And here we are, not several months later this time.
Also only realised while I was writing this one that the last chapter was released on the one-year anniversary of the fic beginning, so yay for that.
As always hope you enjoy the read.

Kingslanding, The Crowlands, Westeros

"Ah finally. Back in a sensible part of the world." Tyrion exclaimed as his horse crested a small hill that gave him and the rest of his company a clear view of the massive and revolting city that was Kingslanding. "We'll be at the Keep by mid-afternoon." He called behind him to the veritable army following him. Those with him were a varied group. There were his Hill Tribesmen, all of those that had survived the skirmish with the Northern diversion, some fifteen hundred. Along with them were several Westerland Men at Arms, a much smaller group but likely more formidable on the open battlefield as a hundred heavy cavalry often are.

And beside him of course was his ever useful and sarcastic sellsword companion, Bronn. "I'll admit. I'm looking forward to a proper bed again."

"Oh come now. You had a perfectly good place to sleep in father's camp."

"A pile of straw with some cloth over it."

Tyrion chuckled. "It's a damn sight more than most get." He slowed his horse as his quite considerable force descended the hill, Lannister banner on full display so as not to worry the Goldcloaks too much. "Hmm. Perhaps we'll arrive later than mid-afternoon." He said as something he hadn't seen before came into view, though he knew full well what it was.

Outside the city walls and close to the edge of the Kingswood was an encampment. It wasn't too big, maybe housed around nine hundred or so. It was however much more orderly than any military camp he'd seen. Even compared to the Lannister cap it was a model of efficiency and fortification. Dozens of tents stood in neat blocks with a large open field at the centre with a larger tent just to the side of it. Surrounding the tents was a wide space before a low earth embankment topped with a wooden palisade and in each corner was a wooden tower. The camp even had a main gate, it too flanked by two towers.

Bronn studied the fortified area from atop his horse. "Bet that's the rest of Idolaf's lot."

Tyrion pulled his horse to a stop, the rest of the company following suit. "Oh it almost certainly is. Shagga!" He called and soon was joined by the massive Clan Leader of the Stone Crows.

"Aye, halfman?" The Tribesman asked, a hand resting on the head of the steel axe he had been given by Lannister smiths.

"Have the Stone Crows and other Tribesmen wait outside the walls. I have some business to attend to before we enter the city."

Shagga grunted his acknowledgement and trudged back to the Tribesmen, bellowing orders as he went, cajoling the men of the mountains to follow him towards the capital of the Seven Kingdoms.

With his Tribesmen dealt with Tyrion kicked his horse forward again and signalled the Men at Arms to follow him, along with Bronn.

As they got closer to the fortified camp Tyrion noticed that each of the towers had what looked like a ballista on them, along with their operator crews. The two on the towers at the gate swivelled on their axis to aim at the company of a hundred cavalry. "Who goes there?" An armoured legionary called down from atop the gate and under a small cover.

Tyrion rolled his eyes, could they not see the lion banner? "Tyrion of House Lannister and acting Hand of the King?"

The legionary didn't look convinced. "And what business do you have here, Lord Tyrion?"

"Business concerning the realm you are currently in, Imperial. I'm here to see your commander."

The legionary looked along the company of cavalry and then behind him, like he was talking to someone. Evidently he was talking to a man in heavier armour and a red cloak who pushed past him. "You're the new Hand of the King?" He too studied Tyrion's forces before making an almost imperceptible nod. "Open the gates!" He yelled out.

Below him the strong wooden gates that had been reinforced with iron bands slowly creaked open, gradually revealing the two horses being used to pull them. Nodding to the man above him with a smirk, Tyrion rode through, along with Bronn and a few of his horsemen, the rest waiting outside.

Inside the palisade was a hive of activity. Though he hadn't seen it before, the open space between the tents wasn't empty. In fact, it seemed to be currently housing a significant refugee population. All around there were peasants milling about, either working or just passing the time. A few were even being helped by legionaries to erect tents or dig ditches for waste to travel down.

"Apologies, Lord Tyrion." The caped man from above said as he approached. "A few of the lads don't know how to react to lords and the like." He was clearly a highly ranked member of the Legion, for upon closer inspection his armour was quite intricate, with patterns of dragons engraved on the cheek guards of his helmet, which was itself bore a red plume. "Centurion Augustus." He placed a closed fist on his chest, by the left breast.

"Oh don't worry about that Centurion." Tyrion assured him. "I've been dealing with barbarians for weeks so a little scepticism will hardly hurt anyone." As he talked Bronn and the Lannister men with him dismounted, a couple walking over and helping the Dwarf down from his modified saddle that allowed him to comfortably ride a warhorse. "As your man hopefully told you, I'm here to see your commander."

Augustus nodded and gestured from Tyrion to follow him. "I'll take you to the Legate."

As they walked they passed the area that was seemingly devoted to refugees and entered the actually Legion section of the camp. Here the tents were the orderly blocks Tyrion had seen earlier and most had men inside them doing all manner of things. Some were playing some sort of dice games, some were just sleeping and Tyrion couldn't help but approve when he saw several were reading from books. "Quite the operation you have here, Centurion."

"Standard procedure with the Legion, Lord Tyrion." Augustus explained as they carried on, passing a larger tent that was clearly acting as the armoury and had several legionaries standing guard around it. "Though this is small compared to what we'd usually have. This is a fifth of a full Legion."

"And what's the size of a Legion at full strength?"

"Around five thousand." Augustus replied as they came to the larger tent Tyrion had spied before. Outside the flaps of the tent were two legionaries armed with sword and shield stood at attention. "Legate's inside." Augustus said as he held a tent flap open.

Entering the Legate's own tent, he immediately saw it was well furnished. The floor was covered with a thick rug, which looked locally bought, instead of the typical Westerosi fashion of laying down a wooden decking for the tent to be then set up above. Besides the rug there were several tables, chairs and a rather cluttered desk which had a large map of Westeros and Essos upon it, with the Westeros part covered in small wooden pieces carved to match the sigil of each Great House. In the far end was a bed, or the more accurate term would be a frame with hay and a fur atop it, primitive for such a high ranking individual, Tyrion thought.

What caught his attention quicker though was the Legate. Hunched over the map with a sturdy but still decorated helm lying next to her, was a woman of clearly some advanced age. That she was a woman, Tyrion could only tell by the fact she was not wearing the helm, as her armour was thick and showed little sign of the gender of the wearer, literal breast plates would be a substantial risk after all.

"Legate Rikke." Augustus spoke up, drawing the woman's attention and giving Tyrion a good look at her face. Despite the grey hair he still couldn't call her unattractive, she had the look of a strong woman, not that he was overly surprised given her profession. "Lord Tyrion, the new Hand of the King."

Rikke stood tall and marched over. "The King's chosen a replacement for Lord Stark then?" She asked looking down at the Dwarf

"My dear nephew actually chose my father." Tyrion spoke, looking her straight in the eyes. "But seeing as he's busy on campaign, he's named me acting hand of the King until such a time as he can come to the capital himself."

Rikke slowly nodded. "Sound plan on your father's side." She walked back to the map, seemingly done with the conversation.

Tyrion however was not finished with it. "As I said. I'm the acting Hand of the King and as such I've come to see how your mission is coming along."

"With a war on we can hardly make any progress. We have a terma of cavalry still searching this Crackclaw point and the other found nothing in Duskendale or Rosby. And the third…"

"Is on its way north." Tyrion finished for her, drawing a look from the Legate. "I know, I sort of ran into them on the road. I saw to it they were given a map. I have to say I'm surprised they didn't already have one."

Rikke sighed. "We weren't able to make any copies before they were sent out. We couldn't risk their target getting too far."

Tyrion waved off the excuse. "It hardly matters now Legate. They have a map and they're on their way to the Wall. So long as they can get past the Stark Host, the Neck and half the kingdom first." He chuckled and began wandering around the tent, taking it all in. The furs didn't look like they were from any animal he had ever seen. "I saw that you're taking on refugees. Shouldn't they be within the city?"

"The Queen Regent shut the gates to them. So they came to us and we took who we could. They gather their own food and clothes, we simply let them stay behind the palisade."

"Very noble of you." Tyrion stopped and studied a map of what was apparently Skyrim. "My dear sister's likely reason is they should be working the fields and not coming to her. What are your plans for them?"

Rikke crossed her arms. "Our plans?"

Tyrion rolled his eyes. "Come now. Don't tell me you're letting in hundreds of peasants and you don't have any ideas what to do with them? You could put them to work perhaps. The capital can always make use of more farmland or lumber mills."

The Legate seemed to internally debate it. "With your permission, Lord Hand?"

"Of course." Tyrion smiled slightly and nodded. "With the Baratheon and Tyrell host ever so slowly making their way here we'll need all the labour we can get."

"We'll see what we can do. Lord Hand." Rikke said, still looking a little dubious about the whole thing.

"Excellent." Tyrion grinned and made for the exit of the tent, nodding slightly to Augustus who was still stood by the entrance. "I'll be off the Keep. I hear your Dragonborn is up there."

"Centurion Augustus will go with you." Rikke spoke though seemed more interested in the map and troop placements. "The King requested several men of the Legion for some project of his and I can't spare the time to go myself."

Tyrion turned back to the woman. "Of course, Legate. And I think my nephew will listen to the Centurion here over you. Meaning no offense, you understand, but here in Westeros women do not usually lead armies."

Rikke looked up and narrowed her steely eyes. "None taken, Lord Hand." She returned to the map. "Safe journey through the capital, I hear the city watch are having issues."

"I'm sure I will manage just fine, Legate." Tyrion chuckled and left the tent, with Augustus close behind him, though he quickly went off to gather some men.

"How'd it go?" Bronn asked as he fell in behind Tyrion, the small group heading back towards the gate.

"Decently enough, I suppose." Tyrion told the sellsword. "Though now we're heading to the Red Keep. My nephew must miss his uncle dearly." Though he grimaced to himself, he was not looking forward to dealing with the boy for the foreseeable future. One thing he was looking forward to however, was seeing if the tales of the so called Dragonborn had merit.

…

The ride through the city had been eventful. The people were starving and riotous and on more than one occasion his tribesmen had scuffles with the locals, only Shagga beating the perpetrators had allowed them to continue on. The starving was caused by Mace Tyrrels closing of the Rose Road. With the Riverlands afire and the Reach cut off from them as they all flocked to Renly Baratheon's banner, the two primary breadbasket regions were out of reach for the capital. As a result, the only source of food for the immense city were the fields of the Crownlands and the fisheries of the Blackwater, all in all a dire situation.

Not that you'd think that within the walls of the Red Keep. To find his nephew celebrating his nameday with a small tourney irritated him to no end. The whole realm at war and the blonde shit hosts a tourney. The only conciliation was that it was a small one, it wasn't even held in the bailey but on the walls of the Keep itself.

As he waddled towards the red canopy that hung over his royal niece and nephews he gestured for Augustus, who had accompanied them to the Red Keep along with a select few of his men, to wait before he bellowed out. "Beloved nephew!" The boy terror that was Joffrey turned to face his uncle and Tyrion noticed Trant and another of the Kingsguard dragging a man off somewhere. "We looked for you on the battlefield. But you were nowhere to be found." He said in mock concern while quickly pouring himself a goblet of wine from the table by his nephew. Looking around the company of people who surrounded the royal children he saw Sansa Stark, acting elegant and terrified as was to be expected. He also saw several of the Kingsguard, along with Sandor Clegane, who seemed to be refusing to wear the white armour. One man he didn't recognise stood just behind the royal party. From the way he was dressed and the way he stood it was abundantly clear he was a Tamrielic, though he looked more like a diplomat than a warrior.

Joffrey looked uneasy for a moment. "I-I've been busy ruling the Kingdoms."

"And what a fine job you've done." Tyrion smirked and then turned to Myrcella and Tommen, a genuine smile on his face. "Look at you." He moved forward and gave his niece a peck on the cheek, she smiled back at him. "More beautiful than ever." And she was, she looked so much like Cersei used to, only in place of a repulsive personality was a sweet one.

And then he faced Tommen. "And you…" He said in mock disbelief. "You're going to be bigger than the Hound. And much better looking." He smirked and took a gulp of wine, glancing at Bronn. "This one doesn't like me very much." He gestured to Clegane.

"Can't imagine why." Bronn remarked sarcastically.

"We heard you were dead." Joffrey stated, sounding as if he'd been denied the present he'd always wanted.

"I'm glad you're not dead." Myrcella said warmly, so unlike her mother, thank the gods.

Chuckling slightly, Tyrion looked about. "Me too dear. Death is so boring, especially with all this excitement about." He bowed his head slightly to Sansa. "My Lady I'm sorry for your loss."

Sansa opened her mouth to reply but Joffrey beat her to it. "Her loss? Her father was a confessed traitor!"

"But still her father. Surely having so recently lost your own father you can sympathise." Tyrion hissed at his nephew.

Joffrey scowled and glared at Sansa, who after a moment finally replied to Tyrion. "My father was a traitor. My mother and brothers are traitors too. I am loyal to my beloved Joffrey."

It sounded every bit rehearsed as it likely was, but Tyrion had to admire her for not faltering in it. "of course you are." He tried in a comforting voice before downing what was left of the wine in the goblet, setting it back down. "Now nephew. I'd like to introduce a few guests."

Joffrey looked at the Tribesmen and Bronn, a scowl plastering on his face. "Barbarians and sellswords? I might've known that's the company you keep uncle."

"I think your grace…" The Tamrielic finally spoke, stepping forward and pointing towards where Tyrion had asked Augustus to wait. "That they're the guests he's referring to. Augustus!" he called out.

"Oh?" Joffrey asked as the Centurion approached with his men, helms held under their arms.

They soon stopped and Augustus gave a quick nod of his head. "Centurion Augustus, your grace."

Tyrion never thought he'd see his nephew so happy unless he was torturing some poor animal. "Ah finally!" The Boy King quickly stood and began inspecting the legionaries. "It's good that you've come at last. I was worried that fool Severus hadn't sent for you for a time.

Severus, Tyrion would have to remember that name. "Got some grand plan have we, Joffrey?"

For once the blonde prick didn't seem annoyed at his uncle. "Yes, yes." He grinned eagerly. "Augustus here is going to help me form the Royal Legion of Westeros!" he exclaimed excitedly. "No more will there be liege levies in my kingdoms!"

"Perhaps this is best done elsewhere, your grace." The Tamrielic diplomat opined.

"Of course, of course." Joffrey nodded quickly and waved for Augustus to follow him. "Come Centurion. There is so much to do!" The boy king cackled and began to leave. "Come Dog!" he called behind him to Sandor, who growled but began to follow his master.

Surprised at how rapidly that had taken place, Tyrion watched as his nephew tried to herd Augustus along and he couldn't help but chuckle. Regaining his focus, he turned to Myrcella and Tommen. "It seems your brother is busy now, run along."

"Yes uncle." The two answered and left, likely towards the garden or some such place, maybe even the kitchens. Sansa too left, with two Lannister guards following her, poor girl.

"The King does have wonderful siblings." The Tamrielic intoned, stepping up alongside the Dwarf. "Very sweet pair."

Tyrion agreed mentally but he saw the comment for what it was. "I don't believe we've met."

"Ah of course." The man quickly did a little bow. "Guilliman Dinontus of High Rock, Lord Hand. I serve as the Imperial expeditions resident diplomat."

"Excellent." Tyrion looked the Breton up and down again, studying his features closer. "I dreaded for a moment that I might be dealing with soldiers and little else."

The Breton chuckled. "I'm afraid I'm the only one, Lord Hand."

"I'm sure I'll manage." Tyrion chuckled back. "Before I go. Where might I find this Dragonborn of yours?"

"Severus? Oh he's likely in the Godswood."

So this Severus was the Dragonborn. "My thanks." Tyrion waved for his men to follow him as he departed.

…

In the short time Severus had been in the Red Keep he had found that the Godswood they maintained was perhaps the place he favoured most. It was a relatively peaceful and secluded garden that clearly wasn't as well attended as the rest of the extensive castle gardens. Not that Severus minded, in fact he preferred it, for it felt more like Skyrim than anywhere he'd been in the capital. He may have been a Colovian by birth and still kept to many of their customs but Skyrim had been his true home for years, there was something about the stark beauty of it that resonated with him.

Currently he was standing in front of the large and overgrown oak that apparently served as the heart tree, or the centre of the Godswood. Studying its long gnarled branches covered in vines it reminded him faintly of the Eldergleam. Kneeling next to the bottom of the wide trunk he felt for the amulet of Kynareth he kept around his neck but beneath his armour. Pulling it over his head he lay it upon some leaves and around it he lay some septims. Lowering his voice, he uttered her verse. "Come to me, Kynareth, for without you, I might not know the mysteries of the world, and so blind and in terror, I might consume and profane the abundance of your beautiful treasures." It was not a proper shrine, but it would do. Picking up his amulet but leaving the coins, Severus donned it again.

After a few moments with nothing but the sound of the wind in the trees, someone spoke behind him. "Don't mean to intrude. I waited until you seemed to be done."

Looking over his shoulder, Severus saw a small man, not even four feet tall. "You're not intruding, Lord Tyrion."

The dwarf chuckled and came forward, glancing at the small pile of coins where the amulet had been. "Seem where ever I find you Tamrielics, you already know who I am."

"It's hard not to hear about the Dwarf of Casterly Rock."

"Yes I suppose it is, especially with my sweet sister around." Tyrion remarked with a hint of bitterness. "You were praying to one of your gods?" He asked, gesturing the coins and the amulet which now hung exposed from Severus's neck.

Severus nodded slightly. "Kynareth, goddess of wind and air." He fingered the amulet. "And mother of the Nords."

Tyrion raised a brow. "Forgive me, but Severus does not exactly sound like a Nordic name."

"I'm a Colovian, we are descended from the Nords who came south, we share the blood of Atmora." Severus explained. "And Kynareth is the patron deity of Whiterun, and Whiterun is my home."

"Yes, about that." Tyrion glanced around, as if looking for someone. "When I went to visit the Wall I travelled with a man called Eadric Haraldsson. It was a long journey, two weeks all told. In that time, he told me about your Second War with the Elves. I came here to find you to see if the tales he told me were true."

Severus crossed his arms. "What tales?"

"Don't play ignorant. You know I'm asking about these powers you supposedly have."

"You want me to shout? Is that it?"

Tyrion nodded. "In essence, yes. As acting Hand, I want to know what each person in this Keep is capable of. I've already seen that Elf of yours so if the Nord was speaking the truth about them then it's likely he was about you as well."

Severus sighed. "Very well. Stand back." Tyrion dutifully took several steps back, putting a fair distance between the two of them. Taking a deep breath, Severus focused on the words in his mind. Channeling his spirit, he let loose.

"FEIM ZII GRON!" Become Ethereal.

Tyrion near instantly reeled back, an expression of utter shock on his face. "Wha…." The dwarf tried to speak but could not find the words.

Severus couldn't help but chuckle and crossed his translucent arms, the faint blue mist falling off of him while still under the effects of the shout. "He was speaking the truth." He spoke with a voice that sounded otherworldly, as if not entirely there.

Tyrion still stood, yet to fully recover. "I… I see… that he was." He slowly nodded, the expression of shock never leaving his face.

All too son the effects of the shout ended, leaving Severus once again the whole and quite opaque mortal that he was.

The Dwarf though, apparently recovered from his shock, began pacing. "This… This changes everything." He muttered and looked Severus straight in the eyes. "The stories about your Second Great War, about the Elves, about the dragons, they're all true?"

Severus nodded, following the still pacing Lannister with his eyes. "Some are likely just tall tales but most are true, yes."

Tyrion seemed to shudder. "This is… There is much to do, far too much to do." The acting Hand began to waddle off, half speaking to himself and half speaking to Severus. "This war may be the least of our worries." He muttered ominously before leaving the gardens and leaving Severus alone with naught but the wind and trees.

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

Chapter 19 done. Promise we'll travel to other areas in Westeros next chapter but getting Tyrion back has been nagging me for months.
As always feel free to leave reviews.