A/N: So, yeah. Not dead!

HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOLY CRAP! JUST SAW THE NEW GAME OF THRONES EPISODE! And all I have to say is this. HOLD THE DOOR! Still sobbing about it something fierce. WATCH IT! NOW! I'm sooooo fired up for this and my muse has just LEAPED into overdrive with words to spare! This is a MASSIVE CHAPTER, and one that took me a good long while to write.

But then again, I'm sure you could tell that by the word count. FIFTEEN! THOUSAND! WORDS! A lot happens in this chapter!

Now, before the third chapter, let's clarify things:

FIRST!

Jamie Lannister, Cersei Lannister, and Gregor Clegane are now captives of STANNIS. Between this chapter and the last, the Martell's have been informed of the former. Of COURSE they're going to be interested in this and send someone to check up on it.

SECOND!

Eleanor is NOT going to just up and vanish. Her story is not yet done and it remains to be seen where her path takes her...and Naruto. Speaking of Naruto, he HATES Mesliandre and is unnerved by her very easily. Its not for her powers, but for the fact that she's corrupting his father, one of the few constants in already muddled life and he can't STAND that.

THIRD!

Naruto does NOT see himself as the royalty sort. If anything, he's having trouble reconciling his old life to his new one. He has trouble controlling his tongue despite his wits, because now, as one review pointed out, he's a political target and needs to be wary. He's also aching for companionship, and after what happened in the last chapter, can you blame him?

FOURTH!

Littlefinger, as ever, has his own agenda.

FIFTH!

This Naruto is not as powerless as he seems. This chapter should cast some light on that. There we go!

I had sooooooooooo much fun writing this chapter. I think I captured the essence of Game of Thrones quite well, here...

And Yup, Ramsay Snow pops up this one, FYI. He's just someone you just love to hate, 'innit he? Also, trying a new format here in terms of the occasional "Letter" as it were. Hope ya like it! One last warning, here there be language, violence, and all other manner of monsters. Another thing, there's an NSFW passage near the end of this chapter, so you've been warned!

VALAR MORGULIS!

"Ah, there you are! Come, have a drink with us!"

"I don't think that's a good idea."

"And why not?"

"Drinking makes me angry...

"And?"

...you wouldn't like me when I'm angry."

~Naruto and Tyrion.

That Which Doesn't Kill You...

Tryrion,

I'm borrowing Bronn and heading off to Pyke. I think we both know why. Tell the old man and I'll chop your nose off. Also, give me back my wine! That shit was a good vintage!

Wishing you luck with your bratty siblings,

~Naruto


How long had she been down here?

Hours?

Days?

Weeks?

Time got rather...odd in a cell, more so when you were denied food and water on a daily basis. They'd stopped feeding her after she refused her meals. Her water had been forsaken entirely when she spat in the face of the last guard daring enough to serve her. And so she spent her days, wasting away, feeling her life slip further and further out of her grasp. What was the point? What had she left to live for? Joffrey and Tommen were dead. Her boys, her boys, her sweet, sweet, sweet baby boys, struck down by those men by Naruto, by that smug little BASTARD-

She'd kill him slowly, she decided. Them. All of them.

Alas, even the deepest hatred can long sustain someone without at least some sustenance. Her anger gutted-so much like her failing body-Cersei Lannister felt herself fade back against the wall, a sob stifled on her lips. No, she couldn't live for her boys. Two of her precious children were gone and nothing could ever bring them back, though the thought brought bitter tears to her eyes. She must find something-someone-else to live for or resolve to wither away to nothing from within and without.

Who, then?

Jaime?

He was likely dead or imprisoned, same as her. She didn't imagine he'd last long. Myrcella, trapped in Dorne with the Martells? They'd tear her apart once the news reached them. And Father? The last man to bring her bread had laughed at her in scorn when she'd dared to threaten him. "That lion's lost his claws." he'd spat, before pissing on her. What had he meant by that? Dark thoughts consumed her as she languished in her cell-forgotten by King's Landing, perhaps the world itself.

She was barely conscious when the door finally opened an eternity later.

Slowly-ponderously-the thick frame creaked open, revealing the light beyond. Cersei cringed away from it with a tiny, pained cry, wincing until her eyes adjusted. What she saw there stole her breath dead away. Not for lack of trying, mind you. Not only was the exit left unguarded, he was there. Him.

HIM!

Had she the strength, she would've flung herself at him and wrung his scrawny neck. As it were, she could only glare.

It was Tyrion of course; that filthy beast who-in her sleep deprived mind-had tricked her out of a kingdom, the monster who'd slaughtered her sons! The one who'd turned his coat and let Stannis Baratheon into the city! Nothing could be further from the truth of course but Cersei had always hated her little brother, and trapped in the pit of her own self-loathing as she was, she found cause to despise him even more. The fading embers of her temper sparked back to life all at once at the sight of him, in his dark silks and immaculate boots, living life while she rotted away in this dungeon.

And he had the nerve to bring her food!

For an agonizing sliver of time, brother and sister stared at one another, agape. Tyrion, startled to find his sister in such a state, found himself at a loss for words. T'was a far more powerful emotion that stilled Cersei's tongue; oh she found herself, quite literally, choking on her rage. Words alone didn't suffice. Her entire body shivered with the desire to end his live-had she strength to do so. Fortunately she did not-or she would have made the most foolish mistake of lunging at him and losing her life. It was only the sight of the short sword in his belt that stayed her hand.

"You look hungry." he said awkwardly, by way of greeting.

The words hit her stomach like a clenched fist, eliciting a faint growl from her belly. She imagine she must look quite the sight, but she refused to let it show.

"I'd sooner die than eat your poisoned meal!"

"Are you certain?" Her bother offered her tray with a wan smile, then deposited it at her feet when she made no move towards him. "I know they haven't been feeding you."

Brought on a gleaming tray, the foodstuff's appealed to her greatly; a warm loaf of bread, hot stew, a chilled bottle of wine...damnit. Damn him. Damn him to all seven of the hells. Against her firmest wishes, Cersei felt her mouth watering at former, heart stirring towards the latter. It had been so long since she'd last had wine...

In the end, hunger betrayed her and she snatched the food and drink up with grubby hands. Pride abandoned her and Cersei gorged herself, uncaring for the mess she made as she tore at the bread and ripped into the stew. It was bliss. There could be no other word for it. To finally eat again, after going so long without was a blessing. And the wine! Seven hells, the wine was glorious!

"Are you comfortable, sister?" he asked, once she'd finished eating.

Cersei spat in his face, enraged beyond measure. The little cretin, trying to assuage his guilt by bribing her with food! How dare he!

Tyrion, to his credit, didn't flinch, pausing only to wipe the spittle from his cheek.

"I deserved that." he admitted.

"You deserve to die!" She flung the bottle of wine at him-only after draining it of course-forcing the imp to duck, lest he be struck. It shattered against the wall with a feeble crash. "You!" a finger thrust itself forward at him, angry and pointing. "You filthy little beast! This is all your fault! You betrayed your own family! You threw us to the dogs and left us to rot!"

"I did no such thing." Tyrion said stiffly, looking at her as though he thought she were well and truly mad, "Nevertheless, I have been named Hand of the King by the prince of said dogs. And I intend to do my duty."

"Then he'll be the first one to die!" she raved.

The dwarf arched an eyebrow. "I hardly think anyone is capable of killing that one. Least of all you."

"What?" Taken aback, Cersei leered at him. "Why? What do you know?"

'I know better than to piss on a madman's patience!'

Tyrion shuddered involuntarily. Retaliation, for one. Naruto didn't seem the sort to suffer fools, much less Cersei. She wasn't half as clever as she thought herself to be. An assassin had made just such an attempt last evening, only to find his head mounted on a spike, his poisoned blades ineffective. No doubt a plot by their father, one of many. Were another such attempt to be made and he were suspected of it, well...he suspected the crown prince would have much more than mere words for him.

The last thing he wanted was to be exposed any sort of political blow-back.

He knew precious little about the new Prince, but what he did know alarmed him. The lad was a credit to his blood and sire both; cunning, dangerous, persuasive to a fault, and devastatingly vicious when he wanted to be. Tyrion couldn't put it into words, but there was something...wrong about that one. As if he always knew more than he'd let on. More than that. He moved like a wild wraith, could walk up walls, tear through enemy squads as if they were mere boys, and he seemed possessed of a strange magic the dwarf honestly didn't understand. Secretly, he suspected the boy wasn't quite sane.

Mistaking his silence for an answer, his sister continued her rant.

"Father will do it, you'll see. And you." Cersei sneered, enjoy the brief look of pain as it flashed across her sibling's face. "Then I'll find that little whore you've been hiding and-

"Enough."

Funny, how someone could terrifying you so much, just by speaking a word. Or by swinging their fist. Tyrion punched surprisingly hard for someone of his stature. Cersei took the blow full on the face and earned herself a bloodied, broken nose for her trouble, her head knocking against the wall. For a fleeting heartbeat, an awkward silence pervaded the black cells, broken only by the distant sound of her own harsh breathing. Then she clawed at him with her nails, shrieking; infuriated by her brother's audacity, by the look in his eyes, by everyone and everything.

"I hate you!" she shrilled! "I wish you were dead!"

She was used to being in control, to having control. Power, to lording her prestige and beauty over everyone and everything. Now she had none of those things, and the thought of it drove her mad. The food and wine only served as a bitter reminder of the life she'd lost. A life she would never live again. No. Not like this. Not like this! It was all wrong! They should have won! Stannis should have been dashed at the Blackwater and set to ruin! That usurper! But no, in her mind, she refused to accept that she was as much to blame for the sacking of the city as anyone else. Tyrion. It was all his fault!

She lunged at him anew, only to find herself blocked by a wall of armored muscle.

Guards swarmed into the empty room like a pack of angry locusts. One of them, the big brute who'd stood got between and Tyrion stepped forward, holding her down.

"Are you alright, m'lord Hand?"

"Quite." Tyrion surveyed the bloodied scratches on his sleeve with mild annoyance. "My thanks, Ulric."

The giant chuckled.

All the while, Tyrion maintained his eerie calm.

"No one is coming for you, you silly girl." the words emerged as a soft, silken purr, vibrating with a menace never before witnessed in her sibling. "Pycelle is dead. Your brother-our brother!-is in custody and will likely be forced to take the Black to avoid the executioner's axe. " gasping, she struggled to turn away from his wrath, but the pressing vice on her face forced her back to him. "As for dear Father...well, that's one threat that will be handed in short order. And you," he took a step back, his face stoic, "You no longer have the strength nor the status to torment me." his expression hardened into stone. "And since you no longer wish to see me, well, I suppose you'll stay here until the King calls for you."

He lingered and patted her cheek, expression stoic.

"Goodbye, dear sister." he paused. "I'll see you again tomorrow."

Cersei froze.

Tomorrow?

Was this torment going to continue?

With that, Ulric cast her down onto the ground. Her head struck a stone and she flinched, momentarily stunned. By the time Cersei came to her senses, the door was already creaking shut. Tyrion didn't even look back; he was the first one out of the cell, shadow and all. The giant guarding him shot her one last rueful look, his expression dour. Then he swung the postern shut in her face, and with it, her portal to freedom.

Something snapped.

What little strength she possessed had her surging to her feet, but it was already too late. Her hands wrapped around bars beyond and she shouted out against them:

"I'LL KILL YOU!" she shrieked! "ONCE I GET OUT OF HERE-

No one answered.


Dearest Father,

I can only assumed that the red bitch is somehow still with you, after all. How else would this runner have known where to find me? I'm sending him back with this message and a thrashing besides. You of all people should know what she's capable of!

Also!

A sword. You found me a valyrian steel sword?! I won't ask how you found it, but I'm KEEPING it. It almost makes up for all those years of bad parenting. I've elected to name it Kushina, after my mother. It fits, I think. She'll make a nice set with my twin daggers. Sadly, your blatant bribery won't bring me back to King's Landing just yet.

Not until I've finished my business.

Still not telling you where I am. Deniability and all that.

AND GET RID OF THAT WITCH!

~Naruto.


(...)


At long last, the storm had finally made its way to the Iron Islands.

Wind lashed against the great towers of Pyke with enough force to rend the stone itself. Rain swept across in shrieking sheets while the sea itself threatened to rise up and swallow the cliffs whole. Lightning howled like vengeful spirits through the clouds, ready to tear the very sky itself asunder. Those who did not seek shelter within Pyke's many towers found themselves ripped from rope bridges and cast into the waters below. It was a storm even the most hardened of Ironborn would balk at, a squall of epic, legendary proportions.

Balon Greyjoy was in right in the midst of it all.

Now, perhaps, more than ever, he felt the years weighing him down. Like chains on his legs, an anchor doggedly dragging him down into the sea. For his anger mirrored the forces raging at his doorstep, wild and fierce as the very storm itself. Curse them. Curse Stannis Baratheon and all who allied with him! Curse him and this so-called war-the war had ended nearly before it had even begun! It should have raged for weeks, months, years, even! Years in which his Ironborn would reave and rape and ravage the land as they saw fit!

In another world, another time, they might have been able to do just that.

Instead the Lannisters had been systematically slaughtered by the unlikely alliance of Baratheon, Stark, and Tyrell. The defenders butchered by an army numbering in the hundreds of thousands, the king killed, Cersei and Jaime Lannister thrown into the dungeons and supposedly left to rot. Like any pirate to plunder, they'd swooped in to pick over the wreckage like vultures. It hadn't contented them for long. Now that they'd picked clean the corpse of King's Landing, they inevitably turned their gaze elsewhere. To their enemies. To those who'd the gall to stand against them.

To Tywin Lannister.

To Walder Frey.

To him.

Who knew what that order might be?

Balon knew they were coming for him but somehow, he simply couldn't bring himself to feel anything but bitter anger. Aging fingers curled around the tattered parchment in his grasp, fighting the urge to ball it up, hurl it into the fire, and race away to the North. But to do that was to invite disaster and death, and that was something he dare not do. His men respected him-for now-but they feared the wrath of the North and the Shadow of the King. The term was a new one, coined by the new crown prince himself, and it had stuck once the world learned of his part in the Battle of the Blackwater. The thought worried at him like a dog at a bone, gnawing at his resolve.

What could he do to stop such a force?

The boy was a shadow, a wraith, a beast wearing human skin! Worse, he was utterly unrpedictable. By the Drowned God, he'd taken to cutting off his men's heads and depositing them at his doorstep! What kind of man did that?! No one could prove that he existed-that the prince and the shadow were one and the same-but Balon, Balon knew. In the deepest, blackest pit of his heart, he knew. It didn't matter what his sources said, that the boy was still at court, that this was something-someone?!-else wreaking havoc, despite every instinct.

This was all his fault. Not his. HIS!

It was all coming apart. Everything was coming apart. He could feel the Salt Throne slipping away from him with each passing day, every moment that this menace plagued him, and would continue to plague him until he finally capitulated.

The letter, terse as it was, foretold as much. He'd certainly read it enough times to know:

Balon Greyjoy,

I will be brief.

I write this letter to inform you that I have retaken Winterfell, and your thieving, traitorous son with it. That's right. Theon is now in my custody. If you wish his safe return, you will order your Ironborn filth out of the North by the next moon. If not, I will wipe them out. Then I will march on the Iron Islands and slaughter you and your kin. To. A. Man. I tell you this as a warning-obey, and you might yet be shown no mercy. Disobey and you'll wish you'd thrown yourself into the sea when you had the chance. Nor am I the only one who has a vested interest in seeing you flung back into the sea. You know of whom I speak.

The North Remembers.

~Robb Stark, the Lord of Winterfell and King in the North.

This letter had been in possession for nearly seventeen days, now.

His reply had been bitter and cold; for there had been none.

But no response came.

Nothing.

None.

"Bah!"

Anger got the better of him and he flung the message into the flames of the hearth with a snarl, watched it blacken and curl against the heat. What did it matter that days and weeks had passed, and still no reply? He did not fear it nor the man who wrote it! Robb Stark and Stannis Baratheon be damned! The King's Shadow stretched far indeed, if he thought he could strike at him here!

Impudent pups, the lot of them! What did they know of war and death?! Nothing! None of them!

One did not simply prepare for it!

You had to respect it, enjoy it nay, embrace it!

Balon Greyjoy knew what they wanted, and he was determined to deny them the satisfaction they so secretly sought. They wanted Pyke, they wanted the iron islands!

He'd known for some time now, seen it in his own reflection ever since he'd learned of Stannis Baratheon's great triumph. Allied with the Starks and the Tyrells, he had cast down the Lannisters and claimed the Iron Throne for himself. That the balance of power had been changed was troubling enough-that he'd done it all in less than a fortnight was absolutely alarming. The man had made a fool of him once before during Robert's reign; he'd been in open rebellion then, too.

Balon slammed himself down into his chair and resolved to live, to fight, if only to spite the country clamoring for his head.

As things stood, he doubted his enemies were so inclined to let him live now.

Regardless, it no longer mattered in any case, as the deed was done.

He would not go quietly into that seething, stormy sea!

He would fight and rage and...and...and...

Not a once did he see the shadow.

How could he, irked as he was?

He certainly didn't see the shadow detach itself from the ceiling; didn't see it crawl across the wall like a human spider; hand over hand, knees aflush against the crumbling stones. Wrapped in his rage, trapped in the foul mire of his wrath as he were, he never noticed the intruder drop soundlessly to the floor, the sound muffled by a peal of convenient thunder. He certainly didn't see the blue eyes gleaming behind the mask, never saw the gleaming knives drawn from oiled sheathes, never sensed the vicious intent of their wielder as he crept steadily closer.

But he did hear the words.

"Evening, my lord."

"Salt and spite!"

The elder Greyjoy leaped from his chair with such force that he nearly tripped over his own two feet and stumbled into the fire. He'd soon wish he had. It would've been preferable to what came next. He barely had the time to turn, to see the blazing blue eyes of his would-be killer, before they buried a dagger hilt in his stomach, driving the breath from his lungs. The opposite end of the blade would've done the job thrice as well; that his attacker had all but refrained from stabbing him outright, well...the notion actually frightened Balon.

It meant they wanted him alive, and he had learned from hard-won experience that death was preferable to capture. All the more so if this man was who he thought he was. No, if this was indeed the King's Shadow as he feared, he would rather go to a watery grave fighting...!

"You impudent-

Flailing, he grasped at the knife in his belt, found only an empty sheathe in its place. Against his better judgement he looked up and found a smile there. Smug. Knowing. No. How had he-when had he...?! In that brief, momentary lapse of attention, it was over. A cauldron of scalding, hot water splashed down onto his unprotected face-stealing sense with such force that he shrieked loudly, leaving him howling and clawing at his face, struggling to make sense of it all, struggling to defend himself, struggling to see, struggling to fight to his last breath-

Less so when the pot itself smote him upside the head.

Whomever hit him knew what they were doing, for he felt something crack against the blow as he was driven into the floor. His skull undoubtedly. He struggled upright and a boot crashed down into his back with jarring force, giving his whole body an awful wrench and sudden loss of sensation. Balon's next conscious thought -or the nearest emotions resembling such- was of sprawling on the floor, sputtering and coughing, trying not to scream. An angry trail of red streaked itself across the corner of his vision, and to his faint dismay, he found he could no longer find the strength to move his legs. His arms, perhaps, but his legs, his legs, his legs...

Damnitall!

In the end, he was forced to lay there, seething, sweating as a pair of dark boots slowly entered the corner of his vision. He must've been hit harder than he'd thought, for he thought he recognized the owner of those boots...no...wait. He did. At length, his attacker bent both legs and crouched beside him. Then and only then did he remove the mask swathing his face. Dread swallowed Balon like an ocean wave and dragged him to its watery bosom in a brief, terrfied instant of clarity.

He knew him well enough to fear him.

Naruto Baratheon gazed down at him, smiling softly, blue eyes narrow to thin, ruby slits. No, wait. Now they were red. How could that be? A man's eyes didn't change color like that! The longer he looked into those cold red orbs, the more he was certain of it.

This, whomever it was, wasn't human.

"I didn't hit you too hard, did I?" the prince asked, his head bobbing with limpid sincerity. "No, no, no! Don't get up on my account!" A pause. "I'm sorry. That was in bad taste." He shot a glance to the man's legs with a rueful grimace. "I'm absolutely terrible when it comes to holding back."

Balon opened his mouth to speak, found that his voice betrayed him. His confusion must have shown however, for his crippler rose back to his feet and paced away to the fireplace. Had he control of his legs, it would've been the perfect opportunity to strike. His back to him, any able man would've taken the opportunity to plant a knife between his shoulders. As it was the Lord of Pyke could only lay there, snarling.

"Wondering how I got here?" the boy posited, staring into the flames. "Don't worry, I'll tell ya. It's a rather interesting story, really. A real...spine-tingler. See, my father wants you dead, but he didn't have time to send anyone, what with the south still in disaray. So here I am, of my own accord. One last hurrah, a final drink, before the ditch. Purging, if you will." his slim shoulders rolled in a half-hearted shrug. "In short, this little visit is as much for my sake as his; I'm getting all these murdery impulses out of my system now while I can, because maker knows when I'll be able to let loose like this again. Hmm. Murdery." His head tilted, curiously. "Is that even a word?"

Balon gathered himself up, tried to shout. All that emerged was a dry croak.

"Guards! To me, you idiots-

In a flash a hand was over his mouth, strangling him.

"Don't, or they'll be dead and swimming with the fishes." The Prince/Shadow hissed into his ear, iron fingers wrapped around his throat, worrying at his jugular like a hungry wolf. "Just like most those loyal to you. No," he amended after a moments thought, "Wait. I tell a lie. I didn't kill all of them That would be stupid, ya know? No, I slaughtered just enough to make them...pliable. Shame about your girl, though. I couldn't find her anywhere. I didn't think you had it in you to spirit her away. Which begs the question-was it fear, or pride?"

The Ironborn seized upon the words like a drowning man clutching at flotsam.

Yara.

He didn't know about Yara, nor where she was.

Thank the drowned god he'd sent her off!

"You know, I'm grateful."

"Grateful?!" Balon groaned out, baffled when the blond released him once more. By the sea, he was taking forever to kill him! How long must his torment last?!

"Aye," The boy nodded, his head bobbing happily. "You gave me an excuse to do this. The old man doesn't even know I'm here, though I'm sure he will once Varys's little birds tell him. But enough about my father," he twisted the knife, eliciting a pained grunt of his captive, "I'd much rather talk about you. Did you really think you would get away with it? Pissing off the North and half of the kingdom? I mean, yeah, it was ballsy of you to try, but boy did you make a mistake!"

Something broke, deep inside of Balon and he lashed out.

By now the prince was close enough for the Ironborn to claw at him with his hands. To his disbelief, the blond let him do so, uncaring for the red streaks carved into his face. As he looked on gashes stitched themselves shut within seconds, leaving his bemused captor staring back at him, smug as you please. The retaliatory blow shattered his nose and drove him back to the floor. Aghast, he cried:

"Demon!"

The boy scoffed at him, all traces of humor and pleasantness gone.

"You may be right," he answered with a dry laugh, "Some say my mother was a witch from across the Narrow sea; others think I'm a child of a demon. Personally? I think I might be the reincarnation of some unlucky bastard who died a ways back. Who knows?" he shrugged, scrubbing a bit of blood off his whiskered visage. "Life hasn't afforded me much in the way of answers. "I'm not normal. Nor have I ever claimed to be. Now, have you any last requests?"

Balon glowered up at him through the blood, through the pain, furiously defiant to the end.

"What is dead may never die." he growled. "Kill me, and the ironborn will rise again, harder and stronger than you can possibly imagine."

Naruto scoffed, his voice silken with menace.

"I plan on it."

The boy was a credit to his profession, for Balon never saw the blow that killed him. It was a very good cut, a distant, detached part of him mused; sharp, precise, and straight to the bone. His head came clean off with not so much as a whisper. Instantly lethal. When it came, he barely noticed it at all, beyond a strange, weightless sensation. How odd it seemed, to stare up at his body, to watch it tumble to the floor in a crimson heap of flesh and bone...

No, his neck never felt the knife.

Only soft, gentle...

...blackness.


Boy,

Do you take me for a fool?

I won't bandy words with you. Varys hinted enough about your reckless exploits for me to guess. I'm pleased that you dealt with the Ironborn as you did. I would have done the same. Next time, TELL ME before you go gallivanting about the seven kingdoms! As to Lady Melisandre, she has provided me wise and council and you will not speak ill of her as such. I have taken pangs to keep her out of sight of those who would wish her harm. Speaking of a harm, I feel it is my duty to inform you that Selyse has taken ill. Poison, the maesters say. I know you have no love for her, but there is. I suspect it was meant for me.

Come home.

NOW.

Your Lord and King and Father,

~Stannis Baratheon.

o

o-o

o

Pops,

Damnit, how the HELL do your runners keep finding me? Then I remember miss shadow pussy and it makes sense.

Oh, and wise council?

You're burning people again, aren't you? Are you trying to provoke those sparrows? They've been crawling all over the city ever since we took it and I suspect its grown worse by now. Do you want ANOTHER war? No, wait. Don't answer that question.

And another thing!

If I'm going to be tied down to the Tyrells against my will with a woman I've NEVER met, then I'm going to ENJOY myself first!

I intended to savor it and so I have.

Oh, and good. No offense, but I hope Selyse. DIES. Slowly. Painfully. Over a period of days. She's never been kind to Shireen and I don't give a rat's ass for anyone who beats my baby sister. My recommendation? Put your wife out of her misery and find someone better, father. You owe yourself that much. Hell, even Cersei Lannister would be a step up from that shrew!

Now that the kraken's out of the net, so to speak, I suppose there's no harm in telling you I am, in fact, coming home. Happy? I just need to finish up this letter to Winterfell and I'll be on my way.

See you when I see you,

~Naruto.


(Winterfell...)


"That...bastard! You absolute bastard!"

"I didn't mean to offend, Lord Stark."

"Not you, Ramsay!"

Ramsay Snow wondered about that.

Clearly something about the raven's message had rubbed the Warden of the North the wrong way, but the bastard knew better than to pry.

As if to answer that very thought, Robb Stark-Lord of Winterfell-flung the scroll down near the still-smoldering hearth and whirled away from the table with a bitter snarl, an angry scowl tugging at his face. Grey Wind hastened after his master, not without casting a baleful look back at the bastard .He let it pass, unchallenged. Powerful beast, that one, Ramsay mused to himself. A direwolf put his hounds to shame any day. He'd do well to watch himself around such a being. Better yet, get one of his own. Now there was a tempting thought and not an impossible one at that...

"Here."

Ramsay paused in his musings as a parcel was unceremoniously thrust into his hands, wondering at what it was. Before he could ask, Robb whisked himself out of the room in a flurry of cloaked furs. That only made his curiosity all the more insatiable. Whatever he'd been given felt fairly light...

But first things first.

Once he was certain he was alone, he swooped in and deftly plucked the letter from where it lay on the floor, quickly enough to save the message from the heat of the flames, curious as to what it might hold. He wasn't disappointed.

Robb,

Sooooooo, you might want to leave the Iron Islands alone for awhile. As in...forever. Y'see, I may have lost my temper and butchered a bunch of them...Balon included. Figured you should know. How many is a bunch? You don't want to know. You're probably scowling right now. In fact, I'd wager my new sword on it. You're likely pissed as all hell that I stole retribution out from under you, but trust me, its better this way. Vengeance can grow in you like an ugly, gnarled root, and it'll take hold if you let it. Take it from someone who knows.

It if makes you at all feel better. Margaery and I will come North with you for your bloody uncle's wedding before I visit the Wall, but Maker's breath I still think this wedding business is a rotten idea. The Freys aren't happy with you right now, and have always been known for swooping in the past. Trust me, swooping is BAD. So make sure you wear ARMOR, would you kindly?

Oh, and if you happen to chance upon Ramsay in Winterfell, I've got a neat little surprise for him. It took some work on my part and a good bit of bickering with Roose and the old man, but...that deed is done. There should be a writ attached to this letter, naturalizing him as a legitimate Bolton. I remember my debts. Anywho, I'm off to maim and murder the Ironborn in Moat Cailin before I head home. I'm a fucking prince, now! Apparently I can get away with shit like that. Can you believe it? I still can't.

Warmest regards,

~Naruto.

Fascinating.

He wouldn't be opposed to seeing his old friend again, certainly not after all of this-

"Ramsay!" Robb's voice called from below the stairs. "Are you coming or not?!"

"Yes, m'lord!"

Ramsay flung the message into the fire and started after Robb, offering a dutiful, deferential smile and an agreement he didn't necessarily feel. He'd always been good at that. Smiling. Faking it. No one second-guessed a kind face and deferential attitude. Theon Greyjoy certainly hadn't. No one EVER suspected a bastard, either. Hmm. Perhaps that was how the prince had risen so swiftly through the succession. From what little he remembered of him in their miss-spent youth, the flame-haired youth had always been a clever sort; an angry boy concealing is true intentions beyond a silver tongue and crafty facade built of kindness and guile.

Fate was a strange thing, wasn't it?

In another life, another time, another story, they might well have been enemies. Remarkable, how swiftly his station had changed.

Instead he'd been there. He had retaken Winterfell from the treacherous Ironborn, he had opened the gates for the Warden of the North and his men. But most improtant of all, it was he who had learned that Bran and Rickon Stark were still alive-Theon had proved remarkably compliant under the knife-when all others thought they were dead. And now he was suddenly the heir to his lord father, destined to inherit the Dreadfort and all its surrounding lands.

Truly an embarrassment of riches.

Unlike that Brienne woman.

Her fortunes had been decidedly reversed with the coming of the new regime. He'd only seen her once from afar, but Robb had told him all he needed to know. Renly's former knight hadn't been pleased to learn of the new leadership in Westeros. Indeed, she'd rode off in a fury several days ago. Supposedly she loathed Stannis for some perceived slight or another-he hadn't bothered to learn which. Regardless, if she planned to strike at the king through Naruto...she was in for a surprise. Now Ramsay considered himself a twisted bastard in his own right, but even he knew better than to poke a sleeping dragon. His temper had been something to fear in their boyhood days, even if he claimed to have mastered it with those "purges" of his.

Sometimes he was convinced Naruto might be half-Targaryen for all the fire he spewed when he was well and truly angry.

Needless to say, Ramsay had no intention of challenging the status quo. Not with that one around.

Of course not, not when he was an honored guest of said Starks. And Balon's last boy, though mostly intact -sans a finger or three!- would no doubt never see the light of day ever again. Pity. He'd been well on his way to making a masterpiece of that one. Not that it mattered now. He was certain to be rewarded for his service in reclaiming Winterfell from those hated Ironborn usurpers. The reward might be greater still if he managed to track down the Stark boys and bring them home safe and sound. Theon had vomited that valuable piece of information early in the torture.

His best man was on it, after all.

Locke would bring them home, one way or another.

Poor Theon, though.

It was a shame, he hadn't been able to finish with him-no, wait.

It wasn't.

What awaited him at the Stark's hand was far worse than missing a few bits.


My lord and prince,

You have my sincerest thanks for eradicating the Ironborn in Moat Cailin. If you hadn't, I would've had to smuggle myself back into the North. I understand you've requested aid in tracking down Arya Stark? I would be honored to send my son, Ramsay, to aid your sworn shield, Eleanor, in this endeavor. I understand the two of you have something of a history. Say the word and it will be so.

Regards,

~Roose Bolton.


(...Elsewhere, on the King's Road...)


"You're a right squirrely little bastard, you know that?"

"Figure that out yourself, did you?"

"Wasn't that hard."

"So?"

The sellsword looked up from sharpening his sword just long enough to see his employer place a brace of rabbits over the fire. Freshly skinned, their tender flesh began to crackle and pop and within moments, the men had their supper. Bronn took the opportunity to observe his host. If the prince was at all aware of his attention, he did precious little to show it, yet he still seemed to expect an answer all the same.

Nothing about this boy was normal.

Most Nbbles didn't know how to hunt, and couldn't fight, and they they sure as seven hells didn't fight small armies alone! He hadn't been privy to the assault on Moat Cailin until it was well under way; until the prince hurled himself through a hail of arrows, ran up the castle wall-ran up it like a bloody spider!-and leaped down into the fray. Then came the screams. To this day, Bronn still didn't know what had happened in those old walls, only that he'd never heard the like. Whatever he'd done had rocked the entire keep to its foundations, set half the keep on fire, and sent Ironborn running for the hills-those few that managed to escape him at all.

Judging by the self-satisfied smile Naruto had been wearing for the last week, it'd proved something of a cathartic experience for his liege.

"Way I see it, you don't strike me as the ruling sort." he said, after a moment's thought. "You put on a good show, but its just not in you. You'd rather do your own thing."

"True!"

Naruto barked out a laugh at Bronn's astute statement and surreptitiously rubbed his hands together when he was certain his petulant escort wasn't looking, causing their small campfire to flare. Most men didn't react terribly well to his "gifts", but then again, most didn't possess them. More and more as of late he'd begun to wonder about that. Where did they come from? Why did he heal so fast? How was it that he could command fire, walk on water, run with all the speed of the wind itself? Even the earth itself seemed to yield to him! He certainly hadn't inherited any of it from Stannis. Which left his mother. Of whom he knew nothing but a name. It was maddening!

Speaking of maddening...they still had a long, hard ride ahead of them yet.

It would've been better to simply abandon the horses altogether, and run in this case, to use his unbridled stamina to hasten the journey home on foot. But that would mean leaving Bronn behind, something he had no desire to do. Nor was he in any hurry to return for that matter. And why should he be? What did he have back home beyond Shireen? Duty? The Red Woman? A broken heart? A woman he'd never met? And marriage. MARRIAGE! The very thought made him shudder something fierce. He'd be tied down, expected to produce heirs, attend grand galas and maker knew what else...

No, he decided, he liked this far better, even if it did keep him from his baby sister.

Yes, this.

This!

This was what he loved. The wind in his face as he watched the sun dip over the horizon, the sweet music of the night, the open air whipping through his hair. Nothing to tie him down, nothing to hold him but his own will and means. It smelled like freedom. Not that perpetual, slimy-shit-sink-stench of King's Landing. All the perfume and fragrance in the world couldn't cover the rotting scent of dead bodies, whores plying their trade, and piss-poor ale. He hated it, and the thought worried him. He was beginning to realize just how ill-suited he was to becoming a prince. Violent urges and voices aside, he simply wasn't the ruling type. He loved action, playing pranks and-until recently-had delighted in bedding a certain shield-maiden. Needless to say the latter was off the table.

There was the matter of who would succeed Stannis when he inevitably passed away. He was tempted to simply foist it off on Shireen, but who would accept her?

Could he even bring himself to do that? To lay such a burden on her shoulders? At all?

In the end, he'd have to make a choice-

"Ho, there!"

Naruto's head snapped up as a sharp voice called to them amidst the waning light, accompanied by the sound of hooves. Their own mounts shied away nervously from where they were tied, dithering against the sudden explosion of noise. Naruto drew a knife, and Bronn was only just reaching for his by the time they rode up on them. They, were soon revealed to be a woman and a horse. The sight gave him pause. Not that it was a girl mind you, but that she was wearing armor. Not something you saw everyday. Regardless, he kept to the shadows. One could never be too careful these days.

"Is there room by your fire?" she asked without preamble.

Bronn's face lost its smile.

"Fancy armor ya got there." he didn't sheathe his sword. "Expecting a fight?"

"Of a sort." the woman confessed.

Naruto frowned.

She looked rather disheveled, but her armor was fine; fine indeed, to the point of being outright garish. Gold and plated bronze all, it had clearly seen better days. So had its owner. She looked vaguely familiar, but no, he couldn't recall having ever seen her before. Maker, she was tall! He felt certain he would have remembered a woman like this. Built for battle and armed to the teeth. Not some dainty flower like his bride-to-be. Bah, he was overthinking things again, wasn't he?

"Fine by me." he shrugged, indicating what remained of the rabbits on the spit. "Lean pickings, though."

The woman muttered her thanks, and, after hobbling her horse, claimed a spot by the fire pit. Naruto handed her one of the remaining rabbits and, to his surprise, the woman tore into it as though she hadn't eaten in a week. Perhaps she hadn't. Her face did look rather gaunt. Out of pity, if nothing else, he offered her what was left of his own hare. That too was soon devoured, alongside a bit of wine from his own personal flask. As he was in a good mood, he was feeling generous. Besides, she looked like she needed it.

"Its not often I see two armed men on the King's Road." the armored woman said after another sip. "What brings you this far south?"

Naruto quietly snorted.

"We have...business in King's Landing." What?! It was true!

"So do I."

"Oh? And what might that be?"

"I owe a man a debt." her voice was pure steel. "And I intend to repay it."

"Got a name then, ser knight?"

The woman gave Bronn a long, languid look.

"I'm not a knight."

"Still didn't get the name." Bronn prodded.

"Brienne."

Naruto nearly spat out his dinner. As it were, he turned his head again, hiding in the shadows.

He recognized the name alone, if not the face.

Brienne.

As in Brienne of Tarth.

Renly's once and former knight.

It was only a matter of time before she realized who he was. Now, if they could just away from here before miss tight-britches decided to pick a fight. And she would, of that he had no doubt. She struck him as the type to nurse a grudge against Stannis. And what better way of getting back at him than by striking at his son? At him? Ergo, a fight. Ordinarily, he would've leaped at the opportunity but no-this would be a fight to the death and strange as it might sound, he had no desire to take her life. Brienne was a good knight, a loyal knight, one of the few honest folk left in Westeros.

And he didn't want to kill her unless he absolutely had to.

"Well," he began, standing, "Its been a pleasure, but we must be going. Keep the camp. We won't be needing-

"Hold!"

Naruto swore.

'Keep walking, keep walking, just keep walking-

"Wait...I think I know you." she peered closer, the shadows falling from her face.

"Nope! Not at all!"

"Yes." Brienne insisted, moving closer. "I do. You...You're the king's boy." Her face remained blank a moment longer. Then it darkened. "YOU!"

"Me?!" Naruto squawked!

Damn but she was fast.

Her sword blazed free from its sheathe in a heartbeat, clashing against Naruto's light dagger. Thankfully the valyrian steel held, enabling him to tuck and roll away from the madwoman. Surprisingly she did not pursue; thought that might have been due to Bronn hurling a fistful of burning ashes in her face. Regardless, Brienne of Tarth did not pursue, but instead settled for glowering bloody red daggers at him across the fire. Well, so much for avoiding a fight...

"Your father killed Renly." she seethed. "The rightful king."

A long, awkward pause pushed itself between them.

At length, Naruto sighed quietly.

"I know he did. He told me."

"You don't deny it?"

"Should I?"

She made as if to lunge at him, but Bronn stepped forward, a cagey look in his eye.

"The hell do you want?"

"A life for a life." she growled. "His father stole someone precious from me. I aim to take something from him."

"Sod that!"

"Look, lady," Naruto scratched at the back of his head with his off hand, never lowering the knife for a moment, "I don't. Does that make you happy? I won't pretend to understand his motives or his reasoning. But he's my dad, ya know? I can't just turn my back on him. So if you aim to kill him, you'll have to go through me. Would you really create chaos in Westeros just so you can avenge you blasted honor?" her face twitched, but he pressed on, heedless of the danger, "Is it really worth all of that strife just so you can ffffffffffuck!"

An angry curse was all he had time for as she leaped over the fire and swung!

Years of training kicked in all at once; his lightly armored arm snapping up to deflect the blow that would've almost certainly taken his head.

From there he lost all thought.

Kushina rose with a mournful howl, valyrian steel flashing in the wan light of the fire to parry the next strike and then another, swinging low to meet Brienne's thigh. The knight blocked with a forearm and kicked out at Bronn, who'd been edging closer, catching him in the gut and driving him back a step. Naruto took the opportunity to launch a vicious crosscut at her chest, denting the armor and catching her blade off balance in what could only be called a jagged riposte, forcing Brienne's arms down and away from her face.

"Can't we talk about this?!" he groaned.

Brienne's only response was a wordless snarl.

And then it ended.

Naruto swung high in a sweeping cut, riding the force of the blow home with a snarl and forcing Brienne to hastily raise her blade lest she lose her head. He didn't stop. Kushina crashed down against Brienne's blade in a flurry of sparks, striking again and again and again, each blow driving her blade closer to the ground. With the fourth, he took the opportunity to push himself closer over crossed blades, pushing until her. It was then that Brienne realized he was suddenly using one hand to hold the sword-and by definition her-to the ground. And the other was arcing back to his belt, back, back, back...

Her eyes bulged.

Too late she tried to skitter backwards out of his reach, to retreat to some semblance of safety. Too slow. Naruto's free hand, and the knife within arrowed out in the next instant. There was no time to think, to react, to even blink. Naruto ended her with a furious, frustrated shout, the small blade punching deep into her skull just below the right eye; driving home into her brain and sprouting up out the back of her forehead like an ugly steel splinter, spattered red with brain matter. Even then Brienne didn't die. Not immediately. Her mouth worked wordlessly in disbelief, fumbling on some last word of defiance.

With an angry twist, Naruto wrenched the blade free and let her fall.

Renly's last knight dropped with nary a sigh, her expression frozen in muted horror, a bloody hole in her head. Naruto stood over her rapidly leaking corpse, panting softly. His hands rose, shaking, not with fear, but anger and began scrubbing bits of blood from his whiskered visage.

"Stupid," he swore quietly, gnashing his teeth. "Stupid, stupid, stupid! I was going to let you go!"

It was a brief and bitter end, and she did not deserve it.

"Strike the camp and get the horses ready." he said to Bronn after a long moment. "We're leaving."

"Eh? Its bloody dark out-

"I said we're fucking leaving!"


Lord Selwyn Tarth,

It grieves me to inform you that your daughter is dead. She set upon me and my companion on the road and I was forced to defend myself. Alas, she refused to be taken alive. I understand if you don't want to reply. I, look, for what its worth...I'm sorry.

~Naruto.


(Several days later in King's Landing...)


Conquering and ruling were not the same thing.

In hindsight, Naruto should've realized this crucial, fundamental lesson sooner. It was the same folly that had proved the undoing King Robert and several others before him, and it might be his undoing yet. But when your blood was up and you were caught in the heat of the moment, it was easy to forget. When wrath was upon you, when you lost yourself in battle rage, you didn't think about such things. When you were following your lord father's orders-completing the mission-there was no time for such thoughts. To think of the future in the heat of battle was tantamount to falling upon your own blade.

He'd always strove to live in the present, to not worry about tomorrow and the perils it would bring. He'd always been a bastard. Why should he expect more? For a time, he'd been satisfied with his lot in life and had no desire for more.

But he had been given more, hadn't he? More than he'd ever dared to dream, more than he could ever hope to possibly imagine.

Now, with the Ironborn in disarray, he found himself having to live in a world as foreign to him as the idea of peace itself. After only a day, the idea made him sick to his stomach.

No more forays into the dark, no more assassinations, for the time being. Now it was only...

...this.

Gone were his simple trousers and homespun tunic; in their place he'd been pressed into -quite literally!- a wretched brocade doublet and ghastly puce-colored outer garments, the latter of which only stoked the flames of his temper all the more. He looked like a preening peacock! His only solace being that they at the very least resembled his favorite color! The ghastly pants were viciously tight, and that accompanying cloak bordered on the outlandish; he wouldn't have bothered with the latter if Shireen hadn't gang-pressed him into it.

Honestly, he almost missed being no one!

Certain things were expected of Naruto Baratheon, that weren't of Naruto the bastard. A great many things, some of which he would rather do without, but responsibilities remained his all the same. It was an easy thing to kill a man in a brawl, when he was coming at you, determined to end you and yours. It was another thing entirely when that someone hadn't lifted a finger against you your entire life. The difference was dangerous-a slippery slope that separated man from beast and kind from cruel.

Even he slipped, sometimes.

Ah, but he digressed! Back to the matter of the Iron Throne.

It was difficult enough to capture the throne by itself, even with sufficient force and enough allies beside you. Keeping it was another matter. Truly, when you possess something valuable, the world wants nothing more than to take it away from you. Money, women, even something as basic as a warm hearth. If you could not keep them, they would be stolen away from you as surely as the wind itself.

That, however, was a lesson he'd taken to heart long ago.

Even a bastard-or former bastard in his case-knew the importance of holding tight what he held dear. Better to keep his friends close and his enemies closer, so that he might know their moves before they knew them themselves. It was the reason he hadn't butchered Baelish...yet. He knew he couldn't trust the man, but all the same he required his expertise. Littlefinger was merely one small spoke in the mighty wheel that ran the the Kingdoms and though he longed to break that wheel, he knew he didn't have the kind of power...yet.

Like it or not for now, he was back to being a part of the wheel.


(...)


It was for this reason, if not any other, that he was about to decide whether a man lived or died.

No sooner had he returned to King's Landing than he'd been summoned by his father before the Iron Throne. The summons had been rather abrupt; a guard had woken him from his nap, conveying the dire wishes of Stannis with such brusqueness he suspected that the poor sod actually felt sorry for him. He'd expected it to be some minor manner, and inconvenience at most to distract him from his drinking. Instead, to his great dismay, a strange scene stood before him, one he didn't recognize, but one he immediately understood.

That only alarmed him all the more.

It was not uncommon for peasant-folk to petition the crown for intervention in matters of house and home, though the late Joffrey had all but done away with such a thing. Stannis had revived the practice, with a single minded determination that only a Baratheon could possess, setting aside three hours of the day by which to hear petitioners and their pleas. The people loved him for it-if only because he was just and fair the like they'd never seen, or expected to be.

And today, the Son of the Stag found himself dragged into the whole ghastly process all over again!

It was made all the worse by the fact that she was there.

That blasted red woman, so smug, so confident!

Just looking at her made him see red!

Red, red, red.

Naruto narrowly controlled a reflexive burst of breath when he saw Melisandre at his father's side, her pale face inscrutable. Covert, my ass! He stifled a burst of fire in his hand. It would be so tempting to give one of the braziers a good hard yank, see how fireproof she was then...huh. Not a bad idea, really. It was a fitting solution, and an ironic one at that. The sooner he got her away from the old man the better!

But that was a thought for another time.

For now, two men stood before him, neither known to his eye, looking at him as though their lives depended on it. Was he expected to decide their fates?

"My lord." Melisandre tilted her head towards him with insufferable smugness.

Naruto tactfully ignored her.

"Father." he forced the word out between clenched teeth. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

His suspicions were only confirmed by what happened next.

"This man," Stannis began without pause or preamble, leaning forward upon the throne, gloved hand sweeping towards the man in fine, redolent silks," Claims that the other stole a great deal of food from him. He," his lord father indicated the lesser man with rags and a grim look, "Has pleaded guilty to the fact and stands accused of theft. I want you to decide his sentence."

Naruto balked at this. "Why me?"

The look his father gave him could've been a smile or a sneer.

"If you're going to rule someday, you need to know such things."

Urk.

He understood his father's words, then.

True tests never end.

When he turned his gaze back to the reedy peasant and the rather, ah...large merchant, the latter all but preened like a peacock. No doubt he assumed the verdict would unabashedly in his favor. Naruto raised a hand for silence before the pudgy man could so much as open his mouth. In this aspect at least, being a bastard gave him a unique perspective. He knew what it was like to be poor. To have nothing. To scratch and claw as hard as you could for the smallest of scraps, to make something of yourself. Yes, he understood this man's plight well indeed but Maker, why did he have to deal with this...

"And how do you plead?" he asked of the peasant.

"Please, m'lord! Mercy!" the thin man wrung his hands together and begged for leniency. "My family were starving, they were and Thomas keeps raising his prices! I had no choice!"

"Is this true?" Naruto's head snapped back to the merchant in question. "Have you raised your prices?"

"Of course not! My prices are perfectly fair-

"Lying to the crown is a capital offense." the bastard cut in, voice silken with anger. "I ask you again. Have you. Raised your. Prices."

Thomas's face took on a distinct, puce color. "...yes, my lord."

"How many times?"

...three."

"How large is your family?" Naruto asked of the peasant.

"T-Two sons and a daughter, m'lord." the man stuttered out. "My wife's got another one on the way."

Naruto glanced back at his father. "Is this true?"

Stannis nodded slowly. "The city watch confirmed it when they dragged him out of his...hovel."

Facing the peasant, he inquired:

"What's your name?"

"J-Jowan, m'lord."

"Have you any skills to speak of?"

"I...I'm a mason, m'lord. Like my father before me. And his father before him."

"And you stole from this man because he continued to raise his prices."

Thomas stiffened. "In the current economy-

"Silence!"

"A word, if I may?" Melisandre offered, her voice sweet as poisoned honey.

Just like that, his temper slipped the leash.

"You may not!" Naruto's voice cracked like a whip, silencing her. "This will be my decision! I need no help from meddling priestesses!"

"Castle Black is in need of men-

"The journey is the destination." Naruto spat back. "Look at him!" he thrust a finger at Jowan. "He's learned his lesson. And how would his family survive, hmm? Take this man away and they'll starve. No, I won't have it and that's final. Jowan!" The man nearly fainted dead away when Naruto turned his gaze back on him. "I hereby bequeath to you one hundred gold dragons and sentence you to reconstructing the harbor defenses. Your eldest will squire under me once he's of age. Send him to the Red Keep when he's ready. If you are caught stealing again, I'm taking the whole arm. Understood?"

Jowan balked and fumbled to catch the pouch of coin, baffled by this sudden turn of events. "M-M'lord?"

"What are you waiting for? Off with you!"

"Th-Thank you, m'lord!"

Thomas bristled as Jowan skittered away, clutching his coin.

"My lord, this man is a thief! Surely you cannot-

"The only thief I see here is you!" Brimming with barely suppressed anger, Naruto stormed down the steps to the the throne and stabbed a finger in the opulent merchant's rotund gut with such force that the merchant all but stumbled backwards. "Lower your prices, man! Eat less! Perhaps then half the city wouldn't be starving and you would have less fear of theft!"

The guards ushered the portly man and closed the doors out before he could say otherwise.

When Naruto finally deigned to turn away from the now-sealed sanctum, he found his sire staring at him. There was no fury or joy there in that gaze, only an eerie, curious calm that left him ill at ease. He'd never been able to read his father, whether it came to combat or anything else. The man might be his father, but his thoughts were often closed to him; an impassable wall of jagged dragon glass that no man could surmount. Many had made the attempt-himself included-and they'd only harmed themselves for their efforts. Not him.

He'd given up trying to understand the old man long ago.

"Why did you spare him?" he asked at last. "He should have lost his fingers for theft."

Ah, there it was.

"Sometimes a softer touch is required." Naruto replied, studying his own hand. What would he do if he lost his fingers? Would they heal, like the rest of him often did? Or would they be gone, lost to the knife forever? He oft wondered himself. Something in him had taken pity on the poor man. But that man was not his enemy. Others were. "Who knows?"

"You'd have me make peace with half the bloody kingdom if you could." Stannis glowered. "Our enemies won't fear us if we're so eager to appease them."

Naruto bit back a groan. "And where would we be if we'd done it your way, hmm?! Oh, I know! Broken and beaten back at Dragonstone!"

Stannis glared at him with the force of a thousand suns.

"Tread carefully, son."

"He is the Lord of Light's chosen." Melisandre seconded, stout in her belief. "He has no need of mercy for nonbelievers."

Naruto gagged. "Chosen my ass. Where was the Lord of Light when we sacked this city? Eh? Where was he when good men and women died? Burn them. Burn them! That's all your bloody good for, apparently! Maybe that's why we've got sparrows all over this city, hmm?! And yet you say, burn them! Do you want to burn down King's Landing while you're at it, like the Mad King? Because we all know how that turned out!"

Her silence was telling.

"I helped take this place, you witch! I took this city!" Naruto reached for his temper but it was gone and wrath boiled out of him, red and hot and raw as unforged steel. "Not for you or your god, but for my father!" He surged forward to snarl at her, and she cringed back, startled by his vehemence. "It was strength of arms, alliances, and careful planning -my plan!- that won the day! Not you and your blasted God! Not you and your sorcery! Now get the hell out of my sight before I gut you and put your head on a spike!"

Stannis must've seen the beast threatening to break free; because remarkably, he agreed.

"Leave us, woman."

After a reluctant pause, the Melisandre complied. Naruto didn't dare look at her, for fear of losing himself completely. He kept his hands screwed tightly shut until the last of her footfalls finally faded.

Only when they were alone did his father speak.

"You hate her, don't you?"

"Of course I hate her." Naruto relented with a sigh. But it doesn't matter."

"And why not?" a pause. "Why are you laughing?"

"Oh, that?" Naruto snickered, quietly pleased by the question. "That's easy. I'm happy, you see."

Stannis arched an eyebrow. "I don't suppose you're going to tell me why."

"It's clear to me now that, you know, this war? Its not finished yet, oh no, I'm just getting warmed up." he brought his hands together, producing a loud pop of sound. "This is war, old man. Total fucking war. Bitter, backstabbing, no-holds-barred war. Everyone thinks we're content, now, but we aren't, are we? Well, you might be. Me? I'm just getting started. There's the Lannisters, them Ironborn if they start again, the Freys, that Targaryen girl, and don't even get me started on the bloody undead knocking on the North's door and all. Wall. Whatever. That's gonna be hard. But King's Landing?" Smiling, the blond spun away, facing a nearby brazier. "That's an easy war to win. Hell, I might even enjoy it. But first...

"Don't." Stannis warned, his voice stern.

Naruto offered an innocent blink.

"Don't what?"

"I know what you're thinking." His father rose ponderously from the Iron Throne, glaring down at him. "And I forbid it. She's given me wise counsel."

"Do you?" Naruto challenged, standing beside him. "Then what am I thinking, hmm?"

"About the Red Woman." Stannis countered. "You want to kill her."

"Oh, her? Yup. She's a bitch."

"Lady Melisandre is-

"A. Bitch."

"Naruto."

"She's a bitch," Naruto sang back happily, "She's a bitch, she is the bitchiest bitch that every bitched-

"BOY!"

Something snapped.

Naruto didn't know what it was, but suddenly, abruptly, he simply stopped caring. He'd won Stannis the throne. If he wanted to piss it away by listening to the whispers of a mad priestess...

"FINE! I won't kill her...yet." he reassured his sire with limpid sincerity. "But I will, eventually."

"You will not."

"You won't be able to stop me," Naruto shook his head; for he meant every word. "So, you have a choice. Either you send her away real soon, or sometime, someplace, all hell is going to break loose. Everyone expects me to play their games-to be the good, doting prince, the yin to your yang, so on and so forth. And I will, for a bit. I'll go to all their insipid little parties, drink their wine, eat their food. I'll even marry Margaery and give you a damned grandson and keep your kingdom together in the meantime. However...

"However?"

"When you least expect it, someone's gonna pull the whole thing down." It felt surreal, threatening his lord and father, but here he was. "If not me, then someone else. They're gonna bring the whole, fucking, diseased, corrupt temple down on your head. It's gonna be biblical."

"Biblical?"

"New word of mine." Naruto interjected harshly. "So you have a choice. Get rid of that bitch, or so help me...

He left the rest unfinished, smiling thinly.

Without another word he stormed out of the Red Keep.


(Some Hours Later...)


When you were a bastard-legitimate or not-you had a tendency to be a tad...paranoid.

Naruto had always been leery of company. That is, the company of those whom he wasn't prepared for or expecting. Even in his brightest moments, seldom though they were, he never lowered his guard. Even when he was getting hopelessly sloshed or sound asleep he didn't drop his defenses. Not truly. Years of growing up in Dragonstone and persistent attempts on his life by his stepmother and other individuals had left him prone to insomnia, which eventually make him such a light sleeper. So much so that he would often start upright at the slightest sense of movement, the tiniest noise would jolt him awake, dagger in hand.

A sixth sense, of sorts.

It was this very sense that kept him awake long into the night. Sleep had proved particularly elusive this evening, and his previous outburst hadn't helped. The room itself had once belonged to Joffrey-nasty little twat-and he hadn't had the time to redecorate it. Thus, he found himself glaring at an ugly boar head mounted opposite the bed and imagining it were Melisandre. The little bugger had shot a crossbow bolt right through the beast's eyes, which only gave Naruto new, inventive ways of ridding himself of the priestess.

Such thoughts proved entertaining for a time, but merely thinking of the infuriating woman only irritated him all the more.

"He's a blasted fool, parading her around like that."

He wanted her gone!

She was a poison in his father's ear, a corruption that he couldn't purge no matter how hard he tried. Perhaps Varys was right about her. Poison the bitch and claim it was the work of their enemies. Something, anything that rid the world of her foul presence and incessant obsession with fire.

Thus, he was in quite the fit of pique annoyed when the door creaked open. His hand stabbed under the pillow, plucking the knife, ready to throw.

"One more step and you'll regret it." he warned, pitching his voice to carry.

A small gasp answered.

"Your grace!"

It was enough to give him pause.

"Who is it?"

Gradually, a lone candle illuminated the darkness, exposing a familiar face. He'd seen her in passing since, and he certainly remembered meeting her for the first time. She'd struck him as a schemer, a manipulator, one who would do whatever it took to further herself int he great Game for the throne. She was part of the reason he'd fled the Keep to begin with. He'd been studiously avoiding her ever since he'd returned. That she would go so far as to force a direct confrontation with him was rather...alarming, really. Even so, it took him a handful of seconds to find his voice again, and by the time he had she'd already crossed the threshold to his side.

"What are you doing here?" he hissed.

Margaery Tyrell offered a small smile, her body shifting nervously in the thin green shift she wore.

"Your guards let me through." she said, as though this explained everything. "They are rather...strange."

Naruto opened his mouth to refute such an answer, then remembered his distrust of the Kingsguard, and his desire to be guarded by those loyal to him at all times. Of course. Of course Ulric and the others would let her through. They likely thought it all a good bit of sport, a way for him to get over Eleanor. Odd how a name could evoke such anger and sorrow all at once. Bless those boys. They cared about him, but right now he wasn't sure whether he wanted to commend them or crack them over the heads!

"It still doesn't answer my question." he was distinctly aware of her lightning still more candles on his desk while he spoke. "Why are you here?" My, those were lovely eyes-NO! Stop! Resist! He shook himself slightly and propped himself up on his elbows, refusing to yield to those warm, inviting eyes eyes.

"I thought we might get to know one another, your grace."

Naruto's eyebrows shot straight up to his hairline.

"Did you now? In the middle of the night?"

Heedless of his blunt reply, Margaery sat down beside him.

"They say you killed over a dozen men during the siege." she asked. "Is that true?"

So she aimed to butter him up, did she? She'd be disappointed.

"Fifty-something, actually. Joffrey included.

Damnit.

A small laugh burst out of her. "That's an impressive number! And you actually," here her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, "Killed King Joffrey?"

"Wasn't much of a king," despite his best efforts, he found himself opening up to this persistent girl. "Just some little twat shouting about on the battlements. He died easily enough." Perhaps he was tired. Perhaps that was it, or maybe he was simply tired of holding everything in. "I don't enjoy it, killing. Unless they deserve it." he stubbornly shook the red haze away from his vision. No, no, no. He'd had enough. There was no reason to raise his hand against the girl in his bed, no matter how much she might baffle him.

"Like Balon Greyjoy?" her voice was rapt with delight.

Naruto's head snapped around with such force that he swore he felt something crack in his neck.

"Maker, does everyone know about that, now?!"

More laughter followed, like musical bells.

"You're not a cruel man, are you?"

The question flummoxed him. Was he cruel? He'd done things he wasn't proud of, certainly. Killing Brienne was one of the most recent of those. Instinct. She'd pressed him and the beast had come howling out, driving a dagger into her skull. He'd let that lad, Tommen, be gutted by his order. And there were countless other mistakes before that. He'd killed in anger. Fits of pique. Some of them had been for a good cause. Others...Maker above, he'd done things that would make Ramsay Snow soil his sheets! But did that make him cruel? Did he take pleasure in it? Or was he so broken that he simply didn't know how?

He honestly didn't know anymore.

"I do what is necessary." he said at last. "What others refuse to do."

That seemed to satisfy Margaery, at least for the moment.

Then she gave him the look.

It was a look he knew all too well, but on her it was downright...dangerous.

"And what do you think is necessary, now?" her breath ghosted along the back of his neck, causing him to stiffen in more ways than one.

For a mere moment, he was tempted. What was the harm? He was meant to marry her...

Then, reluctantly, he shook his head and denied his bride-to-be.

"Sorry, but I don't think you're up to what I have in mind."

Margaery was silent for a long moment.

Abruptly, she stood up from the bed.

"I might surprise you, your grace."

Then she let go of her gown.

Naruto swore softly.

She stood there before him, naked as the day she'd been born, and against his better judgement, he felt something stir in him.

Hunger.

He gazed at her angelic face, her deep brown eyes providing a stark contrast to her alabaster white cream-like skin. Her dark tresses came free from the braid with a gentle tug, framing her gorgeous face like a dark silk curtain. The sensual curve and beauty of her neck and chest, full, firm breasts thrust out proudly before him with her rose-colored nipples and areoles...it stole his very breath away. He couldn't help but take note of those slender arms and of her lean flat stomach before his eyes fell upon her slim feminine hips and then to the patch of dark hair between her thighs, encased within her long supple legs.

"By the gods...

Naruto swallowed thickly. He'd bedded several beauties in the past, but never before had he beheld the sight of a more beautiful goddess before him than he did at that moment. All thoughts of Eleanor were burned out of his mind in an instant, briefly forgotten by the sight before him.

"Do I not please you?" her very voice was a purr.

Pleased, was not the word Naruto would think of, looking back on this night. Enraptured, maybe.

Shock and incredulity paralyzed him, leaving him rigid as she peeled back the sheets and crawled into his lap. Margaery kissed him then and desire all but choked him, throttled his senses until he couldn't think, couldn't breathe, could only taste her lips against his, feel her flesh against him, skin to skin, her moist slit driving a relentless reaction out of him. Maker, it had been so long. Was it wrong to enjoy himself? Even a little? Just a bit? Was it wrong to be...happy? Did he even deserve it? Evidently so; because his body betrayed him in that instant, and he lost all power to push her away.

"Can you feel my heart?" she took his hand and placed it against her breast, groaning softly.

'I'm feeling something!'

"Its yours." the maiden of Highgarden continued, the words piquing on a moan as he began to thrust inside of her. "I'm yours." her hips ground against his in a hypnotic movement, her cries momentarily muffled both by his lips and her own gasps of pleasure. "When we marry, every part of me is yours. Just as I am now. Yours."

Words abandoned him and Naruto dragged her mouth down to his once more.

Insomnia wasn't the only thing keeping him awake that night.


(The Next Morning...)


Daenerys Stormborn certainly lived up to her namesake.

She arrived during one of the worst storms Kings Landing had ever seen, in a ship that seemed ready to capsize at any moment. Not a prisoner, but not a conqueror either. She radiated defiance and beauty with every step, bright eyes dancing like the storm in which they found themselves, her hair the palest silver. A great bear of a man stood with her, looking as though he were trying to shield her from the very storm itself. Jorah Mormont, no doubt. And there, a ways behind them, in cages, likely squeaking and chittering their indignant protest...

Dragons.

The thought sent a small hum of anticipation coursing through Naruto. He'd always wanted to meet a dragon.

But not like this.

This...this complicated things.

Everything.

Part of him was still trying to decide whether or not this was all a dream; it certainly seemed like one. He hadn't understood why Littlefinger would drag him out of bed-now curiously empty and smelling of roses-for this until he'd seen the ship from afar. And even then he still hadn't believed it until she stepped off the galley. Of course, the next sentiment he felt was rage. From their perch at the end of the dock he could afford to show a little emotion, soaked as he was.

"You absolute bastard." he growled, watching the guards move to flank the last daughter of the Mad King. Surely such an escort wasn't needed. What could the girl do? Still, the very notion that she was here threatened to undo everything he'd worked for, all he'd done to place Stannis on the Iron Throne. What would he do once he learned of this? Would he call it treason? Would he try to have him killed? One could only wonder, and its the wondering that killed him.

As if sensing those very thoughts, Littlefinger smiled thinly beside him.

"Do you believe me now, my lord?" he asked, and for the life of him, Naruto couldn't rightly tell if the man was being sarcastic or not. "You asked for a dragon. I brought you them and their mother. Alas, the Iron Bank of Braavos was not so generous."

"I was being sarcastic!" Naruto growled quietly as the last Targaryen drew near. "I thought you knew the difference."

Baelish offered a laugh.

"Perhaps next time you should be more specific, then!"

"Oh, I'll give you specific you little-

The storm stole his words away, and then there was no more time, for the Targaryen contingent was upon them. Up close, the poor girl looked like a drowned rat. Not at all threatening, considering she possessed only a handful retainers and a single armed guard. Pity. From what he'd heard he'd expected her to cross the Narrow Sea with a horde of Dothraki screamers at her back. Wherever she'd been, she looked none to pleased that she'd been plucked from the other side of the world and dragged to Westeros. With no army at her back, at that.

"Thank you for accepting our invitation, my lady." Baelish bowed low as the pair drew near. "You honor us with your presence."

The last Targaryen scowled, bright eyes ablaze.

"Why have you brought me here?"

Naruto sighed.

"Well, you see, SOMEONE doesn't understand sarcasm."

Bright eyes cut to him, glowering with cold fire.

"And you are?"

A bitter laugh escaped the Son of the Stag.

"I suppose we'll find out, won't we...?"

A/N: And there you have it! Dany is in the capital! What chaos has this sudden arrival wrought?!

Stay tuned to find out!

...The events of GOT ought to be quite different with Stannis on the Iron Throne...will Naruto make it out of this one alive? But the questions don't end here! Now remember that Naruto at the moment, has little to nearly no power in this fic beyond his superior strength, stealth skills, and of course, his wit. He's still himself, just...hardened. And, in the end there will only be one king upon the Iron Throne, and all bloody hell is about to break loose!

So...in the immortal words of Atlas...

...Would You Kindly Review the story of this humble man? And enjoy the previews! Sorry for the confusion, but Dorne pops up NEXT chapter. Didn't want to squeeze everything in here all at once, SO ENJOY THE MULTI PREVIEWS

(Preview)

Drogon hissed.

Naruto hissed right back.

Dany rolled her eyes.

"Men!"


Naruto stepped back swiftly, the blade passing through empty air.

"What was the word again...oh. Right. Dracarys, motherfucker!"

That was all his foe heard before his world erupted into flame.


Word was eventually sent to Dorne in form of a gracious invitation and a reply returned hot on its heels some days afterward.

"We would be honored to meet him."

In the end, Stannis was left to mull precisely what the vague words implied. Meet whom? Him? His son? Or perhaps the Mountain himself? Qyburn had proved instrumental in keeping that beast restrained-it helped that he lacked such scruples-yet there were precious few beyond himself and his son who could hope to subdue such a beast without the drugs in his system. And as Father and Son became increasingly preoccupied with the task of managing a flagging kingdom, the likelihood of this became more and more unlikely.

The brute would go to Dorne in a box if that was what it took!

A hundred Dornish men arrived no less than a week later, with Prince Oberyn at their head. Their presence was unannounced and thus caught King's Landing by surprise, if only for the volume number of men. They took up residence in the royal quarters and awaited an audience with the crown Prince at the first opportunity. Naruto, Not him. Under any other circumstance Stannis would've been displeased by such a blattant rebuttal but he knew in his heart that he simply didn't possess the spirit of a negotiator. He believed in black and white. There was seldom a gray.

Naruto on the other hand...the boy thrived in grays. He liked to imagine that the poor boy would be perfectly at home amongst the wild-blooded folk, loathe as he might be to admit it.

His son might be half-mad, but he knew how to play peacekeeper when it suited him.

Didn't mean he was going to like it, though...


(...)


"This is a bad idea."

"Nonsense!" Tyrion declared winningly,

Naruto hissed through clenched teeth, but otherwise held his tongue.

It was a rare thing indeed when the sight of a woman could strike him dumb, but this beauty did just that.

Oberyn flashed him a knowing smile.

"May I present my niece, Princess Arianne Nymeros Martell."

Naruto opened his mouth to refute such a thing,

"Fuck this. I'm going to bed."

R&R! =D