Wild Wolf

by Vimesenthusiast

Fed up with life in Nerima, Ranma runs away, only to be followed by Happosai, who has a magic scroll he want to try out. It works but Ranma suddenly finds himself in Westeros replacing the champion chosen by the old gods in a time of great peril for humanity. How will the world change with the Wild Wolf raised in the den of wolves? A lot. Thanks to Naj. P. Jackson for the picture.

6. Chapter 6

I don't own A Song of Ice and Fire, I like to actually have my main characters survive thank you, nor do I own Ranma, since I don't like violent tomboys or insane obsessively possessive women.

Thanks go to my favorite harlequin, MilandaAnza, for help with the catfight scene, and Jessolt for beta-ing. I also would like to thank Narsil and Byakugan789 for listening to my ideas.

Sorry this took so long. I got it back from Jessolt a few weeks back, but work swamped me so much I lacked the energy to go over the changes he made and do a final read through myself until this past weekend, and then football happened, and ugh... no motivation...

Some people have mentioned the fact that a Ranma fic without the curse isn't a Ranma fic. I disagree, it was his character, mental and physical development with all those interesting mental issues and strange blank spots in his development that made Ranma, Ranma. The curse part of that yes, but nowhere near the whole, as I think I've proven in Horse of the Dead. Moreover, in this one in particular, the curse would be counter productive. If I put it in, then it would become a major plot point in a lot of negative ways and it would take away from the existing plots, and just be more trouble than its worth. So I am afraid it is just not happening.

In this chapter, we see some differences between canon start to occur, and the game begins to move into its more serious phase.

---

Chapter 6 War Can Come In Many Forms

From the moment Ranma had asked the King for a boon, Margaery had known it was going to be bad. When he challenged Gregor Clegane in front of everyone, she knew she would have to figure out a new term for how bad this was going to be. On the one hand, as the 'battle' continued she could see the benefits long-term. For one thing, Margaery wasn't blind to the fact that the Mountain's death would make the world a better and safer place for all. For another, it certainly showcased Ranma's martial strength to a wide audience, which would further disseminate it. Rumor was the only thing faster than raven-wings, after all, and she had no doubts that stories about this execution would spread even to the Reach before her own report on it could reach her grandmother.

That last thought was sort of tied into why this had been a very bad idea indeed, the rule of unintended consequences. Margaery brought this up in no uncertain terms when she marched into the Winterfell contestant's tent. "You are an absolute idiot, Ranma Stark! A little boy surrounded by wild animals!" She then flushed a little, noticing that Ranma had been in the process of peeling off his armor as well as his under shirt. But her anger at this whole honor-bound masculine idiocy easily burned through her appreciation of the show.

Ranma finished pulling off his undershirt of chainmail having already divested himself of his chest plate. He was looking forward to getting word that the lizard lion armor was ready, since he knew it would be more much more flexible than this plate armor crap. That hadn't changed from one world to the other; Ranma still thought that speed and maneuverability was much more important than durability. In the case of the lizard lion armor, he would have the best of both worlds.

He glanced down at his hands for a moment as he moved to throw his padded undershirt to the ground. Ranma had wondered if he would feel different after executing a man, His father had always said it was different than killing in the heat of battle. But after ending Gregor, all Ranma felt was a sense of deep satisfaction at a job well done.

Introspection done for the moment, Ranma smirked at Margaery. "Nice to know you care my lady, I'm fine thanks for asking. And if we're talkin' field of animals, exactly what kind of snake represents your family?"

The Rose of High Garden shook her head. "While my family is certainly playing the game for all we are worth that does not mean that Ipersonally am your enemy. I would've thought that was obvious over the past few months. But you, you have just made yourself a very powerful enemy indeed. Lord Tywin Lannister will not take this lying down. Whatever else Gregor Clegane was, he was also a tool of the Lannister family and personally of Lord Tywin. He is an arrogant man and he will take this as an affront on him personally. Whatever your stated reasons, and I have no doubt you believed them to be justified, Tywin will act against you. His pride will require no less."

"Believe it or not, I actually thought about that before, and ignored it." Ranma smiled faintly, moving over to one of the seats motioning Margaery to join him at the small camp table there.

Behind her, Septa Nysterica came in huffing and puffing. The elderly woman had raced after her young charge when she stormed off from the Royal box, her glare clearing a way through the raucous crowd surrounding the tournament field. Seeing the two of them sitting with a table between them was a good thing, in Nysterica's opinion, and she took up a position by the doorway, where she would be able to observe yet not obviously overhear.

She wondered why her charge was so angry and also wondered if maybe Margaery had forgotten her grandmother's injunctions on keeping her distance emotionally from the young Stark while also making a play for Joffrey. She was supposed to play for the Prince more than Ranma if she could but of late that seemed to have slipped her mind.

As Margaery opened her mouth to start in on him again, Ranma held up a hand before ticking off points on his fingers. "One, from everything I've been told, both from my father and uncle, Lord Lannister does not act in haste. To keep using your illustration Margaery, he's a cold calculating sort of lion. It will take him a while to figure out how to respond to this. Two, whatever he does, Lord Tywin is in the Westerlands; it will take three weeks to get a raven to him and back. The time and the distance will work against any fiery response."

Margaery's temper cooled a little at Ranma's analysis of Lord Lannister and she felt a flash of approval working its way through her. Yet at the same time, she was still worried. "So you're assuming his calculating and ruthless aspect will override his pride? I wish I could say that will be the case with any certainty. Unfortunately, I've never met the man personally. I'm afraid that he will respond arrogantly, and that response will come in a way that we cannot expect. Remember Ranma, gold talks here in the South far more than you're used to up north, much more than honor or law, and it is Lord Lannister who has the most gold. Even my father would have to admit that, however reluctantly."

Ranma shrugged. It was arrogant of him and he knew it would eventually bite him in the ass in some fashion. Yet he hadn't met a single person in all of Westeros who could match him physically, so assassins didn't bother him and he doubted Tyrion would force open warfare against the Starks to avenge Gregor's death. As for poisons, even if it gets through our new acquaintances, Fenris can protect me against anything lethal.

I must remember to inform father about those two when we move back to the city, Ranma thought as Fenris padded over to them, approval radiating down their link at the violence a moment ago. Fenris didn't understand most of the reasons why the Mountain had to die but the brutal manner in which his master had gone about putting the large mind-mad two legs down had pleased him.

Across from him, Margaery frowned at the direwolf for a moment. That beast was much more intelligent than any animal should be and Ranma's ability to direct him was astonishing. Fenris's intelligence was even more terrifying considering his sheer size, though thankfully he seemed to be in control of himself. Now if only he would warm to me more than the Baratheon girl…

Margaery shook that familiar thought off and asked sharply, "Have you thought about the reactions from those closer to home?"

Ranma blinked, nonplussed and Margaery sighed loudly. She tapped her chin for a moment then nodded. "I think we can discount the Queen, she won't act against you for this. Her Majesty has never had anything to do with the Mountain so his death won't matter to her." Margaery had also noticed that the woman seemed to be taking a soft approach with Ranma. Although Margaery could have wished that she could say it wasn't working. Ranma was certainly more respectful of her then he was of the King, though whether that came from the fact that she was a woman and her wiles or his opinion of the King, she couldn't say.

"The Grand Maester won't act against me either." Ranma said, seeing what she was doing and smiling impishly, glad to see their friendship mattered to her so much.

Nearby, Nysterica frowned, wondering why Margaery was going out of her way to help the Stark heir like this. It was well beyond what her orders from Olenna outlined. I might have to send word of this to my lady. If Margaery can no longer play the game as House Tyrell wants, then steps must be taken.

Ranma didn't know the septa's thoughts however and went on. "I doubt he has any physical forces to threaten me and mine with and, even if he did, they wouldn't work. Poisons, of course, are a factor but we now have the Sand Snakes to help us there and they both know that we'll be looking to them if anything happens to me." And of course, he thought to himself, I'm not going to tell even you that I can use Fenris to detect anything lethal.

That aspect of his bond with the direwolf was something that constantly surprised him: the nuance of smells that Fenris could detect was unbelievable. Ranma hadn't had much to do with dogs of any kind in his past life, though he'd had to run from wolves a time or two when training with Genma, and it always surprised him how much information Fenris could tell Ranma through their link. Not nearly as much as the direwolf took in, of course, but it was getting slowly better. And Fenris didn't have to explain why Ranma shouldn't eat something, only stop him eating it.

"One reaction you might not suspect is the King's." Margaery warned. "You backed him into a corner Ranma and you acted without any kind of respect for his rank. That will grate on a man like Robert Baratheon and it will affect his interactions with you. I doubt that it will force the King to act against you, given his friendship with your father, but you should be wary of angering him further."

From there the conversation continued while Ranma got ready to head back to the city. The two of them moved through the movers and shakers in the city one after another, trying to figure out how they would all react to Ranma's display, both in the court and in the wider world. They were not alone in this. While the smallfolk and the majority of nobles laughed and caroused at the death of the hated Mountain That Rode, the powers in the realm were considering how this changed things. In particular, the person whose reaction neither of the teens could figure out was the most deeply troubled by this act.

OOOOOOO

Margaery was correct in her assessment of Cersei. The Queen simply took this as a further sign that Ranma was too dangerous to provoke into a physical con front a tion. There had to be other ways of controlling him. She saw his growing relationship with Margaery as one such way, if need be, as well as possibly his sister.

Her youngest son's near apprenticeship to Ranma was another way, which at the very least would make him think fondly of her family if they didn't act precipitously against him and his. Cersei had also used the time during the tournament to remove the book that had turned the former Hands attention towards her children. Without it, and a lot more evidence backing any investigation in that direction, she hoped to weather that particular storm.

She had even taken it further. Cersei ordered her father's main creature in King's Landing, Pyrcelle, to not send him anything just yet, to wait until the furor of this died down before doing so, adding in everything else that had occurred since the King returned to the city. And when Pyrcelle did, she would be sending her own messages to him with the same raven.

Like his sister, Jaime hadn't cared one way or the other about Gregor or his death. Strong Gregor had been but in terms of skill, he hadn't even come close to Jaime's own talent. No, what the Kingslayer cared about was that Ranma had been hiding his abilities. He realized that Cersei had been right all along about Ranma and that he had been blinded by his own arrogance. Jaime was angry, extremely angry, about it and the fact that Ranma was so far beyond him in physical ability. The fact that Ranma had hidden it so well made it worse.

Still, Jaime wasn't so furious as to believe he could overcome that disparity simply by wishing it to be so. Once he returned to the city, Jaime would begin to watch Ranma's training, as well as the lessons he taught Tommen, gleaning from them what he could. He would also up his own training tremendously. This would, to Jaime's irritation, make the time he could spend with his sister disappear but he felt it would be worth it in the end.

Cersei however didn't really notice this absence, being too busy with the game, keeping a hold of the reins of power in the court as well as mitigating the loss of Lannister influence on the small council without seeming to be against Ned's anti-corruption campaign. And honestly, Jamie's visits hadn't been as… fulfilling for her of late.

Joffrey was also worried, though he hid it well thanks to the practice he had been getting lately in hiding his emotions from everyone, even his mother. He was angry at that still but he understood her reasoning better now after seeing Ranma tear apart the Mountain like that. Still, it made Joffrey even more certain he needed to get rid of Ranma somehow. The only question was how. He turned, his mask firmly in place, to congratulate Sansa on her brother's victory, while his thoughts continued to rail behind this facade at this northern wolf's presumption to burn brighter than the Prince himself.

Two others were considering, or rather reconsidering their opinions on Ranma.

Petyr was very worried. There was a difference between a normal fighting man and a monster. Gregor had been considered such but Ranma's sheer domination of the Mountain proved that he was a larger one. Petyr had been planning for the conflict of position and influence to segue into open confrontation between the Lannisters and the Starks ever since Robert had announced he would be going north to bring back Eddard as his Hand.

Even with the men from Riverrun added into the equation, the Starks were still badly outnumbered by the Lannister supporters in the capital so he felt confident in the outcome there, even if he couldn't work his way into Eddard Stark's confidence to undermine him later. It wouldn't even have been hard to create an initial spark to that conflict. The Starks had made enough enemies in their inroads into the cities corruption for him to use any number of go-betweens and Pyrcelle was primed to jump on the wagon.

Now however, he was reevaluating everything he had heard about Ranma Stark's abilities. I need to remove him before I can move any of my plans forward. He thought to himself, trying to think of a way to get Ranma out of the city. Poison might be out of the question as well. Given the fact that the book didn't seem to work on either of them, they might have someone in their employ that can spot poisons. That isn't even considering whatever Joffrey has tried, though one wonders which of the items his agent got from the alchemists he tried. Even my own contact with the guild couldn't tell me all of the additives he obtained.

The book had been planted by Petyr to see what would happen and to point the Starks in the right direction at the earliest opportunity. The poison on it hadn't been the one that had killed the former Hand lord Arryn. That poison had been digested rather than via touch, though like with the book, Petyr did indeed have something to do with that.

Something to get Ranma out of the city or, perhaps, something to distract the Starks entirely? Would that serve my overall plans though? I need the Starks strong enough to weaken the Lannisters, and be a viable threat to the lions so they do not notice my own machinations. The last thing I want is for Tywin to turn his attention on the court and Kings Landing. At the same time, is there something brewing elsewhere of that nature? Or some weakness I could exploit?

For some reason his thoughts turned to the conversation he'd had when Ranma first sat down next to him at the feast the evening of the King's return, how he spoke about his brother Jon and how the Lady Catelyn, his Cat, had seemingly warmed to the boy. Something about that struck him as odd but the next moment he saw Sansa and Joffrey passing by with Cersei, two of the Kingsguard before them, ready to clear a path through the rowdy crowd.

As they removed themselves from the celebration that was continuing in the crowd and in the Royal box, his eyes flicked over to Joffrey once more. I wonder if perhaps I should ally with one lion to bring down both the pride and the pack? Certainly, he would be an useful tool, even if I intend to break his betrothal with Sansa. So much like Cat, she is…

When the Master of Coin followed the royal party, his eyes licking occasionally over Joffrey and Sansa, Petyr in turn was watched by Varys, who was wondering about the sudden tension in the man. It would appear as if Petyr has more irons in the fire than I thought, if he is so angry at seeing the young Stark's abilities. If he is so angry at that, I wonder if he is after more than simply weakening the Lannister's position. And if so, should I remain allied to him? Yet, who else could I ally with that wouldn't interfere with my own plans? Something to think about, as are the young Stark's abilities. I may need to remove him; Ranma is too dangerous as a symbol and as a person. I do not want to weaken the lions to simply let the wolves take their place. Hmm…

None of the people in the Royal box noticed a lone man pushing his way through the crowd and out into the cleared space where the execution had occurred. Oberyn Martell picked up the giant head of the Mountain that Rides and smiled broadly.

OOOOOOO

About an hour later, Ranma, Margaery, and their minder joined the Royals and Eddard to head back to the city. The two younger Baratheons looked at Ranma with more awe than they had before, having heard of what had happened from the servants. Both of them were relieved when Ranma acted as if nothing had occurred, lifting Tommen up onto his horse with a smile for the youngster before giving a smile and a wave to Myrcella as she entered the carriage with her mother.

Ned smiled slightly, reaching down from his horse to grasp his son's hand firmly. Ranma nodded up at him then moved off with Fenris padding behind him. He then noticed Robert's ambivalent stare as he passed the King moving back down the column toward where Tommy sat on his horse. Looks like Margaery was right, he does seem to resent me 'cause I put him on the spot like that. Still, nothing I can do about it, and it's his fault Gregor was free for so long despite his numerous crimes. Right and wrong don't change even if you have a Ser in front of your name or a powerful backer.

Ranma was amused to note however that Joffrey was not even looking in his direction. Good, maybe this will have scared him enough to stop him from messing with me and mine again like he did on the trip down here.

The Queen on the other hand, merely nodded in his direction, her eyes appraising as always. A moment later, the party set off back to the city, while around them, the celebrations continued for a time among the smallfolk, while the other nobles began their own preparations to leave.

The news of Gregor Clegane's death had traveled before the groups heading back to Kings Landing, getting there far faster than the Royal party, which entered the city near sundown of the same day. It caused celebration in the city, so hated and feared the Mountain had been by the smallfolk. It turned into a riot when a few of the Mountain's Men were stupid enough to enter the city to grab their belongings before fleeing.

Without their fearful patron, none of these men, mostly landless knights in Gregor's service because they had similar tastes, had any protection from their past crimes. Robert, in a rare moment of forethought had, immediately upon the death of the Mountain, ordered that any that could be found were to be detained, to either be executed or sent north to the Wall. Most had gotten away in the tumult of the tournament's crowds, however.

Some of them had stupidly returned to the city however, making such an edict unnecessary. When they were recognized, the crowd of smallfolk became a riot, which ripped them apart. The others had fled straight from the tournament before they could be caught. However the next day, Thoros of Myr went after them with a small band of other like-minded individuals, hunting them down within a few weeks before returning victorious to the city. The fire priest might not have been the one to finally lay the Mountain low but he could at least clean up after his death. Not a one of them survived.

When the King's party entered the city, they found that the riot had ended, having run out of steam rather than from the actions of the Gold Cloaks who should have tried at least to keep order. Instead, they had cowered in their barracks and in a few other strong points throughout the city.

Despite the recent bout of violence and the lack of Gold Cloaks, there was much cheering and joyfulness in the air. The smallfolk had never forgotten how the Lannister's men had burned and raped their way through the city. Gregor Clegane had become a symbol of that.

While King moved through the city slowly, with a dozen men-at-arms clearing the way, the crowd subsided, but the shouts for "Young Wolf' and 'Stark" reverberated everywhere, interspersed with that for the King. Most of the small folk had come to the conclusion that Robert had somehow set up so that Gregor would at last die without it being linked back to him officially. Where that idea came from no one really knew, but it was there. This served to mollify the King somewhat from the way Ranma had used him to call out Gregor in such a manner.

Soon enough the party wound its way up to the Red Keep, where it broke up into its separate parts. The Royal family and their entourage made for Maegor's Holdfast while Ranma moved toward the Tower of the Hand. He nodded at servants, who bowed deeply to him, cheerful men-at-arms who nodded gravely, amused at how the news had traveled so quickly.

In the family sitting room, he found Blackfish, a mug of something in one hand, his sword belt hanging of the armrest of the comfortable chair he lounged in. Brynden looked up as Ranma trooped in, followed as always by that great hulking brute of a direwolf the lad called his pet (actually Ranma never called Fenris a pet). "You do know how to stir things up don't you, nephew?" Brynden asked amusingly. "That being said, by the gods old and new, I wish I could have seen it!" He stood up, slapping his young charge on the shoulder before motioning Ranma into a seat close by.

Ranma sat down, smiling faintly at the older man. Fenris immediately sat down next to him, leaning his head over the side of the chair onto Ranma's lap. "What can I say, uncle, it's a gift."

Moments later Ned joined them, coming up the steps with a heavy tread. He nodded at Brynden, then looked over at his son. "That was well done my son, justice long overdue." The death of Gregor had been something that should have happened years ago, indeed Eddard had pushed for it after the war was over and he was proud to have finally seen it. He could have wished that it hadn't been Ranma who had to do the deed but, under the circumstances, Ned understood why it had to happen this way.

"Will this make trouble with the King, father?" Ranma asked, wanting to hear his father's opinion on that matter to see if he agreed with Margaery and him.

"Oh, he'll be stroppy about it for a few days." Ned smiled faintly, pulling up another chair to sit with the other two. "After that, though, he'll get over it quickly enough. Robert tends not to take small things like this to heart, lad, and come what may he knows that Gregor Clegane wasn't the sort he should mourn. He might be short with you as you were, apparently, rather rude to him." Here Ned looked at his son with more censure than before. But he'll get over it.

"For now however, let that lie. Can you explain why exactly there were two Dornish women with us? They slipped in as part of Margaery's retinue, but then they split off, and seem to be talking to the cooks in the Tower."

Ranma frowned as he had not been looking forward to this conversation. Still, he came clean about most of it, about the aphrodisiac in his food, about nearly losing control, and then how the Tyene had helped him. He only left out the part where he had also assaulted the Princess. Ranma still didn't understand that the Princess herself didn't see it as that much of an imposition but he knew it would be bad for it to ever reach the ears of anyone else.

Throughout the tale both older men sat and listened, not asking any questions simply because poisons and aphrodisiacs were things neither of them knew about. Afterwards however they both questioned Ranma closely on anything he had found out about the aphrodisiac itself, as well as the Sand Snakes and their possible intentions. Ned was not happy to learn that Ranma had basically brought them in to defend against similar poisons being used against himself and his family, but understood the necessity. What he really didn't like however was the fact that they would probably be making trouble, small trouble at least, for the Royal family and other Lannister supporters, if they could.

He said so, but Brynden shook his head. "If you want my advice Ned, I wouldn't worry about it. Remember both of these ladies are Oberyn's bastard born daughters. None of the court will take them seriously because of that and their Dornish ways will keep them from making friends with the staff, in the main. They'll have only their own resources, which will limit them. Moreover, if we allow word to leak that we are afraid of being poisoned and that is why we have brought them in, if anything does happen to us, fingers will be pointed directly at them."

Ned frowned, but nodded eventually agreement, and stood up. "If that is the case, I wish to question this Tyene girl closely, see if she can give us any more information on the aphrodisiac they used, see if we can find who was behind that." With a final nod, Ned left, leaving Brynden and Ranma to their talk.

"Do you actually trust either of these two girls?" Brynden asked casually.

"Not a bit." Ranma answered simply, grabbing up his uncle's carafe. He smiled, seeing it was honey mead, and downed half of it before passing it back with a smirk.

"That my lad." Brynden smirked back and, with no news to share this night form his various contacts, stood up to fetch a deck of cards. About half an hour later, they were interrupted from their game when Sansa came up the stairs, accompanied as always by her handmaiden, Jeyne.

Sansa took one look at Ranma and flung herself into his arms, sobbing brokenly. As Ranma rather bemusedly put his arms around her, he and Brynden could only make out a few words among the sobs. Apparently, Sansa had been so worried about Ranma's life facing a monster like the Mountain that Rides, that it had broken Sansa out of her anger at how Ranma couldn't see her point of view about Joffrey.

Now she was apologizing for letting the rift between them fester for so long, apologizing for not sticking up with him about Fenris months ago, as well as avoiding him when she could. Ranma smiled, hugging Sansa to him harder.

Brynden looked on, happy that the two had reconciled, though part of him was also hoping this would drive a wedge between Sansa and Joffrey in the future. Anything that would make them able to pull out of that engagement easier was all to the good, in his opinion.

OOOOOOO

The next day Ranma looked up from his morning jog as a few horses were pulled out of the castle's stables and made ready to go. One of them he recognized as that of the Hound and he wondered where Joffrey-the-ever-irritating was going this morning.

A moment later, Sandor trooped out of Maegor's Holdfast followed by an angry looking Joffrey, who reached out to grab his arm, and a Kingsguard, Ser Blount. "You go, Hound, and you will never have as good a position ever again. What good is a castle to you anyway, especially one that has been run up to this point by your brother!"

"Better by far than to keep following you around, you puling whelp!" Sandor growled, shaking free of the hand and glaring at the bald Blount who had been reaching for his sword. "Don't even think it." he warned.

"What's all this?" Ranma said that jogging up. Joffrey scowled seeing his nemesis.

Sandor smirked, an unusually friendly appearance on him. "I'm heading home to castle Clegane." he said simply. "With my older brother dead, I am now its Lord."

"I trust you'll be a better one than the last." Ranma said with a nod, half amusingly and half seriously.

"Wouldn't take much!" The hound barked, then spat to one side. "My brother was about as good a lord as he was at keeping his knightly vows. It's only because of 'largesse' from Lord Lannister that our land isn't heavily in debt or simply empty of people."

Joffrey continued to stare at the man, unwilling to accept that the idea of being a lord somewhere else had more pull on the man then remaining in Joffrey's service. Despite his relatively new skill in dissembling, Joffrey was still too arrogant to see that anyone else's lives or prospects were more important to them than his needs and wants.

Still, he wasn't willing to make a point about it in public, not when he had already lost the argument in private. Joffrey was continuing to learn more and more about hiding his true thoughts, which if anyone had it a real hint about the depths of his depravity would have terrified many. So instead, he simply shrugged theatrically. "Well, Hound, if you wish to pursue this idea of yours, I can't stop you obviously. It just seems odd to me to remove yourself from the seat of power. Still, if that is what you really want, I won't say anymore about it." This fooled none of his listeners but it wasn't supposed to. It really was only supposed to give him what seemed to be a civil exit.

Sandor and Ranma remained silent as the other two men went back inside the Red Keep. Then Sandor turned to the younger man. "Watch that shit stain closely." he said seriously. "Since we've gotten back, he's had plans within plans and hasn't shared any of it with me. I don't have to tell you that he tried to make trouble for you on the trip down."

Ranma shrugged. "Little dogs bark the loudest." he replied, smirking little. "While I'm concerned about what he can say to others, Joffrey himself seems a little too cowardly to move against me in person."

In fact, Ranma, his father, and Brynden were of the opinion it might have been Pyrcelle who had been the one to try to 'poison' him during the tournament. It was subtle, was in an area a Grand Maester would know about, and had all the feelings of something politically motivated.

The Young Wolf did not understand the depth of loathing that Joffrey had developed for him, unable to see the antipathy growing there under Joffrey's mask. Ranma didn't have any experience in such. All of his enemies in his past life had been blunt objects, simply coming at him physically and he had never developed the talent in this one to the extent needed to see beneath what was obvious.

He knew Joffrey hated him but enough to actually try and poison him? That seemed too much. And as outsiders, none of the men from Winterfell had heard the story of the pregnant cat, or how vicious Joffrey had been in the past.

The older man grunted then looked at him the young Stark seriously. He touched his face with a finger, rubbing at the burn marks. "My older brother did this to me when we were children. I've loathed Gregor ever since, for this and for… other things." Sandor would never share his suspicions about what happened to their sister and the part Gregor might have played in her death, not with anyone. "Many a night I've dreamt of sticking my sword in him. You killed him and in a way that I could never have matched. We might've gotten off on the wrong foot, Stark, and our personalities are too different to let us ever be friends but I'm be grateful for that. You've got an ally in me, remember that."

Ranma looked at the older man for a moment and then nodded his head. Sandor nodded back and turned to mount his horse. Without another word, Sandor trotted off, leaving the castle and city that had been his home for several years without a backward glance. Ranma stared after him thoughtfully for several minutes then turned to renew his interrupted run.

He never noticed the pair of servants who had been close enough to overhear the conversation.

OOOOOOO

Sandor was not the only one intending to leave Kings Landing that day. Oberyn was ready to leave as well and was searching more and more frantically for his wayward niece and daughters. He stopped, however, as he saw his two daughters enter (or rather reenter, though he didn't know that) the Red Keep with two men wearing Stark colors guarding them. However, they didn't seem in duress and he moved through the crowd of the city up the hill in their direction, stopping only when Tyene looked behind them, saw him, and smirked before turning away.

"Ah so…" he murmured to himself smirking before fading back into the crowd of the city. "Well played, how they finagled access to the keep I have no idea, but well played nonetheless." Oberyn looked around again. Now if I were Arianne, where would I be?

At his side, the head of Gregor Clegane clanked gently in its specially made glass and metal case where it hung from his belt. He had gone to the alchemists as soon as he could to get it preserved. He nearly killed two horses getting it back to Kings Landing quickly before too much time could pass and the alchemists had done him proud. They had even captured Gregor's dying face in the amber concoction they used, his face a rictus of pain and fear.

It would make a fantastic gift to his brother and might even stop Doran from being too angry with Oberyn for letting his daughter come with Oberyn on this little trip.

"There she is." He murmured to himself moving up behind where Arianne was peering around the corner of a building up the hill to where his two daughters were making their way into the Red Keep. "Tell me," he said in a pleasant tone into her ear, ignoring Arianne's jump of fright, "how exactly did you manage that?"

After getting her breathing under control once more, Arianne turned and glared at her uncle. "That wasn't kind, uncle. As for 'that' as you put it, we were merely in the right place at the right time to start to do precisely what we decided to come on this trip for in the first place."

"I see. And did it occur to you that you are now without guard?"

Arianne waved her hand expansively. "Obara's only dropping off Tyene. She'll stay there for an hour and come back out to meet me here."

"You sound as if you think I'm going to let you stay here." Oberyn said wonderingly. "Pray do explain that idea, my niece, since the last time I checked I'm still sane and on relatively good terms with my brother, your father, our Prince. Unless I want that state of affairs to change drastically, I will need to return with you, since Doran has no doubt figured out where you are and how you escaped from Sunspear in the first place."

"And leave your two daughters on their own? Tyene, perhaps, could make her own way, but without me here, who knows what trouble the two could get up to?"

It was weak and she knew it. Her uncle's face showed he thought that as well, but Arianne went on doggedly. "You know I'm more politically minded than either of those two, Obara is a blunt instrument who might lash out without someone there to keep a firm hand, and as for Tyene, while she won't lash out, she might act… precipitously."

That accurate appraisal of his daughters caused Oberyn to smile faintly. Arianne continued, knowing it wouldn't be enough. "Besides." she said gesturing down at herself. "We did get that little message from House Stark. If I remain here, I might be able to work out a way to meet Ranma, and seduce him away from Margaery. Scuttlebutt says that they are friendly towards one another but there does not seem to be any great affection or love growing between them."

"Margaery is apparently trying to play for Joffrey's hand as well, though rumor in the city seems to think her heart isn't in it. Still, that is a wedge I can use to get closer to him and you know after the tournament what a force he could be, uncle. A force we could turn to House Martell's benefit."

Arianne wasn't as confident about that as she normally would be. Tyene had told her about the aphrodisiac Ranma had ingested and Arianne had a good idea of how much self-control not succumbing to such a thing would have taken. Still it would be interesting if she could bring it about and certainly profitable, if they could forge an alliance with the Starks.

Inside, she was also considering the match as more than just a tool for her family but as an actual strong match for her. Her father had never truly searched for a proper suitor for her; something she had realized after the seventh elderly lord was presented for her hand. She had no idea why that was, though part of her was still worried about being passed over in line of succession for her younger brother Quentyn. Doran had informed her he had a plan when she confronted him about it but still had never explained said plan to her satisfaction.

Her uncle knew nothing about her inner thoughts and he leaned back slightly, thinking hard. He wasn't looking forward to going home even with the errant Arianne in hand. Returning without her would not be a pleasant experience. In fact, Doran might well throw him in jail for a few fortnights.

But she's right, Seven damn it, he thought to himself musingly. Alone Obara and Tyene would not be willing to work together. They both have my temper, and would egg one another on to act precipitously, possibly in such a way as to bring more Royal disfavor down on Dorne without her here to rein them in. And it's true that Stark could be an ally, though I doubt she'll have much luck in wooing young Ranma to her way of thinking. He said so aloud and added. "That young man is a man of honor. So long as the betrothal between him and Margaery is still sound, he won't have anything to do with you."

Arianne shrugged, not showing her own misgivings in that area. "It's simply a challenge, uncle, one I am eager to try my hand at, though I'll admit I'm still floundering about how to meet him in the first place."

Oberyn frowned, then sighed expansively. "Very well, but you will stay with me and Daemon until Obara returns. And I'm leaving Daemon here to add an extra sword at your back." That would be a wrench in many ways but Daemon was one of the best blades in Dorne and would be much more aid to the girls here than with him on the sea or back in Dorne.

Arianne nodded, smiling slightly. Daemon had been her first lover when they were young, a short, clumsy yet sweet encounter for both. He was also one of the better blades she knew and that was an aid she wasn't going to turn down. "That is fine, but remember I need to be back here within the hour."

Her uncle shook his head again but turned to lead the way through the crowd. He smiled slightly at the continual clink of the casket against his side every time he took a step. It was an ever so pleasant sound on his ears.

OOOOOOO

"Tyrion, my lad, you are a long way from home." Tyrion Lannister had long gotten out of the habit of speaking to himself. Such was folly when every ear could be turned against you in court, even if you were the Imp and the least important of the Lannisters. Yet the sight in front of him really deserved something, if only under his breath. Ahead and above them, not a day's march away, was the Wall and it was possibly the single most fantastic sight Tyrion had ever seen. Not even his normal jongleur's mask could stop his awe from showing.

The march up to the Wall had been somewhat more arduous than he had expected. The roads here in the North left much to be desired and his own ideas of what it meant to be on the march had not included the reality of months of hard travel and even harsher conditions. Still, Tyrion had made it and, beside a few complaints based around his height, without complaint.

The journey had taken them seven months, and even that was an astonishingly good time. Ser Kyle and Daryn Hornwood had led a very well organized march, more so than Tyrion had expected, more than even his father, he suspected, would have been able to. Lord Stark had begun to organize his own men to a high degree after Robert's Rebellion and it had only continued after Ranma came of an age to join in, sharing, though none knew it, what he had gleaned of ancient armies from his past dimension. This had soon spread to the rest of the North, though Tyrion was the first Southerner to see it.

Every man had enough food to go on with. Foraging parties added to the evening meal every night but did not slow the army down. Every man had a bedroll and nearly all of them were able to fit in large tents, twenty men per tent. Daryn had even brought little portable braziers with his men, of which there were only five hundred. All of them were archers, a welcome addition considering the nature of the Wall. In the night, however, Tyrion was happier about the braziers than about the archers.

To further aid the effort to keep warm, the local lords had prepared stacks of wood and even coal in places for the army along the Kingsroad, showing how much effort all of the North were putting into this whelming. A rather humbling thought, since he doubted the rest of Westeros would bother with sending troops for quite some time, if at all, to combat so distant a threat.

"Even seeing it a second time does little to take away from its impact." The somewhat young voice of Daryn Hornwood sounded from next to Tyrion and he looked over at him from his horse. Only the commanders had horses at all and that was only because they were now free from their duties as pack animals. "This place, this view, shows you that there is still magic in the world, as well as showing you what heights man can reach if we dream big enough."

"I can agree with that, just think of what it looks like from where I'm standing!" the imp replied, chuckling. He got on well with Daryn and Ser Kyle, though at first there had been some suspicion in their eyes when they looked at him. Still, they had come around, as had their men, watching the Imp, who had to take twice as many steps as any of them, keeping up on the march.

Ser Kyle was courteous, commanding, and experienced in every sense of the word. Although it had taken him a while to warm up to Tyrion, the two had become somewhat friendly. Many a night the two had sat awake on their rolls as they regaled one another with tales of debauchery. The Cerwyn knight was also more well-traveled than most northerners and had seen many of the places Tyrion had been to further south.

Daryn was a likable sort, yet a very dangerous man. Tyrion had seen him at arms practice every morning before they set out, fighting two or even three on one, and he had never lost. Tyrion had at first thought Daryn's opponents were throwing the matches as would be the case in some places down south. He soon realized they were trying their damndest, yet still were no match for the warrior who was only twenty and three.

He was friendly, self-effacing, and open save for anything that touched on the Young Wolf and the wolfsworn. Seeing the man's skill had convinced Tyrion there was something more going on than a group of young fools choosing a pretentious name, and he was eager to learn more. But Daryn only related what everyone knew; that they had all trained together and with Ranma Stark since they were young every chance they could get, that they were stronger, faster than normal people only because of such hard training.

He said nothing about the training, other than it was hard, and nothing about Ranma or where he had learned to be so good at fighting. He was open to a point about what they had run into on their trip up to the Wall but that was it. Tyrion had attempted to draw him out, but had failed miserably every time. Daryn was one of the cagier members of the Wolfsworn, and despite liking the Imp, didn't particularly trust him.

Ahead of them, they could make out the much smaller keep and barracks of Castle Black, while on the breeze they could hear the horns sounding at their approach. A single flame was lit on a watchtower, signaling them to come ahead, while the horn's sound changed to signal that there were friends approaching.

As they continued on their way, Tyrion said rather whimsically. "I thought there was supposed to be some sort of town a day's ride out from Castle Black. A place with many brothels and other dens of inequity to take the edge off for the good Night's watchmen."

"Sorry, the brothels are all gone. They were split up and taken to Castle Black, Eastwatch by the Sea, and Shadow Tower. Have no fear though; I expect Lord Manderly has rounded up enough willing ladies of buyable affection to send north with the first ships coming up here." Kyle answered with some amusement.

"Can't wait, by the Seven my cock hasn't been used for so long it's about to start a revolt." Kyle laughed at the quip while Daryn merely rolled his eyes.

It took them the rest of the day to reach the headquarters of the Knight's Watch, filled with Kyle and Tyrion trading barbs, while Daryn simply rode on, silent and watchful. He did not notice that Tyrion was also watching him, wondering what the young man knew to make him so edgy. Tyrion would learn exactly what in the future. But that first night, he joined a meeting of the senior commanders.

This meeting was unlike any Tyrion had ever been to down south. Instead of being waited on by servants, the men served themselves. Instead of sitting around a table, the better to show who was important, they all pulled up their hard, wooden chairs close to a massive fire which dominated one wall of the room. Instead of wine, it was mulled cider or very good dark ale, with chunks of fresh bread and hard cheese instead of richer foods. Instead of high windows letting in the days light, the only light came from the fire and a few wall sconces by the door.

Despite the lack of a table, there was no doubt who was in charge of this meeting. The commander of the Night's Watch was a massive man, somewhat bent with age, yet his piercing eyes bespoke his intelligence. He sat closest to the fire, across from Mors Umber, the only one there who was of an age with him. Mors was an equally huge man and still retained the heavy muscles and arms that his house was known for. He wore a chunk of dragonglass in place of an eye he had lost years back, and wore the full pelt of a white bear, its snout covering his head like a hood.

Like his kinsman, Smalljon was a large man, he stood even taller than Mors and was wider across the shoulders. He also wore chain mail and his beard was far more luxurious than his kinsman's. Daryn sat with his younger friend, talking quietly as they waited for the commander to speak. Across from them Benjen Stark sat, a prototypical Stark in Tyrion's opinion in looks, those his eyes were never still, watching everything even here. Next to him sat Ser Kyle on one side with Harrion Karstark on the other.

Harrion Karstark was just shy of thirty-two, too old to have become close friends to Ranma and Jon like his younger brother Edd, though that had more to do with his attitude than his age, since Dacey was actually only three years younger. He was darkly handsome, with black hair swept back that fell to his shoulders, a large trimmed beard, and a silent, considering manner that did not take away from his fierce eyes.

"We have had more sightings of wildlings in the past half year and a bit since your march began." Benjen suddenly began, startling Tyrion, who had been waiting for Jeor to speak. "I've tripled the size of my ranger patrols, yet we've still lost two of them in the past months and one before that. All of them, to a man, killed. These were a mix of my best men, rangers of many years who knew their ways in the woods, plus Norrey and Umber men."

Mors stirred slightly in his chair, his craggy face pinched with anger. "We've lost ten and six men since I arrived up here and we lost more when the youngster here brought his troop of settlers up. Something's stirred up the wildlings for sure, and this Mance Ryder the youngster's prisoner's mentioned is at the center of it."

Jeor spoke up now. "I've held back moving the men about too much until we were all gathered. But now, with your force added to ours, the men of the Wall, and the men from Norrey and First Flint mountain clans, we have over six and a half thousand men here at Castle Black. I'm going to break them into three large groups. One will move to Eastwatch by the Sea, one to Shadow Tower, and one will stay here. Each will have areas of the Wall assigned to them to defend.

"You, Tyrion, have been mentioned as an expert on siege weaponry. Get to work on that, whatever you need, we will provide. You will work out from here toward Eastwatch-by-the-Sea first; the better to make certain our supply route is secure. My men have already begun to make the two nearest forts on either side livable again to aid in the crowding here."

"Once you arrive, Kyle, Mors, I want each commander of the two castles to do the same; you'll work with them on that. Patrols of sixty men will range out along the Wall towards Castle Black with one group of a hundred from each to be sent out to range every month north beyond the Wall. Your men, Benjen, will be used to guide these groups. The wildlings might be able to ambush and slay groups of twenty; they will not yet have the stomach to ambush a hundred. You will range only a four day's march out, no exceptions."

"You're putting us out as, what, not a first reaction force, rather those little birds miners use to make sure there are no poisonous gases." Daryn murmured. "Can't say that makes me feel friendly thoughts toward you, ser. All the same, may I request to lead these canaries out? The last time I was here, I heard about some friendly wildling leader who has built a small fort a week's journey from here. Wouldn't that be a better destination for the first foray in force?"

Jeor frowned thoughtfully. He didn't like the idea of sending men so far from the wall, not when rangers had been ambushed far closer than that, but the intelligence gained could be important. "Very well, you'll head out in a week for Craster's Keep. We'll keep the troops concentrated until you get back with some intelligence."

"I have another idea," Tyrion spoke up. When all eyes were on him, he went on, ignoring the looks in some of those eyes at his Lannister colors. "You use watch towers behind the Wall here to signal that someone has been spotted approaching Castle Black. Set up towers and men to man them to do the same on the Wall itself. Lights can't be seen up there for very far, I suppose, but sound would carry so…" he shrugged.

Benjen nodded in agreement. He hadn't liked the idea of breaking up his men and liked even less the injunction to stop ranging, seeing it as a defensive move where he wanted to attack. But Jeor was right, it was necessary for now. "Good thinking. I have a former bard among my rangers. I'll get him to figuring out what sounds carry best and what signals to use first thing tomorrow."

The Lord Commander nodded. "This sounds like a good plan but for now, it is late, to bed the lot of you, and I will see you on the morrow." With that, the meeting broke up, with Tyrion and the other new arrivals eagerly searching out cots for the evening.

OOOOOOO

Brynden smiled faintly, as he moved through the city to pick up a note from one of the many drop-off points for his various …contacts. He wasn't nearly as organized as Varys or, he was starting to realize, Petyr. But the contacts he had were all over the city, and gave him a good, if general, idea of what was going on.

It was Brynden's job to put all the tidbits together. He was doing an alright job of that, he supposed, though it really wasn't a task he had ever particularly seen himself doing. Yes, he was subtle; yes, he did notice things others missed. However, there is a great difference between that and being a budding spymaster.

It is sort of exciting in a way, Brynden thought to himself. A very strange way to conduct a war, where secrets are the weapons and the goals as well. I'm making some headway, if only it didn't feel as if I was surrounded by lions all the time. That thought brought a lopsided smirk to Brynden's face but his smile faded after a moment. Besides the Lannister's, the Spider and Petyr' many more agents than I expected. I could wish I knew where they stood in this 'game'.

Brynden continued down the street, surreptitiously checking to make certain that his sword was loose in its scabbard. He had noticed someone following him a few streets back. Now that they were moving away from the richer districts and into the maze of alleyways of the somewhat well to do below The Street of Flour, they had closed up.

His eyes narrowed however when he noticed that there were no Gold Cloaks about. This was still an area of the city that they should've been patrolling but as Brynden walked on he realized he hadn't seen even one of them since entering leaving the smell of the bakers behind him. It was hard to notice thanks to the normal crowds of the city but when you looked, it became obvious. Lovely, Brynden thought to himself.

Stopping suddenly, Brynden turned around and moved backwards a few paces, looking around quizzically as if he was trying to figure out where he was going,. He then turned around again and moved on. This was the signal for his own men, five men from Riverrun who followed him from a distance, to close in on him. Hopefully they noticed my tail already and were watching for the signal.

Brynden's men had indeed noticed the tail and closed in quickly. Even so, the crowd held the men from Riverrun up long enough for a band of four men to reach Brynden first. Two of them looked to be sell-swords, their swords sharp but nicked, their mail shabby in places and dented in others but still serviceable. The other two were thugs, plain and simple, with leather Jerkins, hoods to hide their faces, and long shafted clubs in their hands, the kind that would be good to intimidate other smallfolk.

Instead of them falling upon an unprepared enemy, Brynden met them with steel in his hand. He blocked the first blow from the first person who attacked him, one of the thugs whose eyes widened at the speed of the older man. From what Brynden could see underneath his hood, he looked like a callow-faced youth, but Brynden didn't care if for the boy's age, only that he was being attacked. A second later, his belt knife was in the thug's chest, piercing his thin leather jerkin with relative ease.

Brynden ducked when the other thug tried to take his head off with his club, then backed away quickly, losing his knife when he used it to block a slash from one of the sell swords. The sword in his other hand blocked the other sell-sword's blow as well, though it threw him backwards.

Screams began as the smallfolk all around him scattered at the sudden outbreak of violence. But being city folk, none of them tried to aid him, even those who were armed, simply moving back and away.

Two more men raced out of another alleyway further back the way Brynden had been walking from but ran smack dab into the five men from Riverrun, who cut them down quickly. They raced on, the crowd of smallfolk scattering further to get out of their way to fall upon the attackers around Brynden.

Brynden was surprised that the sell swords, at least, didn't immediately surrender. Such men were not known for their loyalty after all. Instead, one of the sell swords fell back into the alleyway in an effort to run away, which failed as two of the men from Riverrun raced after him. The man was fast but didn't know the streets as well as these two, who frequented a whorehouse nearby. That was why they were on the roster to guard their lord's estranged brother today.

The other sell sword might have surrendered but he was cut down too quickly to do anything of the sort. The thug, however, took to his heels and ran away like a street rat born, much too fast for any of the men at arms, who were wearing chain mail as normal, to catch up with him.

Brynden cursed, looking down at his tabard which had been sliced in one of the strikes from one of the sell swords. While that had been an amusing little get together, he had dearly hoped to take a prisoner.

He looked around, hoping to find some kind of minder still watching to see if the attack worked but failed to see anyone taking any more interest than could be considered normal. Sighing faintly at lost opportunities, Brynden quickly moved over to the dead bodies to see if we could find anything incriminating on them and, not coincidentally, taking their money pouches.

When he opened them, he cursed again, shaking his head. Whoever had paid the men had paid them quite a lot but in small coin and there was nothing on either that he could use to trace who paid them. "Still," he murmured to himself as he straightened up, only now noticing that there were Gold Cloaks cautiously making their way down the street towards him, "that plus the fact that there were no Gold Cloaks around for so long before this tells me that someone is feeling the pressure."

OOOOOOO

Brynden came back to the tower in the late evening and immediately asked to talk to Eddard and Ranma. Ranma and Brynden had to wait over an hour before Eddard was finished his work for the evening. The work at digging the kingdom out of debt continued taking up Ned's nearly every waking hour as he poured over the ledgers. Ranma and Renly tried to help him, but, neither had a good enough head for numbers to really take much of the pressure off Ned's shoulders.

Ned had a decent grasp numbers himself and going a good job at it, making the bookkeeping more streamlined, more standardized and actually legible to everyone. But since he could trust no one else to help him, save his secretary, who he had brought down from Winterfell, it was very slow going, a slogging process that ate up his time like a ravenous beast. Petyr kept on offering his services but Ned had decided not to rely on him with this, not until he proved himself trustworthy.

He hadn't even had much time to devote to Jon Arryn's murder or the reasons behind it. Not to mention his finding the book of lineages gone when they returned from the tourney. Still, he had found a way around that, sending a messenger to Old-town, to speak to the Maesters there via his friend Lord Mallister. Some of them would no doubt know about lineage and the various signs of a certain line. Even without that confirmation, Ned was becoming more and more concerned, fearing his thoughts along those lines might turn out to be right.

At last, Eddard joined them and Brynden immediately launched into what he wanted to share with them. "I finally found what the Queen's agents are looking for. She's sending people to keep watch on the King's bastards here in the city. I'm still not certain why." Though I am getting a very terrible feeling, Brynden thought to himself, being certain not to mention that fear aloud, though Eddard seemed to have reached the same conclusion by the grim set of his mouth.

"I have also found out that Petyr has several connections with a few of the thieves' gangs here in the city that are funneling him information. And as I was attacked this afternoon, I think we can take it as a given that someone is getting anxious." Brynden's voice was dust dry as he said this, before going on to describe the actual attack in detail. After that, he shrugged. "And I will say we never saw a Gold Cloak until the bodies stopped twitching."

"I am going to push to remove Slynt from command of the Gold Cloaks again this coming meeting." Eddard said grimly. "I will no longer allow Robert's fear of his replacement being worse than Slynt to stop it. We must clean up the Gold Cloaks from top to bottom."

"I'd recommend getting rid of anyone who has been on the force for more than a year." Ranma growled, his knuckles cracking. He hadn't seen a single Gold Cloak acting like a real peacekeeper since he arrived. They were just another gang really, larger, better organized and outfitted, but they took protection money and arrested anyone who tried to get in their way, just like any other gang. Their official remit only allowed them to get away with more.

"A most amusing dream but nothing more." Ned replied with one of his faint smiles on his face. "Still, that attack on you Brynden is a warning to all of us. I'm going to inform the men not to travel in anything but groups of ten or more from now on, and Ranma, when you and Margaery walk about the city you might want to think about take a visible guard force." He chuckled at his son's scowl. "Next time such an attack occurs though, whoever is attacked should try to take prisoners." He turned to look at Brynden. "Anything else for us this evening?"

Brynden nodded. "Our contact at the 'Flowers of All Colors' left a message at the drop point, saying she had some information to pass on. It sounded somewhat urgent. I have a meeting I need to get to down at the docks, so I was hoping that you could stop by in your 'Rock Hurler' persona and speak to her."

The older man laughed to himself quietly as Ranma flushed. Despite his self-control, with no one here he could sleep with and trust to keep their mouths shut, Brynden knew Ranma was becoming a little pent up, and the young whore in question had gotten under his skin before.

"I'll head out tonight then." Ranma said rather reluctantly. It wasn't like he minded talking to Alayaya, it was simply that she was very attractive and he knew she would have no regrets about doing whatever he wished. While Ranma now felt he could trust her discretion, he was now supposedly affianced to Margaery so it just wouldn't be right.

Late that night, Ranma moved over the rooftops of the city covered in the Umi-Sen-Ken. Occasionally he stopped to throw bricks down at any law-breaking below. These bricks interrupted a mugging, one rape (that one was thrown with extra force shattering the skull of the man attempting to do said act), and one break-in. That last wasn't done by a brick however, but by the simple expedient of kicking the would-be burglar off the roof as Ranma passed. All-in-all a regular evening, he thought sardonically, as he neared the House of Many Flowers.

Soon Ranma arrived, slipping down to the streets quickly, although he had to wait a few moments before a customer came out. He swiftly moved inside, once again finding himself in the glittering and bourgeois boudoir. Ranma had been here once since that first time, to pick up some information on a particularly corrupt twosome of courtiers who had been flashing Essos coinage. It turned out that they had both been taking money for quite some time to relay news to a few factors in Essos, specifically Pentos and Braavos.

When Edd had them arrested, Varys had come forward, saying he had already known of it. The Spider had been using them to funnel information to their backers, false information, or so he claimed. Still, Ned had jailed them both, pending execution or being sent to the Wall for treason.

That hadn't been the first or the last group to be quickly brought to justice like that. Ned was on a warpath against corruption the city, and it was only the fact that Robert was loathe to remove him that the head of the Gold Cloaks, Janos Slynt, still had his head at all. Robert had long been afraid that if he removed Janos, the person he replaced him would be even worse but Ranma's father had reached the point to push for it regardless.

The Lannisters and, though no one but he knew it, Petyr still had far more supporters than the Starks however. In particular the nobles in the city and the court were on their side, angry at how met much of their graft was slowly being worn away. The court was becoming more and more turned against the Starks, though it was a slow process thanks to Robert's approval of Ned as well as the help that Margaery had begun to give them since the tourney.

They were also helped by the fact that the Queen wasn't taking any overt action and had actually stepped on several such. But the attack on the Blackfish earlier that day showed that the Lannisters and the others were possibly ready to strike back, regardless of Ned's influence with Robert.

When Ranma entered, there were no Gold Cloaks this time, but neither was the business of the brothel going on as normal. Everyone in the main area was watching an argument going on between Alayaya. The young black woman was resplendent in a slinky, figure hugging dress, a stark contrast to the person she was arguing with.

Ranma recognized him as the young man who won the archery tournament. He already had two girls on his arms and apparently was going for a third. "I don't care if someone else has bought your services, I can pay you more, is that not enough?!"

"On any other day my Lord, it would be, but not today. Today, as I have said, I have a previous appointment."

The young man scowled, which did nothing for his homely features. His face was a battle between the invading forces of acne and the defending freckles. He was decently built but his looks were against him, and it was obvious the money he had won in the tournament had gone to his head, allowing him to buy time with beautiful women who would not normally look at him twice. Ranma actually felt somewhat sorry for the guy but not sorry enough to put off meeting with Alayaya.

He moved forward while the young man spoke angrily. "If you have a client then where is he? I don't see him here, and if he's not here, then his place is forfeit!"

Ranma smirked, then dropped several gold dragons into a glass set by a station that the madam was standing next to.

Chataya smirked. Alayaya's mother was actually more superstitious than she let on in front of most and, despite not knowing of her daughter's business as an informant for the Hand, had decided that the patronage of a mystic spirit was enough to deal with losing her daughter's income for a few days every month. That, plus the gold that the Rock Hurler paid her was good enough for the matron. "Alayaya, your client for the evening has arrived and already gone up. I suggest you join him."

Alayaya smiled and turned to do so but the archer, whose name was Anguy, followed after. He was determined to have all three of the girls tonight. Alayaya was the only one he had never been able to book before there either, her evenings had to be booked well in advance, but he wanted all three of the most beautiful girls at once, something no other man had ever tried. "I still don't see this man, even if your mother says he has paid."

"Nor would you." Alayaya smirked.

Anguy tried to grab her arm but suddenly hissed as a small stone impacted his wrist with deadening force. He looked around wildly and didn't see anyone. Still, despite not having been in the city long, he had heard the rumors of the Rock Hurler, though up until this point he hadn't actually believed them.

Gulping he backed away slightly. "I-I'm no fool enough to argue with such as that, I know not what magics you use, Rock Hurler, but forgive me and do not hex me." The boy backed away mumbling apologies to join the two girls whose time he had already paid for. After a moment, Anguy actually brightened up slightly, since not having to pay for Alayaya would allow him two weeks' worth of pleasure at a less reputable establishment.

Alayaya smirked as the door to her room closed behind her, looking around thoughtfully. She always got a kick out of the Rock Hurler's visits, above and beyond simply liking the intrigue or the fact that she had made such a powerful patron. Her mother's stories of the jungle spirits were part of it, of course. There was a thrill to having an invisible lover (even if they weren't actually lovers) that was intoxicating. That, and the life of a whore had so little excitement to it she loved what little she could get. "Where are you, my invisible friend?"

"Over here." Ranma said, humor plain in his voice. "Sorry to interrupt." His tone however said he wasn't sorry at all.

"Don't be." Alayaya said with the smile on her face as she moved over, one hand outstretched. She shivered a little as she felt the Rock Hurler's muscled chest under her hand for a moment, smiling wider when she felt invisible fingers take her hand in turn.

Moving in slightly, her other hand quested for his shoulder before Alayaya rested her head lightly against it. "According to the girls young Anguy's frequented, he's a rather poor lover in many ways. His face is not the only part of him that is freckled. We also had to force him to go bathe after he showed up the first time. My mother likes to run a clean house, who knows what kind of disease he could have given the others?" she murmured, her hands now trying to move around him, though being stymied by his.

Ranma gently pushed the girl off him, shuddering a little. Despite his growing friendship with Margaery, it had been a very long few months indeed since his last tryst with Dacey. Since being introduced to the pleasures of the flesh, Ranma had found he was unable to ignore his urges in that direction. The Queen's ongoing subtle teasing, Margaery's flirtations, what happened at the tournament, with all of this, his control was slowly fraying and Ranma knew it.

But whatever the Tyrells might think or even Margaery herself of thier arrangement Ranma would hold to it. That meant not having relationships with anyone else during that period, no matter how alluring, exotic, or gentle the girl in question was. Thankfully, he was also helped in the fact that her profession was abhorrent to him no matter how kind or gentle Alayaya was. "Not that I don't like spending time with you, lady, but you left a message at the drop point. It sounded urgent."

Alayaya nodded, her face now serious, despite the fact that she kept one hand on his chest gently running her fingers up and down his invisible chest. "Yes, it is urgent. This began a few days after the tournament, but I only heard about it this morning, when I went to see a sick friend. There has been a sudden influx of sell swords into the city. Not bands of them, simply ones and twos, here and there, spread out. The total number is unknown but I would guess at least two-hundred or so. Not a lot in a city this size, that's why no one else has noticed them, but whores talk and I have friends among nearly all the other high-class brothels and many in some of the lesser class ones."

What she didn't say was that those ladies were routinely ill-treated and longed for companionship from girls like her who didn't judge them. Many also sought to escape from their current place of work to one where they would be at least protected. "They're being paid very well; else they would not be able to afford the services of some of the brothels they go to, although none so far has wished to pay my mother's prices."

"Worrisome." Ranma murmured closing his eyes in thought for a moment, ignoring Alayaya's hand as it searched for his face. He opened them, gently reaching up to take her hand away from his jaw. "Is there any indication of allegiance to any of these mercenaries?"

"No." The young Summer Island woman shook her head. "The amount of money they have to throw around tells me it's someone with deep pockets, but that's it. Many of them stay in the merchant quarter, most particularly with a few noblemen's factors who are angry at the Hand's crusade against corruption in the city. But that is a majority of them, so that's not much help."

Ranma cursed a little. He had hoped to hear something that connected these mercenaries to someone that they were already investigating. Bringing in troops like that was an act they could respond to but without more evidence, they would have to turn the matter over to the Gold Cloaks. None of the powers-that-be would be happy to know that someone else was bringing in men like that, regardless of who was behind it.

"Thank you lady," he said quietly, yet with warmth. "Your news was indeed very important. Have you seen anyone come by checking on your friend's daughter?"

"No." Alayaya smiled at the concern in the Rock Hurler's voice for the baby. Most men would be unconcerned with the bastard of a whore, even if it was the King's, but it was obvious from his tone and actions that the Rock Hurler actually cared about the baby as an individual.

Last time he had stopped by, they had met once more in the baby room. She had watched, laughing, while he pushed the few baby toys around to the girl's gurgling laughter. It was one of many things that told her that the Rock Hurler, for all that he refused to drop the magic that kept him invisible, was a good man.

"I haven't seen anyone and there's been no trouble recently. I don't think anyone here knows the secret I shared with you save my mother and Baara's mother herself, for which both myself and my mother are truly thankful. She's a good friend, and I would hate to see anything happen to her thanks to the Queen's jealousies, no matter how well founded."

"That's good." Ranma thought for a moment, then nodded. "Something seems to be going on, so we need to set up a way for you to get an emergency message to us quicker. You have all different kinds of colored cloth here, is there any way you could wrap a note in red cloth? That will tell the contact at the Honey Ale place to get it to us immediately, even if he has to break cover to do it."

Alayaya giggled, enjoying the skullduggery immensely, as well as the trust that the Rock Hurler was showing her. "I can do that easily. Though," she murmured huskily, leaning in once more, her questing hand moving from his chest up over his invisible shoulder to touch his neck. There it was stopped by one of his hands, but she leaned forward regardless. "I don't suppose I could interest you in simply stopping by every night?" She leaned in, her fingers having found his lips, and kissed him ardently.

It was all Ranma could do to keep from slipping out of the Umi-Sen-Ken. Even so, his control of it wavered so much he held up a hand to cover the black girl's eyes to block her sight while it wavered. But he could not stop himself from responding. Ranma kissed her back with fervor, one of his arms encircling her waist and pressing her tight to him.

Alayaya moaned a little, trying to draw him further in but Ranma eventually regained control of himself and pushed her back slightly, regaining control of the technique as he did so. Before Alayaya could do anything but murmur disappointment Ranma reached into a pouch then dropped another few gold dragons into her hand.

"I'm sorry." he murmured and he actually was at this point. "I have obligations lady and I cannot…" He shrugged, unseen yet felt. "I cannot do this with you, no matter how much I could wish to."

"I'll take that as a compliment." Alayaya smiled, moving back slightly after letting her hand rub down his chest once more drifting below his stomach to feel the response below his belt. A very nice compliment indeed." she murmured breathlessly, shaking her head and moving away. "In any event, that's all I had for you now."

Ranma nodded, murmured a farewell, and then moved over to the window opening it once more.

A moment later Alayaya was alone, smiling faintly. "I'll get you yet, my city spirit." she murmured in her mother's native tongue, laughing quietly. After that however, she decided to turn in. A quiet evening was something whores very rarely got after all, and she was going to savor this one even if it could've been so much better.

OOOOOOO

A week after arriving at the Wall, Daryn led his first group of scouts out into the wild territories. A hundred strong, they moved in groups of ten through the woods beyond the Wall, each squad within sight of one another. Among these hundred were skilled mountain clan scouts as well as rangers from the Night's Watch. They were good, capable men, who knew the lay of the land easily and directed the troop towards the old man's fort. On foot for a force this size, the rangers estimated the trip would take them two weeks out then two back.

They could've taken horses but the lay of the land was against that idea. The forests beyond the Wall were extremely dense, with a lot of overhanging branches and no trails to be seen. In such ground, a horse made a lot more noise moving than a man on foot and didn't actually move any faster, most especially since there was much more snow on the ground on this side of the Wall then on the other. The ground underneath the snow was still soft but there was a crisp feel to the air that hinted of further snow and it was even colder, if anything.

Even for men on foot it was much harder and, after a fortnight's travel, Daryn pulled his senior officers together. "This is much tougher going than I expected." he confided to them, shaking his head. "There's no way we can make it to Caster's Keep in two weeks, a month might be pushing it. So, do we go on, or turn back before going over the old man's timetable?"

The chief ranger, whose name was Olar Shuent, shrugged. According to rumor among the Night's Watch, he was a Stormlander who had fallen afoul of a lord, wooing the man's daughter successfully and had been forced to flee before the lord's men-at-arms, joining up with a detail of Night's Watch recruiters.

How much of that was truth and how much was rumor, Daryn didn't know nor care, since the man was a veteran ranger who knew his stuff. "We go on. Craster's an old fucker but he could have good information for us at least about what's going on further north. We need that information; surprise is more dangerous to the Wall than mere numbers."

The other two senior men both nodded. Daryn paused a moment, looking at each in turn, then nodded. "Alright, we go on."

The next day, the group was once more up and moving at dawn, groups of ten moving in file through the trees. Daryn strode at the head of one such, men chosen by his father to watch his back, something the men themselves were rather amused by, since Daryn was better with a blade than any four of them combined. Still, training with him during the march up to Wall had made them all better than they had been. Such was the effect Ranma could have on those he trained. The wolfsworn, as Tyrion had noticed, were very dangerous indeed.

At the moment that didn't matter, Daryn was too busy watching his surroundings to realize how even now the idea he needed protecting amused the men around him. Olar and all the other rangers had been very blunt about how good the wildings were at ambushing people on their own ground and any land beyond the wall was their own ground.

Both his and his men's caution availed them not at all two hours later. As they moved through the dense woodland, suddenly all around them appeared a massive band of wildlings, springing up seemingly out of the very ground. They came out of nowhere, straight into his force's front as it was strung out in march formation, their war cries filling the air. Their numbers couldn't be determined in the rush, and the surprise was total.

Yet for all that, Daryn responded promptly. He bulled forward, his shield smashing one wildling to the turf. Its edge caught the man in the side of the neck as he tried to force himself to his feet while Daryn's sword took another man right underneath the bone armor he was wearing, cutting into his guts.

As the man on the ground writhed wildly, his hands scrabbling at his neck, Daryn recovered quickly to smash his blade against another's shattering the flint blade of his opponent and driving on to slice into the man's throat. "Ambush!" Daryn yelled, his voice a trumpet over the growing cacophony of battle. "Odd numbers fall back and use bows! Even numbers stand with me!"

Before leaving Castle Black, Daryn had numbered his squads, giving each group leader a number so that they could respond to his commands in an emergency. He had gotten that idea from Ranma, as well as Lord Stark, who thought it an excellent one and had instituted it in the men from Winterfell, even assigning each squad a leader.

While it was impossible to make a shield wall in the dense woodland, it was possible to create small defensive positions, while the others fell back to start using their bows. At Daryn's command, the odd numbered groups fell back, while the other groups held their ground, linking up as they could to better protect themselves, which wasn't much thanks to the wildlings onslaught and the terrain. Daryn was the rock. He held his ground while around him the even squads held their ground while the odds fell back raising their bows.

The Hornwood heir blocked another thrust to his head with his shield, which was beginning to buckle under the repeated blows, despite the fact the majority of the weapons hitting it were stone or even bone in some cases. Still, Daryn pushed forward, grabbing his current attacker's arm as he tried to lift his large stone axe again, stabbing him under his armor with a knife his shield hand had pulled out of his belt while his sword smashed aside a spear user, throwing him back into his fellows as the spear splintered under the blow.

A chieftain, judging by his better weapon and accoutrements roared out a challenge in the wildling tongue and then charged towards Daryn. He had a rusty but still visibly iron sword, his armor was better, and he carried a shield.

"Come get me then, you fucking mongrel!" Daryn grimly steadied himself, taking the man's charge on his shield and not moving an inch.

The wildling chieftain grunted in shock as the youth simply absorbed his momentum, and then yelled in surprise as he felt Daryn push his shield under his own, lifting him up slightly, and throwing off his stance. He tried to bring his massive blade around but was too slow. Daryn had already pushed his shield to one side and his blade stabbed forward, smashing through the loose wooden scales covering his enemy's chest.

The man gurgled and died, and Daryn kicked his body off the blade, while two men behind him died with arrows in their chests. All around him arrows began to cut the surrounding wildlings down. "Even squads, by the numbers, fall back!"

Off to the side, a squad leader shouted "Two", followed in an even pace by the other squad leaders. Daryn's group was number ten, thus last to fall back.

By this point, he had lost six of his men but he and the three remaining were still fighting hard. The arrows from behind were now taking a deadly toll in the attackers. This allowed his men to open up some space between themselves and their ambushers, joining up and forming a semi-cohesive battle line or, at least, the best line they could form in the heavy woodlands.

Now the wildlings faced a ready force, with the swordsman in front of the archers and the element of surprise lost. Any civilized ambush party would've retreated, especially considering the losses they had already taken. But the wildlings didn't think like that, they kept coming except for a few who were cowardly enough to run away. Even then, many of those cowards were cut down by their fellows before they could retreat.

The wildlings charged forward, their numbers greatly reduced thanks to the arrows of their 'victims', but Daryn and his men met them with a roar. "The Wall stands!"

With Daryn now holding the center of the line they couldn't break through to the archers, who continued to wreak a deadly toll. That signaled the battle turning against the attackers.

Fifteen minutes later, it was all over but the groaning. The entire wildling force had come forward; confident they could break through to the archers and had died against the shaken yet still strong shield line. Daryn estimated there had been over a hundred-and-seventy attackers, more than enough to wipe out a group of a hundred taken by surprise as they had done but the organization and Daryn's calm command had allowed them to recover.

After a moment spent cleaning his blade (and looking mournfully at the mangled bit of metal that had been his shield, a gift from his grandfather on his mother's side), Daryn noticed the men around him looking at him in awe.

He laughed, his beard bristling as he guffawed. "The Lord Stark and his maester were both excellent teachers for tactics, and for the other," he said holding up his blade with a grim smile, "that, you can lay at the Young Wolf's feet."

That won a rueful chuckle from most of his listeners, many of whom had discounted the tales of the Young Wolf's prowess in battle, though several were still looking at Daryn with awe. Daryn alone had probably accounted for at least seventeen attackers, possibly more. All of them also knew that without his quick, controlled response, none of them would've been able to get out of the ambush alive.

The young man clapped his hands hard, trying to break the spell. "Group leaders, check and see how many men you've lost and then assign some men to go around and burn the bodies where they lie. Olar, take some men and form a perimeter. It's evident the wildings have gotten farther south in larger numbers than we realized and I don't want us to be surprised again."

The order to burn the bodies caused the men some confusion but they still obeyed readily.

The final toll was fifty-five dead, nearly two-thirds having fallen in the first few minutes of the ambush, along with another twenty injured, some severely enough to warrant giving mercy. They wouldn't have survived the trek back to the wall and killing them now was better than making them suffer through that.

As soon as the final count was tallied and the wounded were being taken care of, Daryn called in his officers together once more. "All right, we've been hurt but we still have a job to do. I want a group of twelve of the best rangers we have, you'll go forward with me. We'll go fast and quietly; it's obvious the wildlings are out here in force so we'll have to sneak by them if we can."

One of the Rangers, an older Northman named Selrig, spat to one side. "If all we want is a look at the Fort I know a place fer that. There's an overhangin' hill about a half day's journey from Caster's Keep. If we come on it at night, we can head up during the night, stay there during the day, and then head back out the following evening, though it will be tough going from the get go, let alone when we reach the hill itself."

"Subterfuge is the only way forward now." Daryn said nodding. "Selrig, you know our destination, so you'll lead the way. We'll head out right now." He turned to one of the men from Hornwood. "Vander, you're in charge of the group going back to the wall. Head straight back, tell Commander Mormont and the others what we ran into, and tell them what we're up to as well."

"Milord, I don't want to have to explain to your father that we left you behind. Take at least a few of the men from Hornwood with you." Vander begged. He knew he couldn't go, having had his arm broken in the fight, but still his duty was clear.

Daryn exchanged a glance with Olar, who shook his head. "I'm sorry, but they'll only slow us down, Vander. Besides, I should have thought this fight showed I didn't need minders."

Vander frowned, but nodded and went off to reorganize the survivors. Twenty minutes later Daryn and his group left, heading on an oblique angle further north as fast and silently as they could go over the snow covered forest floor. Behind them, the remaining troopers finished tending to their injured, and set off back to the Wall.

Daryn's group continued on, traveling as quickly as possible through the day and on into the night, not stopping, eating on the go. They avoided several patrol of wildlings who were moving through the forest as silently as animals, though what they were searching for, Daryn didn't know.

After a fortnight's forced march, the reinforced squad eventually came upon the area Selrig recommended and made their way forward even more quietly that evening, after hiding throughout the day. Selrig led the way up unerringly. As he had said, it was steep going but after much silent cursing and sweat, they came out onto a small overlook that let them look further north to see the Craster's Fort.

Even in the darkness lit only by the torches of the distant Fort, they could tell it was much larger than before, something that caused all the scouts who had seen it before to hiss in shock. Olar pointed out what they could see in the dark, that the walls had been expanded outwards and there was now what looked like a secondary wall even beyond that.

Everywhere between were barely visible tents, lit by the numerous fires that were everywhere, much more than there should have been even as cold as it was, which had been a problem for the group. Several of them were now frostbitten in places, but that couldn't be the reason behind the sheer number of fires or torches down there.

The next day, Daryn looked over the Fort and was further dismayed at what he saw. Besides the heads of Craster and what according to Olar were possibly his daughters stuck on poles outside, the area was being modified built up into an even larger Fort than had been visible the night before or, possibly, a supply point.

There were at least a thousand tents down there, with hundreds of wooden lodgings already constructed. There was also what looked like a crude dam set up on the river behind the fort and more work going on to expand it in that direction over the other side of the river, a tributary that would eventually join up with the unnamed river that went on to form the Gorge, the western most point of the Wall.

Olar grunted irritably from where he lay prone on the snow next to the young lord. "I didn't believe you youngsters when you talked of a new King-Beyond-the-Wall. Even when your Umber friend got out the name of the supposed King, I didn't really believe. Now I do. Damn Mance, I knew him when he was on the Wall."

"That's definitely a supply point they're building." Daryn muttered, looking at the fort through his spyglass, tilting the end of it so that sunlight couldn't catch the glass. That spyglass was an expensive gift from his father and he had no wish to for it to be the cause of his death. "Look at the buildup at the back, the cleared sections where they've been digging shallow basements in places, the room at the back is far too large for the troops on hand."

Selrig frowned then spat to the side, his spit freezing almost as soon as it hit the ground in the morning chill. "Do you think we could get back to the Wall and get here with a large enough force to destroy it before more wildlings arrive?

"Doubt it," Daryn grunted. "The survivors of that group we tangled with the other day will be found by their scouts eventually, so they'll be ready for us. That fort might not look like much yet, but give it a few weeks and it'll be more formidable. Plus the inner fort would have to be taken as well.

"Look!" Olar growled, pointing. "They're even clearing out the forest to give them clear lanes of fire. Wildlings don't do that!"

"They do when they have a king commanding them." Daryn shook his head then waved his hand lightly signaling them to fall back. "We'll keep watch for the rest of the day, but as soon as it's dark out, you're going to have to lead us out again, Selrig."

"Joy." the scout muttered, shaking his head, but subsided afterward, wrapping his heavy cloak around him, shivering as he lay there in the snow and leaves.

For the rest of the day they watched, while two more groups of wildlings, each about three hundred strong, arrived, bringing with them more supplies, which went into the already prepared longhouses and shallow supply basements. After that, several shallow rafts arrived, coming down the stream at the back of the Fort, carrying more supplies and another group of wildlings.

"Where are they all coming from?" Daryn muttered. "How are they feeding themselves on the march?"

"Herds of elk or deer mostly, fishing in the rivers, there is a soup they make from bark too, though what it does to their brains you don't want to know. They'll have no problems feeding their troops on the march. It's when they stop that they'll have problems." Olar answered.

Daryn frowned, then shrugged, though he was still wondering about a few things. Foremost was why the wildlings seemed content during the day to move in small groups around their fort and through the woods, but at night moved only in large groups beyond the light of their fires, if they left the fires at all.

Could they already be feeling the depredations of the White Walkers? Is that what is driving the wildlings south? The way the wildlings are acting isn't really proof of that, but that might be something we need to keep at the back of our minds.

They waited through the rest of the day and well into the night, a moonless one thankfully, since it made spotting them all the harder, even if it also made the going even worse for them. As before, Selrig led the way, each man barely able to see the one in front of them, as they moved off through the woods. Still, they avoided the large parties of torch bearing wildling scouts easily.

A time or two they saw odd flickering blue lights through the trees, which made Daryn stiffen and ready his weapons for some reason the other men couldn't fathom. Even without Daryn's knowledge of the White Walkers the trek was dark, dangerous, and very, very worrying even for men like these. So it wasn't long before they too began to feel edgy.

During the fifth day of their trex back Olar, who had been scouting ahead came back with word that the straight path back to the wall was being searched by too many wildling groups for them to make it through. The searchers were spreading out among the forest to search, presumably, for them or other survivors of the disastrous ambush.

Daryn frowned, looking at him and Selrig while the group hid in an area of the woods that was even more overgrown than most. "Can we move around them somehow, east or west?"

Olar and Selrig thought for a moment, conversing quietly while the others kept watch. At last, Olar said firmly, "East, the patrols are weaker there and the woods become much denser down that way. We'll have to circle back to Castle Black but we can do that easily enough once we get beyond this lot."

This took them a week out of their way, slowed further by the need to avoid more wildling patrols. Eventually, Daryn and his men left the last wildling patrol behind, moving on a diagonal through the woods from where they had come under the Wall through the guarded gate there. They kept going for several days before at last they came within sight of the wall many days travel east of Castle Black.

The Wall was so massive a structure it could be seen for leagues in any weather looming over the forest. Daryn stared through the branches up at it, then looked over at the two scouts. "How many days do you think it will take for us to get to Castle Black from here?"

Olar smiled faintly, looking around the woods with a smile of remembrance, though Daryn didn't have enough woodcraft to tell this section of the forest from any other. "Another week's travel or so. I know this place of old; it's near the heart tree we use to swear in Northern recruits to the Night's Watch."

At that moment Selrig, who was in the lead of their squad, which had tightened up by this point, paused holding up a clenched fist in the sign for enemies.

Everyone quickly drew their weapons, looking around. "What did you see?" Daryn whispered.

"It's what I don't hear that's tellin' me trouble's comin'." The older man muttered. "There ain't been any sound of bird song for the past while but a group like ours with no other groups around couldn't've scared off all the birds within 'earing distance. Can't believe it took me that long to notice! Might be getting' old for this game."

"You noticed it anyway." Daryn muttered. "I didn't notice anything." They were all tense and ready even as they continued forward, so when the wildlings did ambush them, they were prepared. Just like the previous ambush wildings appeared as if out of the very ground, shouting and charging Daryn and his men.

When a large group of wildling raiders hadn't reported back, Mance, who had taken command of the forward outpost personally, knew something was up. He decided to err on the side of caution because he knew that information was valuable and that surprise would help them tremendously in their onslaught on the Wall. It was on his orders that wildling parties covered the route straight back from his keep with patrols. Then Mance took it one step further, sending out large parties of ambushers on all angles, with orders not to engage anyone coming out from the Wall if they could avoid it, but to ambush any group heading back toward it.

There were only sixty wildlings in this ambush but for a group of twelve that would have been more than enough. Even Daryn wasn't proof against those kinds of numbers. As he quickly surveyed the charging raiders, Daryn felt a moment of despair but he pushed it aside standing forward from the others, shield on one arm and sword in hand. "Righteous in wrath!"

The wildling group was about to slam into them when there was a hail of, "The Wall Stands!" From the southern side of the attackers a hail of arrows slammed into a dozen of the attackers bearing them to Earth. War cries abounded as a large group of Umber and Hornwood men charged forward from their own hiding places among the trees and snow, slamming in turn into the raiders from behind and the side.

Daryn laughed in relief even as his sword flashed out to cut down the first wildling to meet him, while many of the raiders turned to face their attackers. Four however came at him quickly, with a fifth trying to circle behind him. His shield blocked a spear thrust from one, smacking it to the side. A kick took another in the thigh, slowing him down just enough for Daryn to engage the third man sword to sword, throwing him backwards quickly. Turning, he took the fourth man in the throat with his sword point before he could bring his short club down on Daryn's back.

While Olar attacked the wildling wielding a sword, a flint mace slammed into Daryn's shoulder and he grunted in pain yet his armor took it. His shield snaked up, the edge slamming into the man's chin with cracking force, throwing him backwards even as the spear wielder tried to gore him through the chest. Daryn dodged the spear, which grazed his leather armor slightly, but he ignored it. His sword sliced across the spear wielder's chest, cutting through his bone armor and throwing him backwards.

The man with the flint mace backed away even as two more raiders came up. Daryn charged to meet them, cutting the mace wielder down before engaging the other two, pushing one backwards for a second. He lashed out with a kick that caught the other man in the diaphragm throwing him back gasping for air. He knelt quickly, chopping down with his shield's edge before rising up to catch the remaining man's stone flail with his blade, throwing him backwards with a burst of strength. The man was dismayed but not for long as this opened his chest up for Daryn's killing stroke. The man fell, his guts splashing out to steam in the cold snow

Then Smalljon was there, charging through the wildlings with three Umber men at his back along with two men wearing Hornwood colors, orange with a black moose on their surcoats. Daryn recognized one as Vander and both men were hacking grimly at any wildling to come near as they forged their way to the side of their lord's heir.

Smalljon fell into place next to his friend, slapping him on the shoulder with his free hand. Smalljon preferred to use a single claymore rather than the sword and shield Daryn used. Still, he wielded like a single-handed longsword in his hand, the exercises he had done with Ranma raising his strength well beyond normal levels. He cut down four wildlings in quick succession, their bone and wood armor unable to stop his steel blade. "Evening Daryn, have an interesting time of it of late?"

"Informative at least." Daryn laughed, smacking another wildling to the floor with the pommel of his blade before ending him with an economical back hand.

Smalljon laughed. He negligently gutted a spear user who tried to gore him, who had found to his brief dismay that even his attempt to keep Smalljon away at spear point failed given the disparity in arm length and the reach of the Umber heir's sword. The man fell, his neck open from ear-to-ear.

Around them, the wildling's fought to the last man save for a few 'cowards' who raced away through the woods, but Smalljon had anticipated this, and had ordered his archers to fall back to shoot down runners after that initial salvo. Not a one of them would escape.

Daryn reached down, grabbing up a handful of wildling jerkin to clean his blade, looking up at his large friend. "How did you know which way we were coming?"

"Honestly, we didn't!" Smalljon laughed. "This group was spotted a few days ago by one of the ranger companies. They didn't do anything to draw attention to the fact they saw them and we devised this little ambush. Now, let's get you lot back to the wall. I assume you have news to share."

"Oh yes." Daryn replied grimly, looking around and sighing faintly as he noticed his squad had lost four men in that ambush despite Smalljon's intervention. "Yes, I do indeed have some information to share."

OOOOOOO

While Daryn was leading his force out to scout, Tyrion conducted a survey of the siege equipment already on the Wall. He had been impressed by the winch elevator, the enclosed platform that could be taken from Castle Black up onto the top of the Wall. It was well cared for, the ropes were in excellent condition, the construction was solid, and there was no sign of wear on the massive steel wheels and winches.

That had been all Tyrion had been impressed by. Of the forty or so siege engines he surveyed in his first two weeks, just two were in working condition and they looked more like something out of a history text than anything that should be trusted in battle. Evidently, the advancements in siege warfare of the last hundred years or so had not reached the Wall. When asked his opinion about them, Tyrion simply mimed pushing them off the side and smacking his hands together like after a job well done, something that had irritated the few Nights watchmen with his survey team. The Northerners merely laughed and told him to get on with it.

Tyrion did so, making an in-depth survey of each of them in turn. Well he said in-depth, it really only took him about five to ten minutes each to discern if there was anything worth saving, since the answer was almost universally no. In the end, he decided that the two that were working could stay for now, then worked with commander Jeor to decide the spacing of the first batch of catapults they would be creating. After that, with a large team of men with knowledge of wood working, about seven hundred men all told, pulled from the various commands at Castle Black, he set out to the nearest forest behind the Wall.

It took four days to travel to the forest and Tyrion spent the rest of the time Daryn was gone there, overseeing chopping wood, forming it into the different planks and sizes they would need, as well as the creation of platforms for the catapults themselves. The siege engines wouldn't be put together until they were up on the wall but with the elevator, they would be able to get all of this up there with relative ease.

The Imp was back on the wall to witness the triumphant return of the scouting party along with the ambush group that Smalljon had led out and the band under Daryn. There was a lot of cheering going on and Tyrion joined in enthusiastically. Inside, however, he was wondering about these Wolfsworn. Already tales were passing through the men of how deadly both young lords were and he had seen proof of that in Daryn's case on the trip up to the Wall.

But it was only now that he truly saw why these young men were so dangerous. Not only were they leaders born; that would have to be said of most young lords given the training that breed were given by their parents if said parents had any sense. But they were harder, more tempered than the southern equivalent he was so used to dealing with, which had colored his own perception of them. In the south, most of those in their age group hadn't really seen combat or, at least, the Southerners these youth's ages hadn't. They were used to the posturing of a tourney; the play fighting of the melee where it was bad form to kill someone.

In comparison, these Northmen are hard, tested. Where before I thought that hardness made them brittle, I now can see it isn't. Their organization is frankly astonishing, the connections between all the noble families, have formed them into a tight, close-knit faction, and they are far more open to change than I expected, look at the number of innovations they showed on the march up here. It makes me wonder how Ranma Stark and Lord Stark have managed it. It all begins with the Wolfsworn, they are the instrument of change for their families, and through them the rest of the North. But to what end? He thought looking over at Daryn.

"Ho, little lion!" Smalljon boomed, looking over at him and waving him forward from where he had been standing next to a shipment of catapult parts to head up to the top of the Wall. "My friend here has news and the Lord Commander has called for a meeting of the high command."

"I wouldn't make fun of little lions, my Lord," Tyrion replied quickly, smirking up at the much taller young man. "Our bites are still enough to kill any northern dog we come across."

Smalljon boomed out a laugh, clapping him gently on the shoulder leading the way over to the keep.

This meeting was again informal in the extreme to Tyrion's southern views but the mood was even more somber than the first meeting when they arrived on the Wall. Daryn's news went down poorly with everyone there but Tyrion could see the stiffening of spines and a hard look in everyone's eyes. Despite the now certainty of war, these people were ready for it. Tyrion was proud to count himself among their number just then and when called upon to speak about his own project he spoke promptly.

He pulled out sketch he had made back in Winterfell, kept safe throughout the trip up in a beeswax covered leather tube. "This is what I plan for the first few replacements. I've surveyed the forty siege weapons within two weeks ride from Castle Black up on the Wall, and only two of them are useful. Commander Jeor and I have decided to replace the rest but spread out, filling in the gaps as we go along with each successive group so we will have some cover first then more as time goes by. I already have set up a team in the forest nearby, cutting and shaping wood for the new siege machines with another team working transportation." He didn't mention that they would also continuously bring out food supplies to the woodworkers. Logistics and things like that were always necessarily in the back of everyone's mind, even with the wall as a defensive position.

"This is the sketch for the first few we're going to put in." he said, gesturing at the paper. On the paper was a large picture of a modern-day catapult. Anyone who had seen it next to the ones on the Wall could tell the difference, there was far less wood involved in the base, it was a little larger, and the circumference of the arm that would be used to throw its cargo was smaller, which he pointed out but hastened to add, "The winches here and here are more powerful, which will allow you to throw its cargo further. The entire thing will sit on this platform, constructed of a base and moveable section, which can be controlled by these huge gears here. These can allow you to turn the catapult in a set arc."

"The next group of weapons we'll work on are these." The next one looked like a huge crossbow. "These ballista won't be as deadly to crowds of enemies as the catapults would be but they'll be what we use against specific targets we see, such as any siege weapons they try to construct. I've heard talk about gigantic ladders? We won't have as many of these as the catapults, but they can still have a tremendous effect.

He looked over at the other seriously. "I will say that I have no idea if they'll be able to build a trebuchet powerful enough to reach the top of the wall. But they can certainly build ones that are larger on the ground than we can up on the Wall, despite how wide the causeway is up there."

The Northerners looked at the sketches for a moment, talking quietly to one another and asking questions of Tyrion about how long it would take to build each in turn, what other materials would be needed, and so on. It was decided that they would have to send a raven down to White Harbor to have some dedicated carpenters sent up, along with several tons of supplies. The Night's Watch simply didn't have the means to create them, outside the actual wood. Thankfully, by this point Castle Black's ravens had all returned, so that message would be sent off that very evening.

"What news of Eastwatch-by-the-Sea and Shadow Tower?" Daryn asked.

"Kevin and great-uncle Mors left the day after you did." Smalljon replied. "Thanks to traveling along the wall, they were able to arrive there five days ago." That put over two thousand men at all three of the currently used castles of the Night's Watch. Given the natural defenses of the wall, that was a formidable number.

Tyrion shook his head. "Mors took half of the men that were available who knew anything about carpentry. I understand the necessity; we need to enlarge the docking area at Eastwatch. Still, it'll make my work much slower. I only hope that it won't take lord Manderly long to get the new groups of carpenters up to us."

He estimated that each catapult would take three days to construct and that wasn't counting the time spent to get the wood from the forest, where it was being prepared, back to the wall. Even with every horse they had at the Castle Black being roped into that duty, it would still be slow going. The horses of the North were hearty, able to survive on feed that their southern counterparts would have turned their noses up at or just died trying to eat. Nor did they eat as much as the chargers that southern knights were so happy about, even those used by northern knights.

What they were not however was very strong. In the south, this kind of job would be given to mules or some other beast of burden since they were usually much stronger and hardier then horses even if they were slower. But there wasn't a mule or oxen that could survive this far north, especially with the weather getting colder, or a yak that could work at this low an altitude. Tyrion idly wondered how long it would be before the Maesters down south officially declared autumn. He didn't think it would be very long, another half a year tops, before they felt it here. Of course, it would take longer for it to get that far south.

"We'll have to make do." Jeor commented, shrugging philosophically.

Within a day, the Wall around Castle Black was a hive of activity, with Tyrion directing his men in the placement of the first catapult a half day's trek along the Wall toward Eastwatch, and other teams putting up the signal towers, which were really only man high stations with large thieves lanterns. They could only shine in two directions, coming and going along the Wall which would hopefully allow them to remain unseen from those on the ground so far below.

However, that wasn't the only thing Tyrion was doing. With the commander's acceptance, he had written up a note for Kings Landing, detailing everything they had found out so far and asking for some… supplies to be sent to the North along with a few alchemists.

OOOOOOO

Brynden Tully is a rather handsome man, Tyene reflected, and an obviously intelligent one as well. The way his eyes pierce anyone he looks at, it is obvious he saw more than most. It certainly made for interesting meal time conversation when he was around to trade barbs with.

She and Obara had been coming into the Red Keep every day since the tournament, which was two weeks in the past now, for mealtimes, so she could check to make certain that the food wasn't poisoned. Despite this, they hadn't yet made any inroads on making as much trouble for the stags or lions as they hoped. In fact, they hadn't made any, simply because Arianne wanted to wait until the furor of the Mountain's slaying had time to die down before causing any new uproar.

Arianne had also shut down Tyene's first plan, which was to attract the King's attention and then humiliate him by publicly turning him down in the most brutal and demeaning way possible. Upon mature reflection, however, that would not have worked very well. The King was a man who flitted from bed to bed with no concern for those women who turned him away, knowing there were more where they came from. And it would have called attention to her from the queen that they could ill afford.

Still, she had time off at present. She was spending it watching with a small but amused smile on her face while Ranma tried to train Fenris to carry him along with many others.

Ranma looked up, shaking his head from the wall where Fenris had thrown him to the ground as they tried to get used to this whole riding thing "Okay," muttered Ranma groggily, pushing himself to his feet. "So this is going to take more work."

Fenris whined at him, smacking him on the head with a paw. He was not a horse! The idea of letting his bonded partner ride him was intellectually appealing but it really couldn't get through Fenris' own instincts. Nor was he large enough yet for the two of them to look less than ridiculous. He was strong enough to carry him a ways, though not for very long, but it was the look of the thing that bothered Fenris the most. Direwolves were very aware of their dignity.

On the other hand, armor was definitely something Fenris was interested in. Both he and Ranma were hoping that some of the lizard lion hide was still around by the time they got back to Winterfell.

"I must say," Tyene murmured to her sister Obara, "I didn't expect to see a floor show when I agreed to this job."

Everyone watched as Ranma once more tried to get on Fenris's back. This time it looked as if it was working. With Tommen and a few of the watchers laughingly cheering Fenris on, Ranma was carried half a circuit around the training area before he accidentally tried to spur Fenris like he was a horse.

Fenris immediately growled, throwing Ranma again, then decided to make his displeasure known in no uncertain terms. Fenris' head flicked out, his fangs grabbing Ranma's shirt and ripping it off him with a single pull. With the now ruined shirt in his mouth, the direwolf raced off, heading up to their room. That would teach his bonded not to try treating him like a stupid horse.

As the others laughed, Tyene sized Ranma's body up, murmuring to herself. "Oh my, Arianne is in for a treat if she can get her claws into this one."

Of course, to do that, Arianne would need to start actually doing something other than ordering her and her sister about but Tyene was hopeful it would happen soon. Catching a glimpse of Brynden Tully, she smirked a little, thinking. But unlike my dear cousin, I have no need to wait to get my claws into my target…

OOOOOOO

Theon stared at the two pirate ships making their way over the waves while a third retreated from the war galley he was currently on, the Seventh Heaven. They had been under way for a little over three weeks now, well along their way to their target. The pirates must have some informants in White Harbor, he thought to himself, to know when we were going to leave port and our route. He shook his head while watching the galley race on, now under oars in an effort to catch up to the pirates' cogs.

Eldren was one of the better ship handlers in White Harbor, as well as being extremely aggressive. Yet for all that, he had made the mistake of concentrating solely on the first ship that had appeared, ignoring the idea that there might be more just out of sight waiting to pounce below his lookouts line of sight. He was paying for it now as two other pirate cogs, more maneuverable under pure sail than the galleys, raced down on the convoy.

Mind you, Theon thought sardonically, that's rather like a fox jumping out to ambush a squirrel only to find itself facing a group of badgers. The cogs were smaller than the carracks even though they probably had larger crews of around two hundred on each. Still, the defender always had an advantage; made stronger by the fact the carracks had higher sides than the cogs.

Still, the foxes could possibly beat one badger if they worked together. It looked as if the reavers knew it, too. They were aiming for the last ship in the convoy, the one that had been pushed most off course by last evening's storm. It was a good target since that one was out of position of the others and, as sail powered ships, the other carracks couldn't easily come back to aid it. The carracks were simply too large to be rowed, especially against the current, and lacked the sail plans for tacking into the winds enough to turn around in time to aid their fellow.

The other war galley was too out of position, at the front of the convoy. Even under oars it would take them several hours to get back to the back of the convoy, which was much more strung out than Theon was happy with.

This, unfortunately, made only the Seventh Heaven able to defend against all three ships. "Captain, turn us about and get after those other two cogs, we have to intercept at least one before they can catch their target. One of the carracks could defend against one, not two."

Eldren looked a little rebellious, as they were about to come within range of the ship they had been chasing for the ballista set at the front of the galley. Still, he gave the orders and the rowers went to work turning about until the sails caught the wind and pushed the ship towards the other two pirate vessels. "You realize they're going to try to catch us between them now, correct?"

Theon smiled evilly at Eldren's question. "They're going to try, captain." He looked over at the giant ballista on the tip of the ship, smirking a little. "You worry about the ship in front of you; I'll worry about the ship that will be closing behind."

The captain looked at the Greyjoy youth one eyebrow raised, but shrugged and moved over to the steersman. He had been against the idea of the Greyjoy heir coming along to advise his men, as if they needed to be taught how to fight like pulling brats, but Theon had proved his worth from the moment they put to sea. Theon knew instinctively more about wind and wave than any of them. He had a feeling for them that was almost prophetic, a sign of his Iron Born blood coming out.

Theon moved to the back of the Galion, pulling out his bow. He spent a moment working with it, making sure the string was taut and had no damage. Theon had heard a rumor, the only thing to fly faster than raven wings, that the blacksmith back in Winterfell was preparing him a bow made from lizard lion bone. He was eager to try it out but until then his longbow would do enough.

In another universe, the bow used in the Riverlands and the North primarily would be called the English longbow. It was normally as tall as a man, about seventy inches, made of yew, which was really the only thing that marked out an English longbow from other sorts. Theon's had a slight back curve to the ends which added to the draw weight of the bow. In the hands of an expert, the longbow was a deadly weapon.

Theon was such an expert and he intended to show his worth today. He calmly moved over to a stash of arrows he had previously prepared. Theon then waited for some time until he could see the helmsman on the boat coming up behind them clearly. A second later his bow rose, he pulled the string back and he let fly.

That first arrow took the man high in the shoulder throwing him backwards with a scream of agony. Another man tried to reach for the wheel but a second arrow took him in the side of the head. A dozen men brought out their own bows in an attempt to fire back, but they were still out of range.

Theon smirked evilly. His bow might look normal but the pull on it was well above what anyone normal could do. A normal English longbow would be somewhere between ninety pounds and a hundred twenty. Theon's drew at two-hundred twenty-five. Theon might not be the strongest of the Wolfsworn but he was far stronger than most normal people, which allowed him to shoot farther than anyone else could regardless of their weapon. And his aim was superlative to go along with this.

Two more arrows flashed out in ten seconds, catching a third man, once in the hand and once in the side of his chest when he tried to grab the ship's wheel. After that, there was a strange dearth of pirates willing to trying to grab onto the wheel, but they kept on trying to shoot back and even without someone controlling the tiller, the cog's current course would keep them closing on the ship Theon was on unless the wind changed. Eventually, they would be within bow range.

"Not if I have anything to say about it." Theon muttered to himself and moved over to a few specially prepared arrows set by a covered brazier. He stuck one into the brazier for a moment pulling it out quickly as the covered cloth at the end of the arrow began to smoke and burn. He turned back to his target.

Theon noticed a few dawning looks of horror on the pirates' faces but he ignored them. He took aim, not for any of the pirates, but for the rigging of their cog. A second later the arrow flew, catching the cog's sail high up, where no one would be able to throw a bucket of water on it.

Five more fire arrows followed in swift succession and soon the entire rigging and sail of the pirate ship was aflame. Now the crew had something else to worry about other than getting within bow range of the galley and Theon went back to his regular arrows for a moment, shooting down any of the pirates who looked to be giving orders.

Fire is a sailing ship's worst enemy, with all the wood, dry rope, tar, and canvas. A fire on board a ship needed everyone to respond as a group, a level of organization that most pirates lacked. The Iron Born, of course, did have that organization and their longships were not as susceptible to fire damage for various reasons. Theon's assault might not have worked on a boat crewed by his people but it worked well enough now.

Soon enough the entire cog was aflame, falling further behind them as the sails and rigging went up. Given the choice between burning alive or drowning in the ice cold sea of the Bay of Seals, many of the pirates jumped overboard. Theon knew he would make the same choice in their place. Drowning or freezing, Theon wasn't certain which, but either would probably be less painful than burning alive and would send him to the Drowned God that much quicker.

Theon turned with a grim smile at a job well done to see what the Eldren had done with the other pirate ship, only to find several of the crewmen now staring at him in awe and not a little fear. It wasn't often, after all, that you saw single man destroy an entire ship. He smirked to himself thinking, I don't think I'm going to have to pay for my own ale for a good long time.

Eldren and his crew had also done their part. The ballista had fired two bolts straight into the pirate ships side, right at the water line while the Cog tried to come back down towards them. Now they were making for the third cog, which was within bow range of its target convoy ship.

The men onboard saw them coming and the fate of their fellows. They tried to disengage from their target but too late. The Seventh Heaven took them under fire, one bolt smashing into the aft of the cog, taking out something in its steering. With the cog now adrift and unable to make headway, the galley circled it using its own sails, staying at bow range (normal bow anyway) and riddling the ship with fire arrows.

Not an hour later, they were on their way again with the convoy under the galley's watchful gaze heading further north into the cold sea of the Bay of Seals. Theon hoped a damn good beer awaited him at the end of this voyage; the cold was worse than it had been on their trek to the Wall. I'll wager Daryn and Smalljon haven't been nearly as productive as I have, he thought complacently.

OOOOOOO

Far north, far, far removed from even the land of the wildlings, a glacier, which had long been part of the land, found itself an ice floe adrift, heading south.

OOOOOOO

While Ranma was busy down south and Daryn, Smalljon, and Theon were busy having adventures, those left in Winterfell were not idle. Arya and Bran joined in the efforts to prepare the White Knife to be a transport route, with Bran going out to lead various groups on creating systems of winches and pulleys at the many small waterfalls along the way so they could handle barge traffic. Now months later, that project had been handed over to the local lords and Bran had turned his attention to the library, researching something he hadn't yet shared with the rest of his family.

Catelyn had not been happy aboutletting her son and daughter out of her sight but, with her pregnancy progressing, no one had been willing to let her ride out with them and at times Bran had proven to be an invaluable aid on the ongoing projects. She eventually resolved to simply be happy he could take part at all after his brush with death. Bran still had the occasional twitching muscle in his hands plus one of his feet refused to obey his commands as it used to making him rather club footed. But he knew he was lucky to get away with just that.

Lady Stark and Jon had thrown themselves into the preparations as well, organizing, leading, and, above all, remaining a calm presence while Winterfell and the lands of House Stark and its minor houses poured forth their efforts into this and into preparing for the coming of winter. Autumn might not have been officially declared yet, but maester Luwin was confident that it was only another eight months or so at best before it would be and they had to prepare for the coming winter.

Catelyn's main project over that time had been to repurpose the glass garden that was part of Winterfell's castle, warmed by the hot springs that was under the castle, into a small farming area. She enlarged it as well, an expensive and time consuming upgrade, but in the coming years, it would prove to be invaluable as a resource for Winterfell and those living there.

Lady Jonelle had helped with this project before moving back to Castle Cerwyn a month or so after Brandon had recovered when her husband returned from Widow's Watch. She had since given birth to her baby, a daughter who they named Katarina. Now it was getting to the point where Catelyn herself was nearly due, which constrained her to remain in the keep itself doing paperwork.

Jon was busy with several things. One was aiding the ongoing construction. Another was to sit for the fittings of the lizard lion armor that he, Edd, Daryn, and, of course, Ranma could wear off his fitting. Then there was his own training, the need to aid in running the castle, and a myriad other things.

The one duty that took up most of his time, however, was training the men of House Stark and its minor houses in a new way of fighting that Ranma had thought up and sold to their father. Endurance, group movement, and strength were essential, which allowed Jon to train the men in small cadres before letting them train others. So far, he had personally trained upwards of four hundred men, who had gone on to train still more.

With the number of rivals/fiancés/teachers who interrupted class, it would surprise no one that Ranma learned very little in class at Furinkan but military history was an area he had actually studied when he could since he likened strategy and tactics to martial arts. He had introduced a lot of logistics concepts to his father, who had spread it around. The braziers, the shared tents, the need to provide uniformly warm clothing for their men, and several ideas for food on the march had come from the brainstorming of the two of them, though Ned had been the one to come up with the shared tent idea.

Using his knowledge from his past life, Ranma had devised a new concept based around a mix of the Roman and the Swedish models of infantry: short swords and spears for skirmishers and pikes with large shields for the main infantry. Pikes and other polearms were not used in organized formations in Westeros or even Essos, outside the Unsullied, but Ranma knew, and had convinced Ned, that they would be extremely effective against any large force. He had other ideas, too, but there was only so much they could do in times of peace.

The training was tough, since most combat in Westeros emphasized personal ability rather than working with a group. Yet despite this, they were progressing very well, both the infantry and the archers.

Bran didn't particularly care about Jon's endeavors in this department. Despite technically being the Stark of Winterfell at the moment, Bran let most of the running of the castle and the lands to Jon and his mother, throwing himself into his studies of anything and everything.

In this, he found a ready ally in Luwin, as well as his mother's fierce approval of it. Catelyn had no wish to have another warrior for a son; Ranma, Jon, and Arya were enough. He found, in particular, metallurgy fascinating after hearing his brothers and Mikken worked together to create an entirely new kind of steel for Arya's sword.

Bran was looking at that topic from a different direction today. Now, he was looking at how to make a lot of steel quickly. Steel that could be used to make swords, pikes, or even armor. The majority of men-at-arms wore boiled leather armor but what if they could wear steel mail? That would be a major advantage in any fight.

So he was going over some of the notes he had made after talking to Mikken about the best and cheapest type of mixture to make good steel. He looked up as Summer sniffed the air for a moment before locking eyes with Bran. After a moment, Bran shook his head. "I've run from him enough, I think. If he wants to say something to me, he can say it here."

A moment later, the door to the library opened and Jojen Reed walked in. He looked around quickly, then saw Brandon sitting alone a table.

"What can I do for you?" Bran asked without looking up from his notes again. Summer trundled from the side to join his master, leaning against his side softly. Summer and Rickon's Shaggydog were nowhere near the size of Ghost, though they did have some more growing to do.

And Unlike Lady, who was around the same size, Summer was lean and heavily muscled with several scars standing out among his fur he had received during the two attempts on Bran's life.

He was also normally friendly, unlike Shaggydog, who was moody and irritable much of the time. Only Rickon Brandon, and surprisingly their mother were immune to that moodiness. Lady Jonelle had also been immune when she was there. The wolves could tell both older women were pregnant and it affected how they were around them. Summer, Ghost, and even Nymeria obeyed Catelyn like they would a pack alpha while Shaggydog was docile around her.

Bran rubbed Summer's ears, thinking of his new sibling on the way, sad that his father wouldn't be able to get away from Kings Landing in time. The King had promised that Ned would be able to get back for his new child's first nameday but that was well in the future and was probably not worth the air the King had used to say it.

He was pulled from his thoughts by the sound of a chair being pulled up and he looked up to meet the rather disconcerting eyes of Jojen. "You know why I am here." the crannog youth said quickly, almost accusingly.

"No, I don't." Bran said sharply, looking up at him now with all his attention, slapping one hand gently down on the papers in front of him. The paper in question was actually an unfinished sketch of a farming tool that Ranma had thought up that Bran had just finished. With it, farmers would be able to dig out tree stumps more easily, which would expand the farmland of the north tremendously once they began to build them. "I'm rather busy, Jojen, perhaps you could get to the point?"

"You've been avoiding me." Jojen said simply. "You have seen. You have seen the three eyed crow. He helped you back to your body. You know what that represents."

"I think you assume what it represents." Bran replied, one hand on Summer's head the other now playing with a piece of charcoal he had been using to draw with. "I have had dreams." he went on, shaking his head. "Dreams of a three eyed crow and a voice telling me he waits for me. But I am not going to put my trust into dreams."

"You are a warg." Jojen replied sharply. "You can run with your wolf, ride his mind like a normal man might ride a horse but you will not fly until you open your mind fully."

"My brother Jon told me about that the evening I woke up, though I already knew. Apparently, Ranma discovered he could warg with Fenris on their trip up to the Wall and thought maybe all of us could do it too. But what do you mean fly?"

Jojen looked away for a moment, appearing flustered before going on. "I have had dreams all my life, of events that will occur in the future." What he did not say was that they had become more and more disjointed and hard to interpret for several years. Since Bran's fall, which he had accurately predicted, his dreams had become so fragmentary he couldn't accurately interpret much save for one thing. "You have a choice to make, a choice between the green and the builder, between seeking the aid of those of old blood against the coming forces of eternal winter, or of trying to stand alone."

When he spoke, it was with a tone of voice that was so certain it was astonishing, but Bran could still hear a faint waver in his voice, as if he wasn't as certain as he wanted to appear. He heard and wondered why that was since the boy was clearly used to being certain about these dreams of his. But in the end, that didn't matter.

Bran knew he was a warg, in fact he had more of a talent for it than either of his siblings, he knew magic existed. He was also bright enough to understand that the three-eyed crow probably represented something more. But that didn't change the fact he was acting as the Stark of Winterfell.

"Wrong." Bran said simply. "I've already chosen. I may become something else eventually but right now, my duty is here. I am a Stark, I will do my duty." Right now, I have chosen the way of the builder. My other talents may grow later but now is not the time for them.

Jojen frowned then turned quickly, gazing at the silent form of Ghost who had 'ghosted' up behind him. The white furred direwolf hadn't made any noise as it crept up, not even when he nosed open the door to the library.

Seeing his brother's wolf Bran smiled. "No trouble, Ghost, we're just talking." Ghost nodded his head, amusing Bran in showing the intelligence that all of the wolves, save Shaggydog, seemed to have picked up from their humans. Hopefully, Rickon would be able to pass on something but his youth was against him there. Ghost glided forward, moving past Jojen to rest his massive head on Bran's shoulder for a moment before moving off, disappearing through the shelves of the library not making a single sound.

"Unless you have something concrete to say to me, I believe we are done here." Bran said, looking hard at Jojen. Really, the other boy's surly, abrupt, and pushy manner was very off-putting. Why couldn't he be more like his older sister?

Meera fit in here almost as well as family, and had taken on the role of chief huntsman (huntswoman) of the castle. Since Winterfell was still home to some four hundred more mouths to feed than normal, plus their budding preparations for winter, that was an important job.

"I have seen the ocean come for Winterfell, rising and falling, tearing your walls down and leaving naught but ruin. I have seen conflict consume the south and the coming of a wall of ice to put out all fires. When those dreams come true, then you will believe me, and you will gladly take the choice to aid the three-eyed crow and the old children." Jojen stood then, and left the library.

Ghost came back, still treading so silently it was almost like he wasn't there at all. He nosed at the smaller Summer's shoulder for a moment before leaving himself.

Lifting up the paper he had been reading, Bran laughed quietly, wondering why Jon had sent Ghost to him or if it had been the direwolf's own idea. Still, that was neither here nor there and he turned back to his studies with a determined air. Whatever threats circled his family, he was determined to help them have the best weapons to face it that he could.

OOOOOOO

"So you've returned have you? I'm amazed you even know where Bear Island is, given how much you stay at Winterfell. You don't seem pregnant, so that can't be the reason for your return. So what have we done to be graced by your presence, daughter?"

"Hello to you too, mother." Dacey said, leaping lightly off her horse and grasping the older woman's in a fierce hug, not responding to the dig about her possibly being in a relationship with Ranma. "I stayed there to train Arya as well as I could but then Jon and I figured out something else I should be doing and he sent me here to gather some men and talk to you."

"Oh, of course it couldn't just be that you're returning to your family." Maege sniffed, but returned the hug strongly, though not as strongly as Dacey's hug had been. Dacey was actually one of the strongest among the Wolfsworn and one of the better trained as well. "Still, come inside and tell me about it."

Over spiced wine and cold cuts the two talked. Dacey shared with her mother, the head of House Mormont what had been going on in Winterfell from her perspective, as well as sharing the worry that there might be something else going on down south. "But," she hastened to add. "We're not supposed to do anything but possibly prepare our men. That can be covered by the need at the Wall. And we will be doing something in that direction as well but Jon and I feel the House's main strength should be kept at home."

Maege tapped the table with one finger thoughtfully, shaking her head. "I dislike all this political shit." she said bluntly. "The southern court is a cesspit full of pulling whelps who have never known war and oldsters who have never known the harshness of winter, and each of them have their own plans, all of which are more important than the king or the realm. I hope Ned and young Ranma have learned to swim by this point, but you're right, we'll leave that to them for now. What is this job Twinblade and you thought up?"

"Smalljon and his men were attacked in the Gift by a large band of wildlings. He took prisoners and when he got to the Wall relayed what they told him back to Winterfell via raven. One of the prisoners said that they were getting men across the Wall by way of the Frozen Shore, then using boats to get around the Wall from there."

Maege snorted. "Impossible, it's too damn cold up there for wildlings or us to live for long. That's why it's called the Frozen Shore!"

"It could've been a lie but knowing Smalljon and the lengths he would go to get the information, I doubt it." Dacey said, shrugging and not saying anything about the Others, who could survive in that weather easily. "The prisoners did say they lost a lot of men to the cold whenever they went that route. In any event, Jon has asked me to lead a force of our men up that way. We're to meet with a force of Norrey men in their territory along the Bay of Ice and move along the edge there up to the Gorge, which separates the mountains up there from the Wall, then follow it down to the sea. Ambush, kill any wildlings we find and put in a small, what he calls an observation post that the Norrey men will man from then on. I brought along six spyglasses special ordered up from White Harbor for that."

Maege's eyes widened. "That's going to be difficult." she said, understating matters entirely too much in Dacey's opinion. "The weather becomes so cold out there that any part of your body that's open to the elements will freeze quickly. You'll be in danger of dying of the cold no matter how bundled up we can make you, that's why the Norrey clan doesn't use those mountains in the first place."

"Well, do you have a better option?" Dacey shrugged. "If they can get forces around the Wall, they can cut its supply lines, no matter what the smallfolk or the men-at-arms assigned to them can do. We have to stop that happening."

Maege tapped the table some more, thinking hard, then nodded. "Instead of moving up into the Mountains, start From the Wall and move out, assume that if there isn't any way for you to survive, then the wildlings won't be able to. I've no doubt the prisoner lied about the Bay of Ice bit, whatever else. The Gorge now, that I could see them scaling up and down. Figuring out how to stop that will be up to you. I'll send fifty of our men with you as well as supplies, good climbers and woodsmen."

That they all would indeed be men rather than the warrior women House Mormont were known for wasn't said. Maege would never put her people in a position where they had to defend themselves from their own allies and, whatever other men were up there now, the Night's Watch itself was still comprised of rapists and murderers.

"My initial orders from Lord Stark were not to send too much of our whelming up, a fact that, even before hearing your tale, I agreed with. We've been seeing more raiders lately, and we know that House Glover lacks the men to aid us if we run into trouble."

"Has there been much of that since I was home last?"

"A few." Maege shrugged. "The Iron Born have always been a thorn in our side and it's been going on eighteen long years since the Greyjoy Rebellion was put down. They're feeling their oats once more, as it were. The Iron Born are like weeds really." Maege said critically, one lip twisted into a sneer. "You have to keep cutting them back or they'll just keep growing underfoot. Pity we don't have the men or ships to do it ourselves. It's not a serious concern and won't be for quite some time to us here in the North. There are always nicer targets for them down south, after all. Still, it never pays to turn your back on them. Never mind that, let's concentrate on what you'll need for this endeavor of yours."

Dacey nodded, listening intently as her mother went on listing the items of apparel and gear that they would be taking with them, at least three sets of each. One just in case and one for the clansmen they would be meeting, who wouldn't be able to match the quality of the goods that even House Mormont would be able to produce. Dacey kept most of her thoughts inside, after all, it hadn't been the wildling's getting around the wall that had bothered her and Jon…

Flashback:

"What do you mean, you found something disturbing?" Dacey asked, looking around quizzically. While she didn't have anything against reading, it wasn't her favorite pastime and she had never been in Winterfell's library before.

Jon waved at the roll of ancient looking parchment in front of him, being very careful not to touch it. "I've been looking for information about… what we ran into up north every night I can. Not often, but I found this a few nights back."

He wished not for the first time that they could bring Luwin into their confidence but that wasn't his call to make and wasn't necessary, just yet. He felt Luwin would believe them but he wouldn't keep the true tale of what they ran into from Lady Catelyn, who wouldn't. That would be irritating to deal with, especially given her pregnancy-based mood swings. Eventually they would bring them both up to speed on the real threat but, at present, it would be more trouble than it was worth.

"This text mentions several things that are useful to know about the nature of the true enemy but one section in particular caught my eye. It turns out that the Wall has magic built into it to keep the White Walker's magic from moving past it."

That made Dacey's eyes widen in surprise. "But then, how did they set up that attack on us?" She thought for a moment then frowned. "The wildlings can get around the Wall; can the White Walkers do the same thing?"

"That's up to you to find out. You've trained Arya to the point she's good enough to help me train the men so you'll be at loose ends. I want you to head home; inform Lady Maege of what's been going on here." That caused Dacey to snort and Jon smirked a little, knowing how that old woman would react to being called a lady. He pulled out a map of the North, a very crude one admittedly since map makers had never made much headway here in the North. "I'll send a messenger up to the Norrey clan, take some men from your house, and head up there with them to see what can be seen."

End Flashback

So whatever her mother said, Dacey knew they would be heading into the mountains along the Gorge and beyond. The Others had to have found a way around the Wall somehow and it would be up to Dacey to find it and, if possible, cut it off. That was why she also had six dragonglass daggers stowed away in her pack. Old tales told that the White Walkers themselves were immune to wounds caused by normal steel but not from dragonglass and it paid to be prepared.

OOOOOOO

"I mean, look at how he dresses," voice said as Ranma meandered his way into the entrance hall of the holdfast, Tommen close behind. "What's the matter, Stark, can't afford to buy any real clothing?"

Ranma turned with one eyebrow raised to see Lancel Lannister standing there with a few courtiers. He shook his head in amusement. "I can, but unlike you I'm actually busy everyday, I can't go around dressed in tights like those."

"That would explain why you're dressed as a peasant." Lancel snarked back, but Ranma merely shook his head.

These attacks on how he looked had come ever since he and his father had arrived in the city. Lancel in particular liked to bring it up, and it had gotten worse since Ranma's execution of Gregor Clegane. Lancel took that act as a personal attack on his family, even though the queen did not see it as such.

At first Lancel had tried to belittle Ranma's intelligence but that hadn't worked since Ranma was actually quite intelligent. Then he had tried to turn the men and ladies of the court against him by portraying Ranma as an outsider but, while that had worked somewhat in the main for the rest Of the Court, Ranma couldn't care less.

Ranma was an outsider and didn't care who knew it. When this was all over, Ranma would return to Winterfell, with a wife or not was still up in the air, but it wasn't like he was going to remain here the rest of his life. Margaery had tried to get him to care, but it had been an uphill battle. And honestly, so long as he had the Queen and King, if not on his side then at least neutral, none of the other courtiers' opinions really mattered.

That didn't mean he hadn't gotten better at responding to jabs like this, however. "Does her majesty know you're loose and yapping again at your betters?" Ranma replied, looking over at Lancel again.

The man growled and reached for his sword, one of the rapiers that was now somewhat in vogue among the younger courtiers. Ranma thought they looked like new knitting needles. Frankly, he had never seen the point of a rapier back in his old dimension, let alone this one. Good against weak, loose chain mail and unarmored foes but other than that they weren't worth much.

"You have never been my better, Stark." Lancel growled moving forward to stand in front of the other man. "Do not think that just because my aunt has allowed your slight against my family to slide, that I will do the same. Whatever he was, Gregor was a banner-man of my family and the way you murdered him stains my family's honor. A stain I will pay back!"

"Gregor was a mad beast, a rapist, and a murderer and I put him down as such." Ranma said leaning forward. "And I've told you before, if you think that was a slight against your family, why don't you go get a real blade then come back and do something about it!"

A new voice interrupted them before the confrontation could continue. "Enough." It was a simple word but it came out clear and cold and very, very commanding.

As one the two young men turned, bowing slightly from the waist to the Queen as she strode through watchers in the corridor. Cersei stared hard at her cousin. "Is this how my uncle has raised you? To always attack others with words and unfounded anger? Control, Lancel is everything. I would've thought you would've learned that from my father if nothing else."

The younger man mumbled something looking away, unable to meet her angry gaze. "And you." Cersei said now turning to Ranma. "There are other ways to resolve conflict than offering physical violence. I suggest you take more time to speak with that fiancée of yours, I am certain that the Rose of House Tyrell is at least passing familiar with such."

"You speak for me quite well, my Queen." said Margaery's voice from behind her moving forward to look at her fiancé sternly. She had just spent an hour with the Queen, Joffrey, and Sansa, talking about fashion of all things. It was something Sansa was passionate about and her knowledge of it always surprised Margaery.

In particular the gown she had created for the Queen was magnificent, Lannister red with actual lion fur on the sleeves. It looked as if it should be very hot in this weather but it actually wasn't, given the material and the flowing nature of the dress down by the legs. The gift of it had actually put a smile on the Queen's face, a real one, not one of the ones she used to manipulate others.

"Your pardon your grace, I will take your advice to heart." Ranma replied looking at both Margaery and Queen. "I had just finished running Tommen through some exercises and I had come to return him for his afternoon lessons."

Cersei nodded looking down at Tommen who was watching everything silently. She smiled at him and he smiled back, moving over to stand with her. Cersei leaned down slightly to place an arm around her youngest son's shoulders. "Thank you for returning my son unharmed once more from your exercises, young Stark."

"As for you, Lancel," she said turning to her Lancel once more, "The King is preparing to go out on a hunt. It speaks ill of you, and through you, our family, that as his squire you are not already with him. If you are so worried about our family's image, nephew, I suggest you take care to act in such a manner that you, personally, do not shame us."

That had been a major coup on her part a few days after the tournament. She had gotten Robert to take Lancel as his squire, putting another Lannister nearby, one that she could very easily manipulate. It was obvious the boy was besotted with her; Cersei didn't even have to do anything to encourage it. If anything, she had to step on his infatuation a little hard so that he didn't become too obvious about it.

Lancel mumbled and moved off quickly. Cersei allowed a small smile to appear on her face as he looked back, causing him to flush and move away quicker. Internally, the Lannister queen sighed. Frankly, there was no challenge in it with the boy, which took away her pleasure at knowing she had another man under her control.

She turned back to Ranma, who was a much harder nut to crack. She smirked slightly, seeing he was apparently looking at the windows above them rather than at her, since Cersei had not straightened up from putting an arm around her youngest son's shoulders, giving him a glimpse down her décolletage. She did so now, turning to look at Margaery. "I presume I can leave this one's punishment in your hands?"

"Most assuredly, Your Majesty," The young woman replied grimly, moving over and grasping Ranma's hand. "Let us be off." she murmured.

Cersei watched them go for a moment, frowning thoughtfully. Margaery was far too intelligent and that made her dangerous, above and beyond the little voice in Cersei's head that warned her of the 'younger queen' who would supplant her. Moreover, there was a groundswell of affection growing towards her from the entire court, even a few of the Cersei's own followers. Her seemingly kind manner and self-effacing nature appealed to many, though the queen could easily see the intelligence underneath. Thankfully, the Tyrells only had a few dozen supporters in the court, most of whom were tied to Renly and Loras rather than directly to Margaery.

The influence she had on Ranma had mellowed the young man somewhat, though Cersei was thankful to see he was still rough around the edges and therefore somewhat easier to manipulate. Ranma could be controlled, his friendship with her daughter (something Cersei had begun to subtly encourage despite her misgivings about her crush) and his taking Tommen almost as his squire, bound him to the interests of her children and through her children, Cersei's own. Moreover, what he had done to the Mountain told her a lot about his general character. So despite the youth's physical skills and the prophecy of the younger queen, neither young people were the target that she was most concerned with.

No, it's his father that concerns me. Ned had the King's ear, which had not changed since the moment he had agreed to be Hand. Luckily, his job as Hand had foregone his looking too closely at Jon Arryn's death now that he was fully engrossed with trying to pull the kingdom out of debt. And that very drive and objective had made him many enemies that she could exploit or sacrifice, as needed.

Yet for all that, Cersei knew she was becoming more and more vulnerable as time went on thanks to his wearing away her family support. Still, she mused to herself as she led Tommen off to his lessons, the lion hasn't been entirely defanged. I have several more bites in my repertoire that I can pull out at need.

She was still concerned at how badly any physical conflict between the Starks and the Lannisters could go, knowing that Ranma could well turn the tide here in the Red Keep. Luckily, Jaime has woken up to this and is taking to training in a frenzy to try and close the gap between them. Cersei knew her brother and was confident that given enough time he would close that gap. Hopefully enough time would pass to allow that as well as to allow Ranma to continue to get closer to her children. With that at least, they and her would be secure. Cersei was also thinking ahead to the worst case scenario and what pawn to sacrifice to save the queen but hadn't yet come to a conclusion there.

Cersei was so busy with her own machinations that she had no time left to watch Joffrey, which would turn out to be a very bad thing in the long run. Indeed, that downward spiral would begin later that evening.

OOOOOOO

"Young Prince?" said a voice behind Joffrey. "You are out late, are you not?"

Joffrey turned quickly, glaring at Littlefinger, whose voice it was that had startled him. "Where I go or when is none of your concern, Littlefinger!"

"It is if it endangers the crown. You are after all the heir; anything that endangers you endangers the succession and therefore the crown and kingdom." Petyr smiled as Joffrey ate that bit of flattery up as Petyr knew he would. "Still, I will not ask what you are about at the moment, my Prince, only that you walk with me and listen to my own concerns for a moment. Possibly, talking with someone will allow me to work it out."

Joffrey's eyes narrowed but he could not exactly refuse. Here he was, caught coming out of a room where he had met with his servant and with no Kingsguard in sight, something he had worked hard to accomplish, yet was also suspicious. He had no choice but to go with the man or possibly bring even more attention to his own doings.

Still, while Joffrey lacked much understanding of the court, he knew Petyr was not as loyal to the crown as he was to his own position. Still, the idea the other man, who was known as very intelligent, would seek out Joffrey for aid in a problem, fed his ego too much for him to refuse. "Certainly." he said grimly, standing up right and hiding with a bit of actual skill the package he had just picked up. "If you are troubled, perhaps I can help you in some way."

"That is to be hoped." Petyr murmured, shaking his head mentally. The moment I need this inbred cretin's aid in thinking is the moment I lose the game and, no doubt, my life rather quickly. Still, I can start ingratiating myself to the Prince now that his mother is too busy with other matters to guard his every move. And the more I can curry favor with him, the more control I will have over Joffrey's actions. With Petyr leading the way, the two of them moved down the hallway, unseen by any.

OOOOOOO

As the oldest true-born (though that really didn't matter to those in Winterfell any longer) Stark in Winterfell at the moment, Arya had some irritating duties to see to, much like the one she was doing now. Bran should've been the one doing this particular duty, welcoming the Wull, chieftain of the Wull clan, to Winterfell but Bran was off at present with several of the guards to inspect the work being done on an area of the White Knife. This was made even worse by the fact that her impending pregnancy had made Catelyn bedridden more often than not.

So here Arya sat, in the chair that her father normally sat, a stone throne affair that looked very formal, as well as large given her petite frame. For all of her training, Arya was still a young girl, after all, and there was very little she could do about her size. Nymeria lounging at her feet added quite a bit to the impact to the guests she was here to greet, however.

"You are welcome, Lord Wull." she said formally. Despite not truly being a lord, the Starks always called the mountain clan chieftains Lord. "Welcome to Winterfell. For as long as you stay here, our meat is yours, our arms will defend you at need, and our roof will be above your head."

This was the formal way of welcoming a mountain clan leader to a meeting. Much like the rest of the North, the mountain clans kept to the old ways, revering the old gods, and following the laws as set down by the First Men.

In Northern society, once you welcomed someone into your house, neither of you could offer violence to the other. The offer of bread and meat was also in keeping with this. That they had in common with the faith of the Seven in the rest of Westeros, where once food was offered and taken no violence could occur, even between mortal enemies.

Lord Wull was a large man, almost as hairy as the men from Umber were traditionally, wearing studded leather armor, goat fur leggings, and what looked like a bear fur cloak. His eyes were deep set in a heavily bearded face and there was a spark of intelligence in them, though you would have to look closely to see it. All in all, he was a typical mountain clansman and he scoffed angrily. "I come here from our mountain hold and I am greeted by a child!"

Arya scowled, her hand twitching towards where Fang rested at her side, always on her person these days, despite her mother's baleful glances at times. Then she paused. Wait, he's not objecting to the fact that I'm a girl, just that I'm young.

Much like the wildlings, the women of the mountain clans were supposed to be fierce and independent. They weren't supposed to be fighters, not really, but they ran the home and hearth and it was a very foolish clan leader who did not listen to his matriarch.

That thought calmed her down. So long as she wasn't being looked down on as a girl, Arya could deal with people needling her about her age. She smirked, showing her teeth in a not exactly smile as Nymeria stood up, growling slightly on mental command. Arya might not have Jon's way with Ghost, nor did she have the connection to any of the other direwolves that Bran seemed to be able to create so effortlessly but she and Nymeria had practiced long and hard to get to the point where the direwolf could read Arya's mental commands.

The direwolf began to stalk around causing the eyes of the Wull chieftain and the two clansmen who had acted as his guards on this trip to widen. All three shifted uncomfortably, trying to keep Nymeria and Arya both in their sights. Arya's voice brought their attention fully back to her. "Young or old, I am a Stark of Winterfell, one whose Fang," she said tapping her sword, "has tasted the blood of the enemies of my house. Do not look down on me!"

She leaned back now as all three clansmen looked at her with more respect. Much like House Umber, if you met the challenge of their disrespect head on, mountain clansmen tended to respect you more and back off. Since House Stark had guaranteed the mountain clans independence there was no worry about them truly offering offense. Plus House Stark and House Glover traded heavily with the Wulls, which was one of the reasons why it had slowly become the dominant mountain clan. Norrey, First Flint, Burley, and Harclay were, technically speaking, nearly as large but none of them could match the number of armed and well equipped troops that the Wull clan could, thanks to dealing with the lowlanders as they did.

The Wull put this into words, shaking his head with a laugh. "We've known the Starks were tough as old leather for long time, good to know that it hasn't deserted them! Your father lass, The Ned, is a good man and I'm proud ta meet his daughter true!"

Now that the preliminaries were over with, the Wull got down to business. "I was told about the attack, you think you have others that're coming? Is there something more going on than what is happening out beyond the Wall?"

Just as Arya was beginning to panic, trying to think of how to describe things, some of which she barely understood, a new voice spoke up from behind the Wull men. causing all three to turn. "That has yet to be determined."

Jon strode through the doors of the Hall with Ghost padding silently behind him. There was some murmuring at the size of the direwolf, which was quite a bit larger then Nymeria.

When they stopped growing, Lady would prove to be the runt of the litter, as it were, though for reasons beyond her control. Summer and Shaggydog dog would be normal sized direwolves, because neither Rickon nor Bran would build up the ki that would impact their size as Ranma or Jon did, and Arya's Nymeria would only be a little bit larger than them. Ghost, however, when he finished growing would be almost the size of Fenris.

Jon smiled at The Wull, slapping him hard on the shoulder as he moved past them smirking at Arya and rubbing her hair affectionately. "I apologize; I was training with the men and have only just returned from a run." Behind him, Ghost padded back out of the hall, standing outside the door like a sentry as the door closed behind him.

Jon stood at Arya's side. She smiled up at him gratefully then over at their guests. "This is my brother, Jon Twinblade. Our parents have put him in charge of training the troops for whatever might be needed in the future."

All three of the Wull men nodded. The tales of Jon and Ranma had spread throughout the North, as well as the tales of the rest of the Wolfsworn. The Wull however caught the 'whatever' part of that statement. His eyes narrowed and without a word, he pulled up a chair to sit in front of the chair Arya was occupying. "'Whatever might be needed'? Is this related to the attack our men and those of Harclay let through?" All three of the mountain men looked ashamed at that.

Jon smirked and pulled up his own chair, motioning the other two men to join them. "Not directly. Those men didn't know who hired them. The one who did died during the attack, killed by an arrow." He shared a glance with Arya and the two of them began to describe the battle, not going into much detail but giving them an outline of what had occurred, as well as how lucky Winterfell had been to catch the attack away from the keep as they had.

Throughout it, the mountain clansmen muttered and looked at one another. All of them were veterans of dozens of skirmishes against other clans; they understood how tough a fight that must have been. The fact that none of the Starks or even the Mormont woman had been killed during it was astonishing.

Then Jon began to describe what had occurred with Bran, the concern that he might have seen something other than a Kingsguard having a tryst, and the feeling that there was something going on down south with the Lannisters. "We're not certain what their game is." Jon finished. "Whether they're worried about how much influence we could have on the King, whether they're moving against the King himself, or something else but there are storm clouds on the horizon down south and we're preparing for it."

The Wull leaned back. "Have you shared this with the other Lords of the lowlands?"

"We have shared it with Lord Manderly, and Lord Cerwyn. Given our proximity, it made sense to share with Lord Cerwyn and he already had his suspicions in that area. There is a visible rift between the Queen and King, what the cause of it is we don't know." Though, given the King's attitude to his marriage vows, that is only to be expected. "Lord Manderly is a very intelligent man with quite a lot of connections down further south, thanks to his trading fleet."

That was stretching a point, honestly. Lord Manderly had a few connections down south, which then had more connections. But he was also the most politically minded Lord of the North, extremely intelligent and devious. Even Jon didn't know of the escape route Lord Manderly had set up for Ned and his children down in Kings Landing.

The Wull nodded stroking his beard. He and his men had seen a few men-at-arms wearing the battle ax of Cerwyn on their tabards, so it made sense that they would be involved. Then too, the friendship between the two houses was deep. It had to be given the proximity of their seats. If it hadn't been, one or the other would've either absorbed or killed the other off long since.

He also could tell that the Starks were taking him into their confidence to show that they held no hard feelings toward his clan for allowing that attack from remnants of House Bolton and its followers to nearly get through.

He castigated himself once more on that. There should never have been any way a force that size could move through his territory without being challenged and slaughtered. To be sure, a force that size would have been troublesome to challenge right off the bat but the clansmen were experts at hit-and-run attacks and using the knowledge of their territory to their best advantage.

So instead of asking why he was being brought into their confidence like this he simply asked. "What would you have us do?"

It was Arya who answered, this she knew, having been part of the discussion. "Be ready to defend your land against any incursion. Be ready to answer our call when we ask for it."

Jon nodded. "I sent a runner to the Norrey and Flint asking them to prepare for an arriving force from Clan Mormont. We had word that the wildlings might be getting troops down around the Wall, somehow. But your land is too landlocked to make asking you for aid there necessary."

The Wull snorted. The Norrey and First Flint clans abutted one another along the mountains that wound down from the Wall towards the Bay of Ice. The Wull clans were further south than either.

Also, the idea of having to send his men through the Flint lands was simply not going to happen. There wasn't that much bad blood between the two clans these days but memories were long up in the mountains and it wasn't that long ago that the three most powerful clans up there had been having their own private war.

So he simply nodded, then changed the subject. "I'll agree to that. When winter comes, will the town here be open to us?"

"The town and more." Jon said simply. "We've already begun preparations, we might not be as high as your lands but I've been to the Wall and I felt the cold there. Our maester is a pragmatic fellow and, despite it not being official, has decided it close enough to begin preparations." Luwin was at that moment up with Hathan at his holdfast. Hathan had found something up there, some kind of ore that he wanted the Maester's opinion on.

The Wull nodded with a smile. Winter was always harder on the clans up top of their mountains than the lowlanders and, by long-standing tradition, the small town built up around Winterfell was open to them.

The conversations continued from there. The Wull left later that day fully satisfied not just with the fact that his clan still retained the trust of The Starks but that the future of that House was in very good hands indeed.

OOOOOOO

Margaery frowned as she made her way through the garden around the Tower of the Hand to where the training ground for the Hand's men-at-arms was. It wasn't the walk that was making her frown but the fact she had just left Joffrey. This whole trying to ingratiate myself to Joffrey idea is wearing on me more and more with every passing day. She wouldn't say that she was madly in love with Ranma but she was definitely friends with him and physically attracted to him.

The strongest emotion she felt for Joffrey was a growing unease. There was something so… oddly fake about him. He smiled at all the right times, said all the right things, carried himself for the most part like a Prince should. His arrogance was obvious but that was simply a sign of his station. His lack of intelligence grated heavily on her but, in her grandmother's words, that would make him all the more pliable, like his childishness. Yet for all that, the more time she spent around him the more she didn't want to be around him.

There is something in his eyes, just under the surface, she thought. His normal lecherous look didn't bother her. That was something Margaery was all-too-familiar with. More men than not looked at her in that manner. No, it was something else, something she couldn't put her finger on.

Her frown deepened as she noticed that Myrcella had beaten her here, no great feat of course, but the younger girl had obviously been there for some time. She was curled up on top of Fenris, rubbing his ears. The direwolf was rumbling that odd rumble that was the wolf (or dog) equivalent of a cat's purr, though obviously she would never dream of mentioning such.

Fenris held views on the dignity of wolf kind and their place at the top of the food chain. His disdain for cats had been apparent a few times when he had noticed the cats kept in the keep to kill rats. Luckily, the cats were smart enough to stay away from him.

Well that and I suppose that the entire supply of cats in the keep would be barely half a meal for Fenris, at this point. Margaery thought sardonically. There was a reason why he and Ranma went hunting every week after all and it wasn't all for pleasure. Luckily, like wolves in the wild, neither Fenris nor Lady had to eat everyday even if they were growing as Fenris still was.

But it wasn't Fenris who Margaery concentrated on. That was the young Princess, whose eyes were glued to Ranma who was running through one of his unarmed exercises for Tommen, who was also watching intently. The look of adoration and desire in her eyes was easy to see, as was the small towel she held pressed against the front of her dress. It would seem as if it is time to put the little Princess in her place.

With that in mind, she walked up, keeping in sight Fenris's sight, who had raised his head to look at her. The direwolf still hadn't become accustomed to her honeysuckle perfume, apparently, though at least she knew the reasoning behind it now. Hearing the tale of how he had been forced to run away from a bee's nest had amused her and won him some sympathy as well. "Hello, Fenris." she said simply, before looking down at the Princess. "Hello, Princess. I take it your lessons let out early? That dress is lovely, I'm sure you'll grow into it."

Margaery crossed her arms underneath her chest to accentuate her own curves giving the Tyrell girl's words an extra edge. Merry was not blind to this, and she snarled inside her head. Oh, it's on, you High Garden bitch. Still, she didn't let her thoughts show; knowing full well how this game was played. After all, she wasn't the only girl at court. There were several other young ladies who had traded barbs with her like this. And her mother was a past master at this type of warfare.

So she smiled pleasantly and replied in sugar-sweet tones. "Yes, Your Grace, I was let out of lessons early because I finished all the work for the day. And I like your dress as well." Myrcella went on, still smiling but much more thinly. "But I seem to have seen that style of cut before…where was it…oh yes, I think it was on one of the ladies I saw this morning leaving my father's chambers."

That blow struck home and Margaery glared at her for a moment before getting control of her face once again. The speed of that response had startled her but she reposted easily. "Yes, well, trust me when I say that when you have curves to flaunt, you will occasionally dress to do so. I hope that when you do, there will be a man as good as Ranma still out there for you."

"But that is well into the future, until then I can have fun when I have time." Merry replied laughing, pressing her momentary advantage. "Did you enjoy spending time with Joffrey, by the way? You spend so much of your time with him, is it any wonder he finds himself torn between you and Sansa? Poor Ranma, losing his fiancé to my brother. I'll have to console Sansa when my mother prevails on my father and switches the engagement between our houses to Ranma and myself."

"Oh, don't be in such a rush to leap to that conclusion. While I find Joffrey's personality fascinating, he is a little young and unformed for my tastes." Bald faced lie, but Margaery swallowed it and moved on. "On the other hand, I find Ranma attractive on many levels and, similarly, he would obviously prefer to stay with someone who has already blossomed into a rose rather than having to wait years to taste the flowers nectar."

The two girls exchanged pained smiles, while Fenris wondered why he felt the desire to run away. There was some kind of combat going on between the two female two legs (yes he knew they called themselves humans, but those funny legs of theirs always amused Fenris). But what kind of combat was beyond his ken. He let out a brief huff of relief as he noticed Ranma and young Tommen coming over towards them.

Tommy grinned as he greeted both of the girls with a beaming smile while Ranma's smile was smaller but just as welcoming. "Hey you two," he said, ruffling Merry's hair with a gentle hand as he plucked the towel out of her fingers to toss at Tommy's head with the other.

The younger boy caught it reflexively, smiling as he began to wipe his forehead and face of sweat. Under Ranma's tutelage, Tommen had become a small sparkplug of muscle, the baby fat almost entirely disappearing over the last few months. His hands were developing the calluses of long practices with a practice sword.

Ranma smiled at the two ladies, then frowned slightly as he felt the tension in the air between them. "Is… is something wrong?"

"Nothing at all." they both replied.

Margaery move forward quickly, grabbing Ranma's arm and pressing it deliberately against her chest, causing him to blush a little before moving away slightly to take his hand in hers. She shot Myrcella a look before smiling up at Ranma. "I was just wondering if you were free to go down into the city with me."

"Oh!" Myrcella said pouting and emphasizing her cute looks with ease. "I was hoping that you and Tommy would like to play a few sports games with me. I, too, would like to get some exercise in, after all."

Ranma looked between the two girls, wondering where the heck this was coming from and if the tension between them was what he feared. Both of them were trying to do the puppy dog eyes attack on him, with varying degrees of success. He was about to try to come up with some compromise when a voice hailed him from the entrance to the training area.

"Ranma!" said Ser Jory as he walked towards them. "Your father would like a word with you. He needs some help with the books and his secretary has already been sent off on an errand."

Ranma nodded, not letting any of his relief show. "I'll be right there." He looked apologetically at Margaery and Myrcella. "Sorry you two, duty calls and all that." He looked over at Jaime, who had been leaning against the wall next to Ser Oakheart observing the training going on between his charge of the day and Ranma.

The Kingslayer smirked at Ranma, thinking the northern bumpkin had no idea what was going on between the two girls but having himself heard every word of it. When he later related the episode to his sister, Cersei had simply laughed, waving it off as inconsequential while seeing her daughter's affections for him as another way she could control Ranma or influence his actions.

Still, when Ranma asked if the two of them could return Tommen and Myrcella to the holdfast for him, he smirked. "We'll undertake this arduous journey of course, wouldn't want to keep you from the even more arduous journey into the land of numbers and rigged books after all."

Ranma smirked at him, shaking his head. The Kingslayer was an enigma to him in many ways but, in some other ways, they were remarkably alike. Jaime held his martial prowess as the center point of his self-image, much like Ranma. And Ranma knew that Jaime had been challenged by Ranma's easy physical dominance. The other man tried to hide it but he was obviously using Ranma's training methods to train himself and Ranma was interested to see how good he could become. That isn't to say that the training will help him all that much in closing the gap, Ranma thought complacently to himself.

With a final pat on the head for Tommy and a smile for Merry and Margaery, Ranma moved off leaving the two girls to stare at one another. Margaery huffed, then turned away followed by septa Nysterica, who had been watching from nearby throughout the entire exchange. Myrcella also turned with a huff, with Sir Oakheart moving to catch up with her as she walked briskly away.

Tommen looked up at his uncle, head cocked to one side. "Did I miss something there?"

OOOOOOO

There's some kind of tension in the air these days Ranma reflected while he moved down the streets with Margaery beside him, a few days after that incident. And I'm not just thinking about the tension between Margaery and Merry.

That wasn't the most worrisome tension, though it was one Ranma didn't really know how to deal with. Yes, he was technically engaged to Margaery but they had an understanding there and neither of them were going to push things forward until she got the go ahead and Ranma knew he could trust her. He trusted her opinion now and, generally speaking, felt firm in their friendship but she had never tried to hide the fact that she was still playing the game and still under orders from her grandmother. To fully trust her, Ranma would have to trust her grandmother and that just was not going to happen.

On the other hand, his feelings for Myrcella were that of a little sister. Oh, she was growing up to be quite cute but she was still much younger than he was and he had seen her as a little girl since the moment they met. Despite the incident during the tournaments, that hadn't changed. This was added to the fact that in his previous life he had been in a world where a relationship with a girl her age would be seen as unlawful and immoral.

So Ranma had decided to simply stay out of it as much as he could, not seeing any way he could step in without taking sides or, at least, seeming to take sides and thereby cause hurt feelings.

"What are you thinking about so hard?" Margaery asked now, smirking slightly. "I can almost see the smoke coming from your ears."

"Tension." Ranma said placidly, "All sorts. By the way, if we're keeping score, Merry's little victory yesterday puts her ahead of you by one." Merry had scored a hit in comparing Margaery to a flower, the man eating sort, which had caused everyone who heard it to chuckle until Margaery's glare found them.

"I'm not going to even comment on that." Margaery said huffily. Her next words, however, came out much more seriously and she leaned in slightly so that she could talk more quietly, the hubbub of city life going on all around them masking their words further. "But you're right; there is tension in the air, and not just between you and Joffrey. Would I be correct in thinking that your father is continuing to make headway on the small counsel?"

"Yep." Ranma nodded. "Though I wonder if that's all that is behind the tension I'm feeling."

Given his propensity towards acting swiftly, and his friendship with the two younger Baratheons, neither Eddard nor Brynden had shared with Ranma their concerns about the children's parentage. They didn't have definitive proof, just yet, but even without the book, Ned was leaning towards his worries there being fact in at least Joffrey's case.

The only problem was, he couldn't figure out if the other two children weren't Robert's as well. Tommen had begun to act like Robert in many ways but whether that was because his natural Baratheon side was coming out or because of Ranma's influence, Ned couldn't tell. And what of Myrcella? She certainly looked more like her mother but her nature was certainly nowhere near Cersei's. She had even begun to show interest in riding and other pursuits, much like, Ned supposed, a Baratheon daughter would.

That problem was compounded by two other factors, who the father could be and the reasoning behind the affair, if it was one, as well as whether or not it was in any way connected to Jon Arryn's death. They had supposition, they supposed that it might have been the Grand Maester who poisoned Jon but the how of it eluded them, since none of the servants who had served in the castle before they arrived had been able to tell them anything.

Ranma knew nothing of this, yet. "But I don't know if that's all of it. The other bit that could be making the Lannister's angry is still my execution of Gregor. Certainly that little shit Lancel hasn't hidden the fact that he didn't like it."

That was true enough, Margaery reflected. Despite being sat on by Cersei more than once like last week, Lancel was still showing his hatred for Ranma at every opportunity and insisting that, while Gregor was not an individual he particularly cared for, he was still a banner man of the Lannister's and should have been treated as such. Letting the wild Stark boy cut him down as he had in public was a sign of contempt for the family. He hadn't yet gone beyond spouting off however.

"How is your uncle, by the way?" Margaery asked solicitously, changing the subject.

"Blackfish is fine, he's as tough as old nails." Ranma said laughing quietly. "On the other hand, it's to be hoped that they will eventually stop pussyfooting about and come out into the open."

Brynden had once again been ambushed by a group of 'cut purses' the previous night, but this time it was more serious. They lost two men and Brynden had taken a knife thrust to the chest thankfully he had been wearing chainmail under his leather jerkin. Ranma, too, had been nearby watching him and struck down several of the attackers with thrown bricks. Despite this, Brynden hadn't been able to discover who was employing the sell-swords in the city. But now that they had the Gold Cloaks nominally on their side, with Janos in jail for corruption, they didn't have the numbers to bother the Stark faction.

Margaery smiled at Ranma, knowing that Ranma was simply telling the truth as he saw it. Despite her best efforts, Ranma still was a dragon in a hayloft. He could play the political game but disdained it. She worried that Ranma and Ned were stepping on far too many toes but she lacked the control necessary to stop them or the reasoning to do so. And there was the fact that Ned was removing corruption from the city at nearly every level, including actually making the Gold Cloaks somewhat respectable for the first time in centuries.

"There you are, dear sister," said a gay voice behind them as they walked along the Street of Flour. They turned to see Loras walking towards them. Both cocked their heads as one, wondering why he was searching for Margaery. "Ranma, might I bespeak my sister alone for a moment?" the Rose Knight asked, as he walked up to them.

Ranma shrugged and nodded, moving over to look at a display of pastries, wondering which to get Sansa. The two of them were much closer than they had been before Gregor's assassination, and Ranma was always finding excuses to keep his little sister away from Joffrey as much as possible.

Behind him, Loras turned back to his sister his face strangely serious. "There was a raven this morning from High Garden. There is a family emergency and you and I have been called to return."

Margaery frowned angrily, reading between the lines. That was an excuse, of course, one that might pass muster with Ranma and his father, and maybe the rest of the court but what was the real reason? "I presume she said something more?" Margaery didn't need to say who she was, there was no need.

Her older brother shrugged. "She didn't say much but when we return to the keep you can read it yourself. She wrote this odd, sort of sing-song line. 'The brighter the flame, the faster the candle burns.'" Margaery winced, understanding the metaphor and Loras smirked thinly. "Reading between the lines I think that our dear grandmother is afraid that Ranma and his father are going to come under attack shortly and she's removing you from the area."

"There has to be something more to it. Was there any formal notice of a break of the engagement? I know that Lord Stark has been pushing for a timeframe." Ned had actually been hinting that perhaps a wedding for her and Ranma, paid by the Starks and Tyrells, should happen before the marriage of Joffrey to Sansa since the country was still in debt. Neither Ranma nor Margaery had encouraged or discouraged that thought.

"No, though this could just be a move to gain us more time in that area." Loras frowned slightly, looking over at Ranma. "Although, second hand news of the Mountain's demise probably has something to do with it. Grandmother would obviously not risk you near someone who would act so precipitously."

"Tactful as always, brother dear. Secondhand it probably sounds like Ranma's insane! Hmm…I wonder who else is reporting to her."

"Well your chaperone for one." That caused Margaery to look at him, then nod in understanding. Margaery had known the woman was sending messages but the depth of said messages was up in the air. "Perhaps others. But sister dear, there is no doubt about the fact that grandmother wants us home soonest. In fact, we are to leave tomorrow."

"That quickly?" Margaery asked, dismayed. Leaving that quickly meant Olenna really was removing her from Ranma's presence. Could she be worried about how much influence he is having on me rather than the opposite? With a start Margaery realized she hadn't flirted or made time to interact with the Prince at all, ever since her low key war with Myrcella began. Maybe he is influencing me more than I should be allowing but, damn it, between the two there is just no comparison!

Loras nodded morosely himself. Loras knew for a fact they hadn't even kissed yet (he had no idea what had happened during the tournament but that truly was all that had happened between Margaery and Ranma). So while Margaery was leaving only her possible future husband, Loras was leaving his lover behind and probably wouldn't be able to see him again for at least half a year. "Indeed, though why she wants me to return with you is another question entirely."

It didn't occur to either of them that Olenna was angry at both of them for the same reason: that they had publicly chosen sides in the fight between the Lannisters and Starks. Loras, while nowhere as close to Ranma as he was to Renly, did spend a lot of time with him, after all, which had implications for those who wanted to see them.

Margaery looked over to where Ranma was exchanging a joke with the elderly woman who ran the pastry stall he was currently looking at, sighing faintly. Now why can't my grandmother be like that, all smiles and niceness and incidentally, staying out of my business?! Still, I suppose from her perspective I am not performing as well as I should in the task she assigned me. But I dare her to meet the two in person and then tell me Joffrey's the better prize!

Still, such thoughts were immaterial for now and she sighed again, moving over to tell Ranma the bad news. Ranma took it with aplomb. While he was certainly attracted to Margaery, he wasn't madly in love with her, so had no problems with Olenna calling Margaery home, whatever the reason. "Still," he said as they made their way back up to the keep, "I will miss your advice, you've been an amazing help here with the court and politics. And our chess games. I'm still sorry for teaching you how to play cards, though."

Margaery laughed, shaking her head, but wondered why the fact that Ranma acknowledged her advice and council made her smile more than many a flowery word of praise for her beauty had done before.

The very next day, as the sun was rising, Loras, Margaery, and twenty knights of High Garden, along with several other nobles who had stayed after the tournament, left Kings Landing. Ranma watched them go, wondering why he felt this was the start of even more momentous events in the future, whether he liked it or not. A week later, another message arrived, stating that the marriage between him and Margaery was put on hold until the 'family crisis' was resolved.

OOOOOOO

Lord Tywin Lannister was the definitive Lord of Westerlands, one of the most populous and certainly the richest thanks to its gold mines, all of which his family controlled entirely. Tywin barely made gesture of being under the Iron Throne's purview. After all, Robert would not, possibly, be sitting on that throne without Lannister aid, and that didn't even consider the two million gold dragon debt the Iron Throne had fallen into to his family since Robert took control of that monstrosity.

He was a spare man, tall, slender, with somewhat broad shoulders. His head was shaved bald, a sharp contrast to his bushy golden side whiskers. His eyes, green eyes as all Lannister's had, were flecked with bits of gold, a sign, some said, of the main source of his family's power. Of course, they also said other, more derogatory things, but never to his face or where anyone loyal to him could hear. Tywin was not a man to allow such slanders against his person or that of his family.

He had been Hand of the King under Aerys, only to resign in anger when the King allowed Jaime to join the Kingsguard thus removing him from the line of succession. He was a cold, calculating man, who always remembered slights against his person or that of his family and repaid them double. This is what he was contemplating now, after having read a note from Grand Maester Pyrcelle.

His hand crumpled it in a show of anger he would only rarely allow anyone else to see. Turning from his desk, he stared out over Casterly Rock. This was the seat of Lannister power, the almost unassailable keep that his family had ruled from ever since the Age of Heroes. It was a massive castle carved out of a massive stone hill, made even more formidable by tall stone walls and a keep up on the top of it. Tywin's study was set into one of the towers of that keep, letting him look over Lannisport, a sprawling port city, one of the largest cities in Westeros.

Tywin's thoughts were not on what he was seeing but what the message from his agent said. This cannot go unanswered, he thought coldly. Regardless of this wolf whelp's reasoning, Gregor was my tool and any attack on his person in such a manner is an attack on me. What is worse, it means that I have lost control of the Castle Clegane. It isn't the most strategically important but I have invested time and effort into it and the number of men-at-arms there. It is always a good idea to have tools to act in matters that you would not want to get back to you and yet be believable in such a way.

Its war chest was also very large for that same reason and I dislike throwing money into endeavors that will not pay back such investment later on. I will have to send someone to collect it before the new Lord can be invested. Sandor might think he hid his thoughts about me in the past but he has never been as good at that as he thinks. His disdain for me is clear even if he might feel some loyalty towards my grandson the prince. And I doubt his loyalties there, either to my daughter or to her first born, are anything more than skin deep.

But just because he is the last male in a direct line does not mean he is the only one who can inherit. One of the more distant cousins will do much better in my opinion, and, of course, his loyalty will not be in question. Tywin turned back to his desk for a moment, writing out nine, nearly identical notes, orders for a few brigands down in Lannisport to ride out and intercept Sandor.

With that minor task accomplished, Tywin turned his attention back to Gregor's death and what it might be a sign of. The Grand Maester's letter had been very detailed, several pages of tight, concise handwriting, as Tywin expected from one of the men who had served him for so long. Pyrcelle had been his ally while he was the old King's Hand and that had never faded. The notes detailed the way Eddard Stark had been able to cut into the amount of support the Lannisters had in the capital.

It wasn't a personal attack by the new Hand, Tywin was almost certain of that. Eddard Stark wasn't one to attack another family in such a manner without reason and the little disturbance with that fool Greenfield nearly killing his son wouldn't be enough of one to set Stark against Tywin. Not when such would set Westeros at war again. Eddard was an honest and upright individual, one who would simply see getting rid of corruption in the government as part of his duty as the Hand.

But the reasons don't matter, only the outcomes. He is curtailing my family's power and that must be stopped. This death of Gregor, public as it was, was meant to instill fear. There can be no other reason whatever my daughter might think.

He gently tapped the note that had been below Pyrcelle's, snorting softly. He wouldn't believe a word of it, except that the Grand Maester had detailed the way, Gregor had simply been taken apart by the young wolf. This boy might indeed be a throwback to though age of legends but we are not living in battle age anymore, my daughter. Your attempts to control the boy seem to have failed, though I will commend you for the subtlety of the game you have so far played with him to attempt to do so.

Of course, Cersei hadn't actually come right out and said that she had been attempting to flirt with Ranma and use her body to control them but she had hinted at it as well as the idea that it had disgusted her at the time but wasn't a task she was willing to give to anyone else. There was no hint of the fact that Cersei had enjoyed it, and in fact still generally enjoyed it whenever she had the opportunity to see his reactions to her little tricks. Such a thing wasn't anything she wanted to share with her father or anyone else, for that matter.

Tywin was also mildly impressed that his daughter had kept her cool at the very idea of the older Joffrey being passed over for Tommen. She was candid about it, sharing with her father everything she knew about that, though she didn't hint at the reason why Robert was thinking about it other than he seemed to get along with his younger son. A younger son who has been trained by Ranma Stark.

No, it is clear that Ranma Stark is his father's creature and this was clearly a starting gambit in a game against our family. He wants to clean up everything in Kings Landing and remove all of our influence with the King. Such cannot be allowed, and it comes down to two points. One: Ned's ongoing crusade in the small counsel and in the city as a whole. Two: his influence over the King. I am limited in what I can do there, though I will send messages to the Grand Maester to take any and all deniable action to curtail it or to attack him in turn. This cold war between our faction's spies is going to heat up quickly, something I doubt Eddard Stark, or even Blackfish Tully, will be prepared for.

But my daughter is correct. Any physical confrontation in the city, where he could use his strength and fighting skills in point assault or defense, will require Ranma to be removed beforehand. I will send a few specialists to deal with that. They might not be Faceless Men but they are very good at their jobs. And if they do not succeed, I will employ a sorrowful man, almost as good and only half as expensive. However, that would take at least a year to set up, whereas I could get my own agents there in four months' time. Though, even that will be quick work. I'll have to use one of my prepared horse relays, irritating, but necessary.

And if the first fails, the second will switch to attempting to assassinate Brynden Tully. That man is too intelligent to let lose where he can aid Eddard Stark.

He frowned thoughtfully. Cersei and the Grand Maester had different opinions about two areas. One was the importance of the small counsel and influence on that rather than influence with the King but Tywin understood that was simply their different areas of experience. But the other area they didn't agree on was where precisely despite Varys and Petyr were in this ongoing conflict.

Cersei thought that both of them were largely neutral but that Littlefinger was worried about his own pie and might be willing to work with them but shouldn't be trusted. The Spider, however, she said was firmly on their side, with the opinion that she had some dirt on him and vice-versa. Tywin was uncertain of that. He did not know the young Littlefinger as well as he could wish.

Pyrcelle was of the opinion however that both of them were only looking out for themselves, and that no attempt at alliance there would profit. 'Littlefinger hides it well', he wrote, 'but he thinks he is the most intelligent person in the room and, at times, I am afraid I might agree with him. Baelish is playing his own game, a long game. He certainly is not the type to follow another's lead without profit, both in the long and short term.'

Still, neither of them will be able to affect my plans for the Stark boy, unless they find out and warn him of my assassins. Yet, if they are able to do that, then the assassins would not prove worth the money I would pay the men in that event. Remove the Starks and they will either fall back in line or be removed with ease.

He frowned thoughtfully, tapping one finger against his temple as he did so. Things are changing. Our power is being eroded in Kings Landing and in such a way that it must be addressed. I would not be against the idea of the younger Tommen taking the throne over Joffrey as he is part lion as well but the influence Ranma and, through him, his father has over the lad makes that untenable. Plus the fact that they might be close to forging an alliance with the Reach.

(The message he had received had been sent weeks before Margaery and Loras had been recalled to High Garden.)

No, I must take firm and above all well-thought-out action to halt this. The assassins and such will be one arrow him in my quiver but I will need more shots. I am afraid the Riverlands are about to have an outbreak of brigandage. Luckily, Gregor was not my only tool for this sort of action.

He turned back to his desk, writing out two notes. One would be sent to House Lorch, the other to a mercenary company that called themselves the Brave Companions, though everyone else called them the Mummers. They were even now in Lannisport. He always kept such men around, just in case.

They can field three hundred men and are just the sort for this operation, plus their leader Hoat is more cunning then he appears. They will move into the Riverlands disguised as bandits raiding the area along our shared borders. I will naturally respond but my men, under Lorch, will not be able to pin the 'bandits' in place.

Because they will be raiding on both sides of our borders, 'getting through the mountain passes somehow,' the Riverlanders will call to the King for aid. To keep the conflict from spreading, he will have to respond. And who should he send on such but the young man who has proven himself such a warrior? And when he does, my men will pounce on him and whatever force he leads along with the mercenaries, overwhelming them with numbers and surprise.

One-on-one, this Ranma Stark is obviously formidable or even in a melee but from ambush at arrow range? Or the open field? He will find that his brute force powers will not save him.

The letter to Lorch only took him a few minutes to write out. Once word, and rumor was the one thing that traveled faster than raven's wings, reached him that his old compatriot in blood and rapine was executed Amory would jump at the chance to kill the man who did it.

The one to Hoat took longer, since he needed to tell the man how far into the Riverlands he could raid, as well as what he couldn't do and what would happen to him personally if his company of mercenaries disobeyed. With men like that, it was necessary to make certain they knew where they stood.

After that Tywin sealed both messages with wax, but did not stamp either with his personal seal. They would each be sent by a tried and tested manner, such a way that neither man would have any doubt it came from him, but it would not be officially seen as such. Then he created another message, this one to the Reach, and Olenna Redwyne, which he did affix his personal seal to.

Finishing that last message, Tywin then rang a small bell, a manservant appeared, and began to send his arrows into the air. However, other archers were in this game.

OOOOOOO

"Why in the world would your brother ask for that much alchemist's fire, your grace?" asked Petyr, looking over at the Queen where she sat next to the King at the head of the council table after Lord Stark had just read aloud two messages from the Wall, detailing what was happening there.

Normally Robert wouldn't bother showing up for these meetings but he was here today at the behest of Varys, who had remained silent since the messages from the Wall had grabbed everyone's attention. Petyr had a good idea of what the Spider wanted to share and, while it was interesting and he would have to make allowances in his plans going forward, he had his mind on other things. The need to remove Ranma from the city was centermost in his thoughts, and he hoped the news from the Wall would be enough to force Eddard to send his son to the Wall to take command of the defense.

Before Cersei could answer, Ranma, who was part of the small counsel today because his father wanted his input on the missive from the Wall, shrugged. "I'm betting the little man has planned something big with his siege weapons. A little disturbing really, imagining what alchemist's fire could do to an invading army, but effective." Ranma mentally likened alchemists' fire to Greek fire, the weapon that made the Greek fleets so frightening for so long, and he was not far off in that assumption.

"We'll have to be very careful in transporting it, that liquid is extremely volatile, the older it gets, the worse that problem becomes." Cersei said thoughtfully, tapping the raven-delivered note in front of her. She hated to even be reminded of her younger brother, but this was actually happy news for her. It seems as if he is making a place for himself among the northern barbarians. Now if only he would stay there, she thought.

"We can also use this opportunity to empty the prisons of those on death row, unless they choose death, of course. They can all go to the Wall to join the Night's Watch and then we can send them up by ship." Ser Barristan said, speaking up for once.

"I've always thought that was strange, actually." Ranma replied, shrugging. "It might be hardship duty but guarding the Wall is an honor and we give it to murderers, rapists, and thieves? We may wish to look into creating a new order of knighthood based upon guarding the Wall in the future."

"Some other time, perhaps." Cersei said smiling faintly at the younger man, thinking how she could use such an 'honor' to keep Tyrion at the Wall and far away from herself and her children. "Do you think we should send aid immediately or wait for the next scheduled recruiter to stop into the city?"

"I could wish we could send more aid than that. Spend a week or so to gather the alchemist's fire, search for volunteers among the alchemists, and then send them and the prisoners up by ship to Eastwatch by the Sea." Eddard responded for his son, before turning and looking at the king. "Then send messages to all nations of Westeros, telling the ruling houses to send men up to the Wall. This is an invasion, and all the lands must make aid the North in repelling it."

"I still contend that this is nothing that would warrant such a momentous move." Said Varys, pointedly looking over at the King. "The kingdom can ill afford to send men to the Wall given how in debt the nation is still, despite your efforts Lord Stark. And most especially with the murmurings my spies are now reporting, not just in various nations here, but also from across the ocean in Essos."

Robert's face flushed angrily. The Spider had shared several whispers from the Crown Lands, Dorne, and a few from the Vale of lesser nobles suddenly having Essos coins aplenty in their coffers, as well as murmurs of the Targaryens rising once again to return and reclaim their throne. "Have you found the reason for those Dragon lovers moving as they are?"

"I have indeed." Varys replied, his eyes opaque. "News has reached my web that the two Targaryen survivors have found a sponsor in one of the richest magisters of Pentos. Viserys is working hard on creating an alliance with many of the other magisters and is using their factors to contact sympathetic lords here in Westeros. This magister has also arranged for Daenerys to be married to one of the Dothraki war lords in an effort to weld the power of his horde to their efforts…"

'Ours is the Fury' was not just the motto of House Baratheon but also a good description of the line's fiery anger. That anger came out now. Robert roared angrily, slamming his large hands down on the council table so hard it bounced up slightly afterward from the recoil. "I'll not have it! I won't have some Targaryen bitch breeding out little dragons with a barbarian horde at her back to threaten my throne!"

"She's but a child Robert," Ned protested, "and the Dothraki will never cross the ocean. Move against the Targaryen supporters perhaps, prove we know of their dealings, but the two Targaryens are nothing worth bothering about."

"Children grow up and I'll not allow this one to grow anymore!" Robert growled. "No, we remove the little bitch and the conspirators here in Westeros will crawl back into their holes!"

"We could buy the services of a Faceless Man to send after her." Renly murmured. "I understand they are the best of the best when it comes to such."

"We could pay for a dozen normal assassins for the price of one Faceless!" Petyr protested. "Our coffers do not allow for such abuse!"

"She. Is. Just. A. Child!" Ned stated, each word coming out as if hewed from rock. "A child who has probably grown up hearing of Baratheon, Lannister, and Stark ogres from her brother. No, remove their allies here in Westeros, remove this patron perhaps. Let the girl live out her life among the Dothraki, she is not a threat…"

"NEVER!" Robert bellowed, interrupting his friend, his eyes now more red than his normal drunkenness could allow for, both hands pounding the table once more. "Never! I'll not allow the Targaryen's to rise again, not after what they did! We'll send an assassin after this girl and her brother, cut off the dragons head once and for all!"

Ranma had heretofore been silent but as the bellowing continued that very silence made Ser Barristan notice him. The old knight shifted uncomfortably, as he saw the pure, cold anger in the boy's face, wondering what he was going to say, and suddenly feeling rather guilty about not having spoken up himself.

When Ranma spoke, it was in an even tone of voice but that very normality lent his words even more impact as it cut through the ongoing bellowing of the king. "Your Majesty, a month past I executed a rapist and murderer for the memory of the children he slaughtered. And I am willing to do the same to anyone who orders that same act."

The casual way Ranma had threatened the King stopped all thought processes around the table for a moment, and he continued, his eyes boring into the King's. "My father is right; this Daenerys is but a young girl, who has probably been fed on lies and propaganda from her brother her whole life. She had nothing to do with what her older brother Rhaegar or her father the former king did, Your Grace. Do not take out your hate on her for their misdeeds."

The King's face reddened with fury at Ranma's biting tone and his words but Eddard spoke before he could. "While my son was far too combative in his words, his meaning is my own. If you do this Robert, we are through. I will resign as Hand and return to Winterfell, taking my daughter with me. I will never allow her to marry into a house that would condone such immoral methods."

His friend looked at him his raging fury making his stare like that of a bull about to charge. Yet Ned continued, his voice as cold as winter but passionate for all of that as he stared into the King's furious eyes. "I still have nightmares about what the Lannisters did to Kings Landing, the burning of the city, the screams of the men and women, the bodies of the Royal children butchered by Clegane and Lorch. How the blood had soaked through the red of the blankets they used to try to cover the bodies up. I will not, I cannot, be party to the killing of more children, no matter their heritage."

Petyr struck before the King could explode again. It was too perfect, too easy, despite not having been planned at all. "Perhaps we need to think about this, Your Majesty. I know the anger you hold toward House Targaryen, yet it is fact that if you send an assassin after this girl, you send the message that you fear her. That isn't considering the fact that the assassin might fail. And there are Targaryen loyalists among the Crown Lands and Dorne, more than any of us would like to admit there to being. Dorne in particular is a thorny issue."

That won him some nods around the table, even Robert acknowledged that point, calming down slightly. Dorne was truly a land apart in many ways, even more independent than the North from the power of the Iron Throne. What was worse in many ways for the King was that the Dorne were all, to a greater or lesser degree, Targaryen loyalists. They might have lost the greater portion of the forces arrayed against Robert in his rebellion but that had been barely a fifth of Dorne's total military strength. If House Martell rose in true rebellion, then it would mean war once more.

Worse, Dorne was extremely difficult to invade. Even if you got through the mountain passes that protected it, the dessert was a daunting defense all on its own. The only way to conquer it would be to have partisans among the people, and Robert knew he had none of those.

"No," Petyr continued, knowing he had their attention now, even the King despite his choleric expression and furious glare at Eddard, who was ignoring his friend's anger to watch Petyr closely. "There is a better solution. We should send an agent yes, but one to capture and return Daenerys and Viserys if possible to the King's… protection if they are not actively working to come back to reclaim the Iron Throne. If they are not, if they are mere figureheads, then a few vows here and there as well as having them under our power would be enough to insure their loyalty and the loyalty of those who would look askance at more…final solutions. And if either is actively plotting a return through conquest, either through use of the Dothraki or more subversive means, then our agent can take what action he deems necessary."

Petyr's eyes flicked just once over at Ranma, as he smiled thinly. Inside, however, he was crowing in victory. "And I think we have just such a capable agent sitting with us right now. One who has already proven to hold honor in high regard. So what say you, young Stark? Would you be up to the task?"

The King guffawed, some of his good humor returning to him even as Ned and Ranma stiffened. "Hah, yes! That's a fine solution, Littlefinger!" He looked over at father and son, his eyes still showing a spark of anger at the way Ranma had spoken to him. "After all, boy, despite the training you're giving Tommen, you've no real reason to remain here now that your engagement to the Tyrell girl has been postponed during this family crisis of theirs. You've proven yourself a warrior with few equals, you can think on your feet, and I bet you can even sneak around with the best of them!"

His eyes narrowed, showing even more of his fury at the way Ranma had spoken and at the very idea of the Targaryens trying to reclaim their throne. "You'll leave tomorrow. Your mission is to find these Targaryen lizards and, if they are willingly conniving to return to Westeros, to kill them. If it is only one or if they are simply being used to foment trouble, you're to return with the Stormborn bitch as your prisoner, to become a ward of the crown. Is that understood?"

Ranma's teeth clenched angrily and he shot a look at his father, who, after a fulminating moment, simply nodded jerkily. "Good." Robert snarled, pushing to his feet. "All this talk of the fire lovers has put my mind out of joint. I'm off to hunt something."

They all stood as the King stomped out, followed quickly by all the rest of the council. The Queen looked at both Stark men as she stood, shaking her head, though what she might be apologizing for, of if that was indeed what she was doing was up in the air. Ser Barristan paused as well, staring searchingly at Ranma, with something close to regret flashing across his iron face, before he too left.

Father and son sat there for a moment in silence before Ranma shook his head. "I'm sorry father, I spoke out of turn."

"Don't, who could have predicted Littlefinger would make such a suggestion. And what you said was true enough, there is no honor in planning the murder of children, regardless of their lineage." Ned sighed sadly, shaking his head. "Robert is a good man despite his vices, but he is consumed with unreasoning hatred for all things Targaryen."

With another shake, Ned began to lead the way out of the council room. "Come, we need to meet with Brynden and think what this could mean for our plans going forward, as well as prepare you for your trip. And I believe you have two Royal children to say your goodbyes to, as well as your sister."

Ned thought once more about telling Ranma his concerns where it came to the royal children, and after a moment's reflection decided to share his fears solely about Joffrey with him in a ltter once Ranma got out to sea. After all, Ranma's disgust with Joffrey was already plain to see, and his son could be unpredictable about such things.

But until he had proof, in particular knowledge of what line, Lannister or Baratheon, always stamped its mark on the children of that pairing, he would not make the accusation against all three Baratheon children. And he had become fond of both younger children as well, and would not want them to be cast out as illegitimate, which was the nicest thing that could happen to them if that was indeed the case.

Joffrey however, there is nothing in him to indicate he shares Baratheon blood. Though that still leaves the problem of who his father is, and the circumstances behind it. He frowned as he stood up, worrying at that problem for a moment once more before turning to more immediate problems. And Brynden and I need to prepare contingency plans as well.

Ranma groaned at the idea of saying goodbye to the youngsters but nodded and followed his father out.

None of the small council, not even Petyr, noticed Obara Sand, where she had hidden herself inside an alcove while the small council met. As she carefully left the chamber, she mused to herself. Interesting. Very interesting. I need to find Arianne. If she and I can sneak aboard his ship…

OOOOOOO

As the King ordered, the next day Ranma boarded a trading galley bound for Pentos that Varys had supplied the name of. He stood by the railing with Fenris beside him, waving goodbye to his family and the Royals, all of whom, even Joffrey, had come down to see him off.

Myrcella and Tommen in particular looked weepy; his farewells to both had been difficult to say the least. Tommen had made him promise to come back as soon as he could, while Myrcella had stolen another kiss from him as he hugged her farewell. Both of them felt this was a horrible idea on many levels but Myrcella was personally gripped by a horrible premonition of doom soon to come, though she couldn't quite describe where it would come from.

Sansa looked anxious and Ned had his stone face on, while Brynden was simply shaking his head, wondering how this adventure would pan out, not only for Ranma, but for all of them. Next to Sansa stood Joffrey, trying his best not to appear victorious, hiding his thoughts under his mask with ease.

In one pocket, Ranma had a letter from his father, which he had asked Ranma to read as soon as he was out of sight of land, for some reason. Ranma knew it had something to do with his father's investigation, which he had been very careful to keep Ranma away from. Ranma wasn't certain why his father hadn't simply told him what he wanted to share, but he hadn't pushed.

The King and Queen were staring hard at him for different reasons. Cersei wasn't certain what to make of this good luck and how to best take advantage of it, or if she should at all, but she was going to do whatever it took to protect herself and her children. If that meant moving against Eddard now that his son was no longer around, Cersei would do it, if she could be certain of victory.

Robert however was simply glaring. He had been amused by Ranma's attitude more often than not but Ranma had crossed a line yesterday. On the other hand, if he returned with a prisoner or not this would solve the Targaryen issue forever, so he was relatively happy. Despite his anger at the boy, he knew he was an amazing warrior, who could see this mission through. "Take care boy and either bring us back a prisoner or a pair of heads!" He guffawed, turned on his horse and began to move back down the quay, the rest of the Royal party following after.

Ned and Brynden remained even as the sailors began to make sail, pushing away from the wharf. What none of the watchers knew, not even Varys or Petyr, was that in the hold were two stowaways, Obara and Arianne. Daemon had stayed behind to guard Tyene, who also remained to continue her job for Ned and his household.

The two women looked at one another, both dressed as men. This was something Obara pulled off much easier than Arianne, who had to wrap her chest almost to the point of being unable to breathe and pad her waist to hide her figure. "Well, we're away cousin, for better or worse. I hope this idea of yours works out as well as you hope."

Arianne smirked, subtly gesturing down at her body though it was covered with sailor's rags at present. "We will see this evening, won't we cousin?"

OOOOOOO

For once, all the Stark siblings in currently residing in Winterfell were in the same place, outside the lord's bedroom. Early that evening, Lady Catelyn had gone into labor. Luckily, the midwives of Winterfell had long seen this coming and everything was running as smoothly as could be expected in such things. Not that you could tell that from the Stark siblings.

Jon had a firm hand on Shaggydog, who was whining and snarling in turns, feeling the anxiety in the air. Bran held Rickon on one shoulder, Summer pressing against both boys while Rickon looked around anxiously, worried about what was happening to his mother. Arya was pacing, with Nymeria beside her, from one end of the hallway to the other. More than once a maid had to ask them to move out of the way, as they raced in and out with clean linen and warm water.

It felt like an eternity for all of them, but in actuality, it was only an hour or so. Catelyn had always been able to give birth easily and, despite her adventures early on in the pregnancy, this time was no exception. The midwife came out, bearing a small bundle. She smiled at the children who all gathered around her, including Jon who she still thought of as that errant boy who would help Ranma steal apples from the kitchen. "My lords," she said grandly, "may I introduce you to your newest brother?"

End chapter

Hope everyone likes how things are turning out in the court, as well as the sudden skew turn at the end of the chapter. Cersei is still trying to play a soft game but is also preparing for more, while Petyr is willing to do the same so long as his position is secure. But Joffrey hasn't gotten that memo just yet, and has moved away from Cersei's control, though it remains to be seen if Petyr can take control of him in turn. And Ned and Brynden also have plans in place as well, though what those plans are or how effective, we shall have to see.

Also, I hope that everyone liked the view into what has been going on up North. Catelyn wasn't much of a character here but after her pregnancy will once again start to take part in things.

Let me say this about bows. I think, looking back at the history, it wasn't anything about the bows themselves per se that set 'English' bows apart, except possibly the size. What made them different, and so effective, was that the English saw them as battle winning weapons, rather than the weapons of the cowardly peasant. I get the impression, and tell me if you disagree, but the general idea in Westeros is the same sort of idiocy– cavalry is the king, while archery isn't seen as important except in sieges. To put it bluntly Ranma is not of that opinion.

I really enjoyed the stuff about the Wall, though I still don't know if I'm doing Tyrion's character justice there. If you're a fan of the Imp, tell me what you think of him.

Something about the Others: yes, the Wall blocks their magic but they can move around it. However, what Dacey and Jon have theorized is what they think; it could turn out to not be the reality.

And whatever you are thinking is going to happen in Essos, probably won't be what actually happens. I could have continued to pile on more in this chapter, but the Essos/Daenerys section couldn't be added without including a cliffhanger, which I am loathe to do. Next chapter will see a lot of Daenerys and Ranma as well, with the attention shifting to them, and to King's Landing and other events in the south now that the Northern picture has been painted as it were.

Hope everyone liked reading it, have a happy Christmas, and as always, review please.