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.

9. Chapter 9

A moment of silence for the passing of Terry Pratchett. He was an amazing writer, a truly fantastic personality, an inspiration both with his writing and in the rest of his life. The world is a slightly colder, more serious place without him.

I don't own A song of Ice and Fire, if I did, I would commit seppuku for how long it's taken for me to finish the series. Nor do I own Ranma 1/2, I would have killed Kuno and Genma in Martineqsue ways if I did.

And my flamer is back! Or another one has taken his place, uncertain since they are both guests, though not the sort I'd welcome into my home, ya know. I'm sorry dude, but calling Ranma a faggot for showing human feelings and sympathizing with Cersei's recent loss of Tommen, who Ranma had come to care for as well, despite the battle that occurred between their factions is not what I call a review. Your little hate-blurb has been deleted with extreme prejudice. Let me state now, his sadness over Tommen's death won't stop him from killing Cersei if he has to, he doesn't want to, but he will.

A special shout out to EleazarJ, for answering some of my questions about the expanded world of ASoIaF. Thanks also go to Crossfort for taking on the task of beta. Jessolt alas has retired from being my beta, but so everyone should thank Crossfort for stepping up to the plate for this chapter. If you think you are up to spotting small mistakes, word choice issues and other things, PM me please, since I need a specialist in that area both for this story and ATP.

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Chapter 9: Divided, United

Jaime Lannister rubbed his face tiredly, looking down at the reports that covered the desk he had commandeered in the gold cloak garrison in the Street of the Sisters. He wasn't someone who was naturally good with paperwork but as the senior Lannister Commander in the city it fell to him to reorganize the city's defenses. He had been working on that since Joffrey had promoted him to the position of Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, a task made worse for having to deal with his injuries.

This, along with the dozens of carts devoted to removing bodies throughout the city, had woken Jaime up to the reality of the losses they had taken in beating off the Starks. Nearly crippling losses when you looked at both their supporting houses and House Lannister's own troops. Several houses had even lost their heirs or lords.

Lord Staunton would never return home, nor would any of his men. Lord Thorne was also dead, leaving only his second son and heir, a whelp of only ten and two to lead the family, minus the fifteen armsmen who had been with him. House Manning had been gutted, losing both their lord and two younger sons along with forty armsmen. Jaime doubted they would ever recover. Nor were those the only names on the battle's butcher's bill, just the worst. All these deaths would no doubt have political implications in the future, but Jaime would let that in his sister's capable hands.

The Lannister forces themselves had started off with a little over four hundred men in the Red Keep. They had been used almost exclusively against the defenders in the tower, who, they knew precisely having had to remove the bodies had numbered fifty-seven men. The price Jaime's House had paid there was almost worse than the fighting in the city. Ninety-two men had survived that fight, just ninety–two! The Winterfell and Riverrun men had used every trick in the book, and their training, their organization, and their prepared defense in depth had been just as deadly as their blades.

The fighting in the city had killed another hundred and ten men who were nominally under House Baratheon, but had been bought off by Lannister gold or were loyal to Joffrey as heir of the King's Landing branch of that House. Not all of them had died in the small, brutal skirmishes against Eddard's forces, many had been pulled down by smallfolk rioters.

The gold cloaks were even worse off because of that issue and their own civil war. Several garrisons had been shattered in the fighting between factions, with bare handfuls of men having lived through the bloody battles fought in the close confines of those garrisons. Two garrisons had in fact been burned to the ground. The Mud Gate garrison had burned their own barracks as they retreated. Its commander, Ser Jacelyn Bywater had been a staunch reformist and put up a spirited defense before eventually being overcome by superior numbers. That battle had been why Lord Pyle had taken so long to get to him to with the reinforcements. All told, a little less than six-hundred men of their original two-thousand remained.

Worse, his house's practices of paying for loyalty had left them with the dregs, those men who were more interested in lining their own pockets rather than fulfilling their duties to keep order in the city, which made what would have been a tough job nearly impossible now. The city was not really safe for any of the upper class outside of the richer districts and some other sections that hadn't been the target of much rioting. The rest of the city was pretty quiet, but it was a surly sort of quiet. On the surface the city seemed on the mend, but that was only surface deep, and the Lannisters were even more reviled now than before.

I know Cersei mouthed the words in that meeting of the council where I was elevated, but I don't think she understands how badly we were mauled. Still, she's done a good job pulling the remaining neutral lords on board, though if we can actually trust them I don't know.

Those neutral lords were the ones providing much of the stability in the city at this point. They also helped remove the bodies which were burned or tossed in the sea depending on where they were found. But even those nobles who didn't take part in the battle were finding scant welcome among the smallfolk. There was no sign of an outright rebellion, not yet, but the city made Jaime feel like he was standing near Mad King Aerys again; like danger could come at any time with no warning.

He looked up from the piles of paper when the door opened, showing a messenger from the keep. "Ser Jaime, her majesty has asked you to report back to the Red Keep."

Jaime nodded, standing up wincing from the pain from his wounds. They weren't serious, but they would take many weeks to heal fully, Jaime had cracked ribs before this, so knew how quickly they healed, and the slash in his back was debilitating as well, the stitches pulling every time he moved. Still he could walk at least. Soon he was back in the keep, standing before the doorway to the queen's conference chamber, a smaller, but even more opulent chamber than the kings.

He shared a nod with Ser Balon Swann, who was standing guard outside. He was a tried and tested knight, youngish, but grim of face, honorable and a decent blade by Jaime's reckoning. Truth be told, he was easily better than the two Kingsguard who had died since their journey up to Winterfell, and more honorable to boot. He had performed well returning order to the city since the Lannisters won against the Starks thus proving their legitimacy, and Jaime had made him his first appointee to the Kingsguard.

Balon opened the door for his commander, and Jaime's sister smiled at him as he entered. "I have good news brother. We have heard back from a few of the nearest Crownlands lords, they are prepared to answer my call for aid." She scowled a little. "Grand master Pyrcelle and I nearly emptied the keep of ravens to send messages out to all the lords I wanted to reach including our father and some who I hoped to overawe, but I think it was worth it. Ravens arrived from Rosby and Stokeworth this morning. In total two-thousand, seven-hundred men will be arriving here in a matter of weeks from those noble houses and their minor houses."

She waved Jaime into a seat across from her at the small table. "I want the Kingsguard and the gold cloaks up to full strength before they arrive. We cannot be seen to be weak, these men may be loyal to us since we retain the throne, but I don't doubt that they will just as soon kneel to anyone else who seems strong enough to take the throne from us. Once they bleed for us though they will be tied to our cause."

"That is a tougher job than you might think." Her brother answered, sighing wearily. Jaime then filled her in on the troubles he was running into in that area, listing the number of dead lords and heirs that had fallen in the battle in particular, and also mentioning how the city was still tense.

After a moment Cersei nodded. "I hadn't realized how bad it had been among our allies save in the gold cloaks. Still there is nothing we can do about it now save blame the Starks when the families learn of their losses. Name three more names for the Kingsguard, then concentrate on rebuilding the gold cloaks, and think up ideas for defense of the city. Maester Pyrcelle will be working on that as well. I'll let Joffrey fill out the rest of the Kingsguard, it will give him something to work on while I…"

The two siblings were interrupted as the door banged open and Joffrey stomped in, his entire body screaming out petulance. "Have we discovered my fiancé and her brother yet?! I want his head on a pike at sundown and Sansa returned to me immediately!"

The Queen sighed while her brother cocked an eyebrow in question. "As I told you this morning my son, there is no chance of us finding Ranma or Sansa. They were out of the city before our message could reach the outer walls of the city. I do not doubt he can run as quickly as that direwolf of his for a time, and I doubt carrying Sansa would bother him at all."

"What's this?" Jaime asked. "I've been neck deep in Stranger-be-damned paperwork since the meeting yesterday, when I wasn't with the poxy healers. Did something happen last night?" He had been given some sleeping droughts by the healers to help him sleep with his wounds, and had taken to leaving the keep early in an attempt to get as much work done as he could each day, so this was the first time he had heard this tale.

"Ranma Stark snuck in late last night to rescue his sister. He escaped with her, killing eight armsmen and three knights including Ser Trant." Cersei replied, shrugging slightly. "Evidently there is much more to Ranma's abilities then we knew. He survived jumping down from the royal apartments to the ground outside the holdfast with ease, and then was able to get out of the keep before our men on watch at the walls could be warned. I doubt they could have stopped him in any case."

"You seem… awfully calm about this sister…" Jaime said, looking at her in surprise, himself being not happy about the fact to have lost yet another of the Kingsguard. 'Even if he wasn't worthy in the first place' he thought, rather amused. Trend should never have been elevated to the white given his skill set, let alone his moral fiber. And that's without some of the looks I've seen him give Merry and other young girls, no the world is a better place without him.

"It is an affront against the dignity of the crown!" The young King growled out before Cersei could reply. "I want my fiancé back now! It's impossible for one man to just escape so fast. He must be hiding in the city somewhere and I want them found now!"

Jaime was amused to see that 'his son' actually stamped his foot in a fit of pique.

"Yet evidently it can be done, if the person has the skills of a hero from the Age of Legends." His mother replied coolly while watching Joffrey through narrowed eyes. "Ranma could have made it his mission to kill you my son, or any of us, and gotten away with much less fuss than his rescue of Sansa. Ranma is not an assassin, he doesn't think like that."

Indeed the Queen saw his heroism as something to admire, his love of his sister striking her in the heart, as had his grief over Tommen's death which she had seen in his face and eyes. And Cersei knew she could trust him to watch over her daughter. "We have lost a political tool, nothing more, and I know Ranma well enough to know he will guard Myrcella with his life, something the mother in me is thankful for."

Joffrey ground his teeth in rage, knowing now that his mother's acceptance of Ranma's escape had more to do with insuring her daughter's protection than anything else. Damn it, both my siblings should have died stillborn, it would have been better for the crown if they had. They are always taking attention away from me, and now my mother's love for my sister has clouded her judgment.

Before he could continue his tantrum however, Pyrcelle and the others entered the room. The Queen nodded to them all, gesturing at the table to indicate they should all be seated, looking at their expressions closely, but she couldn't tell how they had taken last night's events. Yet Joffrey was not the only one who was mortified and chagrined by Sansa's rescue.

Petyr's reaction to Sansa's rescue mirrored Joffrey's save he felt even more hate and loathing for Ranma Stark. His rescue of Sansa meant that the Master of coin had missed his chance to ingratiate himself with Sansa, which would have been useful on many level. She would have been a perfect wife, a surrogate for her mother who had obviously been so sullied by the barbarian Starks as to enjoy it. Petyr could also have used her to create a connection with House Stark so that whoever won he would be well-positioned to take advantage afterward. Now Baelish had to think of some other way to seem at least neutral in this conflict, or he would be forced to work so that the Lannisters come out on top.

Face facts Petyr, no one of the Stark's faction would ever believe you had no part in how the battle here went, Petyr thought now. Not unless they were so desperate for aid they couldn't turn anyone offering such away. Eddard and Ranma would have to die first at the very least, possibly Jon Snow as well, all in such a way that the blame was placed on the Lannisters, or simply the random luck of battle. So, how to make that happen…

The moment the three men sat, Cersei told them her news then looked at Varys. "Do you have any of your 'little birds' in Dragonstone? Stannis will be the first to move against us, he will receive the news of the king first since Dragonstone is only a week by boat away, and he is an ambitious, prideful man."

And I have some suspicion on who helped Jon Aryn in his initial investigation. Stannis might have known about Joffrey's illegitimacy well before the events in King's Landing.

Varys looked a little worried, or perhaps the term disturbed came better to describe what his fat, florid face was showing. "I am afraid not your highness. I used to, but they stopped reporting to me about a month and a half ago. Their last messages all spoke of a woman in red who preached the religion of R'hllor. Apparently Stannis' wife has been converted to it, as have others. The Dragonstone maester is also dead, though the reasons for his death were unknown to my agents. "

"Odd… I wonder why Stannis has allowed this priestess such leeway, he isn't known as religious or tolerant of such." Pyrcelle mused aloud.

Cersei however smiled thinly. "Inform the High Septon of that would you, Pyrcelle? I think we can spin that easily to make this a religious matter, and that may force him to open the Great Sept's coffers to fund the defense of the city."

"An excellent thought your majesty." Pyrcelle responded enthusiastically, a smile on his somewhat florid face. "We need to prepare the seaward defenses for certain. We'll need to build siege equipment. The walls too, might have weak points, and the port itself needs to be defended. This will all take money, of course, and the Great Sept's coffers are very deep."

"Hmmf." Joffrey scoffed, hiding his fear of Stannis under bravado. He had never gotten along with either of his uncles, not liking how Renly didn't seem to understand how important he was, and he had hated how Stannis looked down on him the few times they were around one another. "We should just take the merchant vessels in the harbor out and meet him. Surely we can pull enough men from the city and the gold cloaks."

"The gold cloaks are a bare shadow of what they were before the battle against Eddard's faction. And even if they weren't there is no chance of us using them as an offensive force." Jaime said, shooting that plan down harshly. "They aren't even as well trained as common armsmen, and you need special training to fight aboard ship. Footwork and working with others in enclosed spaces becomes much more important, things armsmen don't learn normally."

Joffrey subsided for a moment, scowling at his uncle speaking to him like that, but Petyr spoke up before he could fire back, looking at the queen. "Besides appealing to the High Septon, where can we raise more money? Can you use your family's name with the banks in the city?"

"I can for now, though for anything over a hundred-thousand gold dragons I would need to have my father's approval. The bankers will take my word on that approval coming however. But my brother raises a good point. The gold cloaks and our noble allies alone might not be enough to defend the city. We need to garner public support, turn the citizens against Stannis, to get them to throw in their lot to help the defense of the city. The High Septon's backing might help, but we'll need to do more. Varys, we'll use your network to spread rumors about Stannis throughout the city: how he will be a cruel king, how he doesn't care for the common man, this new religion, anything you can think of."

Varys nodded, agreeing that the idea had merit, though for his own reasons. Varys hadn't really wanted open conflict to break out, but now that it had, he wanted all the Lords Paramount weakened, ripe for conquest by his backer.

"Besides Stannis being so close, we have time if we can rebuild the gold cloaks at least on paper. Our father will not receive my missive for five days, but will no doubt move quickly after that. Where does everyone see threats appearing long term? Also Varys, I want to find out the outcome of Ranma's mission. It could prove disastrous if he actually did come back with the Targaryen siblings. Find out if the ship he sailed to Pentos on came back and followed the Northern ship up North, or entered one of the other ports in the Bay." Cersei concluded.

Pyrcelle smiled thinly. "Before the Starks attempted their coup I received word from some of Lord Lannister's agents in Sunspear. Prince Oberyn has been jailed by Prince Doran to stop him from leading the army of Dorne against us for what they see as the murder of Tyene Sand. This is another sign that the Dornish Prince is too cowardly to pose an offensive threat. The Vale is rapidly disintegrating. Lysa Aryn may be its nominal leader, but she has little to no control outside the Vale of Aryn itself. The mountain clans are nearly in open revolt, and the lords are bickering amongst one another. The Riverlands will not challenge us either so long as we keep Hoster Tully's heir as our hostage. It is to the Reach and the Stormlands we need to look to."

"What about the North?" Joffrey asked indignantly. "You didn't mention them, and it is the North and that Seven-damned Eddard Stark who began this strife along with his son. I cannot understand why we don't simply march north to reclaim my fiancé from her barbarous family, and torch Winterfell as a pointed reminder to the rest of them who their masters are!"

"That isn't really an option I'm afraid." Varys said apologetically, an easy mask for him. "We named Eddard Stark a traitor from the beginning of this conflict. As king, you need to marry to a house that will bring power and prestige to the crown. Marrying a daughter of a traitor would bring neither. Nor could we simply march an army north. It would take months to arrive there with any appreciable force, and they would know of the armies coming well in advance of its arrival."

"I'm afraid he's right my son." Cersei said apologetically. "If Ranma hadn't absconded with her as he had we might have gone through with the marriage, but as it is, no. Instead, I will send a message to lord Tyrell to offer your hand to Margaery, you liked her didn't you?"

Joffrey now felt torn, he had indeed liked the look of the Tyrell girl and it would be great to steal away the fiancé of that cursed northern barbarian. Though she seemed to think she was clever, a failing in any woman really. Even his own mother thought that, and look at the mistakes she was still making because of her female sentimentality. Nor did Joffrey like the idea of giving up anything he saw as his by right, and Sansa was his, there was no doubt of that in Joffrey's mind. Still, I understand their points, and House Tyrell would indeed bring in a lot of men, men I could use to crush my uncles and then march on the North. But I wonder if there is a way to have my sweatmeat and eat it too…

"What news of Renly?" Jaime asked.

"I sent two score of my men out to try and detain him, but he was too fast to flee the city for them to find him, and he stayed ahead of our pursuit until they could no longer find the trail." Petyr said, shrugging. "He's no doubt halfway to the Stormlands by now."

"Would he not go to the Reach instead? They could field a larger army, and the majority of his guards at present came from house Tyrell." Varys said. "If so, your offer of Joffrey's hand to the Rose of Highgarden wouldn't be as welcome if they could marry Renly to her instead."

For just a moment the image of Margaery with a crown on her head filled Cersei's brain. She shivered in fear at the idea Margaery might be the young queen from the prophecy from old Maggy that had told her she would outlive all her children and then be replaced by a younger, more beautiful queen.

But then a sudden burst of joy wiped away her fear. With Ranma protecting my daughter, my sweet little lioness will come to no harm. If she doesn't die, that will invalidate old Maggy's predictions, even after Tommen's death! "It will still muddy the waters, and may force them to consider other options." She said, then frowned. "I just wish there was something more we could do to make certain the Stormlands would not answer either brother's call to rise against us."

"Now wait a moment." Petyr said. "I think his highness has a point." Joffrey sat up straighter at that, forgetting his own plans and desires for a moment. "I think if we strike quickly against the North, get to and through the Neck before they can get word of what happened here, we would have a much easier time of it later on. Once Moat Cailin has been cleared we can hold it, and then bring in more troops once we finish off our more southern opponents."

Both Varys and Jaime shook their heads at that, but it was Cersei who spoke up. "That isn't an option for many reasons. For one, we don't have an army to send just yet, and it would take months as I said to get an army up there at all. Plus you never saw the work being done on Moat Cailin Littlefinger. It doesn't need reinforcement any longer."

Jaime nodded, shuddering at the idea of going up against the Moat. The Rock might be more defensible, but the Moat's defenses would massacre any army that came against it. "Could we make overtures to the Ironborn? We could have them attack the North in our stead with the promise of more freedom under the crown, or a slice of the Northern pie."

"I wouldn't trust an Ironborn further than I could throw this table," Cersei replied tartly. "We'll need to wait for the Lannister fleet to be in a position to help our forces get around the Neck."

"Then I have another suggestion." Petyr said, smiling thinly. "Why don't you send me on a mission to the Vale? If we can get them on our side it will be a major boon. They might only be able to field a small offensive army, but they have closer ports for an invasion around the eastern side of the North through the Bite, and excellent defensive positions. I also suggest we send messages to House Sunderland. The smugglers of Sisterton can be brought to our side by the promise of gold, and should be able to assault Lord Stark and the Northerners before they reach White Harbor."

The Three sisters were three small islands set in the Bite about two weeks (because of weather and the Bite's sailing conditions, not distance) from White Harbor. It had originally been home to pirate kings, before they grew too bold and attempted to gain territory in the North, which caused the North to invade them in turn. In desperation the 'kings' of the island had bent the knee to the Eyrie of the Vale, and the two kingdoms had gone to war over the islands. The war may have ended a thousand years ago, but the men of the islands still remembered and would no doubt jump at the chance to kill Northmen with crown approval.

"That's a good suggestion, but we won't send you to the Vale, Littlefinger." The Queen scoffed. "You have duties right here as master of coin. Nor do I see how you could get the Vale on our side, unless you have something to tell us?"

Petyr subsided with a self-deprecating shrug and the meeting continued. Joffrey tried to interject his opinion a time or two, but for the most part was willing to let his mother carry the conversation, which she did fairly well, with Jaime and Pyrcelle aiding her. Joffrey knew his time would come in battle of course, much like his father before him, so had no issue allowing his mother to take the lead now despite his being king. He would make his name the same way Robert did, by remorselessly cutting down his enemies.

Later that day Joffrey followed that idea by going down to the Street of Steel to by himself a new blade. Surrounded by a force of fifty, Joffrey still heard the mutters of the smallfolk and one or two thrown bricks impacted his guard's shields. But after killing the one too-brave idiot who threw one, the crowd grew more respectful in his opinion, melting away. Upon arriving at his destination, Joffrey was surprised to find that master smith Tobho Mott had died in the rioting that had spiraled out of the Stark's attempted coup, along with his apprentice, who was already considered a very good smith.

After a moment spent staring at the burned out ruins of the smith's shop, he shrugged, turning away to rejoin his retinue of Kingsguard and Lannister men. He would need to settle for second best for now. He didn't even look at the cart carrying their bodies away. One of the dead bodies was an old man who would have still looked hearty if he had been alive. The other was a young man around the prince's age, with broad shoulders, dark hair and eyes set into a wide face.

The trip back to the castle however was when the crowd began to reappear. It wasn't anything planned or anything like that, it was simply that the news the Lannister king was in the city had spread, and a crowd of smallfolk with more hatred than common sense to put it bluntly had begun to arrive. They began to circle the king's party, tossing refuse, a few bricks and anything else that came to hand. "Down with the yellow king, down with the burners, the rapists! Down with the gold fucking Lannisters!"

Ser Swann urged his horse forward, gently nudging Joffrey's steed behind him. "Your highness, I think you should move back." Balon raised his shield just in time to catch a brick thrown at his head, whipping out his sword. He turned to the rest of the party. "Flat of the blades only, we don't want a bloodbath here." The others all nodded, knowing the real reason, that there were far too many smallfolk for them to break through if the crowd became any more unruly, which it would once blood began to flow.

"What! I am the king, this scum need to be put in their place!" Joffrey snarled. At that moment a wine bottle was hurled over the intervening guardsmen, smacking into Joffrey's horse. The beast shied, but Joffrey regained control quickly, looking around in sudden fear.

"At a canter, make for the Keep!" Balon yelled, charging forward. The throng hadn't crowded them enough to stop their horses from gaining speed, and the front of their column slammed into the crowd blocking their path to the Red Keep easily, laying all around them with the flat of their blades.

The crowd gave way, some fearfully others reluctantly, but with the momentum and size of their warhorses Balon and his men forged a path through the masses for Joffrey. Now that he knew things had returned to the way they should be, Joffrey rode forward at the center of his guards, thinking of how best to remind these uppity smallfolk that he was their king. The same mind that had tortured Sansa now turned its attention onto a larger playground, staring around and noting the faces of particularly loud rioters.

Thankfully for the smallfolk, Cersei well knew they needed public opinion on their side, and curtailed many of Joffrey's excesses in the coming weeks. But eventually, her ability to control Joffrey would fade, and he would begin to earn the name that he would carry to his grave: Joffrey the Vile.

OOOOOOO

Elsewhere in the city the former, though he was still getting used to that bit, White cloak commander Ser Barristan Selmy began to hide the bodies of the three armsmen that the Lannisters had sent after him. They had come upon him just as he exited the slums, having stayed at a rundown inn whose owner owed him a favor there. "Of course the little whelp would send someone after me, did they think they would catch me unawares? I'm almost insulted." He shook his leonine head, continuing talking to himself while piling garbage on the bodies, an easy task here in the slums. "Still, that doesn't help me much now. I still need to get out of the city, and then decide where to go…"

Barristan paused as he heard a murmur of voices coming somewhere in the maze of warrens that made up the slums. "I tell ye, the Stark girl's gone! Me mam's a servant at the keep, and she said she saw the stark boy, the one who gulched the Mountain right proper. 'e just 'peared outta nowheres, leapin' up the wall wit' his sister on his back. An' there were a few deaders bein' dumped outta the keep this morn."

"Bah, yer mam's seein' thins, she been at some lordlin's alc when she were up there? Ain't no way no mortal man could jump 'at far, no way, even the man who un-armed the Mountain. Get it? Un-armed? HAR!"

In his hiding place Barristan frowned thoughtfully. I've always suspected that Ranma Stark was hiding some of his abilities. How he got into Maegor's holdfast in the first place I don't know, but if he's really returned… For a moment, he considered all he knew about the Stark heir, then went over that meeting with the small council when he was assigned the mission to find the two Targaryen siblings. Unless they were truly gripped by the Targaryen madness the Stark boy would have returned with the two siblings if anyone could, and that he returned at all tells me he succeeded in some fashion.

Yet this brought up another question he had been asking himself since his unlawful expulsion from the Kingsguard. What claimant for the Iron Throne has the best claim on the throne, and is therefore worthy of my sword? Barristan stood up, pulling his utilitarian cloak around him, hiding his white enameled armor from view. He stared up at the sky, nearly obscured by the walls of the hovels around him. He stood like that for several minutes then nodded sharply, before striding away purposefully.

OOOOOOO

Ranma and Daenerys woke up the next morning in that same position, slumped against the wall of Lord Stark's room aboard ship with Daenerys leaning her head on Ranma's shoulder as they slept, the two draklings curled up in her lap. Fenris was nowhere to be seen.

Knowing by smell somehow that Sansa was in distress the large direwolf had bedded down outside the girls room, growling at any sailor that came by. Worse, he felt a hollow feeling inside ever since seeing Sansa. Where the connection to his prissy, too domesticated female packmate should have been there was an emptiness now, telling Fenris Lady was dead, though not the manner of her death.

Ranma woke up first and after cracking his neck he looked down at where Daenerys was leaning on his shoulder, a smile playing across his face. Ranma didn't really understand how to describe husband/wife love in words, but after watching Ned and Catelyn he certainly understood what it was. He knew that was what he felt for Daenerys.

He'd felt affection for Dacey, but their friendship was more important than anything else, their physical relationship had simply been an addition to this, and he had willingly given it up when he went south to meet Margaery.

For a moment he felt a spark of guilt at the memory of Margaery, but Brynden had told him that the Tyrells had officially called off the courtship between them, and it had never gotten to the point where he was actually in love with her. From the very beginning neither of them had been able to enter into the courtship wholeheartedly thanks to the pressures of her family's plans and Ranma's desire to remain distant from her. Oh, there had been a moment where he had been very attracted to Margaery when they first met. Then Ranma had seen her flirting with Joffrey, and that feeling had died instantly. Despite that inauspicious beginning they had become firm friends, though Ranma didn't know if that would survive Loras choosing to not support his father in the battle against the Lannisters. Still, Ranma was honest enough to realize their friendship might have become love eventually if they had given more time or didn't have her family mucking things up.

But that feeling was a summer breeze in comparison to the storm he felt for Daenerys and Ranma knew it wasn't simple lust. He respected Daenerys more than he had Margaery for one. He had seen Daenerys at her weakest moment, when she had tried to get away from the magister's mansion. That moment, her glaring around her, using the dragon eggs to shield her chest, still defiant despite her plan coming to pieces around her, was one Ranma would never forget. Margaery had never been tested like that. Daenerys was intelligent too, shown in their conversations over the past month or so, and had a gentle nature under her fierce willpower that was astonishing. That gentleness, the fact she actually cared about people, merged with an incredible amount of charisma, making people gravitate to her naturally.

As intelligent as Margaery, as fearless as Dacey, as kind and strong-willed as both combined, Daenerys Stormborn had taken his breath away over the past few weeks. He wanted to spend the rest of his life with her, to kiss her every day, to wake up next to her, to talk about their problems together and face any trial that came their way side by side. A feeling beyond anything he had felt for Dacey or allowed himself to feel toward Margaery.

Now I know what my father and mother feel about one another. Yes, I will marry this girl, my Stormborn lady. She might only bring the dragons but that's a very big only, and… he frowned thoughtfully thinking of the future. She'll bring other allies I suppose in the future.

In Daenerys' lap the draklings began to cheap imperiously for their morning meal, waking Daenerys up. She yawned widely, then mumbled something about her back bothering her before she looked up and realized where she had fallen asleep. Her eyes locking with Ranma's Daenerys smiled up at Ranma, taking one of his hands in hers and squeezing it between them for a moment, leaning up to kiss the underside of his jaw. She smiled a little impishly at Ranma's surprised look of her action, evidently not having expected her to be that playful so soon after they had admitted what was happening between them

Standing up, Daenerys allowed the two draklings to climb up her leggings and her leather jerkin, which had been resized from one of the sailors on the caravel they had been travelling on before. It was a necessity since Rhaegon and Sunfyre both loved climbing up and down from her shoulders for some reason. She idly hoped that Ranma's prediction about them still having that habit when they were larger did not come true, but for now, Daenerys rather liked having them so close.

She stretched her arms from side to side working on her shoulders, accidentally thrusting her chest forward as she did. Daenerys smiled faintly as Ranma watched her, preening a little under his gaze. Exercising with Ranma actually started to put on some muscle on her, and while she would never have thought it given her reaction to being looked at by Viserys or Jorah Mormont, Daenerys positively loved it when Ranma looked at her like that. Where their looks had made her feel dirty, Ranma's made her feel simply desirable.

Unlike Ranma, Daenerys had never been in a relationship of any kind before, but she understood where their feelings were taking her. While neither of them had said the words yet, their affection was out in the open now, and Daenerys saw no need to lie to herself about her growing feelings for Ranma Stark.

Ranma stood up, and reached out to take her hand, bringing it to his lips and kissing it lightly before looking at the two hungry draklings. "Let's feed these little monsters then speak with Brynden and the captain." Daenerys nodded with a smile, slipping her hand into his. They left the room like this, leaving behind a smiling Domeric to watch over the injured Lord Stark.

They found the Blackfish already awake and talking with Captain Woolfield staring out over the ocean as the ship continued to make its way through the waters of Blackwater Bay. Brynden smiled at them, but his smile froze on his face as he saw the two of them holding hands. Ranma simply cocked an eyebrow at him, daring his uncle to comment but Brynden simply smiled and bowed his head slightly for now.

Eddard had told him about the plans that Renly had come up with to marry the rose girl to Robert to produce some more heirs to the throne, and he didn't doubt that that house would jump at the idea of marrying Renly himself to Margaery, poor girl. So there was no honorable previous engagement in the way, and the draklings on the Stormborn's shoulders were a show of power even the Tyrells would have trouble matching.

"We need to talk about what we're going to be doing." Ranma said bluntly looking at the two men and holding out his hand to clasp arms with the captain. The two of them had greeted one another when Ranma came aboard, but they didn't know one another very well. Woolfield was a house that Ranma hadn't encountered personally, but he knew enough about their history and their loyalty to house Manderly to trust the man. "Captain, how likely is it that we can get away without someone from Dragonstone being able to run us down?"

"It depends on how many ships Stannis can spare milord." the man said with a shrug. He was a medium sized man with a full beard that was turning to gray slowly, though that was the only sign of age. His arms were bare showing heavy corded muscles, and his right hand rested on a belt where a heavy cutlass rested. "They'll know these waters better than us of course, but even though it's called a bay, finding a single ship isn't that easy. Even if they do find us, I didn't lose many of my men before were forced to pull back due to Lord Stark's injury. I have a hundred and forty men aboard fit to fight."

Daenerys nodded. "That's good to know captain. However I think that rather than fighting our way through we need to sneak through. Recall that Lord Stark is indeed down with injuries, and there are women aboard. Any battle can go badly if we are careless." She smirked at Ranma, making him remember the time she had stepped in to direct the battle against the ship Stannis had sent to capture her.

Ranma laughed squeezing her hand before letting it go when she moved over with the draklings to the stewpot that had been brought out for them. It was a heavy meat stew with some mushrooms and other vegetables in there, and Daenerys smiled at the cooks who smiled back looking almost in awe of her.

This was not an isolated feeling towards House Targaryen in Westeros. While the Lords Paramount and the larger noble houses had moved on rather gleefully from the days of the Targaryen Dynasty, the smallfolk and the minor houses still retained their awe of the family, and of their dragons. This would be important in the coming days, though unfortunately not as much use as it could have been were certain circumstances different.

Watching Ranma watch Daenerys walk off Brynden laughed, clapping the younger man on the shoulder, causing Ranma to look at him. "Your lady mother will be very angry. Catelyn will think that the young lady doesn't bring enough to the table for you to wed her, after all the Stormborn doesn't bring any men or swords or even land, and will bring out a lot of old prejudices among the other powers, plus removing one of your house's largest diplomatic tools. The two dragons might convince her though, we'll see."

Brynden smiled softly at his nephew, already knowing what the two young people felt for one another. Indeed, he had the feeling of, not destiny not quite, but of greatness whenever he looked at the two of them together. "For my part I will simply wish you well."

Reaching out to grab the other man's shoulder in turn Ranma laughed quietly. "Little early for that, but it's definitely a thought in my mind." he said, flushing a little bit. Despite his experience with Dacey, he wasn't actually experienced about actually talking about such things, and he moved on quickly. "With Edmure captured, what do you think Lord Tully will do?"

Brynden sighed sadly. "My brother is old, and dying. Even before all this began I didn't think he had more than a few years left, he doesn't have the strength for war. With his heir captured, there will be little he can do."

"How fast can the Westerlanders march into the Riverlands?" asked Daenerys coming back carrying a large bowl of stew from which her draklings were feeding while she walked from the perches on her shoulders. "I confess I don't have as good a grasp of distances in Westeros as I would like, but there's no doubt that Lord Tywin is the most dangerous of our opponents."

"And if word of the treachery of the queen gets out, how will the rest of the lords major react? I don't doubt Stannis has already begun to spread that news considering he knew about it nearly right after the fact." She said tartly, remembering the battle they had with the galley out of Dragonstone coming into the bay. "How will the Riverlands lords react, or the Stormlands lords? As one, or will they be divided? These are questions we need to think about going forward, gentlemen."

"My question is how the Freys will react." Ranma said shrugging his shoulders. "They're the family nearest the North, and they're one of the most powerful if not the second most powerful house in the Riverlands. Charging their damned tolls has made them rich, and I remember my mother mentioning a few Frey's had married into House Lannister. Worse, Edmure's helping my father can already be seen as an act of treason by itself, and Lord Lannister and the Queen won't let that stand."

For all his respect for Cersei, Ranma didn't delude himself on what the Queen would be willing to do to protect her son's life or their grip on the throne now that it had come to this. "He could strip Lord Tully of his title, and add their lands to someone else's, though whether that would stick without violence I don't know."

"That, my brother would have to fight." Brynden said sadly. "If they go with that kind of maneuver I have no idea what my brother will do but he won't simply bow to their demands. Even if his son's life is on the line Hoster won't allow anyone else to hold Riverrun if he can help it."

"And he's family." Ranma said reaching down to rub one finger over Rhaegon's green-scaled head. "I won't allow my grandfather to fight that fight alone."

Daenerys smiled approvingly at that. Her smile widened as Ranma went on looking at the other two men and then her. "But it won't be a large force. The Neck and Moat Cailin might protect our landward defenses from any invasion coming up from the south, but we are still very vulnerable by sea most particularly by the Ironborn. Worse, winter is coming."

Woolfield chuckled, and Ranma smirked at him. "I'm not just repeating my family's motto. Those words are as true for us as they are true for every other man, lord, knight or smallfolk, and we need to prepare for it. I haven't spoken to a maester recently, so I have no idea how long we really have until winter truly comes, but I've been to the Wall. I felt the cold there, it is coming. And then there's the King Beyond the Wall and other issues north of us we'll have to deal with." Woolfield looked quizzical at that while the other two simply nodded while Ranma went on. "We cannot, I will not allow us to neglect the defense of our people. We'll need to help Lord Tully and see justice done for the queen and her family, but our people cannot be the ones to pay for it."

Daenerys nodded, looking at him with shining eyes. Few Lords indeed would worry about their own people like that, but Ranma does. That tells me more than anything else what kind of a Lord, what kind of a man he truly is. Or possibly a thought entered her mind, what kind of future King he is. "I trust you would be leading such a force?" Daenerys asked raising one eyebrow.

"Oh definitely." Ranma replied, already thinking of the size and makeup of such a force. Ten thousand men would be the maximum he would allow to be pulled from the ready forces. Ideally he would like to field two thousand light cavalry/scouts, a thousand heavy cavalry, three thousand archers, three thousand heavy infantry and a thousand light infantry, but that was in an ideal world. Ranma knew that would probably be impossible.

Still, that number would certainly let enough force in the North to deal with any normal threat. The fact he would have to go south rather than to the Wall irritated him, but he hoped they had enough time to reunite Westeros before dealing with the White Walkers. "Do we have a map?"

Captain Woolfield went to fetch one and they all went back down into the ship to Eddard's room, letting the crew go about their business. Once there, Woolfield marked out the route they were going to follow north before looking up at Ranma. "We're currently moving through this area here, we shouldn't run into any trouble in terms of weather, at least I hope not. This part here," he tapped the map down by the marks for the island of Dragonstone and Driftmark. "Will be where we're most likely to run into opposition. But it's always possible that Stannis wants us enough to send enough ships to run us down even on open water even after we leave the bay."

"I doubt Stannis will bother sending ships after us once we leave the bay. He'll concentrate on rallying his forces." Daenerys said firmly with Ranma nodding agreement. "Stannis is not Lord Paramount of the Stormlands; Robert passed him over for that in favor of his younger brother Renly. He'll have to gather men to him by persuasion or force. The fact that precedent says he is Robert's legal heir will not matter in the face of their well-known mutual dislike. If he knows the truth about Joffrey he'll be able to rally some lords with that but his position as master of ships would've given him something like six thousand men all told? Not enough to take King's Landing if the defense is prepared and I have no doubt that the Queen and the Kingslayer at least will push as hard as they can on that front."

Ranma scowled angrily cracking his knuckles as he thought of Jaime Lannister. The man had nearly succeeded in killing his father, and Ranma very much wished to return the favor.

"What I'm surprised about." Ranma said shaking his head to get rid of his rather bloodthirsty thought. "Is that there hasn't been a response from Dorne about Tyene's death. I met Oberyn, and he was an emotional sort of man. I have no doubt that he at least will want take some kind of vengeance."

Domeric shrugged from where he had taken up position on Daenerys' other side. "While the roads in Dorne are better than the ones in the North, they have even worse logistics issues than us northern louts normally." Ranma and Woolfield grinned at one another while Domeric continued. "I've travelled there, and trust me, water in particular is a major issue for any army marching through Dorne's territory. Not only would it take them time to gather their troops in large enough numbers for a foray into the Marches, but it would take them longer to get there. Nor do they have any naval power to speak of."

"That is one point that I particularly think we need to keep in mind Ranma, one which made me very pleased that you remembered the need to keep some of our forces at home." Daenerys said frowning thoughtfully as she looked at the map, tapping the Iron Islands, not even noticing Ranma's smile at the phrase 'our forces' or Brynden and the others reactions.

"The Ironborn will use this opportunity to return to their old ways." She said firmly. "The use of a hostage will not stop them, if the Greyjoys do not do it themselves than the other major houses among the Ironborn will do it anyway. They're reavers and rapist plunderers, they've probably been waiting for an opportunity to slip the leash again."

All four of the men nodded agreement, and Ranma replied dryly that was why he wouldn't be taking a large force from the houses on that side of the northern territories.

"They could still strike Moat Cailin from behind." Daenerys said worriedly, working her lower lip in such a way that made Ranma want to kiss her. "If they join forces with the Lannisters and take the Moat away from us, the Lannisters can then simply march through the Riverlands to deal with us first before picking up the pieces there."

Ranma laughed shaking his head. "Not going to happen, Daenerys. Trust me, you haven't heard of the changes we've made to the Moat. What's more, my family has known that something was going to be coming our way since before I left Winterfell, and we've been preparing for the worst." He smirked. "Ravens are such useful birds, and I believe that the preparations already in place will surprise you."

"I hope in a good way." Daenerys said smiling faintly as she flicked her fingers lightly against Ranma's arm. Her smile widened as Ranma took her hand in his holding for a moment as they turned back to the map. Their discussion continued from there for another hour before they were interrupted by a cough from nearby.

In the bed nearby Ned awoke to the sound of their voices. That he awoke at all was a shock to Eddard. While the wounds themselves were not immediately mortal, he had been prepared to die from the one in his side at least. He took a moment to just lay there in peace, enjoying the feeling of being alive, before coughing to get the attention of those in the room with him.

Despite the weariness and pain stamped across his features Ned's eyes were clear as he looked at the group which rapidly crowded around the bed locking on Daenerys and the two dragons on her shoulders. "Legends come before me in many forms it seems," he said, his voice a bare shadow of its normal commanding tenor. "Lady Daenerys Targaryen?"

"Milord." The platinum haired girl nodded her head formally then decided to try humor, it worked often enough with Ranma. "I would curtsy but…" she gestured at the leggings she was wearing.

Ned smiled slightly, but didn't seem to have the strength for more. He looked around at them all. "Who do I have to thank for the minor miracle of my life?"

"Myrcella, apparently." Ranma said smiling broadly, reaching forward to grasp his father's hand. "She's been studying medicine apparently, and she and Alayaya were able to stitch you up. You're still weak, and I'm afraid there wasn't much they could do about the shoulder save to tie it in place and hope it heals, but you're going to pull through. Still, I don't want to hear about you trying to lead from the front again father, that's a younger man's job!"

"I see. And it is good to see you too my son, both for its own merits and for that very reason." Ned replied, smiling faintly but warmly at his son. "But tell me, how long was I out, and what has happened since? How did your mission go besides the obvious? Are we sailing for Dragonstone?"

Ranma exchanged glances with the others then told his father what had happened to him and Daenerys as they came towards King's Landing, and about his rescuing Sansa. Ned looked at him in shock at that, but then bowed his head in true thanks, squeezing his son's hand again as hard as he could, which alas wasn't very hard at the moment.

He and Brynden both then filled Ranma in on the battle in the city in greater detail than Brynden had before, going into detail on the evidence that the maesters had sent him to prove the queen's infidelity. Ranma, his mind on a certain young lady, looked at the names of the children and noticed something, which he immediately brought up.

Eddard frowned, but nodded and acquiesced to his point for now before turning back to the topic of Stannis and what was going on now. He looked at them all shaking his head. "So the world changes, and in ways I did not expect or can understand. Legends come among us again, the direwolves to my family the dragons to yours milady, a King beyond the Wall and more, treason in the South and Stannis Baratheon having access to some kind of magic that allowed him to learn of his brother's death a mere day after the fact." He leaned back, closing his eyes and the others thought he might've fallen asleep but he opened them again now staring searchingly at Ranma. "So, what will you do my Lord?"

"My Lord?" Ranma said his eyes wide. "I, um, I had hoped to convince you to send of me and a smallish army south father, but um… my Lord? What…?"

"A crippled Lord cannot be a Lord in the North, you know this." Ned said simply moving his shoulders very slightly, wincing at the pain of the crushed bones in his one shoulder. It was all he could do as exhausted as he was, but it brought to Ranma's attention to his wound there, and then Eddard tapped one leg with a hand. "I can't feel this leg." Ned said simply. "Even if my shoulder repaired itself, I don't think I'm ever going to be able to ride to war, or to defend my honor in single combat as a Lord must if called upon to do so. That makes you Lord Stark my son, and Lord Paramount of the North."

He sighed sadly, shaking his head. "And I have made too many mistakes of late, too many errors in judgment. I should have known that Cersei would have heard of the King's death, if she didn't plan it herself, and made plans well in advance of the news reaching us for such an eventuality. I should have done more to prevent Tyene's death, or Tommen's! By the old gods, I should never have come south at all, nothing good has come of it!"

Eddard looked at Ranma and Daenerys, who was standing close by, her shoulder barely touching Ranma's as they crowded around the bed. He smiled faintly, wondering what was going on there but not wanting to push for the moment. Possibly nothing at any rate. "You are ready for this my son, I know you will do me proud."

Ranma and the others looked at one another and after a moment Ranma shrugged. "I knew this time would come, but at least my father is alive, which was one of the ways it could have come."

He patted his father on his good shoulder before moving away from the bed. "We were talking about problems in the future and had covered Dorne. What of the Vale or the Reach? The Stormlands will answer Renly's inevitable call to war of course, or Stannis possibly, one of the two. The Crownlands will answer the crown, at least most of it and the River lands we talked about earlier."

"The Reach will march with Lord Renly," Ranma continued tapping it thoughtfully. "Their strength from what I've seen reported to the crown is something like sixty-thousand men? Possibly more if they neglect the defenses." He ground his finger into the map over the mark for High Garden angrily, remembering what Brynden had told him about Renly and Loras having fled the city before the battle even began.

If Loras and Renly had stayed with their men and the men they could rally from the few remaining neutral lords in the court, his father might well have won the battle in the city. But no, instead of helping, instead of doing the honorable thing, the two 'knights' had run, taking their men with them. That act of cowardice would cost them, and it would cost them dear. Ranma wasn't prepared to name House Tyrell or Renly among their enemies just yet unlike Stannis. But they certainly weren't among his friends, nor would he trust either man again.

He wondered what Margaery and their family were making of all this beyond the obvious, but decided in the end he didn't care. House Tyrell tried to play the game of politics rather than solidify the arrangement between me and Margaery. Fine, I have a new 'arrangement' now. Let them try wringing what they can from the cluster fuck that's about to begin, right now I've my own plans to make.

"The Vale is leaderless," Brynden said striking his head. "Lysa won't listen to anyone, she'll stay on the defense and be a non-factor until well after the war is over. At that point we can remove her and her child from power if need be."

Brynden's leaving the Vale had been rather acrimonious. Lysa had called him a traitor for leaving to help Ranma and Eddard rather than stay to guard Lysa and her son. She went so far as to say if he left Brynden was no family of hers. The Blackfish had tried to keep calm, but words had been said on both sides that could not be unsaid. And Lysa had been acting irrationally long before that, something Brynden had noticed even removed from the Eyrie as he was in his role of Defender of the Gate.

The conversation continued from there for another hour with Domeric joining in now before Ranma leaned back satisfied. The numbers he had worked out for the North matched with what captain Woolfield thought was accurate, and Brynden and Daenerys's knowledge of the Riverlands was also very good. Daenerys proved herself invaluable in her knowledge of the Reach and Stormlands, knowing nearly every house there and having a shrewd idea of their force strength and how they would react to the coming conflict. Ranma had only studied the most powerful houses, and them poorly outside the Lords Paramount.

They calculated how long they had before the Lannisters could get a force up to the Neck, how long it would take them to go around it by sea. Their analyses on what the various reactions of forces would be and how large the window was for them to start marching down into the Riverlands well as what forces they would have to retain at home were less accurate but close enough. It was enough for now for Ranma to call a halt to their planning session for now, looking over at captain Woolfield. "Do we have some way to send word ahead? Is there a raven aboard?"

"We have a sea-hawk milord. They're not as intelligent as ravens but they can be trained to travel back to their home. They're fast and very hard to train but good for messages back to White Harbor. But they won't be able to contact us, finding a ship at sea is impossible." Captain Woolfield said.

Ranma and Daenerys put their heads together for a moment composing the message, based off a plan that Daenerys had thought up. That this allowed Daenerys to run her hand up Ranma's thigh for a moment was just a bonus, as was his return kneading of her thigh. Though when she began to move her hand in a 'mischievous manner' and Ranma felt himself begin to respond, he was forced to grab her hand and move it away, much to her hidden amusement.

Despite their little under the table games, Daenerys still kept her mind on the task at hand. Indeed, at least one idea that would be mentioned in the note was something that Ranma wouldn't have considered even if he had at one point thoughts along similar lines in regards to the Wall and the Night's Watch. Still, from what little he knew of the man Tyrion would jump at it, removing The Imp as a threat and possibly strengthening the Wall for centuries to come if it went as Daenerys hoped. If not, Tyrion would still be removed as a threat.

The final message was brief since sea-hawks couldn't carry as much weight as ravens (they were very different flyers), but covered a lot. It read 'Bringing the Wolves home along with the Stormborn. Treason in the South, Joffrey is illegitimate. This must be answered. All lords to gather at Winterfell. Send for Theon and the others to bring Tyrion to meet us in White Harbor. Lannisters are not to be trusted. Lord Ranma Stark.'

"I think that's enough for now." Ranma said handing the message over to the captain who would affix it to the special carrier for the Seahawk. "I think it's time to go see if the ladies are up, and tell Sansa and Myrcella what is going to happen." He sighed heavily. "And for us to tell Myrcella what we suspect about her parentage."

Daenerys nodded. She nearly laughed aloud when she stood up and watched Ranma remain sitting for a moment, visibly getting control of himself before standing up in turn. Ranma mock glared at her, but Daenerys merely smiled back impishly. For some reason knowing she was having that large an effect on him was empowering in a way she had not anticipated. I will need to think about that in the future. For now she put aside such thoughts, taking Ranma's hand once more, allowing him to lead her out of the room.

OOOOOOO

Sansa had woken up but decided to simply stay in bed for a time. She was still bruised and battered from her beating two nights ago, and despite Ranma rescuing her, a part of Sansa was still hopeful that the past few days had all been a bad dream. Sansa knew it wouldn't be, but she could dream about it being a dream couldn't she?

This rather convoluted thought had just meandered through Sansa's head when it was knocked out of her mind by her current bed partner rolling around and smacking Sansa in the back accidentally with one hand. Sansa hissed, the sound waking Myrcella up with a start.

"Wh-what?" the blond haired girl asked blearily looking around. Her eyes immediately lit on Sansa as the girl curled up a little from the pain of having her sore back hit like that. "Sansa?! How did you get here? Oh, I'm so glad to see you! Did I hit you when I turned over, I'm sorry."

Sansa waved that away turning awkwardly to face Myrcella. The two of them had shared a bed many times on sleepovers, so there wasn't any kind of awkwardness between them. Myrcella glanced around not seeing Lady. Her face fell and she looked back at Sansa. "Lady?"

The northern girl's eyes tear it up, and Myrcella wordlessly reached out for her and the two girls hugged one another tightly. In fits and starts they both shared what they had faced since separating the morning before.

Sansa cried when she heard about Mattimeo and the others. Mattimeo had been one of the youngest guardsmen, and one of Sansa's personal favorites. He always had funny stories to tell much like Ranma's, only sometimes better because most were about his older brother and how he had bumbled his way through courting his wife. Clifton Snow had been another armsmen she was fond of, one of the younger men who had trained extensively with Ranma. Indeed he had been chosen for the trip down to King's Landing by her brother. He may have been a Snow, which given the late septa Mordane's beliefs about baseborn children and her influence over Sansa should have immediately made Sansa look down on him, but thanks to Ranma and his influence that hadn't happened.

Both of them cried for Arys Oakheart, who Sansa had thought was a worthy knight, not on the same level as his commander, or Ser Jaime or the Rose Knight but still a kind and handsome gentleman. Sansa however did not share with Myrcella what she had heard about the reasoning behind the Queen suddenly turning on her father. She would let Ranma or someone else tell her friend that. That may be cowardly, but right now Sansa just did not want to think about that or her friend's reaction to it.

"I should've listened to you." Sansa said instead, taking Myrcella's hands in her own. "You were right to try to guide me away from Joffrey like you tried to, I can see that now, and Ranma and my father were both right about him. He's a monster!" she spat this viciously through her tears. "A complete monster. He killed Jeyne, and then he, he made me watch as, as some of the other prisoners were, were executed by that horrid man Payne."

Myrcella nodded grimly, pulling her hands free from Sansa's clenched hands, once again hugging her gently, making certain to not touch the other girl's bruises. "And he gave you those bruises?"

"He ordered it." Sansa said mumbling a little as she leaned against the smaller girls shoulder. While Myrcella had begun the track to womanhood, Sansa was almost finished that journey, and had about three or 4 inches on her. Even laying down like they were it was still noticeable despite the princess' growth spurt over the past few weeks. Sansa remembered that time herself, she needed new clothing every other week, and it seemed as if her sense of balance and poise had deserted her. Myrcella didn't seem to have that last problem, not that Sansa was jealous or anything.

For a moment after that they were both silent, simply taking comfort in one another's presence, then Myrcella moved back looking at Sansa, her face set. "Let's see if I can do anything for that back, I made up some salves for your father and the other men, they should work."

"Tell me the truth…" Sansa said as she painfully sat up so that she said could swing her legs out of the bed. "Will my father live?"

"I'm not really a fully trained healer." Myrcella said cautiously. "I've read a lot of books, and Alayaya's stitching was incredible, so we were able to stop the bleeding. But I can't tell you that with any certainty if that was enough given the damage to his side. I think it's up to Lord Stark. And… and even if he lives, your father could still be crippled."

Sansa took in that statement with a stoicism that would have surprised her even so much as three days ago, yet couldn't stop a shiver of fear going through her at the thought of never seeing her father alive again. She knew her father wasn't immortal, and then meant he could be killed, but Sansa had seen so much death lately she was just tired of it.

"Let me help you, your grace." Alayaya said, making her presence known from the nearby corner where she had been sleeping in her hammock until the girls began to talk to one another. She had made no attempt to join in, knowing that a good cry was often very therapeutic.

Sansa nodded thanks of the offer, and allowed the older, and even Sansa had to admit beautiful, woman to help her pull off her dress. The two of them had issues initially, not that Sansa had thought that she had been brought in to ply her trade or anything. But the septa had colored Sansa's worldview and had little truck with such people even if they were trying to reform. Brynden had set her down sharply on that, telling her about the girl's work as a spy for them, though not the particulars.

At the sight of the bruises on Sansa's back Alayaya and Myrcella both winced. So busy where they with helping the northern girl none of them had noticed the door open, and they all jumped when someone spoke up from behind them. It was Ranma's voice, normally a very welcome one for all three even if Alayaya was more at home with calling him the Rock Hurler, but this time it sounded different. There was a timbre there that none of the three had ever heard in his voice before, a sort of growling note. If a hurricane could speak it would sound like that, a fury fit to tear down mountains. "If I had known that bastard had done that to you Sansa, I would've made time to kill him properly before we escaped."

"By the Seven don't do that!" Sansa gasped pulling her dress up a little to hide the front of her body from view. Myrcella who was simply gasping a little holding her chest nodded agreement.

Alayaya stood still, trying to still her hammering heart. "So it wasn't only your invisibility trick that allowed you to become the Rock Hurler, Lord Stark?"

"He likes to do that, you wouldn't think it given his personality but Ranma is actually quite good at sneaking around. I think he likes to startle people, or at least girls." Daenerys said moving around Ranma to look at the three girls, frowning deeply at the marks on the northern beauty's back while Ranma allowed himself a very faint smile at her quip, still staring at his sister's bruised back. "We'll wait for you outside, we didn't realize you were changing." she said looking over at Ranma pointedly and nudging him back towards the doorway.

Ranma nodded, but his hands were still clenched, and there was a rage in his eyes that Daenerys knew she had to do something about.

The three girls turned back to one another, then shrugged and got on with business while outside Daenerys began to question Ranma about his rescue of Sansa forcing Ranma to realize that he couldn't have stayed and killed Joffrey, not with so many armsmen so close to Sansa. He would've had to fight his way through them to the doorway and probably through more in the hall while Joffrey retreated, and it would only have taken one man that he missed to get to Sansa to either kill her or use Sansa as a hostage against him.

Ranma nodded reluctant agreement, turning around when the girls exited their room. Sansa moved forward quickly, her arms going around Ranma. "Thank you again for rescuing me, Ranma…" she breathed.

Her older brother chuckled, a familiar sound that added to the feeling of safety that having his arms around her shoulders gave Sansa. "That's what older siblings are for sister, to protect their little siblings, it's why we come around first."

Sansa giggled wetly and Ranma nodded over at Myrcella. "My father's already woken up, he looks as if he'll pull through. But he has something to say, and you need to hear it Sansa." he said turning back to his sister was still in his arms as he continued to hug her very gently around the shoulders being very careful to avoid the marks that bastard Trant had left on her back at Joffrey's order. Oh yes, Joffrey is going to die. Maybe cutting him into pieces while he's still living and feed him to Fenris? No, it'd be just like Joffrey to give Fenris terminal poisoning or something. Huh, do they have piranha in this world? Something painful, and possibly slow anyway, will need to think about that.

As soon as Sansa let him go, Ranma moved over to Myrcella, enfolding her in a hug in turn. "Thank you for saving my father." He said, his voice almost a whisper, though everyone in the corridor could hear him. "Without you and Alayaya he would've already died from his wounds."

Myrcella hugged him back, burrowing into his stomach a little. Suddenly Ranma realized with a start that Merry had grown up quite a bit since he had left King's Landing. It wasn't actually surprising given her age, what was surprising and what was making him rather uncomfortable was the feel of her small clementine (he was guessing there) sized breasts pressing into his waist right above his crotch. His control had been badly frayed from the past months of forced celibacy, and Daenerys' earlier flirtations had weakened his control further. Ranma could actually feel himself reacting to Merry's hug and it was mortifying.

For Ranma anyway, Merry's reaction when she felt it through his leggings and her dress was quite different. First she stiffened in Ranma's arms, letting out a nearly inaudible gasp. For a moment Ranma thought she was going to pull an Akane and slug him where it hurt. But to his surprise Myrcella then hugged him even tighter, moving her shoulders around, deliberately moving her chest against Ranma before moving back.

When she looked up at him, Myrcella had a light flush on her face, but a look of triumph in her eyes, and Ranma groaned under his breath, knowing she had not only felt his reaction but liked it. He knew this might make her crush on him worse, but he was at sea about that issue anyway, so Ranma resolved to continue ignoring it as much as possible.

To his side Daenerys looked amused, but her eyes were locked on Myrcella, taking note of the flush on the younger girl's face, wondering if the girls crush really was just a crush or something more serious. Only time will tell if I have a true rival or if the Lannister girl is simply a young girl enchanted by an older boy who has treated her so well. For now, I have more pressing concerns.

After a moment of embarrassment Ranma turned away from Merry with a strained smile, before leading the way through the ship to his father's room. When they arrived Sansa barely stopped herself back from running at him, seeing her father sitting up in bed. Having asked Brynden to help him sit up Eddard smiled faintly at seeing Sansa safe and sound.

It took a moment for Sansa to pull her attention away from her father, sitting there looking so wasted and weak, not tall forbidding and implacable as he should be, to notice that there were other men in the room. One wore the colors the Woolfield family, a minor but rather important house who looks to Lord Manderly as their overlord. She curtsied cordially to him, and he bowed gravely from the waist before she turned to the third man who she didn't know.

He looked slightly familiar, as if she had met him once before. He stood next to Brynden, who smiled at her stepping forward for his hug. Sansa met him eagerly, and resolutely did not cry again feeling another family member's arms around her, ensuring her safety. She'd done enough of that lately

Once Brynden let her go Sansa cocked her head quizzically, looking at the man leaning against the wall behind Brynden. "You look familiar ser, but I cannot place you."

"I would be surprised if you could, milady." The man said bowing far more flamboyantly than Captain Woolfield had. "We only met once, you were around ten or so I think. It was many years ago, regardless. Only a few months after your brother here rescued me from durance vile. I am Domeric Snow, bard of the harp."

Sansa nodded her head still cocked to one side. "Are you the one who wrote that song, 'the Wolves of Winterfell', about my brother rescuing you from the Dreadfort? I thought you were a girl."

Domeric looked sheepish for a moment, trying not to look over at the suddenly the glowering Ranma while the other men in the room laughed, even Daenerys joining in. "As I have repeatedly told your brother in the past few weeks I took certain dramatic liberties with that story. It makes much better telling if it is a woman being rescued, rather than another man. Much more dramatic and emotional that way, adding a, well a romantic element even if there is no romance actually mentioned in the song."

"I see…" Sansa said looking a little dubious, though her eyes were actually twinkling faintly with humor. "Well in any event perhaps you could play it for us later, I've never been able to hear the entire song in one sitting."

At Ranma's pout the others laughed again, but Ned spoke then, drawing all their attention back to him. "While this is amusing, and I realize that laughter is the best medicine, there are serious matters we need to discuss."

"I agree." Myrcella said, curtsying to the man she had saved. But her eyes were now hard as she looked around at them all. "I for one would like to know what by the Seven happened! One moment all was peaceful, the next…." She stumbled over her words as the memories of that horrible race through the city came back to her. "The next I hear people shouting in the streets and… I don't know who to believe or what is going on!"

Daenerys strode over, putting one arm around the girl's shoulders, who welcomed the support even if it came from a near total stranger. Daenerys knew what it was like to be surrounded by enemies or people who might be enemies, to not be in charge of your own fate. It made Daenerys feel rather sympathetic to the girl, despite how Lannister she looked. She looked over at Ranma and Eddard, silently urging them to simply get it over with. The longer she went on in ignorance, the more Myrcella would began to doubt their words when they finally did tell her.

Before Eddard could speak Ranma held up a hand, signaling he would do it, making Eddard and Brynden both sigh unobtrusively in relief. For his part, Ranma it would be best for this news to come from him, since Ranma knew that Myrcella trusted him more than his father. "Myrcella… There is no easy way to say this so I'm just going to have to blurt it out. Your mother, well you know your father isn't the most… wasn't the most faithful, um in, um, in regards to his marriage vows?"

Myrcella was not stupid, nor was she slow. She made the connection quickly and gasped looking at them all. "You…you think that…" The blond girl gathered herself and said coolly. "I presume you would not believe that my mother did the same without evidence? Do you have such?"

"We do not know who Cersei laid with." Eddard said bluntly, taking up the tail. "But in the end that hardly matters. We… we do have proof that you and your siblings were not legitimate. Robert is a Baratheon, and they are known for having strong blood as it were. Their features black hair and light blue eyes, as well as certain mannerisms are always passed on to their children. They have married into the Lannisters four times before, and in over a dozen children all have favored the Baratheon in looks if not in temperament. And Robert has had at least fourteen other bastards, and all of them have favored him in looks."

"My son…" Eddard glanced over at Ranma. "Has brought up the point that none of the names of the children we have seen of those previous unions between your family and the Baratheons were those of daughters. Whether or not the Maesters that worked on this for me felt they were unimportant and simply did not include them, or if those pairings did not actually have daughters I do not know. Until we do know that, your own status is up in the air. I'm, I'm sorry."

Myrcella Baratheon, No I'm not a Baratheon am I? She thought to herself, a little disjointed by the shock of it, backed away from the other's pushing Daenerys' arm Myrcella got the feeling that they were telling the truth, but it hurt so much. She knew her mother and the King, she guessed no longer her father though he hadn't had much to do with rearing her after all so that wasn't much of a stretch, hadn't gotten along. But for mother to respond like this? There is a certain poetic justice to it but it's also high treason! Is that why she always called us her little lions when we were alone?

The others gave Myrcella a moment to collect herself for which Myrcella was very thankful. Finally she simply nodded and spoke with as much strength she could muster. "I can understand, I understand both why my mother was so terrified as to begin open conflict between her family and yours, and I can understand what you must've been thinking or trying to do. Though if you are trying to figure out who Joffrey's real father is, I am afraid I can't help you. I never saw my mother spending much time with anyone save my uncle Jaime."

A horrible thought struck Ned at that statement, making him shiver before he shook it off. There was no proof of that, so he would not even try to bring it up.

Myrcella continued regardless. "However I will not believe this in my own case or Tommen's whatever proof you show me. In Joffrey's case it would be almost a relief to not share at least one parent."

That caused Eddard and the others, even Sansa who had met Joffrey and knew what he had done to laugh grimly. Ranma and Daenerys both also nodded in approval of the younger girl's poise after having her world view shattered.

Ranma however answered before anyone else could. "If we could keep it quiet, we could say that you and Tommy were both legitimate, and ask the maesters to not share any further evidence. Say it was only Joffrey that was illegitimate but we probably won't be able to. Stannis is already moving against us, he attacked the ship Daenerys and I were on a day after Robert died and the captain of that vessel said that he already had evidence that all three of you were illegitimate. He'll probably spread that information as far as possible to strengthen his own position."

"Words cannot hurt me Ranma." Myrcella replied, smiling faintly at his concerned tone. "I just wish they couldn't damage Tommy's image in people's minds."

Ranma nodded. He didn't know what his father would've done if Tommen was still alive, but if it had been up to Ranma he probably would've simply met with the queen and talked about it, then removed Joffrey from the succession and family entirely. But somehow he got the feeling that it would prove to be all three children that were illegitimate. That would be the ultimate payback for all the times Robert had cheated on Cersei, for Robert loving a dead woman more than Cersei herself. He could also tell that Myrcella feared that too, but didn't say anything to take away her hope that it was untrue.

She rubbed at her eyes, wiping away the tears that had formed there as the realization of what this could mean hit her. Bastards had very limited rights after all, and as a bastard of the queen, Myrcella was a living, breathing act of treason. She was almost afraid to ask, but Ranma's kind, gentle gaze gave her the courage to go on. "M-May I ask what this will mean for me in your care?"

"Nothing." Ranma said promptly smiling at her. "You're still under my protection Myrcella, my family's and my personal protection. We'll still call you a Baratheon for now, until we get in contact with the Citadel and make certain one way or another. But even if the worst occurs, I won't let anything happen to you."

"Then I am much safer with you then with my brother, or even my mother. She always took his side, and she would continue to do so even if I was there." She looked at him, then suddenly could contain it no longer, and blurted out what laid on her heart so heavily. "And… and Joffrey has killed one sibling already." That sent a jolt through everyone in the room, and a little malicious part of Myrcella was grateful to return the favor.

"Are you certain?" Ranma said sharply, getting over the shock quickly, followed by his father, who looked rather skeptical as did Daenerys though for different reasons. "Are you certain? He really killed Tommy? He poisoned him personally?"

"I don't think he carried it out personally." Myrcella said shaking her head looking apologetically at Sansa. Sansa however simply looked back at her and then shrugged slightly. Her opinion of Joffrey had reached negative numbers, so she didn't have any issue with seeing him as a kinslayer. "But he admitted it to me, used it as a threat when I tried to confront him. I'll admit that wasn't the most intelligent thing I could've done, but I was just so, so angry at the time."

Ranma smiled a bit at that. "Now that kind of temper you could get from either side of your family Merry!" he said softly, reaching out to rub her head fondly.

She blushed under his touch, ecstatic that it really didn't seem to bother him that she might not know who her father was, that she might not be a Baratheon. She looked over at Daenerys who also didn't seem bothered by it for some reason, though that was because of a kindred feeling she felt for Merry's current circumstances. Ranma simply ignored blood status for the most part, something Merry should have realized given how close he was to his brother Jon.

"Could you tell us what Joffrey said exactly when you confronted him, Merry?" Brynden asked.

Myrcella did so word for word while the others listened quietly. After she was finished, she looked at them all, trying to see if they believed her. Sir Woolfield shrugged his shoulders after the princess finished, not having met the boy he didn't know what Joffrey was capable of though he was getting a very grim picture here from this and what Ranma had shared of Sansa's ordeal. Brynden looked thoughtful, but he wasn't one to make a snap judgment one way or another. Sansa too looked ambivalent, though she didn't question that Joffrey would do something like that if he could get away with it. Domeric simply looked uncaring one way or another. She turned back with some trepidation to look at Ranma.

"I believe you." Ranma said simply, and it was as if a tremendous weight had been removed from Myrcella's shoulders. Those simple words meant the world to her, even more than Ranma's accepting her still despite the possible issue with her birth.

Ranma went on. "Joffrey, he has nothing but being the heir to the throne. He's never tried to be anything else, has never excelled at anything else that could give him worth. He's a cruel little bastard, and I can definitely see that he would do something like that after hearing what he put Sansa through."

"But to kill your own kin?" Ned said shaking his head. "Even now, even knowing what he did to Sansa I can't…that is the ultimate taboo! Worse than killing a guest after breaking bread with him! Kinslaying is a horrible crime in any religion, any religion I know of at any rate. The gods both new and old will not just turn their backs on a kinslayer but work to strike such down."

"For my part your grace, I can easily see how someone could fall to that level if what you based your entire life around was going to be taken away from you. I'm thankful that you don't know what depravity humans can reach. My brother was willing to whore me out to gain an army so I can understand how siblings can come to hate one another, as well as ambition." Daenerys said, smiling slightly at the younger girl, who smiled back, despite beginning to have some concerns about the Targaryen girl's relationship with Ranma.

"No, I agree that your brother could come up with the idea but planning it out? From what Ranma has told me about him, Joffrey doesn't seem capable of planning that well, especially not finding a scapegoat as he seems to have in Tyene Sand." Daenerys finished, looking at them all with one eyebrow cocked in query.

"I don't know." Myrcella said seriously looking over at the older and, she was forced to notice once again, very beautiful girl. The Stormborn's silver-blonde hair cascaded down her back, and despite the fact that she was wearing men's clothing her curvaceous form was easy to notice. Those violet eyes set into her pretty face that didn't have a single blemish were both striking and commanding.

However at the moment the question mattered more than the bit of jealousy Myrcella felt at the girls appearance. "Joffrey was, well I wouldn't say close but he seemed to have some kind of understanding with Petyr the days after Tommy's death and I certainly don't know anyone else who would try to help him kill our younger brother."

"And what about carrying it out?" Daenerys asked.

Myrcella had to think hard about that but she eventually nodded. "House Lannister sent several dozen servants to serve my mother and us, and there are one or two that serve Joffrey personally. One of them… I'm trying to recall his name but I can't think of it, he's such, well, he blends into the background so well…."

Frowning in sudden thought Eddard raised a hand to hover above the bed. "Short, about this tall, brown hair, brown eyes, has the sort of face that would disappear into a crowd? Well thought of by the rest of the servants?"

"I don't know how the rest of the servants think about him but that's the one I was thinking of, yes." Myrcella replied honestly.

"He was the one who gave testimony against Tyene." Brynden murmured, nodding over at Ned. "You're right, he's very hard to think of, it's almost as if he slides away when you try to concentrate on him."

"Whoever did it, Joffrey seems to have planned it." Ranma said bringing them back to the present discussion. "If Petyr helped him plan it, that's one thing, but I don't know if he could or would do that. It's a rather big step for him isn't it, I mean he was trying so hard to keep neutral between our families. He failed obviously." He said laughing a little with Brynden and his father, though Eddard's laughter broke off into a rasping cough. "But still I don't think it matches his personality."

"You might be right about that big brother." Sansa said. "But Petyr is hiding something." She described what happened between her and Petyr, what he had said about being Catelyn's friend when they were younger, and the way he looked at her.

Ned growled in anger. "He must still be holding a grudge about that, how even after my older brother died Catelyn's hand was simply transferred to me rather than the arrangement broken off entirely."

"Or he wanted the daughter of the woman he was so entranced by when he was younger." Ranma said growling. "Again, if I had known that, I would've taken the time before finding you to give him some attention."

"Regardless I'm going to put him down on the 'needs to die list'." Daenerys said laughing lightly at Ranma's look of anger. She nudged Sansa in the shoulder lightly. "You're very lucky to have such a protective older brother. As I said mine was at the other end of the spectrum to say the least."

"It wasn't nearly as much fun when I was growing up." Sansa replied honestly. "Oh, when I was younger it was great fun, but then I discovered boys, and Ranma discovered I discovered boys, and suddenly the boys realized that and ran off faster from him than Septa Mordane."

"Good times." Ranma said with a laugh remembering several boys he had run off both noble and not after finding them sniffing around his sister.

"Father." Sansa said changing the subject before Ranma could go into detail on those 'good times'. "How are you feeling, really I mean?"

"I will not die if that is what you are worried about." Ned said smiling faintly at his oldest daughter. "However I am stepping down as Lord Paramount. A lord in the North cannot be a cripple, and my shoulder and my leg are both crippled. Despite Myrcella saving my life there are limits."

Sansa nodded reaching over to take her father's hand and looking up at Ranma. "I am sad, but I know you'll do a good job Ranma. I just…" she paused, and all of them could see tears in her eyes before she straightened her shoulders and womanfully banished them. But her voice still came out plaintively. "I just want to go home." For just a moment Sansa sounded like the little girl she had been a few months ago, in Ranma's memories at least.

Both Ranma and Eddard nodded agreement, and Eddard squeezed her hand gently. "I think we all do."

Sansa looked over at Fenris, who was curled up next to the bed around the two young draklings, who were still sleeping off their after-meal torpor. Sansa was very interested in the little creatures, but she had more serious business right now. "I'm, I'm sorry, Lady died. She'd died protecting me."

The large direwolf stretched his neck up slightly to lick her face before pressing his nose against Sansa's shoulder consolingly, making the younger Stark stumble a little. She wasn't nearly as bulky as Ranma nor as strong even as her younger sister. Moreover Fenris was much larger than Lady, and his entire massive frame was muscle. Despite this, Sansa threw her arms around his giant head, hugging the direwolf tightly as she had to once more fight back tears.

After a moment, Ranma touched her shoulder gently. "Why don't you three go get something to eat, then we'll see what we can do to make your quarters a little more comfortable. We've got a long voyage ahead of us before we reach White Harbor."

Alayaya had remained by the door, silent as possible as the lords and ladies talked, but now she moved forward, gently taking Sansa by the arm. She curtsied to Lord Stark, sent a sultry look toward Ranma then led Sansa and Myrcella out of the room.

Brynden smiled faintly, shaking his head. "If I was going to remain as your spymaster, I would like to make Alayaya my assistant. As it is that won't happen so what will you do with her or Merry?"

"I've been speaking to the crew on and off since we boarded." Domeric spoke up, having been silent for most of the discussions today, not having anything to add other than helping in figuring out distances and travel times. "The crew is impressed by Merry, she not only saved your life Lord Stark, but several others, and even helped one man with a bad facial burn."

"Alayaya's stitching is incredible, the sail master has already asked if she can help him work on some of the spare sails." Captain Woolfield added. "For now, both of them can be useful on board, and don't worry about the crew acting out. There might be some isuess with Alayaya, but none with the young princess, not after how she saved Lord Stark."

"Squash any such problems quickly please." Daenerys said, though the sentence came out with all the authority of an order, and Woolfield nodded his head before he even realized he had responded. "That will do for now, and when we get to White Harbor I can use them both as handmaids. I may need them when we go south."

Domeric and Ranma both simply nodded, though Ranma was smirking at her slightly, which Daenerys returned before looking at the others who looked surprised. "My dragons may become an asset faster than we thought, and I may be able to use them and my name to garner us allies. And Ranma might need my advice as well. You didn't think I'd allow him to go off on his own did you? Who knows what kind of trouble he could get into?"

Eddard surprised everyone by bursting out in laughter for a moment, before subsiding into a cough. "Jon will appreciate the help…" he gasped out between coughs, causing Ranma to laugh as well, remembering the many times Jon had said the same thing.

While Eddard began to tell Daenerys some stories of the trouble Ranma had gotten into with Jon, Woolfield excused himself to send off the message, and Ranma found his mind travelling before it. By the old gods I've missed Jon and the others. I hope they weren't exaggerating about the preparations they've put in place.

OOOOOOO

In the Chamber of the Painted Table, Melisandre very carefully concealed her triumphant smile. Normally she would've let it show, but right now was not the time. Things had been going very well, so well that she knew that R'hllor was pleased with her. The sword she had pulled from the rubble of the statues to the heathen 'Seven', which had been smashed by her magics not the hands of men, had proven that.

The Lightbringer of Azor Ahai in the Age of Legends was a flaming longsword, made by quenching the blade in the soul of the maker's wife. It was made to be a weapon against the Great Other, the leader of the Others, those who came with darkness and eternal winter. Melisandre had only hoped to create a blade that would showcase the power of R'hllor in a minor way, a small glamour that would make it seem on fire.

Instead because of the strength R'hllor had given her it blazed with a hard orange and red flame, a real one that gave off heat every time Stannis pulled out of its sheath. The cutting edge was also phenomenal. Stannis had tried it out on a small piece of the wreckage of the relics that hadn't burned, a piece of rock of some kind. He had cut through it easily.

And it had certainly worked for her purpose. Stannis had renounced the Seven immediately and bowed to the will of her god without further reservation in her power.

Since then Melisandre had been converting other nobles, the ones around Dragonstone as well as the captains of the Westeros fleet. House Celtigar, House Velaryon, and the new House Seaworth had all acquiesced to the conversions easily, having seen the proof, the new Lightbringer and her own R'hllor given magical abilities winning the day. She wasn't certain if she believed Davos Seaworth had truly converted or given lip service, but his loyalty to Stannis was such that it wasn't truly necessary. Sunglass had not, and its lord had been imprisoned for denouncing Stannis. With their lord in Dragonstone's dungeons, the house had joined Stannis, but they were hardly trustworthy.

Moreover, some of their maesters and of course all the septas and septons in the nobles castles however hadn't, and she had gleefully sacrificed many of them to her Lord's fire. This had impacted how the smallfolk viewed her, and they weren't converting in as many numbers as she could have wished, but that was fine, since the real power lay with the nobles and their armsmen, who were converting slowly but surely outside of Sunglass and Rambton, a minor house sworn to them.

But what was making Melisandre have to hide a smile now was that her visions had once more cleared again, a sure sign that her R'hllor was happy with her. Composing her face appropriately, she turned from her viewing fire to Stannis, who had been sitting at his desk, sipping from a glass of campaign water as he read through several messages. "The old Wolf, the young Wolf and the Dragon Queen come back this way. The Lion's victory in King's Landing was not complete, they are weak, badly weak, the old wolf pulled down many of their supporters. But this gives us another opportunity to take and sacrifice the Dragon Queen."

Stannis stood up from the table, marching back and forth thinking hard, more counting than thinking actually, while staring at the table that gave the room its name, which had a detailed map of Westeros carved and painted on it. I have access to some forty ships docking here and on Driftmark, they each have around two hundred men, plus another seven or so within distance of the signal lights on top of Sea Dragon Tower. Say five days to ready them for war, then approximately a weeks sailing to get to King's Landing from here. By which time the Crownlands lords nearest the city could have reached it with their own forces, upwards of four thousand, my estimates of their houses military strength is accurate anyway. Plus they could always conscript the populace of the city.

"I want to strike at them now." he said aloud, shaking his head, his face twisted into his habitual scowl. "But they will have time to be reinforced from the nearby lords before we get there." He leaned forward, marking off distances making sure he had been correct about the timing.

"If we could have gotten to King's Landing within say three days, that would've been a different thing. But no, a week, if that." The winds were almost always against going into the interior of Blackwater Bay rather than out of it, an oddity of weather that would hinder his plans. If I could get a message to the cutters I stationed in King's Landing when I pulled back from court all those months ago that would be a different story but better to concentrate on what I can do.

"Have you seen what my brother is up to?" He asked looking over his shoulder at the Red Witch before going back to pondering the map.

Melisandre frowned faintly. "He escaped, like a coward he fled before the battle began. He goes towards the Reach, though he has sent messengers and messages into the Stormlands. But that's not important, we must take the Dragon Queen!"

"Hmm…." Stannis murmured something as he thought. "So my brother is going to the Reach? A bold move I suppose, if he's wishful to rally troops. But he isn't their Lord Paramount. He's not going to Storm's End?" he asked to make sure.

"No." she said sharply. "He is not. Again however it doesn't matter! Right now the Dragon queen is the closest of our enemies."

Stannis frowned at her tone, but nodded. He didn't want the Targaryens to return either, though Stannis was surprised that the Starks seemed to be backing the idea. Ned was an honorable man, and if Robert was still alive there was no doubt that the Starks would have bent the knee to me. But what will they think of my attacking their ship before official word has spread about my brother's death? That will probably have turned them against me, something I should've thought about before.

He waved one hand in a calm down gesture, something he wouldn't normally do but the Red Witch seemed a little put out that he didn't automatically agree with her. "I cannot send my entire fleet out on this chase of yours. I will send two ships, and you can send your … creatures along." He said the last words with some discomfort, not liking to think of the creatures Melisandre's magic had created.

"But I will need you with me. If Renly is not going to the Stormlands personally, that gives me the opportunity to rally them instead. Many of them will not look to me as their Lord Paramount, but my actual physical presence may persuade some of them, and your magic and what it says of my cause will do more."

Melisandre scowled but was forced to concede that the man made good tactical sense, and that she would be worth far more in the short term going with him then capturing the Dragon Queen. And there were indeed her shadow-bound to consider. "Very well, I have no doubt my pets will be able to succeed in this."

Despite his habitual self-control Stannis couldn't stop a look of revulsion from crossing his face thinking of those things again. Still, the woman seemed to have them under control. And they surely would prove valuable if this Young Wolf was as formidable as the Red Witch seemed to think. "Send them all to make sure. You… you can always make more when we reach the mainland, after all." That statement actually won him a smile from Melisandre, a sight that was both arousing and terrible to see.

OOOOOOO

Illyrio waved one hand grandly at the damage to his estate, the other keeping a scented handkerchief on his nose as he spoke to his guest in the Dothraki tongue. "The proof of what I said is all around us great Khal, there can be no doubt that the King of Westeros feared you. We did all we could to stop them, but the warrior he sent still absconded with the woman that was to be your gift."

Khal Drogo was a tall man, copper-colored skin, black hair, and black eyes like most Dothraki. His muscles and upper chest would normally be on display among his own people, since they traditionally, only wore leather leggings and painted jackets and when he moved his body showed all the self-control of an expert warrior. Since he was in Pentos, he wore a silk shirt of exceptional quality, yet on Khal Drogo it looked out of place, like a dress would on an armored warrior, almost but not quite hilarious in its attempt to cover the warrior beneath. He had a long, drooping moustache and a long braid down to his thighs that was hung with tiny bell. This symbolized his status among the Dothraki as an undefeated warlord.

For all that he truly was as barbaric as his face and hair suggested however, Khal Drogo was also a warlord, and a shrewd observer. He looked around the house, then said something in the Dothraki tongue far too fast for the magister to get to one of his men, his bloodriders, men sworn to his service who filled the role of brothers, guards and close companions.

The other man, who wore similar clothing to Drogo and looked just as ridiculous in it as he did, nodded then answered in a single fast sentence. The magister could only make out two, maybe three words in the sentence, something about fire, something about future, he didn't understand the last one he thought it might have religious overtones though.

The man finished his answer by gesturing at a blood platter on the ground by the outer wall. That was where Illyrio and Viserys suspected Domeric and Daenerys had met up with Ranma Stark in their escape from the grounds.

Arianne Martell had been very helpful in identifying their helper, and Illyrio had grabbed that and ran with it in his explanation to the Khal. He painted Ranma not only as a lord but one of the most dangerous warriors in Westeros, which, judging from what Arianne had told them about what she had seen personally, wasn't an exaggeration, sent to spirit off Daenerys to keep her from marrying Khal Drogo in fear of his might. The idea of such being sent to spirit his 'gift' away, might be enough to keep Khal Drogo from demanding and getting Illyrio's head handed over to him.

If he did, the other magisters would cheerfully hand him over to the Dothraki warlord, since the alternative would be the death of the city. The Dothraki couldn't have taken the city easily, but they could have destroyed all the farms that fed it, cut off their inland trade, and then siege the city easily enough, though it would take a while since they couldn't well cut off the port trade. But without the farms around it, the city would eventually starve, and all the magisters knew it.

Several of the others bloodriders who had come with the Khal were crowded around Balerion, who was tethered to the ground with ropes, sleeping off its after-meal torpor, the only time Viserys let the creature out of his sight. That was a good thing, since only Viserys could even be near the beast without it trying to bit them. Luckily it showed no sign of developing the fire breath of its breed just yet, but the fangs and claws were enough to make everyone else stay away, which Viserys was quite happy with.

Watching the Dothraki as they stood around the creature, Illyrio thought it was interesting that the barbarians were obviously fascinated with the young dragon. They had been told that if it was awake Balerion would attack any of them who came near, something which seemed to amuse them when he said it.

Illyrio looked between Khal Drogo and the unintroduced bloodrider, trying to follow the conversation they were having, but unable to figure out more than a word for every six they were talking so fast. They were seemingly still discussing the battle that had occurred here though, if their gesturing was anything to go on.

After a moment the barbarians exchanged another sentence, this time with the words 'Vaes Dothrak' in there, which Illyrio knew was the name of the single real city the Dothraki called their own. The bloodrider nodded emphatic agreement, and at last Drogo turned back to address Illyrio. "It is understood. No dishonor will remain on your name, though this would not have happened if the gift had been prepared when it should have been initially."

The barbarians dark eyes pinned the magister in place, and he shivered a little, but Drogo said no more about that, certain his point was made. After a moment Drogo went on. "However, because this was caused by you putting off the gift-giving for so long, no dishonor accrues to us either. We will go. There'll be no exchange of gifts between us at this time. You may go, and we may go on our ways untied to one another."

In point of fact, Drogo was not at all certain what to do in this instance. It was true that Illyrio had been in the wrong by putting off the giftgiving, but Drogo knew even that had been because the gift, the Stormborn who was to be his wife, had proven clumsy and hurt herself several times trying to become fit enough to become a Dothraki wife.

Needless to say, Illyrio had created a worth lie out of pure nothing to cover Viserys beating of his sister. If he hadn't Viserys life would already be forfeit for marking a woman meant as the future wife of the Khal.

But it also looked to be true that the Stormborn had been spirited away by a third party. In any other circumstances, that would have been an act of war, and Drogo would already have vowed to lead his khalasar against Westeros. But this was mitigated by the fact the giftgiving had been postponed for so long and that to follow them, the khalasar would have been forced to cross the ocean.

There was more to the Dothraki fear of water than the city-dwellers realized. Yes, part of it was the fact they were very superstitious, and feared and loathed any water that a horse could not drink, horses being the true center of every aspect of the Dothraki culture. This tied into the other reason why a sea voyage was impossible for them to truly think about.

The Dothraki went everywhere on horseback. If you could not ride, you were less than a man, a slave or a eunuch, the only exception being the women in childbirth, the very young or very old. To go across the ocean would mean to travel by boat, thus travel by means other than a horse, an unthinkable thing for any Khal. Even if Drogo could have done it, his khalasar would have revolted against him at the very idea of going so far without being able to ride, and well they should.

No, for right now he was willing to pull out of the agreement between him and the merchant before him. In the long term however, he needed to consult with the Dosh Khaleen to decide if honor demanded more of him in this case. The wise old women, all wives of former Khals, served his people as seers and masters of tradition. Since Drogo had never heard of anything like this occurring in the history of his people, he would consult them and see what they saw in the future. If they decided he needed to ride down this Westeros King, with their backing his khalasar would follow him even across the sea despite the dishonor inherent in that, but Drogo hoped it would not come to that.

The magister nodded, knowing that was the best outcome he could expect from this debacle. Moments later, the Dothraki left, riding out of his manse on their horses and then out of the city rejoining the khalasar quickly.

That evening, Illyrio shared the details of that meeting with Viserys and Arianne when they returned form their own tasks for the day. At first, Viserys was contemptuous of the magister's efforts to bring the Dothraki to their side, but after Illyrio painstakingly explained the Dothraki position he simply shrugged. "Well, if we can no longer count on Dothraki aid, at least the day was not a total loss. My wife and I have had a much more profitable day then you Illyrio."

Illyrio looked between Viserys and Arianne. Viserys had turned away after saying that, heading out to train with Balerion before giving the black scaled drakling his evening feed. The training consisted of running Balerion around on a halter, giving him treats of specially spiced meats if he obeyed without fighting back, and a few exercises designed to build up his flight muscles.

This left Arianne to answer Illyrio's questions, which the new wife did with a smile. "We have talked to representatives of two mercenary companies today, and agreed to contracts with both the Company of the Cat and the Stormbreakers. The Stormbreakers will arrive by ship in a matter of days, while the Company of the Cat will arrive overland in another week. That will give us some five thousand mixed infantry, and about five hundred light cavalry."

She smiled, reaching for the food on the table, a new purchase like much else since the fire had ravaged the first floor of Illyrio's manse. It wasn't technically time for the evening meal just yet, but she'd had a busy day, and felt she deserved a snack. "Another two thousand men, mostly infantry themselves, will also be joining us, some mercenaries, some slaves, others from the city guard or individual guard troops."

"And who will be paying for these mercenary companies pray? I do not have enough liquid funds for that."

"The two thousand mixed men and the Stormbreakers are going to be paid entirely by the other magisters in the city. They will also pay the Company of the Cat until such time comes when we are actively making war. After that, they will find their own payment in loot and booty, or I will be forced to pay them on credit on my father's name."

Arianne frowned at that, she wasn't in favor of such for many reasons, but the Company of the Cat was their largest contingent of troops, and they were organized and very experienced, both factors in her aiding Viserys in convincing their factor to sign with them instead of allowing the man to leave port for Yunkai, which was where he was going next. Their current contract was nearly up, and they needed a new contract, hopefully one, in the man's words, where loot and plunder was guaranteed.

She wasn't looking forward to what that would do for discipline in the field, but right now, they were a worthy addition to their forces. Besides, she had no doubt her uncle and her father could contrive to feed the mercenaries into the battles before Dorne's own loyal men, which would help them in the long run.

"Ahh… I take it Viserys was his normal convincing self then?"

"Oh indeed." Arianne replied, coming back to the here and now at Illyrio's question. "Viserys was able to convince the other magisters to aid us by pointing out what had happened with Ranma absconding with Daenerys was an affront to all of their dignity, and an attack on the very sovereignty of the city. After all, they couldn't let any foreign government think they could get away with sending agents into Pentos to kidnap those under the protection of a magister, now could they?"

Illyrio's eyebrows went up in surprise, but then he nodded thoughtfully. Arianne elaborated slightly. "None of the magisters added a lot, but little bits here and there from all of the other merchants large and small added." Of course, Arianne's presence and what it said for Viserys cause also helped open up the magisters purses.

She nodded at her cousin Obara, who had just come back from placing their horses in the manse's covered stables, which had survived the fire Daenerys had started. The other woman's surly return nod amused Arianne somewhat, Obara wasn't nearly as happy with being here with Viserys as Arianne was, having been, well, rather terrified if she was honest by Ranma's martial abilities.

Arianne wasn't sanguine about facing Ranma across a battlefield either, which was something she wanted to avoid if she could in the future. That was doubtful, but possible. And if not, there is little he could do to stop himself from being immolated by dragon fire once Balerion can fly high enough to remain out of bow range and is large enough to breath fire. She thought complacently.

In many ways, this had been the best outcome Arianne could have hoped for. Whatever they might have thought, the Targaryen Dynasty's real strength always lay on their control of dragons, and here she was, married to a man who was bringing back one such dragon, once more joining the house of Martell to House Targaryen. Daenerys and her two dragons was a fly in the ointment, but one that could be overcome with judicious use of assassins, as Viserys had said.

That was politically however, emotionally she wasn't so happy about things. For one, she was rather angry at her father for never telling her that she was promised to Viserys, which he had shared with her almost immediately. At least now she know why Doran never put forward any real suitors for her hand. Those he had were merely to placate propriety and she vowed they would be will having words in the future. The second is she would have liked to put off marrying Viserys if she could, but he had pointed out that they needed that solid bond between them before he could trust her with his plans going forward, and her hand had been promised to him after all. Those plans were good, risky but still good, so even that was a minor irritant.

As a lover Viserys had the tools, but not the stamina or interest in her pleasure. Those could be overcome eventually, and at least he had an inventive frame of mind, and a willingness to experiment.

As a husband, Viserys was arrogant but not blind to Arianne's importance as an advisor. He could be dismissive at times but she had been able to get him to agree with many of her ideas, including making certain the mercenaries always had minders once they arrived in Westeros, and to use them as shock troops as much as possible in the future.

Yet there seemed to be an edge to Viserys, not madness, but something that could all too easily become it, that made Arianne remain somewhat unhappy with being tied so tightly to him. Still, there was nothing she could do at this point but put her best foot forward, and practice using sex as a control lever on him, of course.

"How long until the fleet we've commissioned is built?" Arianne asked, turning back to Illyrio and doing just that.

OOOOOOO

At the sounds of a drum somewhere beyond the torch light Tyrion looked up from directing his work crew to finish up work on the trebuchet, the seventh they had emplaced since beginning the project. His men did as well before racing over to where they had placed their weapons on the massive cart they had used to bring up the equally massive parts of the trebuchet. The entire area was lit by the lights of several braziers and torches, which allowed them enough light to both work and grab up their weapons.

Tyrion beat them there, grabbing up his blade and a bottle of wine, staring one way and another trying to localize the sound. In the night sound carried a little too well up here on the Wall. But this wasn't the first nighttime raid warning he had heard, and after a second Tyrion pointed down the Wall westward from his current position. "Over there!"

The men behind him nodded and raced in that direction, with Tyrion first at their head, then falling behind due to his deformities. Spry, agile and almost acrobatic Tyrion was, a gifted runner he was not. His men soon passed a small, covered wooden palisade set into the center of the causeway. Up on top of the palisade two men were beating on a massive drum sounding the alarm. One of them shouted down to Tyrion and his men, pointing further westward. "Sounds of battle westward two signal towers down!"

Tyrion nodded up at him as his men raced on, passing two more palisades about two thousand paces apart. These two were manned, and they directed Tyrion and his crew on.

A few dozen paces after that they arrived on the scene of a wildling assault trying to get up the Wall. They were being held back by ten men from Castle Black, one of the patrols that walked portions of the Wall, moving from Castle Black in both directions along the Wall like their fellows in the other castles. Two of the twelve men squad were down, one dead, the other with a mangled leg, but the wildlings were not getting past the rest, and had lost seven men already trying to force their way away from the edge of the wall.

The patrolman who had been carrying the torch was their one fatality. Worse, there was only a sliver of moon out, making vision bad all around. Still, Tyrion could see the grapnels attached to the top of the bulwark.

Tyrion and his work force hit the wildings from their side of the Wall like a hammer, bellowing out a myriad of war cries, throwing the wildings back over the wall. Tyrion slew one of them, his sword going under his opponent's studded leather back plate before the man even knew he was there. "Destroy the ladders, destroy the ladders!"

Several of the Northmen heard him, and one of them had enough presence of mind to grab of the patrols sputtering torch, tossing it down onto the massive ladder that had been placed against the Wall's northern face. It was actually a series of massive ladders, no one ladder could ever reach the top of the Wall. But each set of ladders constituted weeks of preparation for the wildlings, as well as being the only really fast way a large group of wildlings could scale the Wall.

The torch struck right in front of a wildling climbing up the last leg of the ladder and he howled in pain as some of the sparks got in his eyes. Then his howl became a scream of agony as Tyrion threw the bottle of wine he carried at the small flickering torch flame. The fire spread quickly, now fueled by the wine and the tar that was splattered on the sides of the ladder in places to keep it from freezing against the Wall.

Tyrion ignored the man's scream, dodging backwards from a female wildling wielding a club studded with sharp bones. The wildling bitch only had that one chance to attack him before she was taken in the side by a spear from one of the patrolmen.

After that, the fight was over, and all the men gathered around the edge of the Wall to look down, watching as the light of the flames worked their way down the ladder. Far below, the wildlings who were waiting to make their way up retreated quickly, while other wildings scattered here and there on the ladder either retreated down it quickly or if they were too high up, were left with a deadly choice to make: face the fire or jump to their deaths.

Two Hornwood men who had been assigned to the patrol, both archers, pulled their bows from their backs and began to use the light of the burning ladder to pepper those far below. That was enough for the wildlings, who retreated away from the Wall back toward the safety of the tree-line.

Around Tyrion the men gave a cheer, and the Imp left it to them, staring out into the night beyond torches of the Wall thoughtfully. For the past week or so the Night's Watch and the rest of the forces on the Wall had been dealing with probing attacks like this, night raids that were more designed to get a feel for their defenses than actually win through. The wildlings were very good at night attacks, but they had been stymied at every turn by the readiness of the defenders.

Reports from Eastwatch by the Sea and Shadow Tower indicated they saw at least two such attacks per night. The commanders of those castles were both very worried, feeling vulnerable since they knew the wildlings could get around them in various ways to possibly attack them from behind. Lord Commander Mormont was worried however that the numerous probes against the two widely spaced towers might be a feint designed to draw the defenders away from the center of the Wall and Castle Black itself.

This would have worked if the Night's Watch hadn't been so heavily reinforced, so much so that the two castles could watch out for themselves. Of course given the size of the Wall they could still use more men, but they had enough to hold for now, thanks to the organization of the defenders and Tyrion's own work on the ballistae, which hadn't seen action just yet.

A communication network had also been set up at Daryn's behest, a series of covered palisades that doubled as warming areas for the patrols. The Northmen had long used horns to signal in battle, but drums were easier to learn, made even simpler since there were only a few signals the men had to learn. The sides of the first story of every palisade were covered by hardened leather. A brazier was set in the center with room for four men to gather. The heat from the brazier also kept the two watchmen up top with the drum from freezing.

The coldness of the Wall hadn't become a major issue yet, but they all knew it would soon. Even Tyrion, who had never seen snow before coming north, could feel the sharpness in the air increasing with every passing month. Yet that wasn't all he felt here on the Wall, evinced by the men around him slapping his back and shouting his name.

He laughed at their enthusiasm then bellowed "All right you Northern louts, that's enough of this little pleasure jaunt, back to work the lot of you!" There was some grumbling at that, but it was good natured. The men in the patrol laughed as well before moving on their way. This was an example of something Tyrion had been noticing ever since he arrived here on the Wall.

There were no jokes about his size or deformities, or at least none that were meant to actually hurt, and there was no sense of his name being more important than his own contribution. While Smalljon, Daryn and a few of the other lords still very obviously saw him as a Lannister, the majority of men didn't care, or at least looked past it. He had won their respect as Tyrion, the Imp, not Tyrion Lannister. This was a first for him, and he liked it, he liked it a lot.

OOOOOOO

Four days after his rescue of Sansa Ranma stood with captain Woolfield at the front of the Fish's Scales in the early morning. He stared ahead through a dense fog that had rolled in last night at two oncoming vessels which hadn't been there moments before. Already they were almost within bow range. Behind them the crew were responding, grabbing weapons out of the lockers and preparing for battle.

The other man shook his head, scratching at his beard thoughtfully. "As I've said before lord, the navy crews know these waters better than we do. One of 'em must've been shadowing us forward, then met up with the other ship. They knew this fog'd be coming in, letting them ambush us without letting us a chance to get away or even draw it out. Look, they've caught us in a pincer movement, we can't turn away unless we go to full oars backward, and that would take us too long anyway."

Ranma shrugged. "It doesn't matter how they did it captain, all that matters is that they did." He frowned looking at the ships. "Continue to get your men ready, I'll tell the others."

He found Daenerys with Domeric and Brynden in his father's room pouring over the map once more, the two men trying to teach the Dragon Princess how to discern travel times in Westeros, which she was still having trouble with. On the other hand she had a firm grasp on the logistics and the general rule of Army movement which was the larger the Army is, the slower it can move.

They all looked up when he came in, and Ranma sighed. "The lookout was right; there're two ships out there making for us, both of them flying flags that show the mark of Dragonstone. Stannis really wants you for some reason Daenerys. We don't have much time before they're on us."

Sansa, Myrcella and Alayaya had been tending to Eddard in his bed, and they all gasped, looking at one another fearfully. Myrcella feared what would happen to her if she was brought before her uncle, if he really was her uncle after all. Sansa of course simply was frightened of the impending battle, while Alayaya knew all too well what could happen to women after a battle.

Daenerys however merely nodded. The two dragons who had been curled up on Fenris who had been lying next to her woke up, scrambling up to her shoulders quickly. "What is the plan?"

"Like I said, they're too close to escape. We can't back away and try to take them down one at a time. Brynden, Domeric, you'll lead a group to defend the hatchway leading further into the ship. Captain Woolfield will concentrate on defense of the ship. We'll use fire arrows on one as they approach, the captain has a few dozen in the ship's stores but not many. I'll take the fight to the other one, take it out and then turn on the next." Ranma shrugged. "That's about all we can do."

"You say that in so blasé a manner." Myrcella said shaking her head, looking at Ranma worriedly. Though to her credit it was obvious it was more worry for Ranma than the overall battle. "Are you certain that you're not overestimating yourself?"

Daenerys and Ranma both chuckled. "I see Domeric hasn't set the first battle we had with Stannis' forces to song yet, good." Ranma mock-glowered at Domeric who chuckled wanly but continued to pull on his sword belt. "Trust me, this is an accurate statement of my abilities."

OOOOOOO

Aurane Waters, so-called the Bastard of Driftmark, was a bastard of house Velaryon, half-brother of the current lord of that house. He had the looks of a Targaryen, wiry, with a thin, somewhat handsome face framed by semi-silver hair, and an odd eye color that mixed brown with violet, looks which had helped him in many a conquest in foreign ports. On Driftmark or Dragonstone however his looks were not exactly unusual. Many of the smallfolk could count bastards of that family in their lineage, thanks to how long the Targaryens had ruled there.

He was technically a sellsail, a mercenary/free trader who sailed as an auxiliary of the Westeros Navy. But that was only technically, given his connection to house Velaryon, one of the most powerful houses of the Narrow Sea houses. His house had been the first to bow to Stannis as King, and his brother had already converted to the worship of R'hllor, which was why Aurane's ship had been one of the two chosen for this mission.

At first, Aurane had been proud to be given this assignment by Stannis, seeing it as proof that the king was one to overlook baseborn status in competent individuals. Hunting down the traitorous Starks and the Targaryen Stormborn had also seemed an honorable pursuit. But that had been before Melisandre had delivered to his ship and its fellow the two almost but not quite crates, apparently designed to protect those within from the sun's rays, which contained her creatures.

The Red Witch called them Shadow Warriors. They were as tall as a man, though they stooped all the time, and their arms were far longer, thinner than a man's much like their bodies. Each in some fashion looked like the sacrifice that had died to give them life, though not really, as if the details of their faces was being seen through dark, distorted glass, or as if the entire creature was made of such material, since you could for the most part see through them. Each Warrior also wielded a sword made of shadow, seeming as immaterial as the rest of the warrior, but in their hands those blades could cut open the finest armor.

Aurane had only a vague idea of how they had been created. Some rumors said that Melisandre had burned a dozen people alive to create enough magical power of whatever to create each Shadow Warrior. Another one said that she had slept with Lord Stannis, fucking him on the pyre of the sacrifices, then had given birth somehow to each warrior in turn. Another, far simpler one was that she simply ripped the soul of the dying sacrifices out, merging them with the smoke and the shadows of their own funeral pyres to create the Warriors.

Whatever the case, the Shadow Warriors were horrible, and if it were up to Aurane, he would have tossed their cages over the side in an instant, but he was too terrified of Melisandre to try that. They seemed to live for nothing but to kill, and even in their specially prepared cages they had killed two men who had gotten too close, ripping them to pieces. He did not doubt that the story was the same on the other ship, which had an equal number of them five in each cage, ten per ship.

The Red Witch had promised that they would bring Aurane victory this day, then disappear after seeing their captive in his hands, allowing him to return with the prize alone. She had even done some sort of ceremony that was supposed to have made him the only one they could hand the Targaryen girl over to. Yet even so, Aurane hated and feared them with every fiber of his being

Now time for them to earn their keep. Arrows had begun to fall among his crew, showing him that the men aboard the other vessel had apparently decided not to try to parlay. The sooner he could loose those things the better. He turned to his second-in-command. "Make the signal to the other ship, then move the cages to either side of the boat facing the side nearest the target."

OOOOOOO

Captain Woolfield's men were not sailors. They were armsmen who just happens to have enough skills to play at being sailors, with a handful of few real ones along to really direct the others. Woolfield himself had sailing experience, hence why he had been given this task, but like his men, he was just as good with a sword in his hand as the ship's steering wheel. They were also all very proud of the fact that Lord Manderly had handpicked each of them for this mission, and were grimly determined to get him at his family home. The words of Sansa to the boat crew had spread, and it was with pride and determination that they took their posts. Suddenly the sides of the ship bristled with shields, two stern battle lines prepared to repel boarders.

Those who looked at Ranma also found there courage bolstered further. He stood unarmored, having handed over his armor to Domeric who stood with Brynden and a few men chosen for the purpose, blocking the hatchway leading down into the ship. Instead Ranma stood with only a leather shirt, one hand holding his last katar, the other his katana. Fenris too patrolled the deck, waiting with all the patience of a master hunter.

Ranma ignored his direwolf and the men around him though, staring ahead through the fog that was still clinging to the ocean's surface toward the two attacking ships. They were close enough now the archers had taken one of the ships under fire, their prepared fire arrows tiny flashes in the fog. That ship fell back, its rigging on fire but the crews were experienced, and would soon put it out.

Still, that might be enough to let Ranma and his fellows defeat the first ship, or at least kill a large portion of its crew before the second ship could rejoin the battle.

Soon enough the second ship was close enough to make out details of the men on its deck. Ranma frowned seeing two cages set in the dead center of the ship. For some reason the sight of them filled him with sudden foreboding. He shook it off quickly, and when the other ship was close enough leaped outward over the intervening water, howling his warcry. "Winter is coming!"

He landed near the front of the other vessel, and as he had said a few days before, Ranma was in no mood to take prisoners or be gentle at this point. He had his wounded father to get home, his sister to look after, Myrcella and Daenerys both under his protection. He struck, and there was no mercy in it, no attempts to hold back. In fact he tried to put the fear of god, whichever they worshipped, into these people, letting loose entirely.

Twelve men died in fewer seconds, and Ranma moved on, killing. He jumped up into the air from the forecastle, using one hand bouncing off the hanging jib boom or whatever it was called throwing himself forward. Every slash from his katana killed or crippled, every thrust punched through helmets or chain mail, every kick shattered bone, flinging men aside like ragdolls.

While Ranma's sudden assault had actually taken the crew of the ship so assaulted aback enough they hadn't even started to throw grapnels over, luck of battle however had worked against the Northerners overall. The ship that the archers had first taken under fire had been Aurane's ship, which would matter soon.

Right now, Ranma's sudden assault had terrified the captain of this vessel, and he turned, smashing open the cages holding the Shadow Warriors. All ten of them bounded out, their fell blades raised as they stalked towards the attacker, the captain's body collapsing in a pool of blood behind them in the instant they had been free. Within seconds they cut through several men to get to their enemy, and soon Ranma came face to face with these terrors.

Ranma backed away quickly, nearly losing his katar in the chest of one of his victims when a length of pure shadow formed into a sword tried to cut into his forearm. He really did lose it when it another blade tried to take his hand off where was holding the knife, the Shadow Warriors astonishing in their speed, not up to Amiguriken levels, but almost as fast as he was normally. Quickly pulling his hand back he cursed as he lost his second katar, the first having been lost when he threw it at Joffrey's head. Hurriedly Ranma brought up his blade to block the next thrust from a third Shadow Warrior, while all around him the regular troopers made way for them.

Faced with trying to join that battle or taking the fight to the other ship, the choice was obvious. Under the surviving officers, the men aboard the navy galley began to toss across their grapnels at the Fish's Scales. Soon they had enough across to pull the ships into direct contact, the hulls of the ships scraping together.

With a roar the men tried to charge across, only to be met by a wall of shields and swords from the crew of the other vessel who were waiting for them. The men of Lord Manderly were not nearly as well trained as Lord Stark's retinue had been, not having trained with Ranma or John Snow. However they were organized, and had shields, plus the caravel was slightly taller in the water than the two naval galleys.

This difference in height and their defensive position allowed the Northerners to hold back the impetus of that initial charge. Battle began in earnest there between the bulwarks of the ship, but it looked like the Northerners would be able to hold the line for now. The fire arrows had gained them enough time for the crew to concentrate on the first ship, and they were not going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

For his part Ranma was too caught up in his battle against the Shadow Warriors to help repel the regular attackers. There were ten of these Shadow creatures crowding Ranma now, their weapons seeking his life, and they also used their hands to try and grab him. Ranma suspected that his ki-strengthening technique would not wholly stop those blades which made him dodge around as much as possible.

Worse, at first his own blade went straight through the Shadow Warriors, which Ranma found out when he tried to stab one of them through the chest. The damn thing ignored his blade sticking out of its chest, while trying to cut his head off with a vast overhand blow.

Ranma leaped back, watching as his blade actually fell through the thing as if it had no substance now that he wasn't holding the blade where it had been.

"Alright change o' tactics." Ranma channeled ki into his hands, which began to glow blue and gold. He ducked under one blow, kicking off the deck quickly to dodge to one side, his hand flashing out to smack a Shadow Warrior in the side, before kicking another in the head with a foot also glowing blue-gold with the energy of his ki.

The Warrior he kicked screamed, his head disappearing, the substance that made up its head vanishing under the impact of Ranma's life-force. The other was thrown back, but it evidently wasn't a killing blow, they had that much in common with still living opponents anyway.

The men at the back of the crowd trying to push their way aboard the Fish's scale noticed this and gasped in shock. Some of them lost their will for the fight at that, backing away. The reaction from the Northerners was the opposite, they all had been frightened by the sights of the Shadow Warrior beyond the melee they were involved in, but now took new heart, seeing the things die under their lords oddly magical blows. Some of them began to Chant "Stark, Stark!"

Questions about Ranma's abilities would come later, though not many. The men of the North had long been accustomed to thinking that Ranma and his brother Jon were at the very least superhuman. Having some kind of body-related magic wasn't that far a stretch. Indeed, the idea that their Lord had such abilities would convince other Northerners further of the rightness of their cause. After all, the old gods would not have given Ranma such skills if they were not totally behind his cause.

The death of their fellow Shadow Warrior seemed to take the others aback, and they hesitated for a second, which allowed Ranma in turn to roll away. Grabbing up his blade from where it had fallen to the deck he concentrated for a bare second. Then it too began to glow with his ki, and Ranma grinned viciously. "I have no idea what you fuckers are, but if you can die that's good enough for me!"

He charged forward with a howl. The shadow Warriors hesitated another few seconds before charging to meet him across the deck, losing another member quickly before the others could change their attacking style to match their opponent's ability to actually kill them. They began circling Ranma like hyena, their speed making them dangerous even to him. If Ranma charged one that one retreated and the others closed in from behind. If he leaped into the air they all backed away, waiting for him to land, taking away one of the major advantages of his style. The battle became a stalemate, however Ranma was keeping the remaining Shadow warriors on this ship fully occupied.

He killed four more over the next twenty minutes, taking a few shots in turn but his Ki-strengthening technique sustained him while the rest of the battle went on. This had given Aurane enough time to put the fires on his ship out and move back in. With the archers so busy firing at the enemies their fellows were already engaged with, they didn't have enough archers or fire arrows to force his ship was away again, and Aurane skillfully brought it along the other side of the Northerner's ship.

Woolfield however was rather cagey. He had kept four dozen men still along that bulwark, forcing them to remain there while their fellows battled along the other side of the vessel. They were still there when Aurane's men threw across their grapnels, pulling the two vessels. Once more the strange torturous sound of wood grinding against wood sounded out through the fog of the bay. At captain Woolfield's shouted order, another dozen men pulled back from the battle against the crew of the first ship, moving with Woolfield at their head to engage the attackers from the other vessel with the men already there.

Unlike his fellow captain however, Aurane had devised a way to use his shadow Warriors from the very beginning. He ordered the two cages containing them to either side of his vessel and then concentrated his men in the center. When the two ship sides were scrapping along one another, he shouted "Release the cages! Fall back and let them break the Northerner's line!"

None of the other Northerners had Ranma's ability and before Woolfield, his face a rictus of horror, could order them to fall back the Shadow Warriors cut through his line in a matter of seceonds. He lost nearly half his men before they burst through, heading onwards to the hatchway leading into the ship. Woolfield fell too, his sword uselessly carving through a Shadow Warrior as the thing's blade took him in the side.

As the defensive line collapsed Fenris was on them in turn. He howled, the sound actually pulling many of the Shadow Warrior's attention away from their task. the nearest on to Fenris died quickly, his fangs crunching through it glowing blue-gold. Six of the remaining Shadow Warriors turned, circling Fenris while the others raced on.

"At them now!" Aurane shouted, leaping forward onto the Fish's Scales. With the shield line broken on this side, dozens of duos and one or two trios gathered around one another, trying to defend the backs of their fellows holding off the first attacking ship's crew for now, but with limited success. If not for the swirling, chaotic melee between the Shadow Warriors and Fenris taking up the center of the ship, the battle might well have been lost.

Brynden held seven men together from the melee all around them. They drew men who got around fenris and his battle down on them, protecting the backs of the rest of the crew. He saw Aurane, and recognizing him as the man in charge, charged forward, his sword up and questing, smashing against the other, younger man's blade, throwing him backwards slightly. "Hold the line, let Ranma and the other lads do their work, we can still win this boys! Keep heart!"

Domeric and the men chosen as a final guard of the hatchway leading into the interior of the ship had been picked out from the best swordsman aboard the vessel. They had all already noticed that the Shadow Warrior's couldn't be stopped by normal blade. To combat this they kept their distance, flashing forward when they could to hack at them, not expecting to kill them, just holding them up as much as possible, keeping their attention on them rather than doing anything else. The Shadow Warrior's speed was incredible, but they weren't truly trained, nor were their reaction times very good, so in a battle like this, they showed a few disadvantages.

"That's the way lads!" Domeric shouted as he ducked under a blade questing for his unarmored face, stabbing his blade through the leg of the Shadow Warrior attacking him through the top of its knee and down through where its leg bone should have been. Such attacks seemed to slow the creatures down. He raised his shield to block a blow from another Shadow Warrior, pulling out his sword and backing away, leading the two of them away from the hatch. "Hold them here until Fenris can deal with the ones fighting him, and come to our aid!"

If any of the men around him found it odd to be looking to a direwolf for salvation they certainly didn't have the time to voice such thoughts. But they went about their business grimly, and with as much skill as they could muster against warriors who fought in a manner none of them had ever imagined, with bodies they could not injure, merely hinder.

Suddenly in a odd moment of tactical thinking one of the Shadow Warriors turned from fighting Fenris, forcing most of Domeric's men back and away from the hatch lest they be cuaght from both sides. Two of the ones already fighting Domeric's men pressed them further back, cutting off many of the men from the hatch while the other three turned away.

Domeric, seeing what they were doing grabbed the men around him, pulling them around and away toward the hatch. "Fall back into the ship, we'll try to hold them off in the confines of the passageway below!"

He hoped that this way he could negate the Shadow Warrior's sudden numbers advantage, but he hadn't figured how much thier greater speed would matter more in an enclosed space. Domeric lost two men in the hatchway itself before he and the last man fell back into the hall, retreating desperately.

Domeric gasped as one of the blades nearly cut through the armor Ranma had given him, almost opening up his stomach. He had backed away just enough to stop from being skewered, but his fellow swordsman had fallen back into the doorway leading into the crew quarters. He was fighting one of the Shadow Warriors, the door closed enough so the creature could only engage him with his sword, but that left Domeric facing two, trying to keep them from pushing on down the hallway. And he simply couldn't do it. While he was able to hold off one of the Shadow Warriors, the last one darted by him down the hall, heading toward where it somehow knew its true target was.

OOOOOOO

Inside the vessel the girls had all remained in Lord Stark's room. Sansa and Alayaya were huddled together by the bed. Sansa could all too easily remember her brush with battle after the fall of the Tower, and wanted no more of it, the very idea terrified her. Alayaya too was nearly paralyzed. She had seen women who had been taken after battle by the winning side, their minds broken by the ordeal. One of her hands was playing with where she had a tiny holdout knife, and she was very well aware that it would be better to use it on herself and Sansa than let that fate befall them.

Myrcella was anxious as well but also fighting back a growing anger at all this. Her world had been shattered, recently and all she wanted was some peace and quiet, a week before the next crisis occurred, was that too much to ask? It made her angry, and the anger kept the fear she felt from finding a purchase in her as it had in the other two.

She had taken the little knife that Ranma had given Sansa upon learning that his sister had lost hers. Myrcella didn't know how to use it, but thanks to her medical studies she had a good knowledge of human anatomy, so knew where to stick her very sharp knife to cause the most pain.

Daenerys was waiting by the door, a short sword in one hand. She wasn't very good with it yet, but she was determined to fight for herself. She stood in a low crouch with the sword waiting to be thrust forward, a small buckler that one of the cabin boys apparently used on one shoulder.

Behind her the two dragons also waited, tensed to spring at anything threatening their mistress, their tails the only thing on them moving. They could feel their mistresses' distress, her anger and fear, and were waiting to attack whatever was coming in Daenerys' defense despite their being so young.

Even though she had been waiting for it when the door actually crashed open it was still a shock. The door banged open with a massive "Crash!" and Daenerys backed up slightly then backed up further as behind her all three of the girls gasped in horror at the eldritch horror stalking towards her.

The thing looked as if it had been me out of shadow and smoke, solid looking, but how it could be so was a question since they could vaguely see the deck and the doorway through it. The blade it held however while just as oddly translucent looked sharp.

Daenerys snarled, sounding almost like one of her drakling for a moment, save even more menacing. "I know not what horror has spawned you, but you will have neither my children nor me!" She darted forward, and the thing's blade came around crashing into her own, sending Daenerys stumbling backwards to land on her rear.

For a moment she thought her arm had been broken by the impact of that blow. But she could still move it, and she rolled to one side, before darting back in attacking the thing again as it stalked forward.

The draklings charged forward now, biting and trying to claw or scratch at the Shadow Warrior's ankles. But they did not have the ki ability of Fenris, and could do nothing against the shadow with fang or claw. The Shadow Warrior merely ignored them, not even bothering to smack them aside.

Myrcella darted forward, trying to distract the thing from its single-minded attack on Daenerys, only to gasp as the Shadow Warrior's blade sliced sideways almost too fast for her to follow. She raised her small knife desperately to block the blow, catching it. But the blow threw her back, shattering the knife in her hand. The slivers of the knife went everywhere especially backward from the point of impact, her hand and arm was now a bloody mess from the bits and pieces of the knife cutting her skin, and Myrcella crumpled to the ground, holding her arm in agony against her chest.

Daenerys used the opportunity Merry's sacrifice had brought her to try to dart forward. Her short sword took the thing in the side, but unfortunately it did no damage, and it was all she could do to recover when the Shadow Warrior's blade came up around towards her after smashing Myrcella away.

Her blade did not shatter like the younger girl's knife had, but it was still thrown out of position. Another overhand blow smashed Daenerys down to one knee. Daenerys' desperate attempt to raise her buckler was just enough to turn the next blow away. The buckler however slammed into her forehead and she slumped nearly senseless to the ground from the blow

The Shadow Warrior raised its blade once more, prepared to cut her down. While their orders had been to kill the wolves and all the others and allow the Dragon Queen to be captured, at this distance the Red Witch's control of the Shadow Warriors was tenuous at best. Worse, they had felt the deaths of the others of their shadowy pack, they knew they faced creatures that could kill them, and it was making them go into a frenzy, nearly forgetting all their orders let alone the most complicated.

Daenerys's dazed eyes focused on the thing as it brought it's blade up, ready to cut down. For a moment she thought she was going to die, and her last thought was about the little ones, hoping that Ranma would look after them.

Then her violet eyes widened as the thing stumbled, letting out a loud scream, the only sound it had made yet as Ice appeared slamming out of the Shadow Warrior's chest from the back. Whatever magic sustained it could not stand against a Valyrian blade, and with that final despairing wail it dissipated.

Eddard gasped, leaning on Sansa and letting his sword fall once more to grate against the wood of the deck beneath him. Standing had been difficult, wielding Ice with one hand even more so. Ice was a great sword, five and a half feet of Valyrian steel designed to be wielded with both hands, though Eddard had wielded it himself in one-hand thanks to his own size, strength and the fact Valyrian Steel was lighter than any other type. Still doing so now had nearly sapped all of his strength. He had waited, urging Sansa to be quiet until the Shadow Warrior's back was to him then had ordered Sansa and Alayaya to help him out of bed, before moving forward to take the thing from behind with his daughter's aid.

Now he slumped against Sansa even as Alayaya raced forward to help Myrcella. "Are, are, you huh, well, lady?" Eddard asked gasping, his one good leg shaking under him.

Daenerys was still rather dazed, but the two draklings had moved in quickly, climbing up onto her shoulders and nuzzling their heads against her face in reassurance. Sunfyre was making this crooning sound, trying to comfort his mistress, while Rhaegon was feeling fiercely protective, emitting a continual growl of sound much larger than his small frame would suggest.

Suddenly Daenerys could feel them through their mental connection reaching out to her for the first time. Love, affection, fear for her welfare, and a fierce protectiveness thundered through her from them. She could tell Rhaegon was the one who wished to protect her, while Sunfyre was slightly less… belligerent about it, just as defensive, but more concerned with her wound and making certain Daenerys knew he loved her. What was coming from both of them though was something else, a hot, fiery anger that they couldn't do anything to the shadow creature that had threatened their Mother/Queen, as they thought of Daenerys.

She raised shaking hands to them, gently scratching their necks and snouts to reassure them as she stared up at Lord Stark. "I am well for now my Lord, thank you for the timely intervention." The words though formal came out in a stilted manner, as if she was concussed. But she wouldn't say her currently fuzzy thoughts was because of that. No she was awash with the feelings of her draklings channeling to her for the first time. And suddenly through that haze Daenerys knew what she had to do.

Lord Stark nodded, then as then Daenerys stood, reached out with one weary hand to take her own, placing it on Ice's hilt. "Take my blade to my son, he is out there fighting I know, I don't know however if he has found some way to kill those things. But they cannot stand against Valyrian steel, is seems."

"I hope that it is not the only thing they cannot stand against my Lord." Daenerys murmured, taking the blade in both of her hands. It was as tall as she was, and despite being surprisingly light for its size, there was no chance she could actually wield it. But she could at least drag it along. Daenerys had other plans however. Without another word she moved forward nodding to Myrcella and the others. "Take care of her wounds." she ordered Alayaya, "I'll be back."

The three girls watched in awe as Daenerys turned towards the door, the draklings on her shoulders now looking as tense as springs, her feelings having soothed them, but also warned them of more to come, that she was going toward the danger now. They approved, and were tense and ready to defend her. Blood was coming down from the cut her own buckler had made on her forehead, matting her silver hair in blood. The battle had already caused Daenerys to start to sweat, and she was looking a little wobbly on her feet, staying upright only by pure will and by using by the massive blade in her hands as a staff. Yet for some reason all three girls felt they had never seen a more regal, commanding figure.

Outside in the corridor Domeric had fallen, smashed to the ground by the flat edge of a Shadow Warrior's blade, his own blade having barely turned it so that it didn't cut into his unarmored helmet, having lost his helmet earlier to a grab by another Shadow Warrior. At the time, it had been his helmet or his head, a trade Domeric had been willing to make, but now he paid for it. His head slammed into the wooden floor of the hallway with punishing force, and Domeric could already feel his consciousness fading.

The last sight he saw was Daenerys coming towards him from the doorway into Lord Stark's room, her face hard, her eyes blazing with fury, and her dragons once more on her shoulders. The site of Domeric down, a Shadow Warrior above him ready to run him through filled Daenerys with rage. For only the third time in her life she felt that unrelenting fiery wrath that had marked the Targaryen Dynasty.

Her connection with her draklings was still crackling in the back of her mind, vibrant, more colorful and deeper than ever before. Daenerys reached for it, picturing in her mind the fire, the flame that made the dragons so very dangerous. She then pointed a finger from where she holding the hilt of Ice at the thing. "Dracarys!"

For a moment she feared that the draklings were still too young to create the flames that had truly made them so dangerous, but after a bare second both Sunfyre and Rhaegon's heads jerked forward, spitting out tiny fireballs. The heat of them washed over her face despite being behind their elongated necks yet she still grinned in fierce triumph.

They tiny balls of flame weren't as hot or as powerful as they would be later of course, but they were still dragonfire, that odd mix of innate magic and natural flame that made the dragon's weapon of choice so much more dangerous than any natural fire. Eventually a dragon's fire could become so powerful, so hot as to literally melt stone.

Even in this youthful version the Shadow Warrior couldn't withstand it. Their magic could protect them from physical harm, but the magic of the fire of the draklings negated that. The thing standing over Domeric screamed as it burned, dissipating into mots of shadow and smoke.

As the two dragons pulled back their necks, recovering from the new, strange exertion, Daenerys strode forward, stopping to reach down to touch Domeric's throat. She breathed a sigh of relief when she felt his pulse, thready but there. "Wait my friend, we will see to you soon."

Daenerys stood up, looking at the two draklings still perched on her shoulders. She sent a surge of approval and pride down their link, followed by a question. After a second, she got back in affirmative, the drakling indicating they were ready for more. With that done Daenerys Stormborn moved forward again down the hall, her eyes bleak slivers of violet stone.

OOOOOOO

Ranma gasped as one of the shadow blades slammed into his shoulder. Luckily his ki-strengthening technique had held up under the Shadow Warrior's blade. So once more though his shirt was sliced open yet again, the skin underneath was merely badly bruised. In return Ranma's ki-covered katana skewered the thing's chest, causing it to shriek as it dissipated before Ranma leaped into the air, twirling to kick the head off the last Shadow Warrior closing behind him, its sword out to stab him in the back. The thing didn't even have time to scream before it dissolved into motes of shadow and smoke.

For just a moment Ranma stood still, gasped in lungfuls of air. That fight had been tough from the get-go, and he had the bruises to show it, but that was all. The worst wound he received had been an ugly bruise to one side, where he had taken two blows from the Shadow Warriors' blades, one on top of another. He might have a cracked rib under there, but Ranma was still good to go.

After another second he turned, smashing a blue-gold foot into the side of the naval galley's main mast. With a shriek of breaking timber the mast shattered at the point of impact causing dozens of men still trying to break the weakening shield wall of the northerners to turn in horror.

Dropping his katana, Ranma grabbed up a mainsail, the long wooden spar that stuck out of the mast tied to the sail. With that in his hands he raced forward with a wordless roar. "RAAAHHHH!"

Using the large piece of wood like a battering ram he slammed into the backs of the men trying to break his fellow's line, and suddenly the fight went out of the men. The Shadow Warriors were gone, and the mystical warrior that had killed them was now turning his attention to them. With no leader to rally them and not having made much headway in getting aboard the northerner's vessel to join the melee there, the men broke. Dozens of men broke from the battle, throwing themselves into the water, throwing weapons down and trying to surrender, or retreating into the interior of their ship. Unfortunately for them the Northerners were in no mood to take prisoners, and the men trying to surrender were cut down like the rest.

Captain Woolfield had fallen in the initial charge of the Shadow Warriors, leaving Brynden to organize as many as many of the men as best he could. But the battle had become spread out across his vessel, and he had simply become one more combatants. Even so he had quickly singled out Aurane, and the two of them had been dueling for most of the battle, ignoring all of the others around them.

Fenris ripped apart the last of the Shadow Warriors that had surrounded him, then shook his mane free of blood rapidly to keep it out of his eyes. The unnatural creatures man-fangs hadn't been able to penetrate his fur very far, but he was still covered with little slashes. Not so many bruises thanks to his fur, but more slashes than Ranma had after his own battle. After taking a second to look around him, Fenris turned racing towards the entrance down into the vessel after the others.

Behind Fenris, Ranma join the melee spread out over the rest of the ship, jumping over the area still being held by the beleaguered shield line of the Manderly men. He aimed to land among a large group of them that were attempting to roll up the defenders line, the last of the defenders protecting their fellow's backs having fallen or forced to retreat out of position lest they become surrounded. "Hey, look up assholes!"

Two of them actually heard him over the din of combat. They had a brief moment to gape in shock before his feet slammed into the face of one of them. Ranma used the impetus of that to flip himself up in the air, landing slightly on a surprised man's shoulder, his hands lashing out, killing two more, smashing one straight over the edge of the Fish's Scales to land in the ocean, the other slammed senseless into the center of the deck, his helm so badly mangled he couldn't even see out of it.

The man he was currently perched on tried to thrust his sword straight up to skewer Ranma but by that point he had leaped away. The man had just a moment to wonder how the hell the northern man had been standing on him like that without pressing down on him, when a foot slammed into his head, ending his questions forever.

With the crew of the first Dragonstone ship broken, more and more men broke off from fighting them, turning to help their beleaguered fellows. Ranma saw this, and he laughed wildly. "Form up on me! Push the shadow lovers into the sea!" Admittedly he had no idea where the Shadow Warriors had come from, but despite that it made for a good rallying cry.

The men responded, twenty men of the crew forging toward him, using his position as a fulcrum to create a new battle line and begin to push the men of the second naval galley backwards across the deck of the Fish's scales. The crew of the first ship were so badly demoralized by this point even more men turned from defending against them, and suddenly the whole battle turned. The defenders could tell too, and responded with a roar of their own. "The Mander! Manderly for the Wolf!"

With the Shadow Warriors nowhere in sight, Aurane embroiled in his one on one contest with Brynden, and having seen Ranma at work already the men of Aurane's ship began to pull back. They weren't as demoralized as the first ship's crew just yet, but it was getting there quickly.

Elsewhere on the deck Brynden barked out a laugh, his blade once more locked with that of the captain of the attacking vessel. "Hah, my nephew's returned and you are fucked!" Thanks to his experience Brynden was able to feel the flow of battle around him and the renewed shouts of "Stark, Stark!" was a hint as to what was going on.

Aurane could feel it too, and began to back away, but Brynden wouldn't let him. He charged forward, his sword flitting in and out with suddenly renewed energy. Aurane had been on the attack most of their duel despite his inability to get in a killing blow, but now found himself backpedaling. He realized with a sinking sensation that Brynden had been holding back deliberately, knowing his endurance wasn't what it could be, and lulling Aurane into a false sense of superiority.

The Bastard of Driftmark couldn't deal with the sudden shift, and he found himself flatfooted, his strokes becoming wilder with every blow the two exchanged. Moments later, his sword was battered just too far to one side for Aurane to recover quickly enough. Brining his own sword back quickly, Brynden ran his opponent through his chest, sword plunging through the other man's chain mail to find his heart. He turned then, slashing his sword across the open face of another man's face, charging forward to join up with a Manderly man who had been pushed against the mast.

Behind him, Ranma and the other's continued their push, and the clumps of combat around Brynden began to resolve themselves as the attackers fell back trying desperately to link up. From the hatchway leading into the ship, the attacker's final doom approached.

OOOOOOO

Below in the hall of the ship Fenris raced down the small staircase, crashing into the side of a Shadow Warrior, biting through the back of it. The thing dissipated with a pained wail. The man it had been dueling with, the last armsmen who had been with Domeric, had been desperately trying to hold the doorway to the crew quarters. Now he nodded, at the wolf, leaning against the doorway and gasping in air, his arms nearly dead from blocking the Shadow Warrior's blows. Fenris grunted in some sort of reply before bounding on.

He spotted a Shadow Warrior several feet further down but before he could attack it the creature screamed and burned under the attack of two small fireballs hitting it from the direction it was facing. Around the bend of the hallway came Daenerys, stalking forward with Sunfyre and Rhaegon on her shoulders, the greatsword Ice in her hands, the tip of it dragging along the deck beneath her. Nodding at the direwolf, she smiled slightly, despite the pain from the cut on her forehead. "Hello Fenris, having fun?"

Fenris huffed in amusement, moving forward to nudge the shoulder of his bonded's alpha mate, even if they hadn't actually become so just yet. Silly two-legs, always so slow about the things that actually mattered. Courtship? Simply hunt down a deer, drag it back, eat it together, then mate, done.

Daenerys' arm trembled as she let one hand briefly leave Ice's hilt to rub the ears of the massive Direwolf, who was taller at the shoulders than she was. After a moment she sighed, once more placing both hands on Ice's hilt, dragging it along behind her as she continued her trek. "Come, we have a battle to finish."

The giant direwolf followed her willingly, as did the man who Fenris had saved. The trio emerged out onto the deck of the ship about a minute after Brynden had finished off Aurane.

The sight of the draklings and the return of the monstrous direwolf unmanned many of the remaining attackers, who began to turn and flee back onto their own vessel, hacking away at the ropes and trying desperately to push them out away. The men of House Manderly however fell on them from behind cutting them down mercilessly while Daenerys moved forward, Fenris at her side.

Leaping over a few clumps of still fighting men Ranma landed next to her and Daenerys, quickly handed his family blade over. "Take it, that thing is heavy!"

Ranma nodded wordlessly, taking the blade in one hand and lifting it quickly, charging into the battle. "Winter is coming! Push them into the sea men!"

Behind him Daenerys stood in place, Fenris guarding her as her eyes closed. Suddenly she flung her arms up into the air, and at her signal both draklings leapt into the air from her shoulders. She road with them, feeling the wind under her/their wings, the exaltation of flight taking their conjoined minds for a moment. It was intoxicating and it nearly made her forget her purpose, but with the iron will that made Daenerys Stormborn who she was, she kept rigid control of both draklings even through their shared exultation, directing them into the attack.

While Ranma and his crew were beginning to wipe out the men who were still aboard the Fish's Scales, the two draklings attacked the rigging of the second vessel, the second one's mast already down. It being their first flight, the draklings couldn't sustain themselves in the air for long, but they were able to get into range, spit out their tiny fireballs at the tied down sail of the other vessel and return. By the time they landed only about two minutes had passed, but even so both draklings were drooping with exhaustion, and hunger began to dominate all the other feelings coming through Daenerys' link with them.

That was the final straw. Faced with the fire on their own ship and the renewed push by the defenders, the men of Aurane's ship broke utterly. They retreated entirely from the defense of their own bulwarks, turning their attention on trying to stop the flames now engulfing their sails and rigging.

Brynden looked around and shouted, "The ropes, cut the ropes, they've had enough."

Ranma took up the shout. "Leave off, the bastards are running now, let's get out of here before that fire can spread!"

The Manderly men set to with a will while the fog around them at last began to dissipate under the heat of the sun. While Ranma and a few others cut down the few remaining attackers on their ship, most of the others began to cut at the ropes tying the three ships together. A dozen men then grabbed up several long oars, pushing at both ships then began to row away from the two naval galleys.

Neither vessel's crew had the numbers or the will any longer to do anything to stop them. Soon enough the Fish's Scales was far enough away for the sail-master to take over, bellowing commands to unfurl the sail. This was a sign for the armsmen all around to let loose a cheer at their success. It was ragged though, as the men looked around and realized how badly the victory had cost them.

For now Ranma ignored the dead lying everywhere, his eyes instead on Daenerys. He moved over to her reaching out gently to touch the cut on her forehead with the hand that wasn't holding Ice. She winced slightly as his fingers traced the wound gently. For just a moment she could feel something flow from Ranma into her, before she shook off the notion as silly. "You need to stop doing this." He said gently. "This whole charging into battle thing is going to get you killed one of these days."

"I'll agree to not take part in battles the moment it is no longer necessary, I promise." Daenerys replied dryly, leaning into his hand lightly now that it had moved from her cut to her cheek. The two of them stood there like that, taking comfort in one another before Brynden coughed getting their attention. Both young people sighed, then steeled themselves and got back to work.

OOOOOOO

Even though the shadow assassins she had made were much more independent than any other she had conceived (literally before the jump in her power she attributed to R'hllor's growing favor) Melisandre still had a connection with them, tenuous though it was.

Melisandre was in her room, mediating naked as the day she was born in front of a small pillar of flame, sweat beading her magnificent body. The sailors hated the fact she had a seemingly uncontrolled fire in her room every night, but they were ignorant of the control R'hllor gave his faithful over his fires, so could be forgiven that.

In her meditation state Melisandre felt the deaths of her shadow warriors, some killed by the odd blue-gold fire, something she could sense was of the body but not, and others who had fallen to the fire of the young dragons controlled by their queen. As the last one died she came out of her trance and began to curse, rather inventively it must be said, in her native Asshai dialect.

Currently the ship was carrying her and Stannis to the Stormlands. At their back were fifty other naval galleys. They would make port in a few weeks' time at the nearest point along the shore of The Narrow Sea with Haystack Hall, the seat of House Errol. They controlled a third of the most fertile land of the Stormlands. With them allied to Stannis' cause, he would be able to feed his army in the field.

It would be a hard sell, since most of the Noble Houses of the Stormlands were happy with Renly's governance, even if the houses minor, landed knights and smallfolk were ambivalent about it at best. Still, if Renly had indeed retreated to the Reach rather than the Stormlands, it might allow Stannis to rally the Errols and others to his cause.

While twenty galleys had remained behind to guard Dragonstone (and spy on any naval movement in Blackwater Bay) a further ten had been assigned to head to Sharp Point then Stonedance in the Crownlands under Stannis' most capable captain, the Onion Knight, Davos Seaworth. The houses of those castles, Bar Emmon and Massey, historically had strong ties to Dragonstone, and Stannis had long cultivated those relationships. Both of them would probably rally to his cause quickly, which would give him a start on building an army.

At the moment Melisandre could not care less about that. What she cared about was that the Dragon Queen and the Wolf shaped man had escaped once more. While it would not matter in the short term she could feel, like a wind across her skin, that in the long term it could prove disastrous.

She scowled. "I should have gone myself, the wolf would not survive against the fires of R'hllor wielded first hand. I let myself be swayed by materialistic, worldly arguments rather than following the path R'hllor set for me. I will burn twenty heathens in recompense for now, but I must act against the Dragon Queen and her Wolf Lord the moment I can." With that Melisandre turned, grabbing up her silk dress before heading out to find the Azor Ahai to tell him the bad news.

OOOOOOO

The aftermath of the battle was pretty horrible. Along with Captain Woolfield, more than half of the ship's crew had died, and at least a quarter of the survivors were injured in some fashion. This left the bare minimum necessary to man the ship, but luckily the rigging and sails hadn't been damaged in the battle, Aurane having not been interested in sinking the vessel since his orders were to capture the Dragon Queen alive. Better, none of the actual sailors had died, having intelligently stayed put in the crew quarters until the battle was decided. The sail-master, who was the one actually in charge of most of the actual sailing, also knew their route, and could navigate them to White Harbor.

Myrcella, Alayaya and surprisingly Sansa got to work on the injured, using the tiny hold as an infirmary. Daenerys, despite her protests went first, and under Myrcella's direction she placed a small poultice on her head covering the cut there. Her eyes were still barely tracking however, and the little princess sent her to bed down with Fenris and the draklings, taking with her food for all three.

Myrcella's own wounds weren't serious, the gashes on her arm weren't deep though many of them had required stitching, which Alayaya had done as the battle wound down. With Myrcella instructing her Alayaya stitched up what wounds she could, and the princess's poultices helped others, and together the three girls saved several men who would otherwise have died without a ship's surgeon.

Despite their aid however, eight more men died through the day, loss of blood and the severity of their wounds carrying them off. That evening, Ranma stood by as the bodies of the dead, which had been laid out on the deck, were consigned two at a time to the ocean as the rest of the men watched.

Outside he looked grim and somber, but inside his thoughts were not on the men who had died, but those who had lived and what they had run into. He was worried about Merry, but she seemed to have grown up not just in body since he left King's Landing, but in heart and mind as well. The death of Tommy had hardened her heart to mere physical discomfort. Her work with the wounded was excellent, and he was happy to see that too. Daenerys as well had come through the battle as well as could be expected given her injury, and seemed quietly ecstatic that the draklings had breathed fire for the first time.

Sansa had not been hurt thankfully nor had Alayaya or Eddard, though his strength had been sapped once more, and his leg was definitely crippled, as well as his arm. His father's leg wasn't dead entirely, but he couldn't feel it, or bend it at all, the leg just refused those commands from his mind. Domeric had a concussion, and a broken forearm. Brynden had come through the battle with only a few nicks, the worst being a gash on the back of his off hand. Fenris too was nicked up, but nothing life threatening.

The majority of Ranma's thoughts however were not on his family or the girls, but on the Shadow Warriors, those strange creatures of smoke and shadow. They had caused at least a third of the crew's casualties, including captain Woolfield, despite the fact that Ranma and Fenris had occupied most of them. Without the two he was sure the enemy would have surely won the day even with the fire of the draklings.

By the old gods, where did they come from? I've never heard about anything like them before, not even in the tall tales I heard as child from Maester Luwin, and none of the books in Winterfell ever mentioned anything similar. Could they be an example of magic, I remember hearing about the city of Lys having a reputation for some kind of magic, but then, who created them? Who has Stannis allied himself with, and why? Is the man so ambitious that he would turn to any means to gain an advantage? And what's that mean for the war to come?

Looking down at his bruised arms and side, Ranma knew whatever the answers to most of those questions was, the answer for the last was 'nothing good'. For now however, he put that thought aside, turning to the sail-master who had taken over as captain for now. The sooner they left Blackwater Bay and got far away from Dragonstone the better.

OOOOOOO

At the same time that Ranma was dealing with the aftermath of the battle against Stannis's vessels, the news of the battle for King's Landing had begun to spread.

Thanks to the queen's 'largesse', Hoster Tully heard the news of what would be called The Battle of Two Truths and of his son a mere five days after the battle ended. The news that his son was languishing at the king's pleasure nearly gave him a heart attack. If it wasn't for the fact his maester had stayed after giving him the raven's message, he might well have died then and there.

Measter Vyman shook his head leaning back gratefully as he finished examining his lord. And friend too, he had after all served here since becoming a maester, and Hoster was the only lord he had known in that time. "My lord, you do not need me to badger you to tell you this but…"

"I know old friend, I am old, and I am dying." Hoster said the words somewhat philosophically. He had led a full life, and had been sick for over a year now, one could only see the end coming for so long before losing fear of it. "I had hoped to live to see Edmure return, having finally come into his own at last. But that is not to be. How long do you think?"

"At best… I would say another half a year, possibly less." Vyman said sadly.

"So little time left, and so much to put right." Hoster sighed sadly, looking down at the missive in his hands from Queen Cersei fucking Lannister, thinking about what he could do, and what he had to do. "I cannot in good conscience let my son being held captive force me to forget that I speak for all of the Riverlands, not just Riverrun. Yet I cannot bring myself to act in such a way that would endanger him."

He leaned back against the pillows of his bed closing his eyes, thinking. Hoster recalled the talk he had a little over two months back with Lord Mallister about what might be coming, and knew they had both been badly understating the storm that was coming.

After a moment he opened his eyes and looked at Vyman. "Gather up writing material old friend, I have several messages I wish to send off. To House Piper, both branches of House Vance, Seagard, House Whent and House Ryger."

Vyman's eyes went up at the list of houses, all counted among the most powerful noble houses in the Riverlands for one reason or another, be it land, men under their command, or the position of their castles, like House Whent, which in other ways was the weakest listed. "Not the Freys my lord?"

"No, I do not trust Old Walder further than I could walk these days." Vyman laughed at the weak joke, since Hoster had been unable to walk for months. He smirked suddenly, though there was no humor in it. "Also prepare one to Winterfell. I wish to send a message to my daughter."

OOOOOOO

Nor was Hoster the only one to be contemplating the outcome of the battle in King's Landing. Thanks to Cersei having sent off a message as soon as the battle ended, her father received the news almost as quickly as his fellow Lord Paramount despite the greater distance between Casterly rock and King's Landing in comparison to the distance to Riverrun.

Tywin frowned down at the raven carried missive in his hand, thinking hard. Cersei has done as well as she could given the Stark's power grab. Hah, for all their vaunted honor, the Starks are as ambitious as any other family. Making a grab for the crown once the heir who they had the most influence over is dead, I wonder how they would have kept it after? Or did Stannis and Eddard have some agreement between them? Or Renly perhaps, though that doesn't make as much sense. This idea of Littlefinger that Cersei and Pyrcelle mentions is interesting, but I can't see any truth in it. Yet it will do for now, though I wonder how the Starks would have justified removing Joffrey from his position.

For all his intelligence and insight, it never occurred to Tywin that the Starks were simply following the dictates of their own sense of honor when removing Joffrey. Nor would he even consider the blandishments upon Cersei and her children that Renly and Stannis spread as more than the two justifying their actions. This was a combination of two things. First he was projecting his own ways of thinking onto the Starks, believing Eddard's honor a front, it would never even occurred to him he was telling the truth about Joffrey's heritage, which neatly tied into his second reason for dismissing it. He simply didn't care if it was true or not, all he cared about was his family's influence that was all.

The news of Tommen's death however means there is another player in this game. Varys perhaps, or his mysterious backer? He is the one I would assume would truly be connected to the Targaryen siblings, though I won't order Cersei to try and come up with another reason behind the Starks actions. Or is it someone else entirely, Eddard was right about one thing, from all accounts the Sand Snake Tyene had ample opportunity but no motive to kill Tommen.

Someone worried about Stark influence? But that implies they are not worried about our own. Perhaps they think they can influence or predict our actions, where they could not do so with the Starks? That is worrying, yet until evidence comes up to point at who was really behind young Tommen's death, there is little I can do, save prepare for open war, both against the Baratheon brothers and House Stark, but against everyone else.

With that thought Tywin summoned a servant to prepare messengers to send out, as well as to call Casterly Keep's measter. He had a goodly number of messages to send. Tywin Lannister, Lord Paramount of the Westerlands, was calling his banners to war.

Once they received his messages, the minor houses that looked directly to his house for lordship and the city of Lannisport gathered their forces at the Rock, along with the men of his own house. Within a fortnight, he was marching with a force of twelve thousand pulled from his family's lands, the city and those of the minor houses around them.

Tywin left his brother Kevan, who was grief-stricken at the death of his son Lancel in the battle in King's Landing, behind to rule from Casterly Keep with four hundred men of his house as a garrison. He left orders for the family's navy to be brought out of dock and placed on a wartime footing and the Lannisport city watch strengthened.

The ships would be manned from conscripts from the city, but would be kept in a defensive stance for now while they were trained up. After that though, Tywin wanted them ready for operations against his enemies in the Reach or Riverlands, or even the Iron Islands, who Tywin fully expected to see this chaos as an opportunity to revolt again.

The city watch in contrast was comprised of volunteers. These men were better trained, led and equipped than the gold cloaks, and would be strengthened further while Tywin rode to reinforce King's Landing.

OOOOOOO

Thoros of Myr was a red priest of R'hllor, though he wasn't a fanatic like Melisandre by any means, nor had ever exhipited the powers she showed, assuming they were a sign of the favor of R'hllor. Really he was more known as one of the king's drinking buddies than a religious man, as well as a fairly good warrior. Still, though he would possibly have counted himself as an atheist more than anything else these days, some of his beliefs were still the same now as they had always been, and he hated rapists or child murderers. Which was why, several days after the events in King's Landing had begun to spread, his eyes were boring into the man across from him in the command conference.

Amory Lorch was a fat, choleric knight who had been Gregor Clegane's companion when they scaled the walls of the Red Keep and slaughtered the Targaryen royal family. He had also taken full part in the sack and rapine of the Red Keep. And like Clegane he had not been charged afterward. Unlike Gregor though, Lorch had the presence of mind to stay well away from King's landing so had not been present for the tourney where Gregor had met his end. But he had been chosen to lead the Westerlands portion of the anti-bandit force, which might have been a subtle warning by Tywin that the man was under his protection.

The man had brought 400 and then with him, adding half again to the forces Thoros and Lord Dondarrion could command against the wily bandits. But that didn't change the fact that Sir Thoros despised him with every fiber of his being. In his mind this man was just as complicit as the Mountain That Rode (and oh was it pleasant to mentally change that to the past tense) in the rape and murder of that horrible day.

He and his force had already been here, searching for the bandits on the Westerlands side of the border. There were several long crags and a few tiny trails that led to the other side of fortresses like the Golden Tooth and others, which guarded the only large scale entrances between the Riverlands into the Westerlands. The back trails and mountain passes couldn't allow a large force through them, but the bandits seemed to be managing very well by filtering smaller groups in or out one at a time, and Lorch and his men seemed a little ragged around the edges. But they had been able to confirm the bandits had not crossed back into the Westerlands, and had put smaller blocking forces in place to keep them trying to cross over again without battle.

It had taken them several days to even find the bandits, despite the size of the bandit's forces. They had been able to get to the border between the Riverlands and the Westerlands relatively quickly thanks to having brought along extra horses for every man even their infantry, so it had only taken them three weeks to get here. But it took six days since arriving on the border, their scouts slogging through the mountains and woodlands to find the bandits, who had retreated from the more populous areas for now into the mountain range but not across them.

"All right, we've finally found these bastards. I want no fancy tactics or strategy, simply encircle the camp and wipe them out." Lord Dondarrion, the overall leader of this mission stated.

The bandits had occupied the burned-out village they first sacked and had even repaired it to a certain degree. Beric wondered why the hell they had bothered creating a permanent base like this at all as it only gave their pursuers a target. Yet he wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. Besides, bandits weren't exactly known for thinking ahead. This group probably figured thanks to their recent round of successes that they were unbeatable. He said so aloud, then added grimly, "let us disabuse them of this notion." All the commanders nodded grimly at that.

The following day the battle began at dawn. As soon as there was light to see by the archers, about a hundred all told, considering there haven't been that many in the city to begin with, began to pepper the hold with arrows. In response the bandits rushed out en-mass. Waiting with the cavalry Thoros was surprised to see how many of them there were, he wouldn't have thought they'd be able to put that many people into that small a holdfast.

He smirked however as they crossed the distance they had cut out of the surrounding woodlands and the burned-out houses. "Sound the charge!" At his command two-hundred mounted knights and their retainers broke cover, lances couched as they charged the force of bandits. Their job was simple, break the bandits charging line of infantry, then let the infantry in.

The bandits however surprised Thoros, quickly breaking off their charge and retreating into the burned-out ruins around their fortress, which hampered his cavalry's ability to get at them. He scowled, pulling up his horse and wheeling away.

From where he was standing with the infantry Lord Dondarrion scowled. "Bring up the infantry. We're going to have to go in and dig those bastards out."

Nearby Thoros slid off his horse, grimacing as his stomach flattened against the horses side. I'll have to go on some kind of diet or something he thought to himself irritably. Getting too fat for this. Yet despite his weight the red priest moved lightly on his feet after the infantry catching up with Lord Dondarrion w easily. "House to house fighting in a burned-out village." Lord Dondarrion said shaking his head as Thoros joined him. "This will not be pleasant."

"It's a small village." Thoros replied. "Won't be as bad as you think lad, there're too many of us, we can simply attack them from all sides as we wanted.

The bandits hadn't even bothered retreating to their Fort, simply making a makeshift shield wall within the burned-out rubble of what must've been a prosperous inn of some kind before the bandits' initial arrival, nearly as large as the small holdfast itself. With the rubble of that and the holdfast guarding their flank and back they were able to concentrate their forces on two sides, and force his men to come to them only from those directions.

Arrows began to hit the attackers from the holdfast and Beric cursed. These bandits were fighting far better than he expected, far more organized. "Bring up the archers!" he shouted

At his side Thoros frowned looking around in the mass of infantry as they surged forward despite the arrows falling among them. There didn't seem to be as many infantry as there should be, and Thoros began to feel uneasy.

Moments later he found out why. The runner Dondarrion had sent to the archers arrived back gasping looking over his shoulder in shock. "Lord Dondarrion, the Westerlanders, they…"

A sudden shout from behind him came, and the Westerlanders roared in from behind cutting into the Rverlanders and King's men.

Thoros didn't have time to wonder why the Westerlanders had suddenly turned on them. He suddenly knew that the archers were all dead, cut down from behind by those that should've been their allies. None of them had even worn more than simple leather armor, in hand-to-hand they wouldn't have stood a chance against the armsmen from Westerlands, all of whom were kitted out in chain mail wielding heavy weapons.

"Betrayal!" Thoros shouted, "Form up on me!" That was as far as Thoros could get before the battle reached his position at the back of their infantry line.

He slashed his sword forward quickly, slicing into one man's face, sending him down with a scream as his eye and nose were slashed open by the blow. The next instant he ran his sword through a second man's chest, piercing his chain mail before his shield took a blow from a spear that was coming for him from his right side.

Rage filled Thoros, rage at this treachery. Lord Lannister was obviously playing his games. He realized what this had been, a trap set for someone, possibly one of the Starks, possibly even the king himself. Whatever it was it was barefaced treason, and he would not let it slide.

A sudden throbbing sensation filled him as his rage peaked, coursing from his soul to the hand that held his sword, the same sword he had used for years for the alchemists fire trick that had stood him in good stead in many a tournament. "R'hllor curse your black souls, I hope you burn!"

Suddenly the throbbing throughout his body intensified, flowing out of his hand into his blade. Thoros' sword burst into life without him having to coat it with alchemist's fire and instead of green this flame was bright red and white. It was blazing with so much heat that the metal should have begun to melt, but the blade itself seemed to be immune to its own aura.

Men stumbled back from him and Thoros roared as he charged to meet them. The flames of his blade were hotter and brighter than ever, slicing through his enemies' swords or even plate armor, sending five men to their deaths in the next few moments.

The overall battle however was turning quickly against the forces loyal to the king. The Westerlanders had simply planned things too well. Not only had they hid half of their force from the king's loyal men, always sending out their own scouts in that direction so that none of the others even realized they were there, but that half of their force was cavalry. While Thoros led his fierce rally, these knights had decimated the loyalists, sending only a few survivors reeling through the wood lands around the main battle. Once that had been done, they turned to finish the job, riding around the edge of the burned out village and killing any loyalist that tried to break away from the ruins.

Yet with Thoros in the lead and the fear his blazing sword generated in their opponents his men were able to break out of the trap for now, sending the Westerlander infantry falling back in disarray. But the bandits pressed them hard as they retreated from the ruins of the village in a controlled wedge. Thoros and his sword could only be in one place at once, and the victorious Westerlander cavalry hammered his other flank hard. Dondarrion's barked orders and his own example forced the men to hold and they continued on, unhorsing several dozen knights but at ruinous cost.

Dondarrion knew a moment of despair as he saw in front of him the Westerlander infantry Thoros had first spooked remerge from the trees. They took position at the edge of the clearing of the village, while the bandits and the cavalry closed in, each of them spreading to envelope his forces as he had hoped to do to the so-called bandits. Now he could see among them several men wearing the colors of the Bloody Mummers, a mercenary band known to be made up of murderers, thieves and rapists from all over Essos and Westeros.

Still he rallied his men, trying to make for the trees. With Thoros and his still burning sword warding away the cavalry on their flank the embattled force was able to reach the edge of the area, though they lost men of their men fighting their way across the open area around the former village. For some reason the ten men from Winterfell that Lord Stark had added to their force were fighting harder than any of the others, pushing towards the outer edge of the forest in a concentrated group.

At the back of the force Thoros knew that none of them would get away from this unless the pursuit could be drawn off somehow. He looked over several dozen men's heads toward Lord Dondarrion who was making his way through the melee towards him with two others guarding his back and flank. These two and several others closed in around both leaders, allowing them a moment of respite despite the mercenaries and traitors closing in once more.

"None of us are going to get out of this!" the younger man said grimly, shaking his head and wiping away some of the blood that had accumulated from a gash over one eye. Beric had been reckoned a handsome knight back in King's Landing, but even this brief brush with real battle had changed him, adding dark lines to his face.

"Some of us can!" Thoros replied nodding over to Jaryd Waterman, the leader of the Winterfell men. All of them were still on their feet, despite killing at least three times their number so far in traitors and mercenaries, but you could see that they were edging towards weariness now. "Take as many men as you can and get out of here." Thoros went on bluntly. "I'll hold these bastards off."

Lord Dondarrion's eyes widened and he made to grab Thoros by the shoulder, but the red priest shook his head and pushed the younger man away. "I've lived a full life already lad, you've got yours yet to live, and a fiancé to look forward to seeing. Besides, this is something only I can do." The red priest, who had long since devoted himself more to the wine bottle than his god, said.

He was saying this while looking down at his flaming sword, before looking up and around determinately, his lips forming a snarl. "R'hllor will burn you to ash!" With that bellow Thoros charged toward where the cavalry were about to strike the right side of their force once more.

"Baratheon!" He shouted. "For the king! Burn in the fires you faithless scum!" With that he raised his sword in both hands. With an effort of will the fat red priest somehow grabbed the burning power of his god he felt coursing through his body and channeling it further into his blade. The pillar of fire lengthened from the edge of the blade first becoming as large as a pike, then as large as six men, and wider besides.

He slashed the fire blade down in front of him, slicing over a dozen men in its path into pieces. The sight of this and their natural fear of fire caused the horses of the incoming cavalry to shriek with terror. They bolted turning away from the battle despite whatever their owners could do.

Thoros turned his mystic blade to the side slicing right and left, cutting or immolating another two dozen men as the remainder of the loyalist force ran off behind him. Arrows were still following around them, and the 'bandits' were still attacking from one end and the infantry from the other. But Thoros turned, slicing down several infantrymen before turning his attention to the mercenaries, his eyes becoming glazed over as the power that had been filling him started to wane.

He caught himself as he stumbled however, seeing Amory Lorch trying to rally his cavalry to charge around him. "LORCH! Come to the flame, child killer!" Thoros roared, barreling forward with sudden energy, unmindful of the arrow that slammed into his shoulder. He cut five other men down before Lorch turned in fear, finally realizing his peril. His fat face blanched, and he tried to turn away, tried to pull his horse around. But terrified of the oncoming apparition it bucked, throwing him to the ground before bolting away.

Lorch raised his sword desperately trying to parry, but even as the flaming blade began to splutter, the power Thoros had been using dissipating, it was still powerful enough for this. The flaming blade went through Lorch's sword as if it wasn't there, then went on to cut deep into his shoulder cleaving the fat man in a diagonal slash, armor and all. "Die traitor!"

As Lorch fell with a last despairing gurgle, Thoros turned at bay only to gasp in agony as someone slammed a spear into his back. He lurched forward, but desperately kept his feet. Thoros frantically raised his once again normal sword to block an incoming, but he had little strength left, and it was knocked from his grasp. The spear wielder pulled the shaft of it out of the red priest's back, causing even more damage. Thoros gasped, feeling all his remaining strength leaving him. He fell to his knees, barely even able to look up as a Westerlander brought his sword down. Thus Thoros of Myr, red priest of R'hllor, a man who everyone in court had seen as a drunk but who had proven himself a true priest of his god on this blood soaked battlefield, died.

OOOOOOO

Thoros' self-immolating stand had given Lord Dondarrion and the others enough time to rally their men, bursting through the thin Westerlander line at the edge of the trees before rushing on, running through the trees. They ran and kept on running as far as they could, many even discarding their armor in order to run faster, trying to get away from the pursuers that would no doubt becoming.

After several hours Lord Dondarrion saw a spot up higher in the mountain side, a sort of shelf of rock about twice as tall as a man, continuing as far to either side as he could see. "Rally up there!" He shouted, pushing his way forwards and climbing up the sheer rock face.

It was tough going, especially for the exhausted and demoralized troops, but they eventually made it. Beric did not let them rest, sending a dozen men all around to discover if there was an easier way up than the one they had come. There wasn't, this little cliff continued until it shrank at both ends merging with the rest of the mountain face. With that confirmed, the Stormlands lord allowed his men to rest

He went around, ignoring his own wounds, numerous but small, and his exhaustion. None of the heavily injured had been able to run away, and he sighed sadly. He only had about a hundred and fifteen men here, possibly a hundred and eighteen considering that three of the scouts had yet to return. He looked up as a shout came, and smiled on pleasure.

Coming towards them through the woods, looking somewhat better than the rest of his men were Anguy of the Dornish Marches and three scouts, each of them lugging a dead deer. Anguy had been one of the surprise volunteers to join the force assembled in King's Landing, but he had proven his worth as an archer and scout. Beric had thought him dead with the rest of the archer force, but evidently he had switched over to scouting just in time to avoid that fate, though right now the game he and his fellows brought with them were much more welcome.

Beric looked over at his squire, young Edric Dayne, his squire. The boy had stayed at his side throughout the battle, and even had slain one or two men in doing so. Now that the adrenaline was leaving him he seemed almost ready to go into shock at either the betrayal or as a normal reaction after a battle. Beric's voice however snapped him out of it for now. "Get out flint and tinder lad. Let's get some food in us while we think of what to do next."

Jaryd had recovered by this time, and he went around as well checking on his own man first than the others. He came back shaking his head. "We've got about sixty five men able to fight here, and of them only my own men still have armor, about twenty others retain their weapons. Well I shouldn't say that." The Northerner shrugged his shoulders. "We have seven archers with us, all of them still retain their bows, and the scouts still have their short swords and javelins or small bows, but all of the other men are either injured, without armor, or both. The rest though don't have anything save for a dagger here and there."

Lord Dondarrion nodded, looking around at them thoughtfully. The venison was cooking under young Edric's watchful gaze, and you could see the men eager for the sup, the promise of good food heartening them all, but they were still looking shocky. A battle lost could do that to any warrior especially one like that, even without adding in Thoros' amazing abilities. Beric realized he would have to think about those later. Certainly the red priest had never shown anything like that before, but right now it was unimportant. "We need to think about what to do now." He said looking around at them all.

One of the Crownlands lords spat to one side. "Survive." he said bluntly. "Those Seven-damned Mummers won't be interested in us, they've done their work. This was a trap." He said simply, looking around at them all.

Lord Davit Wendwater was the Lord of a very minor house, whose holdings were south of King's Landing along the river of the same name on the outer edge of the Kingswood. He spent most of his time at King's Landing because his younger brother was a much better land manager than he was. This way Davit kept out of his brother's hair, his brother got to look after their family interests, and Davit was able to have fun.

Despite his shortcomings as a land owner Davit was politically astute man, one who never took sides in any conflict if he could help it. He had been known as one of Robert's drinking partners and had decided to come on this trip to make certain his martial skills hadn't rusted.

He now shared his opinion on what had happened. "Someone's decided to take the game of politics to the next level, and considering how we were betrayed and who was leading them, it has to be Lord Lannister. That fat coward Lorch wouldn't have dreamed of doing this without someone higher up giving him the orders. I'd bet that this was meant to draw out some of the Stark men or their supporters, hell it could have been meant for young Ranma considering how long it would have taken to set up."

"Agreed," said Lord Dondarrion sighing sadly. "That means that something might have gone on back in King's Landing as well. Lord Lannister may be a traitorous bastard, but he's an intelligent one. This was probably just one arrow in his quiver."

"That doesn't matter to us here and now." Davit replied shaking his head scowling angrily through his wide bushy mustache. "For my part I would not have it be said we just gave up the fight."

"Look at us!" said another man, this time a Riverlander scout they had met near the border, a Whent man. Beric recognized him as one of the scouts that they had met upon reaching the border. "There's less than a hundred and fifty of us, and we're not well armed, or even in good condition." He looked askance at the Winterfell men, who were indeed all still armed and seemed to be recovering from the run through the woods better than the others. "Well some of us aren't anyway."

The winter fell men all shrugged their shoulders and he went on. "What are we going to do?"

"We were sent out here to fight the Bloody Mummers even if they were simply posing as bandits, I suggest that's what we do. We fall back for now, find some way to get ourselves some more weapons. Makeshift spears and the like aren't that difficult to make." Beric replied, smiling faintly, remembering many a time had to do the same on hunting expeditions when he was younger. "We can harass them, attack their supply lines, and create small ambushes and traps. Do what we can to protect the small folk in the area from their predations."

"So we will act like bandits to fight bandits? That's fine, but I demand we have a name. All the good bandit groups in history have had names." Jaryd said laughing lightly. For his part, he knew he couldn't get back to King's Landing in time to do any good, so he might as well do what he could to make the Lannisters uncomfortable.

Beric Dondarrion laughed looking at them all. "We are a ragtag bunch, all of us coming from nearly every land in Westeros. Borders no longer matter to us, and we are united in purpose against House Lannister are we not, like brothers should be?"

For a moment the men around him looked at one another, then one by one all one hundred and twenty of them nodded.

Beric smiled, nodding back. "Very well then, I name us the Brothers Without Borders."

OOOOOOO

Vargo Hoat, leader of the Brave Companions smirked, looking down at the body of the man who had been supposed to start giving him orders after this. Despite the red priest's astonishing power, the battle had been a resounding success. His own force had only lost about ninety men all told, though the Westerlanders had been hammered worse, and their cavalry had been unhorsed entirely. It would be a special miracle if any of the horses came back.

Well, it was a resounding success from Vargo's perspective. He knew though that none of the Stark men had died and he certainly hadn't seen the house's banner. So it looked as if Lord Lannister's plan had failed to draw out their real target. But the battle itself had been executed as well as could be expected even with the red priest's fantastical magic, and Vargo could see no reason why the fact their prey wasn't here would reflect on him.

After a moment's contemplation Vargo smiled evilly. He knew orders would be coming soon, the Golden Tooth was not that far away from here after all, and he had already sent a runner back to tell them the good news. Until orders came however, he was going to act as he saw fit. After all, his actual mission was over, and Lord Lannister wouldn't begrudge him or his men some more fun, would he? "Bring out the map." he said grinning evilly. "I think we should try to hit…"

OOOOOOO

Ranma stood by Brynden, the both of them leaning against the mast, watching a few of the armsmen accompany Domeric on some pipes as the bard led them through a lively dancing tune. Daenerys, Myrcella and Alayaya were dancing around one another and with some of the men. Many of the other armsmen were laughing and joking with all three, and Ranma smiled at the sight.

Normally the idea of highborn noble girls acting in such a manner with simple armsmen would have terrified or appalled Southern Lords and ladies, but this was a special circumstance. And there was no chance of any of the men trying anything with the girls, not under the watchful eyes of their fellow men, Lord Stark who sat nearby in a chair brought out for him, or Ranma himself.

But it was also a sign of something that amused Ranma when he realized it. These men respected him, and their own Lord and Ranma's father as their Lord Paramount, there was no doubt about that. But in the two and a half weeks since leaving Blackwater Bay behind them they had come to love Sansa, Daenerys and Myrcella.

Even with the knowledge of her questionable birth becoming a common secret as it were, Myrcella had befriended them all with her kind, gentle manner, her friendship with the Starks, and more importantly her work as the ship's healer. Many men here who might have died after the battle against the Dragonstone men were still alive because of her medical knowledge and Alayaya's steady stitching. She wasn't a maester, she didn't save all or even half of those injured, but Myrcella did the best she could with the tools and knowledge she had, which was enough for the men if not for her. The guilt she very visibly felt about her shortcomings had also helped the men come to love the little 'Baratheon' princess.

The men of House Manderly of course had already been prepared to love Sansa, so that wasn't nearly as surprising. The little gifts that she had shared and designed for Lord and small folk alike for years at Winterfell had made certain that the men knew 'the lady' behind the scarfs. Alayaya too was no surprise given her aiding Merry in her healer role. There'd been a few problems when her past profession had come to light, but Brynden and Ranma had dealt with them swiftly. Her dry, earthy sense of humor and her willingness to flirt back with anyone who approached her in the right manner was also a hit, even if she didn't let the game go too far.

Daenerys on the other hand... She was charismatic on a level that was simply astonishing. She had a caring manner toward her friends matched with an implacable fury towards her enemies, and a fierce courage as fiery as the flames her dragons had begun to routinely practice since the fight against the Shadow Warriors, both of which she had shown in that battle. Her intelligence was also easy to see, everyone could see that regardless of what the actual conversation was about. No one had said the word in Ranma's presence, but it was clear to everyone aboard that Daenerys was a queen in the making.

There was also something primal about her at times, a fact she shared with Ranma. They were both extremely honest and straightforward, and at times acted somewhat like the animals they were bonded with. Daenerys was playful and fiery like her dragons with her friends, and at times that carried over into… other things. To say their flirting leaned heavily towards the physical rather than the verbal was an understatement.

Ranma couldn't take his eyes of her now as Daenerys spun around, dancing with Alayaya arm in arm in some kind of jig or other from Essos. Her silver hair flashed in the torches set here and there around the deck. Her leather jerkin and leggings, which were not exactly clinging to her, still somehow set her body on display at least for Ranma, and Daenerys' violet eyes were snapping with delight while she danced. After a final twirl she turned and saw him watching her sending him a small, yet somehow sultry smile that set his blood to racing.

"I'm happy for you." Sansa said, moving up beside him and sipping at a cup of water. Luckily the ships stores had been fully stocked before leaving King's Landing, so there was no need to ration anything.

Beside her Fenris moved, Sunfyre and Rhaegon by his side. They had grown some since they had hatched, and now when they walked the two came up to Sansa's knee, and were slightly longer than they were tall. They got along with Sansa and Merry so long as Daenerys was nearby and would even let the two young girls touch them. For some odd reason they wouldn't let Alayaya touch them though, a fact that would have cost her a finger without Daenerys there to warn her.

Ranma turns to his sister to see Sansa smiling up at him, her lips quirked into an impish smirk. "Happy for what sister?"

"For you and Daenerys. She's an excellent match for you in temperament, though I don't think mother will be pleased. She had her heart set on a dynastic marriage between you and House Tyrell, but in my opinion she's far better than that bitch Margaery."

Ranma laughed, pulling her into a one armed hug. "I think that might be the first time I've ever heard you curse, can I ask what brought that about?"

"And may I ask you what your own opinion on Margaery is?" Daenerys said, stepping up to join them picking up a small cup of water and thanking the crewman who had brought them out. The man smiled a gap toothed smile back at her. Behind then the dancing stopped, though the music kept going, as Domeric began to tell a story.

Daenerys wasn't paying attention to that just now. Her eyes were on Ranma's face one eyebrow quirked in query. She had subtly asked that question before but Ranma had never actually answered it.

To her faint surprise however Ranma now simply waved his hand airily. "nothing beyond friendship occurred between me and Margaery. We spent about two months getting to know one another in King's Landing, but because she was also ordered to make a play for Joffrey, I never took the courtship seriously, and she realized it too, and decided to stop trying to flirt iwth me, instead becoming a friend."

"I see," Daenerys said thoughtfully one eyebrow still raised and Ranma took her hand quickly. He shook his head wordlessly telling her she didn't need to worry, and the spark of something of what could have been jealousy disappeared from her eyes as she squeezed his hand. She was already beginning to be irritated by how Myrcella looked at her Ranma, she certainly didn't want to know there was another highborn lady out there who might have designs on him.

Nearby, Eddard laughed quietly but with feeling. Looking at Daenerys and Ranma was like looking at a switched, distorted image of some sort of when Rhaegar and Lyanna met one another. Looking back it was obvious to him that both of them were besotted with one another on their few meetings, despite Rhaegar already having been married to Elia Martell, and Lyanna being betrothed to Robert Baratheon.

That thought brought a frown to his face however as he wondered if the time had come to share some truths about that, and about Jon Snow's origins. He decided after a moment that no, the time had not yet come to say those secrets out loud. Jon deserved to hear it first after all. But Eddard vowed he would tell Jon about it the moment they got home.

He was jolted out of his thoughts when Sansa sat down on the deck next to his chair, looking up her brother. "Well I for one would like to hear one of your stories Ranma, rather than the ones Domeric is sharing, those are all old bards' tales, yours are much more interesting. I would hear something new, something real. What about that story that you told Arya about your trip up to the Wall?"

Perhaps it was the convivial atmosphere or perhaps it was because of the thoughts Ned had previously been thinking, but he spoke up now, drawing all the youngsters' attention to him along with Brynden. "If you wish a true story Sansa, I have one. It is one that started the friendship between House Stark and House Reed, though I'm afraid it only has romance on the periphery of it."

Sansa shrugged unconcern of that, while Myrcella and Alayaya joined them, leaving the crew to their own devices. Ned smiled at the newcomers, then began his tale. Regardless of what began after that day, it was still a shining memory in many ways, when he gained a friend, when the world was still simple, before all the smiles died. "I remember it like yesterday. My sister and I had journeyed down with several dozen other men and women from Winterfell to a Tourney being held at Harrenhal by lord Whent. Others of the North came as well, most particularly Lord Reed, though he was not Lord at the time. As you know crannogmen are seemingly deformed, and this caused problems for Howland with many of the southern lords and knights. Well, Lyanna was not one to…"

Over the next hour Ned's simple yet heartfelt words drew them all in. That tale was followed by others from Ranma, and even Sansa as the wolves continued to welcome the dragon, the former whore and the possible stag/possible lioness into the pack.

Later that night, Daenerys and the other girls retired to their room, though Sansa remained behind for a moment to speak to her father and Ranma. They were going to compose a message to send from White Harbor to tell their family more about what had been going on most particularly Catelyn, informing her of what had happened to Sansa, and Petyr's part in it. To that end they wanted to talk with her to get her impression of the man, and what might be really driving him. They were in no rush, they were still a few days away from rounding the Paps into the Bite, but they wanted Sansa to be thinking about it for a bit.

This allowed Daenerys to broach the subject with Myrcella that she had wanted to speak to her about for several days now. As soon as the door closed behind them she turned to Merry and said "So tell me little lion, what are your feelings towards Ranma?"

Myrcella blushed slightly, but stared up at Daenerys defiantly. "I would ask you to remember I am still legally a Baratheon until it is proven otherwise, Lady Targaryen. And I think you know the answer to that question all too well." she smirked. "Why? Are you jealous, or worried?"

In response Daenerys simply laughed lightly, though her violet eyes glinted dangerously. "Neither, my position is secure, yours, as you pointed out, is quite up in the air isn't it? Though for reasons beyond your control, of course."

Myrcella flinched a little at that. Everyone aboard ship knew that her heritage was in deep suspicion, indeed it was almost certain that she was not a Baratheon or and therefore not a trueborn, despite Ranma's willingness to wait until it was conclusively proven. She still refused to believe that however, both for herself and for Tommen though that was simple pride and hope. Once Stannis and Renly spread their version of her mother's perfidy, Myrcella would no longer be able to protect Tommy's memory.

Still she fired back. "My position might not be secure, but I've known Ranma longer than you have. And regardless of whether or not my father's heritage is within me, my mother's certainly is, which connects me to one of the most powerful families in Westeros. You on the other hand only have your dragons to offer. A formidable force to be sure, but only on the battlefield, not in terms of money, prestige, politics or alliances. You might be ahead of me now, but don't get too comfortable, because I have no doubt I can get Lady Catelyn on my side." She wasn't certain of that, but wasn't about to back down either.

"I don't suppose." Alayaya said from where she had begun to undress for bed, cutting through the tension quickly (and deliberately). "That I should mention that I have a bit of a crush on Ranma too? It was rather easy to fall for him and his Rock Hurler persona, so mysterious so interesting, so masculine even through that invisibility technique of his."

Both Myrcella and Daenerys turned to glare at the Summer Island woman. She smirked a little at their expressions, then shook her head. "Of course I know now nothing can from that, but a girl can dream. I think however that you two should stop this rivalry of yours before it actually begins. Ranma cares for both of you, he even cares for me in a way. You'll only put him in an untenable position if you keep arguing, keep trying to make him choose between you. Eventually you'll force him to choose sides, and whichever person wins he'll resent for forcing him to do that."

Daenerys frowned then nodded thoughtfully while Myrcella scowled for a moment before nodding in turn. With that Alayaya looked directly at Daenerys. "Daenerys, you have to realize that Ranma does feelings for Myrcella. They might be sisterly, I think they are actually, certainly he's never done anything to show anything otherwise."

Unnoticed by the other two Merry flushed a little, remembering the time the day after Sansa's rescue when she had hugged Ranma and could feel him reacting to her body pressed against his.

She didn't say anything though while Alayaya continued. "You might eventually need to meet this Dacey woman that he's mentioned having had a relationship with, you'll have to simply acknowledge it and realize it's no longer a factor. Your place is secure, so long as you don't grind it into Myrcella's or Dacey's faces."

With that she turned to Myrcella. "Myrcella," she said softly. "I hate to say this, but even if were a natural born Lannister, even if the Citadel gets back and says that yes there have been a few girls born with golden hair from previous Lannister/Baratheon marriage, you and Ranma marrying formally would never happen. Not with how he and the rest of the North will view House Lannister after word of what occurred gets out."

Daenerys knew that was putting it lightly considering their long term plans, which she and Ranma had discussed at length. What their policy going forward boiled down to was this: house Lannister had been built on treachery from the first, they were proud of the fact that they had tricked the previous owners of the Casterly Rock out of their wealth. They were a family of traitors, ruthlessness and cold ambition. In the Westeros that Ranma and Daenerys were prepared to build in the coming years such things in a house of power could not be borne. To that end the war would only end with the complete destruction of the Lannisters. Whether that meant all of its members would die, be sent to the Wall or otherwise dealt with was still up in the air and they only had some specific plans in mind for a few of them, but that was the long term goal.

Outwardly Daenerys merely nodded thoughtfully not knowing how Merry would react to that idea, then sighed turning to face the younger girl directly. "I'll apologize for what I said, I'm not…" she paused waving her hands as if she was trying to conjure the words from thin air. "I'm not used to this, I've never fallen for a man before. I've never even considered that love would be a major factor in my marriage, considering my brother's and my dire straits for so long. I knew I would have to have a dynastic marriage, it's just come as a shock to me how much… how much I have come to… to care for Ranma in so short a time. My jealousy got the better of me, and I apologize."

Myrcella looked up at the taller, though only just, Daenerys, then nodded. "That was well said, and I accept your apology. I, I'll try to stop flirting with him I suppose. I don't seem to have much of a knack for it since he certainly hasn't noticed, and though I hate to admit it Alayaya is right."

(Actually Ranma had noticed, it made uncomfortable and like in King's Landing he really how to deal with it. SO Ranma had fallen back on his old life's standby defensive response to anything female related: Ignore it and hope it goes away.)

Myrcella sighed sadly, remembering a few fond memories of her mother and wondering what would happen to her. Would she die somehow during the war, during a sack of the red keep or something? Things like that happened after all, and far worse she knew. Or if the Stark's faction won, would Cersei be exiled to some motherhouse or other, with naught but the clothes on her back? Myrcella couldn't say that the woman didn't deserve it, she certainly did if even the little bit about Joffrey alone being illegitimate was true, let alone herself and Tommy. But it was a harsh thing to think about your own mother.

"It's just…" she said shyly, returning to the current discussion. "It's just he's so, so…"

"Magnificent?" Daenerys supplied, laughing quietly and then reaching out to pull younger girl into a hug. "I know, trust me he swept me off my feet too. Rather literally actually, I don't think I've ever shared the story of how Ranma and I first met did I?"

From there on all three of the girls shared how they had first met Ranma. Sansa came just as Alayaya began her story, which caused Daenerys and Myrcella to laugh at the way Ranma had rescued her and the other girl from the corrupt gold cloaks. Sansa told them a few stories in turn, and the night ended on a high note.

Though as she fell asleep in her makeshift hammock Daenerys realized that Myrcella hadn't said she would be trying to give up her crush on Ranma, only that she would no longer act on it. After a moment she shrugged her shoulders in the dark, while the two draklings flew up from their bed beneath her join her in the hammock. For some reason they enjoyed the rocking motion. If she hasn't, well there's nothing I can do there, and every girl is allowed to dream. With that complacent thought, Daenerys put her arms on the sides of her two little ones, and began to fall asleep, still wondering what the future would bring them all.

OOOOOOO

Jon finished reading the short message that had been passed on by Lord Manderly aloud, then looked around at Lady Catelyn, his siblings, master Luwin and Rodrick Cassel. He set it down gently, then spoke in a calm somber tone. "And so we finally have confirmation of treason in the south by the Lannisters, though the full extent of our losses isn't clear in this."

Luwin nodded, speaking his small piece before anyone else could. "Lord Manderly also said he had imprisoned his maester, who is a Lannister by birth. Lord Manderly intends to keep him under house arrest until this war is settled. He'll be kept in comfort, but isolation."

Jon nodded, wondering if that was what was in store for Tyrion. What else his brother could be planning for the little lion he had no clue.

Arya's reaction caught his attention then, and he watched as she slammed her fist down on the table, growling like their totem. Or like her own Nymeria, who seemingly had sensed her distress and was now prowling around the room. "How can you be so calm! All this says is that our family was betrayed! It doesn't say anything about their condition only that they're 'coming home'. Sansa and father could be dead for all we know!"

"I think not, else the message would have tried to warn of it in some fashion. Have some trust in Ranma, I have no doubt all three are alive." Jon said coolly, his tone a sharp contrast to his sister's.

It was only when one looked at Ghost however that they saw Jon's true feelings on the matter at hand. The normally calm, quiet direwolf was growling audibly, his eyes flickering, his teeth bared as if he was about to pounce on someone, for all his body was still otherwise.

Jon's ability to read between the lines of his brother's writing was better than anyone else's, and he could tell that there was a lot that had gone on in King's Landing, most of it bad. For instance Ranma would have mentioned at least a few of the guards by name, those whose families lived in Winterfell. He would've wanted to reassure them. And the fact that it came from Ranma's hand, yet signed Lord Stark, was telling. Ranma's handwriting was distinctive, far blockier than their father's more flowing style. That he didn't mention any of the guards probably meant that they were all dead. Whether or not that meant that just those guards were dead or all, Jon didn't know, but feared.

The rest of the message however, he didn't know what to make of. 'The Stormborn', did that mean he had brought back the Targaryen siblings? Their father had mentioned that in his last message, but why then did the message only mention the girl? And what was the extent of the Lannister treachery? Jon didn't know the answer to those questions, but he was looking forward to finding out.

To Jon's left Catelyn sat at the head of the table, reading the message silently for herself, her face a rictus of fury. Thankfully the babe was elsewhere with his wet nurse, else the face Catelyn was showing would've frightened him deeply. "So it was the Lannisters as I feared." She said coldly. "I wonder how far back their treason goes. And what exactly that treason is, besides Joffrey being illegitimate. I'll note that we haven't received anything from King's Landing, which probably means that whatever it is, they know we will not believe them, and that they are no doubt preparing for war against us."

She leaned back tapping the message with one finger as she tried womanfully to gain control of herself. That Ranma said all of the wolves were coming home was a delight to her, meaning that her husband, Ranma himself, and her daughter were all safe, Jon was right about that. Though possibly not whole since Ranma didn't actually mention their physical well-being, and the fact he wrote the message rather than her husband was telling. That was worrisome, but as long as they were alive she was happy. She was also concerned about what the part about 'Stormborn' meant, and feared given the task Ranma had been sent on she could tell all too easily.

There would be time enough however to worry about that later. For now Catelyn turned her attention to a well-worn topic. "I still think that Bran's near-death experience had something to do with the Lannisters. Perhaps you saw was the queen and her lover, my son?"

Bran, who was sitting next to Arya across from Maester Luwin, shrugged his shoulders. His mother asked him some variant of that question once a week or so, to see if his memory had come back. But it hadn't come back, nor had the feeling in his left foot. All he could still remember from that event was the words 'the things I do for love'. Still he didn't say anything right now.

Jon shrugged. "Personally I think that's rather far-fetched, I believe that incident was precisely what we thought initially, one of the Kingsguard with the queen's maid. Would Cersei truly have been so arrogant as to carry on with her lover in Winterfell, a castle of another Lord Paramount? I wonder though if all of her children are illegitimate. It says here that Joffrey is, but doesn't hint at the other two."

Catelyn waved that off. "We know that my husband and Ranma both had come to care for 'Tommy', and Myrcella is but a little girl." Though perhaps a young woman by this point. "You know your brother would not wish to denigrate the memory of someone he cared for, nor Myrcella if he started to see her as a surrogate sister as the messages from King's Landing said." She still had every one of those messages and kept them in a small wooden box in her room. The whole family read each one again and again in the intervening months between messages.

Arya however scowled, then determinately shook her bad humor off. In the last message that Ranma had written part of he had hinted at the fact that he would much rather see Tommen marry Arya rather than Sansa marry Joffrey. It had been done in a joking manner but it'd still riled her up.

Easily able to discern what Arya was thinking Catelyn smirked at her daughter's constipated expression, shaking her head. "That would've actually been a good match I think. I think you would've been happy with him Arya, though I doubt you would have been happy as queen if he had been named heir over Joffrey."

"I have no doubts about that at all." Arya muttered shaking her head, the accompanying shiver a show of what Arya thought of that idea. She looked over a Jon then back to her mother. "So what are we going to do?"

Catelyn frowned looking over at Rodrick, whose face was set in stone. They both knew the same thing that Jon had realized; if Ranma hadn't mentioned the guardsmen that probably meant they were dead. "I can summon the Lords in my husband's name, though only a few would be able to get here before Ranma and his party arrive if they need to bring their hosts."

"I don't think we should ask them to do so, tell them to call their armsmen up, but we can't afford to send all our remaining forces south, not with what's been going on at the Wall. The force we send will be something we will need to discuss with the lords when they arrive." Jon allowed a small smile to appear on his face, looking over at Bran. "But it will be easier at least for some of them to get here than I bet even Ranma realizes. And it will be easier to armor them here as well."

At that Catelyn smiled proudly at her younger son. Bran flushed under their gazes, and even more when Arya slapped him on the back, but it was a fact that Bran's ingenuity had made a massive impact on two projects that in turn had impacted life in Winterfell, possibly for good.

The ongoing projects to prepare the White Knife to make the river a transportation hub had continued apace over the last few months, with every House whose land it crossed pitching in as well as they could. At this point barges could use large stretches of the river not only on its nearest approaches to Winterfell but even further north to its origin in Long Lake. The entire stretch from White Harbor north until the river forked where one half continued into the wolfswood moving past castle Cerwyn, and the other travelling further north to the Long lake, its nearest point within four days cart travel of Winterfell, was useable for barges. There were still stretches of rapids and of course dozens of small waterfalls, but many of them were marked and had winches in place to help barges up or down them.

This already had a massive effect on their ability to ship goods, most particularly in conjunction with another of Bran's creations, fed by Hathan's discovery on his new holding's land. His holding was near the edge of Stark lands, right on the White knife, and his find had made the small Shieldarm holdfast a very important one. Iron was always in heavy demand, especially in times like these, and an easy to work vein such as his find was an amazing find. But it was Bran's ingenuity that made that iron worth even more.

Even here in the main keep's hall you could hear the bellow of the furnace outside that Bran had helped design and the clamor of blacksmiths as they worked the steel coming out of it. In another universe the furnace that Bran had created would be called a double puddling furnace. There it was one of the first ways found to create large amounts of iron or smaller amounts of steel, and here it served the same purpose.

Bran had been very interested in the work Jon, Ranma and Mikken had put into creating Arya's sword. He had talked to the blacksmith about the process to create a blade, how steel wasn't a single ore, something found naturally in nature, and what other ores had to be added to produce good sword steel, what on Earth would be called carbon steel, and the difference between that and the steel that made the best armor. They both had several things in common, the need for coal to be added to add carbon to the steel, and for the iron of the steel to be heated in a continuous manner.

With the help of the original Bran the Builder's notes, Bran had come up with the design for a massive furnace that could, with the right ingredients, create true steel in huge amounts with far less in terms of manpower. Now besides Mikken there were two dozen blacksmiths and their apprentices working with it to create armor, swords, arrow heads, and pike and lance heads.

Iron, coke and coal flowed into Winterfell down the White Knife or from elsewhere on Stark lands, and weapons and shipments of raw steel flowed further down the White Knife to White Harbor. But the main work was being done here in Winterfell. The same hot springs that kept Winterfell warm gave them both steam to use to power the air pumped through the furnace, and the water used to cool the steel being worked by the blacksmiths.

Needless to say this was a major force multiplier, in its own way just as important as Ranma, Eddard and Jon's pushing the teamwork training of the armsmen. Many of the houses minor in the North, and even one or two of the noble houses, still armed their armsmen with bronze or iron weapons. And even the Starks and more powerful houses couldn't armor the majority of their armsmen in more than hardened leather. Thanks to Bran, given enough time they could arm and armor every armsmen in the North

Rodrick joined the discussion for the first time, his voice gruffer than normal, preparing for the grief to come. "I would recommend that each of the northern Lords only bring about two hundred or so for the more powerful noble houses. That is enough for them to have representation, but not enough so they would be hindered on the road. Lord Stark can ask for more men to be sent when he arrives"

"House Glover should be informed and send a representative but not a portion of their forces." Jon said, nodding at Rodrick.

He and Catelyn shared a look, and both of them nodded minutely. Neither of them trusted the Ironborn further than they could throw Winterfell. The fact that Lord Stark had trusted them to honor their agreement thanks to Theon being a hostage was an example of him believing that other people were as honorable as he was. He never understood that such an idea was laughable.

Theon himself had proven trustworthy even to Jon as one of the wolfsworn, but the rest of the Ironborn? No, they were vultures, and would take the opportunity of all this chaos to strike at where they could. The North could not afford to appear to be an easy target for them, which meant House Glover, House Flint of Flint's Finger, and to a lesser extent House Ryswell would need to keep their strength at home.

"Very well, let's go with that for now." Catelyn said decisively already preparing going through the messages to be sent off. Hornwood, Cerwyn, Glover and Dustin are close enough that horse sent messengers would be able to reach them, carrying, letting the ravens be used for the more distant noble houses, and Catelyn would personally pen the message for Lord Cerwyn that evening. Being the closest Lord he would be able to get here the fastest, and would be able to call his men up faster for this and other reasons

She frowned as a sudden thought occurred to her. "The two Reed siblings are still here, they should have returned long ago but I think we need to send them home now. I'll send a message with them for their father. We'll want the Neck as prepared as possible ready for an invasion."

Jon nodded. "Only a fool or someone who really doesn't know anything about Westeros would try to assault Moat Cailin, but it is best to be prepared. We should also send word to the mountain clans, I feel certain their chiefs should be a part of this war council."

"Good." Catelyn nodded, carefully not noting Bran's look of relief at not having Jojen around any longer. "Arya, if you could go and get my writing implements, I'll need them in a moment. Measter Luwin, I would like to speak to you and the majordomo to make certain our supplies have enough reserve for a large amount of guests." Rodrick, Luwin and the others all nodded and correctly realizing this was a dismissal stood up bowing to Lady Stark before exiting the room.

As the doors closed behind them, Jon looked over at Arya who still looked miffed at the idea of her friend being sent off. She hadn't cared much for Jojen, but Meera was fun. It was always nice to have another tomboy around as Ranma had sometimes called her. "Arya, I'll want you to step up your training. I have no idea what Ranma will want to do with you personally when he arrives, but I think we both know it'll be something that will make our mother irritable."

Arya grinned at that nodding eagerly. Indeed, Jon had thoughts of his own about Arya, but it would have to wait until more of the wolfsworn were gathered to do anything about them. One thing was certain though, given her general attitude Arya would never allow herself to remain behind if Jon and Ranma went to war. It was something they would have to plan for.

With that Arya scampered off to do her mother's bidding and get her writing tools while Jon walked on, until he found a murder hole overlooking the training area and the Keep's square. Below him there were hundreds of men practicing, men armed with long pikes and shields, working in formation along with a few men with swords and others with bows and arrows. Everywhere organization and working together was being drilled into these men, and at the sight Jon smirked proudly. We've been preparing for this for months. We're ready, let the southerners play their foolish games, let the Lannisters make their power grab and the other houses war with one another. Whatever else happens, we are ready. The North will rise!

OOOOOOO

Later that evening Meera and Jojen Reed were led into Catelyn's rooms by a servant. Catelyn was sitting at a small desk, writing up a missive for the Lords Umber and Karstark, both of whom needed special yet very different handling. She looked up with a smile at them both, though it did not match the grim look in her eyes. "Please, have a seat."

Over the next few minutes Catelyn explained what was going on and then said simply. "Because of this, I'm sending you home. You should be with your family in this dangerous time, and you can carry a message for your father for me. We'll also be sending a hundred archers with you, to help reinforce Moat Cailin."

Both of the Reeds stiffened at that. Meera looked at Jojen for a moment her head cocked to one side. Catelyn noticed the look, but didn't care to figure out what was going on there.

In point of fact she really didn't understand why the two of them had stayed in Winterfell for so long. Whenever she had brought it up before one or the other would always put it off by saying their father wanted them to bond with the Stark siblings. But this was really no reason for them to have stayed so long. And while Meera had made herself a place here as a hunter and a friend for Arya, the same could not be said of Jojen.

She had heard rumors of the servants having overheard odd conversations almost arguments between Bran and Jojen. The boy was certainly strange, and unlike his sibling hadn't volunteered to work on anything, or even try to fit in. Catelyn had seen the boy following Bran around at times. The look in Jojen's eye when he saw Catelyn's babe a time or two had been distinctly odd as well, almost as if he was seeing something he did not believe, a very odd look indeed.

For a moment Jojen merely stared ahead, not at Catelyn but over her shoulder, then he seemed to sag slightly, before shaking his head. "The builder has won, the wolves are coming home when only one should have, and a dragon is coming as well. Nothing is clear anymore, my sight is blinded."

With that simple statement he turned and left without even asking leave to go. Catelyn's eyebrows rose at this snub as well as the mention of a dragon since she hadn't mentioned the Stormborn mentioned in the letter. She looked over at Meera with her eyes narrowed. Meera shrugged her shoulders and tried to apologize for her sibling though she did not mention the fact that he had visions, something she knew most would not believe. Without that Jojen did seem to simply be an odd young boy.

The two siblings left the next day with the archer for Moat Cailin. Bran stood watching them go from a window, a sense of relief feeling him as he watched Jojen ride off. He sighed to himself shaking his head. Whatever else I might become, my place is here with my family now. Whatever it actually is, the three eyed crow will just have to wait.

OOOOOOO

Margaery stood with her family as she watched Lord Renly Baratheon be led into the hall by her brother Loras. The two of them had ridden from King's Landing to Bitterbridge, killing several horse each, before taking to a boat there down the Mander to Highgarden. From Bitterbridge Renly had sent out messengers and ravens into the Stormlands, and they were already getting reports of the lords nearest the Stormlands borders rallying their troops at castle Fawnton. From there it was presumed they would join forces with the Reach's army, an assumption Margaery, for entirely personal reasons, wished was false, but knew alas to be true since Olenna had already decided what House Tyrell would do:

Flashback:

"Hah, Cersei's let her arrogance show, offering her son's hand without any other concessions. She doesn't seem to realize how tenuous her position is." Olenna scoffed, tossing down the raven carried message from the crown. "So, according to her, the Starks tried to make a grab for the throne as soon as Robert was dead, either as part of a plot with House Targaryen or for their own gain. What say you to that daughter?"

"I would say that it is a very neat lie, since it can't be disproven. I also note that the message doesn't say what happened to Lord Stark, or if Ranma has returned." Margaery said, frowning heavily. Of course if Ranma had, I doubt Cersei would be in any position to write such a message at all.

Margaery sighed sadly, trying to work things out in her mind, and coming up with a theory. They had learned of Tommen's death several weeks back, and she felt that might be the catalyst for this. "I think the king's death and Tommen's were interconnected. I think Lord Stark and the king had decided to name Tommen the heir over Joffrey. Certainly the king was closer to him than either of the other children. So someone, possibly fearing the Stark's influence over the boy, had him murdered."

"You've said so before daughter and why you think Tyene Sand wasn't the one behind it, get to the point." Mace growled.

Margaery sighed. She had liked the young boy, even felt he had the makings of a decent king, and grieved his death. But her family was uncaring of that save Loras, who probably felt as she did. "I was getting to it father. I think that Eddard and Ranma later concluded that Joffrey was unsuitable. I've passed on some of the rumors about him, so maybe one of them had some basis in fact. Whatever the case, this became known to either the queen herself or other Lannister supporters, and they, in an effort to keep their chosen heir on the throne… took steps."

"Hmmpf, from all accounts Cersei has never been one to let anyone slight her. That sounds plausible." Olenna replied. "And so it became open conflict, with the northern wolves running away with their collective tails between their legs! There's no fool so foolish as an honorable one!"

Willas spoke up from where he was grooming one of his massive hunting hounds. The beast, a gravid bitch, stood docilely as he worked over her coat. "The North will march, such an affront to the honor of their Lord Paramount is something they will never condone."

"Bah, Eddard's no doubt dead or crippled in the fighting, that's the only explanation for his forces to retreat like that, and the Stark boy as well." Margaery scowled at that, but her grandmother rapped her hard on the knuckles. "Enough of that daughter, regardless of your own feelings on the matter, there's no doubt he died somewhere on this wild dragon chase. Without either Stark or his oldest boy the North lacks a rallying force. The Stark bastard certainly won't be able to."

Margaery wasn't certain of that, not after hearing how Ranma and even Sansa talked about Jon Snow. Nor was she sanguine about Olenna's belief in Ranma's possible death, but there at least Margaery knew she was too close to him to make an objective analysis.

Before she could speak however, though what she would have said Margaery didn't know, Willas replied, his voice still calm and thoughtful. "Brynden Tully is a survivor, and for any of the Stark men to escape someone must have led them in a retreat, which I understand is a most difficult task. Even if Eddard is dead, and we have no evidence of that, Brynden could stand as his niece's general to avenge him and her son."

Mace shook his head. "The North's population is too small to matter and too spread out, especially embroiled as they are on the Wall. Where is Renly and Loras in all this though?"

That question was answered several days later by another raven arriving from Bitterbridge. When it arrived, bringing with it both the real reason behind the conflict and Renly's assumption of the throne, Olenna had laughed, looking over at Margaery while Mace and Willas were still working through the ramifications of it. "I see we'll be putting a crown on your head sooner than I thought my dear!"

Flashback end

With that, Margaery's fate had been sealed. In exchange for their agreeing to help Renly secure the throne against the Lannisters, he was to wed Margaery binding House Tyrell to the royal family by blood, along with several concessions in trade laws and other areas. It was a good plan, it made a world of sense for both parties, and Margaery loathed it.

The thing was that while she and Ranma had not been in love, he had certainly been growing on her, and she had a few… tawdry dreams about their marriage after so many days spent watching Ranma practice with Tommen. Love no, not yet, but respect, friendship and a healthy smattering of lust, yes. She also knew Renly's preferences, and that any marriage to him would never bear fruit. Unless she invited Loras into bed with them, or got Renly drunk enough to overlook the fact she was a woman.

Margaery also realized when she looked at Renly Baratheon, resplendent in the finest clothing he could buy for this event, that she had indeed spent too much time around the Northerners. When she looked at his magnificent clothing and courtly bearing, she didn't see the perfect image of a noble lord. Instead she saw someone who had decided that taking the time to primp himself and prepare clothing was more important than getting down to the business of planning what looked to becoming a full scale war. What she saw was a man who had decided to run rather than take a chance, to do the honorable thing and stay and fight.

This new attitude even colored Margaery's opinion of her brother. She knew Loras was an excellent swordsman and all around knight but instead of standing up against the Queen's treason with Lord Stark, he had followed Renly's command and ran away.

None of this showed on Margaery's face however. She moved through the prepared panoply of the welcoming ceremony and the formal betrothal with the ease of long practice with such formal pageants. It was only when they were taking one of the prescribed, 'getting to know you' walks around the grounds of High Garden that she let her emotions out.

The two of them were followed by Loras and one of Margaery's maids as chaperone. Normally Nysteria would have been there as well, but she had been called down into the city to aid in a difficult birth. Yet even if she had been there, Margaery probably would still have said what she did.

Margaery's voice came out as coldly contemptuous as she could make it. "So, Loras, Lord Baratheon, I have to ask, how does it feel to know you ran out on your allies? That you betrayed their trust to save your own skins?"

Behind them Loras flinched at his sister's tone and at her words. To be honest he had wondered the same thing after they had fled the city, but in the end had decided his love of Renly mattered more than aiding Lord Stark, whatever the upside. It still bothered him however.

Renly on the other hand took Margaery's words with aplomb, smiling faintly at her controlled outburst. "While I would not say I was friends with Lord Stark, he was an ally, and it was not a simple decision to leave him behind. But it was a decision I had to make. The numbers in the city were simply against us, milady. Oh I do not doubt that your brother, my men and his would have sold themselves dear, but that is all they would have been able to do. It would have simply been throwing good coins after bad, so to speak."

"And what about honor or loyalty, are those just words to you?" Margaery asked, looking at him with a small sneer on her beautiful face.

"Certainly they are not, but my duty is to my people, to the throne that Cersei has despoiled with her treason. I cannot meet my obligations to those if I died with the Starks." Renly replied, still calm, almost amused at Margaery's assault. "I think that your closeness to Ranma Stark is clouding your judgment lady, the father was not the warrior the son was. Make no mistake, if we had stayed, the outcome would not have changed."

"And do you think those excuses will matter to the Starks? I wonder what Ranma will think when he returns."

"If he returns lady." Renly said, though he was frowning now.

"When he returns." Margaery replied, with no doubt in her voice. "The man who slaughtered the Mountain like he was a babe-in-arms will not die easily, either by treachery or main force. And when he does, both you and my family now will pay a price for your actions."

"Perhaps it is as you say milady. For my part I will worry about Ranma returning when we see evidence of that return, and as for his family and the rest of the Northerners." Renly shrugged. "They would be fools indeed to come south past the defenses of Moat Cailin. Now, I believe we are expected back soon."

With that he took her hand, and led Margaery back into the castle. Margaery didn't resist, she had said her piece and she was powerless to change what was going to happen soon. Luckily she would have a few months to get used to the idea of marrying Renly, since it had been decided that their marriage would happen at Bitterbridge once the full combined army was assembled.

Maybe by that point Renly will have discovered he can actually perform with a woman after all. She thought harshly, not letting her feelings show on her face with the ease of long practice.

Nearby Willas pushed himself away from a shadowed tree in the garden with a frown. He hadn't decided yet what he felt about Renly, oh, he liked him well enough, but was he really king material? There seemed to be a softness to him, an eagerness to talk, but not to do. If Renly had the military aptitude that Robert had been famed for he might have already struck at King's Landing with the Stormlands forces on the border between them and the Crownlands. Instead he was building up a large enough army to simply crush any other army that got in their way. The safe bet rather than the quick yet risky one.

Willas was not like his grandmother, he understood there was more than politics or family influence in the world. Nor was he like his father, Loras or even Garlan in that he knew knights and the cavalry charge were not the only things that mattered in war. Willas was slow, methodical, and reserved. He didn't know if Renly would prove himself however, so he would keep his own council for now.

What the Tyrell heir did know were animals. He was known as one of the best breeders and trainers of animals in all Westeros. His horses were highly prized both for their beauty as well as their intelligence and strength. His hunting dogs and even hawks were also highly prized, both for their strength and their durability.

Because of that he knew something about wolves. He had studied them, and had even painstakingly, with many fits and starts, added a strain from a wolf pack to his hounds to add to their sense of hearing and endurance. They were survivors, dangerous and much more intelligent in their own way than humans gave them credit for. A united pack was something to be feared by even giant mountain bears, and they were able to live through wounds that would kill a hound of equal weight, something he had not been able to breed into his own dogs.

So Willas added those observations to the absolute certainty in Margaery's stance, along with the knowledge of what Ranma had done to the Mountain and how good Eddard had proved as a general in Robert's Rebellion. With all that combined, Willas was worried that maybe his family was underestimating House Stark. In which case, winning our way back into their good graces in some fashion might be necessary…

OOOOOOO

Daenerys shivered, standing near the front of the boat with Ranma's arms around her waist leaning back against his warm chest. A single fur coat covered both of them, with only her head appearing out of it given the difference in their height. "I've never been cold before." She said, shaking her head, her hair rustling against his shirt, silk despite the colder air. Ranma didn't seem to care about weather, another thing she had added to the list of things that made him so unusual. "At least not like this, I've been cold at night, yes. That occurred many times when my brother and I were wandering Essos. But not like this, not so bone-chillingly freezing like this. I hope that it doesn't bother my little ones."

While others were moving their armies or otherwise preparing for the coming war, the Fish's Scales had been sailing for a little over a month since leaving King's Landing. Now the Paps were well behind them and they were into the Bite, which Daenerys felt was very aptly named considering she felt the wind was trying to bite her face off. The sail master said they had another ten days or so of good conditions before they were within sight of White Harbor.

"I think they've found a way to beat the cold milady." Ranma chuckled looking over to where the two draklings were buried under Fenris. Daenerys had kept them inside the ship since it had started to become cold out, but today they had forced her to let them out for some flying exercise. Daenerys had walked them through about twenty minutes of flying practice, directing them up to the crow's nest (cleared of the lookout for now) and back down twice. But evidently the cold didn't agree with them. After finishing the second flight they had immediately tried to burrow under Fenris, something they could still do despite their growth. Now only their snouts were visible from underneath his bulk to the direwolf's great amusement.

Fenris on the other hand had been ecstatic at the change in weather. The cold felt good, and it also meant that they would be coming to the end of this interminable journey. While not exactly claustrophobic Fenris was a direwolf after all, used to having room to roam and hadn't been able to hunt for nearly three months now.

"My little sister hasn't seems to have missed it either." Ranma said hugging Daenerys even tighter around the waist as his head to rest his chin on her hair, breathing in the mix of the cold biting air and whatever it was she put in her hair. How Alayaya had come up with any sort of soap for any of the girls he didn't know, let alone what she had done to make them all smell different. Such things were a mystery best left unsolved. Daenerys smelled of fruits he couldn't name, a hint of ash and burning, and something else some smell that was totally her. "What about you, are you cold? We can go below if you want."

The Targaryen princess smiled, leaning back against Ranma's chest as they watched the wake of the ship staring out over the Bite. In the distance Daenerys could see several large bits of ice floating along. There weren't many, but there would be more the further north they went. "As long as I have you here to keep me warm your highness, the cold will never bother me."

Ranma winced at her word choice, which she had chosen with malice aforethought. The two of them had talked about their overall plans for the future, but they couldn't make very detailed ones at this point, not for most of it anyway. In the long term they had a plan for the war, and Daenerys would cheerfully allow Ranma to control the whole overall campaign, but a plan for their own long term goals besides that? Daenerys had made no bones about what she wanted, but Ranma had avoided saying anything along those lines.

Now he sighed, pulling back enough so she could turn around and face him while still remaining covered in the coat. "I would be much happier to simply be Lord Paramount of the North and remain in Winterfell if I could."

"I know that my poor, humble man." Daenerys laughed quietly, nuzzling into his chest for a moment before taking his invitation, turning around in the cloak's environs. It didn't look the most dignified way to have a discussion, but it would do for the two of them. "And I think that actually speaks better of you. But we still must take it. The alternatives are far poorer, not just for the North or for your family, but for all of Westeros. Stannis has proven himself an enemy of your house and of me personally at the very least, and those shadow fiends do not speak well of whatever allies he has been able to procure."

"And Renly and House Tyrell have proven themselves to not have enough backbone, and the others are even worse." Ranma said, shaking his head as they began to reiterate previous conversations. They had talked of the other noble houses, and Viserys, fearing what could be happening with her brother and with the Princess of Dorne. What those two would do was up in the air, but it would probably not be good for the rest of Westeros. Arianne had not, to put it mildly, impressed Ranma with her moral character or her understanding of what war was really like, so the idea of her acting as a stopper on Viserys' ambition was unlikely.

So yes, Ranma would probably be forced to try for the throne himself with Daenerys at his side, particularly with the Lannisters being in many ways the strongest of their opponents, and the ones who had started the war. Regardless of what else happened, the Lannister name would only be mentioned in the history books after the war. Ranma meant to break their power forever, one way or the other.

"Have I mentioned lately how amazing you are?" Ranma murmured, seemingly going off topic. "That plan you thought up for Tyrion, that's just a magnificent example of killing two birds with one arrow."

"Really, it seemed a natural progression to me given what you told me about the Imp. As well as what he is supposed to be doing on the Wall." She frowned shaking her head. "The Night's Watch must change, and this will be a wedge to do that. We need to solidify that front permanently, especially given what else is coming from that direction."

With a sudden move, Daenerys grabbed the end of the coat, pulling it off Ranma and stepping away with it now wrapped only around her own body with a laugh. "And you, Ranma Stark have tried to dodge the issue for the last time." After a second she shook her head, shivering slightly, but wanting to make a point here. She went on more seriously, her violet eyes locked on Ranma's ocean blue ones. "We both know the choice you will make, but I would have you say the words."

"I know." He sighed then shook his head, then decided to shock Daenerys in turn. "The iron throne is dead." He said blandly looking at her face closely. Daenerys's eyes widened, but then narrowed in thought. Seeing her not react as negatively as he had feared (or hoped at the moment) Ranma went on. "Your family may have created it as a symbol of unity, but you created it through conquest, through blood and fire. Your family retained control of it through similar the power of your dragons and your armies, and Robert took it using that same coin. You can never wash the Iron Throne clean of it, we'll need to start entirely over."

Daenerys smiled at the 'we' bit there and nodded thoughtfully. "Some new symbol of unity, rather than relying on the old one, which has come to be a symbol of brute force, with no real power beyond 'to the mighty go the spoils?' Yes, that makes sense."

Ranma nodded, grateful that she had agreed. He already had some ideas in that area, ways to unite and bring together the noble houses, based off the idea of the wolfsworn written large, and he suspected Daenerys had some ideas as to a proper symbol.

Moving forward, Daenerys sighed as she covered them both with the coat once more, relieved when she felt the heat or Ranma's body against her clothing through his silk shirt and her leather jerkin. "I know that it is a difficult thing to contemplate, but, when we join together formally, it will signal to everyone our intentions, and you need to be ready for it."

Ranma chuckled at her word choice there,. "I understand, and while i would not wish to be king, i will take burden." then he gasped smacking his forehead in affected shock. "But you know, we're forgetting something, something about that whole formal thing. A certain step we seem to not actually done yet." Daenerys looked up at him quizzically, and he pulled back slightly to look into her eyes, his voice becoming husky and deep. "Daenerys Targaryen, Avy jorrāelan. Ao ynoma dīnilūks?" What he had said in high Valyrian was 'I love you. Will you marry me?'

Ranma had decided he wanted to formally propose to Daenerys, something he had always felt was extremely romantic, and which was not part of normal courtship in this time and age. So he had gone to Domeric and his father, and practiced a few words thinking that saying it in high Valyrian would have greater impact.

Which they had. Daenerys' eyes widened at the flowing Valyrian words, and they began to tear up as the meaning of those words hit her. For a moment she just stood there, still leaning against him, then she nearly shouted her response. "Kessa avy dīnilūks, Avy jorrāelan Ranma Stark!"

She leaped up lightly, her arms going around his neck as her lips sought his. At first both of them wanted to keep the kiss chaste, since they were not yet married and there were certain conventions that had to be followed.

However the moment their lips touched, and Ranma's arms went around her, their passion erupted. Ranma growled into the kiss, his lips opening, tongue tapping at Daenerys' lips, demanding entry.

Daenerys responded by growling in response, her sound more draconic, slightly more of a thrumming sound than a rumble, but just as primal. Her own mouth opened, and their tongues began to fight furiously, moving from one mouth to another. Her hands tightened on the back of his neck, drawing Ranma down, further into the kiss, while his hands moved down her back to grip her tight rear.

Thankfully for propriety's sake, they were not alone. This declaration of love, though occurring in an unknown tongue the body language was easy to read, had been witnessed by several of the armsmen aboard the ship, and Myrcella as well. She had come out to get a breath of fresh air, and seen the two of them. Sansa and Alayaya were more than happy to sit in their room around the brazier and try to forget they were going north into more cold, but Myrcella had fond memories of her time in the North, and the cold was making her remember them. They were bittersweet now with Tommy's death, but still precious, and she had come up to enjoy them alone.

Surprisingly Merry didn't feel much jealousy at the show the two lovebirds were unknowingly putting on. The chemistry between the two was obvious to see, and it wasn't like Ranma had distanced himself from her either. She knew deep down that she wasn't mature enough in body yet to interest him, but it was clear he respected her mind, he wasn't just acting that way because he saw her as a sister, but as a dear friend. It was amazing how empowering his respect was really.

Worse, she had come to like the Targaryen princess too. Oh, she still wished she was in Daenerys' place, but she wasn't egotistical enough to think she could take her place. Besides, the match between them made good sense, and she knew Alayaya had been right all those days ago, she and Ranma could never marry. Of course, a wicked part of her brain said, that doesn't rule out… more unusual unions, does it?

Myrcella ignored that little voice for now, it would just get her into trouble otherwise, and she had two people to embarrass the Mother out of right now. "Congratulations!" She shouted in a loud voice, startling the two almost-lovers apart. "It's about time you two made it official!" Her voice seemed to open the floodgates and all the nearby sailors, even the ones up the rigging at present joined in congratulating the duo.

The two tried to spring apart, but were hampered by still sharing the fur coat, and nearly fell to the ground as they tried to put some distance from one another as the crew and Merry laughed at them.

The fun was interrupted by a call from the lookout up on his perch in the crow's nest. "Sail Ho! Small sail off the port bow aft!" that made all the sailors nervous, since they hadn't yet reached the shipping normally used shipping lanes, the sail master having tried to cut off as much of the Bite as possible, cutting his course closer first to the Pebble then eventually to the Three Sisters than most were willing to do. And if it had been a caravel or a galley, the lookout wouldn't have specified small sail.

"'At's a smugglers sloop," the Sail master, an older grizzled man covered with tattoos said, spitting to one side. "Probably out of the Three Sisters. I'd thought they'd let us alone since were flying the flag of house Manderly. The last time they tried to rid one of my lord's vessels we sent back the heads of all those involved, and threatened to burn out their ports."

Ranma frowned angrily. "I wonder if someone sent word to them about us. This seems too much for it to be random." The Sail master nodded, and the two remained there watching the sail until it got too dark out for them to see it.

For the next few days there was always a sloop shadowing them while the Fish's Scales sailed on, just barely within sight, but always there. It made the crew very nervous, they knew how understrength they were. Ranma took their mind away from it by drilling with all of them, both one at a time and in groups, as he had been doing for much of the voyage only much harder, running them into the ground. He'd decided to trust the sail master's prognosis, about the ship following them, or ships whatever the case may be, having come from the Three Sisters, which meant they would wait until the Fish's Scales came closer to those benighted islands before jumping them.

The moment that a small sliver of land was sighted, indicating that they were coming near one of the Sisters he stopped the practices. He then gave the men the rest of the day off except for their sailing duties, and ordered their rations doubled for the remainder of the journey, to better keep their energy up.

He was so busy with the men he hadn't taken time to be around Daenerys or the others. He was unsurprised however to discover that Myrcella had once again taken control of the other girls and several of the walking wounded, those without a working arm or other injuries that kept them from their duties. With their help she had prepared a portion of the crew quarters to act as a hospital area.

Daenerys had been busy in her own way as well, exercising personally with Ranma, but also forcing her two little ones to continue their flight exercises despite the cold. They would take breaks curling up around a brazier between each flight up to the crow's nest and back down to keep warm, and she was always communicating mentally with some throughout the exercises. She was continually controlling, directing, often times even explaining to the little ones that their fires might be needed soon. That idea seems to excite the draklings, but the cold was hindering their mental facilities, which weren't exactly pronounced just yet in the first place. Yes they were smarter than Daenerys had expected, but that wasn't saying much.

On the second morning after that initial sighting of land on the southern horizon, the look out once more shouted that a sail had been spotted as usual. Then a second later the now mundane report changed, the man in the crow's nest shouting it out at the top of his lungs. "Multiple sails, multiple small sales off the port bow!"

Ranma quickly joined the sail master up in the rigging, looking out over the incoming ships, his breakfast forgotten on a handy barrel below them. "It looks like you were right." He murmured to the older man, who laughed grimly.

"I wish I were wrong lad." He said, spitting to the side. "Even with you and the dragons, this is going to be one hell of a hard fight."

Coming towards them were over a dozen small sloops, each not more than fifty feet long, and with barely enough room across for five men to stand abreast. Their sails were small looking, mobile, but it was obvious they were only there for small movements, the oars sticking out of their sides was what really drove those ships. As Ranma watched, they switched over entirely from sails to rows, streaking through the water toward Fish's Scales as fast as they could from both the port and from directly in front of their route. They were so spread out now the galley had no chance of evading them all.

By this point the crew had finished readying themselves for battle. Leaping down, Ranma grabbed up the large bow that he had commandeered. It had the heaviest draw he could make it, but even so it was almost flimsy in his hands.

As the ships closed, Ranma began to fire at one ship in particular, one that seemed to have better armored and armed people on board, if the glint of gold and silver was anything to go by. His first target was the man who was at the front of the ship. His back was turned to their target while he extorted his men to greater efforts on their oars.

Ranma loosed, and between one word and the next he fell forward with a scream, Ranma's arrow having taken the man straight in the back, punching through his armor even at this distance thanks to Ranma's strength. The rest of the men on that ship seemed to gape for a moment, and by the time they had recovered, two more men died under his arrows.

While Ranma was attacking that ship, the rest continued on, but then a few of them faltered, the men in them pointing up into the sky. Daenerys had come out on deck at the first shout, and with her, came her two little ones. Both of them had grown to the point where they could no longer rest comfortably on her shoulders, looking almost like small to medium-sized dogs next to her, and they were not nearly as graceful getting into the air from the ground as they had been from her shoulders.

But they could still fly, and no matter that dragons had not been seen alive in living memory, any idiot could tell you what they were. At the site four of the ships turned around entirely, heading back the way they came. The others came on however.

Now standing next to Ranma, Daenerys closed her eyes, concentrating on the link between her, Rhaegon and Sunfyre, directing them into an attack on one of the ships that was still heading their way. Even before they attacked she could tell they both getting a little tired. In response she only allowed them to shoot out a single stream of flame each at the ship before ordering them to come back. Even so, they had barely reached the ship before they collapsed onto the deck exhausted despite the days of exercising.

That ship however was no longer advancing. While their flames hadn't improved much yet, those little fire attacks had immolated two men, and they were running around screaming while their fellows tried to push them overboard. Several of the men packed together on the sloop had been set alight, their clothing igniting like thee sail above them. As the burn victims ran around trying to get their fellows to help, they were subsequently pushed into the sea. Only one of them had died, but with that and the fact the ship's sail was also on fire that ship decided that that was enough, and turned away joining the fellows who had already retreated.

Ranma paused in his own assault to nod at Daenerys. "Good job, but keep Rhaegon and Sunfyre close for now. Head to the back of the ship, and see if you can hit any of the ships that try to circle around that way. Don't send them out to far though."

"Teach your grandmother to suck eggs!" Daenerys barked back at him, already kneeling by her dragons, caressing their heads and holding out small goblets of food, while sending feelings of encouragement, pride and love down their link. She lifted them with difficulty in her arms as they began to eat, already heading aft. "I know how to best utilize my little ones thank you, you just take care of your own targets."

Ranma laughed not taking her tone or words seriously but his eyes were cold as he turned back to the oncoming vessels of which there were still seven, all of them packed from end to end with men. All told they had her to be have at least four to five hundred men spread out over them, and he only had something like 52 armsmen to meet them.

By this point however, several of the ships were close enough for the rest of the crew to take them under fire. While only a few men among them were trained archers, thanks to their losses they had been able to put a bow in one out of every three pairs of hands.

What they couldn't do with aiming, they made up for in numbers. Concentrating as Ranma had on one ship, with the few remaining fire arrows mixed in with other types, cutting down several dozen men even as the fire arrows did their work.

"Sail ho!" said the man up in the crow's nest. "Two sails, both galley type coming from forward starboard."

Ranma groaned aloud, wondering what the hell was going on now even as he put an arrow in another man's eye. His ship was still coming on though why that was he didn't know, but they were. After a moment however the look-out continued, this time sounding jubilant. "Galleys, naval galleys flying the colors of House Manderly!"

The men all cheered, and Ranma let out a whoop. "You hear that boys, all we need to do is hold them, helps on the way!" He was answered with a roar, and Ranma grinned, dropping the bow and picking up Ice.

The attacking ships were now close enough to throw over grapnels, and unlike in the last battle, this group had enough ships to spread out around the larger vessel trying to attack from all sides and spread the defenders out. Daenerys stopped that, her dragons attacking the two ships that tried to get around the aft of the Manderly ship. When grapnels began to fall around her she called back her dragons, and the three of them cut or bit through the ropes trying to tie to the aft of the shift.

Fenris and the rest of the men did the same along the port side, and several men were hit by arrows from the pirates, who were trying desperately to protect those ropes so their fellows could climb up. The smuggler's sloops were much smaller than the Fish's Scales, which meant the men had to climb up the ropes, and they were very vulnerable as they did, so the archers were trying their best. But thanks to Fenris and the men attacking the ropes, they weren't getting anywhere.

Up front Ranma allowed the grapnels to bite in. So Ranma let them come up, then cut the ropes all around him at near Amiguriken speeds, Ice slicing through the ropes easily. Dozens of men fell back onto their fellow, into the freezing ocean or onto their ships bulwarks with bone breaking force.

The assault continued for another twenty minutes with no real change. If the pirates still had their full complement of ships, they could have overwhelmed the defense with sheer numbers of grapnels, or pushed it back with their own arrow assault, but not anymore.

The retreating ships had taken that advantage away from them, and now they were too embroiled in the assault to get away when the two navy ships got within ballista range. Before the embattled pirates realized they were there a shot from one of the navy galley's ballista smashed into the back of one of the sloops attacking the fore of the Fish's Scales. The shot was tough, but it killed several smugglers before slamming into and through the bottom of the ship, holing it.

That target quickly began sinking, and the men on it tried to scramble into their fellows boats even as those boats tried to turn away. They didn't make it. The two navy galleys moved around the Fish's Scales, taking each sloop under fire from what amounted to knife range for their ballista, so close they couldn't miss, which heightened the hitting power of their massive bolts as well.

It took another twenty minutes, but only one ship at the back was able to even turn away before it too was struck. Ranma looked around, smiling at seeing only five men down with arrow wounds, all of them alive too, and laughed. "Well that was anticlimactic wasn't it?"

Soon enough the two galleys moved to either side of the Fish's Scales, and Ranma used a bullhorn to bellow out their bonafides. His voice, and Fenris at his side was enough to make the captains of the two Manderly galleys believe Ranma was who he said he was, and the ships fell into a guard position, leading the way to White Harbor.

Thankfully that was the last bit of excitement on the voyage, and the rest of their time passed uneventfully, with the Northern shore becoming more and more visible on the starboard bow every day. The ship continued into the large inlet that held White Harbor at its tip, where the White Knife entered the ocean, for another few days, and then White Harbor itself was in view in the distance

One of the galleys left them then, racing forward on oars to inform the city of their arrival. Soon they were able to make out the Sea Rock, the massive stone island that sat in the entrance to the harbor. On top of that fort was a ringfort, full of scorpions, spitfires and even trebuchets, along with a full complement of three hundred armsmen of House Manderly. The colors flying form the fort dipped in response, and as the ship passed under the gaze of the fort cheers could be heard coming from the men up top, so loud they disturbed the seals that routinely rested along the lower edges of the stone.

Daenerys stood with Ranma, Sansa and the others, with Eddard leaning on his son to take his weight off his bad leg. As the sound of cheering reached them, Sansa laughed aloud clapping her hands in glee before grabbing Myrcella and spinning around with her in sheer delight. "We made it, we made it!"

This caused the whole crew to break out into cheers, and for a moment it was all the sail master could do to make certain his men kept on their tasks, as the ship passed the Sea Stone into the outer harbor of the city. It was a stark contrast to the busy but disorganized port at King's Landing. Every ship had a dock, and at present all those ships had been forced to remain there while the Fish's Scales continued on, passing a thirty foot wall that separated the outer and inner harbors. The inner harbor had better anchorage and was protected both by that wall and the ancient holdfast called the Wolf's Den.

Daenerys gripped Ranma's hands tightly as the ship began to maneuver nearer the dock prepared for it, knowing that the next few moments would mark the end of one chapter of her life, and the beginning of the next. Looking up at Ranma however, her worries left her, and she smiled as he looked down at her, his eyes alight with the same delight that had caused Sansa to start dancing. "Welcome to the North, my lady."

End chapter

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I deliberately did not show the creation of the Shadow Warriors. I will show the creation of one in the future, but I want it to be somewhat different from the original. I want it to be sexy and disturbing as fuck, which is a very tough target to hit. Oh, and sorry Gendry fans, but he is dead, on Gendra or whatever in this story. I have other plans for her. And yes, I know the original name was Brotherhood Without Banners, I changed that too.

This chapter is how I will deal with travel times from now on: showing something else going on except for important/funny bits. I have also decided I will not introduce a POV to show the Ironborn until combat is joined. I have never understood what was so interesting about them, let's face it, at bottom they are rapists, reavers, slavers, the worst sort of scum, and their Iron Price and their following their Drowned God is simply a way to justify it all. I realize Asha Greyjoy has something of a following, but I will only be truly kind to her if the writer of the story The Icy Tide comes back and continues to write his story. If not, then she might live, but then she might not. Certainly she will not become a main character. I also never understood why no one was ready for the Ironborn to try to rebel, it seemed obvious to me given their national culture the moment Theon's past was explained. So they will face a Westeros divided, but also ready for them.

This chapter also showed one thing that I have never really done before: that there will be a hierarchy in the pairing. I have tried to make an equal relationship in ATP, and in Warrior's Way and all my other stories, the 'harem' is more of a family, where they all love one another with only an informal hierarchy if that. In this story, Daenerys is most definitely the alpha, with the others below her. They won't join only at her sufferance, but they will only join at her agreement, and that can range from happy to irritated but resigned. Of them all, while Ranma will love the other girls, he will LOVE Daenerys, as his true equal in every way. Hope that makes sense to you all.

Also, Westeros geography is weird, and I would kill for some real travel times from the original. Enough said.

In the next chapter we see what Dacey has been up to, what Hoster Tully has set up, and if Tywin will be having things all his own way as he begins his march into the Riverlands, the North's reaction to Daenerys and the events in the south, and some other stuff as well. Heh. See you then, and as always, please review.