This story has been abandoned. I simply lost my interest in it and while I tried to continue writing, I came to the simple conclusion that I found little joy in it. There is no real challenge for my protagonists to face and the humor simply was not working.

If you want a kind of continuation of this story, I suggest you follow my new story titled - Reign of Fire, which will share some elements with House of Badassdom but is a much more serious venture.

Still, here is what I could write for a last chapter. Previous chapters have been revised once again and I would suggest that you go back and read or skim through them. Dialogue between Tristan, Sanguine and Sheogorath has been revised. A goal to their wager has been added.

The teleportation amulet has been changed to a kind of portkey.

Dabass has been renamed Camelot and Camelot named Avalon, I know, unoriginal, but then again - fanfics are hardly original. Information from the Encyclopedia of Approximate Knowledge has been trimmed, with less misspelled names and the book thrown into the fire.

Dialogue between Tristan and Varric during the victory festival has been changed to information on planeswalkers. Plus a load of other smaller details have been changed so silly things don't appear as jarring as before.

House of Badassdom
Chapter 3: Saskia the Dragon

"DID YOU OR DID YOU NOT KILL TWO BOYS!?" Tristan yelled at the former Greyjoy who was on his knees before him, clutching his stomach. "That's what some northern recruits say, so don't even think about lying."

"You better answer him boy," Oghren spoke gruffly and took a swill from his canteen.

"Yes...yes.. I did!" Theon yelled in frustration as he got up, his legs shaking from Tristan hitting him. "And not a day goes by where I do not regret it!"

Tristan sighed and held his gaze upon him. He then shook his head lightly, smiled and patted Theon on the shoulder. "I could have easily left you in the state I found you in and been on my merry way. Instead I showed you clemency and gave you a second chance at life, don't waste it."

"That means don't let it happen again, boy," Oghren added.

Tristan paced before a century of Camelot's legionaries, fresh troops: volunteers taken from the refugees old enough and strong enough to fight. Farmers, workers and former men at arms. Now, all citizens of Camelot and in time, they would represent the bulk of its army.

At the moment they stood in formation, only armed with their tower shields and clad in light armor. They stood in the large quadrangle courtyard of the barracks, framed by pillars and small stairways that led to the slightly raised sidewalks that ran around it, all framed by pillars that held the roof up.

It was a sunny day and perfect for drilling some discipline into the new recruits. The older hardened soldiers who had already gone through Tristan's training regimen stood and watched as their leader began to address the new blood.

"RECRUITS!" Tristan yelled, his left hand resting on the pommel of Andúril. "You have all come to my city, 'cause you sought safety from the chaos that rage across these land. Some of you are farmers, cobblers, bakers, liars, mongrels, bastards and thieves. Men from all walks of life who have stumbled into the madness that is war!"

Tristan exhaled and studied the recruits. "You have joined this army to fight for a cause, to protect and serve the people of this city, but most of all to find the bond that makes soldiers, brothers in arms."

Tristan resumed to pace back and forth. "I believe in second chances and I have given all who seek out Camelot such a chance, but like all civilized societies there are rules."

Tristan snapped his fingers at Captain Gared Tuttle who walked up to him, scroll in hand.

"A professional army is built on discipline and a code of conduct!" Tristan bellowed, as he took a place beside Captain Tuttle. "As representatives of this city, I expect you to follow these rules to the utmost of your abilities...if not, there will be consequences. Captain Tuttle you have the word."

Gared cleared his throat and rolled out his scroll. "Our rules: stealing from each other, punishable by flogging! Breaking formation in combat, punishable by flogging! Bullying, Missing signals, drinking on duty and sleeping other than where assigned, punishable by flogging! Desertion, punishable by death! Striking a superior officer, punishable by death! Looting, punishable by death! Rape, punishable by death! Bringing women other than family into camp, punishable by death!"

"There you have it boys!" Tristan yelled, arms outstretched. "Do not murder, do not steal, do not rape. Those are rules any good man can follow and if not, I will personally arrange that everyone of you are awarded a permanent residency nine feet under!"

Tristan or rather Saskia at the moment slowly got to her senses, her forehead was throbbing and it felt like she had fooled herself into drinking with Oghren again. She was still in the tent she had teleported to, but as she tried to get up she found her hands tied behind her back, around the center tentpole. It was thick and strong, enough to keep any would be prisoner in place.

They had confiscated her weapons, including the vambraces holding her hidden blades, meaning that they were not completely stupid. Saskia sighed and leaned back, the memories of a few minutes ago coming back to her. The blonde had screamed for her guards and faster than you could say - "I can explain" - four lightly armored men had appeared.

It had been easy enough to evade getting caught as the Planeswalker had used her new body's superior flexibility to jump and twist around the four men. Alas, it was due to this overconfidence that she had ended up in her current predicament, as she in her joy had spun around to avoid getting snatched by the oldest bodyguard and run straight into a silver tray swung by the blonde. Knocking her out.

"The boys are gonna have good laugh at this one..." Saskia mumbled, trying to get up, but was immediately pulled back by her bindings. Letting out a huff, she chastised her own overconfidence as it had resulted in her getting tied to a tentpole in a situation that most likely did not end with fun time.

"Khaleesi, I beg you to reconsider, this woman...this girl appears in your tent armed with weapons of fine make...I do not think it wise to question her alone." A baritone voice spoke as it neared the tent.

"If you so fear for my safety Ser Jorah, you are free to join me."

Saskia did not know who this "Kelly C" was, but she would chance that it was the cute blonde whose tent she had fallen into and lo and behold it was she who entered, together with a blond man looking to be in his late forties who was holding Andúril in his hands.

Daenerys took a seat and leaned back, legs crossed as she studied her captive. This woman...no girl...she did not look a day older than herself, had appeared in her tent armed to the teeth. She had believed her to be an assassin sent by one of her many enemies, though now she was not so sure. Firstly, the red haired girl had not tried to kill her when she had entered. Second, she had not used her weapons when Jorah, Daario, Barristan and Grey Worm had tried to catch her and third but last. No self respecting assassin would laugh while dancing around four men trying to kill her and then run smack-dab into a pole, knocking herself out. At least in Daenerys' opinion.

Saskia looked up at her captors, a smirk on her face. This was going to be interesting.

"Who are you and who do you work for?" Jorah asked as he looked down at Saskia. Despite her clothes and her athletic physique which he had glanced during the chase around the tent, she looked almost delicate to him. The combination of a fair pretty face, big green eyes and a mane of wild curly hair, gave her a smoldering look, which made it hard for him to take the assassin angle serious. Still, you could never be too careful.

"My name is Saskia," the Planeswalker replied, just as Jorah prepared to repeat his question.

Daenerys let the name roll over her tongue a few times. "And what were you doing in my tent?"

"Would you believe me if I said, I stumbled into it?"

"Don't mock us girl," Jorah said, folding his arms and giving her a hard look. He then cleared his throat and pulled Andúril out of its scabbard, it made a ringing sound on the way and continued to sing as he held it before himself, studying the blade. "This sword...I have never seen its equal. Are we supposed to believe you stumbled upon this too?"

"It was my father's," Saskia replied, technically true, at least in one lifetime. "And before you ask, you wouldn't know him."

"Saskia...is that a Westerosi name?" Daenerys interrupted. "Jorah?"

"Forgive me your grace, but I've never heard of anyone with a name like that," the former knight replied. It could be a Wildling name, the girl before him sure looked like one, though why any of them would venture all the way to Essos was beyond Jorah's understanding. That accent of hers though, it was one he had never heard before and what initially made him think of her as one of them.

"It means Valley of Light in at least one ancient tongue," Saskia informed, scratching her back on the tentpole.

Daenerys motioned for Jorah to hand her the sword, which she held carefully to not cut herself, her fingers tracing the runes that ran along the blade. She turned it around a few times and balanced it in her hands. It was beautiful and even though she had never seen it, it reminded the Targaryen woman of ancient Valyria's splendor.

"The writings on the blade, what do they say?" Daenerys asked, focusing her eyes on her captive.

Saskia let out a laugh, she had changed the original words on both the pommel and the blade to be more in line with what she herself stood for. What Camelot stood for.

"Rise and rise again until lambs become lions," Saskia recited, continuing to the full version of the quote from Maitreya and the Holy Book of Destiny, at least the part she herself liked the most. "And when they seek to oppress you. And when they try

to destroy you. Rise and rise again and again. Like The Phoenix from the ashes. Until the Lambs have become Lions and the Rule of Darkness is no more."

"Interesting words...Saskia," Daenerys replied a hint of intrigue her face as she handed Andúril to Jorah who sheathed it.

"The easy interpretation would be to never give up. I like to think it has a deeper meaning than that." Jorah tightened his grip on Andúril, he did not like that this Saskia had not at one point looked afraid for her life or unnerved by the fact that she had been captured and restrained.

"Lions are a symbol of strength and pride, and thus their own masters. Lambs are weak and blindly follow their shepherds. Much like commoners forced to blindly serve those who own the land they've live on for generations. Slaves in all but name. I do not believe it so. I believe lambs should always fight to be masters of their own fate, thus the words, rise and rise again. 'Cause no matter how many times we face resistance from lions, we will always strike back."

"That's a nice piece of philosophy, Saskia, but you still haven't answered our question," Jorah said sternly, pulling out Andúril and placed the point beneath her chin, lifting her head slightly so she could look him in the eye.

"Well," Saskia ran her tongue across her teeth. "My name is Saskia and I stumbled into your tent. I don't know who you are, nor have I any quarrel with either of you, hence why I haven't killed you yet."

"Bold words, considering your predicament," Daenerys spoke, raising an eyebrow in amusement. "Jorah, sheathe the sword."

"Khaleesi, she could be dangerous," the former knight protested.

"Hey, just think about it," Saskia spoke as Jorah sheathed Andúril. "If I really was an assassin who somehow found a way to sneak into this tent, which I would guess is in the middle of some kind of camp, why would I let myself get caught, huh?"

"What's to say that you aren't lulling us into a false sense of security?"

"You people are far too untrusting?"

"We've had problems with assassins before..." Jorah answered, the light in his eyes flickered as if he withheld a piece of information.

"Speaking of that, who exactly are you people?" Saskia asked, cracking her neck. "Going by the decor and the position of you two I would guess Kelly C, here is in charge and you are one of her trusty knights, am I right?"

"It's Khaleesi and you will address her with respect," Jorah replied, narrowing his eyes at her.

"Sure," Saskia rolled eyes and continued, directing her question towards Daenerys. "Since I've told you about myself, how 'bout you tell me who you are?"

Daenerys smiled faintly and got up from her seat, towering above the redhead. "I am Daenerys Stormborn of the House Targaryen, the First of Her Name, the Unburnt, Queen of...and Mother of Dragons."

Saskia tried to hide a yawn as she tuned out whatever words came out of Daenerys' mouth until she finished. "How you manage to remember all those titles is lost on me. Now, are you going to release me?"

"Are you going to kill me?"

"As I said, I have no problem with you. " Saskia looked Daenerys in the eyes and smirked. "Tell you what princess, release me and I'll serve you for the time being...if not! Then you can kill me to your heart's content."

"And how is a girl, barely a woman, able to serve us?"

Saskia laughed, "I'm full of surprises, Scruffy?"

"Jorah Mormont," Jorah replied, obviously not happy at Saskia's made up name.

"Good to meet you sir! Forgive me if I don't shake hands. I'm a little indisposed."

Daenerys let out a laugh at the redhead and nodded at Jorah. "Cut her free Jorah, I'm sure she won't hurt us."

"Ah, no need!" the red haired Planeswalker exclaimed before standing up, the rope binding her hands falling to the ground. Leaving her captors gaping. "What?"

"How...did you manage that?" Daenerys quickly asked, having schooled her expression fast.

"Not the only thing my fingers are good at," Saskia simply stated, sending Daenerys a suggestive smirk, reaching for her sword. Jorah looked reluctant to return it, but a nod from his Khaleesi made him.

"Your effects are behind the folding screen," Mormont informed, pointing towards the end of the tent.

"A question Saskia. Do you have a family name?"

Saskia looked at Daenerys, her mind working overtime on coming up with a name before her hosts became suspicious of her innocence, but then she remembered a name. A name she bore lifetimes ago, when she had been Natasha, a brilliant if insufferable genius billionaire.

"It's...uh..." the redhead laughed weakly before clearing her throat to speak firmly. "Stark, Saskia Stark! That's my name."

Both Daenerys and Jorah seemed taken aback by this new information, though they hid it well, especially the former, but not fast enough to go unnoticed by the Planeswalker.

"Something I said?"

Red Keep, King's Landing
"This my Lord Hand is one of the colors of Avalon," Varys informed, having spread out the flag on the small council table. "I managed to haggle it from one of the merchants arriving with the trade caravan."

The flag was black with a white tree, six stars circled the crown that took the form of a half circle and at the top was a helmet with a pair of wings on each side, rising above it. Beneath the tree were letters embroidered in silver threads on a background of black silk.

"Rise and rise again until lambs become lions...what's the meaning of this?" Cersei humphed, studying the flag with the rest of the council.

"Oh, I would think there are lots of meanings to those words, dear sister. But none that you would find satisfactory."

Tywin ignored his children as he studied the flag with a steadfast gaze. He did not like the implied meaning of those words. They were the words of people with ambition and ambitious people were always a threat.

"The immediate concern though are the soldiers who accompanied the tradesmen," Varys spoke, having resumed his position in his seat, the usual calm expression on his face.

"I don't know if I believe in demons and what not, but they sure do make an impression," Tyrion commented, his lips forming a sly smile.

"And why did our men not confiscate their weapons, they are strangers in this city and should not be exempt from due protocol," Cersei spoke harshly, sending a look towards the Spider.

"The Gold Cloaks did try, alas the superstitious mind of the common man overcame whatever bravery they had and the caravan passed without further inspection," Varys informed. "Fear is after all a powerful weapon and these men of Camelot makes for a fearsome image."

"They are common men, they might have fancy armor and masks, but they are still men and they die as easily as any other," Cersei cut in, this time not interrupted by her younger brother. "We must watch them, who knows what plots they are setting in motion while here."

Tywin schooled his gaze as he looked at his daughter, for once she had said something sound and though he would be the last to admit it, a small spark of approval lit an ember of love hidden deep inside his soul. Yet it went out as fast as it appeared, doused by his cold pragmatic heart.

"I can see to it that some little birds find their way back to this City on the Lake with their merchants."

"I'll see to it that trade is established with Camelot, we can send river barges to their harbors and we are all familiar with the loose tongue of sailors," Mace Tyrell added, speaking up for the first time.

"If I can come with a suggestion," Tyrion interrupted, clearing his throat as all eyes focused on him. "I know this will be an unpopular proposal...for some of you at this table."

Tyrion glanced in Cersei and Grand Maester Pycelle's direction, earning a glare from the former. "But why not invite their leader, this one Tristan Alaire, to the royal wedding?"

"You would invite these newcomers to my son's wedding!?" Cersei hissed through her teeth, venom in her voice. "They are a threat to our family and I will not allow them close to my son!"

"Silence!" Tywin ordered, raising his hand to make his children end their usual squabble. He then folded his hands and addressed the assembled council. "The Starks are gone and their army in disarray, Stannis Baratheon has put himself under self-imposed exile at Dragonstone, the Ironborn are confined to their islands and the Targaryen girl is cut off by the Narrow Sea. They represent little to no threat to us."

There was a pregnant pause before Tywin resumed his lecture.

"Now this unprecedented appearance of Avalon represents a clear and present danger to our dominion. They are at the heart of the Seven Kingdoms, with an army capable of striking from any direction. Unless, that is, if we reign them in."

"And how, if I may ask dear father, do you plan to reign in a city that has shown no sign of a feudatory spirit and has an army of ten thousand men?" Tyrion enquired.

"By taking them down from the inside," Tywin replied with a grumble. "Lord Varys will send his birds with the caravan back to Camelot and Lord Tyrell will form trade treaties with their merchants. We'll unearth whatever secrets their city has and if the time comes, we'll know how to take it."

"And the wedding, my Lord Hand?" Varys asked.

"Find the leader of the trade caravan and make him deliver an invitation to this Tristan Alaire. When he arrives we'll gauge his persona and see to it that he joins our cause," Tywin answered in his usual commanding voice. "If not...we'll make sure that he does."

"Father..." Cersei protested, obviously not pleased with this Tristan Alaire being invited to her son's wedding.

Tywin simply gave her a look. "My word is final on this matter, this meeting is adjourned."

Essos
"So you take the adult form of a rebellious princess you were last time, the first name of a woman who turned out to be a dragon," Sanguine spoke, clapping her hands as she walked out of the shadows. "and last but not least, if I remember right, shouldn't you be calling yourself Rogers instead?"

"What are you getting at, Sanguine?" Saskia asked as she went to the table with her equipment. Fishing out her silver amulet and tied it around her neck with a new piece of string. She then put on her hidden blade vambraces and flashed the Daedric Prince a grin.

"Oh, it's just...how do you keep track of all the lives you've lived, least of all the people you've met?" Sanguine enquired, leaning over the wooden table and traced her fingers across the wood of the Epirus Bow. "Natasha Stark was how long ago?"

"Planeswalker's are like elephants, Sanguine," Saskia laughed while rearranging her weapons belt slung across her shoulder to fit around her waist. "We have very good memories."

Sanguine licked her lips. "Well, you sure are a good deal prettier than one...anyway that's not why I came to see you at this point in time."

"I guessed as much," Saskia replied, fastening Andúril to her left side. "Spit it out then...can't be worse than a romantic evening with Asdrubael Vect."

"You do know my dear, that Stark is eh...how do I word this...not a very popular name in this day and age and by choosing that name, you've just made yourself persona non grata in Westeros..." Sanguine paused dramatically and straightened her posture. "Especially for people who just have to be sure that a potential threat has been eliminated."

"What are you getting at?" Saskia raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms.

"CONGRATULATIONS, YOU'RE A BASTARD!"

"What?"

"Let me put it this way," Sanguine spoke, flashing Saskia a big smile and pointed a finger at her. "You most likely, inadvertently, affiliated yourself with the deposed Stark family, former Wardens of the North and so on and so forth."

"I have never even heard of these Starks!" Saskia protested.

"Didn't Sheogorath give you a book on this world?"

"Ehm...I skimmed it...and might have used it for tinder...and I might have zoned out when others played mister exposition," Saskia stuttered while rubbing the back of her head. "Besides...I have better things to do than remember every person of note in Westeros."

"People will assume that you're some illegitimate child using the Stark name in an attempt at power play," Sanguine giggled.

"That's ridiculous, why would anyone believe that?"

"Power has a way of subverting the mind, makes one unable to see the forest for the trees," Sanguine spoke slowly, as if addressing an infant. "But now you know."

"And knowing is half the battle, right?" Saskia commented, rolling her eyes at the other woman.

"Exactly! Learning now are we?" Sanguine exclaimed, having moved towards the folding screen that hid them from prying eyes. "Of course none of this would matter if you just changed your name to...let's say Sharpe, but I have a sneaking suspicion that it's already been spread across these lands."

"Well thank you, advice from the God of Tits and Wine is always welcome?" Saskia deadpanned, quite sure that it was Sanguine herself who had spread those rumors.

"Tits and wine...not a bad idea?" Sanguine mused, stroking her chin as if in deep thought before snapping back to her usual self. "Oh and by the way...try not to turn anyone into a bear this time."

"Hey! If I'd known that witch and crow was you and Sheogorath in disguise!" Saskia retorted but was interrupted by Sanguine who blew a raspberry and flipped the bird at her before disappearing in a cloud of glittery smoke.

"Note to self: stop befriending Daedra," Saskia mumbled before adding, "or tell them about your next planned life."

She slung her bow over her shoulder, held in place by its string, and prepared to leave for outside pastures. Only to be stopped as one of her weapons were missing. Cursing to herself while looking around the tent frantically, if they had dared taking the Silverspear for themselves, there be would be hell to follow. Our redheaded hero was just about to give up when she heard the sound of soft steps approaching.

Saskia leaned against the table as a well groomed man rounded the corner of the folding screen, dressed in fine clothes with the smell of fresh flowers following. He was whistling a soft tune and twirling the Silverspear in its compact form, admiring the weapon's perfect balance and decorations.

"A most delicate weapon, my fair lady," the man said, bowing slightly before handing Saskia the spear. "Almost cut myself when I tested it on an unfortunate piece of wood."

"Maybe that'll teach you not to play with other people's toys," Saskia snickered, sheathing the spear on her back and offering him her hand. She had a mild recollection of avoiding him during the chase around the tent. "I'm Saskia and you are?"

"Daario Naharis at your service," Daario declared, taking Saskia's hand and gave it a light kiss.

"Yeah, thanks..." Saskia said, doing a quick eye roll before pulling her hand back as Daario let it go. She swiftly dried her hand off as the latter looked the other way to pull forth a flower with petals matching her hair behind his back.

"And this is for you, a beautiful flower for a beautiful girl."

Saskia raised an eyebrow and gave Daario an amused smirk. "Spent some time finding the right one, did ya?"

The Commander of the Second Sons let out a laugh and ran a hand through his beard. "A fiery rose for the girl with hair of fire and speaking of it, you were quite on fire when we tried to catch you."

"Yeah, what can I say, I'm a free spirit, it's in my nature," Saskia replied, leaning back against the wooden table and rolled the rose Daario had given her between her fingers. "So is this how you greet all the women you meet?"

"Only the pretty ones," Daario grinned, leaning slightly forward as to tower over the Planeswalker. "Tell me then Saskia Flame of the West, how do you greet the men you meet?"

Saskia quickly stifled a snort as she kept her eyes on Daario who had moved a few inches closer, forcing her to crane her neck slightly. This guy was just as bad as Zevran, wait! Scratch that the redhead thought, no one could top Zevran, but he was a contender.

"Like this," Saskia took a step forward and stood on her toes, elevating herself slightly before giving Daario a quick peck on the lips, his relatively well kempt beard scratched hers lightly before she pulled away. "But only the pretty ones."

Saskia slapped Daario lightly on the cheek and got down on her feet. "Take it easy Faabio." She then twisted her way around him and moved towards the entrance of Daenerys' tent, leaving behind an amused Tyroshi who while sad to see her go, could not help but appreciate the way she left.

King's Landing
"So this is King's Landing," Varic laughed sardonically while shaking his head. "More like Beggars Landing...what a shit hole."

It reminded him of Kirkwall, a typical city where everything was divided by layers and the further down you went, the worse it got. It was like a layer cake, you just had to change the filling with people and the icing for the proverbial bodily fluids of them. The added factor of not having a sewage system only helped with the image and while you could say much about his hometown, at least the nobles cared about its state and its people. Of course they also had Aveline running the show and only a fool would dare cross her.

Varric could not help but commend himself for having left the city's muddy streets to walk the gardens as he for the love of the Maker could not remember having ever been to a place where it stank so perpetually of rotten fish and human excrement.

And while he could write several books on the displeasing look of the city, he had to admit that the gardens were beautiful and at the moment he was enjoying himself as he walked through the hedge maze of its inner sanctum. Dressed in his best finery of linen, silk and leather, no one gave him a second glance even with Bianca strapped to his back. At the moment he was alone with birdsong his only companion.

"I wonder what Hawke has gotten into..." Varric pondered as he stopped to study a group of flowers. Years ago he would have been the first to gather a search party for his old friend, but after learning that she was a planeswalker he was content in knowing that she could most likely handle anything short of a dragon.

Letting out a content sigh he cracked his neck and began to walk again, moving further into the heart of the garden. He knew that Avalon could not stay guarded forever and as the skirmish a few days ago proved, it had already gained the interest of outside parties. They needed a net of information and where better to set up an outpost than in the capital of a potential enemy. He had already eyed a building that could serve that purpose - some brothel which the owner had left to be run by one of his lackeys. It would be easy enough to wrest control of.

Varric continued to review different plans on how to establish an information network in King's Landing and the methods required to make it invisible to pre-established ones. So consumed was he that he failed to hear oncoming footsteps in the gravel and as he rounded the corner of the hedge, the dwarf found himself bump into a taller feminine figure hard enough to make them both stumble back and fall on their rear.

Varric groaned as he got up, already preparing a few apologetic words, but stopped as he came face to face with the young woman he had bumped into. It was not that he was rendered speechless by her beauty, she was pretty after all, no it was the sadness in her eyes that made him unable to utter a single syllable and only made him able to stare sympathetically. They bore the same broken look that Merrill once had when her clan had cast her out, that Hawke had when her mother died and when Isabela left her after having fought for her freedom. The look of lost hope.

"I'm sorry," the girl spoke meekly, her eyes cast down as she got up and dusted herself off, adjusting the emerald necklace around her neck.

"It's no problem, my lady," Varric replied as he got up, brushing some wayward dirt off his coat. "No harm done."

The girl gave him a weak smile and offered her hand. He looked human to her, shorter though and a good deal more robust, yet there was something about the dwarf that made her think of Tyrion Lannister, even though the man who stood before her looked nothing like him. "May I ask your name, I fail to recall having noticed someone like you around these parts."

"Someone like me?" Varric laughed as he shook her hand lightly.

"My apologies, I just meant..."

"No offense taken, my lady," Varric interrupted, his face lit up by a smile. "As for my name. I am Varric Tethras at your service," he announced doing an elaborate bow before continuing, "and though I might be short in stature and narrow of purpose, I am also tall in power and wide of vision."

This earned him a giggle from the girl who quickly schooled her expression by holding a hand before mouth. "It's a pleasure to meet you Lord Tethras..."

"Please, just Varric," the Dwarf corrected. "And may I ask of your name?"

"You may call me Sansa...Stark," Sansa replied, her voice breaking slightly as she spoke her family name.

Noticing the aura of sorrow surrounding the girl, Varric offered her his hand and gave her a reassuring smile. "Then may I ask you, my lady Stark, if you would mind accompanying me through these gardens?"

The dullness in Sansa's eyes seemed to lift as she took the shorter man's hand. "That I would love to."

"Good," Varric beamed as they began walking down the gravel roads framed by flowers and trees, while the sun shone down upon them. "Now tell me young lady, would you like to hear the tale of the Champion of Kirkwall?

Essos
"What kind of friend are you? Throwing my book away!" Sheogorath exclaimed, earning a yelp from Saskia.

"Hey! A little something called privacy!" Saskia yelled at the Daedra while pulling her pants up.

They were standing behind a large outcrop of rocks, which the Planeswalker had used as a shield from prying eyes as she relieved herself. It had been a day since she had run into Daenerys and her entourage and had pledged, for the time being, her loyalty to the blonde. They reached the city of Meereen earlier in the day and the only thing Saskia was waiting for was when Daenerys decided to move forward with her plans to take it. Why she did not just send in her dragons to burn it down was beyond Saskia's comprehension. Sieges were such a drag, but then again, Daenerys dragons were not exactly fine specimen of wyrm.

As a child of Ouroboros herself, Saskia had found them frustrating company, they recognized her scent as otherworldly but lacked the understanding of what she was and had hissed and bared their teeth at her upon their first meeting. Only adding fuel to the fire of mistrust between Saskia and Daenerys' entourage. They were no children of Ouroboros, unable to comprehend the common tongues and lacking the intelligence to grasp the true powers of the Dovah. Thus in Saskia's opinion they were closer to glorified attack dogs. Attack dogs that could fly and spew fire, but attack dogs no less.

"Well excuse me! Hero of Kvatch!" Sheogorath whined, twirling his handlebar mustache. He was still dressed in the ridiculously purple getup of a quintessential Edwardian gentleman.

"So, what brings you here?"

"Oh, that..." Sheogorath spoke as he toyed with his monocle. "I was just going to suggest returning to Westeros after this little escapade, as staying with blondie will get you nowhere for the rest of the season and probably most of the next one too."

Saskia let out a huff of air and tightened her belt. "Wasn't planning on it. Just looking for a change of scenery, mud and rain gets boring in the long run."

"Besides, you've been invited to a wedding!"

"Wedding...what wedding?"

"The royal wedding commemorating the holy union between King Joffrey and Queen Margaery Tyrell!" Sheogorath informed excited. "Now there's a marriage for the ages."

"Hm, could be interesting," Saskia replied, pulling her mane of curly hair into a ponytail with a green ribbon. "At least there'll be free food and drink, maybe a murder or two?"

"For a present I suggest cheese," Sheogorath interrupted. "Unfortunately I'm afraid their fickle minds are unable to comprehend the glory that is fine dairy products."

"I got a question for you Sheo," Saskia spoke, fastening her weapons with the sound of eight thousand Unsullied marching towards Meereen echoing across the barren hills. "How did you and Sanguine know of this world."

"Oh, I can't tell you everything can I," Sheogorath smirked and stroked his mustache. "But I can say this, there's more to this world and Nirn than meets the eye."

"Like what?"

"Ah ah ah, that is not for me to divulge, but for you to discover," Sheogorath informed, looking skyward as if reminiscing about some cherished memory. He then looked down and held his hat as he suddenly broke into a short tap dance, followed by him exclaiming his previous occupation, "As for my previous journey to this world. I can tell you that I was a dance instructor!"

"Dance instructor..." Saskia looked at the Daedra with a skeptical look. Sheogorath might be many things but a great dancer, he was not. Just as the start of a smart reply was on her lips, she was interrupted by the fanfare of several signal horns. Alerting her to the upcoming attack on Meereen.

"I see it's time to bid you adieu, sounds like you have a battle to fight," Sheogorath said, adjusted his monocle and tipped his hat before disappearing with a pop. His last words hanging in the air. "If you ever desire some lessons, come see me in Braavos."

"What's going on?" Saskia asked as she moved through the ranks of Unsullied to stand with Daenerys and her entourage, letting out a wolf whistle when she looked upon the city before them.

Meereen was a majestic city, even beautiful, if you liked the imposing domineering style of brutalism. All was built with the intention of spreading fear into the hearts and minds of would be attackers and potential rebels. Its walls were tall, solid and impenetrable and its pyramids stretched into the sky, reminding the lower caste that their masters always looked down upon them. Even if an army was not deterred, a potential siege would prove fatal as support from Yunkai and Astapor could arrive in days time. Granted that those cities had not already fallen.

"Meereen has sent their champion to challenge us, Lady...Stark," Ser Barristan answered, saying Saskia's chosen last name with a dose of skepticism.

He knew the late Lord and Lady of House Stark, and he found it unlikely that the girl beside him was related to them. Although she was pretty enough for nobility, her accent was wrong and her demeanor obviously not fit for a lady of a noble house. Still, the idea that she could be an illegitimate child had crossed his mind, but then again, why would no one have heard of a Saskia Stark until now? Eddard Stark was an honorable man, would he not take any child of his born out of wedlock under his wings, he had after all done it before. The idea that she could have been Catelyn's child did not occur to the veteran knight.

"Please, Ser Barristan," Saskia smirked at the old knight. "It's just Saskia or Miss Stark if you prefer."

"Of course," the knight mumbled, looking at the redhead with a slight scowl.


That was all I could write before I lost interest, but as I said at the top. If you're still interested, follow my story Reign of Fire.

As for what would have happened, here is a short synopsis:

Saskia would fight Meereen's champion and demanded they send the rest of them out to meet her too. There she would subsequently kill them all with their own weapons, finishing first one off last by throwing her spear at him. Sending him into the air and pinning him to the ground, Vlad Tepes style. Subsequently she would blow its gates open with the Epirus Bow.

Some day after taking the city, Saskia calls Daenerys out on some of her choices, like crucifying Meereen's masters and tell her that a man once told her that - "Justice must be tempered with mercy." Before jumping off its walls and use her Dragon Knight powers to turn into a dragon and fly back to Westeros, leaving the Khaleesi and her entourage gaping.

Upon her return she collapses in a forest near King's Landing where she is ambushed by Azura who pins her to a nearby tree and informs her of the growing interest of the world by the daedra and that Westeros and Essos will soon be a part of Mundus. The problem though is that the daedra are vying to establish their power base in this new world and whoever comes out on top will have a considerable upper hand for a long time.

And only with the help of an outside force, like a Planeswalker, the playing field can be evened from the start. But not all her siblings are willing to play fair with all the more considerably evil daedra - Mehrunes Dagon, Molag Bal, Boethiah etc. becoming the antagonists of the story.

Azura then tells her that Namira is gathering forces in the North and in some manner tells her to find someone named Jon Snow, who can help her.

Saskia turns back into Tristan and is informed of a royal wedding when he ventures into King's Landing, there he will find Varric who has taken over Petyr Baelish's brothel and he informs him that they have been invited. He also tells Tristan that he met Sansa and what she has been through, suggesting they save her. Which Tristan initially is not that interested in.

The royal wedding goes down much like the canon one, with one difference. Tristan not familiar with Joffrey's evil, saves him by leaping on top of him and hitting the King as hard as he can in the solar plexus with his healing hands. Resulting in Joffrey projectile vomiting over himself. Of course being vain in person, he is none too pleased, despite actually being saved and demands Tristan and Varric's heads. Varric in the chaos manage to get ahold of Sansa and Tristan kills Ser Meryn Trant when he tries to stop them, the Planeswalker then grabs his two friends and teleports away.

Tyrion is still framed by Cersei when he picks up the poisoned wine cup.

Meanwhile Theon leads a company of men in search of a lost patrol in the Riverlands. There he comes upon them in what appears to be a skirmish, but with soldiers wearing black armor and helmets with a white hand painted on them. Later revealed to be Uruk Hai supplied by Boethiah. Out of the blue, arrows rain down upon his men and Theon is killed with them, which will be the catalyst for Tristan's involvement in the war. As he realizes that Azura's words ring true.

Tristan is them visited by the Blackfish and he helps him liberate the Riverlands.

The planeswalker returns to King's Landing at some point for Tyrion's Trial where he fights as his champion, but in the form of Saskia. The fight is drawn out but ends with defeating the Mountain by slicing the back of both his knees. She then pins him to the ground with the Silverspear and straddles him, summons a fire spell in both hands and press them to his head. Gouging out his eyes too. This she continues until only his scarred skull remains. She then cuts his head of and throws it nonchalantly at Oberyn, before recommending to Tyrion that he should set sail for Essos as his family will likely try another way to get rid of him.

Saskia then ventures to the North and arrives one day after the Battle of Castle Black. Appearing close to where Ygritte is burned. She informs Jon that he needs to go with her further north as she needs his guidance.

In the north Saskia battles the Night's King together with Jon. During the fight Longclaw is damaged beyond repair and the King manages to knock Saskia aside and just as he is about to deal the finishing blow, Jon cuts his head off with Andúril. Ending the threat of the White Walkers.

Saskia and Jon are then visited by Meridia and Azura who informs them that they will take care of any stragglers and send them both back to Camelot as their human enemies are preparing for battle.

Upon their return, Camelot is soon besieged by the Lannister's, Freys and Boltons. Jon is reunited with Sansa and Saskia reveals to her people that she is also Tristan, but she remains as Saskia for the rest of story.

Together with her new friends including Varric, Oghren, Brynden Tully and the Brotherhood Without Banners. They manage to hold back the invading forces, but the odds are not in their favor. That is until the army of Uruks provided by Boethiah swoops into battle, attacking the Lannister's and their allies.

The Camelot men initially believes the battle is won, but our heroes know better as the Uruks turn on them, marching across the bridges. It is only then that Saskia calls in the rest of her Immortals and the battle truly begins.

I never really thought this far but the "evil daedra" appear, Oberyn Martell comes to their aid with men from Dorne and the "good daedra" also aid in the battle. It all ends with Camelot victorious, as Saskia manages to send her daedric enemies back to their planes of oblivion, foiling their plans and saving the day.

Upon the victory celebrations Saskia reveals that it is time for her to return to the cosmos. Sanguine and Sheogorath appear to congratulate her and wait at the portal to the multiverse as she bids her people and newfound friends farewell.

Saskia kisses Jon and hands him Andúril, stating that it is a sword fit for a king. Oberyn is handed the Silverspear, Brynden is given the Epirus Bow and Tansy the seat of Mayor of the City. The rest must be content with some bear hugs.

It is when she reaches Sansa that Saskia seems to ponder something and she asks the girl if she wants to come with her, Varric and Oghren, to travel the infinite cosmos.

Sansa says yes and after a few tearful goodbyes, walks through the portal together with Saskia, Varric and Oghren. Followed by Sanguine and Sheogorath as the portal closes.