A/N: There will be chapters when the plot does not progress. And the entire focus will be on the characters and their interactions. Its just some slice of life storytelling bleeding through. So if you continue to read, be prepared for it.

Our Blades Are Sharp 2: The Red Reign

By Spectre4hire

Four

Jon:

He found his brother on the bridge that connected the Kingspyre Tower to the Widow's Tower.

Robb was leaning against the stone railing, looking out onto the breadth of land sprawled out far below the ruined castle. He heard him approach, looking over his shoulder and smiling at him, but it did not reach his eyes. "Your rider said it was successful?"

"In part," Jon had gotten Lorch, but they had not arrived to save everyone. "The Watch is not without its losses."

"They'll need every man they can get," Robb commented, "If Mance is truly marching on the Wall."

"We saved most." Jon moved to stand beside him.

The view before them was spectacular. The sunlight shimmered on the calming waters of the God's Eye, resembling a sea of glittering sapphires. Beyond the lake was an ocean of green, but colorful signs of Autumn sprouted here and there with the leaves blooming in yellow, orange, and red.

"There was a fire and it took some of the recruits." Jon thought about the charred ruins of that cage and the three corpses inside. He wondered what the criminals had done to deserve such confinement.

Yoren, the Wandering Crow had taken a wound in the fighting, but the maester at Harrenhal, said he'd recover. Jon remembered him from when they had been traveling with Lord Tyrion before the war.

"Good thing I saved ya Snow back in that Inn." Yoren had remembered too.

Jon had agreed with him and then left him to the maester. It fell on the castle's castellan not Jon to find rooms and food for the surviving Watch recruits. They were a mixture of thieves, rapers, orphans, and the desperate.

They would've been my brothers. That thought played in his mind when he went to look for his true brother. It was not to be, and looking back at everything and everyone in the past year, he was thankful for it.

"Stannis is marching?" Jon had seen some of the men preparing and had heard mumblings.

"He is."

"And you?"

"I'm leading the campaign into the Westerlands," There was little vigor in Robb's voice and he did not seem inclined to speak more.

Jon was curious about his brother's mood, but he did not want to press him so he settled to join him in the silence. It was peaceful, a contentment between them. The only sound that could be heard was that of the wind whistling in their ears, strong and swirling at this towering height.

He rested his hands on the parapet, looking at the stonework of the railings. It used to be exquisite of finely carved animals and men, but they've long since lost their pride. They were no longer an example of extraordinary craftsmanship.

No, now they served as part of the larger example of what happened to those who defied House Targaryen.

My ancestors, Jon saw their legacy everywhere. The towers that crumpled and waned under the intensity of dragon fire, and now resembled melted candlesticks instead of impressive turrets.

It was here he crowned her, Jon knew the story since he was a boy, but now it was different. It felt different. He was different. When I heard it then I was Lord Stark's bastard son.

Now, he paused, I'm their son.

My Father was Rhaegar Targaryen. He would not forget the look on Lorch's piglike face when it sunk in. Nor will I forget his screams when the wolves tore him apart.

Some men don't deserve honor.

Domeric had said those words to Jon with the utmost conviction. This had been after Lord Stark had chided him for what he did to the Mummers. It had not changed Domeric's mind. There was no remorse in what he did, just iron certainty. Jon hadn't fully understood it then, but now...

Lorch killed my sister, Jon's fists clenched on the railing, stabbed her half a hundred times, a girl of three. She was my sister. In his mind's eye it was Arya, riddled with cuts and slashes, dripping red, laying on a Lannister Cloak presented to Joffrey. He was grinning. Jon's stomach tightened and he pushed it away.

He would not let that image settle.

Lorch had boasted of killing her and how Aegon had his head bashed in. His words dripped with a sick pride for the role he played in murdering those children. My brother, my sister.

He kills children and thinks himself a knight. It was disgusting. I delivered justice.

When the remaining Lannister men had thrown down their swords, they had been quick to reveal who their leader was. As soon as he heard the name, Ghost was gone, and Jon followed. He could not allow him to go free.

I heard his words. I looked into his eyes. I sentenced him. His resolve never wavered. He would not let any doubt try to cling to him for what he did.

"Jon?"

He turned to see Robb watching him.

What would he say? Would he be proud of you? A voice whispered inside him, but Jon ignored it. "What did you say?" He hadn't heard the question, but he did notice the troubled look on his brother's face.

He hesitated, as if he did not want to repeat himself.

"Robb?" Jon found himself frowning at his brother's reluctance.

He looked away and sighed. "Never mind," He turned back to face him. He smiled, but it was forced.

"Who are you taking with you into the Westerlands?" Jon asked, but it was the previous question he really wanted Robb to answer.

"Lords Bolton, Hornwood, Karstark, Lady Mormont," he listed, "Many of the Riverlords including Piper and Bracken, and Ser Stevron Frey. There are those who want vengeance for what the Lannisters did to their people and lands."

Jon remembered. He saw the burning homesteads, fields ruined, corpses on the road.

Tywin Lannister had sent the Mountain, Amory Lorch, and Vargo Hoat to terrorize the Riverlands.

And now all three are dead. Jon had been responsible for the first two while Domeric had taken care of Hoat and his sellswords. The Riverlands were restored to peace and justice had been delivered to those who wronged them.

"When do you leave?"

"In the morning, we need to keep the element of surprise. The riverlords will join us as we march."

Jon knew that would be the answer, but it still disappointed him, because of what it would lead to.

"Does what we discussed with father in regards to the plan remain the same?"

"It does."

So I'm going north. Father had already sent orders, men, and supplies to the coast and Moat Cailin. With the former he was having watchtowers and beacons built and manned to prepare themselves for any Ironborn sighting. For the time being, it was Robbett Glover who was overseeing the new improvements along the coast. Jon would go first to Moat Cailin to examine its improved defenses and if satisfied, he'd move on to the coast.

To my seat. Father had sent men weeks ago and said he hoped the temporary wooden hall would be finished by the time Jon and Dacey arrived. A gift for my son and his future wife.

It was not going to his new home with Dacey that upset him. No, it was the parting from his brother that bothered him, and the not knowing when he'd see him again.

Robb was marching off to fight lions and I could be fighting Ironborn.

The wind whistled and whipped around them.

"So tomorrow I'm rid of ya?" Jon tried to smile, because he did not want to think of having to say farewell to his brother.

I've said it enough already to my family. Domeric and Sansa when they headed north to Winterfell. Father, who had left to go to the Vale. Rickon remained at Riverrun with Lady Stark, and now Robb was marching on the Westerlands and then Arya. She would be going to Winterfell.

Only weeks ago we were all together save for Bran, Jon had cherished that time. He had watched Dacey and Arya spar, go riding with Robb and Domeric, trained with Sansa, and chased Rickon around in the godswood. Now, we're separating again.

It reminded him of the last time the family parted in so many directions. It was when the King came to Winterfell. What followed were threats, deception, and battles against him and his family. They were fortunate to come out intact, would they be so lucky a second time?

Robb's soft chuckle was still able to break through Jon's fragile thoughts.

"Aye, I have to remind the Lannisters that the Young Wolf is the one to fear."

This time Jon did smile. "In that case, you'll never leave the Westerlands."

Robb's laugh was loud and sincere. He clapped Jon on the back and for the first time since he joined his brother out here, he saw the Robb he knew and cherished: Bright eyes, charming smile, warm laugh. That Robb seemed more a stranger now these past few weeks than Jon would've liked.

Jon stayed with him, smiling and laughing, and pretended that tomorrow wasn't going to come.

Ghost moved past Jon when they reached his chambers in the Widow's Tower. His direwolf claimed his usual spot near the lit hearth.

His chambers had been tidied when he was gone. Or as best as they could be. He did not envy those responsible who were tasked with maintaining Harrenhal.

His bed was neatly made and its grey curtains pulled back. The desk was organized. The tall glass windows were cleaned where rays of sunlight easily filled the room with light. He put Longclaw down on the table and waited for the servants to arrive with the light food and drink he asked for.

On one of his chairs the cloak had been folded instead of draped as he left it. He moved to retrieve it.

It was the cloak Sansa had made for him. It had been a surprise from her before she and Domeric left.

He smiled, running his fingers across the red fabric, before they reached the spot where the white direwolf had been skillfully stitched into it. It was sprinting along the red field. She had outdone herself, the direwolf upon this cloak bore a striking resemblance to Ghost. His hand atop the cloth direwolf's head, his instincts had moved him to pet it.

He held it out to better admire it. In his mind's eye, he could see himself holding it in the godswood, lanterns lit, where he patiently waited for Dacey to arrive before the heart tree.

With this cloak she will be mine and I will be hers.

This is the standard of Ser Jon of the Hollow Hill . That was what Ser Beric called him when he had knighted Jon. Other names soon followed: Protector of the Red Fork, the White Wolf, with those he thought his standard was well picked.

What of the Lord of Sea Dragon Point? He saw something besides the white wolf upon his banners. The Mormont Bear? He tried to picture it, a bear and wolf together upon a banner, a promising glimpse of their future.

The woman is important too, Arya's words echoed through him, and they sounded just as fierce as they did back then.

A Mormont bear and a Stark wolf, he found himself liking the possibility but what he liked more was what it meant for her, and him, together, starting this new house.

Red too, he decided, folding the cloak. It is not much, but I cannot deny that part of me. He had wanted to and at times it was tempting to try to push it away to forget. His conversation with Dacey eased away the remaining fears and struggles.

She accepted me without hesitation, he would never forget it or her reaction, her comfort, her support. He put back the cloak where it had rested.

That was when the servants arrived with the pitcher of ale, and an assortment of food from the kitchens including warm bread with apples, strawberries, and plums. He thanked them, they curtseyed, and left. He was still not used to such treatment, such respect by how some would look at him, talk about him.

I no longer wear the name Snow, a black, tattered cloak that had been stripped away, and now he was a knight, and the lord of Sea Dragon Point. A lord without a name, he pushed aside that minor inconvenience. He and Dacey could not settle on one, and it did not seem right to make such a choice lightly or without proper agreement with his future wife.

Jon had poured himself a tankard of ale when she arrived. He straightened up seeing her presence in the doorway, "Lady Mormont."

Maege Mormont, Lady of Bear Island, took in his reaction before chuckling. She waved a calloused hand, dismissing his need for such formalities. "You are to be my good son, Jon," she reminded him with a smile that he liked to think was of pride, "Pour me an ale if you would," she asked kindly.

Jon did, and then slid it across the table where she deftly grabbed it. Lady Mormont drank a long sip of the ale, showing her satisfaction with it. That look left when her eyes found Longclaw resting unceremoniously beside the light spread of food.

That was why he had asked to see her. He had decided Longclaw was not his to carry anymore. He was not marrying Dacey to be her husband while she ruled Bear Island as its Lady. They were starting their own house, their own family. Longclaw was not the sword of the Lord of Sea Dragon Point. It was House Mormont's sword. It belonged to them. He could not keep it.

"Lady Mormont," He said respectfully, "I'm formally returning Longclaw to House Mormont."

She made no move to take it. Her eyes went from the sword to Jon, her face was weathered, but her expression remained elusive to him. "I have spoken to Dacey and I have exchanged letters with Alysane my brother too," Lady Mormont began, "And we have agreed that you may continue to carry Longclaw."

"What do you mean?" He tried not to frown. "It belongs to House Mormont."

"Aye, it does," Lady Mormont agreed, but bitterness began to creep into her expression, "And it once belonged to my nephew," Her mouth twisting. "His example showed us that perhaps its not just blood that should matter when it comes to who will carry Longclaw." Her grip around her tankard tightened.

"Jorah had the right to wield it, but look what his right brought to our family?" She pushed the sword across the table towards Jon. "He brought us disgrace. Mayhaps that is the one bright spot we can find in my nephew's shameful deeds. To show us that blood right should no longer be enough. That those with good hearts should be the ones to wield it. And I can think of no one finer than you."

"I-I," Jon looked down at the sword. The bear pommel met its stare. Its black gaze was daunting.

"You are not some stranger, Jon," She reminded him. "You will be my good son. Your children will be just as much Mormont as Stark," she smiled.

"You will wield it, and then when the children are older it will be decided who has the right to wield it next. Will it be a Mormont of Bear Island? Or our Mormont kin at Sea Dragon Point? Or perhaps none are ready and if so then it will be returned to Bear Island to wait for the next one who believes themselves worthy of following the example of Ser Jon."

Jon found his hands running along the pommel of the sword. He was still reluctant to grab it despite Lady Mormont's encouraging look.

"Our family will not allow the chance for Longclaw to be tainted again."

"Thank you," He felt the slight swell in his throat. Her strong show of support and trust in him meant more than those two words that he uttered could truly convey, but thankfully, she looked to have understood.

What she was proposing made him think of Dawn, and the Swords of the Morning to the few men in House Dayne's history worthy to carry such a blade. If none were deemed appropriate for the title then the sword and title would remain unused and wait.

Now Longclaw too will only be given to only the just and worthy. His fingers came around to grip it and lift it from the table. Its weight was familiar. As were the noticeable ripples in the dark sea of steel when he pulled it from its scabbard. He looked back at Lady Mormont as if expecting her to change her mind, but she did not. She only smiled at him. It was proud and sure.

They will look to me, he realized, of those who'd come after him wanting to wield Longclaw. That thought did not feel like a burden to him, but an opportunity that he was now ready to take.

Arya:

Their supper that night was held in the Widow Tower.

When Harrenhal was built, King Hoare did not put a solar in every one of his prized towers. As magnificent as his castle was, he had wanted to ensure that the tower where he'd reside would be the most impressive and unique. A display of his power and influence to any guest who'd come visit him in his new home. Unfortunately for the Iron Born king his first guests to Harrenhal proved to be his last. And the power he thought he'd wield melted away to dragon fire.

Visenya and Rhaenys , Arya knew their names and their successes by heart, awed by all that they accomplished.

They fought with their brother for the crown and they won. Arya wasn't allowed to fight. It wasn't fair.

So because of King Hoare's pride they had to turn one of the bed chambers into a solar to allow them all to sit comfortably and eat. The bed had been pushed to the far corner of the room out of the way. The dust gathered on the floor, walls, and furniture showed that this room had been untouched and unused before them for a long time.

A new table was brought in for them. It was not large, but there were only a few attendants at tonight's supper.

Robb sat at the head of the table. This was his last night at Harrenhal before his march to the west.

Arya frowned down into her bowl of stew. She didn't want to think about Robb going off to battle. It had hurt her stomach the first time when she was in Winterfell with Rickon and Bran and Robb left with the might of the north to save father.

Jon sat across from her and Dacey sat on his other side while her sister, Lyanna sat next to Arya. Grey Wind, Nymeria, and Ghost were positioned near the table, far enough to be out of the way, but close enough to quickly reach any possible food that may fall or be fed to them.

She and Lyanna were sharing a bowl of sugared almonds. A few had been placed in small bowls around their table. Their warm and sweet taste helped to loosen the knots that were forming in her belly.

"When I return," Robb said it so simply like he was just riding to a nearby holdfast to visit a bannerman instead of what it really was-war. "Will you have a family name?"

"We have a family name," Dacey said, "The problem is we change our mind nearly every day."

"We've called ourselves many things," Jon added dryly.

"Today its Morstark," Dacey replied to the unasked question.

Aray smiled at the name. She understood what it was and liked the idea of Dacey's name being included too. I'll lose my name. Arya's smile dipped thinking of the future when some stranger would drape her in another cloak and she'd no longer be a wolf of Winterfell. She hated it.

"Should we reveal how the name came up?" Dacey was smiling, "More Starks." She winked at Jon.

"If you wish to speak so freely in front of my sister and yours," Robb's warm smile had melted away the stoicism. The lord's face that had clung so tightly to him throughout the day.

Jon looked first to his betrothed and then Robb. "Just be thankful it doesn't involve a bear."

Dacey laughed and Lyanna was giggling neither offended by Jon's blunt response.

"How's the new armor?" Robb asked Jon, deciding he didn't want the details of what was discussed among the Mormont women.

"Armor?" Arya perked. She hadn't heard anything about new armor. She looked to Jon, but his eyes were on Robb. He wasn't frowning at their brother. No, it was something different. .

Robb did not mind. He gave Jon a small smile and leaned back in his seat.

Their conversation was silent and private. She didn't like it. Tell me too! Arya wanted to say. I'm your sister.

"I only just received it," Jon turned to her with an apologetic look as if sensing her growing displeasure.

Arya nodded, it made her feel better. She knew Jon had Dacey now, but they never not told each other things. She was afraid for those fleeting seconds that he had forgotten about her.

Stupid! She told herself, Jon will never do that.

"You'll like it," Dacey had apparently seen it. Her tone was approving, "Very nicely made, it was given to him by some of the Riverlords." She put her hand on Jon's. "Their gratitude for his effort in the Riverlands." The pride in her voice was clear.

"It was not needed."

"Yes, we know," Her green eyes were teasing, "You did it out of honor and duty," Her tone would've sounded bored if it wasn't for her smirk. "He's already said this a few times."

Jon chuckled, amused not annoyed at Dacey's light mocking.

"What does it look like?" Lyanna asked. Dacey's youngest sister clearly cared more about the armor than her sister's affection for her betrothed.

"It's scale armor," Dacey was happy to answer, "Red scales to match his standard."

"Scale armor?" Lyanna repeated, "like a fish?"

Arya had thought the same thing. She remembered the armor at Riverrun and how Grandfather's guards wore it and how it was made to resemble the trout scales of her mother's family. Her Uncles too, Edmure and the Blackfish. She couldn't see Jon in armor that looked anything like something that House Tully would wear.

"No, not a fish," Dacey corrected, "more like a lizard-lion," She offered, "Or a dragon."

Arya tried to picture him in this red scaled armor, but it still seemed a little silly. He's not a lizard-lion or a dragon. He's a wolf like us.

She noticed Robb had been quiet. She turned to see he was watching Jon with a small smile, but it was his look that stuck with Arya. It reminded her of the one her parents would have when they watched her opening the gifts they'd give her for her name day.

"Enameled on the chest," Dacey tapped Jon's chest. "Is the white wolf."

The talking continued, and Arya watched trying to fool herself into thinking that nothing was about to change. They smiled and laughed and she wanted to believe with every part of her heart that her brother wasn't about to march into the lion's den and into battle.

When her eyes found Jon, he gave her a different smile. It wasn't of mirth. It was a secret smile. The one they gave each other back at Winterfell to show their support when they couldn't use words. It was her favorite smile. It was theirs.

It was the only thing that could give her comfort that night.

It had been days since Robb marched, but she still felt some tightness in her belly.

I can fight. It was more a plea than a request. She had come to him the morning he was leaving.

You can, he admitted in a tone as if it was obvious. That had tripped her up. She had prepared her argument against him saying something else. You can't come Arya because you don't listen, he said gently, How often do we have to repeat ourselves to you? He had raised an eyebrow as if waiting for her to try to refute it.

Arya had frowned and then looked away. She knew he was right and that she did at times forget to follow rules or instructions she had been given, but that was different. That was for boring and stupid things. She could do it for this.

If you can't follow a simple rule, Arya, how can I trust you in a battle? He had a sad smile, he once more had been able to read her and knew how she was going to respond. Dacey has trained you well, Arya. There was nothing but pride in his voice and Arya's chest had swelled, but there is more to battles than fighting. There is discipline. You do not have it. He hugged her and she didn't fight it. She wrapped her arms around him tightly and felt the wetness in her eyes.

He was leaving and she couldn't come with him. She wasn't sure when she'd see him again. He was going to be the lone wolf. When she thought about that and then her father's warning it felt as if icy water had been poured into her heart.

I don't have to fight, she mumbled into his tunic, I promise, I won't. I'll listen too. Please.

I'm sorry, Arya.

The wetness was on her cheeks now. Robb's blue eyes seemed to glisten, but he gave her a small smile.

Mayhaps, one day, he had offered, but it'll be you asking mother and father.

Arya knew their answer, so she scrubbed at her eyes. Even if she couldn't be allowed to fight it had meant so much for her to hear her brother's pride and confidence in her ability. She had trained so hard and it had always been Jon and then Robb who had encouraged her. She still had Jon, but Robb was leaving.

Jon has Dacey now, but what about Robb? That made her hug him again.

Give my regards to Domeric and Sansa, he told her, Who knows Arya, the next time we see each other Jon and Dacey could have their family name and we may have a niece or nephew back at Winterfell.

That would be long, too long for Arya's belly to take.

Harrenhal didn't seem as exciting now. She had explored as many corridors and rooms as she could as well as the large godswood. Alone or with Nymeria or Lyanna or even Princess Shireen, but she didn't want them to call her princess. That was fine with Arya, because she always forgot to.

It wasn't the same now. Before when she had explored, Robb would be here and even when busy he'd listen to her stories and smile and ask what she found or discovered that day. He didn't seem to mind that she was dirty and dressed in boy's tunics and trousers. She had later learned the Queen had ordered Robb to inform Arya that she had to wear proper dresses if she was going to interact with the Princess Shireen. He never did. Thankfully, she, Shireen, and Lyanna were good at sneaking because her mother never found out that they still saw each other.

Jon was gone too. He had left Harrenhal riding out to oversee a few tasks and when he returned it would be time for them to leave. She'd accompany Jon and Dacey when they marched north, but once they reached Moat Cailin they'd move west to the coast, Arya would continue going north. She did want to see Sansa and Domeric again, but she didn't want to see him.

He shouldn't be allowed at Winterfell. She had been angry. She didn't want him at her home. She didn't want to see his stupid face and be reminded that she might have to marry him.

I don't want to be a Frey.

A thud caused her to look up to see her feet had carried her through the training yard to one of the areas where the archery targets were put up. There was only one person there. It was Theon.

He looked over his shoulder at her, but that didn't stop him from grabbing another arrow and redrawing his bow. "I expected you'd come here."

She didn't understand. "What do you mean?"

Theon gestured with his head and Arya followed to see Nymeria lying not a few feet away from him on the ground, muddy, but comfortable.

"I lost an arrow because of her," He grumbled, but there wasn't any real annoyance in his tone. "She startled me and I-"

Arya started laughing and Theon mumbled something, but took out his frustration on the target and got another well aimed hit in the center ring.

"You shouldn't be scared of Nymeria," Arya wanted him to know that.

"I wasn't," Theon bristled as if offended by the mere thought. "I was startled because I wasn't expecting her." He said it slowly like Arya was as dim as Hodor.

She slapped his arm in response which made him drop the arrow he was trying to draw.

He protested, but she could see he was smiling before he turned away from her to focus. "Your direwolf is better behaved than you."

That made her think of Colmar. And the look he'd give her, it wasn't the hastily pretend smile, but the first look she saw from him when their eyes would meet. Disappointed, and disgusted, She couldn't smile now. She sniffled. She was afraid Theon had heard because he hesitated but then maybe she imagined it because he went through and let loose the arrow.

"Theon," she didn't like how her voice suddenly sounded. It was fragile like glass, but she wasn't glass. She was iron. "Would you ask me to change?"

He looked confused, but then turned away. "No," he finally said after a quiet pause between them. She thought she saw his shoulders slump, "It's not worth the headache," He turned back to her, his eyes conveying it was a jest, and then Theon smiled at her.

It wasn't one of his stupid smirks. No, it looked different, she thought, it felt different, but she ignored that. Instead, she made her way over and grabbed one of the discarded bows.

Theon looked at her for a second like he was going to say something. In that long heartbeat she feared he may try to dismiss her. He didn't. He just moved his quiver of arrows so that she could now reach them.

Arya knew that if she was Colmar's wife or some other stupid lord's wife she probably wouldn't be allowed to do something as simple as stand in the training yard let alone participate. No, she'd be doing stupid things and forbidden to leave the castle in case her pretty dress got dirty.

It wasn't fair. She knew Robb was right and his words made sense about their future betrothals but still...

Theon didn't complain about her dirty trousers or wanting to fight. He had said it himself that he wouldn't ask her to change.

Arya bit her lip, and that weird, but warm feeling returned to her belly. She pushed it away. "Theon?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks."

"Uh huh," He sounded indifferent.

It didn't fool her. She grabbed an arrow and notched it to her bow. "I bet I can beat you."

"Very well," he turned to give her a mocking flourish, "ladies first."

"Stupid," She said over his laughter, but she was laughing now too.

For the first time since Robb left Harrenhal, Arya was happy.

A/N: I know Dacey gave Jon Longclaw in OBAS but that was still under the impression that they'd rule Bear Island, now that they're not, Jon tried to give it back. I thought it could be interesting if Jorah's misdeeds made House Mormont look differently on how the sword should be used. They reevaluated and I like to think it works for this AU. Is the idea flawed? Yes. Could it lead to problems? Yes.

Jon's armor looking the way it does is just a wonderful and happy accident. They made it in a way so it couldn't resemble fish scales to avoid insulting House Tully and then voila- Jon get's great armor with Dacey trying not to grin too much at what it actually looks like-red dragon scales.

I took liberties in writing/describing Harrenhal so don't be too upset.

I can now safely say we'll be getting our first Kevan Lannister perspective in the next chapter.

Until next time,

-Spectre4hire