Thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed this story, it means a lot. Thank you.

Nuclear Nero: I really don't think Robb or Margaery would betray Jon. Nor is Robb sexually potent enough to impregnate a woman on the opposite side of the country.

Now, I can't find a description of Westerosi coronation ceremonies anywhere, so (as a Brit myself) I've sort of borrowed from our own coronation ceremonies. But don't worry, it won't tale four days like ours do.

Chapter Forty-One: Long May he Reign

At times like these Jon wished he'd paid more attention to Septon Chayle. Or even attended a service in Winterfell's small sept for sake of not being completely ignorant of Westeros' main faith. As it was, he was kneeling in the Sept of Baelor in front of seven figurines representing the seven gods and letting a man in a high crystal crown strip him to the waist and smudge scented oils on his brow and breast. All the while, the High Septon murmured indistinctly under his breath, no doubt calling upon the gods to witness his moment of utter befuddlement. Better still, he was doing all this in a huge temple stuffed to the rafters with the great and the good of the seven kingdoms.

Every so often, he glanced from the tail of his eye to see what Margaery was doing and just copied her. But when it came to the songs, he was lost and couldn't even pretend he knew the words. Earlier, before the ritual began, he had made the mistake of asking for the High Septon's name, only to be told he was known only as "the One After the Fat One." Either way, he was an ancient, wizened man with a crook back and wisps of grey hair poking from beneath the crystal crown. Whenever he turned his head, the light refracted and changed colour, dancing over the far walls in a way Jon found utterly distracting. Completely encasing the old man's frame where heavy robes embroidered with a cloth of gold seven pointed star. It was all very beautiful, but completely lacking the privacy and intimacy of his own ancient gods.

After what felt an age, the High Septon closed Jon's shirt again and this seemed to bring an end to the first part of his formal coronation. The congregation was already forming up outside to begin the grand procession back to the Red Keep. At the same time, a flotilla of boats would set sail along the Blackwater, local children had been bribed into putting on fancy dress and staging an allegorical play for the new King's benefit, while the adults were being plied with food from the royal kitchens and conduits running with free wine.

A roar of cheers from the crowds greeted him and Margaery as they emerged from the Sept. So many, that Jon couldn't see the back of the crowd. Small children, too small to see anything, had climbed the statue of Baelor the Blessed and clung on with arm wrapped around his leg and waved enthusiastically with the other. Margaery beamed, waving back and prompted him to do the same. In that moment, while stood on those steps, he realised with a painful jolt that this was the same place his father had lost his head, that Sansa had screamed herself unconscious not two feet away, and Arya had seen almost everything from the statue where now the children waved and cheered.

"Can we go now?" he asked, more abruptly than he intended.

Seeming taken aback, Margaery stopped waving for a moment and turned to look up at him. "They only want to see you- "

"It's not that," he protested. "I-it's something else."

"Well then, let's go down there and meet them." She beamed again and linked her arm through his own.

He had been about to resist, but Margaery tightened her grip on his arm and walked him forwards. He could follow or be dragged in her wake. Accordingly, her train bearers, including Sansa, had picked up the train and trotted along behind them. Then, as he approached the common folk of King's Landing, he saw their eyes widen and their faces turning awestruck as they approached and actually talked to them. The Queen's manner was so natural and accepting that she made it look easy, as if she actually knew these people as friends. Although he felt so reticent, he tried to follow her lead.

"Er, thank you for coming everyone," he said, in hope that someone would respond. Margaery was already holding their babies and offering 'seven blessings', shaking their hands and giving words of encouragement. Now that he had spoken, he had become as accessible to them as she was. A young woman offered up her crying baby, which he took and blessed in the same way Margaery did. When he handed it back, the mother wept tears of gratitude.

Noticing a press was forming, threatening to crush the people pressed up against the erected railings, they moved further on. As he persevered, the more of his new subjects he met, Jon felt his confidence grow as they welcomed him warmly, as he realised there was nothing to fear among these people.

"We're running late, your grace," Ser Loras informed him as he spurred his horse back up the procession route. "We have to get a move on."

Still it took over two hours to make the short journey from the Sept of Baelor to the Red Keep. Coming up behind them, a procession from House Stark and House Tyrell received a rapturous reception, demonstrating their rising esteem among the people. It was enough to make Jon almost weak kneed with relief.

When he reached the Red Keep, now festooned with the banners of his House, he was on his own. Margaery was taken to side and escorted to Ser Loras to the eaves and screened off from the gathering crowds. This moment was to be Jon's and Jon's alone. A thought that made his earlier confidence evaporate like a summer snow. The outer-gallery of the throne room had been cleared and only Ser Loras and Eddard Karstark, newly appointed to the Kingsguard, accompanied him.

The double doors swung open to reveal the throne room packed but silent. Two parallel rows of armoured knights lined the aisle that led through the centre of the room, their swords drawn to form a peaked arch under which he slowly processed with his heart hammering against his breast bone. The spectators knelt as he passed and only the knowledge that Robb, and several of his lifelong friends, were among the armoured knights forming the arch. But the visors were down on their helms, so he could not see their faces.

However, the farther he walked beneath that arch, the more he seemed to find his own feet. As the iron throne itself came into view, he paused and drew a deep breath as he looked up at it. As soon as all this pomp and ceremony was done, he knew, it would be his turn to make the world a better place. It was a sense of purpose, even destiny, that swelled inside him like a blossom opening to the first rays of spring.

The High Septon was back. This time, the wispy old man was standing beside the throne with a circlet of spun gold and silver in his hands, holding it out like an offering. When Jon climbed the steps, the Septon came up to meet him. For a moment, the two of them regarded each other closely before Jon turned to face the kneeling masses. The knights still formed their peaked arch and he thought their arms must be killing them by now.

"I now proclaim Jon of the Houses Stark and Targaryen first of his name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men; Protector of the Realm." The High Septon paused, placing the delicate looking spun-gold crown on his head. "Long may he reign!"

"Long may he reign!" the crowds chorused back. "Long may he reign!"

"Home!" Arya bounced excitedly in her seat. "Mother, we're home!"

Catelyn dabbed a tear from her eye as Winterfell came into view. Repairs to the burned out library had begun in her absence, otherwise all was as she left it. The myriad of towers and turrets stretched into the northern mists, the ruby boughs of the weirwood were peaking over the curtain walls and, more importantly, the Stark banners still fluttered from the walls and crenels. Beside her, Arya leaned from the door of their carriage, watching as the only home she had ever known drew closer and closer.

Cat smiled, placing a hand on her daughter's arm to prevent her falling out. "Do you want out to run?"

Arya was dressed for running, in her breeches and tunic. And Cat knew she was itching to. She glanced back and nodded enthusiastically.

"Off you go then; I'll be fine."

She didn't even wait for the carriage to stop before leaping out and hitting the ground running. Then it was hear leaning out of the open door, watching as Arya sprinted off into the distance. The horses pulling the carriage picked up their own speed as they bumped along the well-worn road.

"Halt here, please."

The carriage drew to a halt beyond the drawbridge. It was already lowered, with the portcullis raised, to admit Arya, but Cat paused by the curtain walls. Before entering, she demonstrated her happiness by kissing the cold stones and letting the tears drip down her face uninhibited. Only then did she hitch up the hems of her skirts and jog into the grounds, ready to give chase to Arya who would undoubtedly be dashing from room to room, giddy to be home once more.

"Bran!" she called out. "Rickon! Luwin!"

Before too long, Rickon came dashing down the steps of the keep. She rushed up to meet him, sweeping him into a tight embrace. Shaggydog soon followed, his endless anger seemingly calmed now. It amazed her how big and tall her baby had become in her absence. She had left a three-year-old and found a little man past his sixth name day.

"Are you home to stay, mama?" he asked, lifting his head to look at her.

She dried her eyes and looked him in the eye. "I am never leaving you again, my child. Never. You have my word."

This assurance brought a smile to the boy's face, who then threw his arms back around her neck and hugged her tight.

"Is Bran with you?" he asked.

"What? No, he's here with you."

She broke off from him, looking up to see Arya standing close by. All the excitement was gone from her now. She looked grave and solemn, with Maester Luwin at her side.

"My lady, please come inside- "

"No," she cut over Luwin. Her heartbeat almost stopped as she began to suspect the worst. "If something has happened, you tell me here and now!"

While he dithered, Arya answered. "Bran's missing. He left months ago with those Reed children."

Catelyn felt as if she had been punched in the gut. "How? Why? He's crippled, Maester, how could he have gotten away?"

Luwin, however, looked mystified. "I told you in the letters I sent. The ones you replied to."

Now it was her turn to be mystified. "I received no letters at all from Winterfell."

An hour later, she was sat in Luwin's turret tower with the letters in front of her. They were sealed with her own Tully seal, in a rough approximation of her hand, responding to other letters that she simply had never seen before in her life. In one letter, "she" was venting her grief and anger, ordering searches and threatening dismissals if her son was not found. But in none of them did "Catelyn" say she was coming home – which is the first thing she would have done, had she really received Luwin's letters.

Sat opposite her, Luwin regarded her over steepled hands, a look of fear in his old grey eyes. "If not you, then who sent them?"

The only other people who had a Tully seal were Lysa and Edmure. Edmure had been at Riverrun, not Harrenhal, and was too busy for this carry on, regardless. But Cat refused to believe it. Not her own sister. Besides, why would Lysa do such a thing? She was a mother herself.

"I-I don't know," she stammered. Her hands shook as she rifled through the letters. There were only four of them, all written by someone pretending to be her, using her seal and affecting her handwriting. "It cannot be Lysa. She is not the same person I left all those years ago, but she's not as twisted as this. She would have told me about Bran…"

Her words trailed off, her voice cracking with grief. The thought of Bran out there, heading north protected only by two other children, one man at arms and a simple stable boy, was too much to handle. But the searches had yielded nothing, and they had been searching for months.

"Who is this 'Three-Eyed Raven'?" she asked. "Did he tell you anything?"

Luwin shrugged, making the links in his chain clink softly. "It was that Jojen Reed, filling his head with nonsense about Greenseers and warging, my lady. I did not, for one minute, think Bran would actually do something as foolish as this."

He could be dead, but at least it wasn't a certainty. Between Winterfell and the Wall, there were scores of houses that would have taken him in. But she also knew, given how long it had been, that he could even be well beyond the wall by now. A thought that made her blood run cold as she thought of what was said to dwell out there. Wildings were the least of it.

"Have you alerted the Night's Watch? The brothers range often and could very well find him," she said.

"Already done, my lady. They're our best hope, if Bran and the Reeds have gone north of the wall."

"But how could they even get through the wall? I thought there were enchantments and spells and the gods know what else protecting it?" then she caught herself on. "But then, how do Wildlings get through? Sorry, Maester, my head is spinning from this."

Luwin himself looked apologetic. "There are scarcely enough men in the Watch to man Castle Black. Eastwatch, the Nightfort … they're all virtually abandoned."

"And almost all of our men are in the capital," she remarked, resignedly. "Thousands of leagues away and useless to us. Still, we must recall Robb before winter sets in."

The grim truth was that winter had already arrived. Snow covered the ground from the northern Riverlands all the way up as far their land reached. Soon, roads would become impassable, if they hadn't already, and the Maesters of the Citadel were warning this could well be their longest winter ever. It was early in the day, barely past mid-afternoon, but already night gathered outside. Cat could see the darkness beyond the mullions.

Arya had watched and listened from the doorway, silent and grave. "Mother," she said.

Catelyn looked over at her, as if noticing her for the first time. "Arya, promise me you will not go looking for Bran."

"Mother, please, I survived for- "

"No!" Cat cut her off, then closed the gap between them. "Arya, please, listen to me. This is different to the South, you know that. The North is harsher and winter is already coming, child. You would not survive this."

Arya backed down, her shoulders sagging in defeat. But there was a defiant glimmer in her eye, as there always was when she paid lip-service to her parents' fears, while inwardly planned to disobey at the first given opportunity.

"All right." Arya bit her lower lip, another old habit that made Cat's heart ache for her. "I'll stay. I wouldn't want you to worry about both of us."

Catelyn breathed a sigh of relief, hugging her tightly. "It would worry me to death, Arya. Not after you've only just been returned."

Short of tying her down, it was as far as Cat could go. What few men had escorted her north she set to rest for the remainder of the day. Come sunrise, they would join the search and head for the wall. Go beyond it, if need be. For now, she could do nothing more except fret and that was no good to anyone. Instead, she got caught up on the news from the capital: of Robb's victory and Jon's crowning as King not long after.

"I don't know how independent Jon will want the north to be now. Especially with the Tyrells pulling him in another direction," she said to Luwin, that evening. "But at least with a Northman on the iron throne now, we can guarantee we'll never be forgotten about again. We won't have to worry about threats, either."

Although Cat regretted missing the coronation, she knew she couldn't have tarried in the south any longer. With good reason, she now knew as she thought of Bran again. It was only Howland Reeds unyielding friendship with her late husband that stopped her from penalising him in an effort to get his children to return home. However, her fears abated somewhat as she dined in the great hall surrounded by her own household staff. They drank a toast to their new southern king, a man they all remembered as a shy boy running through their halls with his brothers and sisters. They drank a larger toast to Robb, their King in the North and finally, they toasted her. An act of recognition that made her blush like a maiden.

Meanwhile, the hearth fires blazed and warded off the early winter night time chills. Musicians had been brought in from Wintertown and now played up in the eaves, to everyone's delight. Soon, Rodrik Cassel was dancing her around the hall, making her laugh out loud for just a few minutes. A few precious minutes in which she could relish the end of the wars. Her eldest son was coming home and, she ardently believed, her second would be close behind.

"My lady."

A young steward intercepted her as she was returning to her seat at the high table.

"Yes."

"A stranger at the gates, my lady, requesting refuge for the night. A lone woman."

Apprehension prickled unpleasantly, but she knew her duty. It was freezing and snow fell from the night sky in bitter swirls. No person – man or woman – could be left out in that. But why would a lone woman be this far from anywhere at such an hour?

"Lead the way," she said.

She thought of bringing Ser Rodrick, but he was playfully flirting with a serving girl and did not want to spoil his fun. Instead, she followed the steward to the front entrance. Out in the darkened grounds, by the light of the braziers, she could make out the figure of the woman sat on a mule. Her full length cloak was deep red. When she lowered the hood, she revealed hair to match it. As Catelyn approached, even more cautiously, she could see a ruby fastened at the woman's throat set in a red gold choker; also her disconcertingly red eyes. Her gown was of fine red samite. At Catelyn's approach, she slid gracefully down from the mule and dipped her head.

"Lady Stark, forgive my intrusion. The night gathers and I seek sanctuary within your halls, just for this night."

Despite her apprehension, she agreed. The sound of music drifted across the empty grounds, the smell of cooking heavy on the air. There was no way she could politely turn the lady away.

"You are welcome. But you know my name, can I have yours?"

"I am Melisandre of Asshai," she replied.

That explained the exotic accent. "You're far from home, Lady Melisandre."

As Cat escorted her across the hall, she could feel heat radiating from the other woman's body. It was as though she were impervious to the snow and the bitter winds.

"You are welcome to join our celebrations," Catelyn said, gesturing toward the hall as they stepped inside. "We're toasting the end of the war."

Melisandre's expression did not change. "The war has not yet begun, Lady Stark."

Cat frowned, feeling a chill in the pit of her stomach. "What do you mean?"

"The Great Other rises in the north. Winter will bring the long night, and the only war that matters will be the war for the dawn."

Despite a sudden swell in the urge to throw the red woman out, Catelyn shivered against her dire warning and invited her into a private room. "I think you and I need to talk some more," she stated.

Something like relief crossed the red woman's face then. "That we do, Lady Stark, and I beseech you to listen."

With that ominous plea resounding in her ears, Catelyn led her into Ned's old solar.

While the party was in full swing, they managed to slip away unnoticed. Robb clutching Dany's hand as they ran laughing to the side door of the Great Hall. Jon and Margaery emerged, flushed from wine and the heat, moments later. The music within the hall was still loud and they could still hear the revellers singing and dancing the night away. Meanwhile, the four of them congregated in the outer-chamber like excited children.

"Right," said Margaery. "Who's going where?"

They all looked to Jon. "Why ask me? I don't know."

Robb took the initiative. "All right. Jon and Margaery, you take the upper floors and attics. Dany and I will search the cellars and basements."

"Sounds good to me," Margaery replied. "I've heard there's all sorts hidden away in this place."

"I heard there's secret passages everywhere," Dany put in.

"And if we don't get moving soon, we'll never find any of it!" Robb interjected, eager to get exploring this vast castle. "We report back here before dawn."

With that, they joined hands with their partners and took off in different directions. Jon and Margaery headed for the nearest stairs, and Robb and Dany making for the nearest downward stairwell.

It wasn't that they expected to find anything special. They just wanted to take advantage of everyone being in the great hall and themselves having freedom to roam the length and breadth of the place. Within minutes, he and Dany were gratifying lost as they ran down corridors, peeked behind doors and tip-toed down narrow turnpike stairs. Occasionally, Robb hid himself and jumped out at her, grabbing her around the middle and spinning her around, just to hear her laughter and cries of delight reverberating through the empty, silent vaults. She tried to return the compliment, but failed miserably at hiding because her silver hair caught what little light there was, making it shine like the stars.

Breathless and giddy, they propped each other up as they explored deeper beneath the Red Keep. It was so still and so silent that it felt like they had left the city altogether. Only the sound of their chatter broke that oppressive silence and stopped them from getting spooked themselves. Eventually, they reached a long and narrow chamber that fit the description that Arya had given them of the "monster" room. As they suspected, the monsters she had seen were the skulls of the dragons.

Robb took up his lantern again and hooked it on the wall. The uneven light made the shadows dance, and the skulls looked half-alive as they reflected the pale light. Dany approached the largest and ran the flat of her hand down its smooth sloping skull.

"Will yours get that big?" he asked, awestruck. "That thing could swallow a horse carriage whole, if he were alive."

"Balerion the Black Dread," she murmured. Her lilac eyes narrowed as she continued to caress it. "I think Drogon might grow big. But not as big as this."

Robb had seen the dragons already. He fed one a haunch of goat and watched as the beast roasted it in mid-air then gobbled it whole. They had barely passed their second nameday and were already the size of large cows, in his estimation. Even Grey Wind shied away from them. He had cowered behind Ghost a whimpered until Robb led him away. The one and only time he had seen the wolf cowed.

"Try this." Robb reached for the lantern again and placed it inside Balerion's skull. The light shone out of his eye sockets and jagged-toothed maws, casting long and mutated shadows on the stone vaults. Balerion seemed to be ready to ride again. Eerie in his opinion, but Dany loved it. The pair of them sat cross-legged beside each other, admiring the effect.

"How did you hatch them?" he asked. "I keep hearing stories about you being immune to fire?"

Dany laughed and shook her head. "It was blood magick, I'll admit to that. Three lives had to be taken to pay for theirs: my husband's, my son's and a Maegi by the name of Mirri Maz Duur. I stepped into the flames knowing I'd be protected. But I'm not permanently immune to fire."

Robb laughed. "Shame. It'd be a neat trick to have up your sleeve."

Dany grinned as well, but soon turned serious again. "Jon doesn't realise it yet, but he's a dragon rider too."

"How do you know?" he asked. "He's bonded to Ghost."

"Now he's bonded to Rhaegal too; almost in the same way that I am bonded to Drogon," she stated. "The only difference is that I knew Drogon was mind from the moment I first held him. Had Jon been there, I think he would have taken to Rhaegal on the spot."

Robb frowned, unsure of what to make of that. "So, Jon's going to fly around on that thing?"

Dany laughed again. "That 'thing' is a living creature you know!"

"I know!" he protested. "But you have to admit, it's a lot to take in. What I mean is, when Rhaegal gets bigger, Jon will be able to just climb on board and start zooming around everywhere."

"Within means, they do get tired," she pointed out. "But in essence, I suppose he will. Our ancestors rode them into war."

"Pray that is never necessary," he said. "So, had Viserys lived would he have bonded to Viserion?"

"No," she replied, sadly. "Viserys was nothing."

"But he was blood of the dragon too, surely?"

"I think not," she asserted again. "I'm not saying he wasn't my brother. But he was as mad as our father. Cruel and bitter. He could not control a beast like that. He couldn't even control his own temper."

Sensing her sadness, Robb reached out in the semi-darkness and took her hand in his own. She looked at him then, her lilac eyes locking into his blue. They held each other's gaze as he thumbed away a stray tear from her cheek.

"There must be a third head of the dragon, though," she added.

"Who? Not the Prince of Pisswater Bend, surely?"

She laughed again at that. "Certainly not! Probably Jon's child, or mine if I have another."

"If?"

"Mirri Maz Duur told me I would be infertile for some time," she explained. "She did say my womb would quicken again, she just couldn't say when." She paused and laughed again. "When the sun sets in the east and rises in the west. When the seas go dry and the mountains blow in the wind…"

"She sounds like she's full of it," Robb cut in.

"Maybe she was," replied Dany, turning to face him again. She raised one hand, cupping his face as she drew closer. "Maybe she had never heard the song of ice and fire."

He frowned, but smiled at the same time. "I can't say I'm too familiar with it myself."

"You should know it," she teased, pulling him closer. "It's about when people like you meet people like me. I think that's how it goes, anyway."

"You mean like this?" he demonstrated with a kiss, gentle at first as he thought she might slap him.

She did no such thing, but pressed herself against him, returning his kiss passionately as they easily succumbed to each other.

Exhausted from a long and tiring day, Jon lay back on the bed he and Margaery shared, letting his head rest in the crook of her shoulder. She had undressed and put on her night rail, so he let his hand run down her still flat stomach. Despite all of his earlier misgivings, he hoped the baby would hurry up and start to show.

Instead of searching the castle, they had come straight to their chambers to get some much needed sleep.

"Where do you think the other two are?" he asked, leaning down to give her belly a kiss.

Margaery ran her hand through his hair. "With luck, falling into each other's arms just as we hoped."

"Already?" he asked.

She smiled. "Oh, I think so." She held her arms up and open. "Now, come and give me a hug before we sleep."

With a wolfish grin, he happily obliged.

Thanks again for reading; reviews would be lovely if you have a minute.

Yes, I know the show pretty much has Dany immune to fire. But GRRM himself has already stated several times that she isn't and he's the man who is really in charge.

Next time: Mel and Cat has a good old chat. Tyrion arrives in Dorne. Winter makes its presence felt. Robb heads for home with a certain lady in tow.

Finally, apologies for any confusion. But I hated my old pen name, so it's changing to "Will o'the Wisp 01". Sorry about that.