Once again sorry for the wait with this one, proved tougher to write than I thought but I think the ending was worth it.
Hope you enjoy it

The Red Keep, the Crownlands, Westeros

The afternoon of the execution was a tense one to say the least. Many of the court were on edge, a few seething at what had happened. Only the King seemed to be in a good mood and Stark's daughter was clearly depressed and terrified, though she made a decent effort to hide it.

To compound the mood in the castle a bard had been dragged in after being arrested for playing a song. And he had just completed a recital of it.

On the Iron Throne Joffrey clapped with an evil smirk on his face, prompting the local nobles and sycophants to clap along with him. Though Severus, who was towards the back of the hall, by one of the large columns that held up the ceiling, just grimaced.

"Very amusing." The young king sneered. "Isn't it a funny song?" He grinned and leant back against the moulded swords. "Thank you for your rendition. I imagine it was even better received at that tavern?"

The bard timidly stood up from his seated position. "So sorry your grace. I'll never sing it again, I swear."

"Tell me..." Joffrey's grin grew even more. "Which do you favour? Your fingers or your tongue?"

"y-your grace?"

"Your fingers, or your tongue?" Joffrey repeated. "If you got to keep one, which would it be?" The bard didn't answer. "Or I could just cut your throat."

As the bard desperately tried to save himself a page walked up to Severus and half whispered to him to not disturb the other end of the hall. "Thane Severus. There's someone at the gates for you, by the name of Neloth."

Glancing aside at the King and bard for a moment Severus nodded to the page and made for the main doors of the hall. "A-a man needs hands, your grace." He heard the bard plead as he left the great hall.

Coming straight to the courtyard he quickly saw Neloth at the gates, held at bay by two Goldcloaks and his hood up to cover his ears. "It's all right. He's with me." Severus called out to the Goldcloaks.

"Ah Severus. I was expecting better hospitality when I'm invited to the Red Keep." Neloth remarked.

The Goldcloaks glared at Neloth before parting their spears to let him past, though they really couldn't have done anything to stop a Mage Lord enter even if they tried. "Yes, Thane."

"So..." Neloth said drily as he walked over the. "Where is this King whose caused such a stir in his first week?"

Severus chuckled and turned to walk back into the royal castle, gesturing the ancient Dark Elf to follow him. "Tormenting a local bard."

"Oh excellent. I think I'm going to like him already."

Severus raised a brow at Neloth as the two entered the main hall again, finding the bard being held down by two of the Kingsguard and Ser Ilyn cutting the poor man's tongue out. "You sure about that?" To the Dark Elf simply shrugged.

Seeing the King leaving the hall, followed by four of the Kinsguard and the Stark girl, Severus walked after him, though keeping a slight distance.

When the King stopped at a small balcony it soon became apparent what the little shit was doing. Up on the wall opposite the balcony were spikes decorated with the heads of the slaughtered Stark Household. "Macabre sense of humour." Neloth remarked.

Sansa quickly spotted them and recoiled, trying to leave but stopped by one of the Kingsguard. "No! Please no!" She half screamed.

"This one's your father." Joffrey pointed at Eddard's head. "This one here." He looked back to Sansa. "Look at it and see what happens to traitors." He sneered before spotting Severus and Neloth. His grin faltering slightly he looked between the mounted heads and Sansa. "Perhaps I'll bring you back. Make you look at them again. And again." He smirked. "Dog. Take lady Sansa back to her chambers." He instructed to Clegane.

"Come here, girl." The hulking man ordered, a very slight softness in his voice as he took the Stark, glancing back over his shoulder at Severus as he went.

Clearly far from satisfied Joffrey walked to Severus and Neloth. "Thane Severus. I hope you have a reason for this interruption?"

"You asked for an Elf, your grace." Severus bowed his head slightly. "I present Neloth, Mage Lord of the Great House Telvanni."

Neloth smiled smugly as his titles were recited and pulled down his hood, revealing his elongated ears and giving the king a clear view of his angular face and grey skin.

The boy King recoiled at the sight but quickly his shocked expression turned back into his usual grin. "Ha, it's true then. There really are Elves?"

"Astute observation." Neloth remarked sarcastically.

Joffrey's grin widened. "Do you know what this means?" He laughed slightly. "This means it's all true! Your Legion, the wars it fought." He began pacing, smiling like a madman. "Your Legion. Thane Severus Semponius, will become the foundations for the greatest army Westeros has ever seen!"

"It will, your grace?"

"Yes!" Joffrey exclaimed. "And it will be an army loyal to me, and no one else." He looked giddy, as if he'd been given a gift he'd always craved. "Summon men of the Legion. I have a lot to discuss with them. For now..." He looked back to Neloth, mad glee in his eyes. "Tell me, Mage Lord, how powerful is House Telvanni?"

Severus instantly face palmed at the question, earning raised brows from the Kingsguard and a quizzical look from Joffrey before the thing Severus had anticipated began.

"Ah, the Great House Telvanni..." Neloth began, leading to a truly gruelling ramble about the history and power of his own branch of the Great House, about how he was once able to con the Nerevarine, the Dunmer hero of legend, into going through great trials for a reward of ten gold among the tales.

Severus quickly excused himself, having heard the ramble once before and not wanting to go through the realm of oblivion again. Leaving the King and Kingsguard for the moment enraptured in the tales of Morrowind and Vvardenfell.

Castle Black, the North, Westeros

Eadric pulled his mail shirt over his head. He hadn't been wearing it for most of his time at the Watch's headquarters but now was different. After the attack of the undead it had been decided. The men of the Watch were not going to simply lay back and wait for their brethren to come south and assault the Wall. No, they were going to ride out, find out what was going on and stop it, by any means necessary. Eadric was going with them, Mormont had asked him to come and he frankly would've come even if they'd told him to stay at the glorified manor.

Buckling his belt and sword sheath around his waist he looked out the window, a light snow flurry as usual. Smiling as the cold brushed up against his face he picked up the Skyforge Steel axe resting against the wall and left his small chambers. He wouldn't see them or that warm bed for months, maybe longer.

"Not taking the lute?" A voice he recognised asked him from beside the giant Nord.

Looking to the source of the voice, Eadric saw Sam Guevenne standing there, dressed in the black of the Watch and grinning like a madman. "Of all the places on this continent you could've gone to, you chose this shithole?" The human form of the Daedric Prince of excess laughed. "Though then again, must remind you of home I guess."

"What are you doing here Sanguine?" Eadric asked, walking past Sam and walking down the steps to the bustling courtyard, watchman busying themselves getting ready for the expedition.

Sanguine followed the Nord. "Tsk tsk, that's no way to treat old uncle Sanguine when he drops by, now is it?"

Eadric sighed. "Why are you here, Sanguine?" He asked again.

Sam merely chuckled. "My beloved brother wanted me to check up on his champions. And you're the easier to track down of the two of you."

"He could've just summoned me to the Hunting Grounds again."

"Yes, he could've." Sanguine nodded slowly as the two walked to a more secluded area of the castle. "But he didn't. That and he's rather busy Meridia these days."

Eadric stopped in his walk and slowly turned to look at the illusionary form of the Daedric Prince. "Meridia? What's Hircine doing with her?"

"Coming up with ideas on what to do about this army of the undead these backwaters have to the far north I should think." Sanguine shrugged. "Thick as your lot are at least the Atmorans had the good sense to leave Atmora when the Frozen Horde reared its ugly and boring head."

"Falmer should have been as clever."

Sanguine chuckled. "The Snow Elves were always too austere for my tastes, too obsessed with my cousin." The human form of the prince crossed his arms and leant back against the wall of the tower they were talking by. "Got some good news for you."

Eadric raised a brow. "What?"

"Congratulations are in order." Sanguine's grin returned. "I paid a visit to Jorvaskrr to make sure your Harbinger knows what's going on. And while I was there, there were two new arrivals."

Eadric looked him straight in the eyes. "You mean…"

"Twins." Sanguine laughed. "Boy and girl." He stepped forward and clasped Eadric by the shoulders. "Believe me I went through oblivion itself telling your wife what you've been doing. And she is not happy, let me tell you."

Eadric didn't quite know how to process the feelings. He was a father, something he'd been preparing for years now. But, by Talos he was stupid. Stuck here until whatever needs to be done is done and he can't see them. "… Njada is going to kill me."

Sanguine laughed again and backed up. "Probably. But I'd focus more on the undead than that right now." He raised his right hand. "Good luck." He snapped his fingers and in an instant a portal appeared and disappeared around him, taking him back to Oblivion.

Staring at the space where Sanguine had once been for several seconds Eadric fell against the side of the wall, groaning to himself. Rolling a hand over his face he stood himself back up and decided to push the dread of returning aside for now, instead focusing on what was beyond the Wall. Sighing heavily he walked out from beneath the tower and towards the growing number of watchman and ultimately, the Great Ranging.

Dragonsreach, Whiterun, Skyrim

Hrongar marched through the main hall of the ancient castle, glancing at the mounted skull of Numinex for a moment before ascending the stairs to war room.

"Balgruuf, listen…" He heard the voice of Korir, former Jarl of Winterhold and now Thane of Greymoor following the second Great War. "The Nine Holds would support. You only have to make the claim and it would be yours." Great, more of this Hrongar thought to himself as he crested the stairs.

"Did I not tell you clearly the last time, Korir? Enough." Hrongar's brother sighed at the former Jarl. "I'll not have Skyrim tear itself apart again. I am not Ulfric."

Korir clenched his fist. "You're the rightful High King!" he declared, not paying heed to Hrongar's presence.

"Enough!" Balgruuf snapped. "You will not bring this up again." The greying Jarl ordered.

Korir looked to try continuing but instead breathed out and looked to Hrongar, who he'd just noticed. "Hrongar. Your brother is being as stubborn as always."

Hrongar glared at Korir as he approached Balgruuf. "He's your Jarl Thane."

"What is it Hrongar?" Balgruuf asked, stopping the two before the argument escalated.

"One of our scouts has just returned from Rorikstead." The larger Nord began. "Thousands of the Dukes men are marching straight to Solitude." He gestured to the map of Skyrim on the large table in the centre of the room. "They carry the banners of General Marcellus."

"Marcellus?" Korir raised a brow. "What's the Sword of Kvatch doing marching to Elisif?"

Hrongar shrugged. "The scout didn't get a chance to ask him."

Korir sighed at Hrongar's sarcasm. "I'll muster my riders and try to catch up with Marcellus before he leaves Whiterun Hold."

"No." Balgruuf ordered. "The Duke's been agitating for independence since the war ended. It'll give Erikur ammunition if an old Stormcloak meets with his best general." The Jarl of Whiterun leant against the table, studying the map of Skyrim. "Hrongar, did the scouts say if they saw the banners of the duke as well? Or just Marcellus?"

"The scout only mentioned Flavius Marcellus' banners."

Balgruuf stood straight, stroking his beard. "Keep the hold warriors on alert, I don't want to be caught off guard by anything the Colovian is planning."

"Aye, my Jarl." Hrongar placed his fist on his chest and began to leave when they all heard someone run up the stairs from the main hall.

"Jarl Balgruuf!" A courier called out as he crested the stairs and briskly walked to the Jarl of Whiterun. "From Chief Larak." He held out a crumpled note.

Stopping to see what happens Hrongar crossed his arms as his brother took the note and began to read. "What do the Orcs wants?"

Balgruuf didn't respond as he read carefully. "Korir…" He crumpled the note and walked to the roaring fire, throwing it in, the paper burning quickly. "Call your warriors to assemble here. And take your horsemen and ride straight for Rorikstead."

Korir looked at the fire as the last of the paper disappeared. "What is it Balgruuf?"

"Larak is coming here with all his warriors. So are the other Strongholds."

"What?!" Both Korir and Hrongar cried out at once.

"Why?" Korir asked alone.

Balgruuf looked back at the map and picked up one of the pieces that would normally represent an army, rolling it in his hand. "That's what you're going to find out."

A great red waste. That was all he could see for leagues in every direction. He was standing on top of a great mountain, overlooking the bleak landscape. The moon was high and cast a grey light across the sands.

Below him there was fire, torches held by men and women. All of them standing around a construct of wood, bearing a man shrouded in a rug. Curiously and tentatively he made his way down to them, finding his feet did not disturb the ground as they fell.

As he approached he could make out the people around the construct better. Most were men and women in rugged clothing and bearing tan skin and dark hair. Two though, did not. One was a man, tall and grey and clothed in a simple shirt. The other was a woman, with hair as silver as the moon and skin pale, as though she was of the far north.

Closer he came and he realised none could see him, for none seemed to notice him as he walked through their line of sight. Soon he was among them, studying each as they looked towards the woman, who was conversing with the man.

He watched as she went forward and gently kissed the man on the cheek and smiled at him, the man looking at her with longing in his eyes. Turning and facing those gathered around the two, the woman walked to be in front of the construct, a great pyre. "You will be my Khalassar. I see the faces of slaves. I free you! Take off your collars; go if you wish, no one will stop you. But if you stay it will be as brothers and sisters, as husbands and wives!" The woman spoke out aloud, though she sounded faint to him, as if she was not really there.

As she spoke some of those gathered left, some alone, some in small groups. The woman did not seem to care though, instead looking at an old crone, bound and forced to kneel in front of her. "Ser Jorah, bind this to the pyre." The man hesitated and she looked at him, expression blank. "You swore to obey me" The man bowed his head and came forward to the crone, lifting her with the help of another who had stayed and leading her to the great pyre. "I am Daenarys Stormborn, of House Targeryan! Of the blood of Old Valyria! I am the Dragon's daughter! And I swear to you that those who would harm you will die screaming!"

"You will not hear me scream." The old crown called to her from the pyre behind him.

"I will." The woman asserted. "But it is not your screams I want, only your life." She held out her hand and one of those gathered handed her a lit torch, the man coming up alongside her again. Moving forward the woman lit the beginnings of the pyre, a ring of branches and sticks.

As the flames crawled along the ring they spread into an inner ring and finally lit the central pyre, the crone also catching fire. He could hear her chant something; he couldn't place the language of the words. Soon though it turned to screaming, she had lied.

With a last look at the man beside her, the woman began slowly stepping forward, her light dress flowing in the draft caused by the fire greedily devouring the air around them all. She passed the first ring, and then the second, and finally she passed into the great pyre, silent and aflame.

At once the ground began to tremble and a harsh snap of the wind threw the flames up high into the sky. Those around the pyre stumbled and a few fell, but the man remained standing, eyes fixed on the fires. As the flames rose ever higher a great booming voice rung out across the waste. "DOV! SOS! YOL!"

…

At once Severus shot up in his bed, breathing heavily and sweating. He was just there, he was sure he had just been there. He had seen the woman walk into the pyre, the flames grow… and the words.

Gradually his heart slowed and then he felt it, the rumbling. Standing he rushed to the window in his chambers and pushed the curtain aside, looking out across the bay. The moon was high but gradually the rumbling grew.

"DOV! SOS! YOL!" The words blasted through the sky and in an instant he knew.

"Dragons..." He heard the castle immediately bustle with activity. "Blood..." Lights began flickering on in the city below him. "Fire..."

New Dragons had entered the world, in fire and blood.

Eadric Haraldsson - Hircine
Skjor - Hircine
Mystery person - Unknown
Delvin Mallory - Nocturnal
Unknown Champion - Meridia

Oooh boy. Here we go.
Not entirely convinced with this chapter myself but I figured this one has been delayed long enough. So as usual feel free to leave a review. Will probably end up rewriting this at some point but for now we'll move on.

And now onto what I think of Season 6 so far... I'll just say this, as far as this fic and the White Walkers are concerned, Season 6 doesn't exist.