jorah nodded. "Oh, I know him. That's one of Robert Baratheon's bannermen," he said with contempt.

"I was one of his bannermen, but don't forget that unlike you I fought for House Targaryen against the Usurper and was Hand of the King to King Aerys, the Second of His Name," he corrected Jorah. "I served the Targaryens without question. But when I failed, I was exiled to this shithole country for more than twenty years, unable to go home."

"But you are…?" Daenerys pressed.

"Lord Jon Connington of Griffin's Roost," he introduced himself. "I've known your brother, Prince Rhaegar, since we were children."

Daenerys looked at the man. "You knew my brother?"

Jon nodded. "Aye. That I did, child."

"Last I heard you were dead," said Jorah.

"And the last I checked, I'm still alive. Served with the Golden Company these last five years," retorted Jon. "So despite what your… sources tell you, you've heard wrong."

Daenerys looked confused. "'Sources'? Jorah, what does he mean?"

The exiled Mormont froze; the exiled Connington, however, was quick to take notice.

"Ah, so you haven't told her," said Jon. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a rolled up paper. "Child, while you and your… compatriots were wandering across the Great Grass Sea, your bear lord advisor received this letter from Westeros two years ago. Jorah Mormont is not the man you think he is. He's withheld some truths from you."

"What truths?" Daenerys did not like this.

Jorah flushed red. "Your Grace…"

Daenerys silenced him as Drogon, Rhaegal and Viserion perched on their mother's shoulders. Drogon hissed and growled loudly, causing Jorah to momentarily step backwards.

It was this moment Jon broke the wax seal and opened the letter and handed it to Daenerys. As she read its contents, her hands began to shake.

"In this year 298 AC, full pardon is granted to Ser Jorah
Mormont of Bear Island by Robert Baratheon, the First
of His Name."

"Yes, child," Jon revealed. "You were being watched, as your brother Viserys was. The eunuch Varys reported every move you two have made for years. Ask your trusted advisor Ser Jorah here that since you were wed to the Dothraki horselord Khal Drogo there was a spy in your midst. Selling your secrets, trading whispers to the Spider for gold and promises. Unless you would like to suggest this document in my hand here has been forged…"

The Dragon Queen was more confused than angry. "You… thi-this has to be some kind of mistake. It must be," she looked at Jorah. "Tell him he's mistaken. We crossed the Dothraki Sea together, we traveled the Red Waste…" her breathing quickened like a bird in a trap. "Tell me he's lying, Jorah…"

"The Others take you, Connington," Jorah cursed. "Khaleesi, I… I sent letters to Varys, the spymaster of King's Landing. It was only at the start, before I came to know you…"

Daenerys backed away, feeling as if the breath in her lungs was forced out of her.

"How could you?" she asked rather hurt. "What was the content of these letters you sent to the Usurper?"

"Information," Jorah admitted.

"What information?"

"When you and Viserys arrived in Pentos. His plan to marry you to Khal Drogo. When you were married. When your brother died."

"You told him I was carrying Drogo's child?"

"I…"

"Yes or no?!" she demanded.

"Khaleesi," Jorah beseeched.

"Don't call me that!" Daenerys screamed. "Did you or did you not tell him I was carrying Drogo's child?!"

Her three dragons sensed her fury. Viserion roared, and smoke rose grey from his snout. Drogon beat the air with black wings, and Rhaegal twisted his head back and belched flame.

Jorah lowered his head in guilt. "Yes," he confessed.

"And you've been given plenty of chances to tell her," Jon pointed out. "Yet you chose not to. Why?"

"I never meant…" Jorah struggled to find the words. "Please, khaleesi, forgive me."

Daenerys shook her head. "You sold my secrets to the man who killed my father and stole my brother's throne… I trusted you, Mormont! And you made a fool out of me! Are all the knights of Westeros so false as you?"

"The assassin's blades sent against you were called off by the Usurper's son Daveth Baratheon himself!" Jorah blurted out.

Daenerys blinked. "What?"

"How are we to tell if you're lying to us still?" Jon narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "The Usurper's seed decided he had a change of heart?"

"I no longer have a reason to lie now that you all know the truth about me," Jorah spoke. "I sent the Oathkeeper reports about you and Viserys. How the behavioral patterns between you two were different. He wanted to know if there was even a trace of madness as there was in your father and brother…"

Jon's brow twitched at the mere mention of the infamous Targaryen madness. No doubt he believes Daenerys herself believed everything Viserys had told her. That all the stories said about her father King Aerys II Targaryen were false and untrue.

"Any other man and I would have you executed," Daenerys said sternly and firmly. "But you… I don't even want to see you again. If you ever come before me past break of day, I will have your head thrown into Slaver's Bay provided my dragons haven't roasted you alive first. I wonder what roast liar smells like? Go. Now!"

Daenerys screamed as she felt hot tears on her cheeks. Drogon screeched, lashing his tail back and forth.

"The Others can have you. Come, Lord Connington," she said.

"Yes, Your Grace," nodded Jon.

Jorah did not move, keeping his gaze on Jon Connington as he watched them walk away from him. Daario, Missandei, Grey Worm, the Unsullied and Second Sons… all of them. The exiled Northern lord walked away, taking a backwards glance before resuming.

'Forgive me, khaleesi,' he thought. 'I'll find a way to make it up to you… I'll prove my loyalty somehow.'

######

At Riverrun…

Catelyn looked out the window of her once childhood home. The funeral of her father, Lord Hoster Tully, saddened her. As customaries dictate when a member of House Tully dies, Hoster was laid to rest on a funeral boat which is then set afloat on the Red Fork of the Trident. Edmure, now the new Lord of Riverrun, tried to set the boat aflame with a flaming arrow so his ashes will return to the river which sustains their lands as per Tully funeral tradition but missed every shot. His uncle Brynden, annoyed, took Edmure's bow away and carried out his nephew's duty instead – the flaming arrow hitting its mark with a single shot as soon as the wind changed direction. Even her children Robb, Sansa and Arya felt their mother's pain.

"Mother…" Sansa consoled Catelyn.

"It'll be all right, Mother," Arya chimed in. "We're here for you."

Robb left early to speak with his uncle Edmure. Apparently there had been reports that the Mountain, Ser Gregor Clegane, was spotted scouring the Reach and was en route to the capital city of King's Landing itself. The new Lord of Winterfell told one of the attendants to send word to King Daveth at once.

Catelyn remained motionless as Brynden entered the same room. He always knew where his niece was at when Catelyn was a little girl.

"Brings back old memories," Brynden reminisced. "It often comforts me to think that even in our darkest days, in most places in the world absolutely nothing is happening."

Catelyn turned to look up at him. "I've missed you, Uncle," she smiled sadly. "Father missed you, too, from the day you left. Maybe he never said it in so many words…"

Brynden looked at his niece. "Maybe? Your father was a stubborn old ox. I was surprised when he died. Didn't think death had the patience."

"I'm glad you were with him. I wish to the Gods I had been," said Catelyn, watching him. "Did you make peace in the end?"

Brynden chuckled. "After thirty years of fighting, I don't think he remembered what started it. He asked me to stop calling myself Blackfish. He said it was an old joke and it was never funny to begin with. I told him people had been calling me Blackfish for so long, they don't remember my real name."

Catelyn nodded, pleased to hear that her father and uncle ended up making peace with each other in Hoster's final hours of life.

"Every time he would leave for the capital or fight in a campaign, I'd see him off," Catelyn remembered. "'Wait for me, little Cat,' he'd say. 'Wait for me, and I'll come back to you.' And I would sit at this window every day when the sun came up, waiting."

Bryden could hear Catelyn's voice start to crack and he knew she was about to cry, crying for the loss of her father, her husband.

"I wonder… how many… how many… Gods, I-I will never see them again," Catelyn's sobs made her words almost inaudible. She had been stricken with grief.

Brynden sat down and held his niece close. "You mustn't think it," he consoled her. "Just because Hoster and Ned are no longer with us, that doesn't mean they are forgotten. Take heart, Cat, that the best of them lives on in you. The best of all of us. Robb, Sansa, Arya, Bran and Rickon, the best of our family lives on in them as well. You will always have that. We will always be family. Robb must go on believing that, but he'll need your help. And you must remain strong for him and the rest of your children."

The two stared at each other for some time, and it appeared that Catelyn's tears stopped flowing and no longer cried in a while. She felt strong again.

In another room, Sansa had gathered her belongings and prepped herself for the return travel to King's Landing. She attended her grandfather's funeral along with most of her family in attendance.

"Planning on leaving already?" Arya asked impatiently.

Sansa turned to look at her sister. "Not for a while," she said. "I had to be here for our mother. Once things have been taken care of, then I'll be expected to return to King's Landing."

Arya seemed to calm down a bit. "Haven't seen mother like this since… since father died."

"I know," Sansa replied quietly. "I'm glad the King allowed us to come here."

"One of his redeeming qualities, I guess," Arya mused. To Sansa, it appeared that the wild she-wolf was beginning to warm up to Daveth. "Glad he at least understood what it means to tend to the needs of family. Well, all except for one."

'Joffrey,' Sansa suspected. She shook her head. "I know what you're thinking, Arya. But Daveth is not like Joffrey, nor any of the rest of his family. He's…"

"I know, I know," Arya dismissed. "The ideal King. Something most little girls often tend to dream about just like you did when the Baratheons came to Winterfell two years ago."

"Feels as if it was a lifetime ago," Sansa reflected.

"That it does," Arya agreed.

Both the Stark sisters had noticeably gotten along during these last several years. Arya was still determined to follow her own path as a warrior-maiden; whereas Sansa was set to become the new Queen, but she had since grown more confident in herself and matured into her own power and influence as a political force in her own right, devoting her efforts to lessen the burdens of the King and preparing the capital for winter – earning her the grudging respect of the lords and adoration of the smallfolk. Daveth's influence, no doubt.

"Still planning to have me bow and call you 'Your Grace'?" Arya japed.

Sansa chuckled. "Not when you put it like that, no," she said as the Stark maiden reflected on her past self. "Only when we're in public, but I'll still just be your sister Sansa Stark of Winterfell. Does it bother you?"

Arya smirked. "I'd be lying if I said no. I was never going to be as good a lady as you. So I had to be something else."

"You're one of the strongest people I know," Sansa added.

Arya raised an eyebrow. "Why, sister, I believe that's the nicest thing you've ever said to me."

"Well, don't get used to it," Sansa joked. "You're still very strange and annoying."

The Stark sisters shared a laugh together. As they look across the beautiful Riverrun skies, both were aware of the coming winter. "In winter, we must protect ourselves. Look after one another." These were the words of their father, the late Eddard Stark. Sansa and Arya were beginning making the necessary arrangements for the approaching winter. They all somewhat knew of the possibilities of what would happen if the winter did indeed become the longest cold in over 1,000 years.

"Winter is coming," both Sansa and Arya said.

######

At King's Landing…

Cersei Lannister sat in her room, holding a decorative seashell. Her sleeveless crimson dress shined as the sunlight rays eked into the room. It's been close to midday and she had been contemplating on current events as well as those of the past. A brief civil war, Joffrey exiled to the Wall, Myrcella shipped off to Dorne to marry a Martell, and Tommen betrothed to marry a Tyrell girl. It had seemed a lot for her to take in.

She continued fiddling with the seashell as images of her eldest son flashed before her eyes.

"Mama!" called a smiling 3-year-old Daveth.

Cersei stopped tracing her finger across the shell as soon as old memories were coming, smiling at one of her earliest memories she had with Daveth.

"Look, mama! Look what I did!"

"Mama!"

"I love you, mama."

The Golden Lioness sighed and shook her head. Why was this happening to her now?

"Mama…" whined a sickly 4-year-old Daveth, coughing when he became ill with the dreaded fever that nearly took his life.

"Don't go, mama… Please…"

"Where's mama?"

Cersei felt her hand beginning to tighten its grip on the seashell, not caring if the edges were digging into her skin.

"My friends… they're all… gone. Every single one of them," said a rather despondent, emotionally broken 8-year-old Daveth.

"Why? Why did they do this?"

"I hate them, mother! I hate the Ironborn! I hate the Greyjoys! I HATE THEM ALL!"

"I will not be the kind of King like father is. I'll forge a new path for myself, and bring the Seven Kingdoms to where it needs to be!"

"I am not my father."

"Do I look like father to you?"

Cersei seemed to be rather motionless as more and more flashbacks including her eldest son presented themselves within her mind.

"You even think about trying to undermine me like you did during the battle at Blackwater Bay again, and I'll send you back to Casterly Rock."

She frowned deeply at that recent statement. She was his mother, and he still had the nerve to talk to her like that. Cersei knew Daveth was in many ways different from Robert, but at the same time he was so different from her. What was going on? Why couldn't she understand Daveth? Cersei still had reflecting back on the witch's prophesied words, unaware of the figure standing behind her at her door.

"Cersei," a voice called out to her.

She recognized that voice! Turning around, Cersei saw her twin brother Jaime Lannister standing before her. His hair had been muddied, his beard had grown and showed a few strands of gray. In the condition Jaime was in, wearing the same old raggedy clothes for over a year, Cersei hardly recognized her brother.

"Jaime," she finally spoke.

Jaime looked down briefly, both his hands twitching slightly. Cersei knew deep down that something about her brother had changed. But what was it?

"I… I'm home," he said.

Chapter End

#######

Author's Note: Hey guys. Sorry I haven't posted another chapter in a while; I've been sick with the flu for a while. So forgive me if thinks have been a bit late or appear to be somewhat distorted. Also something new I decided to add to this story was the addition of the exiled Lord of Griffin's Roost Jon Connington himself and the revelation of Daveth's decision to call off the assassination attempts against Daenerys. No doubt that will give her a moment of pause. Some have requested a story change a bit and make her rethink plan to retake Westeros as it would be rather difficult once she learns more about him. Don't worry about the lack of it; I'll get to it momentarily.

Thoughts? Be sure to let me know.

Ludatio: Awesome story, the first 6 chapters I was worried he was going to be a typical oc, but then your character started to show very interesting layers to his personality, i really want to see what you will do from now on regarding Dorne, the north and the ironborn. I will be waiting for the update also wheres Lady did i miss her death or something?

―Daveth has the Baratheon looks and Lannister intellect; at first I wanted him to be one thing, but instead chose to alter his personality a bit to include a dark, troubled past and the initial struggle to hold onto a sense of personal honor whilst maintaining the lessons instilled to him by both his grandfather and the late Jon Arryn. Almost like a journey of self-discovery. In regards to the other regions, Daveth's pretty much got the North secure due to his engagement to Sansa, is still waiting on word from Dorne... but he has a terrible history and animosity with the ironborn dating back to the Greyjoy's attack on Lannisport many years ago.

―Lady's still around. She's being kept in a hidden area to prevent anyone from learning of her survival.

KeelsB98: I don't know if this question has been asked and answered already, but I'm curious as to what you're going to do with Jon Snow, the Nights Watch, and everything happening North of the Wall? Just curious as we haven't seen anything from that side as of yet that I can remember.

―I don't think this question has been asked, I assure you. It might take a moment to detail what's going on up North and beyond the Wall. That doesn't mean we won't hear what's going on with Jon Snow or any of the Night's Watch and their activities.

Saint River: Good work.

―Thanks.

Guest #1: great story

―Thanks.

Oto Mustam: nice chapter :)

―Thanks.

trollzor69: So is Tywin going to be poisoned during the wedding

―I don't think anyone would dare even try that. Seven Kingdoms united in fear of Tywin Lannister.

Artemis0406: mpowers045 he already knows. Eddard told him on his death bed. At least that's my assumption

―Consider your assumption confirmed.

mpowers045: Will Daveth ever find out about his mom and uncle?

―I imagine he's beginning feeling suspicious of the two ever since Ned Stark started whispering into Daveth's ear on his deathbed.

12345678910: Love it so much and thank you for updating hope you update when you can and I hope you feel better soon and take care of your self and get better being sick sucks

―Thanks. Getting sick sucks chodes.

Hail King Cerion: Didn't expect to see Jon Connington, though it was always strange that they didn't add him in the show, or even let him serve Daenerys instead of adding Aegon.

―Figured I'd add a bit of a twist.

kira444: Be sure to take good care of yourself. It's flu season and it always hits hardest when you're super healthy. Good thing I got my OJ.

―Having the flu sucks. I ought to get some OJ myself soon.

Patty 4577: So i take it that Randyll had decided leave Jamie in one piece. Though should you add otherwise, Daveth could do the Stannis thing and send him to the Wall and have Sam released from his vows to the Night's Watch. Also with Jon Connington now being in the story are you going to add Aegon? Also what are the Ironborn doing. You would think that with Daveth being occupied they would have started attacking the North. Actually speaking of Ironborn, where's Theon? Don't tell me that Robb had sent him back to Pyke.

―Randyll Tarly has agreed to leave Jaime in one piece, no hands getting cut off involved. But I will try to include another way of how Jaime changes in development without having to remove his sword hand. That I think would be a bit tough.

―With the Jon Connington issue, I still plan to have Jon Snow as Aegon Targaryen.

―I'll bring up the Ironborn issue soon. They might try to attack the North, I agree with that assumption. As for Theon, he's still with Robb - at least for now. We'll bring Pyke into the story as well as the rest of the Ironborn. Can't wait for Daveth to have old, bitter memories come flashing back once news of the Ironborn raids reach his ears.