A/N: I PRESENT TO YOU MASS ELEVEN THOUSAND WORD CHAPTER!

Also, there's a small rant incoming here and for that, I apologize!

ALRIGHT!

I've had it up to here with a number of foul-mouthed people complaining that I don't finish my stories. Those of you who have been polite about it, I understand your pain. To those of you haven't been...Have YOU tried writing with one hand? Hmm? Its not easy! Add to that the fact that I've been working two jobs until VERY recently, and I've been on a bit of a time crunch. I understand criticism and flak, I embrace it even, truly I do. But NOT when people fling oaths and curses at me!

I don't get paid to do this, folks. I write SOLELY for you, the readers. Not myself. I don't make one penny off all this. In fact, as I mentioned before, I gave up a hefty source of income just so I could be around more to pump out chapters. And please don't ask about the hand. Long story there.

That's right.

I LEFT one of my jobs just so I could write more for you guys and gals on this fine site.

I'm also mentoring other authors, being a beta reader, not to mention co-writing!

In short, all of this takes up a lot of bloody time to say the very least!

Ponder on that for a moment, those of you who would be mean.

SO because I don't want to keep you all waiting anymore...

...something is better than nothing, no?

And I say again, NONE. OF. MY. STORIES. ARE. ABANDONED!

RANT OVER.

Wanted to get this out tonight after the episode came out. It just felt right, ya know? I've been working on this chapter among others for awhile now and I didn't want to rush it. Remember, the "Orange Wedding" is divided into three parts as it is, and this is the second. I wanted it to feel like a Game of Thrones episode, ya know? And speaking of episode...

ALSO HOLY CRAP THAT LAST ONE!

Also, I apologize for taking so long, but THIS TOOK A LONG TIME TO WRITE. And for that, I apologize again. I wanted everything to flow just so, and as a result it ended up taking far longer than I intended.

But I'm back!

WHY HELLLLO MY DEAR GAME OF THRONES AND NARUTO FANS! Thought I was dead, did you? Thought I was gone, hmm?! NOPE! I'm back again after my birthday and feeling better than ever! VIVA LA REQUEST YEARS! Let the stories pour forth like sweet, sweet wine! No hiatus for me! Nothing will put me down! I will ever work to strive onward and upward!

Job situation's stabilized a bit, I'm back to one job and updates should be regular again. Thank the lord! I'm sure you all know how it feels to work twice as hard for twice as long. It ain't fun! I've got a regular update schedule for stuff now, ergo, updates at least once a week. Look forward to it!

ALSO!

Since this IS Game of thrones, there are naughty bits ahoy, here!

Language as well!

YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!

If you don't like that, feel free to skip them as they appear.

Also, this chapter uses multiple viewpoints. What does that mean? You'll see, its nothing major, I assure you =D What views are those, you ask? Major characters of course! And some old favorites come back into play.

Off we go!

And yes, I take a small liberty here in regards to Daenerys and her retinue.

I'm sure you'll like it!

Bear in mind that a certain character is very, VERY cross in this chapter...

"The Lannisters send their regards."

~?

The Orange Wedding (Part II)

The sun sulked low in the sky over King's Landing.

Like a recalcitrant child not quite yet ready to rise, the great fiery orb peeked over the horizon with great hesitation and reluctance, as though it weren't keen to bring on the dawn of a new day. One might even be forgiven for thinking it melancholy. After all today would prove to be a day among days. A date that, for better or worse, would forever live on in the hearts and minds of the people. Bards would sing songs of this day, and many a scholar would inevitably tell their own tales in the years hereafter as opinion and rumor warped the story but here, today, this moment would live forever. When one looked back and asked how it all began, all would say here.

It started with the dawn.

Here, in the wee hours before waking, the quiet before the storm, all lay still.

Well, nearly all.

Though even the lowliest of beggars were just only now beginning to stir from their beds, the sky was already teeming with life. One had but to gaze up at the Red Keep to see the dragons wheeling overhead. Drogon, Rhaegal, and Viserion, each impossible to miss as they circled and banked overhead, calling to one another. On occasion, one would make a dive for the water, snatching up an unlucky fish or gull who dared too close. Fresh air and freedom had done wonders for their growth; Drogon was already nearly large enough to ride, and his siblings weren't far behind in that. In the coming months they'd grow large indeed.

As though spurred from its stupor by their cries, the sun finally rose and with it marked, the day of the prince's wedding.

It was to be a day of celebration, a union not seen since the heydays of the Targaryens. All told it had proven a massive undertaking, planning such an event with little more than a day to spare. Thankfully those handed the task proved themselves worthy of it and prepared a grand event the like of which none could imagine. Nearly all the nobles were invited to attend, and more than a few peasant folk on the prince's behalf. This didn't sit nearly so well with the upper class, the latter of whch were told to suck it up or sod off. Regardless, the wedding, and the festivities that followed, would commence soon.

Indeed, the whole of Westeros itself seemed to wait with bated breath.

None more so than Petyr Baelish.

Years of painstaking plotting and scheming had led to this moment. Seeds planted so long ago had at long last borne fruit. Pieces edged across the board were finally in position. Here on the day of what would prove to be a wedding among weddings, Littlefinger deemed himself ready to give the realm one final push and watch the chaos unfold. A small smile plucked at his mouth as he overlooked the sordid, sprawling expanse of Flea Bottom from his room in Red Keep. So small, those below. So insignificant. So petty. So easily swayed. All it took was a rumor here, an act of violence there, and one had them eating out of their hand. Or he very soon would.

Mere hours from now the wedding would commence.

Ah, and what a wedding it would be!

He had only to give the order.

On a certain level, Littlefinger knew he owed his successes thus far to luck as much as he did skill. Make no mistake, he counted himself incredibly fortunate to have progressed to this point in his plan without losing life or lirmb. Days, weeks, months, years of effort to maneuver spent to maneuver himself into his present position in King's Landing. Bending the ears of those who considered themselves his betters-and there were many-had been no mean feat; coin and influence were required. Years spent clawing and scraping his way up the ladder of chaos to stand where he stood now.

All of that arduous painstaking progress had nearly been undone by Stannis's unexpected triumph at the battle of Blackwater.

In an instant everything was knocked askew and he'd found himself scrambling to recover. Joffrey slain in battle, Tywin cut off from the capital, Cersei and her children ripped away from the Iron Throne. All in the blink of an eye. A fell alliance between Baratheon, Stark, and Tyrell. Who could have foreseen such a thing? He'd been cautious after that, waiting days, weeks even before making a move. Stannis was a well known quantity in King's Landing, as was his heretical faith in the Lord of Light. His heir was another matter.

Naruto.

That blasted, insufferable boy!

Time and time again he'd nearly undone everything. Time and time again, Baelish found himself scrambling to compensate. Adjust. His kindness was matched only by his brutality. His wiles, only by cynicism. The latter had actually been a stroke of luck for him. He'd made a foolish remark and he'd capitalized on it. Brought from rumbling seas, Daenerys Targaryen should have been his undoing. Instead? He'd befriended the Mother of Dragons! Worse, the blond bastard somehow convinced his father to let him marry her and the Tyrell girl both! Thankfully there were ways to remedy that. Better yet, he knew the boy wouldn't kill him outright; if only for the suspicion his death would cast upon him. That alone had proved his saving grace. Now he need only keep a weather eye out for assassins.

It was almost a shame to take Naruto out the Game, really. A pity, even, to rid himself of a worthy foe.

Ah, well. Such was the way of life.

Men would always fall to their baser nature. But not him. No, he was above such petty grievances.

Everything would be his.

Today.

Yes, it began today.

It...

The attack came suddenly.

It was not a knife in the dead of night that claimed Littlefinger's life, no rain of arrows in the street, nor even an ambush in the darkness of his quarters. The reaper came for him quickly and quietly; neither in the form of raven nor dove but in the softest of whispers. Not with a shout, but a sigh. Thee was no proclamation, no warning, nothing to herald his last moments beyond that of the bottle in his hand, the brandy within, and the ever present plots swirling in his mind. He exhaled quietly, reveling in the chaos to come, took another sip of wine, made to inhale and...

"What?"

...quite abruptly, he found couldn't breathe.

All sense and thought tumbled out of him in disbelief; a trembling hand rose, alarmed to find himself bleeding from the nose. An alarming weakness seized hold of him and he stumbled, clutching at the wall with his good hand for support even as he clung to his goblet. Goblet? His eyes bulged as his lungs labored, glaring in disbelief at the tainted drink. Poison? It must be. No! He'd been so careful! He'd checked everything for days! Weeks! So how was this happening?! Antidote! He had to make it to his shelf, find the right one, find the...

"Urk!"

In the light of the early morn, the shadow of death fell over Littlefinger. Air stole away from his lungs and he found himself coughing. Choking. His throat seized and his lungs spasmed anew, grasping at oxygen that denied him. The goblet tumbled loose out of his grasp and clattered to the floor, staining the rug blood red as he pounded at the door. Moment's later he joined it on the floor, his muscles betraying him in their death throes. By some miracle he still retained enough strength to raise his gaze, fingers curling against the damp carpet in his last moments. All his clever plans, all his plots, all his schemes, everything. All was forgotten in that instant.

He soon found himself wishing he hadn't looked.

For it was at this moment that the solid wood frame eased open and his would-be killer entered the room, followed by a lone guard. No. Not a guard. The man was a sellsword. A known one at that. Had he possessed his faculties he might have recognized him. But his name escaped him here in his final breaths. He half-expected to see the prince there beside him, gloating over him in his defeat. Instead he peered up at a woman through blurry eyes, darkness creeping in at the edges of his vision. Trembling fingers fumbled for his dagger and a boot crunched down on his hand, stifling them. Littlefinger couldn't even bring his aching lungs to scream. He could only stare, eyes bulging.

"You...?!"

Clad in a thin gown the color of amber roses, his killer padded across the room towards him, nimbly evading the growing puddle of wine and blood spreading from his body as she did so. Arriving at her destination, she crouched before him and reached down, cradling his pallid visage in her hand.

"Hello, Lord Baelish." Arianne Martell smiled at him, a thin, cruel gesture that didn't quite reached her eyes. "Please, don't get up on my account."

Blood frothed from his lips, indicative of his disbelief.

"Don't look so surprised." she hummed. "Poisoning you was no easy feat. Very costly, even. The Tears of Lys were a dear expense. As I'm sure you're well aware."

Littlefinger was very much aware; even now he could feel the powerful toxins eating through his intestines, leaving him to shudder in agony.

"No doubt you are wondering why I would go to such lengths." the dusky woman mused aloud, uncaring of the spy's plight. "You see, the love of a woman is a powerful thing," "In the end, it all comes down to that one person or persons you care for. When a man truly loves a woman she becomes his weakness. When a woman truly loves a man, he becomes her strength. Her life. Her very reason for living. And sometimes," cold, dark eyes flicked away from the ledge and back to Petyr's trembling form, watching intently as the last of his life crept away from him, "We do terrible things for those we love, and they, us. This is called exchange of power. Have you ever truly loved anyone, Littlefinger? Yes?" she tilted her head, considering. "Have you ever been loved in return? No, I thought not. You see it is love that compels me to do this. You are a thorn in my love's side, one he has been unable to pluck. So here I am. Plucking it for him, while he remains unaware. And here we are. No one will know. They will think a sudden sickness took you. Not uncommon for the times."

Quietly serene, the princess reached down, cupping his chin in her hand for one final, lasting moment.

"Come now," she soothed. "Look at me. Yes, there we are. That's it. Give me your final breath."

Littlefinger managed a weak, rasping gurgle as the blood pooled and bubbled in his throat.

"I do not hate you, Lord Baelish." she declared softly, kissing his forehead. "After all...

'No!' his mind raged here at the last. 'I can't die! I deserve more! My plans...I...

Her hand fell, and a crushing weight seized his chest, his vision fading.

...chaos is a ladder."

Darkness.


(...)


Bronn loved the sound of gold.

There was just something about the telltale clink of countless coins jiving together in a pouch that spoke to a man. Stirred him. Gold ran the world, after all. You bought food with it, fucked for the stuff, even killed for it. With enough gold you could live in comfort and excess to the last of your days. He wasn't motivated by greed, however. No, surely not. He might be a cutthroat, but he knew which way the wind was blowing. The Lion's time had come and gone. Now were the days of the Stag, the Wolf, the Dragon, the Rose, and the Viper. So long as the Stag sat the Iron Throne, there his loyalties would lie. Thanks to the Prince he lived well, ate well, was paid well, and allowed to do as he pleased for the most part. That earned his loyalty, if not outright friendship.

This unpleasant task was merely another part of that loyalty.

The sweet reward of being paid for a hard day's work aside, today's reward had proven particularly satisfying for one; after all, it wasn't every day someone paid him to help snuff out an evil little bugger like Littlefinger. Annoying little twit. Bastard had it coming for months now, but no one had been able to uproot him for fear of being made a culprit. Until now. Better yet, this small act required no change of allegiance on his part. He hadn't even needed to swing his sword but merely stand watch and make certain no one witnessed the crime. Again, an easy task. Littlefinger was almost universally disliked these days. As far as Bronn was concerned the Martell girl had the right of it, ending him before the war started again. Petyr Baelish had been a thorn in his benefactor's side for to long now, one that needed to be plucked.

And plucked him they had.

There would be a brief fuss as King's Landing tried to puzzle out Littlefinger's death of course, but it would pass. Qyburn's "inspection" would inevitably fail to produce any incriminating evidence and eventually interest would fade. Not a bad maester, that one. Knew his craft through and through. Bit creepy, though. Still, he was loyal and undoubtedly an ally. He also understood that before one could usher in the new, the old must be put to rest. As far as Bronn was concerned, that made him a friend in his book.

"You're smiling, sellsword."

Drawn from his reverie, the mercenary stifled a small smirk.

He'd almost forgotten Arianne was still with him.

"Aye." he admitted, a spring in his step as they entered her chambers. "S'pose I'm in a good mood."

"You don't regret your part in all this?"

The sellsword laughed as he eased the door shut behind her, careful to thumb the latch as he did so. Wouldn't do to have someone barging in, after all. Might give them the wrong idea. After a moment's consideration he favored the princess with a nod. "Eh, Baelish was a cunt. Better to get rid of him sooner rather than later."

"Agreed!" A peal of bell-like laughter rang through the air as she gave a light twirl. "Who better to devour a snake than a viper herself?"

"Careful now." Bronn admonished, bracing his back against the dor. "We don't want to get blood all over your pretty dress. "

Arianne blinked, then glanced down, noting the smears of blood on her hands.

"Ah. You're right, I suppose. I must wash." her gaze flicked him up and down invitingly as she stepped toward the near the southernmost corner of the room. "Care to join me?"

Bronn nearly choked on his own spit.

"Tempting, but I'm afraid not."

"Your loss, then."

"Suppose so."

For her part the Dornish princess didn't reply; at least, not with words. Instead she paced away towards her bed and without further aplomb, removed her bloodied dress and flung it across the room. She wasn't wearing anything underneath. A lesser man might've averted his eyes at such spectacle. Bronn felt no such inclination. Arianne was a beautiful young woman-downright gorgeous, really. Wild and wanton like any Dornish lass, a temptress beyond compare. Probably a hellcat in the sheets, too. Under any other circumstance he'd be more than happy to hop into bed with her. In this case however, caution outweighed desire. She was very much a creature of passion and he'd seen what that passion could drive her to do. Besides, the prince seemed to favor her to some extent and who knew where that would go?

No, had no intention of bedding this viper.

Didn't mind watching her, though.

A few tense moments passed as he watched Arianne draw herself a bath, each movement deliberately drawn out, long and lingering, the light trickling through he window to accentuate her every curve. When she finally slipped into the basin it was almost a relief; if only because he could no longer fully glimpse all of her. Even then the sight of her glistening form nearly drove him mad with desire. She knew it, too. Damn. How long had it been since he'd had a good tumble? Perhaps he ought to pay a visit to the brothel before the wedding. Might do him some good.

Her coy smile was no less threatening.

"If you so much as breathe a word of this to anyone-

"You'll gut me, right. I know." he mimed a silencing motion across his throat. "Not a word."

"Good."

And why should he speak of this?

His coin pouch was already full to bursting, thank to her generous donation. Add that to his already substantial pay and he was well on his way to amassing a small fortune. Not nearly as much as the vaunted Lannisters or any of the other noble houses, but it was a start and a fine one at that. At this rate, he'd be able to afford his own hold this time next year. A far cry from where he'd been at the beginning of all this.

"Tell me about him." Arianna commanded suddenly, running a wet cloth across her breasts. "Naruto. The prince, I mean. Who was he before?"

"Before?"

"Before all this." the princess gestured expansively at the grand room. "I've heard the stories, but I suspect few know the truth. Unlike you."

Ah, and therein lay the rub.

"Don't know much about him really." Bronn confessed, choosing his words carefully, his eyes taking on a distant look. "You'd have to ask Tyrion for the whole story. Alright, alright." At her scathing look he held up his hands and continued. "I'll tell you what I do know. He came to King's Landing one day with a band of sellswords out of the blue. Just waltzed right in, like he owned the damn place. Demanded an audience with Cersei." he paused, noting Arianne's faint smile at the mention of the former queen, "Next I knew he was meeting with that pretentious little twat Joffrey. Managed to track me down a bit after and made me an offer I couldn't refuse."

"What was the offer?" Arianne tilted her head, toweling off her shoulders.

"Defy him and die, or help him and live." the sellsword deadpanned. "Fucking obvious what I chose. Why ask me all this? Planning to write a fucking memoir or something?"

"There's no need for language."

"Isn't there?" the mercenary snapped, an ember of anger igniting in his chest. He'd heard enough to know where this was going. "Way I see it, this ends one of two ways. You waste your time trying to get that boy to love you, and you end up dead."

Arianne scoffed.

"And the other?"

"Maybe he takes you on as a mistress or a concubine." Bronn relented reluctantly, not liking the sudden spark of bemusement in her eyes at his admission. "If you're lucky, you'd get a bastard off him a few years down the road and he acknowledges 'em. Its the best you could hope for. He's already taking two wives-don't think he's keen to bring in a third." He followed the sly temptress intently as she emerged, dripping from the bath, all traces of desire burned away by the realization of what she intended. "My advice? Don't do it. Don't fuck with him or he'll put your pretty little head on a spike."

"You claim to know him?"

"No, but I've seen enough to know he's not right in the head." the warrior countered, pushing himself off the wall as his benefactor slipped into a silk robe the color of gilded roses. "You don't get it. He's not like you and I. He isn't motivated by greed or even lust. He hears things. See things. Voices. Visions. Now, I don't know if they're real and quite honestly I don't care, but they're real enough for him. A noble you can predict. Even a vicious noble. But a madman? Who's to say he won't wring your neck if your little plan goes sideways?"

Arianne pretended to consider his words. "If you're that afraid of him, then why stay?"

"Riches. Greed, mostly. Probably too stubborn for my own good."

"Tell me, what did he promise you?"

"For starters? Casterly Rock."

Arianne actually blinked.

"A fine prize, if true."

"Trust me, that one keeps his word." Bronn replied, moving to follow her as she made for the door, then opening it for her. "I know that much."

"You're a loyal man."

"Loyal?" the mercenary barked a harsh laugh. "Me? Maybe. I'm just good at reading people."

"Well said."

"After you, my lady."

He paused on the threshold, risking one last look at the grand chamber before departing. From the window he could barely see the dragons circling the spires, hear them calling to one another. This. This was what he wanted? Was that truly the sum of his meager ambitions? It never ceased to amaze him how easily lords and ladies took such things for granted. Half the folk in Flea Bottom would kill for a room like this. Once upon a time he would have killed for a place like this. In all likelihood he still would. Knighted or not, he was still a simple man, through and through. He had simple needs, simple wants, simple desires. Casterly Rock. Gods, it would be a feat to have a place like that. One way or another, he was getting that bloody castle.

If he didn't get himself poisoned first.

Or thrown off a cliff.

Or torn to shreds.

Or set afire.

As luck would have it, he wasn't the only one thinking of fire...


(...)


Fire and Blood.

Daenerys found herself recalling the words of her house as the dawn broke; as she gazed upon her own reflection. Odd that she found herself thinking of them now. Because she scarcely recognized the woman staring back at her. A stranger in a strange land, wearing a strange dress, her long pale hair beautifully combed and left to cascade down her back. The dress itself was a marvel of work, a seamless blend of fabric and armor both. Most might balk at the idea of wearing such a thing to a wedding, but the Dany found she rather approved of the choice. She looked resplendent.

Fierce.

Beautiful.

Whether through deliberate design or simple oversight on their part, Daenerys was inclined to believe the former. For the dressmaker had crafted her wedding dress in the colors of house Targaryen; a deeply flowing masterpiece cascading in the colors of black and red as no other before it. Bearing a moderate neckline and an open back, its make might've been forgiven for simply leaving their craft there, but instead they'd gone a step further. A great, red, three-headed dragon roared back at her from the black of her dress. Stitched in where the armored corset met fabric, its three jaws brimming with stitched flame that seemed to curl up towards pauldrons sheathing her shoulders before tapering off into the short train of her dress.

It was an outright slap in the King's face and a masterwork, no two ways about it.

She adored it.

Still, it was an absolute chore to wear with the armored bits.

What would Viserys think of her now? Ah, her dear dead brother so long forgotten. He'd probably laugh at her and call her a fool, the insipid little twit. Even in death, he served a purpose. What a fool he'd been, allowing others to lead him on as he had. An ugly notion reared its head, then.

Did that make her a fool as well?

Mildly disturbed by the path her thoughts had taken, she quashed that traitorous image and returned to her reflection, both metaphorical and physical. A hair had fallen out place and she reached up to pull it back, only to find herself ruthlessly chastised by her handmaiden. An irritated noise escaped her lips and Missandei's hand tapped her palm firmly, reminding her not to slouch lest she create wrinkles in her dress. Even so, a touch of annoyance lingered beneath the surface as Irri and Doreah fussed over her, for as her trusted friends made their last adjustments Daenerys finally felt her temper slip its leash.

"Blast it!"

"Khaleesi, you must stay still!"

The Mother of Dragons groaned aloud.

"Enough! I've been still for an hour, now!"

With an indignant shake of her shoulders The Last Targaryen stepped down from the pedestal and stormed toward the balcony. Missandei let her go with a patient sigh, for which Daenerys was grateful. Everything was spinning and she desperately needed a moment to think. To breathe. There had hardly been such ceremony for her first wedding. She certainly hadn't expected a second in this lifetime! The thought nearly stole all her courage away, and she found herself clutching the railing in a death grip. Distantly, she beheld her dragons wheeling about the high spires of the Red Keep. Well, two at least. Where was-

Oh!

A breath burst out of Daenerys as Drogon abruptly made his presence known in typical fashion; a large dark shadow descending on the balcony, rearing up before her with such force that his landing blew her hair back. Alighting effortlessly before her, the young dragon beat his wings once and tucked them inward. His snout still wet with the blood of a fresh kill, her 'child' cocked his head and regarded her with a questioning trill. Dany blinked, taking a moment to gather her wits about her as she began to stroke his long, powerful neck. Gods, he was getting big. Nearly too big for the balcony, even. His brothers weren't far behind. They'd grown all too fast once they'd reached the south. There was endless room for them to roam here, to hunt, even and so long as their prey wasn't human, none dared strike at them for fear of offending the crown. She'd be able to ride Drogon soon, no, perhaps he was large enough already...

Ride him where?

Part of her longed to simply climb on his back and fly away from all this; far, far away.

Absently she caressed his frills, contemplating all that had led to this moment.

It had seemed like such a grand idea at the outset, yet now...

When Missandei took hold of her arm, she nearly started.

"Come, your grace." she soothed. "We need to get you ready."

Daenerys frowned slightly.

"I'm not the Queen."

The former slave arched an eyebrow, the ghost of a smile plying at her lips.

"Not yet."

Point taken.

Warmed by her friend's words, she reluctantly allowed herself to be guided away from Drogon and back towards the balcony, but a thorn of hesitation pricked at her mind and held her captive. She wasn't accustomed to such finery, let alone armor. Could that be it? Was that the root of her anxiety? Or was it something more sinister? She shuddered to think of it. Her reflection mirrored the motion and she scrutinized her doppleganger with dark intensity. She appeared flawless. That didn't matter. She was a Targaryen. She needed to do better than flawless.

"This is ridiculous. I look absurd."

Missandei clicked her tongue in disagreement.

"Nonsense. The Prince will adore you."

"Will he truly like this?"

"Of course, Khaleesi." Irri hastened to add.

"He would be a fool not to." Doreah scoffed in agreement.

'Hmm.' Daenerys reflected. 'A fool he may be, but he's my fool.'

Regarding herself in the mirror once more, she took a moment to preen.

It should have galled her to admit it, but Daenerys found she actually cared for the bastard. She enjoyed his company and all the chaos that came with it. He wasn't some self-righteous ponce as she'd initially been lead to believe. He was a warrior. Like her he'd fought for all that he'd had and more; he'd made his enemies tremble and won the right to stand where he stood now. Yet despite this he wasn't cruel; didn't delight in violence and vice as others might. Time and time again he'd proven himself gentle. Silly at times perhaps, but still gentle.

She might even come to love him someday as she'd loved her last husband.

Her heart wrenched painfully then, not at the thought, but at the memory of what she'd nearly had. Of what had been taken from her. Khal Drogo he was not-nor could anyone hope to ever be-yet she found herself strangely content with the knowledge that Naruto would soon be hers. Hers. Regardless of what that Tyrell woman would say or have her believe. That was a bridge she would have to cross of burn soon, but for now she felt oddly a peace. She'd chosen this so perhaps that was why she felt so at ease. No one had forced her hand, rather she'd entered into this union of her own volition.

Here, now, she stood proud, a far cry from the terrified girl she'd been that day.

She'd insisted on keeping her retinue in spite of the trouble it would cause and in a remarkable show of humility, Naruto had indulged her. Missandei was the most recent "acquisition" from that old life. Well, stolen from it, actually. It had been one of her last acts before she'd been abducted and dragged to Westeros; if she couldn't bring an army of Unsullied than the least she could do was free one slave. Ser Jorah had been more than happy to swing his sword for her in that regard. Kraznys mo Naklo's frozen face fixed on a spike, ah, now that was a still pleasant memory. He'd been a loathsome little man, and his death had given her no end of pleasure.

Speaking of Mormont...

Pivoting, Daenerys risked a glance at the door, where a lone man stood guard.

Said man hadn't spoken a word all day.

Jorah's face held incredible longing as he gazed upon her; although he'd been permitted to attend the day's festivities, his fate remained uncertain. He would likely be sent off to the Wall if the King had his way. Not so, if the Prince had his say. Perhaps the latter was for the best. She was sad to see him go, but she could see how a man who sworn himself to her and her alone might be viewed as a threat in the eyes of King's Landing. Only time would tell if he might be permitted to stay. Rumor had it he might even be pardoned for his crimes, perhaps even allowed to rejoin his house. She wasn't sure he would, given the chance.

But enough about such sorrowful things. Today was her day.

Pausing, she took one last glance in the mirror.

She felt like a queen.

"Shall we begin?"


(...)


The Rose stood in full bloom.

Margaery Tyrell quietly ignored the nattering of her maids, lost in her own thoughts as they added the finishing touches to her gown.

Her mind lay decidedly elsewhere.

Today.

Today would change everything, or condemn her to a life of misery. That was all there was to it. One or the other. She would either have her way in the hours to come or, gods forbid, actually have to make peace with Daenerys Targaryen. The thought rankled her. Naruto belonged to her. The Prince was hers. Any other thought was unacceptable, humiliating at the worst. They'd been promised to one another before that whore came prancing in with her dragons. Worse, she'd actually come to care for the bastard, which made today's offense sting all the more.

She took one last moment to collect herself, taking her dress in.

A swooping neckline revealed a generous portion of cleavage. Red hair gathered atop her head, revealing an elegant neck and and gold earrings with sapphires at their heart. She needed nothing more. Margaery knew full well the power of her beauty and the effect it held on men and women alike. She didn't much; the colors of her house were often more than enough. She knew the Game, and played it well. That had been enough. Or, at least it had been, until today. Until that Targaryen wench swooped in and tried to claim the Prince for herself. She wanted to say "tried" because to believe otherwise was to acknowledge that she'd all but lost in the Game before had truly begun.

Never before had she known such shame, never before had she experienced such embarrassment.

Right, then. All was in order. No use in delaying the inevitable.

Gritting her teeth, she flung the doors open.

Let the games begin.


(...)


Could this truly be called a game?

Stannis stubbornly stifled a long-suffering sigh as he turned the scroll over in his hand, pondering his response. Having long since dressed himself, the King took another look at it, suddenly keenly aware of the heavy crown upon his head, of the faintly flickering hearth before him. It was futile he supposed. No matter how many times he gazed upon the scroll, its contents would never change. T'was a simple message truly, its text consisting of little more than a simple line; its news ferreted out by none other than the Spider himself. Arrived just this morning, it put a damper on what had already been a dour mood.

Tywin Lannister had taken Dragonstone.

A battle of no contest, considering Stannis himself had all but abandoned the castle save for a handful of men and servants. Still, it stung the Stag's pride that the Lion had dared to attack the defenseless keep while his back was turned. By all accounts it had been a massacre. Men, women and children alike, all butchered. Their bodies thrust on spikes outside as an example. Many of those men and women had served House Baratheon since his childhood days when he was but a boy. Now their heads decorated the walls of his old home. His hand ached for justice, tempered only by the knowledge that the old Lion was trying to bait him, draw him away from King's Landing. Did he know about the Dragonglass? If he did...

Stannis was beginning to despite this Game of Thrones.

He disdained the endless treacheries of the realm and all those who insisted upon playing this wretched Game. Better to simply say what you meant and be done with it. Like his son. He both said what he meant and did what he promised. He took after him in that respect at least. The boy was stubborn, too. Another trait they shared. Almost made him proud. But did he have to be so damn difficult? Fighting him over the most mundane of matters, bickering over the tiniest of things, all to save a life. That he had inherited from his mother. He wanted to be just and kind. He believed a single good deed could wash out a lifetime of bad. Stannis held that the opposite rang true.

Perhaps that was why they butted heads so often.

Naruto was a creature of passion and determination; once he set his mind to something he was impossible to dissuade. Until recently, this trait benefited the realm. It made the boy implacable. Relentless. Nothing save death could stop him. Until Daenerys Targaryen. Stannis had known it the moment he'd laid eyes on that dragon girl. He'd seen the fire in those eyes. Saw her dragons. Wisdom dictated she and her "children" die. Who knew what chaos she could cause if left unchecked in the realm? He'd thought they'd be of one mind with this. Put her to the sword and cement their union with the Tyrells. Then they could face the realm together. One day, far in the future, he would cede the throne to, and then he, his heirs. The boy's children would be strong and proud, just like their parents and that would be the end of it.

Instead the boy had fought his decree tooth and nail.

Now his own blood was to wed the Mother of Dragons. All the while her beasts were growing and with them, the promise of conflict. War. The Tyrells were outraged by Naruto's vow to wed Daenerys and it was Stannis's sincere hope that this compromise would calm them. Dorne was trying to maneuver their own heir into his son's bed. Meanwhile, the Iron Islands were seething with the death of their king. Word had it that they'd found another. Whispers of an uprising from the Storm Lands. Tywin Lannister was no fool either; he wouldn't allow Daenery's brood to reach the size of Balerion the Black. He would not wait for them to fly over Casterly Rock and raze it to the ground. What of the dragons themselves? The Targaryen woman claimed she could control them, but how long before they set their sights on human prey? Thousands would flock to the Lannisters if that happened.

And then there were the dead.

The great enemy that Melisandre constantly spoke of, the Long Night. An enemy that cared not for Westeros or its politics, only death.

How could a man fight that?

Taking his head into his hands, the King growled aloud. Look at it now, he could see why Robert had grown tired of it all. Why he'd resigned himself to whores and wine. There was no honor here. No glory to be had on the field of battle. Only relentless, tireless, duty. How was he to hold this realm together when it was so intent on pulling itself apart?! A mountain of debt, and it was his to fix. A starving city and it was his to fix. A war on the horizon? His to fix. A realm in peril? His to fix!

HIS!

"Blast it all!"

Infuriated, the king of the Seven Kingdoms rose from his chair and flung the scroll into the hearth, where it was soon devoured by the hungry flames. Paper blackened and curled as he looked on, their words reduced to ash in an instant. Stannis waited until it was well and truly gone before he turned his attention back to the table. Better that Melisandre wasn't here in his chamber. He might do something he'd otherwise regret. In the end, however, his gaze roamed elsewhere.

Another scroll lay near the first, set aside on the table but not forgotten. It weighed on his mind even now.

The Lord Commander of the Night's Watch was asking-pleading-for more men.

Of course he was; the Wall hadn't been properly manned in years.

Stannis could think of only one way to answer that problem.

A number of men, now that he set his mind to it.

Perhaps there was something he could do...

Heavy is the head that wears the crown.


(...)


"Wake up, wake up, wake up!"

Naruto groaned as color crept back into his world.

"Let's not and say we did." he groused, squeezing his eyes shut.

The voices hissed at him furiously, demanding blood for such trespass.

"Burn her, kill her, cut off her feet and flog her with her own spine!"

'Not now,' he grit his teeth against them until he felt something crack. 'Leave me be!'

"Now, now, none of that! You're going to be lat for your own wedding at this rate, brother!"

"Just a few more hours. The fucking sun's barely up!" the prince ground out, burying his head among the pillows in a desperate attempt to deafen himself. He almost succeeded. Silence answered him and for a fleeting second, he almost dared to hope that Shireen had finally let him alone. Alas, it was not to be. When the voice piped up anew in an attempt to rouse him once more, he loosed an annoyed snarl and whipped one of the nearby pillows in the direction of the one who'd spoken. A startled yelp answered and for a blessed instant, there was true quiet.

Not a heartbeat later, all hell broke loose.

"Payback!"

With that declaration, a heavy pillow sailed unerringly through the air and struck the side of Naruto's head with a resounding whack, pitching the bedraggled blond off the bed in a tangle of arms and legs. In the ensuing explosion of feathers the bastard thrashed upright with a loud sputter, spitting furiously.

"Hey!"

"Ha!" Shireen's beaming smile peering over the edge of the bed was the first thing he saw as he blinked the down out of his eyes, her own burning with delight.

"Got you!" she giggled!

Instantly, any semblance of anger he might've felt at being roused so early vanished, the whispers shoved into the darkest corner of his mind. He'd never hurt her of course, no. Never. No amount of ghastly whispers or insanity could ever drive him to do that. He'd seen precious little of his sibling during the last few days, but it chuffed him to see that she was taking to royalty like a fish to water. Becoming a princess hadn't dampened her youthful enthusiasm in the least; if anything it only seemed to have made her all the merrier. And if anyone deigned to slight her for that...

...well, that's what big brothers were for.

It certainly didn't put Naruto beyond a bit of payback, however.

Planting a hand on the floor, he shot his sibling a dark look.

"You do realize this means war."

Shireen's face turned pale.

"Naruto, don't you da-

"Cryhavocandwar!"

"-eek!"

Quick as you please the blond bastard bolted upright and snagged his half-sibling by the waist, flinging her down onto the bed before she could react. Simultaneously, he dug his fingers into her sides and wriggled them like ten mad snakes against her belly. Shireen's laughter immediately cut into her startled shout, sweet music to his ears. It wasn't long before he had her writhing helplessly beneath him, unable to stop giggling despite her best efforts. Within minutes, she flung her hands up in defeat.

"Stop, stop, stop!" she pleaded between hysteric fits of laughter, "I can't take anymore! I yield!"

"Oh?" Naruto growled. "Too bad."

Her face flushed.

"Brother!"

"Fine, fine." he relented, climbing off her and helping his darling sister up. "Spoilsport. Besides-

"Ahem."

He would have said more had not a familiar voice chose that moment to make itself known.

Say what you would about Tyrion, but he was very good at remaining unnoticed. Even with his superior senses Naruto hadn't realized they had company until the Hand of the King made himself known. Righting himself with an effort, he pulled Shireen up with him and

"Good to see you're finally awake."

Naruto sighed. "Aye, I'm up, but why are-

Only then did he notice the tailor behind the dwarf.

The Son of the Stag hissed in exasperation and stood up.

"Fuck meeeeeeeeeeeeeee."

Not five minutes later, he found himself stuffed back into another blasted doublet.

This one actually pinched even more than the last.

Naruto stifled a long suffering sigh against the back of his hand, trying in vain to hide from the face staring back at him. It did him little good. No matter how he might try to shy away from it, his reflection glared back at him from within the mirror, every bit his own. As was the hideous black monstrosity Tyrion'd forced him into. Another bloody doublet! Spirits, whomever invented these things deserved to be drawn and quartered! It pinched horribly in the most uncomfortable ways and he could barely raise his arms above his waist, much reach the dagger hidden in his boot! Wearing this finery honestly made him contemplate acts of violence. Even now he wanted to tear this blasted suit to shreds-

His expression must've said as much; because Tyrion laid a reassuring hand on his arm.

"Easy now." he soothed. "Its a wedding you'll be walking into, not another battle."

"Might as well be the same damn thing." Naruto groused. "More dangerous."

"If that's your opinion how I'd hate to see it after your wedding night!"

"...I genuinely want to cut you in half right now."

Shireen frowned and swatted his back.

"Brother! Don't say such things! You'll offend him!"

The dwarf gave her a pitying look.

"None taken, my lady." he demurred with a bow. "Still if your brother did see fit to chop me in half, that would make the a quarter man. Doesn't quite have the same ring to it."

A moment of silence passed between both men.

Then Naruto snickered.

Tyrion joined him.

Shireen balked.

"Oh, you're both horrid!"

"We're men, what did you expect?!" Naruto cackled as he wiped a mirthful tear from his eye. "Go and fetch Ulric, will you? Tell him I'm ready."

She favored him with a playful smile.

"I should tell him to thrash you, besides."

"Maybe," Naruto conceded with a grin, "but you won't."

"And whyever not, dear brother of mine?"

"Because you looooooooooooove me."

"I...you...that's not...seven hells!"

Sputtering, she darted outside, pausing only to slam the door behind her.

"Must you rile her so?" Tyrion sighed, palming his face. "She's going to get you for that."

"Eh, its a thing with us these days." Naruto shrugged. "S'ides, she's cute when she's flustered."

"You know, I rather recall my brother saying the exact same about Cersei."

All the humor drained from Naruto's face like pus from an old wound.

"What?! No! That's...why would I even?! I'm older than her!"

"As you say." the dwarf shrugged.

"Sure you don't want to trade places?" he asked of Tyrion, scowling.

"No, no." the Hand demurred, holding up a hand. "I'll leave the marital spats to you."

"They'll be yours soon enough." the Son of the Stag warned.

"Pardon?"

"You and Shae. I've seen the way you two look at each other. You're like this." the whiskered warrior mimed a motion with his fingers, subtly delighting in the uncomfortable expression his friend now wore. "Why not get married and save yourselves the trouble?"

"That...

"That?" Naruto tilted his head.

"That is," Tyrion paused, pondering unspoken the truth behind the prince's words and the weight it held. "Not an unreasonable idea, actually." What did he have to fear? Tywin? His lord father was far, far from here, and unable to do anything to harm him. Jaime would likely soon find himself taking the Black or languishing in a cell for the rest of his life. And Cersei-no, he wasn't going to think about what'd become of his sister. Why wait at all, then? It wasn't as if marrying her would lose him any more love amongst King's Landing. Part of him almost dared to hope events would transpire differently, this time.

He found the notion oddly appealing.

"Point taken. I might take your advice; just as soon as you make it to the altar yourself. A taxing task, considering you'll need two cloaks."

Blue eyes narrowed intently.

"You've poked a bear, my friend."

Were they friends?

Tyrion laughed and found himself startled to realize they were. The blond treated him with more than just respect; for all his flaws he seemed to genuinely value his advice. He could brawl with the best of them. He was loud, rude, crass, and wholly incorrigible, but underneath it all he remained a good person. He wasn't cruel, nor a glutton, or even without mercy. An absolute madman he might be, but he knew the constraints of power and the burden that came with them. He could think of no one better to safeguard the realm. If only he didn't have such a penchant for mischief...

As if to herald that very thought the door swept open, revealing the towering form of Ulric.

Half a heartbeat passed between the three of them, broken only by muted footsteps.

"You look like shit." the Umber remarked, his face face flat as stone.

Tyrion couldn't help himself; he openly guffawed.

"Thank you ever so much for reminding me." the blond sighed and tugged at a rosy sleeve. "Fine friends, the both of you. Right, then. Off to the old ball and chain...ow!"

"Ulric, if he makes any more comments like that, you have my leave to hit him again. Gently, though. Wouldn't do to give our lord a concussion."

"Aye."

Naruto groaned as he allowed himself to be escorted from the room.

"Traitors, both of you!" But there was no rancor in his words.

He knew the lighthearted banter was as much for his sake as it was theirs. Spirits, he wasn't used to all this. Part of him wanted to bolt; to quit King's Landing and put all of this nonsense behind him. The other...well, he owed that more to the whispers than any rational thought. Still, he knew his duty and would do it. No matter how much the voices might want or wish otherwise. He'd need to go on a good purge soon to get it out of his system, else he risked going berserk and hurting those he held most dear.

In short order they were bundled into a carriage and escorted to the Sept.

The ride itself proved remarkably uneventful; for none dared to challenge them. If the Sparrows were still hereabouts they hadn't decided to move against the Crown. Yet. Naruto almost wished they had. Slaughtering their ilk would've been a welcome reprieve to what he faced. Instead, he emerged from the carriage not to a horde of enemies as he'd expected, but to a crowd of well-wishers.

"Lord Naruto!"

"M'lord!"

"Here!"

Endless supplications assaulted them as they reached the stairs and the prince found himself forced to fend them off with promises of aid and the like. Ulric was forced to wade through the crowd ahead of them, gently but firmly ushering the populace aside to make way for them both.

It felt like hours before he finally made it to the sept.

From there, time passed in a blur for Naruto.

Stannis was there in the crowd with his Kingsguard, observing the proceedings with a keen eye, alert for any and all manner of disruption. Their eyes met and father and son shared a nod. Nothing more. Nothing less. He marched past his lord King without so much as a second thought and took his place before the High Septon. Minutes passed, then hours as the Sept slowly swelled with people, commoner and noble alike. Here, he saw some of his old bannermen conversing with Oberyn. There, the Queen of Thorns, legendary for her razor wit. And over yonder the Red Woman, looking supremely smug in her scarlet silks.

All the while Naruto chafed at the waiting.

Blasted Sept.

Blasted wedding!

Blasted honor and duty!

The High Septon was trying to gain his attention for some reason or another; no doubt fussing at Ulric's steadfast presence by his side. At his sword, more likely. Naruto silenced the man with a gesture. He wasn't about to forsake the protection of his staunchest ally just to satisfy the whims of some priest. He might have been forbidden from wearing armor, but the same could not be said of the Umber. This was to be a wedding among weddings after all. Their enemies would be a fool to miss this opportunity. Ironically he almost hoped, nay, prayed, something would happen.

Anything to take the edge off.

Eventually the Septon recognized the futility of his efforts and began to drone prayers; an endless animal bleat that barely registered in Naruto's mind. Nevertheless he gave the right answers and made the proper bows where necessary, silently gritting his teeth as the minutes wore on. If this was what it meant to be married in the blasted light of the seven then he never wanted to endure it again. Better to have a plain ceremony with the old gods rather than fuss over something like this. All the while he could hear the whispers below, his sharpened senses ruthlessly catching snatches of conversation.

"Look at him," an old woman's voice slithered into his ear, "Making nice with that Targaryen wench. Should have done her like her father."

"Not right, it is." another agreed.

Naruto marked their faces for retribution at a later date.

When the brides were at last admitted into the sept however, his scorn faded away and his heart skipped a beat.

Gods, they were beautiful.

Daenerys entered first, a half-step ahead of Margaery, clad in the colors of her house, the smallest of her dragons curled about her shoulders. Even Naruto could see Viserion would soon be too large for such a perch. The Rose wasn't far behind. To describe their beauty was to stop the storm; simply, utterly impossible. A lump formed in his throat and he found himself straightening. Margaery caught his gaze first, and he would've almost thought her smile genuine had it not been for the way she refused to look at him overlong. Something in her eyes warned him there would be a reckoning for this slight, and he wasn't sure he'd enjoy it.

By contrast, Daenerys never looked away, never took her gaze from him.

In that moment, he truly felt as if he were gazing at a dragon, one who would devour him whole.

Naruto wasn't sure which was worse.

With their arrival the High Septon droned on for what seemed like an eternity, espousing the values of their Seven and their mercy and...oh for fuck's sake!

Finally, he could stand no more.

"Shut your hole and get on with it!"

Feathers ruffled, the Septon recoiled, but did as he was bid.

"As you wish, my lord."

Naruto needed no further inclination.

"Finally!"

In a single motion he stepped forward and seized a startled Margaery's mouth with his, bending her backwards to raucous approval from the crowd. Not a moment later he did the same to Daenerys. The sept's reaction proved decidedly muted to that, but he paid them no heed.

'Fuck them. Pretentious pricks.'

Drawing a ribbon from his voluminous sleeve, the disgruntled Septon took one of their hands each and bound them together.

"Let it be known that Margaery of the house Tyrell, Daenerys of the house Targaryen, and Naruto of the house Baratheon are one heart and flesh, one soul." he favored the latter with a decidedly pointed look, though his voice never once wavered. "Cursed be he who would seek to tear them asunder."

"Curses be he who would seek to tear them asunder." the crowed echoed after a pause.

Naruto nearly bit the Septon's head off for that remark, but restrained himself.

There was but one line he had left to endure, then this would be done and-

"You may now cloak the brides and bring them under your protection."

Remembering the custom such as it was, he allowed the priest to unbind the ribbon. Then he did as he was bade, wrapping first Margaery then Daenerys each in a cloak of his own. Only then did he turn, and they with him, to face the crowd, holding their hands in his own.

So.

This was how it felt to be married.

It felt surprisingly freeing.

As if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

This time there could be no disguising the roar that rose up from the people as they walked among them. Whether it was for Margaery or Daenerys or even himself, Naruto knew not. In all honesty? He didn't care. He wanted nothing more than to be free of the sept and attend the feast. His sole hope was to drink himself into oblivion and wipe the anxiety from his mind. Tomorrow would be the day for duty and responsibility and all the fetters that came with it-

"My lord!"

The shout was his only warning.

Years of hardened instincts flung Naruto's body into motion, sending him lurching forward before his mind truly registered what was happening. It saved his life and Margaery's both. He flung himself forward and almost immediately pain snarled through his chest as a jagged dagger thrust itself deep in the meat of his shoulder, tearing through fabric to find the flesh beneath. For a moment-the merest of seconds-his mind reeled, unable to understand what a happening. Not so his body. Even as he staggered from the searing pain, the prince beheld his attacker. No. Not one. Attackers. To Naruto's dismay he realized they faced not one, not two, but five assassins. Perhaps more out of sight, each brandishing weapons of the same make.

'Well, I wanted something exciting! Seems I got my wish!'

The nearest, a grim-looking man with long hair in dark leathers, already rearing back for another strike. By some miracle he managed to rip the hidden knife free from his boot and parry, slashing the blade across his attacker's face, only to see that very face peel away with the bloody edge and reveal another.

"What in blazes...?!"

Only then did he realize what he faced.

A hue and cry went up from the crowd as those within the sept realized they were no longer safe. Hundreds pressed toward the door, trampling others underfoot, only to find them sealed. Naruto scarcely noticed. All of his being remained focused on warding off his opponent with his good arm, weaving a wall of steel between his would-be killer and his wives. Even so the assassin managed to slip through his guard to nick his lower leg, drawing fresh blood. Whomever they were, they were good. Very good. Someone had paid a fell price to procure such skilled assassins.

"Dracarys!"

For all their feats were not immune to dragonfire, however.

At Daenerys's cry Viserion leaped from his mother's shoulders and screamed his fury to the world, bathing the man in napalm.

The assassin collapsed within seconds, his screams withered to a whisper.

In the smoke and confusion, Ulric thundered past them and crashed into a second faceless man attempting to flank the Mother of Dragons, driving him to the floor with his bulk. Massive hands descended on the prone man's skull and squeezed with bone-crushing force, rendering his visage little more than a red stain on the sept floor. Naruto swore, searching for another assassin.

He found a third drilled to the wall by Oberyn's spear.

A fourth met his end on Loras's blade.

Naruto nearly despaired.

Alive.

They needed one of them alive for questioning!

"To me!" someone was shouting and he startled to realize it was Stannis, raining down blows on the fourth. "Everyone to me!"

"That one!" Naruto bellowed over the chaos, running. "Keep him alive!"

Whether his lord father heard him Naruto knew not; only that the King took the man's arm and smote him across the head with the hilt of his sword. His attacker collapsed in a boneless heap and just like that, it was over. All the faceless men lay dead or cut to ribbons by the defenders. Gradually, the prince became aware of the voices around him, heard the screams of the wounded and drying, but he cared not a wit for any of them. Despite the pain, despite the agony in his leg, he'd never felt more alive. Heart pounding in his ears, vision gone red with a ghastly crimson field, he lived only in the moment.

And in this moment, he wanted justice.

Ignoring Margaery's pleas, grimacing around the pain, he descended on his would-be killer and struck him hard in the stomach. The man jolted awake with a pained grunt and, not satisfied, Naruto struck him again, his boot bloodying the man's nose.

"Who sent you?" he demanded. "Tell me it'll be quick."

To his disbelief, the assassin actually smiled.

"A man cannot tell you."

Blue eyes burned red.

"You will."

A/N: And the plots doth THICKEN! there you have it! We're back in business! Also, *sniff* I'm afraid I have some bad news. Game of Thrones is ENDING! That's right, they've confirmed that there are only two seasons left and they're going to shorten the amount of episodes in each. WHY?! Why you do this?!

So in the Immortal Words of Atlas...

(Preview(s)

"Do you seek answers from the flames, my lord?"

Stannis didn't have to look to know Melisandre had made herself known, soundless as ever.

She'd become increasingly adept at that.

"What do you want?" the words escaped on a sigh.

"Wise men often seek the council of fire."

He shook her off with a grunt.

"Spare me your riddles. What is it? What news do you have for me?" Stannis's face tightened in a scowl, all too vividly aware of how he must look to her. Grim and angry, forged from steel. That anger faded somewhat when she took his hand. Guided it to her belly. A moment of confusion set in, hounded by a terrible realization.

What she said next sent his world spinning.


"Littlefinger is dead."

"Such a pity." Naruto feigned indifference before his lord father's accusation, savaging a roast with his knife. "The climate must've disagreed with him."

Inwardly, his mind was elsewhere.

'Alright, who killed that bastard and how the hell can I thank them?'


Walder Frey's eyebrows shot up all the way to his head.

"What in the seven hells are you doing?!"

"Killing monsters."


Naruto laughed into the snow.

"You're a merry little band of bastards, aren't you? Look at ya! A brave fellowship, venturing out beyond the-OW!

"Fuck off, boy."

"Now now, Clegane! Is that any way to talk to a prince?"

"You're going to a head shorter if you don't cut that shit out."

R&R! =D