Flashforward

It floated down the river, several planks that somehow still stayed nailed together. On one of the planks a dagger stood upright, rooted deep in the faintly stained wood. Hiked up to the hilt of the dagger was an eyepatch stained in blood.

All around, the sound of crows could be heard for miles away.

Aeron

He opened the door to the inn that stood in the shadow of Seagard. This was no ordinary Greenland settlement. This was the place where Balon's oldest son and heir, Rodrick had died not thirteen years past. Lord Jason Mallister, the man who had had slain him still lived as the lord of that castle.

Though many said that locals were part Ironborn, the emnity between the Mallisters and ironborn ran deep and ancient. He would not be too surprised at the idea; the Ironborn had long reaved and raped these lands even before the days of house Hoare.

The Hoares had ruled the Riverlands for three generations until they were challenged by Aegon the Conqueror. As far as Aeron was concerned, Harren the Black deserved his fate. They were false kings, their blood darkened with the taint of Andals, and in many ways they acted like greenlanders. Reaving was shamefully forbidden by the Hoare Kings who were more interested in forging a kingdom of their own in the land Aeron now stood in. The seven faced demons were even allowed on the islands and would not be expelled until well into the Targaryen years. When it came to ruling, they succeeded not by Ironborn courage, but by extreme cruelty and cunning much like his own godless brother who sat the Seastone Chair by a mere right of force.

The men inside looked away due to draft of winter wind, and were greatful that he closed the door quickly. He made his way towards the small hearth that a most in the room were huddled around.

The Damphair as the Drowned men called him had very dry hair save for the snow that was melting. Gone, was the seaweed in his hair and the robes that marked him for a priest of the Drowned God. The clothes he wore did not betray his Ironborn origins. His long hair, and flowing beard were untrimmed, as they would not be unusual in this winter.

A tired man of who appeared to be a few years younger than Aeron, entered the tavern, and he felt a quick blast of cold air. He quickly shut the door, and Aeron nearly went cold when he noticed the coat of mail, and the crude Mallister livery he wore under his loose furs.

One of the sitters in the inn gave the stranger a look, and smiled. "Got any news from the Crossing, Petyr?"

The Mallister sergeant named Petyr, shrugged "Have you heard Pate, the Freys are dead, Stannis holds the Crossing." The conversation brought Aeron to the present.

The men in the room displayed little emotion at the statement until one of the men spoke. "I never liked them anyway; the old goat wanted my daughter's virute as a toll, when I needed to take some furs from White Harbor to Fairmarket."

"How did Lord Walder die anyhow?" One of the men asked.

The soldier laughed and shrugged, "who knows, people are saying that he choked on his trout dinner, when he heard that the castle was breached. I couldn't tell you what really happened, his body was dumped in the river for some reason before they could get to it, and we didn't even take part in the battle. We just waited outside of the castle until we heard that Ser Patrek was okay."

Another townsman shook his head, "did they capture him again?"

The soldier nodded, "The king's own Onion Knight rescued him from a Frey dungeon, with the help of a squid bitch."

The insult these lesser men gave to members of House Greyjoy irratated the damphair, but he was eager to hear the story, for it must have been Asha.

Jon Connington

Before him stood Highgarden, with its three walls made of finest marble, there were few castles that bore such a distinct impression on the plains of the Reach. A castle as spotless white as a castle can be.

Before Aegon turned his attention to King's Landing, the Tyrells needed to be dealt with. Jon Connington had always disliked the Tyrells. Their liege lord Mace Tyrell took credit for the only battle fought in the Reach, and it was long over when the main force arrived thanks to Randyll Tarly. They could have made all the difference had they been at the Trident. Rhaegar would most likely still be alive and sitting the Iron Throne and the Seven Kingdoms would not have been the mess they were today.

The rainbows of a peace banner of the Seven flew over the land which was lightly frosted over this morning. It was time to parley.

His coming had forced the Ironborn who were on the verge of assualting the three walled citadel, to beat a hasty withdrawal. Who knew where they went, but it did not matter, the Ironborn where not in a position to stand toe-to-toe against their army, even someone as audacious as Euron Crow's Eye had to back down. As far as he was concerned, the Tyrells owed Aegon big time.

At the head of the Tyrell delegation, was Mace Tyrell. Even with one in five bannermen remaining, he was unfailingly pompous.

The fat flower dismounted from his horse, and gave a superflously elegant bow.

"You have the honor to speak to Mace Tyrell, the lord of Highgarden, and warden of the South."

A lord of a beleaguered castle with no friends left, you mean. He didn't say.

He didn't have to, for Aegon spoke his mind. "Greetings my lord, I congratulate you on your victory at Storm's End, both times that is." Aegon spoke with a drawl faintly spiced with the accents of Dorne, which was intended to inflame the Reachmen.

He had spent too much time around the Dornish, especially his wife and cousin Arianne. They should not have allowed her to marry Aegon, but she was ambitious, nearly as much as Mace Tyrell's own daughter, who held a talent for juggling husbands and kings. Aegon was wrapped around her like a Dornish snake and once again a perfectly good Targaryen ended up with a Dornish wife. But at least Jon loved Aegon in a different way than he did Rhaegar.

The only good thing about the marriage was that it forced Prince Doran to act. Prince Doran was much more cautious than Jon Connington was, but his reckless daughter made sure that he could not back out of the wars.

Jon Connington managed to keep his face stiff. Inwardly, he was proud of Aegon, as the pompous grin left Mace Tyrell's face

The Young Dragon as some in the Reach called him had won more battles within a year, than Mace Tyrell had fought in forty. The term gave Griff discomfort, for there had been another young dragon many years before.

"I will say this once my lord, open your gates and strike your banners, and I will allow your house to remain wardens of the South. You will be permitted to join the Night's Watch, so that your son Willas can mend relationships with his discontented former bannermen."

The Fat Flower blanched at the terms. No doubt a hard life on the wall in the dead of winter was unthinkable for him. He was a fool however, if he thought that the noble houses of the Reach would swear fealty to him again. Even Mace Tyrell's good family, the Hightowers had been adamant that Mace Tyrell be removed from Highgarden. In their case, they favored Willas Tyrell, his heir who was half Hightower himself as the new warden of the South. Others such as the Oakhearts and Rowans proposed the Tyrells yield their claim to Highgarden to someone of a superior claim such as themselves. Those selfish peach eating bastards always wanted more then what they had, that was for certain.

"And what if I refuse?" The Fat Flower's face was red with rage at the idea.

Aegon looked as if he was waiting for the question, and grinned. "One way or another Highgarden will change hands, if you want it to go to a family member or not, the choice is yours. Nobody wants you for their liege lord and besides, we would have had this parley, if you had accompanied my father to the Trident." Jon Connigton did not fail to notice the iron in his tone, "Highgarden was given to your family by another Aegon, and it can be given to someone much more loyal, because when old lords die, new ones can be made."

With that, the fat coward spoke of the need to confer with his family and fled, to the only place he could retreat.

Jon Connington gave smiled at the boy who he refused to believe was anyone's son but Rhaegar's.

Arianne

Tiny balls of hardened ice fell from the sky and now dotted the surroundings of the Stormlands. It never rained like this in Dorne.

The previous night; they camped by the ruins of Summerhall. There, Daemon Sand, her first lover had unearthed a dragon egg from the haunted ruins. The egg would be a wonderful present for Aegon, but she still could not shake the sullen looks she got from the locals after getting it. Not even death is sacred to the Dornish, they seemed to say. The egg itself, looked like something pulled from a burned tomb, it's scaly exterior warped by the sheer heat that killed so many here.

Summerhall was a place the locals avoided. Its use as a summer palace for the Targaryens had ended abruptly when Aegon the unlikely had tried to hatch seven dragons. Few survived that day, and those who did refused to speak of it.

Aegon V was considered by many half a peasant himself. Her own husband practically idolized him for his the life he had lived as a young boy too far down the Targaryen line to be considered a claimant to the Iron Throne. The Lord Commander of his Kingsguard, was once a hedge knight too, and called himself Duck.

Before Summerhall that king had ruled Westeros through a difficult time, but not one as difficult as this. His sympathy for the smallfolk had led him to initiate many reforms that furthered unrest in the seven kingdoms.

Many of his new laws were well reiceved in Dorne, where the small but elsewhere some lords even called their banners against their king. Aegon was determined to have his way, and decided that the only way to realize his dreams was to have dragons.

Sadly his dreams ended here, and the last of the reforms he once championed where abolished by Tywin Lannister himself.

She shivered ever so slightly as a gust of wind blew across the vale at the head of the Boneway. Tywin Lannister was warm, wherever he was, of that she had no doubt.

Arianne was on her way to the Reach where she would meet her husband, who would soon be a father with a few turns of the babe in her tummy had been showing for a few weeks now.

In truth she was coming to speak with Willas Tyrell, the heir to Highgarden and a longtime friend of her uncle Oberyn. The Crippled Flower, as Obara had called him, wanted to negiotiate with her as queen, before Aegon's hand and father figure, laid seige to Highgarden. The letter expressed strong concern about the decisions of his father, whose greed was well known in Sunspear.

"He wants to bend his crippled knee before his family loses everything," Obara had told her.

Arianne hoped it was warmer in Highgarden.

Sorry that it's a short chapter, but I just could not think of much to add but the bare bones of my outline. Updates are slow going at this point, partly because i'm going to be busy for roughly three weeks, but also because I have another story "When Winter Fell" that I started.

next up: Cersei, Asha and Barristan (finally).