My Name is Daemon Targaryen and I am Going Home

by Alperez16

A different champion steps up for Tyrion changing the outcome of the Trial by Combat and the game itself.

13. The Bastard's Battle

Riverlands/King's Landing 300 AC.

Aemon Targaryen.

Aemon had read about dragons, dreamt about them, and thought about them wistfully over his years in this world. He'd wondered how it felt to soar through the skies and bemoaned the fact that they'd all died out, along with most of his House. Never did he imagine he'd one day fly on top of one and it was only when doing so that their true awe and majesty was revealed. Viserion covered more ground in an hour than the fastest horse or ship could in a day. In less than one full day they'd left the North behind. Beneath him, Aemon had first seen the great northern stronghold of Moat Cailin and then Harrenhal before they had then landed for the night.

He felt his nephew's own disbelief at what the golden dragon was able to do and was soon chuckling as he heard Daemon speak words of praise to Viserion before bidding the dragon to go feed and rest. They had landed by the shore of the God's Eye and after Daemon had caught some fish for their supper and cooked it over an open fire, he and his nephew had eaten and spoken for some time. More and more of Daemon's past was revealed to him in their conversation and Aemon could barely believe some of the things his nephew had done.

"Why would the Faceless Men seek you out, nephew?" Aemon asked as they sat by the fire "Not that I'm not most grateful to them for doing so, mind." he added, a smile on his face when he spoke.

"As with Melisandre, uncle. They too named me Azor Ahai, the Prince that was Promised. My destiny was always to be king, or so the Kindly Man would tell me. That and that it takes a king to kill a king."

"The Kindly Man?" he asked curiously.

"One of the most senior men of the House and Black and White. I'll not name him a priest, though mayhap to some he would be." Daemon said and Aemon nodded.

Though he had many more questions and wished to speak more of his niece or even Daemon's plans for the realm, instead it was Sansa Stark he spoke on. As soon as he mentioned the girl's name, Daemon's expression changed completely. His nephew was not a dour man, although he was one of the most serious and focused that Aemon had ever met. Yet, at times, he was as carefree and relaxed as only the happiest of men were. That most of those times seemed to revolve around the woman that Aemon now knew Daemon was in love with, only further proved that the true power in Westeros, Essos, or anywhere, was and had always been, love.

By the time he turned in for the night, Aemon was even keener to meet his future Goodniece. He slept a dreamless sleep and woke early the next morning to find Daemon already cooking more fish for them to break their fast upon. His nephew looked as if he'd not slept much and yet when Aemon commented upon it, he was relieved to find it was not some unspoken worry that made it so. It was simply his nature and his training, or so Daemon informed him. Once they'd eaten, it was back atop the dragon and to the sky once more.

Aemon was like a young boy as they flew further south than he'd been in half a lifetime. Each sight that presented itself to him was one that he ate in greedily. He thanked the gods for returning his sight to him and allowing him the gift of something he'd taken for granted until it had been lost to him. Aemon could see that the Kingsroad was as full of travelers as it had ever been and the view from atop Viserion's back allowed him to see for miles around. Rivers, forests, keeps, and then finally the city where he'd been born and had thought he was never to return to, were soon all revealed. He then felt his excitement build when Daemon flew a complete circle of King's Landing before landing in the Dragonpit.

"By the gods." he said happily after Daemon had helped him down from the golden dragon's back "I thank you, them, and you great dragon for gifting me such a journey."

"I'm most glad I could share it with you, uncle," Daemon said before moving to Viserion and once again praising the golden dragon for all he'd done.

To his surprise, Viserion didn't take to the sky for some time and despite the trills the dragon made as Daemon spoke and stroked its snout, Aemon felt it was displeased by its surroundings. As he looked around at the state the Dragonpit had fallen into, the golden dragon was not the only one who was disappointed. Dragons were magnificent and otherworldly, they deserved far better than this, and no sooner had the thought come to his mind than he heard Daemon speak almost the same words. His nephew telling the golden dragon that this would not be his home, not in this state. Something which the loud trill from Viserion was enough to show his joy about.

All too soon, the riders arrived and though Aemon stiffened slightly upon seeing them, Daemon seemed far more relaxed. Aemon chuckled at that for quite some time. His nephew had trained with an order that few knew much about, other than just how lethal they could be. By all the tales he'd been told of Daemon by others and by some of the words his nephew himself had spoken, he'd killed the Mountain as if he were just a mere insect rather than a monstrous giant of a man. If that was not enough, he had a true-to-life fire-breathing dragon to call upon. "No, there was no danger to be found from these men,' Aemon thought relieved.

"Your grace, Lord Jon sent us to escort you to the Red Keep." a tall big-bellied and scarred face man said. as he looked from Daemon to the dragon, one more easily than the other.

"I thank you, Ser Franklyn. A moment if you please."

"Or course, your grace." the knight replied.

Aemon, Ser Franklyn, and the escort that had been sent to see Daemon to the Red Keep, all now looked on as Daemon spoke even more softly to the golden dragon. All but Aemon, jumped a moment later when Viserion roared loudly. The warning was one that Aemon felt sure most would understand and adhere to.

Hurt my rider and face the flames

Then with little to no effort at all, just two single flaps from Viserion's giant wings, the dragon was in the sky and a moment later it was out of sight. Where it had flown off to, Aemon was unsure. That it would return, he had no doubt. Having not expected Daemon to have anyone with him, one of the guards was forced to double up with another on a horse so that Aemon could be given his own to ride. Leaving the Dragonpit behind a few moments later, he did so chuckling once again and this time his good humor was commented upon by his nephew. Daemon's own laughter was true when Aemon told him why he was laughing.

"I think you've ruined horses for me, Daemon," Aemon said as they rode through the streets.

Aemon took note of the expressions on the faces of those they passed. Not a single one of them looked unhappy or angered to see a Targaryen king in their midst. While he'd heard tales of the Usurper and of his mad and cruel son, he knew not the truth or validity of those tales. Mayhap it was that they were true and the Smallfolk suffered under Robert and Joffrey's rule or mayhap they had at heart always been supporters of his House and family. Either way, it seemed that in Daemon's case at least, the people were on his side. So Aemon resolved to make sure that the lords and ladies of Westeros were too.

Trying his best not to let the memories of the time he spent in this city as both a young boy and man, now overwhelm him, Aemon almost lost his grip on his horse's reins when they reached the Red Keep. The last time he'd seen it for true and not in his dreams had been when he'd left for the wall nigh on seventy years earlier. It had changed little in all that time or so it seemed. Looking at those who awaited them, it was the bright blue eyes of the red-haired young woman that stuck out. That and the true smile she wore on her face when she saw them. Aemon wagered that this could only be the young lady who'd won his nephew's heart. Something that was proved true no more than a few moments after they'd dismounted.

"Lord Jon Connington, uncle. My Hand." Daemon said as he introduced him to a red-haired older man and one that Aemon knew by name if little else "Jon, my uncle Aemon Targaryen."

"An honor, my prince." Jon Connington said and Aemon corrected him and named himself as what he was before he was then introduced to Sansa Stark for true.

"My cousin, uncle. Lady Sansa Stark of Winterfell." Daemon said, his voice far different than it had been when introducing Lord Connington, as a man in love was wont to be."

"A pleasure, Lady Sansa, truly," he said as he kissed her offer hand.

"You too, Maester Aemon," Sansa said and Aemon smiled warmly at her for listening to his words and naming him as he was and not as he may be perceived to be.

He was quickly introduced to a young girl and boy, Arya and Rickon Stark respectively. Both of whom were asking over and over again whether or not he'd truly flown here on a dragon. Then the sight of the black Direwolf sent a thrill down his spine and as the young lad told him it was his and was named Shaggydog, Aemon caught sight of how Daemon and Sansa Stark greeted each other more truly. They may have kept it to words rather than kisses or touches, yet Aemon wagered they'd soon seek to be alone so they could share some of those too.

King's Landing 300 AC.

Sansa.

Even though she had not doubted Jon Connington when he told her that Daemon would be returning on a dragon, it still didn't prepare her for seeing it in the flesh. She, Arya, and Rickon along with many others in the Red Keep had stood upon one of the balconies when the dragon was first sighted. Each and every single one of them had been awestruck both by the great beast itself and by the fact that there were men atop it. Sansa at first had felt a brief moment of panic and worry for Daemon before quickly her fears were calmed. 'They had a dragon, he had a dragon,' she thought happily as she quickly realized just how little danger anyone could now present to Daemon's reign.

While both Arya and Rickon, and Sansa herself truth be told, all wished to hurry to the Dragonpit when they saw that was the direction the dragon was headed in, she knew they could not. So as Jon Connington readied an escort to bring Daemon to the Red Keep, Sansa took a quick moment to hurry back to her room. Once there, she stood in front of the looking glass and made sure she was as presentable as she wished to be. Somehow managing to not notice the eager smile she wore on her face as she did so. Then once she was happy with how she looked, Sansa made her way to her brother sister, and Jon Connington before they then joined the large group that awaited Daemon's return.

The smile she bore upon her face when she finally did see Daemon atop his horse was a full and true one and she felt a shiver run through her when he looked her way. Her attention and everyone else's was then drawn to the older man that Daemon seemed to almost hover over. So much so that she barely heard the words of greeting that Daemon and Jon Connington shared as well as the introduction of the older man. Then almost within the blink of an eye, Daemon was standing in front of her and Sansa found that the man beside him was his uncle. After greeting him warmly, she was slightly disappointed when it was with him rather than with her that Daemon walked into the keep. Though her disappointment was not to last very long.

"I know mine own way around this keep, nephew," Aemon said, a large smile on his face as he gently chided his nephew.

"Better than even I, no doubt, uncle."

"Indeed. Lord Connington, mayhap you could show me to the Maester's chambers and allow me to get myself situated?"

"It would be an honor, my…Maester." Jon Connington replied after Aemon raised his eyebrow and dared him to name him a prince.

"We'll eat together tonight, uncle. All of us as a family." Daemon said looking first at Aemon and then at her.

"I most look forward to it, nephew. Lady Sansa, Lord Rickon, Lady Arya, by your leave."

Sansa heard Arya mumble annoyed about being called a lady while Rickon had moved to Daemon and was once again asking him about the dragon. Looking at the man that she knew now she'd given her heart to completely, watching him as he was patient with Rickon and never once seemed bothered by his questions, Sansa couldn't but help picture what children of their own would look and be like. She was soon lost in that daydream and didn't see it when Arya and Rickon were led out into the sparring yard where they spent so much of their time. Nor even truly notice that by the time they reached Daemon's chambers, they were alone. Or as alone as a king could be in a keep full of men who watched over him.

It wasn't until they were actually standing facing one another in Daemon's chambers that she truly realized it was just the two of them. For some reason, this made her incredibly nervous and so rather than look at Daemon, it was to the ground that her eyes turned. The feel of soft fingers as they raised her chin up and the look in Daemon's eyes when he stared at her, were both more than enough to make her nervous for a completely different reason.

"I missed you, Sansa, most terribly," Daemon said and Sansa felt her breath hitch in her throat.

"As did….."

Daemon stole her words with his kiss. His lips and then his tongue both showed, far more than anything he could say, just how much she was truly missed. How long that one kiss lasted, Sansa couldn't tell. Only that it felt like it went on forever. Both of them were breathless when it finally ended and Sansa shook her head vigorously when Daemon apologized for being so forward. Her arms wrapped around him and she initiated their second kiss. While it wasn't as needy as the first one seemed to have been, it was just as enjoyable.

"We should…" Daemon said before stopping himself when he saw her hurt expression after he'd moved from her "Sansa?"

"It's nothing, Daemon, truly," she said, delighted when he moved to her again and placed a softer lighter kiss on her lips before reaching out to take her hand in his.

She let him lead her to a small couch and sat close beside him when he bid her to. At no point did he release her hand and Sansa most welcomed the shared contact. As she did when before he spoke again, he raised her hand to his lips and placed a soft kiss upon the back of it. The silence seemed to stretch on for some time and yet it was a comfortable, and dare she say it, enjoyable silence. Then she felt Daemon steady himself before he turned to her and once again, Sansa felt her breath hitch in her throat when he looked her way.

"There is much we must speak on, Sansa. Much I must tell you about what occurred in the North and yet I find my mind allows me to speak on none of it."

"Daemon?"

"I…"

Looking at his face, she saw the moment that his resolve strengthened and once it did, Daemon rose to his feet before kneeling down in front of her. Her hand still in his, he looked up to her face as she was now slightly higher than him, and then once again he raised her hand and kissed it gently.

"Before I left to go North there was a question I wished to ask of you, you remember this?" he asked and Sansa found no words would come to her or could be uttered and so she just nodded "I wish very much to ask you that question now. May I?"

Her throat was as dry as it had ever been, her heart racing, and Sansa wondered if Daemon could feel her trembling through the hand he held. Nodding as vigorously as she could and hoping that was the only answer Daemon required, she held her breath as around her the world itself seemed to still.

"I had hoped to make some great romantic declaration, Sansa. To find some way to show in deed just as I wish to in word just how much you mean to me. On my way back here, I planned, discarded, and planned once again about where and when I'd speak to you. Yet upon seeing you standing in front of me, all my best-laid plans were blown away by the sheer beauty you possess." Daemon said most earnestly

"I find myself doing likewise when I look upon you, Daemon," she said, thanking the gods for giving her back the gift of speech and then doing so even more when she saw the brightness of Daemon's smile.

"I've felt it mayhap from that first night we spent together, Sansa. The night we performed a mummery in the Vale." Daemon said and Sansa smiled as she remembered it, laughing a little more fully then at what Daemon said next "Seeing your face as you watched me bounce on the bed and looked at me as if I had lost my mind."

"I thought you had," she said softly.

"Falling in love must be akin to losing your mind then, for that I believe is what I truly was feeling." he said and she almost wept at him saying such things "As we traveled, as we got to know one another, I…saw you were more than just the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. More than just my cousin who I wished to protect and keep safe because we shared blood. It soon became clear that you….me….us…."

"Daemon," she whispered, unable to do more than that and feeling on the verge of shedding the happiest of tears. Something Daemon noticed as he reached up and wiped her eyes before those tears could fall.

"I love you, Sansa Stark." Daemon said and Sansa felt her heart threaten to burst free from her chest so fast and heavy was the beating of it "With all I am or ever will be, I love you. I wish for nothing more than to be your husband, Sansa. Will you marry me?"

At first, she answered not with words. Instead, finding a strength that she knew not she had, Sansa jumped from the couch and into his arms, knocking them both to the floor in the process. The kisses she placed upon Daemon's cheek, neck, lips, and face were many and once she'd calmed herself a little, she looked directly into his gray eyes. Sansa hoped he could see the truth of the words she was going to speak in her own blue ones, and so after one more, long kiss, those words almost sprang forth.

"All you've said, I feel just as truly, Daemon. As you fell for me, I fell just as hard for you. I care not that you're the king, my cousin, or even the man who saved me from whatever plans my aunt and Littlefinger had planned for me. Nor that you ensured my brother and sister are safe and intend to make those who harmed my family pay."

"You.." Sansa placed a finger upon Daemon's lips and stopped him from speaking more.

"I mean, of course, I care. But what I'm trying to say, badly." she said, glad when he chuckled as she lay atop of him "Is that I love you because of you, Daemon Targaryen. Not because of all you've done, but because of who you are….here." she said touching his heart "I will marry you. Of course I will marry you. Nothing in this world would stop me from marrying you." she said, her words punctuated by the kisses she gave him after each one.

Had this been another time, then when the knock came on the door and Jon Connington then entered, Sansa would have been embarrassed at the position he found them in. They were laying on the floor with Sansa on top of Daemon and his arms wrapped around her. Their faces were touching as they looked into each other's eyes and though they'd not been kissing when Jon entered, they'd not noticed his entry at first and so were doing so when he coughed, politely.

Looking up from where she lay, Sansa felt no shame in being caught in such a compromising position. Far from it. So with one final kiss to Daemon's lips, they helped each other to rise and once they had, Daemon reached out for her hand and held it tightly as he told Jon their news.

"Lady Sansa has agreed to be my wife, Jon. We're to be wed." Daemon said happily and yet the look on Jon Connington's face was mayhap the happiest that any of them wore.

"I'm most pleased to hear it, your grace. Lady Sansa. Most pleased indeed."

The Eyrie 300 AC.

Littlefinger.

She'd managed to disappear completely. Not a single trace of her was to be found anywhere. It confounded him and worried him at the same time. Sansa was the key to most if not all of his plans. Without her, things would be far more difficult and so he'd scoured the Vale only to find she was gone. That Harrold Hardyng had disappeared too was a lesser concern as well as another piece of a puzzle he'd yet to figure out.

Had he made a mistake?

Were there truer feelings between Harrold and Sansa than he knew about?

Was Lady Anya a far better player of the game than he'd believed?

Petyr had the answer to but two of those questions and yet it was the one he did not which vexed him. Lady Anya was no true player of the game. She knew little if anything about Harrold's plans and was distraught and worried about his disappearance. As for making a mistake, well on that, even Petyr had to admit he'd done so. He should have put more or better guards on Sansa. Should have watched her even more truly than he did.

Trying his best to think back on Sansa's interactions with Harrold, had led him to no clearer answers. There had been no sign on the young knight's part that he cared for anything but bedding his new wife. No inclination that Sansa had somehow swayed him to her side and was using him against Petyr. Something that at least gave him a little comfort. For had she done so then things may have turned out dangerous most quickly for him in the Vale. As it was, he instead did what he always tried to do when he had a setback. He turned it to his advantage or thought he had.

"My Lords and Ladies, Good Sers. I think it's time we all faced up to a most uncomfortable truth. Lady Sansa and Ser Harrold have clearly been abducted and there can only be one door where the blame for that is laid." Petyr declared in front of the great and good of the Vale. Thankful and yet not that they'd all come to celebrate the wedding.

"That's impossible, Lord Baelish. The Eyrie is nigh on impregnable and no Lannister knows these lands as well as we." Lord Royce said dismissively.

"More likely that the young lady and Ser Harrold got some fool romantic notion in their head and the Mountain Clans have them. Begging your pardon, Lady Anya." Ser Symond Templeton added.

"My ward would not have left the keep, Ser Symond, not for any fool notion." Lady Anya said firmly before her son added his own thoughts.

"Harrold may be a lot of things, Ser Symond, romantic is not something I'd ascribe to him. Even were he to be so, he'd not have done so on his wedding night. It's not his nature."

"Forgive me, Ser Donnel, Lady Anya."

"If the Lannisters do have them, then what can we do, Lord Baelish? Much as I'd like to march to war to see their return, we are but one army alone." Horton Redfort said and the murmurs around the room showed how many agreed with him.

In the end, there had been little they could truly do and that wasn't really the point of him laying the blame at the Lannisters' door anyway. It was simply to rile the Vale up even more and to ready them for when he would eventually seek them to fight against those who sat on the Iron Throne. Little had he known at the time who that may be. As the days, weeks, and even moons passed with no sight nor sound of Sansa Stark, Petyr spent his time coming up with a different plan that led to him sitting atop the throne.

A plan that had been discarded as the news came in from the rest of the Seven Kingdoms. Tywin Lannister dead, and Dorne allied with the Golden Company. The Reach and Lannister armies were defeated and King's Landing had fallen. All of it sent him almost over the edge as events happened so quickly and without any rhyme or reason. Lysa panicked, the Vale Lords knew not how to take things and Petyr found his spies to offer little to no explanation or clarity upon events. When both those things came, he could barely believe it.

"A Targaryen? But they're all dead," he said looking at the raven's scroll.

Daemon Targaryen had come from Essos and somehow managed to bring Dorne, loyal Reachlords, the Lords of the Narrow Sea, and the Golden Company together. He'd beaten the combined Lannister and Tyrell armies, taking King's Landing in the blink of an eye, and had been crowned as King. Was that not enough to try and get his mind around, it was who was with him and by his side that staggered belief.

Jon Connington, Petyr could understand. The Griffin had ever loved dragons, 'One in particular' so, of course, he'd seek to join one now. He had been a member of the Golden Company too from what Petyr could recollect from one of Varys' briefings to King Robert. So that may explain how a Targaryen had managed to bring those men to bear. What it very much did not explain was how Sansa Stark had found herself by Daemon Targaryen's side and it frustrated Petyr greatly. As did he true identity of this clearly false dragon.

Deciding to look over his notes and to find out even more before he eventually brought this to the Lords of the Vale, Petyr spent days and long nights in his solar. Other than when Lysa's whining became too much to bear and he was forced to lay with her, it was with books on lineage, ravens to and from the Citadel, and his own contemplations that Petyr sought answers from. Finding little joy in any of them if truth be told.

"Viserys mayhap, but he died did he not? A lie? A mummery? Could it be that it was truly Viserys Targaryen and they wished not to name him so?" he asked himself as he paced his solar.

Moving to his notes, he searched through them quickly and found that Daemon Targaryen had dark hair and grey eyes. While the one could of course be a dye of some sort, the other must be true. So he moved to the book on lineage and saw that he'd been right. Viserys had silver hair and lilac eyes and so was an actual Targaryen prince. Sending for Maester Colemon, Petyr waited and lost himself in his thoughts once more. Only shaking himself from them once Maester had arrived.

"My lord?" Maester Colemon asked.

"Eyes, Maester. Is there any way a man can change the color of his eyes?" he asked to a shake of the older man's head.

"Not that I'm aware of, my lord. I've not read of such a thing."

"That will be all, Maester," he said dismissing the man and glad when he was gone.

After almost a week of trying to make sense of things that very much made none, Petyr turned his attention instead to what his course of action was. The Vale held no love for the Targaryens, none at all. Some Houses such as House Royce had lost kin to the Mad King's actions and others had simply fought against them on behalf of their liege lord. More so than even House Lannister, fear and doubt could be stoked and used against the House of the Dragon. 'It was time for him to do just that,' Petyr thought wickedly.

"The game is not over yet." he said as he walked out from his solar and readied himself to make yet another move that would bring him closer to his goal "Not over at all." he smiled.

King's Landing 300 AC.

Jon Connington.

Jon had been both surprised and delighted with just how quickly Daemon and Sansa had announced their betrothal. The feelings that they both had for each other had been clear to all and yet he'd worried that there would be a delay in order to deal with the events of the realm. Hearing from Daemon about his plans to fly back to the North, he was happy that he'd told him of such only after the betrothal had been agreed to. Had he not done so, then Jon would have become concerned that something was forcing his king to deny himself what was clearly in his heart.

There were other and truer political reasons that he was happy for Daemon and Sansa too. Jon had thought from early on that they were the best political match to be made to ensure the realm's prosperity. While a king needed to be wed and have an heir as quickly as possible, as well. Especially given what had happened to Daemon's House during the rebellion and even to Sansa's own during the War of the Five Kings. Anything could happen in war and while Daemon was more than capable, more so now he had a dragon, he was not invulnerable. 'No one was, mores the pity', Jon thought as he readied himself for the family and celebration dinner that he was to attend.

The sight that greeted him as he walked into the room where the meal was to be held was one that quickly brought a smile to his face. Daemon and Sansa sat facing each other and Arya and Rickon Stark had taken seats on either side of the king. While Daemon and his newly betrothed spoke to each other, Jon was pleased to see how freely his king spoke to the two younger Starks too. Sitting beside Sansa Stark was Maester Aemon and it was beside him that Jon took his own seat. His arrival was only acknowledged by a brief smile from Daemon before he continued telling the two young Starks some tale or other.

"How long has this been going on?" Jon asked Aemon as the youngest Stark hid behind his chair while Daemon tried to grab him. The laughter coming from the young lad's sisters was full and fulsome as he did so.

"Since they sat down. I'd not expected my nephew to be in such a gregarious mood. He seems more stoic at times." Aemon said quietly.

"He was and has been, Aemon. More and more I've been seeing this side of him." Jon said as he glanced at Sansa Stark who was laughing and looking at the game that Daemon was playing with a more than eager eye.

"She's good for him then?" Aemon asked as he too looked at the woman in question.

"Very much so," Jon replied.

The meal itself turned out to be one of the very best he'd ever tasted and Jon even partook in more than one glass of wine. While not drunk when he made his way to his bed that night, he wasn't quite sober either, and yet he'd not have changed the night for anything. After waking, dressing, and breaking his fast, he was called to a meeting in Daemon's solar and he arrived to find both the king and his soon-to-be queen awaited him. Taking a seat, they were soon joined by Maester Aemon. At Daemon's behest, Sansa once again spoke about the Tyrells and Lannisters and their sentences. Once she'd done so, Daemon asked for both his and Aemon's own thoughts.

"I think you've been most fair, your grace. There are some who'd have sought their heads and left it at that. Lady Margaery is to one day be the Lady of the Reach and her brother Willas may end up as Highgarden's Maester. Ser Garlan has lost little other than that which his family has lost while Ser Loras cannot be allowed to suffer no punishment. As for Lady Olenna…"

"Uncle?" Daemon asked.

"The line between fair and just or cruel and not is a hard one to walk, nephew. Like Lord Jon, I feel you've walked it well enough when it comes to House Tyrell."

"Sansa?" Daemon asked.

"Are Ser Loras' crimes equal to Ser Jaime's, Daemon? Does his sentence deserve to be as harsh?" Sansa asked and Daemon listened but said nothing before turning to his uncle.

"The Lannisters, uncle?"

Jon saw Aemon's expression darken and it took the older man some time to speak. When he did, he was far more composed than Jon expected.

"Tywin suffered in death?"

"He did," Daemon said firmly.

"Cersei from all I've heard about her is a cruel and vain woman. She must be placed where she can do no harm. Ser Jaime, there is but no other choice than the Wall. As for the children….they are always who suffer the most." Aemon said before composing himself "Let the young lad have kin with him, nephew. The Citadel is a lonely place without it, listen to one who knows as much. As for the girl, should Prince Doran break the betrothal, then give her leave to know a better life than forced servitude."

"What would you have me do with her, uncle?"

"Strip her of the Lannister name and allow her to wed a good man and true. One of her choosing, nephew, not one of your own."

"Sansa?"

"I would take her as one of my ladies, Daemon. As Lady Margaery is to serve, let Myrcella do so too and while she can wed a man of her choosing, it must be a man we agree to." Sansa said.

"Jon?" Daemon asked.

"I can find little fault with Maester Aemon or Lady Sansa's words, your grace."

"So be it. Tyrion may join his nephew at the Citadel and Myrcella can be a ward and serve my future queen until a match of her choosing is found."

"Loras, Daemon?"

"Two years at the Wall and then we'll revisit his sentence." Daemon said firmly "Now I must speak to you all on my return to the North."

Jon saw how Sansa sagged at Daemon's words and then how quickly she composed herself. He listened as Daemon then spoke of what he must do and who it was he was to face. Quickly, far more quickly than he may have had Lady Sansa not been present, Daemon changed the subject and this one was far more welcomed by the lady in question. Preparations were to be made for a wedding to be held, a large one. A new queen was to be crowned and it seemed that both she and the king wished for it to be with haste. Though Jon was more certain that they simply wished to be man and wife. After they'd spoken on that, Jon chuckled to hear that Daemon, Sansa, Arya, and young Rickon Stark were to spend their day at the Dragonpit.

Two days later, he stood and watched as first Daemon said his goodbyes to his uncle, cousins, and then to his betrothed, while Prince Oberyn did the same to his daughters and paramour. A part of him felt it should be he and not anyone else who traveled North with Daemon. Yet he was relieved all the same that someone was doing so. They had traveled to the Dragonpit rather than saying their goodbyes at the Red Keep and Jon was once again awed by the sight of the golden dragon. It allowed him to not worry as much about Daemon's safety as he may. Though until he was safe and sound and back in the Red Keep, he'd no doubt worry regardless.

After the dragon had taken flight, Jon moved to the woman who would soon be his queen. The woman who'd all but been acting as such for the last moon or more. He could see she was upset and yet no tears fell from her eyes as she watched the dragon fade from their view. Standing next to her, Jon leaned down and whispered in her ear that Daemon would return soon and when he did, they'd then be wed.

"I have no doubt of his return, Lord Connington. Yet it pains me he has to leave."

"Think of the days to come, my lady. There is much work to be done to ready the realm for a good and true wedding."

"That there is," Sansa said, her smile true as she, he, and the rest of those who'd come to wave Daemon and Oberyn off, now made their way to their horses and carriages and back to the Red Keep.

The Bastard's Battle 300 AC.

The Greatjon.

For moons now this was what he'd been waiting for. A true chance to bring his sword to bear against the Bolton scum. Finding out it was the bastard himself who was leading them only made the Greatjon even keener for the battle to commence. However, there had been much that needed to be prepared and mummeries that needed to be performed too. At first, he'd not been best pleased about that. The idea of not facing an enemy head-on was not one that sat right with his Northern sensibilities. Had it been anyone other than the man who'd rescued him from the Twins who bid him to do so, then Jon Umber may very well have told him to go fuck himself. Since it was Daemon Targaryen, however, he and every single man there listened keenly.

"I could just use the dragon and end them in one swoop and should I feel the need to do so, then I promise you all that I will. But there is more at stake here than a simple victory." Daemon said looking to Jon, Torrhen and Brandon Snow, Marq Piper, and to Torrhen's annoyance, Mance Rayder too.

"Tells us what you'd have us do, Daemon," Mance said, the Wildling being the first of them to speak.

"For the Free Folk, it's simple. Stay out of the fight unless your people come under attack. I want Ramsay to feel you to be no threat to him or his men. It'll make him even more sure of his victory."

"Aye, we can do that," Mance said with a chuckle.

"Torrhen, the men of the Stormlands sigils and shields. Ramsay expects to face the remnants of Stannis' army and so that's what we'll show them."

"As you say, Daemon," Torrhen said looking at Brandon Snow and speaking some unsaid words.

"What of me?" he asked.

"Your mummery will be different, Jon. All I ask of you is to wait."

"Wait?" he asked confused.

"I don't know whether Ramsay will seek to attack first or offer a parley. Seeing what we'll show him, it could be either. Once the battle has begun, then I bid you, the rest of the Company of the Rose, and the men who traveled with you to then attack from the flanks."

"Aye, I can do that," he said with a true and somewhat vicious smile.

"You're leaving the rear open, Daemon?" Ser Marq asked and Daemon nodded.

"Viserion and I will handle the rear, Ser Marq."

"What of the bastard, Daemon?" he asked curiously.

"Other than his face, I care not. Be it me or any of you or any man at all. Faced with him, end him, but try and leave his face intact for I've yet plans for that."

Daemon had left the very next day and the Greatjon had no doubt that he'd return. Before he did so, the raven came from his House and Jon smiled upon reading the words it contained. His uncle Hothar had played his own little mummery and there would be men bearing his sigil riding into battle now too. Sharing the contents with Torrhen, Brandon, and Ser Marq, Jon listened as orders were given to not engage with any man bearing Umber colors.

Over the next few days, he rode with Ser Marq and sought out the best ground for their men to ride from. There would be few if any infantry fighting in the battle to come. The Bastard had ridden with only horsemen and so while Torrhen and Brandon would show them a token force on foot, it would be cavalry that truly won the day. Sitting by the fire, thinking about all those who'd lost their lives to Roose Bolton's betrayal, all he could do was let his anger build. Far too many men and women he'd named as friends had been lost at the Twins and while Walder Frey and his brood were responsible for most of their deaths, Roose was one of the true architects behind it.

"Jon?" Ser Marq said, seeing his expression darken and doing his best to lighten the mood. The ale in his hand was something that would help greatly with that.

"I'm just thinking on the Boltons, Marq," he said as Marq Piper took a seat beside him, his own ale brought to his lips once he'd done so.

"I can well imagine your thoughts, Jon. For no doubt, they're the same as mine own."

"Without Roose, it could never have happened, Marq. The betrayal we both faced, our friends faced…..While it was Walder's brood and men who did the dirty business, without Roose…"

"He'll face his own reckoning soon and on the morrow, we'll bring it to his bastard," Marq said, the vitriol in his voice something that Jon could truly relate to.

"Aye, that we will."

His sleep that night brought him dreams of his son. The Smalljon had fought bravely and truly and yet it had not been enough to save him. Had he, they, or any of them just had a weapon in their hands then it would have been Frey blood rather than the blood of good and true Northmen and women that had been spilled that day. Jon Umber now promised the specter of his son that he would see that was true on the morrow.

He woke to true Northern weather. The rain was falling straight down and softly on his face and so Jon looked up to the sky and let it wash the sleep from him. After breaking his fast, he took a knee by the small stream and offered a prayer to the Old Gods. It was a simple refrain and one he'd offered them many times since he'd been imprisoned and then freed from the Twins.

"Give me the strength to make them pay for all they've taken for me. Grant me the days to see it done and should the need arise to take me from this world, then do so only after Roose Bolton and his men have breathed their last." Jon said almost quietly.

They broke their fast on good meat and washed it down with the best of ale. For despite the plans they had made and their soundness, not all men would see the morrow. Looking around at those with him, Jon could see no doubt, no fear, and no man he'd name a craven. Should it be his day to die then he'd welcome that it was in their company that he did so. Though he would do all he could to make sure it was not to be today he met his gods and his son once more.

"It's been an honor, Jon, truly." Ser Marq said holding out his hand as they moved to their horses.

"Never thought I'd find a friend among you Riverlords, Marq. Nor have I ever been happier to have been proved wrong. We'll dine on Bolton scum today and share an ale or two tonight. What say you?" he said as he shook the man's hand firmly.

"That I've heard of worse ways to spend a day and night," Marq said and they both laughed truly and loudly.

Mounting up on his horse, he reached down and felt his Greatsword. Smiling as he ran his fingers over its hilt. On the order side of his horse, he'd attached a Mace given to him by Maege Mormont herself and he'd promised her that it would be Iron Born or Boltons that would feel it. So far he'd kept to half that promise. As they rode out and took their positions while awaiting the battle to begin, he swore he'd keep to the other half of it today.

Skinner.

Like a caged dog, he'd snapped and snarled at any who looked his way. The morning rain annoyed him greatly and he worried about the ground they were to ride over before the day was done. Mud slowed horses and could limit their charge against Stannis Baratheon and his men. Something he'd taken great pains to tell anyone who'd listen.

The closer they got to the Wall, the more the hairs on the back of his neck rose. A fear of something he couldn't explain coming over him. Yet they met no resistance. Saw no scouts or outriders and no blood had needed to be shed to shield their movements. Either Stannis Baratheon was a piss-poor commander or they'd done far more damage to his forces than they'd realized. Skinner, though he felt no man from the South could hold a candle when compared to a man of the North, still believed it was more than likely the latter of those two things.

Ramsay, he knew looked forward to and expected an easy victory, and given the men they'd faced in the Wolfswood all those moons ago, it would surely be that. Yet, for some unknown reason, Skinner's hackles were raised and doubt had begun to form because of it. Giving his horse a kick, he rode to Ramsay and asked for permission to take some outriders out to check their path for himself. Something he thought he was about to be denied.

"We've sent riders out already. They found naught to concern us." Ramsay said dismissively.

"Men you'd trust as much as me, milord?" he asked.

Ramsay looked at him curiously and whether or not he saw his concerns in his expression or something else, it mattered not.

"Take Luton and Sour Alyn with you and be back quickly. I'd have you with us when we ride for true."

"Of course, milord."

Skinner wished that he'd been given leave to take some of the Bastard's Girls with him too but they had been left behind in Winterfell. He'd not agreed with the choice to do so, but it wasn't as if he or anyone else would ever truly question one of Ramsay's decisions. Not if they wished to see the morrow that was. So with Luton, Sour Alyn, and four other men, they rode away from the main force of cavalry and within two hours they were in sight of the Wall itself.

Men went about their business as if they hadn't a care in the world. No new defenses had been built and there were few if any pickets formed. Shaking his head as he looked toward Castle Black, all he could see was a broken army. It took him some time to see the man who would be king and he looked just as broken as his army was. Mounting up once more, they rode east and soon enough came upon the Wildling settlement.

"By the gods, there's some beauties there," Luton said licking his lips and drawing Skinner's attention to where a group of women washed clothes in a stream.

"I fancy meself a taste of the big un." Sour Alyn said as he rose to his feet.

The slap he gave him was not appreciated and for a moment, it looked as if Sour Alyn was going to draw his knife. Seeing Skinner's hands on his own, however, must have made him think the better of it.

"We'll have our fun later," he said to a nod of Sour Alyn's head and then Skinner went back to looking at what he'd truly come to look at.

It wasn't that he didn't welcome the sight of the Wildling women. He even felt his cock harden at the thought of what fun could be had with them once Stannis and his men had been dealt with. Skinner knew Ramsay though and was he to find that they'd sought their own fun rather than do as he wished, he'd not be best pleased. Their lord would eventually share some of the spoils of victory. He'd flay them alive if they put that victory in doubt and Skinner knew more about flaying and the pain it caused than anyone alive.

After seeing what he wished, he and his men moved quietly away and were soon riding back to where Ramsay and the army should be. They found them before midday and they were now little more than an hour from Castle Black and the Wall. Riding to where Ramsay led from, Skinner quickly told him all he'd seen and answered every question that he was asked.

"Not a picket, Milord. A broken army and king," he said to a full smile from Ramsay, one that only got fuller when he spoke of the Wildlings.

"They expect us not?" Ramsay asked and Skinner nodded before moving to speak a little more quietly to his lord and mayhap earn some favor too.

"Some beauties, Milord. Among their women we spotted some beauties fit for a hunt," he whispered as Ramsay got that look in his eye that all his men knew full well.

"Good, I'll need something to celebrate with."

Later, as they crested the small ridge and readied their attack, Skinner felt no nerves or worries. The hairs on his neck stayed exactly where they were and his hackles were now a thing of the past. As the horn roared out to warn the men in Castle Black that an attack was underway, Skinner kicked his horse and rode hard. Thoughts of what he would do to some of those beauties filled his head as he covered the ground.

The pain when it came was blinding. It forced him from his horse and he looked down at his chest in disbelief at the arrow that was lodged there.

'Impossible'

'We were not in range'

'I could not have been hit'

As his blood pooled in his hands, Skinner looked to the charge of Ramsay's cavalry. He saw the arrows filling the sky and watched them as they hit home. Just as with his own, they should not have reached the men they struck, and yet somehow they had. Skinner tried to rise to his feet but found he could not. When he heard the loud sounds of the horns, he knew not what to make of them, and then he looked on in shock as two larger cavalrys' rode from the flanks into Ramsay's. Knowing he was to die here today filled him with a fear that stole his strength away from him and he sagged against the ground.

The next to last thing he saw before he died was a man bearing a shield with a pink maiden dancing on a field of blue and he thought it was the most beautiful sight he'd ever seen. Seeing the silver sword as it came towards his head was certainly its opposite and then Skinner simply saw no more.

Torrhen Snow.

Brandon had seen the scouts in the distance and it was hard to keep up the mummery of being poor soldiers long enough for them to see it. Once they'd left, they went back to their true preparations and Torrhen watched the archers take up their position. The horses were readied and their true strength was revealed, though only if you knew where to look. All in all, Ramsay had two thousand men, while they had thrice that number.

The Greatjon and Asher Forrester would lead close to three thousand men between them and Ser Marq. While Brandon would lead their archers and their infantry. It would be left to him to lead the men who'd soon ride out and as he watched them hide in the cold ice tunnel, he promised himself they'd be well rewarded when the battle was won. Waiting for the attack to begin was the hardest part and yet for Torrhen, he felt only excitement.

House Bolton had much to pay for and today would be the true start of that. The lives they had taken or helped take would be avenged and the Company of the Rose would play its part. As it had in setting the North to rights since it had landed on these shores. Smiling to himself, he made his way to his horse and awaited the signal from Brandon for their charge to begin. Looking to the gates of Castle Black, he saw the men ready to open them and he wondered what it would look like to the Bastard of Bolton when he saw them ride out.

"For the North," he whispered as he saw the arrows fill the sky.

Looking back at his men, Torrhen could see the eagerness on their faces. While few if any of them lived for battle, all of them were masters of it. Those they had fought against thus far and would do so against today were very much not. Hearing the sound of the horns, he bid his horse forward and saw the gates slowly open. Hand raised in the air, he readied to give the order.

"The North Remembers!" he shouted out loudly and his voice was joined by countless others.

Then as if the god of storms himself had bid them forth, the sound of the horses' hooves rang out loudly as first they walked, then trotted, and as they left the gates and the keep behind, finally they charged. Some of his men bore lances of their own design. Cruel and vicious-looking things with curled spikes or numerous sharp edges. Others bore even cruder wooden ones that had been sharpened to a point. Torrhen bore a sword on his hip and a mace in his hand and it was that which took the first Bolton man from his horse.

He reveled in the looks of surprise, shock, and even horror on the faces of the men they fought against. Even more so when the two forces of cavalry attacked them from the flanks. Swinging his mace, taking men from their saddles with ease, Torrhen looked for the Bastard of Bolton and found no sign of him. Instead, he saw the Greatjon swing his Greatsword and take man and horse together. Asher too swung his sword and no man he faced was a match for him. At some point, Torrhen lost his mace and was forced to swing his own sword. It would bring no respite to any man he faced that he had needed to do so.

Around him, the men of the Company showed the true difference between trained men and men who'd been pressed into service. Each of them had fought countless times in Essos while Torrhen would wager that few of the men they faced had ever fought in a battle for true. Cutting through them as if they were nothing, he finally caught sight of Ramsay Snow and bid his horse ride in that direction.

"Die Baratheon Scum." a voice called out which gave him the warning he needed to dodge the crude Morningstar the man who bore it wielded.

Torrhen blocked the next blow with his sword and looked at the ugly face of the man who'd attacked him. Squat, unkempt, and ill-looking, the man bore a Bolton sigil and wielded his crude weapon as if he'd only just been handed it. There would be no glory earned by killing this man and yet the man needed killing regardless. With two more parries, Torrhen drove his sword deep into the man's chest and as he withdrew it, the man fell dead to the ground. Later he was to find out he was one of Ramsay's so-called Bastard's Boys. A man named Yellow Dick. Torrhen found he cared as much then as he had when he'd ended his life.

The battle was all but won and so once again, Torrhen looked for Ramsay Snow and it took him some time to find him. Riding off in the distance with five men by his side, the Bastard of Bolton was proving himself naught but a craven. Briefly, Torrhen thought about gathering men to chase after him and only two things stopped him from doing so. First was Daemon's words that he'd handle any retreat to the rear and second was the sight in the distance of the golden dragon. Smiling to himself at the fate which surely was to be Ramsay's, Torrhen turned and looked for another man to fight. They were few and far between and most were dead or had thrown down their arms.

He rode to where some skirmishes were taking place only to find that the Greatjon was having his own fun once he got there. Surrenders were accepted, though none were asked for a second time once they'd been refused and along with men bearing his own sigil, Jon Umber was wielding out Northern Justice to those who'd been fool enough to fight on. Looking first to the man himself to ensure he needed no help, Torrhen once again turned in the direction he'd seen the golden dragon and chuckled when he saw it drop lower to the ground.

Prince Oberyn Martell.

Oberyn had arrived back in King's Landing right at the perfect time. After the city had fallen, he'd set sail for Dorne to speak to his brother in person. Soon finding out what it was that Doran wished for him. A place on the Small Council that he was to take up, initially at least, lessened taxes and some other considerations, none of which he'd had the chance to talk to Daemon Targaryen about as of yet. As for Trystane and Myrcella, young love's first bloom was not to blossom and the girl, much to her and Trystane's distress, had joined him on the ship back to the capital.

What was to become of her, he knew not. Although if needed, then he'd plead for leniency on her behalf. She was a sweet girl and he blamed her not for the sins of her grandfather. It was upon his arrival in King's Landing and in his brief meeting with Daemon that he found out he was flying back to the North. That alone had raised his interest. Seeing an actual dragon in the flesh had only done that even more so and so he'd made his request. Surprised greatly when it had been granted.

For a man like him, one who spent all his life seeking new experiences, there were few to compare to flying atop a dragon. The views he saw beneath him, the sheer distance the dragon could cover before needing to rest and simply the feeling of soaring through the sky were more than he could put into words. That Daemon seemed to share the same awed look when they landed in the Riverlands, was something he was most pleased about. Though as they ate and the dragon rested, it was darker thoughts that his mind turned to. Thoughts that Daemon seemed to share and which proved them much alike.

"I know," Daemon said as they sat by the fire.

"Know?"

"You wonder what would it have been like had the dragons come earlier. Would they still be alive and would thoughts of rebellion have remained just that?"

"How could…"

"I think them too, Prince Oberyn," Daemon said sadly.

"They'd have never rebelled. Not if your father could have brought a dragon to bear." Oberyn said, hating to speak on Rhaegar but needing to do so.

"No, and my sister, brother, your own sister, all would still be here and I'd have known a much different life. As I said, I've thought it too."

"It bothers you not?"

"More than I can speak on." Daemon sighed "Yet one thing I've learned serving the Many-Faced God, is that the life we lead is the only life we could. All else is owed to him and he and he alone gets to choose when that life is to end."

"Then your god is a cunt." Oberyn spat angrily.

"That he is, as are they all. Yet he is my god still." Daemon said rising to his feet and walking to the golden dragon.

They flew early the next morning and looking down from atop the dragon, Oberyn got his first-ever view of the North. There was a harsh beauty to be found there and in some ways, it reminded him much of Dorne. The wide open spaces that were devoid of life almost mirrored the desert sands he knew so well. All too soon they flew over men who marched and Oberyn had no need to seek out their sigils to name them as who they were.

A part of him willed Daemon to unleash the dragon and yet, for some reason, it seemed that was not part of Daemon's plan. Onward they flew and eventually they landed near what looked to be a small empty copse. It very quickly proved itself to be anything but. The men who came out from under the cover of the trees did so warily and Oberyn looked to see if Daemon was concerned or fearful upon seeing them. He was very much not. Dismounting off the dragon and bidding Oberyn to do likewise, Daemon moved to speak softly to the dragon and calm it down before they then moved towards the men.

"Though he knows them as allies, he is wary still," Daemon said, his voice sounding different than he'd noticed it being before and it took him some time to recognize what it was that made it so. Gratitude.

Looking away from Daemon and the dragon, Oberyn took in the men who moved towards them. They were clearly warriors one and all and the one who led them was not much older than Daemon himself. He bore a sigil of a white weirwood with a black sword upon it and though he'd studied much in his youth, it was one that Oberyn didn't recognize. The rest of the men bore the Northern look and yet none wore any sigil at all. These though he soon named as men of the Company of the Rose and seeing them back in the North brought a smirk to his face.

"Asher, all is well?" Daemon asked.

"Indeed, your grace. 'tis good to see you hale and hearty."

"And to see my dragon too, no doubt." Daemon japed which brought a chuckle from the other man, Asher as Daemon had named him "Prince Oberyn, allow me to introduce Asher Forrester and the men of the Company of the Rose." Daemon said when he'd noticed him standing there.

"A pleasure, Prince Oberyn," Asher said jovially.

"I thank you, Lord Asher."

"Just Asher, my prince. No lord as of yet."

"But soon, eh, Asher." Daemon said slapping the other man on the shoulder "I wish for Prince Oberyn to join your men, Asher. Can you see, horse and lance are provided for him."

"I can, your grace and I'll be most honored to ride into battle with the famed Red Viper," Asher said, gaining himself a small bow from Oberyn in the process.

"We passed them on the road, Asher. No more than a couple of hours at most." Daemon said.

"All is in order, your grace. We're more than ready for the Bastard and his army."

"Good. Then I'll take my leave of you. Good fortune, Asher, my prince."

"Good fortune, your grace."

Oberyn watched as Daemon moved back to the golden dragon and within the blink of an eye was in the sky once more.

"A wondrous sight is it not," Asher said and Oberyn nodded his agreement.

Less than two hours later, Oberyn rode with the men into a battle that very soon became a rout. With lance in hand, he cut through men as if they were nothing at all and he felt his blood rise as he did so. While he had no love for the Starks nor the Northmen or Riverlords they named as allies, he abhorred betrayal. So though it was mayhap not specifically these men who'd done so, they wore the same sigil as those who did and that was more than enough to damn them.

Even when he was unhorsed, Oberyn felt no true danger and with his spear in hand, he readied to face any who came his way. That three of them did so only made him keener for the fight to come.

"Who be you?" a man who smelt foul and had rotted teeth asked.

"The Red Viper of Dorne, mayhap you've heard of me," he asked, swinging his spear in his hand as he did so.

"Luton, Grunt, flank him." the foul-smelling man said and Oberyn moved his feet to ready to spring forth once they did so.

A thrust took the first man down and the second fell to a slash from his spear tip across his neck. The last he impaled and he was glad of the spear's length once he did so. Pulling the spear from his now-dead opponent, Oberyn looked around and soon found Asher facing off against a man wielding a whip. Hurrying to offer the man his aid, he laughed loudly when the man's whip coiled around Asher's arm and Asher simply pulled it from the other man's hand. A moment later, the man fell to the ground dead, and looking at Asher and around him, Oberyn could see he was not the only man who'd died at Asher's hands this day.

"The so-called Bastard's Boys, my prince. The one you killed last was named Sour Alyn, the fool with the whip called himself Damon Dance-For-Me. The world will mourn them not."

"This was not much of a battle," he said, looking to see the Company of the Rose men along with men he'd name as more Northern than they, all either accepting surrenders or putting men out of their misery.

"No, but then again Ramsay Snow was not much of a commander."

"And Snow?" he asked.

Asher raised his hand and pointed off in the distance behind Oberyn, drawing his eyes to the sight of the dragon flying low and loosing its flames.

"Facing a dragon's justice." Asher said and Oberyn laughed loudly, other men had once done so too and Oberyn pitied Ramsay Snow not "Now come, my prince. You've not lived until you've been part of a true Northern celebration."

"Another thing to mark off my list," he said softly as he and Asher walked towards other men of the Company, neither of them sparing another glance at the dragon or worrying about the king who rode upon its back. Both of them knew full well there was no need to do so.

Ramsay Snow.

What had been supposed to be an easy victory had turned into a nightmare straight out of the seven hells. Rather than being the hunter, Ramsay and his men had very quickly become the hunted and it was not a feeling he enjoyed. Where all these men came from, he knew not. They couldn't be Stannis, though, of that he was most certain. Ramsay knew he'd broken the Stag's army in the Wolfswood. He knew too that Stannis had brought the vast majority of his men with him when he'd marched from the Wall.

So as ahead of him, his men fell to first arrows and then a three-pronged cavalry attack, Ramsay wondered how it had come to this. Cursing himself for not bringing his Bastard's Girls with him, he did the only thing he could do once it was clear the day was lost. He ran. Leaving his men behind and caring not for their fates, Ramsay urged his horse to ride as fast as it could, and soon enough the battlefield was some distance behind him.

To his great relief, no one had followed and while there were many miles to go until he was truly safe, Ramsay was well on the way to being so. Still, he allowed no let up in his retreat and more than once he looked over his shoulder to see if he was being followed. By the time they reached the stream and the horses were allowed to take some water, Ramsay's blood was boiling and he was plotting just how he'd take his revenge. A voice that he couldn't fight away, and that sounded much like his father's, spoke in his ear and threatened terrible things for losing so many of their men. Yet for now, Ramsay was more than able to quieten that voice as he knew full well that it would be weeks until he faced his father again.

"Milord." one of the guards who'd ridden from the battle with him said as he handed Ramsay a cut of bread and some cheese, both of which he ate hungrily.

As he was about to speak on their plans and tell his men to mount up, he saw it and couldn't believe his eyes. Shaking his head, rubbing his eyes as if to tell them not to lie to him in such a way, Ramsay looked to the sky once more and felt true fear for the first time in his life. It wasn't just the sight of the dragon which was the reason for that fear. Nor even that the dragon was here in the North. Even the sight of the figure on its back wasn't the true reason for such a visceral reaction. Instead, it was the realization that the men he faced at the Wall, the dragon in the sky, and the man who rode it could not be a coincidence. They were all in league with each other. Which meant that the dragon would not simply fly away and leave them in peace.

"Mount up! Mount up!" he shouted, his panic clear in both his voice and in how the reins slipped from his hands when he grabbed them and how his foot fell from the stirrups as he tried to do as he'd bid his men.

Once he was atop his horse, Ramsay looked for somewhere he'd be safe when the dragon loosed its flames. With his eyes darting in all directions as well as looking to the sky as the dragon drew closer, it took him some time to see the trees in the distance. Kicking his horse, he rode as fast as he could and tried not to let the loud panicked voices of his men worry him too much. The dragon had dropped lower to the ground and as Ramsay looked over his shoulder, he saw flames come from its giant maw. It was not a pleasant sight and only that they'd not been directed at him or those who rode with him, or it may have been the last sight he would ever see.

While he made it to the trees, he did so alone. In his haste to be safe, Ramsay had outpaced his guards and they would not be joining him. Not in this life anyway. He'd not seen their ends and he doubted very much that they had either. One moment they were riding hard and trying to catch up with him and the next, they were gone. All that remained of them or their horses was scorch marks and ash that blew in the wind. It was not a fate that Ramsay wished to share. Kicking his horse even more and digging his spurs into its side, it gave all it had before it collapsed and threw him from its back.

Coughing, spluttering, and trying to gather his breath, Ramsay crawled along the ground and left the horse behind. Dead or just collapsed from exhaustion, it mattered little as the dragon was now flying towards him once more. Even when he reached the relative safety of the trees, Ramsay still moved as fast as he could. He'd regained his footing and yet he was far from safe. While the forest was too large for the dragon to find him, being at the start of it would leave him far too exposed. So he ran as fast as he could and tried not to think of the many young women he'd made do the same over the years. The comparison to them was not one he wished to dwell on and unlike them, Ramsay would survive this hunt. Or so he told himself.

"I'll not be burned," he said as he moved deeper into the forest.

How much time had passed since he'd entered the forest, he couldn't tell. Hours at least and the deeper he went into it, the more the hairs on the back of his neck began to rise. He'd seen no sight of the dragon for some time and yet, Ramsay was sure he was still being hunted. Checking his weapons, he was dismayed to find that it was only a small skinning knife that he still carried with him. His sword was strapped to the horse's side along with his bow and as he heard a loud howl, he began to worry about something other than a dragon or its rider.

After filling his water pouch and moving away from the more traveled trails, Ramsay once again felt the feeling of being watched come over him. Looking around him and seeing little if anything, he moved further into the forest. As he did so, he heard the breaking of branches and the sound of footsteps. Though he wished to run, he was tired and needed to conserve his energy in case there was an even truer threat. So he hid and waited. He didn't have long to wait to find out what or more precisely, who it was that moved his way.

The man wore no helm and his long dark hair fell around his shoulders. He bore little armor on him and had Ramsay his bow with him, then a single arrow would probably take him down. On the man's hip, he bore what looked like an expensive blade and he moved through the forest as if he was strolling on a summer's day. This bothered Ramsay more than anything as it put his own panicked state in stark contrast to the man's calm demeanor. Looking to where the man stood, Ramsay tried to judge the distance between them both and wondered if he could launch a sneak attack upon him. He was contemplating just this when the man spoke.

"Hiding will do you no good, Ramsay Snow For it's not just with mine own eyes I seek you out." the man said and Ramsay quickly looked around to see where the others who'd come with the man were.

Staying as quiet as he could, he almost bolted from his hiding place when the dragon let out a loud roar, and yet it was the howl of the wolves in reply that truly terrified him.

"The Starks send their regards, Ramsay Snow. The Wolves have come to feed. " the man said and Ramsay heard them as they moved in closer to where he lay on the ground.

Fight or flight was an instinct he knew all too well and rarely had he ever been the one to give in to the latter. Hearing the wolves howl as they moved ever closer, seeing the dragon fly overhead, and watching as the man looked in his direction more than once, it was a feeling he gave in to now.

"Run for your life." the man shouted as Ramsay did just as he'd been bid.

It lasted no more than a few moments. His own hunt proved more pitiful than some of the weaker women he'd chased down over the years. One moment he was racing through trees and dodging branches and the next he was thrown more than twenty feet through the air and he landed most heavily. Ramsay believed his arm was broken, mayhap even his leg, and certainly more than one rib. None of that concerned him, however. Instead, it was the countless eyes that looked his way and their howls as they surrounded him. A moment later, it wasn't even that.

"By the gods," he said as the white wolf moved closer, its red eyes looking deep into his very soul as it did so.

The wolf was no ordinary wolf, it was a Direwolf, of that he was certain. Ramsay could see what seemed to be hatred in its red eyes and yet it made no sound even as it growled at him. He reached for his knife and would have laughed when he realized he'd lost it, had he but the power of laughter left within him. For a brief moment, the white wolf turned its head from him and Ramsay looked on as the man from earlier now moved toward them both. To his utter shock, the white wolf moved to the man and allowed him to rub his fingers through its soft fur before it then turned back and moved toward Ramsay once more.

"My cousins were they here would take great delight in your death, Ramsay Snow. For what you did to Winterfell and its people alone, it won't be a quick one. You belong to the wolves and the wolves are hungry. Leave the face intact." the man said as he moved away and the white wolf now moved closer.

Two bites took his ability to run from him. His legs were both now useless and the pain was something he'd never imagined possible. How many wolves came from out from behind the trees, Ramsay knew not, only that they all looked at him hungrily. Then as one, they descended upon him and he felt their teeth as they bit into him and tore his flesh from his bones. The screams rang out for far more time than they should have. His pain only increased the closer he got to death. It was the red eyes of the white wolf that were the last things Ramsay ever saw. They and the teeth that bit into his neck and took his head from his shoulders.

The North 300 AC.

Daemon Targaryen.

Daemon had felt the call from the moment they had left the south behind. There at the back of his mind just as Viserion's had been. It got stronger the further north he traveled and even more so once he'd left Prince Oberyn with Asher and his men. When the battle began, he did his best to ignore the call and concentrate instead on making sure it was one that they won. Atop Viserion and high in the sky, Daemon looked down at the battle, ready to offer a dragon's aid should it be needed. It was not and soon enough another call needed to be answered. This one was for vengeance and justice.

Like a craven, Ramsay had left his men to die and cared only about himself. Daemon had watched him as he rode from the field and then he bid Viserion to give chase. The golden dragon seemed to relish the hunt, poor though it turned out to be. It had taken them no time at all to catch up with Ramsay and the men he'd rode with. Their fear was palpable even from where he and Viserion flew over their head and Ramsay's cowardice was in full effect as he outpaced even his guards. One swoop over their heads had been all it had taken to remove them from the world. One burst of Viserion's flames and the true power of dragons had been shown clearly.

Leaving them behind, Daemon had bid Viserion to chase down Ramsay Snow and his dragon had roared his approval as they did so. Though they had argued somewhat when they reached the forest and Daemon bid Viserion to land. Once they'd done so, Daemon spoke words that he believed put some of Viserion's worries to rest.

"Kesan sagon ȳgha se kesi sōvegon tolī hēnkirī, Visērion. Nyke kivio ao." (I will be safe and we will fly more together, Viserion. I promise you) Daemon said to a loud trill before the golden dragon took to the sky once more.

The call had been even stronger as he moved through the forest. So much so that he could feel it in his very bones. As he could Viserion too. While the golden dragon flew above his head and added his eyes to Daemon's own, Daemon followed the call and soon heard the sound of wolves howling. It should have given him pause or caused him concern and yet it did not. Nor did it make Viserion worry any more for him than he already was. So Daemon without hesitation moved further and further into the forest.

Be it Viserion, his own instincts, or the instincts of whatever it was that was calling to him, Daemon had felt Ramsay long before he saw him. He'd spoken words and again the howling of wolves had been loud and closer to them both. Then he'd watched as Ramsay made one last vain effort to escape the justice and vengeance that was to be wrought upon him. The sight he'd seen was one that would live with him until the end of his days. Circling around the trees and leaving no gap that Ramsay could escape from were more wolves than he could count. None as majestic or swift as the white one that covered the ground in the blink of an eye, before it jumped and launched itself into Ramsay Snow, throwing him more than twenty feet.

It had made no sound and though Daemon could see it growling as it moved toward Ramsay, both its footsteps and the growl itself were silent. When it turned and moved toward Daemon, he stayed as still as he could, and yet he felt no fear as it did so. The call was louder now and its red eyes looked at him in much the same way as Viserion's had. What made him raise his hand and touch its fur, he knew not, only that he did so and he felt it deep inside of himself once he had. Different than how it had been when touching Rickon's wolf, yet the same in some ways too, Daemon marveled as the white wolf leaned into his touch.

"Pack," he said softly, and his speaking so seemed to please the white wolf.

Looking at Ramsay, Daemon was stunned when the white wolf moved back to him as if he'd ordered him to do so. He could feel it as if it was he himself moving when in truth he'd not moved an inch since the wolves had appeared. Daemon could feel the hunger and desire to tear apart this thing in front of him and to make him suffer for all he'd done. With a nod of his head, Daemon felt the white wolf's approval and then he spoke words that later he believed were unneeded.

After the white wolf had crippled Ramsay, the rest of the wolf pack feasted on his body. To some, it may have been a gruesome sight while to Daemon it was one he simply watched until its end. At some point, the white wolf took Ramsay's head from his shoulders and carried it to where Daemon stood. Its teeth had dug into the back of the skull and the face was as unmarked as Daemon had wished it to be. Kneeling down, Daemon took Ramsay's face from his skull as the white wolf looked on with interest. With a nod of his head, the head itself was then eaten as had most if not all of the body that had once been Roose Bolton's son and heir.

Rising to his feet, Daemon looked on as the white wolf moved to one of the other wolves before all, but it, melted into the trees. He felt it when it moved to him, it's need to be by his side, and it's wish for him to take it with him. The call resounded deep within him as he reached his hand down and stroked the white fur once more before kneeling down to look the white wolf in its eyes. There was an understanding there, a longing, and as Daemon rubbed it behind its ear, a joy too, he felt.

"What are we to name you, eh boy?" he said as the white wolf leaned into his hand "Ghost." he said a moment later and was rewarded by a lick of the wolf's tongue upon his face, something which brought a true laugh from him in response "Aye, Ghost it is," he said, using a northern tongue for the first time truly in his life.

A/N: Thanks to all who've read and reviewed. Up Next: Daemon, Ghost, and Viserion make their way back to the Wall and plans are made to rid the North of the Boltons forever. In King's Landing, Aemon settles into his new role as Grandmaester, and preparations for a wedding take place. Daemon and Oberyn find they've much left to do before they can return to the women they lose as the Riverlands starts to be put to rights.

Missed Reviews.

FluppyGhost: Stannis was too far gone and the images in the flames were too much for him to resist. Without them, he'd probably have denied Melisandre here, but once he saw them, he was lost.

Thyrokio: With Melisandre I always get drawn to the canon thought she has, "I pray for a glimpse of Azor Ahai and R'hllor shows me only Snow". I think Dragonstone and Stannis are just two steps of her journey to lead her to Jon and she just completely misinterprets things. I also think it's why she's forced to do more and more terrible things as she's trying to make Stannis into something he's not. Whereas if she actually was by Jon's side, there would be no need to force the issue.

AliceLawrenBlack72: El horrible final del programa y el viaje de Jon fue lo que me inspiró a escribir fics en primer lugar. Se nos negó el verdadero Jon Snow y él nunca se enfrentó a la verdad de quién o incluso qué es. Entonces, en mis ficciones, trato de que al menos aborde esos temas y, especialmente, que dé la bienvenida a ambos lados de su linaje. Incluso cuando hago que sea más Dragón que Lobo, nunca olvida que es un lobo. Así que estoy muy contento de que estés disfrutando la ficción y espero que te guste a dónde va desde aqui.

Chapter 12 Reviews.

Daryl Dixon: So very glad you enjoyed it.

Third Cabin Boy: Thanks so much.

J: The difference is that Willas is the heir and so in some ways he suffers more for the sins of the father. Garlan earned a little of Daemon's respect in that he fought and fought well but it also had more to do with the fact of punishing him means punishing his wife too. Whereas punishing Willas, doesn't have the same effect. So there is kind of a line between deserved punishment and undeserved and I actually do agree with almost everything you say in regards to the fact that Willas is being treated unfairly. And yes, he could cause some issues based on the fact that he does have a mind, but then again, that would still be the same if he was named Lord of HG.

Vfsmake: I hoped you liked Ramsay's end.

Thyrokio: I went back and forth on just how quickly Daemon would ask and how romantically he'd do so and in the end, he pretty much knows little about romance and so it almost gets blurted out. Hopefully, it still came across well. As for Aemon, yes, but I think he'd forgo a little discomfort for a dragon ride.

Guest: I don't take your comments as harsh in the slightest and I more than welcome you expressing your opinion, so please feel free to do so anytime. You raise an interesting point with House Baratheon, but the big issue is that they never rebelled without cause. During the Dance, there are many questions of legitimacy to Rhaenyra's reign and while I personally think she was hard done by, it's understandable that certain Houses didn't rise for her. Later with Prince Duncan, it was a broken betrothal which was bad enough on its own but made worse that it was a commoner that he chose instead of Lyonel Baratheon's daughter could be argued that it left them with no other choice.

The rights and wrongs of Robert's Rebellion have been litigated countless times and no matter which side you come out on, there isn't really a case to be made that Robert wasn't right to rebel. Now, there may have been a Southern Conspiracy happening in the background and what happened to Elia and her children was a true wrong, but even without those things, Robert still had to rise. So it's not as if the Baratheons just rose for no good reasons. In the North, the Starks and the Red Kings fought countless battles and every so often the Boltons would rise again, yet until Roose, there was no call for them to be stripped of their lands and position. They were never the Greystarks until we reach canon.

Shireen is kin, As Aemon rightly points out she's just as much his kin as Daemon or Daenerys are. She's seen the folly that her family has wrought upon itself and owes Daemon a degree of loyalty that few if any others do. So who better than she to lead the Stormlands? And what's to say that appointing someone else doesn't empower them to rebel some time down the line. Honestly, out of all the Houses in Westeros, the one who posed the most risk to the House of the Dragon was House Martell, they killed a queen, and a king, yet they are left as Princes of Dorne and no one calls for them to be stripped. So while I agree with you, I disagree too as you can't predict the future and so, who's to say that the Starks or anyone else wouldn't rebel or revolt sometime in the future too?

I am right there with you on Tyrion too, however, that's show Tyrion, maybe book Tyrion and they are not who this Tyrion is right now. He can only be judged on what he did here and in Sansa, he has someone championing his cause somewhat. So Daemon can go overly harsh and without Sansa by his side, he probably most likely would, with her, Tyrion gets an easier ride.

I also agree completely with you on how Dany should have started the war. Dragons change things, they are exactly as you say, weapons of mass destruction. Tyrion's plans are so incredibly dumb and let's face it, they're only there so they can make the war against Cersei somewhat even. Even with all of that, when it actually comes time to take the Throne, it's done in the blink of an eye which shows the way it should have been handled. In other stories of mine, I've had different plans used by Dany, and had Jon or someone else points out Tyrion's failings. Logically, after Meereen, Tyrion would have lost his position as Hand. Then again, in the books it's not even a position he's given and Barristan would never have made the same mistakes.

Tyrion always comes across as a man too clever for his own good and we see him rely on overly complicated plans. At best he's a peacetime Hand and realistically, a man who never should be one.

Again though, that's a different Tyrion than this one as this one has not had the chance to be that man and so much be judged as the one he is here. We can't know in season 3 or 4 how Tyrion will be in seasons 7/8 and so we can only act based on what knowledge the characters would have access to.

Dunk: I wanted to make Ramsay's end a big part of the chapter and so I hoped this made the wait worthwhile. As for LF, the big issue he has is that he's not really aware of the game that's being played. He's thinking of it based on how things normally play out and has no idea of Daemon's true agenda. It's a fatal flaw in all his plans.

Biohazard: So very glad you liked it.

Maverick: Sorry for the delay, some personal issues which thankfully seem to be resolved now.

Emerald Ghost: Thanks so much for saying so.

Jettshay: It means so much that you're enjoying it.