I'll start this once again with House of the Dragon talk, because Episode 7 was my most anticipated episode and it didn't disappoint! I'm a bit unsure of the change to Laenor given the important role Seasmoke plays in the future, but other than that I loved it. Aemond claiming Vhagar might just be in my top 5 scenes in either show!

But back to this story. I'm a day early today for the benefit of Ao3 due to being busy all day tomorrow, and I'm also hard at work on Chapter 50, a massive landmark for me and the chapter that will mark this story 3/4 completed. It's set to be an important chapter and one I'm really looking forward to.

In the books the Most Devout were housed in the Sept of Baelor. In the show, I genuinely cannot remember if they were even mentioned. For the purposes of this story I'll mix the two together and say that the Most Devout stayed in the Starry Sept of Oldtown.

I hope you all enjoy this chapter for now though! I own nothing but the OC's, the recognisable characters and locations are the property of George R R Martin or HBO.

12,000 might didn't seem a large number when Styvan compared it to Mance's original force, but the sheltered bay of Hardhome was still crammed with all of the Free Folk that had refused to join the crow lover through the Wall. That many mouths to feed in such an area was only starting to create problems however, and the 14-year-old's belly was very rarely full anymore.

The thought of Mance Rayder made the teenager growl as he crouched in the woods near the newly populated village. When his parents had died fighting the Crow's he had looked to Mance to lead, to save their people. Instead Mance had broken bread with their sworn enemies and abandoned them to the cold, and as most of Styvan's clan had left with the traitor, it had left him and his two younger sisters alone fending for themselves amongst the true sons and daughters of the North, and so it was Styvan's job to hunt for their food, and he was good at it.

He was currently on the trail of what looked to be a large deer or a stag, a rarity nowadays in the Haunted Forest. Styvan crept slowly through the trees, keeping an eye on the tracks as he went. He followed them up towards the cliffside before they disappeared, likely covered by the snow.

Groaning, Styvan stopped moving stealthily as he kicked out, sending snow flying off the cliffside. He looked down to see the newly populated Hardhome, with men, women and children crammed in so heavily that the heat generated by the people below was keeping the snow from truly settling. He spotted his tent, and smiled at the little specks that must have been his two sisters. Gearing himself up once more, he turned back into the forest and continued his hunt.

It was an hour later when he came upon the young stag, and very quickly his spear was bloodied, stabbing the animal directly in the heart at first try. Grinning, he packed his spear away on his back and began preparing the stag to carry back to the village, gripping the legs before hauling it up over his shoulders. Styvan could feel the blood dripping down his back, but he didn't care.

Five steps later however, and the wind began. It was as cold as Styvan had ever felt in his life. Each hair on his body felt like it was being stabbed by a thousand tiny daggers. Keeping the stag up he shifted his hood so that his face was fully covered, before the young man took a light jog back through the forest. He couldn't outrun the storm though, and before he knew it the snow was buffeting him from all angles, tripping him up.

"Fuck!" He swore, crawling over to where the stag had fallen. As he hoisted himself up to his feet he went to grab the stag again, but as he shivered from the cold his eyes were drawn to the wound he had inflicted. The blood was frozen.

His eyes widening in fear, Styvan looked around. His line of sight was getting smaller though as the wind and snow howled around. Grabbing the stag again he hauled it up onto his shoulders and tried to run as fast as he could, managing to get to the edge of the treeline before falling down again from exhaustion. Groaning, he pulled himself up once more, desperate to get his prey back to his sisters. He took a step towards the stag, when the animal's eyes opened and shone a terrifying blue.

Styvan screamed as he reached back to grab his spear once more, but by the time the spear was in his hands and he was in his fighting stance the stag had gotten back on all fours and was charging at him. Styvan stabbed out, but missed, only for an antler to pierce his own furs a second later. Thrown back, Styvan dropped his spear to the ground as both hands rushed to his wound, feeling the warmth of his own blood as it seeped out of him. He started to tear up, but stopped himself with a growl through clenched teeth as he put pressure on his injury with one hand and placed the other on the ground to help himself up.

The stag was gone though, and as Styvan looked around his eyes returned to the treeline, where all he could see was a sea of blue eyes. A half rotted horse was at the front with an ice demon riding its back, and Styvan began to piss in his breeches.

"Vreya, Brenna, forgive me." He whispered, as he pulled out a knife from within his furs. Feeling weakened from the blood leaving him, he took a fighting stance once more as he faced off against the demon. The horse didn't move forwards however, and instead the White Walker jerked its head, and rushing from the tree line came hundreds upon hundreds of dead men and women. Styvan simply brought his knife to rest against his chest and closed his eyes in preparation for his end.

The first decision that had been made by the Small Council was that the King and Queen would venture out together to help with the removal of the rubble. His outfit for the occasion had been picked out by Margaery herself, an all black affair with seven pinstripes down the front each showing a different colour of the rainbow, for the colours of the Faith. His cloak was also black, with a large outline of the Seven Pointed Star. A note had also been placed atop the folded clothing.

Wear this. No weapons.

The thought of that made him uncomfortable, but he knew that the people would see him attending the wreckage site unarmed would be an important message of peace, so he left Blackfyre standing in the corner of his bed chambers after putting his new clothes on.

The carriage ride over to Visenya's Hill was awkwardly silent, as all initial attempts to speak to Margaery were met with half-hearted responses at best, and silence at worst. Giving up, the King just stared out of the window silently, wishing that his arm was well enough to ride his horse. As they grew nearer the crowds were thickening, and by the time they had reached the square beneath the old Sept Luke guessed that there were thousands of people there, either to help or just to observe.

There was silence in the air as he exited the carriage, and Luke looked around to see that his red cloaked guards had created a barrier in their dozens. Many bowed their heads in respect, but enough stared defiantly to make it noticeable. When Margaery descended however, all heads were bowed. Luke felt her slip her hand into his unbandaged one. "Come, husband." She whispered gently. "Let them see you helping them."

Luke nodded, allowing her to pull him over towards the large set of stairs where he could see the damage done. The Sept was one large pile of stone, with only one of the seven towers still resembling anything like it had, though it was a third of its former height and broken as if it were shattered steel. He could see the faint glow of embers still burning within the ruin, but for the most part the flames were out.

Ser Daemon Sand was there to meet him at the top of the stairway. "Your Grace." The Dornish bastard bowed.

"Commander." Luke greeted.

"The new Wildfire measures put into place by Prince Oberyn have worked for the most part." Daemon began explaining. "The only fires left burn underneath the rubble, we cannot get to them as of yet. Wagons have been procured from all across the city to remove the stone and word has been sent to the nearest castles for more. We have people working on removing the stone, and the stonemasons have provided us with tools and men to help shift the lot."

"Excellently done, Ser Daemon." Luke nodded. "What can we do to help?"

Ser Daemon looked around. "You are injured…"

"That doesn't matter, Ser, I will do what I must for my city." Luke insisted.

"Husband…" Margaery began. "We can talk to the people instead…"

That would have been what his Maester's would have recommended, but Luke was starting to realise that he was far better with physical actions to restore the faith of his people than he was with verbal ones. "You have a way of understanding them better than I, my love." He explained to her. "I shall aid with the stonework."

The Tyrell Queen stopped the obvious frown that had formed for a millisecond, pushing her face into a smile. "Very well." She curtseyed, taking a few of the smaller rocks in her hands and moving down the stairs once again.

After a few seconds of watching her descend, Luke turned back to the destruction that he had caused, listening to the bubble of conversation brewing from below him. He took a deep breath and moved over to one of the Stonemasons who had lined the closest large chunk of rock with a set of steel plugs, and he was hammering them down individually until he saw Luke approach, stopping what he was doing and standing up, bowing his head. "Your Grace." He said in a thick Fleabottom accent.

"Rise, friend." Luke insisted, and the man raised his head. "What is your name?"

"Corwin, Your Grace. Corwin from Fleabottom. Been a Stonemason for 20 years." The man explained, wiping his brow of sweat.

Luke smiled. "Then I'm sure you can teach me a few things today." He said, moving closer to the rubble. "What is it we are doing?"

"We call it the Plug 'n' Feather, Your Grace." Corwin told him, before the stonemason began to explain about how they drill small holes into the stone before placing the 'feathers' and 'plug' into each hole to get a smooth split. Corwin then handed Luke a lightweight hammer. "All you gotta do is hit the plugs in gently, keep it nice and slow like, and it'll come apart."

So Luke, with his good arm, spent the next ten minutes slowly hammering in the steel plugs as instructed, only pausing for Corwin to help the crack form down the side of the stone by chiselling it gently, before finally the stone split in two, causing the King to quickly jump out of the way with a grin. He had been slower than most of the masons working around him, but nonetheless he was proud of what he had done. "Thank you for the lesson, Corwin, I'm sure we will be doing this far more often in the near future."

Corwin nodded, before a questioning look appeared on the man's face. "Forgive me for askin' Your Grace, but what will be done with the marble?"

That was something that the King hadn't even thought about. "I'm not quite sure, I presume it will go towards the rebuilding of a Great Sept once we have secured the area. This much marble shouldn't go to waste."

"That's a lot of work." Corwin remarked. "Lotta stone will need shaping."

Luke laughed. "I'll be sure to recommend you." He insisted. Together he, Corwin and Ser Daemon managed to pick up one of the halves and carried it down to an awaiting cart. Instead of heading back up given his injury, Luke then decided to follow Margaery around as she spoke to the gathered crowds, learning that most actually appreciated what he did, with one rather vocal woman cursing the Sparrows for executing the Septon's of the Sept of Baelor within the walls of the building, and proclaiming that it was a blessing that the Dragon burnt down the tainted building to rebuild anew.

Above all however, spending the day there with the people that lived in his city gave Luke a newfound respect for his Queen. Margaery knew exactly how to talk to everybody, be that a curious child, a cynical greybeard and all those in between. With the conversations struck up and the sharing of food from the Red Keep, by the time that the sun was starting to set and they were preparing to return to the Red Keep, the atmosphere was a pleasant one, mired with only a handful of furious citizens. As the royal pair were in the carriage on their way back to the Red Keep, Luke tried to start a conversation up as he had on the way. "You were impressive out there today." He complimented.

Margaery however just scoffed. "That's what I do all the time when I visit the city. I talk, I listen, I make them pretend that their lives aren't nearly as dreary and bleak as they truly are. Talking to your subjects makes them feel closer to you, it makes them feel a sense of loyalty because they know who you are rather than have them feel like you look down on them from up high in the Red Keep."

Luke gulped. "I've never intended…"

"You're a soldier Luke, you thrive in camps and in battles when there is a clear goal to achieve of victory. But we aren't just ruling over soldiers now. These are real people, with real lives and real struggles. The Faith is all some of them have, and it's been a bloody difficult job trying to convince most of them that the Sparrows are the ones in the wrong rather than you."

Luke felt reprimanded. "You're right." He nodded. "But I will never apologise for ending them the way I did. The Targaryen name has been looked at with weakness for two decades. I showed them that we are back, stronger than ever."

Margaery rolled her eyes. "The people loved you before you took a dragon to their Sept, Lucerys. I had made sure of that. Diplomacy and talking can go a longer way than you think, but you've spent too much time with your sister to understand that."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Luke raised an eyebrow.

"It means that she is truly a Targaryen, one that jumps straight to chaos and destruction rather than doing the logical thing and thinking about the long term consequences." Margaery hissed. "And perhaps that plays nicely into your warrior's brain, I'm not sure. But if you had focused a little less on whatever Daenerys is whispering to you and a little more about how we keep everybody on our side, then perhaps this Sparrow issue might never have happened."

That was the last thing Margaery said to him as she turned away to stare out of the window of the carriage, and the Queen was quick to depart the carriage once it pulled into the Red Keep's courtyard. Sighing at the sight of her back, the King of the Seven Kingdom's felt drained, and decided to call it a night by retiring to his room with a large decanter of Arbor Red.

The next month was spent in a largely similar way, and by the time Luke's arm was fully healed he took more of an involvement in the more manual aspects of the rubble removal, enjoying that so much that when the representative from the Most Devout arrived in King's Landing he was almost frustrated to have to sit and deal with him rather than helping out on Visenya's Hill.

But sit there he did, and he played host to the Most Devout member in his solar, while a still frosty Margaery stood at his side pouring out the wine for them all. Luke stared across his desk at the silver clothed old man that was giving him a scowl.

"Thank you for travelling." Luke began. "But forgive me, I'm not quite sure how to address you…"

"Your Holiness will do, Your Grace." The old man stated. "Or Septon Luceon, if you prefer."

Margaery placed the pair of goblets on the desk. "Septon Luceon? You are the son of Lord Frey, are you not?"

The Septon nodded curtly. "I was once, My Queen, though now my allegiance is solely to the Seven Above. My birth Father insists instead on cavorting with heathen tree-worshippers."

Luke wanted to groan, seeing already how this intolerant old man would be prickly at best. "An alliance born out of war. I saw Lady Roslin during my visit to the North, it seems she is doing well up there. In fact, we heard from Lord Stark a fortnight past. It seems you are to be an uncle to the heir of Winterfell, Septon."

"I am an uncle to almost five dozen, Your Grace, a Northern savage is the least of my concerns." Septon Luceon retorted. "What is my concern however, is your flagrant destruction of the Holy Sept of Baelor."

Margaery shook her head. "As we said in the letter that reached the Most Devout, the Sparrows had desecrated the Sept, blood had been spilled by the gallon from loyal men and women that served the Faith, and the building was being used as a fortress by fanatics. The King purified the site with fire."

Luceon chuckled darkly. "A fanciful tale, Your Grace, but they are just words used to spin the tale into positive propaganda. All I see is the site of the Seven on this land a charred ruin."

"It must be nice, sat in the safety of Oldtown looking out." Luke leant back arrogantly, staring down at the old man. "You were never in any danger from the Sparrows sat in the Starry Sept, were you?" He pulled up his shirt over his head, exposing the area where the crossbow had embedded itself in him. It wasn't painful any longer, but it had left an ugly blemish. "They attacked their King; they murdered the High Septon and all of his disciples within the building. Blood ran down the steps, and you think I should have allowed them to continue their rebellion?"

"Rebellion is a harsh word…"

"Is it?" Margaery asked, sitting herself down on the desk so she was looking down at the old man. "They gathered an armed force and attacked the King's city. If not rebellion, then at the very least it was an insurrection, and that is still treason." She turned to Luke. "How is treason punished by your laws, my love?"

Luke smirked. "Execution." He stated bluntly as he pulled his shirt back on.

"Execution by dragon?" Luceon scoffed. "Despite the Sparrows obvious flaws, they were men of the Faith."

"The same method as the bastard Joffrey Waters, who was anointed by the High Septon despite his illegitimacy." Margaery countered. "The same method as the former Queen and Lord Tywin Lannister."

"They… this…" Luceon spluttered. "What are you saying?"

Luke leant forward once again. "We are saying, that while the actions I took were regrettable and had I had another choice they would have been avoided, that every man that died in the fires of Valaxes had committed treason, and it was a just punishment. A building can be rebuilt, and it will be rebuilt, I shall fund it to the exact instructions of your order."

Septon Luceon's eyes widened in surprise. "That… is very generous."

"I have no wish to make an enemy of the Faith, Septon." Luke shrugged. "And I do not put the blame of the Sparrows at your feet despite the former High Septon's activities. We can work together and create a lasting alliance between the Crown and the Faith. The new High Septon is welcome to preach in the castle Sept until the new building is completed if he so wishes too."

"I shall relay that to the other members of the Most Devout, Your Grace." Luceon nodded. "And as for your input…"

"I will provide the money and materials to create a feasible Grand Sept worthy of the name." Luke explained. "I shall leave the designs to the Most Devout, in the hope that they can create a building worthy to be the home of the Faith."

"A very generous offer, Your Grace, one that I am sure we will accept. Though I must make sure with my colleagues before a formal agreement." Luceon explained rising to his feet. "May I send a raven to Oldtown?"

Luke nodded. "Ser Symon!" He called, and the Cressey Kingsguard that was stood outside entered the room. "Please escort His Holiness over to the rookery."

"Your Grace." The Kingsguard knight bowed. "This way, Your Holiness."

"Thank you again, Your Grace, Your Grace." Luceon bowed his head to both the King and the Queen before departing the room, leaving Luke and Margaery alone.

Luke took another sip of wine before speaking. "I think that went well."

"We appeased them through their greed and sense of importance." Margaery explained. "I'm glad you included me on this, Lucerys."

Luke stood up, moving so he standing face to face with his wife. "You are kin with the Hightower's, having you here instantly gives our side of the table that push of respect. If it had just been me then they might have been likely to start a war."

Margaery breathed out a laugh. "They would never go that far, but this is the benefit of talking. To find out our opponent's minds and find a way to exploit that. Fire and Blood looks pretty and sounds good, but it isn't a way to build a Kingdom, only to tear down what has come before."

"Growing Strong." Luke chuckled.

"House Words that don't seem like much, but are every bit as fierce as any of the other Great Houses. Only we have risen up from nought but noble servants to our blood next in line on the Iron Throne." She leant up to kiss Luke on the cheek. "We have your best interests at heart, Luke. Can you truly say the same for your sister?"

With those words she departed the room, and while Luke had started to feel like he was turning a corner with his wife, her parting words about Daenerys had struck him fiercer than the Sparrow's crossbow bolt.

If the chapter title and the first scene didn't give it away, we've arrived at the Hardhome section of our story. There's no Jon here though, so every single one of that 12,000 are now a part of the Night King's army. I did wonder how I was going to do it given that most of the commanders followed Mance and the others are dead, so I hope you enjoyed my little one off character.

I spent far too much time researching stone masonry for this chapter, and the method that is detailed here is one that I'm convinced would have been used with the technology available in Game of Thrones.

I actually counted all of Walder Frey's grandchildren stated on the wiki… he has 55 in the books and inevitably a few more in this fic too. I erred in an earlier chapter, not realising that Septon Luceon was actually a member of the Most Devout until it came to picking a representative here. I didn't actually give the Septon of Winterfell a surname however, so the name can just be reused for the Septon of Winterfell.

I hope you all enjoyed this chapter!

Next Time: The new High Septon arrives in King's Landing, and the Daenerys dilemma has a solution.

Reviews:

suppes1: There's no official source as far as I'm aware, it's just my head canon. Jaehaerys is the first wielder that I believe would have changed it after the Conquest given that he was the one to make peace with the Faith.

C.E.W: No there's no chance of rebuilding the Dragonpit yet, but Luke's obsession with history will mean that the wish won't go away. I'm really looking forward to what's coming up with the Tyrell's too.

Darbiboi: Thank you for letting me know about the spelling mistake, but the second part isn't a mistake. Aemon was born in the 2nd century After Conquest (198 AC) and died here in the 4th century (304 AC). Daenerys has an interesting role coming up, and any mention of any other children is a spoiler, whether I say yes or no.

Hail King Cerion: History repeating is an interesting concept, but this won't be a complete rehashing of the Dance. There are for sure elements, but I'm not writing about a generational conflict.

Guest (reasonable): Even Luke has to be reasonable every now again less he be written off as a mad tyrant. The thing about this plot is that both answers are right in different ways. Luke and Dany got the job done but at what cost, while Margaery and Jon were taking the peaceful route and eventually it would have paid off, but the amount of time taken to deal with the Sparrows like that could have major consequences too.

Zhorvak: Jon's early story is tragic really. I'm looking forward to having him be included more.

Hackslash24x7: I guess you'll have to wait and see…

Guest (mistake): I've said numerous times Dany won't marry Luke, but that doesn't mean that the attraction isn't real.

K: He doesn't want to? They're still the best people for the job and he was high on Milk of the Poppy.

DaemonStan: Yeah for me so long as it's Targaryen or an already preestablished thing in the world I'm writing/reading in (Jaime/Cersei for example) then I can handle it, but even something like Robb/Sansa in this world would creep me out a bit. I've said they won't marry and I've been very clear in that precise wording…

Guest (Grandpa): Given Matt Smith reckons that Daemon would kill Jon Snow for what he did to Dany I reckon you're right lol. You harm the blood of the dragon and you'll get burned.

Anaconda: I prefer the book one with the Ruby, which is the version that I've been writing in this story.

rudabenak789: Luke isn't a character in canon so that's impossible. As for this story, I've said so many times that Luke and Dany won't marry.