Thank you to everyone who has read this story, alerted it and favourited it. Also thanks to everyone who has left a review. Thank you all! (See the end of the chapter for personal notes to some guest reviewers).

For show watchers: Waymar Royce was the guy killed at the very beginning of episode 1, season 1. IIRC he wasn't named at all in the show. Anyway his father is Yohn Royce of the Vale.

Chapter Forty-Five: Night Gathers.

A single horn blast shattered the silence in the darkened grounds of Winterfell. Somewhere, a horse whickered and a gatekeeper cursed as he rushed the raise the portcullis. Catelyn, startled, rushed the window of her chamber, looking out over the scene unfolding below. Oil lanterns bobbed beyond the walls, casting just enough to light to pick out the banners of House Arryn. From what she could see, they were not huge in number. First inside was a sigil of black iron studs against a bronze background, followed soon after by the Arryns themselves.

"Lysa," she murmured to herself, reaching for a robe.

She had not seen her sister since leaving Harrenhal and just assumed Lysa would hole herself up at the Eyrie never to be seen again. More worried then curious, Catelyn pulled on the robe to cover her nightgown and quickly fussed over her hair that had been knotted into a simple plait. Far from perfect, but the unexpected guests were already within the walls and she would have to do. Extinguishing the candles, she stepped out onto the turnpike stairs and began cautiously making her way down. A turn and a half down the steps, she almost bumped into Arya as she left her own chambers with lighted candle in hand. But at least she was fully dressed.

"Arya, can you find Brienne and the two of you help with the horses?"

With no Hodor around, they would have to do it themselves. Arya nodded, then called Nymeria to her side and knelt at the wolf's side.

"You can't come to the stables. Stay with mother," she whispered in the animal's ear.

Catelyn could never fathom it, but the wolves always seemed to understand that the children said to them. And the thought of having Nymeria by her side reassured her for whatever was to come.

Men beyond counting were gathered in the outer galleries by the time Catelyn made it to the main keep. Luwin and their stewards were organising accommodation for them, so she showed herself to the Great Hall. Inside, Bronze Yohn and Petyr Baelish were seated at a lower trestle table with their heads together, talking in quiet tones. Only they pulled apart did she notice her nephew, Robert, was also present. Lysa was conspicuous only by her absence. Dressed all in black, Petyr got to his feet and bowed elegantly to her, while Yohn backed away, leading Lord Robert by the hand, without saying anything to her.

"Lady Stark," said Petyr, once they were alone. "May we speak in private."

There was no one else around but for the wolf, whose fur Catelyn gripped as Petyr closed the gap between them.

"Speak," she said, lowering herself onto one of the benches, her back to the table.

Sitting beside her, Petyr seemed to struggle for the right words to say. Grief filled his blue-grey eyes. "There's been some terrible- "

"Just say it," she cut him off, already fearing the worst.

"Lysa was killed at the Eyrie, about one month ago," he stated, flatly. "Cat, I'm so very sorry. The fact that I did not get there in time to save her will haunt me for the rest of my days."

The news came like a kick in the gut. Stunned, she found herself gripping Nymeria just for comfort. "What happened?"

"She employed a singer, went by the name Marillion. This singer was infatuated with her and had been in a jealous rage ever since she married me. From what I was able to understand, he apprehended her in the middle of the night, as she was going about her business, and threw her from the moon door," he explained, often stumbling over his own words.

Grief and shock played across her features as Catelyn tried to take it all in. Several times, she framed one question in her mind, only for another to crash in on her swirling thoughts. All the time, she came back to the singer.

"Why was he allowed near her? It seems you knew how he felt about her," she blurted out.

Petyr was shaking his head, tears filling his eyes. "You know how she was, Cat. She always enjoyed – "he broke himself off, struggling to find a polite way of phrasing what Cat already suspected.

"It's all right, Petyr," she said, ending his misery. "I knew Lysa. I knew she enjoyed the attention."

Anger pierced her grief. How could Lysa have been so naïve? Then guilt at thinking such things of her own innocent sister. But she had seen it for herself during her own trip to the Eyrie, how she surrounded herself with suitors and flatterers. When she came too again Petyr had lowered his gaze, as though he was scared to make eye contact with her.

"Yohn Royce wanted me to send you a raven," he said, at length. "Naturally, I wouldn't hear of it. The death of one's only sister is not something can be scrawled on a piece of paper and entrusted to a bird."

Gratitude swelled inside her for what he had done. Coming all the way from the Vale to break the news in person. "It was so thoughtful of you, Petyr. I thank you from the bottom of my heart for what you have done. Hearing this in a letter, with everything else going on, I think would have broken me."

His gaze snapped up then, looking at her like a puppy that had been thrown a treat. "Really, it was nothing."

Despite her sadness, a smile played across her lips. "It wasn't nothing. Not this. Oh, but poor Lysa. Luwin will see to it that you have chambers for the night, but I must grieve. I will see you on the morrow."

He went to say something, but paused and let his gaze linger over her once more. Just long enough to make her fleetingly uncomfortable. Then, he nodded his head, saying no more as she left the hall. Out in the hallway beyond, Arya was sitting with her cousin and letting him talk at her. When she caught Cat's eye, she had the look of someone in need to rescuing. The girl then frowned in concern and touched her chest, tugging on the lacing at the front of her shirt. Confused, Cat looked down at her own, realising in horror that the front of her nightgown had come undone and her cleavage was on show. Mercifully, she had not fully exposed herself, and she tied it up again in haste. As she did so, she looked back at the now closed doors of the Great Hall, wondering for a moment whether Petyr had hung his head in remorse after all. No, she thought to herself, the man's in shock.

"Arya, did you tend the horses like I asked?" she called out.

She had, but Catelyn needed to extricate her from Lord Robert. Knowing she was being rescued, Arya shook her head and came bounding over. Steering her away, Catelyn at least paid lip service to the lie by directing her out into the night air.

"Mother, I'm sorry," she said, once they were outside. With that, she threw her arms around Cat in a tight hug. "I'm sorry about Aunt Lysa."

Catelyn hugged her back, tears of grief finally welling in her eyes. Composing herself swiftly, she broke apart and sat them both down on the steps. "Did he say anything to you about what happened?"

Arya shook her head. "Not really. I don't think he knows much. All he said was that he made the bad man fly."

The moon door. The memory of that thing made her shiver. "And that was it?"

"He didn't even seem upset about his mother," she replied. "He laughed and said I could come and see a bad man fly too, if I wanted."

"He laughed?" she repeated, brow tightening.

"Yes. It was like Lysa's death was worth it just so he could throw someone through his horrible moon door!" Arya explained, her face screwed up indignantly.

In front of Arya, Catelyn opted for diplomacy. "I'm sure he's deep in shock. Sometimes, it makes people do things they wouldn't do otherwise."

But the lie seemed hollow even to her. Sweet Robin had always been a strange child. For one, she never could tell if he really was sick or just badly behaved. Lysa had indulged him at every turn, compensating for all those infants that died in her womb. Lashing all that frustrated maternal love into one spoiled, fragile boy. Now this was the end result, a young man who knew not the limits of his power with a blossoming appreciation of cruelty.

The following morning, Catelyn awoke to darkness. She almost rolled over and went back to sleep, before Luwin came knocking on the door to inform her it was long past mid-morning. Perturbed, she got up and dressed hurriedly, remembering the events of the night before. Without fussing too much with her hair, she left it in its plat and rushed back to the yard of the castle. Her windows had not deceived her – the sun really had not risen.

"Luwin, what's going on?" she asked, shooting him a pointed look as though this were his doing.

"The sun rose farther in the south," he said. "Through the far eye I could just make out the hazy daylight in the far distance. The daylight seems to have failed to reach us here in the North, my lady."

She remembered what the Red Woman had said about the war for the dawn and felt a shiver of fear down her spine. It had been snowing heavily for weeks now, but that was nothing out of the ordinary for a northern winter. Cat had lived through more than one since leaving Riverrun. But never, in all those years, had the sun failed to rise altogether. It was passing strange.

Returning in doors before she froze, she found Bronze Yohn Royce waiting for her outside Ned's old solar. An older gentleman, he was still strong and his bushy grey eyebrows seemed only to accentuate the tone of gravity with which he conducted himself, rather than making him comical. At Cat's approach, he bowed his head as a mark of deference.

"My condolences, my lady, Lysa was will be sorely missed," he said, sombrely.

Catelyn smiled sadly, remembering his own recent loss. "And I was shocked to hear of poor Waymar's death beyond the Wall, my lord. I remember him well, from when you both stayed here on your way to Castle Black."

She remembered how Royce and Ned had sparred. Although the older of the two, Royce had hammered poor Ned into the dirt and then swiftly defeated Ser Rodrik too. That night, Ned had curled up in bed beside her like a scolded boy in need of reassurance. Happier times for both of them, it seemed.

Still, Royce's slate-grey eyes seemed to enliven at mention of his youngest son's name. "That's kind of you to remember him. I must also confess, Waymar is partly the reason I came here. My lady, I need to know what happened to him. I know it's been a long time and a lot has happened since then. Still, I wondered if his grace, the King in the North, would look into the matter."

"Did they not tell you?" she asked, eyes narrowed as she noted something amiss.

Lord Royce shook his head. "Only that he died bravely, defending the realms of men."

That was a standard line they sent out to all the families of dead brothers. Sometimes, even the ones who were beheaded for treason, just to spare the loved one's shame. They rarely told the truth.

"I understand that your late lord husband beheaded a deserter shortly before he left for King's Landing," he added. "I thought, maybe, he said something. I know Lord Stark upheld the tradition of hearing the condemned man's final words. Perhaps he said something?"

"I am sorry, my lord, I was not there," she answered, truthfully. "Robb was, along with Jon who now sits the iron throne. Bran was there, but he is also missing beyond the wall. I wish I could tell you more, but I cannot."

The Others, he said something about the Others… The memory hit Catelyn like a bolt from the blue. She remembered it because it was when the children found their direwolf pups and Ned had come home troubled and full of self-doubt. Ned did tell her all the condemned man said, but the intervening years and the war had eroded the memory. Instead of divulging half-remembered snippets that might be completely wrong, she held her tongue.

"Of course, my lady, I'm sorry to trouble you at such a time," he said, preparing to take his leave.

"No my lord, you're welcome any time," she was quick to assure him.

As they parted, the Red Woman loomed large in her mind. The only war that matters is the war for the dawn, she remembered Melisandre saying. Catelyn wondered where she had gone now. North, as she intended. Or did she take ship from White Harbour, as advised. Despite all her earlier misgivings, she began to regret sending her away.

The Shy Maid bobbed on the calm harbour waters. It seemed to Tyrion that she was sturdier than she looked, to his immense relief. Still, he would be taking the Dornish ship back to King's Landing, rather than run the risk of the Maid navigating the treacherous waters of the Blackwater. For now, he was happy to let Aegon show him around his 'home'.

"This is Septa Lemore's bunk," he said, opening the door. "And this is mine, that I share with Jon Connington, but he's gone now…"

Tyrion suppressed a sad sigh. Had Connington really gone on Varys' orders, or had he literally abandoned ship? He could not tell, but he got a raven from King's Landing telling him Connington had been apprehending by King Jon himself, in his own private audience chamber. Meanwhile, Ser Barristan had coaxed the truth out of Septa Lemore. Or, Ashara Dayne as she was more commonly known.

It made him even more sad to think, given a few twists of history and a few quirks of fate, how differently things could have been for everyone on board this ship. Aegon could have had a decent life as a bastard in Dorne. Ashara could have been happy with Ser Barristan, who would have been more than happy to raise the boy as his own son. But Lord Tywin had ordered the real Aegon's skull to be caved in and his sister and mother put to the sword. Varys had seized an opportunity with both hands and Ashara had played along to avenge her old friend, Princess Elia.

All they had achieved in their efforts to avenge the Targaryens was to make things difficult for the two remaining genuine Targaryens. Had the circumstances been different, he would have laughed himself blue in the face at the irony. As it was, he found himself trying to comfort a confused young man who had been lied to all his life and that wasn't funny in anyone's books. It had been days since he last spoke with Varys. Despite their friendship, he could not face it before now.

"Aegon, you get on well with Ser Bronn, don't you?" he asked, as the young lad led him back on deck.

"Oh yes, he's been teaching me to fight in ways that Jon Connington never did," he replied, eagerly. "And he tells me dirty jokes."

"Hm," replied Tyrion. "I can quite imagine. Well, why don't you go and find him now and the two of you can enjoy your last night in Dorne."

Aegon's shoulders slumped then, his expression clouding with worry and apprehension. "What will the real King do to me? And Jon Conn, too?"

"King Jon knows none of this was your fault," Tyrion assured him. "And remember, you're still his cousin. You're also the King in the North's cousin. They might even be happy to have another Stark about the place. They're not exactly inundated with relations, since your real father died before any of you were born and your uncle Benjen took the black."

That was incredibly optimistic and Tyrion knew it. But he simply didn't have it in him to bring the lad more distress. Although the lie felt hollow to him, it was at least enough to perk him up.

"There's something I want to show you before we leave," he said. "I think my cousin might like it."

Tyrion managed a smile. "Excellent. I'll come and see it later, I promise you. I must speak with Varys first."

Aegon's expression closed at mention of the Eunuch's name. When he was first told the truth, he grabbed the nearest sword and threatened to open his throat. Only the timely intervention of Ser Barristan had put a stop to the murder. Eventually, the lad nodded and Tyrion went in search of Varys' cabin.

Just like his chambers at court, the cabin was surprisingly sparse for such a well-groomed man. The bed was rock solid and the only other piece of furniture was a desk with uneven legs. Varys was sat at that desk when Tyrion entered, fixing him with a calculating look.

"Your great game is well and truly over now, Varys," Tyrion said, skipping the usual polite greetings.

"So it seems," admitted Varys, magnanimously. "You have Dornish soldiers lining the port, cutting off all escape routes. What is to be done with me now? Back to King's Landing so I can be snipped at the neck, I suppose."

Tyrion sat himself down on the edge of the solid bed, marshalling his own thoughts as he went. Once settled, he found himself regarding his old friend for a long time.

"Did it ever once occur to you, in all the years you've been playing this game, that the pieces you were pushing around were human beings, with lives, thoughts and wills of their own?" he asked, mismatched eyes darkening into a frown. "I mean, you treat the whole world like your own personal Cyvasse board, and all the people who make up this land are the pieces to be moved or sacrificed at will. Yet, they defied you at every turn. From King Robert, to Ned Stark and Daenerys Targaryen. Not one of them moved to where you wanted them to be. Still you kept going."

Dany was meant to die in the Red Waste. When, instead, she thrived and fell pregnant with Khal Drogo's baby, it was Varys who talked Robert into sending the assassin. But Jorah Mormont scuppered that plan by suddenly stumbling across his own conscience. Then Ned Stark almost tore the game up by storming out of King Robert's council over the same issue. They'd come within an inch of war between the Starks and Baratheons and Lannisters, only for Stark to get rolled by his own horse after brawling with Jaime in the streets of the city. There was more besides, but Tyrion could no longer wrap his head around it all.

"We knew they were people," Varys stated, his voice flat now. "We worked them into our plan as best we could. What more can I say?"

"Even I was part of your game in the end, wasn't I?" he asked.

He could not explain why, but the truth of it saddened him even more. Women only had sex with him for gold; men only befriended him so they could use him. That was the way of his world and no matter how many times it proved true, he still kept on making the same mistakes. Now, he knew he was about to make another.

"The King will probably take your head," he admitted. "So do yourself a favour. Put on one of your disguises, sail on a row boat across the Narrow Sea and never, ever show your face in Westeros again. If you do, I will throw you to the wolves, the dragons and the lions."

Varys seemed sceptical. "You're just going to let me go? Why?"

Tyrion shrugged. "For the friendship I once thought we had. For the sake of spilling no more blood. Just go, and leave this realm to heal in peace."

He got up and left the cabin, not even certain whether Varys would do as he advised. Not that he much cared anymore. But, when he reached the door, the eunuch called him back.

"My Lord," he said, sadly. "For what it's worth, you really were a friend to me back then. But you know as well as I, the great game comes before any friendship."

Tyrion lowered his head, looking down at his feet for a moment. "And still you lost."

Even that brief conversation left him drained. When he found Aegon still waiting outside, he tried not to dismiss him out of hand. But he looked so eager to show him the gift, that Tyrion dug deep to recover enough energy to humour him. Letting himself be led back into the bunk the lad once shared with Jon Connington, he pulled out a large chest and opened it.

"In here," he said, pulling away the top later of fabric.

The fabric was a fine samite, but it wasn't that which he was showing to Tyrion. It was the sword beneath it. A hand and a half, Valyrian steel longsword. He felt his jaw hit his chest. "Blackfyre," he murmured to himself, awestruck.

"The Golden Company gifted it to me a few years ago," he said. "But if they get here before we leave, they'll take it back and we'll never see it again."

Once what Aegon had said registered in his brain, he straightened himself up and declared: "then we're leaving. We're leaving now."

Unnoticed and with little by way of fanfare, the small fleet of ships set sail from King's Landing. Sansa, Jeyne Poole, Sandor Clegane, Ser Jorah Mormont and Ser Jaime Lannister all boarded the ship Meraxes. Vhagar set out with the rest of the Northern host, both ships bound straight for White Harbour. The third and final vessel, Balerion, was taking Jon, Sam, Robb and Dany to Dragonstone. Three great war ships named after the three great war dragons ridden by Aegon the Conqueror and his sisters. It seemed almost ironic, to Jon, as the four of them gathered in Balerion's great cabin to discuss Aegon the Non-Conqueror.

Only the day before a messenger had arrived from Dorne, bringing with him Tyrion's final report on his findings about the Pretender. Aegon was a nice boy, highly educated but now terminally confused. In a way, Jon pitied him. Aegon was just an innocent, whose life had taken the direct opposite trajectory of his own. While Jon had been a Prince raised as a bastard; Aegon was a bastard who had been raised as a Prince, and Jon wasn't about to pretend he had it the worst. By the time he made it to the end of Tyrion's report, Jon had half-guessed and half-resigned himself to the identities of the real parents. Lady Ashara was no surprise, but Brandon Stark had been. In his heart of hearts, he believed it would be Eddard.

Ever since they found out Robb, Dany, Sam and Jon had been bickering and squabbling about the young man's fate. So much so, that Robb could no longer find it himself to be furious about Jaime Lannister. Now they were doing it again, as Balerion the boat bumped along the open seas. Never having been on a proper boat before, Jon found himself both soothed, as well as mildly sickened, by the constant rocking of the seas. It helped him think; to organise his thoughts.

Before too long, Sam noticed his silence. "Don't worry, we'll all think of something."

He was trying to reassure Jon, but it wasn't even him who was most affected by Aegon's existence. It was Robb, who was now kneading the bridge of his nose, with his eyes screwed shut as though blocking it all out. Jon could tell he had not slept the night before. After everything they had been through to win the North, all was now threatened by the fruit of a one night stand between their dead uncle and a Dornish woman they'd never met.

"I know," replied Jon. "At least we know the truth now." He paused there, turning to Robb. "And brother, I won't legitimise him if you don't. So stop fretting."

"But what about children he might have?" Robb asked. "What if his issue challenges mine to the northern crown?"

"They can't," Sam insisted. "Aegon cannot transmit a claim he hasn't got."

It was Dany who looked concerned now. "But will Aegon's sons understand that?"

"We'll make them," Sam countered. "Make sure every law of succession in the North excludes the line of Brandon Stark."

"Wars have been fought over less and well we know it," said Robb, as good as ignoring Sam's sound wisdom. Jon could see he was too fired up to listen just yet. He needed to vent. "Gods, it's small wonder father scarce spoke of his brother."

"Poor Ser Barristan," Dany opined. "He loved Lady Ashara so much that he said he wanted to forsake his Kingsguard vows for her, even after he said a Stark dishonoured her. I wish I had asked him which Stark now, instead of just assuming it was Lord Eddard. It must have been such a shock to see her there, alive and well and living as someone else."

Still, it was Aegon that preoccupied Jon's thoughts. They were cousins, whether he liked it or not. Tyrion described him as accomplished, polite and better educated than most of the Lords of Westeros combined. He would be an asset at Court, should he agree to give up living the fantasies of other men. Varys and Ilyrio Mopatis chief among them. They had even fooled poor, lovelorn Jon Connington into buying their deceit. But Jon would deal with him as soon as he returned from Dragonstone.

"Tyrion will be back from Dorne by the time I get back from Dragonstone, he's bringing Aegon with him," Jon explained to Robb. "I'll keep him there as a hostage until you know what you want to do. Seeing as it's you, I won't even charge a ransom fee."

Robb flashed him a smile. "You're all heart."

Shireen Baratheon had paid a ransom fee for Edric Storm. Lord Walder Frey had refused, but Black Walder agreed, to pay for Lady Roslin. Only for Black Walder to then offer her in marriage to Lord Tyrion for a fat sum of Lannister gold. Although Jon could not see it happening, he would still discuss the proposal with the Imp upon their return. It seemed to him that as soon as one loose thread was tied, ten others sprang up out of nowhere. Finally, before he set sail, the court had gathered at the Queen's apartments to watch as Margaery entered her confinement. The next time he would see, she would have their suckling babe in her arms. His eyes welled as he remembered it and thought of the future.

Jon took his leave from the others as they neared Dragonstone. This close to the land, the rocking of the boat had settled and he felt it safe enough to risk walking on his own two feet. But, as he emerged into the open sea air, he turned back to find that Sam had followed him.

"Hope you don't mind," he said, apologetically.

Jon smiled warmly. "Of course not, Sam. I'll miss you when you're gone."

As soon as they were done at Dragonstone, he would be returning to the Night's Watch. Hopefully, loaded up with weapons to take on the White Walkers. Meanwhile, his Kingsguard were hovering around him protectively, while simultaneously keeping a discreet distance. A difficult feat to achieve, he conceded.

"So, how did you get Ser Jorah to agree to take the black?" asked Sam, giving him a calculating look.

Despite the necessity of what he did, Jon still coloured as he recalled the out and out blackmail. "I said if he refused, I'd send for Dany that moment and show her the letters he sent to Robert. I also said that if he joined and took his vows, I'd burn the letters and never mention them again."

Sam looked dismayed. "Are you sure that was a good idea? It still seems like a lie waiting to be exposed further down the line."

"It's a risk I'm going to have to take," he admitted. "And it's done now, and we need to focus on this."

Meanwhile, Sam looked up at the uppermost towers of Dragonstone. They had brought the actual dragons with them, but all three had flown beyond the clouds and only dived back down to earth to snatch an unwary fish from the sea. At one point, Drogon and Rhaegal managed to catch an entire seal, which was roasted and swallowed whole as if it were no more than a mere morsel.

"It's going to take forever to search that place," Sam said, mournfully. "Do you know if Stannis ever tried it?"

Jon shrugged. "He must have ordered an inventory at some point. But even if he did, it's doubtful he ever found the hidden passages."

Luckily for them, the dragon glass was all over the place and completely out in the open. Jon wanted as much of it as possible transported north. It could be used to fashion daggers, sword blades and arrow heads, mainly. It was so fine and so brittle that Jon would scarcely have believed it could kill wights. But Sam himself had done it. The dragon glass had barely grazed the cold, white skin of the creature before it imploded before his eyes. It was arrowheads he wanted to concentrate on – long range, yew tree arrows that could be fired from long distances.

"They say there's Valyrian steel hidden in the vaults, too," Sam pointed out. "A bit of that would come in handy!"

"And dragon eggs," said Jon. "At least, that's what I heard. Has anyone ever searched the place properly?"

He had never seen so much as a woodcut of Dragonstone before, now he knew why it had such a foreboding reputation. Gargoyles lined the ramparts, similar to the ones at Winterfell. But the castle rose like an edifice cut into the cliffs; in places the walls were a sheer drop into the restless seas and the island jutted from the iron water like a vast broken tooth. It would be enough to make any invader think twice.

"Lots of people have searched," Sam finally replied. "It's just none of them ever found anything. Trouble is, we don't even know our way around like they did."

It didn't exactly fill Jon with confidence, but at least the dragon glass was littered all over the island.

That day, night gathered by early afternoon. It had set the sailor's nerves on edge as they roped up one Dragonstone's shores. Jon could see how uneasy they were and well understood why. They had heard disturbing reports from other sailors coming down from the North, that the sun had not risen at all beyond White Harbour. An old line ran through his head as he listened in on their talk … 'night gathers, and so my watch begins…'

In order to see what they were doing, torches were lit in the castle and brought down to shore. Unsullied soldiers were set to light the beacons inside, so many that the castle looked as if it was catching fire. He had been a fool not bring little Shireen along too, she had grown up in the castle after all. Even her half-mad jester, Patchface, might have been able to lead them somewhere.

Despite the darkness, they filled up roughspun sacks with dragon glass and loaded it on to Balerion, ready to be taken North with Robb and Sam. He and Dany would return to King's Landing on one of Stannis' old ships left in harbour close by. It was tiring work and more than one of them had virtually cut their hands to ribbons on the stuff. So, by early evening, they stopped. It was then that Jon finally got Robb alone.

They made their way to the great drum of the keep, where the storms echoed through the vaulting chambers. Only now, it was so eerily calm outside that all that echoed within was their own footsteps.

"It's about Aegon," said Jon, bracing himself for an angry tirade.

But Robb merely nodded. "What about him?"

"Well, not him so much," Jon clarified, becoming uncomfortable. "I remember our father telling me what he did after my mother died. He said he went to Starfall to return the sword, Dawn, to Lady Ashara."

Robb shrugged. "What of it?"

Jon hesitated, framing his words precisely. "Well, Aegon must have been born by then. He would have been near a year old. You don't think father knew something, but kept it to himself. Especially since Aegon was his nephew. I mean, he did for me."

Robb frowned, mulling it over for a full minute. "But that was long after the Sack of King's Landing, because father was there for that. Then he lifted the siege at Storm's End. Only then did he sail to Dorne. By that time, Ashara's baby would have been taken and she would have been preparing to fake her death and take holy orders."

Although Robb's speculations made sense, Jon was still uneasy. Eddard Stark had harboured so many secrets, he found himself wondering whether he truly knew the man at all. History remained, like a festering boil that badly needed cauterising, before they could draw a line under it all and move forwards. No matter how well he loved the man, the late Lord Stark was part of his problem now.

"There's no hope of getting Mopatis, but I'm keen to hear what Varys and Lady Ashara have to say about all this," he said, by way of parting shot. "After all, they're the only ones left who know. Meanwhile, you concentrate on the North. You heard those reports, just as I did. Set sail on the morrow and keep me informed."

Robb nodded his agreement, pulling him into a brief bear hug. As they parted company again, Robb glanced back at him and raised a pained smile. "And you look after yourself, too. Let me know if it's a boy or a girl."

Jon matched his smile. "I promise."

Thank you again for reading, a review would be lovely if you have a minute.

Coming up is a long overdue visit to Castle Black and Aegon comes to Court.

Also, thanks to "Dragonfan" for their detailed feedback. Most of your questions will be answered in these last few chapters of the story, so rather than detail them here I'll let you read on. But, Gendry is still at Harrenhal, where he's employed in the armoury. Thanks again!

I have a few reasons for not going with the Blackfyre conspiracy. One is that it's overly complicated for a story that's nearing its natural conclusion. Two, is that Ashara Dayne has been mentioned so many times, especially in connection to the Stark, that this popular fan theory really appeals to me. For all I actually know, he really is Aegon.