*So I know that we have moved forward a year, but that is only been a couple months. Not a large time different. I know that they dont use the same calender but think something similar to December to January. Where it is a new year, but in reality, not much actual time has passed.


299 AC

Tyrion Lannister

If only he had been a maester. The stories and experiences he could write about from his journeys. He had pissed off the edge of the Wall, he had dined with the Black Brothers, and he had seen the majesty of the great fortress of the North.

His journey home saw him beside the second son of the Lord Paramount of the North. He liked the boy; he loved his own father but seemed to realize there was more to the world than just pure honor. And the seat he had been gifted! His own father would never see fit to bestow such a gift on him.

Even battered and in ruin, Moat Cailin was a tough nut to crack. When he and Edwyle Stark had first arrived, work had already started. It had only been commenced for about a fortnight, but still, progress was progress. The army of well-paid laborers and skilled craftsmen had toiled every hour of every day, working in shifts. 'Winter is Coming, we cannot afford to rest when men can work' Edwyle Stark had told him.

The rubble had already been cleared and those stones that were deemed fit to be used again were set aside while the others were ground up and mixed with water for rudimentary mortar. Nothing had yet to be built. But with the rubble cleared, it certainly was cleaner and more of the base of the castle could be observed. He had stayed an additional two days in the North with Lord Edwyle, in such time the initial rebuilding of the base was begun on the South Tower. The first to meet the South. He was ripped form his thoughts by the stench of the city that he knew was near.

Oh it felt good to be back in the South once more. He had enjoyed the offerings of the North for quite some time. But home was still home. He was surprised as he crested the hill, to see that many of the former lion banners that once decorated the city, were replaced with the black stag, upon the yellow field.

Entering the city, his party of his two Lannister guards, and a sellsword whom he hired to compliment his party named Bronn, traveled through the Gate of the Gods, and up the main portion of the Kingsroad. It took nearly half of the hour, but eventually, his small party arrived before the Red Keep. The change in Lannister banners was not the only thing that was evident. The closer he traveled to the Red Keep, the more the City Watch seemed to change.

Slowly, he observed that the golden capes melted away, and in their place, was the light and dark greys of troops from House Stark and House Baratheon of Dragonstone. When he had first arrived in Winterfell oh so many months ago, he had assumed that Ned Stark was not bred for southern courtly games. Perhaps this was true; but it seemed the northerner ensured that no games would be played at all. After all, those sorts of entanglements can only be fought with enemies, and seemingly Ned Stark and Stannis Baratheon managed to have all the rats leave the city.

He reined his horse in and managed to dismount after some time. Waiting for him in the courtyard was a man he had recognized from his initial stay at Winterfell. He had forgotten the man's name, but he was a close guard or captain to Lord Stark no doubt. Too bad he did not introduce himself.

"My lord. The Hand of the King has ordered me to fetch you immediately."

"Can it not wait good man? I have ridden for many months."

"I'm afraid not my lord. Lord Stark was quite insistent."

"Very well. Lead me; but please, at least have an order from the kitchen be sent. My stomach growls far too loudly for my liking."

He followed the man as they climbed the many-stared tower of the Hand. It was a long way up and he had not reached the halfway point when his legs began to fail him. He landed each footfall heavily, and without grace. He thought back to his memories of the Wall, in the far northern reaches of the Realm. How come the maesters couldn't have one of those wall cages build here? Seriously, who thought a tower this tall was convenient? It was apparent that whoever built the tower evidently needn't to climb it, for if they had, they would have realized just how remarkably exhausting the climb was.

But he was interrupted from his thoughts when he reached the top of it. He had been inside his own mind that he hadn't seen they had climbed the rest of the way. The captain of the Stark guards banged on the door, announcing his arrival. He opened the door for him and gestured for him to continue. As he entered, the chamber was not quite as empty as he had thought. The presence of Eddard Stark was expected, but the equally as stern man sitting before him was not.

"Lord Tyrion, be welcome to King's Landing. I must beg your pardon for not receiving you. There were certain…matters that required my immediate attention."

"Excused. If I may ask…for what reason have I climbed this monstrously large tower?"

"Sit." Lord Stark pointed at the chair that was to the right of Stannis Baratheon.

"You may have yet hear of it due to your travels, but Renly Baratheon was removed from the Small Council and Lord Stannis here has replaced him as the Master of Laws."

"I hope this is not an interview, to place me as the new Master of Ships. I must admit, I am not particularly good at them."

Lord Stark seemed amused at this quip, but Stannis simply sighed. "My lords, let us drop the niceties. There is work to be done."

"Please my lord. Any more talk like that and you would remind me of my father."

"I am nothing like Tywin Lannister."

"No, you are not." Tyrion agreed smugly. The two lords fixed eyes on one another. The Lord Hand intervened before anything else could go wrong.

"My lords. Calm yourselves. Lord Tyrion, you have been called for another reason. The two of us require your assistance."

"Ah. 'Require your assistance.' I do love those words. What can I do for the great Eddard Stark and equally as temperamental Stannis Baratheon."

"Watch your tongue. Or I shall separate it for you." Stannis shot back.

"Lord Stannis!" Lord Stark's loud outburst surprised the both of them. "You two act like my children. Shall I take you over my leg and spank you as I would one of my own?"

"My Lord Hand, this an outrage-"

"Then control yourself! And as for you, I would watch your words Lord Tyrion."

The two men across of the Hand of the King were suitably reprimanded. The two quietly apologized to one another, even if Stannis' was much more terse and less than meaningful. Regardless, the room calmed and there was a moment of silence 'fore Lord Stark began.

"Lord Tyrion. We can handle the issue of the now empty office of Master of Ships. What we require of you is far more important."

"And what may that be?"

Lord Stark looked at Stannis for a moment before looking back at him. "We would have you spy on the current Master of Coin; Petyr Baelish, the Lord of the Fingers."

"Oh. All the best stories start with spying. Why should I agree to this Lord Hand?"

"I am not ignorant to the ways of the South, as much as I detest them. Should you find that Petyr Baelish is guilty of financial malfeasance…as well as other potential crimes-" Lord Stark looked at him pointedly. "-then I am sure that arrangements can be made to ensure your ascendency to Littlefinger's previous post."

"Spare me Lord Stark. You would only appoint me to placate my father, who is no doubt currently frustrated at your responsibility for removing Lannister influence from the city."

"Yes, you have the right of it. I am not good at these games, so I usually simply do not play them. But perhaps I can promise that the debts to House Lannister shall be the last to be addressed."

This might confuse most. But it seemed that not only was the Lord of the North a capable military commander, but also held a deep knowledge of financial affairs. His wish was to pay off the debt of the Iron Throne. But Tywin Lannister's greatest point of influence over the Crown was not through the troops posted at the city or even through the Queen. It was through the debt owed to him.

By promising to pay off all other debts first, it allowed Tywin Lannister to have some security over the realm longer than Eddard Stark would normally allow. No doubt the Quiet Wolf wished to do away with the debt altogether, but he was seemingly able to make concessions when he needed to.

"Though I am tempted to do such a thing because of the employment it offers me, how do you know that I would do this for my father? No doubt even you have been aware of his public disdain for me."

Lord Stark looked down with a scowl. "As much as it pains me to say this, wolves and lions are alike in some ways. One of these is through the pack. You may not like your father, or even Her Grace the Queen. But I would assume that you love your brother? Your nephews and niece?"

"…Fine. What would you have me do?"

"Find evidence of Petyr Baelish's many crimes. Ensure that the evidence is damning enough to at least warrant his dismissal from the council, if not more."

"By any means necessary." Stannis curtly added.

Eddard Stark gave the Stormlander a grim look at the prospect of him not operating completely within the law, but he voiced no opposition.

"Very well. If that is all my lords…" Lord Stark simply waved him off. "Have a restful evening my lords. I myself shall not begin this charade until I have had a hot meal and a soft bed."


Ser Barristan Selmy

He thought he had seen Robert Baratheon the happiest during his journey to the North, but this far outweighed that. The royal party had arrived at the mighty keep of Storm's End and nearly immediately, all the banners sworn to House Baratheon sent a representative of some kind to the King's ancestral seat.

It seemed that every other day the eldest and youngest Baratheon brothers went out on a hunt of some kind. At the moment however, he was given the day off. Ser Arys had accompanied the king and the rest of the Baratheon men out into the woods. But a Knight of the Kingsguard never truly had a day off, as was the same today, as it was thirty years ago. He found himself in the tiltyard of the cliffside castle.

He had started his training as he had always done. Before even swinging a sword, Ser Barristan made sure that he conducted some stretches. After this was done, he initiated some light sparring with the current castellan of Storm's End, Ser Cortnay Penrose. Ser Cortnay was no match to himself, but he was an honorable and able warrior in his own right. It was after the second spar, that went to him of course, that he noticed the eyes of a young man on them.

"It seems we have ourselves a spy." He dryly commented. The castellan turned to focus on what had drawn his eyes before letting out a hearty chuckle.

"Edric! Come over!" Recognizing the name, Ser Barristan realized that the young man was none other than the eldest recognized bastard of His Grace himself.

"Who are you, young man?"

Obviously the child became wide eyed at the deep, baritone voice of the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, but he quickly reapplied a kind smile.

"I am Edric Storm…" Ser Cortnay patted the child's back. "Ser! I mean I am Edric Storm Ser!"

"Ha ha! Calm yourself little lordling. Have you yet to train with the blade?"

"I wish to ser, but Ser Cortnay says that I am too young to use steel. I have started with the practice blades!" He reported happily.

"Keep with it young man. Even I once started with practice blades. Would you like to watch us as we spar?" The lordling nodded excitedly.

Selmy and Penrose assumed their positions and began.

He found himself in his own mind. It seemed to happen more oft recently. Perhaps it was the factors of growing older, but it saddened him in a way.

He was reminded of his great victory over Maelys Blackfyre at the Stepstones, he remembered how he had spent so many years serving with honor under Aegon V and Jaehaerys II…then Aerys II came. Oh how he loathed that man. He had been prepared to, and almost, give his life for the Mad King. To many, oaths may be simple words, but to the few men like him, oaths were serious things.

His one hope was the eldest of the Mad King, Rhaegar. The Silver Prince, the Last Dragon, the Prince that was Promised. And yet, all hope washed away in time. Like the smiles, after Harrenhal, all hope left the realm. When he had awoken on the bed after the Battle of the Trident, he had contemplated ending his own life.

It had been simple to him then. The king and the heir were both dead. The rest of the dwindling dynasty had fled the realm. But it seemed that he was as lousy as doing the deed as he was at protecting his charges, for as he was just about to do it, in walked the leaders of the Rebellion.

First was the wise and senior Jon Arryn. The next through the tent would be his future charge, Robert Baratheon, his own body bandaged. The last was the slippery, yet broad-shouldered Hoster Tully.

He unfortunately did not have the chance to ever thank his savior. When he had awoken, Eddard Stark had already been dispatched to the capital. Once he was healthy enough to travel, the young Quiet Wolf had already left the capital to go to Dorne. After that…well he didn't blame the young man for returning to Winterfell.

He would not see the man until the Northmen's arrival at the Greyjoy Rebellion. And how did the Northman change. From the young man, yet to have whiskers on his face, to a man who had grown…matured. The Northerners had arrived on their small, Western Fleet's ships along with the ships of the Riverlords.

Perhaps it was the West that the Ironborn had attacked first, but it was the eons of rage that the Northerners repaid them in. For at every island, it was the brutal berserkers that led the van…much to the chagrin of the Southern lords.

But it had paid off. Apparently the Lord of Winterfell had changed during the crucible that was Robert's Rebellion. The Quiet Wolf was known for his honor and honesty, for always showing more chivalry than most actual knights.

But when a war had been declared…well it had shocked even himself. The Wolf of the North had spared no one that he thought deserved it. From castle to castle, from holdfast to holdfast, Eddard Stark and his Northerners put on a show…for that is what it truly was.

The brutality had two objectives; first, to once and for all end the threat of the Ironborn. But secondly, and he suspected far more importantly, to ward of the South. The only nicety that the Quiet Wolf had offered during the Greyjoy Rebellion was his suggestion to spare the last of Balon Greyjoy.

Robert had been against it of course, but it seemed that it had not mattered. For as the dust settled, and the bodies had been counted, it seemed the youngest son and only daughter of Lord Balon had gone missing. To this day, no one has heard either from, or of them. After the uprising, Lord Rodrik Harlaw had been appointed as the Regent of the Iron Islands.

And just as quickly, those of the North once more retreated to their smoky lands of old trees and even older gods.

In the time since, Barristan evaluated himself. Was he really worthy? Oh he was good with a blade, aye. Was he bold…perhaps. But was he worthy? He'd never let it show, but he had long ago concluded that he was not the knight others should look up to. If he was, he would have found a sooner method at saving Aerys from Duskendale, he would have done something to help the Queen, Rhaella, who had long suffered and deserved a life far better than she had. If he was worthy, he would have either saved Rhaegar, or gone down with him.

He was good with a sword. But that didn't mean anything. As much as he hated it himself, he didn't think himself to have better honor then even the Kingslayer.

Had he regretted his life? No, he had none of that. He had made his own decisions and he had to live by them. But that wasn't to say that he was disappointed by the outcome of his decisions.

Had only Jaehaerys II not forced his children to wed. Had only Aerys II not been kidnapped and held at Duskendale. Had only Rhaegar have the wits to not throw the realm in turmoil when he was so close to having his father removed. Had only Eddard Stark taken the throne at the end of the Rebellion. He was not an intensely pious person, but even he would have to assume that the Seven were mocking him and his entire life.

He was knocked out of his thoughts as Ser Cortnay clashed his sword with his.


Sansa Stark

She had long ago left the capital. In their party was Ser Rodrik who led twenty Stark men-at-arms. Alongside of Lord Beric Dondarrion who led another twenty of his own guard. Lastly was her intended, Lord Edric Dayne.

Already a Lord in his own right after the death of his father, Edric was of normal height, with pale blonde hair and eyes of purple. Unlike her own older brothers, Edric had yet to kill somebody, though she didn't hold that against him. He was a kind young man and most of all, he did not seem disgusted with her.

She held her own beauty, but her mother had convinced her that all men would reject her due to her father's insistence at the blade. It had been some time since she last practiced, but her betrothed did not seem to object at the very least.

Dorne was the hottest place she had been to in her life. Unlike the heat of Winterfell's walls or the pools in the Godswood, this was a heat that was oppressive. At least the warmth in the North felt good, to warm your heart from the cold air. But here, it was everywhere.

The travel had been boring, but very informative. In reality, she had thought that Arya would have been a better fit to the sands of the South, but she was still happy at the moments that led here. there was a time when she would not accept anything less than the hand of the crown prince himself. Her eyes had been opened since then, however. Regardless of how sad it was, the North had a way to whittling a man or woman down to their true self.

But at the moment, she did not wish to reminisce about her thoughts. Snapping her reins, she gently trotted forward so she could share words not with her betrothed, but with his own master. Lord Beric Dondarrion was an interesting man. She had heard many call him the Lightening Lord after his own arms. He was amusing, and possessed a strong sense of justice she observed, much like her own father.

"Lord Dondarrion."

"Ah! The Lady Sansa. What can I do for you?"

"My lord, forgive me, but it seems that I am ignorant to the reason why my betrothed was given as your ward?"

"Young Edric…some call him Ned, though I can see how you may not like that. Regardless, Edric was not originally in my views of my life. You see, besides escorting my ward and his beautiful betrothed." Sansa reddened at that. "I also come to Starfall for my own reasons. See I myself am currently betrothed to House Dayne as well. Before Edric's father passed, we agreed that I would marry his younger sister, Allyria Dayne."

"Oh, how exciting! Perhaps we'll have two weddings to take place." Sansa always remembered her courtesies.

"Ha! Have patience my lady of Stark. I look forward to being of the same family as you but enjoy your own life as much as you can now."

"Of course. Forgive me my lord."

Lord Dondarrion leaned over. "Lady Sansa, may I make an observation?"

"Yes, please my lord."

"You must pardon my bluntness, but I understood that you were raised in southern court protocol through your mother and septa?"

"Yes, that's right."

"Well…"

"My lord?"

"It is only…well you will be marrying into one of the most powerful Dornish houses. And Dorne, much like the North, is very different then the rest of the South. Even I, a Stormlander, take some qualities from them. As we marcher lords oft do."

Now Sansa was truly befuddled. "What do you mean my lord?"

"You must find yourself my lady. You say what you think others wish to hear. You have your own mind, yes?"

"Oh aye! Don't tell them this, but I am far smarter than many of my siblings."

Lord Dondarrion smiled and looked down before continuing. "Then use that mind of yours. Tis not the end of the world should you do. Only those lords too stupid to listen to their wives that you must fear. I hope that I have done better when raising young Edric. The sooner you learn to be your own woman, the sooner you will enjoy, and be enjoyed, here in Dorne."

"But…" Sansa looked down in confusion.

"But that is what your septa told you?"

"Aye…aye! Aye my lord. Pardon." She nearly forgot his address.

"The Seven tell you one thing. The Old Gods something else. The king another. But perhaps the most important teacher of all is the instruction received from life. From experience. Tell me, have you heard of Olenna Tyrell?"

"I heard of her when I reached the capital, I heard some in the King's court speak of her."

"Then you will have no doubt heard of her name given to her? The 'Queen of Thorns.' Do you believe that the infamous Queen of Thorns, whom all is afraid of, seeks to please everyone?"

"…No?"

"Quite right. No, she does not. And her direction to always speak her own mind, coupled with her skill at the game, have allowed her to be one of the most powerful women in the realm."

The two of them turned their heads as a shout from the front of the party grabbed their attention. Lord Dondarrion was being summoned for some reason. Lord Dondarrion turned to her.

"Think on what we've discussed my lady. You are a wolf of the North, not a delicate flower. Be a wolf."

With that, the Lightening Lord snapped his reins to answer his summons.