A/N Hey guys! Hope you're all enjoying the story and continue to tune in. We finally catch up with some characters I'm sure you've been wondering about, plus trouble toward the end. Enjoy:)

Chapter 3

Essos-Braavos

It was dark in the prison, with nothing but the faint light from the wall torches to cast weak firelight on the filthy stone walls. Their flames flickered and seemed to dance, and Arya Stark was almost mesmerized by them. Gods, it was cold in this lonely chamber. She could almost feel the icy breath of the ghosts of the prisoners that rotted away and turned to dust in their cells. The tiny hairs on the back of her neck stood up.

Arya was here in this wretched place for one reason only. She had a mission, and she planned to fulfill it quickly and be in and out before anyone noticed her.

She dared to peek around the dark corridor and quickly withdrew her head when she saw the tall shadow of a man accompanied by heavy footsteps and a low whistle. She heard the sound of the prison guard's armor clanking with his every step while she herself made no noise, her body perfectly blended with the darkness. She was nothing but a shadow.

As he drew closer Arya slid out her valyrian steel dagger. The lethal weapon had served her well over the years ever since her brother Bran gave it to her in the Godswood. The memory of her brother almost made her forget what she came here to do. Almost.

She began to count to herself.

One…

Clank. Clank. Whistle.

Two..

Clank. Clank. Whistle.

Three!

As quick and quiet as a snake, Arya's arm sprang out and grabbed the guard around the neck. He was big and strong but he had no chance to struggle before his life was over. Arya's dagger had already opened his throat, his warm blood staining her cold hand. She gently lowered his body to the floor and knelt over him.

Arya tilted her head to one side as she studied the face of the man she just killed. A handsome one. Too bad…

"I'll be needing your face," Arya whispered, and her voice was emotionless. Detached. The way a faceless man was supposed to be.

….

Wearing the guard's face Arya took on his appearance, and was able to navigate her way through the prison undetected. She came across another guard with brilliant red hair and the lad nodded to her.

"You the relief?" he inquired.

"Aye." Arya nodded.

"Good. I've been fighting to stay awake. Good night."

Arya said nothing as the red headed guard shuffled past her. She peered into the cell he had been standing in front of and saw her target sleeping on a filthy cot, his arm slung across his face as he snored.

Delvin Mallory. Accused of raping and murdering five young women in a small village outside of Astapor. The name she had been given. And she without question would collect his soul for the Red God to devour. A faceless man asked no questions. The Many-Faced God demanded the souls of the damned and he would have them.

Arya unhooked the keys from the guard's belt and moved to unlock the cell as quietly as she could. Not that she had to worry about waking Delvin. He was completely out of it as she crept toward him. The poor man had no idea of his fate. She stood over him and slowly raised her dagger.

"Valar Morghulis," Arya whispered before bringing the dagger down into the prisoner's heart. His eyes sprung open only for a split second and she watched the life fade from them as blood welled up in his mouth.

Once he was dead Arya carefully cleaned her blade and sent a silent prayer to the Red God to collect the soul of the man she'd just murdered.

…

As Arya rode her horse through the night as herself again, she glanced up at the indigo sky. The stars gleamed and the wind gently teased her dark hair around her face. She hated to kill on a beautiful night like this one, but it wasn't for her to choose when to do so. The breeze was warm and smelled of springtime, and it lulled her into thoughts of her past.

Years ago, when death itself swept across the lands of Westeros she never thought any of them would live to see the dawn. As soon as she'd seen a wight for the first time all her worst fears suddenly were realized, and Arya Stark had learned to fear nothing in her brief time with the Faceless Men in Braavos. But seeing thousands of white walkers with an undead dragon no less, had surely scared her.

When Jon Snow had ordered her to stay away from the fighting she'd argued with him. Sure she had been afraid, but fear seemed to only feed the adrenaline, and she absolutely refused to cower with the women and children while many died. That was never who Arya was. So she managed to convince him to let her fight. And she would've died had it not been for someone she despised with passion. The Hound.

Even now the thought of him made fury burn in her heart. She didn't hate him for the wrongs he committed at that moment, she hated him for saving her. She hated him for making it hard to hate him when he threw her on his horse and rode off with her away from the battle.

"Why did you save me?" she had demanded furiously.

"That battle is no place for you, Arya Stark," he had responded, his voice husky. "And it ain't no place for me. You and I both have unfinished business in King's Landing."

Arya remembered the confusion that had consumed her, and her anger. How could the stupid mongrel be thinking about King's Landing when there were white walkers trying to kill them all?

"Are you daft?" Arya had been incredulous. "There's no time for that! We need to go back now!"

"If you die tonight you won't ever get your revenge," Clegane had insisted, his voice still that irritating calm. "You're not a knight, girl. You're a killer. Never forget who you are."

Arya had realized the truth in his words even though she didn't want to, even though every inch of her being longed to go back and help those she loved battle the dead. But it was not her fight, and it never was. When she left the faceless men she knew she would never be the same and she knew that no one else would understand her. But when she had returned to Westeros she had one goal.

To kill the Queen.

Arya would never have forgiven herself if she had forsaken the opportunity for the ultimate revenge. The evil snake who was part of the reason for her brother Bran's fall, who had birthed a vile creature like Joffrey which had led to the death of her father.

She couldn't deny the kill had been satisfying. She started with poison, then allowed Nymeria to finish her off. Watched as the expression on her face had been pure terror as the direwolf ripped and tore into her flesh. A death fit for the queen she was.

After the deed had been done and the Hound had gotten his revenge on his brother, the Mountain, the two went their separate ways. Arya heard that he had died in the battle against Euron Greyjoy for the Iron Throne. The sneaky scum had swooped in to take it for himself after the death of Cersei. But they had been victorious, and Daenerys Targaryen ruled Westeros now.

Arya wasn't sure how she felt about that. She knew the truth of Jon's parentage and knew he was the rightful heir. But she also knew Jon Snow and the man he was. He never wanted to be King in the North much less King of the Seven Kingdoms. If there was anyone she missed most from her old life it was him.

But Arya was where she belonged. She would give her life to the Red God and pay her debt until her last breath.

…

Westeros-Casterly Rock

It was nightfall by the time the glorious white castle atop the large salt rock came into view. The waves licked the sides of Bronn's rowboat as he came ashore. He could see the dark outlines of the archers at the fortress. There was the blast of a horn to signal his arrival.

As Bronn approached the castle the gates opened and two knights on white horses rode out to meet him.

"My Lord.." one of them greeted him with respect.

"Don't call me that," Bronn cringed.

The two knights exchanged glances. "My apologies, Ser. Are you here to see Lord Lannister?"

"Well I'm sure as fuck not here to see you," Bronn chuckled. "Take me to my one-handed friend, he knows I'm coming."

"As you wish."

…..

The two knights led Bronn into the main hall where a long table still contained what remained of dinner. Two cupbearers bustled around it, clearing the table with quick nods to Bronn and the knights as they did so.

"Lance, go and fetch Lord Lannister," one of the knights ordered a mousy looking lad. "Tell him he has company."

"Aye, and leave the bread and wine," Bronn added as one of the servants was about to grab the plate of sourdough. "I've travelled a long way and I'm hungry as a damn mare."

"Yes, my-" he stopped short at the look on Bronn's face and cleared his throat.

Bronn sat down with a deep sigh and rested his tired limbs atop the table. He reached forward to pluck a grape off the silver platter and tossed it in his mouth. The man servant rushed to pour him some wine with a deep nod of respect. Twenty some odd years and Bronn still wasn't used to be treating like some stuffy lord. When the war had been over, Daenerys had gracefully granted him the abandoned castle of House Tyrell to populate with his own blood and name. And she made him a lord. He never wanted the honor, but he accepted it all the same. One learned quickly not to defy the Mother of Dragons.

The doors to the main hall swung open and in strode Jaime Lannister. The years had aged him, and his once golden hair had streaks of grey washed in with the golden locks. His face was still youthful with few age lines and he still carried himself with all the strength and poise he always had. The gold of his false hand caught the firelight and gleamed magnificently.

"That thing still weighing you down?" Bronn joked, tearing his bread with hungry fingers.

Jaime raised his golden hand with his signature crooked grin. "I've had years to grow used to it."

Bronn chuckled as Jaime took a seat at the head of the table.

"So, you seemed to have already made yourself comfortable at my table." Jaime gestured his good hand. "Helping yourself to my food."

"Aye, you were finished with it." Bronn followed a large bite of bread with a hearty gulp of wine.

Jaime watched him with a look of amusement. "Bronn, my old friend. What brings you to Casterly Rock?"

"Boredom." Bronn finished off his wine in one gulp and held his goblet out to the servant to refill. "I grow restless. What do you people do all day, in big castles?"

"I thought you wanted to live like the 'fancy folks," Jaime performed the finger quotes with his good hand. "As you call it. Ever since I've known you all you've spoke of is gold, castles, and women."

"Aye, and now I have all three." Bronn raised his goblet to his lips once more.

"And Ser Bronn of the Blackwater is never satisfied, I see. Lance," Jaime snapped at his scrawny servant. "Wine." Jaime returned his gaze to Bronn. "What more could you ask for?"

"Adventure." Bronn spread his hands in an exaggerated manner to accentuate his point. "I plan to go to the Wall, I do."

Jaime arched his brows. "Oh? And what one earth for? There's nothing there but a musty old castle and a block of ice."

Bronn shrugged. "Never been there. Maybe I'll find...something." Bronn wasn't exactly sure what it was he was looking for, he just knew he had always wanted to see the infamous ice structure.

Jaime stared at him skeptically for a moment, then raised his goblet to his lips as he shook his head.

"If you wish to take the long trek and freeze your balls off, be my guest," he said. "I'll be in my warm castle laughing."

"You can laugh." Bronn cast a malicious grin at his friend. "I've been laughing at you since I met you."

Jaime pretended to glare at him but after a moment the two men had to laugh as they drank their wine and began to recount what they've been up to. Before their alliance had been for the coin, as Bronn had been a sellsword to the highest payer. But years of war had bonded them and they had become the closest thing to friends Bronn would allow himself to admit.

"Oh, almost forgot," Bronn said a few cups of wine later. "I came across a few Frey scum at the Bannered Mare the other night. They were talking about murdering the Stark girl."

Jaime frowned. "You mean Arya Stark?"

"Aye, the one and only. I told them how fucking stupid they sounded."

Jaime scratched at his beard, still with that frown on his face. "No one has seen Arya in years."

"That's what I told them. I also told them she'd cut their balls of if she ever saw 'em." Bronn's tone was dismissive.

"Jon should know of this," Jaime said solemnly.

Bronn shrugged. "Suppose he should. But the girl can look after herself. They'll never find her and even if they do...well, Gods pity them."

"Still...the Freys and the Starks have hated each other for decades," Jaime pointed out. "Jon needs to be warned in case a war breaks out."

"Tell him if you will, I'm staying out of it." Bronn picked his teeth with a finger. "For now, anyway. Let me know if a war does break out, will ya? Wouldn't want to miss the chance to spill some Frey blood."

Jaime shook his head at him, but grinned nonetheless. It wasn't war he wanted, but if it came to it he wouldn't mind fighting by Bronn's side again. It had been quite a while.

….

King's Landing

Daenerys hadn't been able to sleep since her nightmare. She was afraid if she let her eyes close and allow herself a deep enough sleep then she would see the darkness, the fire, the blood. What could possibly be the future for her people. Melisandre's interpretation had been cryptic and vague at best, and Daenerys was no closer to deciphering the prophecy.

God of Beasts. Horrific images flooded her mind of this God reigning fire on them all. Ripping people limb from limb in its jaws. She hadn't been able to think of anything else. Jon knew her well and could tell something was bothering her, but when it became clear she didn't want to talk about it he didn't press. Daenerys just couldn't bring herself to worry him over this right now, not when she didn't have enough answers. For all she knew, this was another of Melisandre's ravings. But as much as she wanted to believe that, she knew that wasn't the case.

Her feet led her to Maester Tarly's study. Jon's good and dear friend Samwell was well read and intelligent. He was bound to know something.

She raised her hand to knock softly.

"Enter," his tired voice called from behind the oak door.

Daenerys walked in to see Sam sitting behind his table, about a dozen large tomes splayed out before him. His study appeared to be cluttered and messy, and Daenerys almost choked on the dust.

Sam glanced up at her and snapped to attention at once, jumping up and straightening his robes. "Your Grace!" he fumbled, moving around the table to bow to her. "I apologize for the mess. I instructed the servants not to disturb me.."

"That's quite alright, Sam," Daenerys smiled warmly at him. "Please sit down. No need for pleasantries."

Sam obeyed.

Daenerys sat down across from him and he eyed her curiously. "Do what do I owe the honor, your Grace?"

"I had a dream the other night..." Daenerys launched into the details of her dream, including Melisandre's vision and prophecy. When she finished she was nearly breathless from talking and Sam sat there, scratching his head, a peculiar look on his face.

"Well, that's quite a tale," he said finally. "God of Beasts, you say? Hmm, I wonder…"

"What do you wonder?" Daenerys was desperate for answers.

"I seem to remember reading about that once." Sam began digging through his many books, flipping through pages. His eyes lit up when he seemed to find what he was looking for. "Ah!"

Daenerys waited at the edge of her seat as Sam read, his eyes flicking back and forth. A shadow fell across his face as he slowly looked up at the dragon queen.

"What is it, Sam?" she whispered, a wave of anxiety sweeping through her.

"I don't know how to tell you this…"

"Your queen demands you to try!"

Sam hesitated and swallowed. "This..God of Beasts you speak of..is, well...it's a dragon. And not just any dragon. The dragon." His eyes glanced back down to the book and Daenerys struggled to keep herself from falling apart. "Created by the Lord of Light himself to aide him in his war against the other gods many centuries ago. The dragon's name is Alduin, and is known as the Father of Dragons."

"As in...he created them?" Daenerys was in awe.

"Appears so. Also says here that Alduin rebelled against his maker and was cast down by the Lord of Light to be a servant of man. Um, your family."

Daenerys was still as ice as she listened.

"When Old Valyria still stood, it was home to the dragons and their masters," Sam continued. "But eventually Alduin grew tired of serving his masters and hated them. He rallied the other dragons to rebel and destroy mankind. The Lord of Light regretted ever unleashing his creation into existence and sought to destroy him. So one night the skies opened up and he released his wrath onto Valyria-"

"The Doom," Daenerys cut in. She remembered learning about the mysterious catastrophe that left the homeland of her ancestors in shambles.

"Yes," Sam kept reading. "But according to legend Alduin somehow escaped the Lord of Light's grasp. Possibly through a time rift, I can't be sure of the language here...but one thing's for certain." He brought his dark eyes up to meet Dany's, and his expression was ominous. "If what Melisandre says is true, and this...God of Beasts returns to the world of the living...then gods have mercy on us all."

…..

King's Landing

Lord Tyrion made a face of pure concentration as he studied the naked woman in front of him. He tilted his head to one side.

"Turn," he instructed her.

The woman did as she was told and turned to reveal her back to him. Her long curly black hair just barely brushed the curve of her arse. Her face wasn't that pretty but she did look pretty good from behind.

"I suppose you'll do," he finally sighed. He snapped his fingers to signal her dismissal.

He reached for his goblet, just as the door to the establishment opened and Alexander Targaryen strode in. Tyrion gave him a disapproving glare. He knew Jon and Daenerys wouldn't approve of their son's secret partakings but try as he might, there was no getting through to the wayward prince.

"You know you shouldn't be here," Tyrion said sternly as the prince approached.

"And I'm not," Alexander said coolly, his eyes following the retreating figure of the newly hired whore exiting the room.

"How long do you expect me to keep your little endeavors secret?" Tyrion hissed.

The silver haired prince tossed a coin to Tyrion, who instinctively caught it with a roll of his eyes.

"As long as I please." Alexander winked and gestured toward one of the rooms. "That one with the nice arse, is she available?"

"She's new."

Alexander grinned. "Just how I like them."

Tyrion shook his head, at a loss as the prince turned to follow her. He knew if Daenerys found out what her son was doing and that Tyrion knew about it, she'd surely have his head on a spike. When he'd taken over Little Finger's establishment, this wasn't exactly what'd he signed up for.

…

The Kingsroad

The fire crackled against the logs as embers floated up to the inky black sky. Gendry huddled close to the fire, rubbing his hands together for warmth. They were already far from Winterfell but still close enough North to feel the bitter chill of the night air.

The men's chatter drifted to him as they told war stories. Mira sat next to him, listening with awe. She was as beautiful as her mother, and Gendry still couldn't believe he would be leaving her miles away in King's Landing. He remembered the day she was born, her big blue eyes staring up at him and he was in her palm ever since.

"No one had seen walkers for over a thousand years," one of Gendry's soldiers, a lanky man by the name of Embry spoke, staring into the crackling flames. "My father fought them. Lost his life in that war."

Silence fell over them as they reflected over the lives lost. Gendry shuddered at the memory of it.

A much younger Sansa cornered by at least four of the undead, her face pale as a ghost and her eyes a mirror of the fear she must've felt. Gendry had pummeled through them with his war hammer, not caring if he lived or died as long as she was safe.

"You saved Mother," Mira broke into his thoughts. He met his daughter's eyes and saw that she was looking at him with admiration. "You were so brave."

"Back then it wasn't about bravery," Gendry told her solemnly. "It was about fear. Fear which fed the drive to live."

"Shh!" Embry suddenly hissed, holding his hand up in warning.

They all looked around them, trying to see into the dark shadows of the trees. Gendry could see nothing, but he heard it. The faintest snap of a twig. An animal maybe? Or something else?

His hand went for his hammer, and he nodded a signal to his men to be cautious.

His eyes were transfixed on the wood. It was still too dark to see but he could hear a soft rustling, coming closer now. He grabbed Mira. "Stay close to me," he whispered. "And when I tell you to run, you run. Understand?"

Mira's eyes widened in fear. "What is it?"

"Just do what I say!" Gendry hissed, as another loud snap of a twig drew his attention back to the trees. He and the men got slowly to their feet, drawing their weapons. Mira cowered behind her father and he could feel her body shaking from more than just the cold. On his life he would protect her.

A large shadow finally stepped out into view and Gendry could see that it was a man. With a sword that appeared to be made of bone. Others stepped out of the trees and formed a line around them, all of them holding weapons. Gendry recognized them as the wild people that lived in seclusion at the edge of the Vale. The Hill Tribe.

And they had them surrounded.