Note: Well, this one was easy, despite the addition of a Sansa POV. After going through a World of Ice and Fire, this story is kind of writing itself as far as events in the Riverlands go. If you've read the reasonably detailed (but not completely reliable) accounts of events such as Aegon's Conquest, The Dance of Dragons, and the Blackfyre rebellions, or even the reign of Maegor the Cruel, you might understand why. When you have so many events set in motion that are about to go off, it's hard not to feel satisfaction at the impending parallels (or ironies) that just so happen to line up with your story. I will be including minor bits of information from the book to make story interesting. For instance, Hoster Blackwood will eventually tell a story about the kings of Trident from a Blackwood (probably my favorite minor house) perspective and maybe I'll be able to get one out of Bracken side of the story , while Aeron Damphair next chapter, will give an Ironborn perspective on kings in the riverlands. If you're wondering, the Riverlands is my favorite region, because it was clearly designed as the place where everything comes together, and has the most interesting history of all the Seven Kingdoms, save for Dorne. I don't know how I did it, but this is the longest chapter yet.

Flashfoward

The captive was forced to his knees, and the sack over his face was lifted.

He was in a cave somewhere that seemed to be supported by weirwood branches.

The scout looked around and saw all variety of smallfolk of the Riverlands, but at the end of the cave he saw something ugly that sat on a throne carved of weirwood.

"This man killed three of our own," a voice came from a bearded man who wore and old nasal half-helm.

"They tried to kill me, they seemed like good game." It only took one look to realize that these folk did not seem to care for explanations. They were angry and they were cowardly. They were everything needed to make a mob in the barbaric hell hole known as the seven kingdoms. Why couldn't the rest of the world be like his homeland?

He came from a land where wars rarely lasted more than a day and brought lavish spoils to the victors. He grew up where the rum was fruity and carnal pleasures were regarded as a religion rather than something to be ashamed of.

"How do you Westerosi decide innocence?" He directed his question to a man in tattered red robes that carried himself like a red priest.

A man with a woodharp answered the question instead with a cynical smile. "We say what you're guilty of and then we decide what to do with you. It's called justice because, it's just us."

He would not survive, the prisoner knew immediately; to these men he had seen too much and would not allow him to return to the halfman.

But then the red priest spoke as if to finally answer his question, "you could also do a trial by combat, where your guilt is decided by whoever wins the trial."

The big Summer Islander laughed "I'll take that. Even if I lose, it's a better way to die. Which one of you whoresons want to fight me?"

A tall man with boyish freckles and fair hair stepped up out of the crowd. "Are you good with that bow?" He gestured towards his bow which the outlaws had taken off of him. "I always wanted to see a Summer Islander shoot a goldenheart bow."

Tyrion

The loud crack indicated that the gate had been breached. His bodyguard dropped the ram by the side of the breached gate, and led the charge into the town of Stoney Sept.

The defenders had mostly been caught off guard, not expecting him to strike for at least another day or at least until sunrise. 1,600 men had arrived in the dead of night, and stopped only long enough for a ram to be fashioned. Ordinarily Tyrion would not have pushed the men this hard, but his rage was fierce and he would strike while it was still hot.

After overcoming the sentries at the gate, they met no resistance save for a few wild arrows. Tyrion could tell that they had not planned for Lyn Corbray's death, and the unprepared incompetence of whoever was now in charge showed.

They made their way to the market square, which was marked by a great statue of a fish in the center. A dozen defenders tried to run, but upon hearing the sound of cavalry flanking around the square, they threw down their arms and yielded. Tyrion ordered them to be put in fetters; he would decide what to do with them later.

Tyrion rode up the hill and with a Myrish eye he spied what could be twenty to forty men in the town holdfast. With fifteen horsemen by his side, he rode out and challenged the garrison.

"Open the gates if you want to live."

"Damned if I will, I've orders to hold this here holdfast till Ser Lyn comes back." A man whose rough manners and small sense of authority marked him as a hedge knight responded. His accent also marked him as a man of the Vale.

A laugh came from one of his men, "your baby fucking knight is dead." The voice came from Xantho, a Summer Islander with skin almost as dark as his black armor. "And I killed him." He pulled out his goldenheart bow, "with this."

Tyrion drew the Valyrian blade that he had taken off the body of Lyn Corbray, it was nearly as tall as he was.

"Did he perchance carry this?" Tyrion asked the hedge knight mockingly. One of his bodyguards rode closer and moved his torch so that the sword could be better seen by the defenders.

The soft gasp told him that word of Lyn Corbray's death at the Stoney ridge had not yet reached them, though they had known about the battle itself.

"You have one chance to yield; otherwise he can tell you what happened when you find him in the seven hells."

The hedge knight reluctantly struck the Corbray banner that flew over the holdfast, and in short time, the gates opened

Tyrion allowed a grin despite recent events. They were moving quickly, and this town was the key to breaking through the web that Littlefinger had weaved in the area. Once Stoney Sept fell, the army would have much deserved shelter. From here he could strike north to Riverrun and link up with Tytos Blackwood, who was holding Riverrun with a token garrison in the name of Queen Daenarys.

Tyrion knew that this was a tricky ground to tread. The Blackwoods would support him, of that he had no doubt and maybe even both branches of house Vance, but the Brackens, and Pipers would oppose him tooth and nail. It was also said that the Mallisters had taken their men north to besiege the Twins with Stannis.

If he held Riverrun and Stoney Sept, he could cut off Littlefinger from the Westerlands. As far as Tyrion knew there was a succession crisis after the death of Devan Lannister, as Cersei was unable to name the new lord of the West.

Many of the Western lords were greatly dissatisfied with the rule of Cersei Lannister and balk at the rule of a man as low born as Littlefinger, and maybe Tyrion would be able to persuade a few to join him.

After all Tyrion was no more kinslayer than Cersei was, the deaths of Kevan and Lancel Lannister had sparked great discontent among them.

Tyrion entered the holdfast with his personal bodyguard as well as two score of infantry that had formed around the walls by that point.

The knight took one knee and offered his sword, which Tyrion accepted.

"The Stoney Sept is yours my lord." Tyrion barked an order for the man to led to a respectable confinement.

The disarmed prisoners were led into the barn of the holdfast, when Tyrion turned to a messenger for the Second Sons. He asked one of his sergeants if there were any stocks in the holdfast larders, and was elated to learn that twenty casks of ale and enough food to feast them all for a fortnight were in this small holdfast.

"Which parts of the town still hold out?"

"Only the Sept hill, my lord," the messenger responded.

Maybe they are sparrows after all

He ordered Bronn to look after the holdfast and the prisoners and made sure that Hoster would get a good room appropriated from one of the inns a place called The Peach, before riding out towards the sept for which the town was named for, with Lord Sunglass and his retainers in tow.

On the way, he ordered thirty-odd survivors of Tumco Lho's company to follow him, and was soon joined by another thirty of the Golden Men. The procession arrived at the foot of the hill without incident.

He surveyed the scene before him, four members of the Second Sons had been killed in an ambush and their bodies bore mute testament of surprise.

The Second Sons were on the hill waiting outside the sept but did not move to enter the building.

Brown Ben who was dismounted sauntered up towards him.

"What shall we do, Lord Hand?" Brown Ben drawled despite everything.

"Take the sept I suppose," Tyrion spoke irritably.

"We don't have a ram yet, and there's a knight of the Faith who says the men hiding in there are under his protection. I'm damned sure that those are survivors of the Stoney Ridge."

Well, isn't that nice, thought Tyrion? "I understand your caution Brown Ben, but these Sparrows need to learn their place, and the law of sanctuary is not going to protect those faith pretenders or the Warrior's Sons for that matter."

"What do you plan on doing about it," Brown Ben asked shrewdly.

"We will burn this sept to the ground." Tyrion responded coldly.

"My Lord," a Knight bearing the crest of house Sunglass cried in horror. "There are innocent townsfolk in there; if you burn the place you will kill them all."

Tyrion could only feel himself shrug. "The soldiers in there don't wear sigils; they are dressed as peasants hoping to escape, my reach. I'm going to kill them all. The Father above will know his own." He quickly bid for his Volantene squire to return to the holdfast, this was something he didn't need to see.

He asked the closest rider for a torch, which he got. He rode closer to the door and ordered a cart of hay that he had seen on the street behind him.

Soon it came and was parked in front of the Stoney Sept's only entrance.

He took a look at the faces of the men that surrounded him. Some showed agreement, while others showed horror. His eyes fell on a Tyroshi with a beard of red that was almost pink. Tied to the back of his saddle was the turncoat Ser Bennard Brune, who had infiltrated his ranks.

This had Littlefinger's dirty fingers all over it. He would soon have to send a raven to Barristan Selmy, who was governing King's Landing in the Queen's absence, to seize Littlefinger's brothels and purge Ser Bennard's household that he left in the city.

Tyrion wondered how Ser Barristan would respond to the order. Barristan had shown a reluctant willingness to commit necessary evils while he ruled Meeren. Barristan still strongly disliked him, but had given him much respect after Tyrion had helped him discover the identity of the Harpy. The white knight's shock from learning that the Harpy was a priestess older than him was a sweet memory for Tyrion.

The muscular Tyroshi knocked the tied knight from the back of the saddle and grabbed him by the collar of his tunic before he hit the ground. Two golden men dismounted and seized him. Tyrion ordered Ser Bennard to be put in the hay cart, which they did quickly.

The man was shivering fiercely as a result of the sickness caused by his wounds, not to mention that someone had stripped him of a fine cloak that he had worn earlier. Brune was begging for mercy that fell on uncaring ears.

He felt his gaze drift to the girl who sat the horse next to him.

What was her name? Jeyne, Jeyne Rivers was her name.

He bade the girl to approach him, which she did timidly. He handed her the torch, "you were Ser Tumco's squire?"

She nodded. Tyrion handed her the torch. "Do the honors."

The bastard looked like she wanted to ride away and disappear at that moment, but after hesitating she threw the torch into the cart, and then turned her horse riding back into the ranks. The music of the fire grew as the flames went higher and higher, but could not drown out the screaming of the condemned man in the wagon.

Tyrion turned his horse away rode a few steps down the hill towards Xantho, "Be sure to shoot anyone that tries to get away."

The big Summer Islander nodded and Tyrion turned to address the crowd. "The Mockingbird brought generous stores to Stoney Sept, and that includes twenty casks of ale."

A ragged cheer went up in the ranks of the soldiers, but at that moment Tyrion could not fail to notice tension the Sunglass retainers, and some the Basilisk's people had with his Golden men and the Second Sons.

Part of him wished that he had kept Hubbard Sunglass and his band of pious fools at the holdfast, but at the same time they needed to learn the realities of war. Did the Warrior make knights for the singers and maidens? The Andals spread their faith by their warriors just as much they did by their maiden princesses, the Warrior made knights to kill.

But war made monsters out of men, and soon they would be ready to do their duty in the moment of truth rather than hesitate as they did hours before at the Stoney Ridge.

The air became heavy with smoke after a brief gust of wind blew smoke in his direction. The fire in the sept however, had many out here coming closer for the warmth. The night sky above him was clear but the winds were getting stronger and there was a storm coming from the east that would be over here by sunrise as the clouds showed.

Only the screams of those inside the sept prevented many of them from getting closer still and enjoying the warmth.

He saw a flash of movement as Xantho pulled out his bow and fired a shot from his horse. Tyrion turned and saw a man, dying on the ground with an arrow firmly planted into his side. He had tried to climb out of the burning sept but was felled with by Xantho.

A second son moved towards the man and swiftly cut his throat. After searching the man, the sellsword claimed a blade that was found on his corpse. I doubt the father will vouchsafe for that poor soul, thought Tyrion.

"It's getting a little warm here, shall we put it out." Tyrion addressed the Second Sons, because it was their running joke. In Volantis many of the Oldblood had retreated to the Citadel of the Triarchs where they thought that they would be safe. He had burned the fortified palace itself by lobbing several fire bombs the Second Sons created with substances almost as unstable as wildfire. When many burning nobles threw themselves from the battlements, the second sons would piss on the bodies of the fallen.

And so many of the Second Sons loosened their company steel, and opened their breaches. Unfortunately for those still inside the sept, nobody was even able to piss far enough to reach any fires.

Sansa

"Lord Regent Petyr Baelish, first of his name, will now hear you now, Lord Garlan." Ser Lothar Brune's voice which seemed to boom through the Cavernous Hall of a Hundred Hearths, bore a strange contrast to his often soft-spoken demeanor.

Garlan Tyrell, who looked exactly as she remembered, tried not to flinch at the term "lord regent." He reluctantly took one knee. "My lord, my men have travelled a long way from Highgarden, it would please me greatly to see them all fed, and sheltered.

"Rise my lord, it shall be granted." Littlefinger, spoke with a voice as sweet as spring.

Garlan Tyrell did as bid, and allowed a grin as he acknowledged Margaery's presence. Margaery in turn gave a radiant smile of her own, a real smile that met her eyes.

Sansa took note of those who were present by their spot by the daïs Margaery was the only person they called queen here. Queen Cersei had suddenly come down with a mysterious sickness that Tommen somehow had as well. Sansa did not believe in coincidences anymore. Tommen would slowly die from too much sweetsleep, it may have killed Sweetrobin had Sansa not began sharing food from Sweetrobin's plate. After she began doing that, Sweetrobin's health began to improve. Of course, leaving the Eyrie had been good for him too. His shaking fits did not seem to happen as often here. Robyn was now figiting as a boy at age with Tommen who wanted to be somewhere else.

Cersei was probably just underfed so that she did not have the strength to resist Petyr. Even though few things would have pleased Sansa more than Cersei Lannister's death, Sansa for some reason felt a small but nagging sense of pity for the queen. She did not cheer or gloat when the time came for the bedding ceremony after the wedding feast as Margaery and Lanna did. The screams of anguish that came through the door of the marriage chamber still haunted her. Cersei would bore Petyr his heir, even as he killed Tommen, and would arrange an accident for her when she was no longer needed.

Ser Harrold Hardying had a seat behind her and she could feel his eyes on her. Ever since her true identity was revealed at the Littlefinger's wedding, Harry the Heir was constantly fawning over her and even made a solemn pledge of chastity. She wasn't sure if he had already made one. It may have been half a year and one bastard ago. She could feel his gaze and it felt a little uncomfortable. She had felt his hungry eyes long enough to know how he was feeling, like that time during the wedding feast when she danced with Podrick Payne just to keep him from the queen. Harry seemed offended that she had asked someone to dance, and the cruel look he gave Podrick still made her insides shiver.

Myranda Royce was sitting next to him. Sansa was certain that she had bedded Harry. It didn't really bother Sansa that much though. Sansa did not want to marry Harry but he was possibly the best match a widowed Randa could hope for, and he was still heir to the Vale as he would be for a long time. If Robyn was anything like his own father, it would be many years before he begot an heir, if he ever had one. On the other hand, Harry seemed as capable as men got. He had two bastard daughters and a son if not more natural children.

Afterwards, Garlan left the hall to look after his men.

The rest of the time in which Baelish held court passed as if in a strange dream. Sansa noticed that Margaery did not seem to lose interest, while Lanna, who was now a legitimized Lannister appeared irritable for the rest of court.

When it ended Margaery approached Lanna, "I saw you looking at Garlan."

"You have a very comely brother." Lanna tried not to speak with her Braavosi accent, but her Braavosi origins were still as plain as day.

"He is a dear brother, but he is already married and expecting a child soon." Predictably, Lanna's face betrayed a small look of dismay.

"But, now that you're a legitimized Lannister, you would be an ideal match for our brother Willas."

Something about that statement gave Sansa goosebumps. Part of her wanted nothing more than to be married to Willas Tyrell and live out her days in Highgarden with their children. But Sansa knew from experience that this would not end well, and decided that she did not want to have much to do with the Tyrells. She would have to talk to Lanna later.

Margaery had a careful tongue and never said much about the events surrounding Joffrey's death. It was almost as if she feared that Cersei would break free of her bondage.

"What is Willas like?" Lanna asked with curiosity.

Sansa felt deaf to the story that Margaery was telling. The truth was that the Lanna now had a claim, and the Tyrells were going to take it, all they needed now was the death of Tyrion Lannister. The same way the Lannisters needed Robb to die. The irony of it all nearly made her laugh.

Sansa walked away from it all and came face to face with Brienne of Tarth. The helm she wore still gave Sansa pause at the memory of Joffrey's dog. Brienne was wearing the helm as she did more often than not to hide her disfigured face.

But the Hound didn't care what he looked like, in fact she was nowhere near as terrifying as Sandor Clegane.

"My lady, I need a word."

Sansa looked around and realized that this was the first time she had truly been alone with this woman who for many strange reasons reminded her so much of the Hound, and not just because she wore the helmet. The Maid of Tarth was tall and broad-shouldered, her face horribly disfigured.

"What happened to him?" She asked, "The man who wore that helmet."

"I killed him," Brienne said without sadness or glee. "Then Jaime killed the next one."

Sansa did not feel that she understood the meaning but, Brienne elaborated. "They were not real hounds though, the elder brother on the Quiet Isle buried that man."

Brienne told the story about the oath she had sworn to her mother and the journeys she had taken. Sansa listened intently as Brienne told her about all that the Maid of Tarth had done to find her. When Brienne talked about her time in the feared Brotherhood without Banners, Sansa could tell that Brienne was leaving something out, but Sansa had a feeling that it was something she did not want to know about. Sansa had been suprised to learn that Arya was not only alive, but had been with the brotherhood for sometime before being kidnapped by the Hound, and disappearing once more. Sansa wondered what life would have been like had she agreed to flee the capital with the hound. Sansa did not regret refusing however, she realized. It would have been foolish and rash to leave with the Hound she had to admit, especially considering his end. Besides Ser Dontos had offered the same, but he had rescued her for a bag of dragons, but had been paid with a quarrel.

Mostly Brienne talked about her time with shy Podrick who was Tyrion's squire, and Jaime Lannister to whom she had returned a sword named Oathkeeper. Sansa was certain that Brienne was in love with that man. The father of Joffrey, Sansa did not say. She recalled that Cersei and Brienne did not get along and decided that was why.

When Brienne had told Sansa all that she was willing to tell "I swore an oath to return you to your mother but…" The tall maid paused as if afraid to admit what had happened to her mother. "Catelyn Stark is dead, so Jaime and I agreed to bring you to safety if we found you, are you safe?"

She could sense the lie, but there was truth to it. It was the kind of lie Littlefinger called the Spider's lie, when a person was telling the truth about something but, they meant something else. Sansa did not want to press it but, she also sensed fear when her mother's name came up.

What Sansa did not know was how to answer the question; the truth was that nobody was safe.

Jaime

The impact of the boat making land was quite jarring this time. Jaime did not have much energy and the winter storm had weakened him greatly.

That did not change the fact that he had to abandon this boat now, the brotherhood was on his trail, and unless he was mistaken, he also saw occasional bands of horseman from the Vale who seemed to be looking for someone who could be him.

He should not have stopped at that inn; it had Brotherhood without Banners written for all to see.

Jaime stumbled out of the boat and fell into the freshly fallen snow. When he got up, he looked around and noticed that he there was a hill in front of him, but the storm made it difficult for him to see much in front of him.

He walked up the steep hill of the island, and sure enough saw what appeared to be a small village. There was something different about this village but, Jaime could not put his golden hand on it.

The first thing he noticed was a man in brown roughspun wool splitting firewood from the safety of a barn which held a few horses in the stalls to the side.

He moved quietly towards the barn, and moved inside without a sound. He took a rest briefly behind the haystack. It felt so good however that it was hard to get up and find out which horse would carry him away from here the fastest.

Jaime knew he could hide from the man, who was splitting the wood. One of the horses, an ill-tempered black stallion began making a fuss. Damned horses, Jaime realized. He should have remembered that horses often sense people before their riders do.

Those who listened to their horses survived ambushes more often than not. Criston Cole, the Kingmaker may have been able to save himself had the sight of corspes real and fake had not drawn him into complacency. But Criston Cole, the Lord Commander for the Kingsguard for Aegon II and his hand was killed at the battle of Crossed Elms when Rodrick Dustin's Winter Wolves pretended to be corpses and felled him before he could react.

The woodsplitter did not even turn when he spoke.

"If you thinking of stealing him, you picked a bad fucking time to do it," the raspy voice of the speaker gave Jaime pause. "Chances are that Stranger will throw you off before you try to make him swim off the island."

What, he was on an island? Honestly, it wasn't like he could tell out there.

And that voice, he knew that voice.

Jaime tried to speak but could only gasp.

"If you thought you could just sneak up on him, then you're not a good horse thief." The man turned and Jaime realized just how strong he was, and ugly too. He removed his hood and revealed the burned half of his face.

He recovered his shock, "Sandor Clegane, is that truly you?"

The Hound laughed, "It's been a long time since anyone called me that Kingslayer."

Next up: Jon Connington, Arianne, and Aeron

Note: considering how much GRRM bases asoiaf on War of the Roses, i'm surprised that law of sanctuary has not been invoked yet.

Just for fun, if you could see a duel between two wielders of Valyrian Steel in this story, who would they be and which blades would they carry.