Author's Notes: Welcome to the next chapter! Thank you, forever and always, for your support of this story. I am greatly humbled by your dedication to reading this story! it's been a while since I talked about the story's status, so I want to let you know where I'm at with it:

-You're all going to read Chapter 131 today.
-I finished writing Chapter 143 a few days ago.
-My story plan shows an estimated 155 chapters total for the whole story.

Yes. That's it! We're so close to the end, I can almost taste it. Isn't that exciting?!

Anyway, as per usual, CatzRko0L keeps coming in clutch with all of these edits. They're the best beta reader and I'm thrilled to be working with them! You're awesome!

Announcement - I have some exciting news! A reader has taken up the challenge of making TDR into a podfic/audiobook! They've already uploaded 7 chapters! I would appreciate it if you could please go to The Dragon's Roar - Podfic and lend your support!

Chapter 131

Jaime XLVII

The journey back to the Wall was uneventful, much to his relief. They hadn't run into any more White Walkers or wights. It did make Jaime wonder what the Night King might be planning. Before leaving, he'd spoken with Mance about the threat from the Army of the Dead. Mance mentioned that they frequently ran into individual wights, but not parties of them. This unsettled Jaime.

He was not about to forget that they had been ambushed in a coordinated attack with a White Walker present. While the wildlings didn't have dragonglass, they dismembered and burned the corpses. Perhaps they're finding and killing scouts, Jaime wondered. But the wildlings' camp was so large that it could be pinpointed from a mile off. Out of concern, he turned over half a dozen dragonglass blades to Mance. If the wildlings did decide to accept the king's bargain, it wouldn't do either side much good if the Night King attacked and the wildlings had no means of repelling them at all.

Lord Commander Mormont didn't say a word about the missing daggers, but Jaime took him aside and passed him a small bag of gold dragons.

Ser Loras took his role as an instructor to heart and drilled his fellow recruits in their paces. Jaime had yet to see Renly, but figured he simply didn't recognize him since he lost the means of keeping his usual kempt appearance. However, a face he hadn't expected to see was Jorah Mormont's. Jorah had tried to hide his face, but he wasn't fast enough.

"Jorah Mormont? What in the Seven Hells are you doing at the Wall?" Jaime exclaimed.

Jorah glared at him. There was no hiding the standard black garb of the Night's Watch.

Jaime walked up to him so that when he spoke next, his words wouldn't carry. "You're a disgrace. I can only imagine your father's shame that his own son now must serve in the last resort of the unsavory. I wonder if it's possible for you to die with even a modicum of honor?" Jaime said.

"That's rich coming from the likes of you," Jorah spat. "A kingslayer and then a traitor to King Robert Baratheon."

"Aha, but I didn't make the mistake of being on the losing side," Jaime smirked at him. "Enjoy freezing your balls off for the rest of your miserable life, however long that may be." With that, he walked off to attend dinner.

As soon as the gate to Castle Black closed, Jaime was certain the temperature rose a couple of notches. Still, they were trudging through snow all the way to Winterfell. He looked forward to seeing the warm blue waters of Tarth.

After a few days, Stannis and his men took their leave. Jaime watched them go with more than a little suspicion. While Stannis was a creature of habit, he was still serving a king he did not want and his role was to play custodian to the wild and unruly. Was that enough to keep him in line? Before Jaime left, he wanted to remind Robb to keep an eye on him.

Robb was becoming more relaxed and happier as they approached Winterfell. At the change in his demeanor, Jaime decided to broach a subject that had been playing on his mind: "Have you considered splitting Ice in two?"

The young lord balked. "What? That's absurd!"

"Is it?" Jaime asked.

"Why don't you split Brightroar then?" His voice made the sudden switch to orange in his annoyance.

"While Brightroar is a greatsword like yours, Ice is still bigger. Unwieldy. The Mountain would've struggled to use it single-handed," Jaime explained, keeping his voice a calm and even blue.

Robb still gaped at him as if he'd risen from the dead. "It's just not done! Do you have any idea how long Ice has been in my family?"

"I do. Makes it even less sensible to forge a sword only a giant could wield."

Robb frowned stubbornly. "If my father didn't see fit to split it, then I won't either."

"Wouldn't you prefer something more reliable in the fight against the Long Night?"

"It's Valyrian steel. By that virtue it's reliable enough!"

"You just spent a month with a dragonglass dagger because it was quicker and easier to use."

Robb turned away, staring down the road.

"You're the lord of Winterfell. Do what you think is best. Just remember that it is an option. Don't leave it too late should you reconsider," Jaime said.

The day they arrived in Winterfell, they woke up to a thick but quiet snowfall. The wind remained calm through the rest of the ride, making it more enjoyable to the party than it otherwise may have been, though Jaime remained untouched by the rise in morale. In his previous experience, snowfall often heralded a fight, making the conditions quite perilous.

A cry of joy rose up at their return. Margaery was standing in the courtyard wrapped in a blanket and she held a baby in her arms, though Jaime couldn't see it given how bundled it was.

Robb nearly leapt off his horse to embrace her. "Shouldn't you and he be inside?" he asked.

"Don't be like that. We only just arrived to see you and the snow," she replied with a characteristic smirk. Her voice was a springy teal by her amusement. "I'm still getting used to the snow. It's magical, wouldn't you agree?"

"It is," Robb said. "Come inside now."

Jaime felt a pang of longing at seeing them. If he'd been more patient, he could've kept Brienne there. But given the snowfall, he was afraid they'd become stuck. The last thing he wanted was for his first child to be born in the North. Now that it was just the Lannister men left, Jaime spoke to the castellan about getting proper quarters. They deserve a night out of the cold, he thought.

He was heading out to tell his men when Lady Margaery called out to him. "Will you be staying long, Lord Lannister?" She seemed to be struggling to contain her amusement, but not so well he couldn't see it in her voice. "Afraid of a little winter's bite?"

"Yes, actually. I dare not delay. Brienne is pregnant herself, after all."

"So I heard. Congratulations! Having just birthed myself, I do believe she has some time," Margaery said, bouncing the baby as if in emphasis.

"Yes, well, while I'm not opposed to her giving birth on Tarth, the goal is to return to Casterly Rock," he said.

"I see," Margaery replied. "I suppose I can understand the urgency then." She hesitated for a moment and then began in a much lower tone, "I know Robb will never admit it, but I want to thank you for being a steady hand in this difficult time. I know he expected to pick up the reins with his father by his side. Maester Luwin is one of the kindest and most knowledgeable souls I've met, but he's no lord."

"He will always have an ally in House Lannister," Jaime said, "and so will you. Should you need anything, you can rely on us. And the king as well."

"I thank you for your assurance. There is much to be done and little time to do it," Margaery answered, her voice taking on a deep blue quality with her sadness. For the first time since he met her, she looked nervous.

He frowned at her. "I don't think I need to tell you to not let him shut you out."

At that, she smiled. "He won't be able to stop me so easily." Her voice turned orange with fiery determination.

Theon II

He wanted to swat away Olyvar Frey, the king's squire, but he didn't wish to garner further scrutiny. After all, he'd never put on armor like this before.

Despite the Valyrian steel armor's red sheen, it was cold to the touch. Theon felt like he was wrapped in a corpse more than armor. It was remarkably light despite its extensive interlocking greaves. Once he placed the helmet on his head, he looked a bit like a dragon himself.

Don't get used to it, he cautioned himself bitterly. I should've boasted to the king about killing my uncle. Then I could have claimed this for myself.

At the time, he'd panicked. Whoever the killer was had been walking his way and he wasn't about to make himself known to them. It had chilled his very blood that a Faceless assassin was the culprit. He'd jumped at shadows for weeks after, certain the Faceless man would slit his throat for simply knowing.

A Faceless would be the only one who would kill him, Theon thought. He shuddered and felt the taste of bile in his throat as he remembered Euron's intestines decorating his body and the bloody hole where his last remaining eye used to be. Had his uncle even known who his killer was behind the mask?

"Are you ready?" Aemon asked him, his face unreadable.

"Yes," he replied. "Will you truly raze the islands should I fail?"

"I will do what I must," Aemon said.

Theon stared. It unnerved him that he could see nothing akin to remorse or hesitancy in the words. The bastard he knew as Jon Snow was solemn, but Lord Stark's lessons about honor had been ingrained in his very skin. It had been all too easy to rile him up: about his mother, about making bastards with the local prostitutes, about his destiny to be stuck freezing his cock off with the rapists, murderers, and thieves. This one was ready to simply wipe the Ironborn away for being a petty nuisance. Even Robert Baratheon hadn't been that bloodthirsty.

"You want them to think you're a monster," he'd said to Aemon. He wasn't sure whether to be shocked or impressed, or awed and appalled.

"Not particularly," Aemon had admitted. "But their thoughts on my person are of little consequence. If you need a villain so that you can paint yourself the hero in their eyes, then that's what needs to be done."

He strapped Euron's sword to his waist, the only item Aemon hadn't been interested in. Despite the choppiness of the waves, Aemon had insisted on drilling him. They used wooden lathes. Theon wasn't certain he was any better in the short period of shipboard time, but he now had a collection of bruises to show for it. Aemon himself had stepped up to drill him. Though he rarely saw Aemon in the training yard, he'd clearly been working with his Kingsguard in private. Theon thought he managed to tag him once in the arm; all other blows had been deflected.

"I'm ready," Theon said, giving them all a truculent nod.

"We'll be waiting."

A rope ladder was thrown overboard to land in the surf. He tried to ignore the rushing seawater that lapped at his ankles and let out his first deep breath once he stood on land. Home. I'm finally home, he thought. He was merely a boy of ten when he'd last laid eyes on it. It was the same scraggly spit of land. Though there were a number of small fishing boats tied up at the extensive docks, not a single man could be seen. When he stepped up to the dirt path, he noticed eyes peering out at him from behind curtains and doors. The moment he glanced their way, they disappeared. He wondered if it was the armor or perhaps it was the knowledge that the dragon king himself was breathing down their necks. Whatever the reason, he straightened up, holding his head high and his chest out.

He narrowed his eyes upon seeing a company of men and a single woman waiting at the top of the incline. He could only tell she was a woman from the lack of a beard, otherwise she was nearly as stocky as the men. She wore trousers instead of a dress and her hand rested on the handle of a rapier.

He didn't recognize any of them.

"Are you the dragon?" the woman asked.

"The king?" He barked out a laugh. "I am Euron Greyjoy's killer. I come of my own accord. The king would sooner raze the islands to the ground and kill every last man, woman, and child."

"Why doesn't he then?" she said.

"Because I reasoned with him." He was glad the likes of Jaime Lannister wasn't among them or he might be butchered for the half-truths he had to say."I will not let our people die for having been foolishly enraptured by the likes of the Crow's Eye."

It was then that Drogon roared. He flapped high overhead, his shadow briefly encompassing them all. Rhaegal answered his calls and followed as they winged overhead, circling like vultures.

Theon's mouth went dry at the sight of them and he had to tense to keep from trembling. The other party ducked, glancing nervously to the sky. The woman recovered the quickest. "Our people?" She narrowed her eyes. "Who are you?"

He hesitated but a moment and then pulled off the helmet. He couldn't keep from smirking at their stunned expressions.

"I knew it," the woman whispered, the slightest hint of a smile on her face. "Theon Greyjoy."

"And who are you? I don't recall anyone in the Greyjoys who would suffer a woman leading men."

She tilted her head. "Don't you recognize your baby sister?"

It was his turn to be stunned. "Asha? No, it can't be." The last memory he had of his sister was of a small and pudgy girl, hiding behind their mother in the throne room. Now, she held herself with the bearing of a captain and the men surrounding her nodded with clear pride.

"I grew up, brother. I have my own ship, my own men. We raid along the northern coast usually. I was wondering when you'd return. We have it on good authority that old Lord Stark died nearly two months ago. What took you so long?"

"What do you think?" he growled, once more feeling the pang of Lord Stark's death in his breast. "The dragon king, Aemon Targaryen, has been keeping just as close of a watch on me as Lord Stark did."

"We've heard a great deal about this Aemon Targaryen. Perhaps you could separate fact from fiction for us. Come, our uncle awaits us," Asha said, turning.

"Which one?" Theon asked.

Asha's shoulders slumped a hair before she remembered her composure. "Victarion, of course. I couldn't make myself heard at the kingsmoot."

"You?" Theon sneered. "You thought the Ironborn would follow you?"

"You've missed some things, brother," she shot back. "I've cut my blade on an untold number of Northerners' backs while you sat pretty in Winterfell. Though I'm hard-pressed to give up the iron price, the world is changing. It grows ever smaller, especially with the likes of dragons about." Her eyes drifted back up to the sky. "Euron foolishly depleted a great number of our men. There may not be enough of us to maintain our raids. No one will hear it, but perhaps they'll hear it from you."

Theon swallowed. Though Aemon had not let him in about his plans for the Ironborn, he knew the raids were a source of contention. It wouldn't do to have one kingdom attacking all of the others for the means of their own survival. What Aemon intended to do about that, though, he wasn't sure.

As they approached the castle on Pike, Theon began to see the bulk of the soldiers awaiting them. He could feel their hostility following them all the way through the castle gates. His footsteps were leadened and his heart pounded in his chest as the gate dropped behind him. He glimpsed his sister's face, wondering if she were leading him into a trap or not.

Victarion sat atop the throne with a driftwood crown adorning his head. His face was marked by a permanent scowl that only deepened upon seeing Theon. He dug his fingers into the Seastone Chair, but remained seated.

"And so the dragon sends you. I should've known. I suppose we might as well listen while you dance to his tune," Victarion spat.

Theon's eyes flashed. "I am no puppet," he shouted, the words ringing hollow even to his own ears. What had he spent the last two weeks rehearsing if he weren't? Still, much of what Aemon insisted he focus on was bravado and toughness. Theon had been gone so long that he was effectively an outsider to the Ironborn, having sloughed off its culture by remaining landlocked in the North. So much of what Aemon fed him was to prove his dedication to the old ways had not fallen by the wayside. "I'm not here to bargain on the king's behalf. I'm here to make sure we do right by our people!"

"And what right is that? To bow to yet another king on the mainland?" Victarion scoffed. "What need have we for this king?"

"Yes, it took two months for the king to surround the Iron Islands," Theon said, "but it won't take that long forever. You saw the dragons. The black one, Drogon, burned the Silence into cinder, sinking it and the Dragonbinder horn to the bottom of Blackwater Bay." The surrounding people shuffled and shivered at that pronouncement. "It may be a few years yet, but one day the king or queen will be able to cross the land or the ocean in a matter of days. The king's patience for our raiding ways is quickly nearing its end. If we don't reconsider our path now, the king has promised to rain fire and ash on the Iron Islands."

"I told you, this is madness," Rodrik the Reader shouted at Victarion. "We continue on this course to our doom if you insist on continuing the rebellion."

"Silence!" Victarion roared. "This Aemon Targaryen does not own us. I will not bow to a boy!"

"Nuncle," Asha stepped up, "Aemon Targaryen is the purported bastard of Ned Stark. Theon knows him. At the very least, we can hear Theon out. Learn more about who this Aemon Targaryen really is."

But I know nothing! Theon wanted to say, but he couldn't. He would know more, at least, than the other Ironborn.

Victarion narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Is it true then that he's the son of Rhaegar?"

"Old Lord Stark backed his claim and he wouldn't have if it wasn't," Theon replied.

Victarion scoffed. "This dragon king has no proof."

Theon raised his eyebrows. "He hatched a dragon. Many would consider that proof enough of his Targaryen heritage."

"So that is true?" Asha asked.

"Before Queen Daenerys, dragons were extinct for almost two hundred years. And now they're back. Where did you think he got it?"

"It was rumored that he merely took credit for a dragon that the queen hatched. Another rumor is that the little dragon is a mummer's farce, a lizard made to look like a dragon."

Theon burst into laughter. "How does a mummer's farce fly like that? I wasn't at the hatching, but I'd heard about it. He showed it off to court the very next day, then mere days later Daenerys arrived. Pure coincidence."

"Is it?" Asha asked. "If I didn't know better, I'd say the Gods favor him."

"There is no god but the Drowned God," Victarion muttered bitterly, though his voice was devoid of passion.

He doesn't believe in the Drowned God anymore than the Seven or the Old Gods, Theon mused.

"Do you think this dragon is willing to raze the Iron Islands?" Victarion said. "Raised by the Stark, sounds like little more than a bluff."

"I would have agreed with you a year ago," Theon said, "but not anymore. The kingship has changed him. His closest advisor for a time was Lord Jaime Lannister. He told me himself that he considered sending a musician to play the Rains of Castamere after the Ironborn captured him."

"That was not our doing," Victarion bellowed.

"Do you think the likes of a Lannister would see it like that?" Theon asked, shaking his head in exasperation.

"Well, why didn't he?"

"He said to me that a threat is not much good unless you're willing to enforce it. He couldn't be here today. But King Aemon is and he brought Drogon for a reason."

This caused a hush to fall over the gathered crowd. Theon could feel the fear and tension in the air. He ached to place his hand on the hilt of his sword, but resisted. For the first time since entering, his Uncle Victarion looked perturbed.

"Don't doom us all, Victarion. We already know that dragonfire can melt stone," the Reader began. "This is Euron's doing. He ordered us to attack King's Landing and take the capital and look where that's brought us: staring into the maw of a dragon. A real dragon."

A muscle twitched in Victarion's cheek. "What are this dragon's terms?"

"As I said, I did not come here to bargain. All I know is that you must kneel."

Victarion shook his head. "Why should I even take your word?"

"Do you not recognize the armor?" Theon said, his voice taking on a mocking quality.

"I know that's Euron's armor. Are you trying to tell me that you killed Euron?" Victarion sneered.

"It's the iron price, is it not? I kill and then what's left is mine," Theon declared.

A murmur of chuckles echoed around the throne room, Victarion's most prominent. "We know you didn't, Theon. One of the Faceless did."

Theon froze. That had been a closely guarded secret. Aemon had been concerned about the city being reduced to panic if it was known that an assassin lived and walked amongst them. Theon had been privy to it since he was present in finding the corpse.

"You don't deserve the armor, let alone that sword. Given your proximity to the king who intends on subjugating us, you're not the savior that you're trying to paint yourself to be. You seek to supplant me!" Victarion drew himself up, livid with anger. "You're an interloper, faking at being one of us. You may have my blood running through your veins, but you're no more a son of the Ironborn than that bastard is a king."

"Nuncle, don't be a fool," Asha cried. "Whether Theon killed Euron or not, the threat of the dragon is real!"

They all froze as one of Drogon's bellows reached them from outside. Theon was beginning to sweat in the armor. In spite of its lightness, it threatened to smother him.

Aemon had expressed a wish for Theon to rule as the heir to the Iron Islands. Theon had been confident that as the returning heir he would be greeted with cheers and pride. The last son of Balon Greyjoy having survived and prospered despite living landlocked, a close ally of the new king. Aemon had been skeptical. Theon wished he'd considered his doubts a bit more thoroughly.

"I'm not here to take your throne," Theon insisted, hoping the waver in his voice went unnoticed. "I'm here to convince you that kneeling won't be the worst mistake you make. But fighting the king will. With our might depleted, he has enough men to pour over us like a great tidal wave."

"You really have our best interests at heart?" Victarion's own voice was mocking. "Prove it then. You're so close with the king. Kill him."

Theon balked. "That would be suicide! Not just for me either, but for all of us!"

"You wished for Euron to be reasonable and you act like this?" the Reader said. "Heed your own words!"

He saw the fervor in his uncle's eyes, the madness. Was it even possible for him to be reasoned with? His thoughts wandered to the bow on his back. He could loose an arrow and kill his uncle before anyone would realize. He would be a kinslayer. But if his uncle persisted, no one would be spared.

Victarion snapped his fingers. The men ringing the throne room drew their weapons and closed in.

"Nuncle, what are you doing?" Asha yelled. "Theon!"

Theon grabbed his bow and nocked an arrow in the time it took them to approach. His uncle sneered at him. "If you kill me, you'll never reign over the Iron Islands."

"There are more lives at stake than yours or mine," Theon shot back.

They stared at each other for a moment. Then Asha swatted his arrow down so that it clattered harmlessly to the floor. "That's enough! We can settle this!"

"Can we?" Victarion said. "Take their weapons. Take Theon's armor. Throw them in the dungeons."