Revenge is a Dish Best Served Cold

by Alperez16

My take on what a possible Jon Snow show set after season 8 could be.Bloodraven has one last trick up his sleeve before he dies,a contingency in case his doubts prove true.A broken man Beyond the Wall may not be as broken as he seems and as the ramifications of Northern Independence and Bran Stark being named King play out, House Targaryen and its last scion seek to have the laugh.

2. The KITN, Goes Wherever he Pleases

Beyond the Wall 306 AC.

The Truest Friend.

He was different, not just in how he acted now, but in how he looked at things. Jon Snow had always been focused, wary, almost as if he expected the worst to happen at any moment. Given what had happened to him in his life, and death, Tormund could well understand it. Now though, he seemed to almost wish the worst to happen, and should it, then Tormund would wager that it would no longer take his friend by surprise when it did.

From the moment they'd left the Wall behind and he'd ridden out with them, Tormund had known the day would come when life beyond the Wall living free and simple would not be enough for King Crow. One day he'd seek to avenge the wrongs that were done to him and no matter what anyone ever dared say to him, Tormund knew they were wrongs. It hadn't been the boy in the wheeled chair, the dwarf, or the red-headed girl who wanted Jon's crown that had won the day. The wolf girl may have been the one whose knife ended the Night King, but where had she been when his people were getting massacred?

Where had any of them been when his people fell at Hardhome?

Which of them had traveled to lands that had taken more of their blood than any to treat with a queen with dragons at her beck and call?

It had not been Sansa nor Arya Stark, nor was it Tyrion Lannister who'd brought the greatest army ever assembled to the North. No, it had been his friend, he and the queen who put on hold a fight for a throne, while others yet fought that fight even with the larger one not won. Tormund knew not what had happened between Jon and the Dragonqueen. She'd destroyed a city and killed thousands and as he had with everything he'd ever done, his friend had removed a threat to life from this world once more.

Yet it had never sat right with him. Not the killing, though he need only look to Jon Snow to see that it sat wrong with him, but that the woman he'd met at the Wall and again at Winterfell had fallen to the so-called madness of her and what he now knew was Jon's House. People didn't go mad because their mothers or fathers did, that was not how madness worked. For if it was then he'd know many more mad fuckers than he did. He'd told Jon that, tried to get him to see the truth in his words, but at the time it was other truths that Jon Snow was seeking.

"You think you'll go mad because she did? Because your grandfather did, that's fucking stupid, Jon Snow."

"Every time a new Targaryen is born, the gods flip a coin and the world holds its breath, Tormund. A brave and bold knight told Dany that and whose to say that my coin has landed the right way up?"

"I am." he said firmly "I fucking am and they are." he pointed to the Free Folk who still drew breath "Every fucking single person that wakes up on the morrow or the day after, or the fucking day after that. All of them do so because your coin landed right, Jon Snow."

"Arya…"

"And how would she have been able to do as she did had you not brought the Dragonqueen's army North? Had you and she not been up there flying on the backs of fucking dragons?" he asked as he pointed to the sky "You led us, Jon Snow, you. Striking the killing blow is worthy of song and respect, but you bought us another dawn."

"I think it's brought the dawn." Jon japed.

"Fuck off, King Crow," he said enjoying the sound of his friend's laughter.

That was why he couldn't let him leave him behind when the day came for him to go. He needed him by his side to stop him from being the grumpy broody fucker he'd been many years before. It had taken time for him to change and he very much liked the man he'd become. Now he was finding that he may well like the man he was beginning to be even more so. Jon Snow was finally the ruthless, aggressive, hard but fair bastard that he always should have been.

Never was this more clear to him than when the Crows came to take him from them. Tormund and the others who'd joined them had all now borne witness to a very different Jon Snow. Though as he'd said to him when they left that giant Weirwood behind them, Jon Snow was dead and Jacaerys Targaryen was the only man he could be now.

Two days ago.

Fifty men and women they had with them. Their new recruits were made up of fierce fighting men and Spearwives. One of the latter of them was a woman that Tormund hadn't seen in many a year and one he was more than glad to see now. Val had disappeared when the Stag King had broken Mance's army. She'd not been at Hardhome and had not to his knowledge made her way to the Wall. Where she had been or what tales she had to tell, however, would need to wait for another day.

"Riders, King Crow. Ten or more." Jarund said worriedly.

"Men from the South or Crows?"

"Crows, King Crow, they wear black."

"We can ambush them here, King Crow? Sigorn said. The young Thenn was more than eager for a fight to prove himself a man.

"Aye, our archers can take them down easily," Val added.

Tormund looked to Jon Snow and could see that he disagreed. He was ready to stop him from making a foolhardy plan where he put himself at risk as he always did when he heard the eagle's wings flap as it took to the sky. Looking at Jon, he saw his eyes were closed and far more quickly than he expected, they then opened again.

"I'll treat with the men alone. They either come for me or they're simply passing by. Only one of them will gain them another day in this world."

"We'll form up and use the trees, King Crow," Val said only for Jon to shake his head.

"I won't need you to fight this fight and it's one I must face alone."

Tormund waved their people away and moved closer to Jon, a worried look on his face that was very much not matched by the one that Jon wore.

"Jon?"

"I need to do this, Tormund. They were my brothers once and I need to know if they too have abandoned me."

"Fuck them if they have."

"Aye, I intend to," Jon said with a chuckle before patting him on the shoulder and walking out from the cover of trees and into the open ground that lay just beyond them.

Despite knowing that he wished for him to lay back with the others, Tormund could not. He crawled along the ice behind Jon as he walked towards the riders and noticing the eagle in the sky, he knew that his presence was no secret to his friend. Tormund recognized some of the Crows when they stopped in front of Jon. There were few who'd made it through the battle of Winterfell or the fall of the Wall. Yet there were one or two who looked at Jon more fondly than the others did.

"We've orders to bring you back, Jon." one of the men said and Tormund for the life of him couldn't name the man.

"Aye, you probably do, Artos. And should I refuse?"

"Then you'll be named a deserter." a different man said.

"To some, you're already considered so, Snow. It's only because of who you used to be that we're willing to offer you the chance to make this right and keep your head."

"Is it now?" Jon said as he glared at the man who'd spoken, "Do any of you have any idea of who I used to be? Of who they wish me to be still?"

There was no answer, only some confused looks shared between some of the men.

"I am not the bastard they named me as and Jon Snow is not who I ever was. I swore no oath under my true name and any oath I swore under my false one died the day Jon Snow did. I give you leave to ride back to the Wall and tell the Lord Commander that I have no fight with him or with you. Trust me you don't want me to change my mind on that."

"Jon, please…"

"Ride and ride now, seek not me out and I name you as friends still."

"And if we don't?"

"I won't name you as enemies. For them I kill." Jon snarled.

As swords were unsheathed, Tormund watched Jon move between two of the horses. He didn't even see Longclaw as it ended the two men's lives. Nor did he see the white blur that was Ghost as the white wolf took two men and two horses down as if they were nothing. Syrax attacked a man who was readying to fire an arrow and Jon Snow moved through the now panicked horses, cutting down man, horse, anything that was in his path.

One man seemed to be thrown from his horse and another was crushed under the weight of his. Six or seven men had fallen in the blink of an eye and the five that remained were now far warier of the man, wolf, and eagle that they faced. Three of them rode off to gather themselves and ready to charge while two more ran through the ice and snow to put some distance between them and the bringers of death that was Jon Snow, Ghost, and Syrax.

Tormund looked on as an arrow flew and a man fell from a horse, another following a moment later and the third was a shot that he doubted even their best archers could make. He stared in awe and wonder and felt this was the work of more than simply Jon Snow. For despite all his talents, archery was not truly one of them. Although he had improved much since he'd found the white weirwood bow. With the three men on horseback now dealt with, it was to the two on foot that Jon turned his attention. One of them fell to an eagle's talons and a wolf's teeth while the other seemed to have won himself another day.

Jon joined him as he watched the Crow ride off back to the Wall with his tail between his legs. He noticed that it was the one that Jon had named and that had been somewhat respectful who his friend had left alive. Yet it still surprised him that he had let any of them see another day.

"Why?"

"So my message is heard loud and clear, Tormund. That's why I needed to do this alone even though I knew this would turn out this way."

"I don't understand?"

"If I could do that alone, then imagine what I'll do with an army behind me. Imagine how terrifying that thought will be to those I come for."

"Aye." he said smiling "Next time I fight by your fucking side, Jon, or you tell me the fucking plan beforehand."

"I will, my friend."

Now.

As they camped in the glade a mile away from the Bridge of Skulls, Jon called for him to join him and told him what he'd seen at the Wall and the plan to come. Leaving his friend staring out at the white-covered lands, he moved to sit beside Val and to hear her tale. Were he a braver man than he was and had he not noticed how her eyes looked to Jon Snow, then he'd probably have attempted to steal her later that night. Smiling to himself, he wondered if she may attempt to steal herself a king before the sun rose on the morrow.

Looking at Jon Snow, however, he wondered if he'd ever allow anyone to steal him again.

The Bay of Ice 306 AC.

The Unfulfilled Knight.

For Ser Humfrey Hightower, adventure was something he'd always yearned for. Being the fourth son there was little else on offer to him after all. While his House was one of the richest and most storied in all the Realm, he'd inherit little if anything. Were he to wish it, then his father would have seen that he married well and either inherited a keep in his wife's name or was gifted some lands in his own. That however had never been the life he'd sought for himself.

He'd grown up with the tales of his Greatuncle the famed White Bull and while he'd never sought a white cloak, averse to marriage he may be but not to the delights found between a woman's legs, he'd sought the same fame and recognition that his Greatuncle had known. Humfrey still remembered fondly meeting Ser Gerold as a boy, seeing him in his pristine white cloak and watching him beat all comers in the spars he took part in. It had fuelled his own interest in martial pursuits and his dedication to the sparring and tilt yards.

Over time he had become the best warrior amongst all his brothers. Baelon was a better jouster and technically, Garth was a better sword, but if it came down to a true fight, then even his far prouder older brother would admit he had him beat. Yet a true fight had never come to him in all his seven and twenty years. He'd not fought in the War of the Five Kings, nor in the War for the Dawn or the War for the Iron Throne, though the latter of those was not truly a war at all in truth. While his House had supported his niece as queen, they'd not truly seen a fight until the Battle of the Blackwater and it had been Garth and not he who'd led their men into that fight. Mayhap that was what so excited him about this mission he'd been sent on, or mayhap it was to meet a man he'd heard much talk of over the past few years. Either way, when his father and sister had called for him and Garth and set them to task, Humfrey had relished it greatly.

"What do you mean he's the rightful king?" Garth asked, his brother was flustered and disbelieving of the words he'd just heard, as was he if he was being honest with himself.

"Jon Snow is a lie, Garth. A name that was given to him to protect him from Robert Baratheon's wrath and one he believed to be true right up to but a year ago." Malora said almost reverently.

"Yet he then killed his aunt? You seek to place a Kinslayer on the Iron Throne?" Garth asked incredulously.

"I seek to crown the rightful king and after what Daenerys Targaryen did in King's Landing, did I not hear you say she deserved to die?" Their father asked accusingly.

"Father is right, Garth. We can't serve the king who sits the throne, the so-called Broken King. He has no right to be named so, no blood did he spill to win the throne and if a son of Rhaegar Targaryen lives then it's to he who owe our fealty." he finally said and he saw the smile that appeared on his father's face and how his sister nodded in his direction.

"What if he's as fucking mad as she was?"

"Given he killed her rather than serve her, it would seem his coin landed the right way up, son."

"It did, father. Garth, you'll see it for yourself when you meet with him. But if that is not enough for you, then know this. I've seen the suffering the realm will undergo with Brandon Stark on the Iron Throne, far from King's Landing we may be, but trust me in this, we won't be immune from it as we have been."

Malora stopped him when he and Garth went to leave. Her hand touched his shoulder and soon enough they were left alone.

"That purpose you seek, brother, you'll find that by Jacaerys Targaryen's side. The adventure you long for is about to begin."

As he shivered from the cold, he looked out at the island he could see in the distance. Though he couldn't be sure, he'd name it Bear Island and it looked like a desolate and harsh place to his eyes. Lynesse would never have made a home for herself here and while their father said she had shamed herself and their House, he wondered if in truth they'd let her down by agreeing to the match in the first place.

It was not the only thought he pondered on as he turned to make his way below deck. His Goodbrother had found his way into the service of Daenerys Targaryen and had by all accounts died by her side. Humfrey wondered if Jorah spoke fondly of Lynesse when he spoke of her, or if he even spoke of her still. Mayhap Jacaerys Targaryen would be able to tell him, he thought as he closed the door behind him and was finally out of the chill of the northern wind.

"My brother?" he asked one of the guards he'd brought with him.

"Drinking, Ser Humfrey."

"A good idea if ever there was one. You've had something warm to eat, Alan?"

"I have, Ser, thanks."

"Very well, head to your bed and get some rest, I'll not be leaving the cabins for the rest of the day or the night to come."

"Thank you, Ser."

He smiled at the younger man, happy to see him listen to his words, and then he made his way to the larger cabin they ate and drank in. Inside the cabin, he saw his brother was well into his cups and he sighed. He'd no issue with Garth being drunk, only that he'd started before him. Sailing was as boring as fuck, he'd found, and anything that made the time pass more quickly was more than welcome. Taking his seat beside Garth, he was soon drinking with him and the rest of the day, and then the night passed quickly.

By midday the next day they could see the Wall itself and it took his breath away as it did Garth's who stood beside him on the deck of their ship. Though not as tall as the Hightower, it was damnable close, and what it lacked in height, it certainly did not in its sheer scope and length. One of their men had told a tale that Jon Snow had climbed the Wall with the Wildlings and how he'd known of it or where he'd heard it, Humfrey knew not. Looking at the great wall of ice, all he could say was that if it was true, then it was a most impressive feat.

They docked and gathered their supplies. They soon mounted their horses and according to Malora and to his father's maps, they had less than two miles to ride to Westwatch by the Bridge. Once there, then just on the other side of the Wall, lay the Bridge of Skulls itself. Humfrey felt that his eagerness to be there already was not matched by his brother and it allowed him to chuckle at Garth's expense as they began their trek. The smile was soon wiped off his face as the going was far harder than he had imagined and it seemed much colder on land than it had been at sea. Eventually, they reached the abandoned keep and he wasn't the only one who looked at it with disdain.

"The Night's Watch let this fall into such disrepair?" Garth asked.

"Apparently it was not much of an order by its end."

"And yet we seek to name its former Lord Commander our king."

"Why does it trouble you so much, brother? I've heard you speak and you've no love for the Broken King. You've called on father more than once to remove the sellsword from Highgarden too. So what is it about Jacaerys Targaryen that worries you so?"

Garth took some time to answer, his brother seemed to be choosing his words carefully which surprised him greatly.

"I fear it to be a false hope, brother. That he'll turn out like so many of them did, to be a man not worthy of his crown."

"The Dragons?" he asked and Garth shook his head.

"All of them. Each king that named himself so in these last few years." Garth said resignedly.

"Well then, let's see if we can put your fears at rest."

The night was almost upon them by the time they were settled in the dilapidated keep and so none of them was willing to risk traveling even a little distance beyond the Wall. They ate, drank, sat around a fire that didn't truly warm any of them, and barely slept a wink of sleep before the morning arrived. After breaking their fast, they set out at almost first light and it was as they were heading across the Bridge of Skulls that he felt it. Where they came from, he couldn't tell but they were clearly Wildlings and there were far more of them than there were of their own men. A part of him cursed that they'd left their horses back at the keep, but there was naught they could do about that now.

Humfrey gathered his Morning Star and removed his shield from his back. Holding both, he readied for the fight to come and feared the bows that the Wildlings carried would see their numbers be overwhelmed. The sound of the eagle's screech made all eyes turn to the sky and he watched as it dropped almost low enough to touch and then flew over the bridge. He saw it then, the white wolf that was as large as any horse, and its blood-red eyes seemed to bore deep into his soul even from the distance away from him that it was.

Then almost like a specter from the past, a figure emerged wearing smoky black armor and with his head covered by the hood of his smoke-colored cloak. Humfrey could see the white wood of a bow of some sort slung over his back and the white wolf's head of a sword at his hip. He, Garth, and their men all. watched as the white wolf moved closer to the black cloaked figure and he saw a gloved hand reach out and stroke the fur. A moment later an eagle then landed on the figure's shoulder and it too was soon caressed by a gloved hand.

When the hood was removed, he half expected to see the silver hair that the Targaryens were famed for, only for raven dark curls to be revealed instead. A pair of grey eyes that looked almost black in the early morning light now glared at them all with suspicion and some intrigue, Humfrey felt. The voice when it spoke, was clearly of the North and had he any need to hear the man name himself as who he was, then he'd not need it so now.

"My name is Jacaerys Targaryen and it's only by the good grace that I hold a knight of House Hightower in, that I'm willing to see you leave here with your lives. Tell the thing that names itself my brother that if he wants me dead, he'll need more than twenty men to see it done. Tell him it'll take him an army as large as the one that saved the North from its doom and even then, I'll see that he breathes his last before I breathe my own.

Now go, be at peace and bother us no more. I now consider my debt paid to Ser Gerold, so you'll earn no more favor with me simply because you are men of his House." Jacaerys Targaryen's words were spoken with the coldness of ice and yet the fire was there for all to see.

Humfrey looked to Garth who shook his head and then he laid his weapons down on the bridge and took a step forward. He heard the bowstrings tighten and the white wolf looked ready to spring at any moment. Above him, the eagle screeched in warning, only to calm when the gloved hand touched it and he noticed a red-headed wildling look at him and wiggled his eyebrows as he grinned.

"Your grace." he called out "Your grace. I come with an offer from my father. We seek to honor our Granduncle's last act as Lord Commander and to serve your grace just as he did."

"Have you not sworn an oath to a broken king?" Jacaerys asked.

"We've sworn no oaths as of yet, your grace, and you're the king we mean to swear them to."

"Why?"

"Because a dragon formed the Seven Kingdoms, your grace, a dragon not a wolf. It falls to a dragon to rule them once more."

"Aye, it does. Tormund, see that they are given guest rights. Ser?"

"Humfrey, your grace. Humfrey Hightower."

"I'll make you but one promise, Ser Humfrey. Play me false and you'll find my tolerance for forgiveness has long since passed. Now come, there is a storm on the horizon and you are men of summer, not winter." Jacaerys said as he, the white wolf, and the eagle all moved back towards the trees as if he hadn't a care in the world.

Oldtown 306 AC.

The Azure Lady.

She had traveled to Oldtown a few times in her life and had even visited the Hightower before for a Nameday celebration for one of Lord Leyton's daughters. Though for the life of her she now couldn't remember which. Never before had she come here as the Lady of the Arbor though and the attention she received because of it was a bit overwhelming. More than one knight or lord's son and even some of the lords themselves had wished to speak to her in an attempt to charm her in some fashion. Only one or two of them did so because of how she looked more than who she was.

Not that she didn't get many appreciative looks or glances at the welcome feast that she and the rest of the lords and ladies of the Reach were treated to. Her lady mother received equal measures of sympathy and interest. For despite bearing three children and reaching her fifth and fortieth year, she was still an incredibly attractive woman and one of suitably high standing for someone's second wife. Desmera watched her mother bear the interest and sympathy with good grace, despite the former coming far too soon after the loss of the man she loved.

Seeing just how many of the Reach's strongest Houses had been invited and had traveled to Oldtown, Desmera knew that whatever the reason they'd all been called here for, it was one that would be intriguing at least. Ser Desmond, the captain of her personal guard and a man that her mother trusted implicitly had told her that he would wager that the Reach was about to secede from the six kingdoms and its broken king. That given the sellsword that Bran Stark and his Kinslaying Hand had named as Warden and Lord Paramount, they'd been left with no other choice and yet Desmera wasn't truly sure she agreed. Instead, for some reason, she had the feeling that there was even more than secession at play here and as the hours passed, she grew ever more eager to find out that reason. Given who she was now faced with, she could very well find it out or find herself in a conversation that would perplex her for days. As the Mad Maid had, it seemed, sought her out.

"Lady Desmera, allow me to introduce myself, Lady Malora Hightower," Malora said and Desmera found herself staring at a woman who looked nothing like she'd pictured she would.

Tales had been told of how Malora Hightower confined herself to her rooms and communicated with things she should not. How she read from books that good and true people would never read from and sought answers from heathen gods. Desmera had heard that the woman was obsessed with magic and that so keen was she to look into the darkness that lay beyond what most people saw, it had taken her wits, looks, and youth from her. Looking at the woman now, she'd name all or most of that a lie.

Malora was a striking woman, fair of hair and complexion. While not a classic beauty, she was not unattractive and her blue eyes were as full of life and what she'd name as mischief as any she'd ever seen. Her voice was soft and lilting and she had a presence about her that made her stand out in the room and even Desmera felt herself wilt a little as she stood next to her. Yet she seemed friendly enough and if there was madness in her, then she hid it most well.

"I'm not as you expected," Malora said, smiling a full smile that brightened her features up even more and it was the same easy smile that her brother, Ser Baelor had charmed many a young lady with.

"Forgive me, my lady." Desmera stuttered.

"There's naught to forgive, Lady Desmera. I know full well how people speak of me and was this but a few years ago, then my countenance may have proved them true."

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that," she said instinctively and it earned her another smile, this one warmer and friendlier somehow.

"Come, walk with me, I'm sure you have many questions and my father won't answer any of them tonight."

She walked next to the older woman and listened to her speak of who had come and who had not. Then for some unknown reason, Malora proceeded to tell her which lord or lady was completely trustworthy, and which ones would need to be cajoled, threatened, or bribed to be so. At some point, their walk took them to the balcony that looked out over the gardens below and she found herself enjoying the scent of the smell of flowers in the air. Her mouth watered a moment later when she breathed in what smelled like peaches.

"It's most refreshing is it not."

"It is, my lady. Though I am more used to the smell of the sea air of the Arbor," she said, offering up her own small smile.

"I find I'd like to smell that scent too, as for too long I confined myself to a life with few of them." Malora said regretfully only to then shake her head and speak in a much different manner "And you should call me, Malora, Lady Desmera, I hope you and I will become firm friends in the days, weeks, and moons to come."

"Desmera," she said softly.

"Desmera."

A servant arrived with two glasses of wine and though she was not much of a drinker, she did welcome the taste of it on her tongue when she sipped from her glass. They stood there, both of them looking out and it took her some time to notice that Malora seemed to be looking off far at the horizon, almost as if she was willing something or someone to appear. Before she got a chance to speak to her on it and confirm her thoughts, the older woman started to speak again.

"We seek to crown a king, Desmera. A true king and not the broken one that sits on a throne that belongs to him not. This gathering is a prelude to a war for the very heart and soul not just of the Reach but of Westeros itself and the man we seek to crown is the only man equipped to win that war."

She turned to look at what seemed to be an expression of longing on Malora's face and she wondered if the man she spoke of was her lover or mayhap even her betrothed. Curiosity beat out discretion and before she knew it, she was asking the question that she'd have much preferred was left unsaid.

"Is it your future husband you speak of, Malora, your betrothed? Is that who your father seeks to crown?" she asked and the laugh she received in return was a full and true one. Malora laughed for some time and she had to wipe her eyes when she finally calmed down.

"Not mine, no. Though I wager many women would seek him for a husband and not just because for the lucky one it would make her a queen."

"Then why?" she asked almost in a whisper.

"A question that can only be answered when the man himself arrives."

"We await him?"

"Westeros has been waiting for him for an age, Desmera," Malora said before walking from her and leaving her alone on the balcony.

When she eventually returned back to the Great Hall it was to find that Lord Leyton and Malora had already retired and there was no sign of her mother either. Despite wishing to go to her bed, she felt she had been somewhat remiss in her duties. So she ended up staying a little longer than she wanted to. It meant she had to dance with more than one man who asked her the most inane of questions and who tried to seduce or charm her with very little success. Other than the dance she agreed to with Ser Baelor, not one of them had been one she'd truly enjoyed.

"My lady is not having the fun time she'd envisioned, is she?" Ser Baelor asked and had it come from any other man then she'd have not answered as truthfully as she did, but given how he looked to his wife and not to her or any other, she believed he asked out of some concern and not as a way to ingratiate himself to her.

"I find this whole thing to be perplexing, Ser. My mother and I were asked to travel when we still grieve for my father. The pretense over why we're here and the potential pitfalls of what I believe we're now here to discuss vex me so." she said a little bitterly.

"You're much like her you know," Baelor said softly.

"Ser?"

"My niece, your cousin, Queen Margaery. She too would think as you now do and raise the same concerns you do. While she enjoyed such nights as this, she thought of things much like her grandmother did, your grandmother."

"I find I miss them both terribly. The Reach and the realm are poorer without them. "

"That they are, Lady Desmera." Baelor said sympathetically "Trust that the reason you're here is a true and good one. I'll speak to my father and on the morrow, I'll see that you're present at the first of the meetings where we discuss the king we mean to crown and the war we mean to win."

"Must there be a war?" She asked and she was stunned when Baelor placed a soft kiss on her forehead, a fatherly or a brotherly kiss.

"Much like her," Baelor said fondly as the dance came to an end.

She felt she could handle no more words she knew not how to take or attention she wished not for and so that was the last dance she had before making her way to the rooms she'd been allotted. Sitting in front of her looking glass, she let down her hair and ran a brush through it before taking to her bed. On the morrow, she'd seek out the answers she fewl she was owed and then decide if the Arbor would support this unknown king and send its men to war. For now, it was some sleep and whatever dreams awaited her there.

King's Landing 306 AC.

The Kinslaying Hand.

The dream came to him again that night. Tyrion once more found himself bound and gagged as he was led to the cave. Darkness threatened to overwhelm him before the two red eyes suddenly appeared. He felt the loss of control of both his bladder and bowels and yet he felt no wetness run down his leg nor smelt no foul smell. Instead, the heat from Drogon's scales seemed to dry the piss almost as soon as it left his cock and the smell of ash overpowered everything else.

He saw her then, the white dress that she wore made her look like the Maiden herself. Her silver hair seemed to shine with a light that came from within her as around her the world was still bathed in darkness. The look on her face was one of hate and anger and he looked on aghast as the red stain appeared on her dress. Tyrion watched as the blood seemed to pour out of her and as the pristine white dress turned as red as the ones that Melisandre would wear.

"You betrayed me."

"You turned him against me"

"After costing me everything, you dared to judge me."

"You know what I do to betrayers, Tyrion."

"What I did to Varys."

A glance away from her, the first time his eyes could leave her, showed him the truth of her words, and the reason for the smell of ash was then made clear to him. Where once a eunuch he'd named a friend stood, a man he'd betrayed in the end too, now there lay a pile of ash and the maker of that pile now moved his large head closer to him.

"Drac…"

His eyes had closed of their own accord as he awaited the flames and yet they never came. Opening them one at a time, he breathed out in relief only to look at where he was and to hear the voice behind him.

"You may have escaped her judgment, Imp, but mine you'll not. Run, run as fast as your stunted legs can carry you. Go wherever in this world that you believe yourself to be safe. But know this. Not even death could contain me and nothing will stop me from giving you what you deserve. Cursed is the Kinslayer, Tyrion and Damned is the Betrayer. Dragons do not forgive and they never forget and I am now the dragon I was always meant to be."

He woke up with the sound of Jon Snow's voice still ringing in his ears. With his eyes barely open he caught sight of the whiteness of the pillow and almost jumped from the bed, fearing it was a white wolf that he lay beside. It took him some time to calm himself and to get a hold of the emotions that threatened to make him lose all control. Tyrion told himself that she was dead, that Jon Snow was a deserter of the Watch and would lose his head long before he had a chance to look his way. Yet as so many of his words had turned out to be, these sounded like lies too.

"When enough people make false promises, words stop meaning anything. Then there are no more answers, only better and better lies. And lies won't help us in this fight."

Tyrion shivered as more of Jon Snow's words played out in his head. Jon Snow didn't lie, he told the truth, far too often and with little thought of the consequences and as he moved to dress for the day ahead, it was the truth of the words he'd said in his dream that Tyrion became more and more fearful about.

His day's work took his mind off his fears, partly at least. For as it had been ever since he'd been named as Hand of the King to Brandon Stark, thoughts of how he got here were never far from his mind. In the end, it had been grief and not malice that had turned him against Daenerys Targaryen. Truth be told he'd not really cared about what she'd done to the people of King's Landing, for they were a fickle bunch at the best of times. Declaring him a hero one day for helping keep the city from Stannis Baratheon and denigrating him as a King and Kinslayer for a crime he didn't commit the next.

Had he been horrified when he walked through the city and saw the devastation that she and Drogon had unleashed, yes he had. Just not for the same reasons as others had. Tyrion had found his mind turning firstly to the sight of Lannister men being burned to death on the Kingsroad and then to worries about his brother and sister. Finding Jaime and Cersei's bodies had been what had truly sickened him and turned him truly against his queen. Seeing them dead and knowing she was the cause of their deaths had cost her his loyalty and allegiance.

Then as he'd sat awaiting a sentence that he'd known she'd pass onto him, it had been thoughts of his next breath that had truly guided his actions. He'd known what words to say to get Jon Snow to do what he needed him to do. Had thought little more than that and of having another day to live, right up until he was ridiculously asked his opinion on who should be named as king. Even as he'd spoken the words he'd not believed anyone could be foolish enough to listen to him, not after he'd shown the truth of himself so clearly. Though he'd not accounted for others' wants and desires as he'd done so.

To then be named as Hand once more. Not even were he his best plotting and scheming self, which he was not, did he expect that to be his fate. To live, to return to Casterly Rock and take up his rightful place, that had been all he'd hoped for when he'd convinced Jon Snow to become a Kinslayer just like him, and yet once he was named what he now was once more, he'd known what needed to be done. Jon Snow could not be allowed to be free. Death or the Wall was the only fate he deserved and the only fate that Tyrion believed would save his head. For a fool he may have been, blind he may have been, but even a blind squirrel eventually finds an acorn, and one day, Jon Snow would look to him and know the truth.

"I did what I had to do, as I now must again," he said shaking the thoughts from his head.

He called for Bronn and wondered just how much coin it would cost him. They needed Jon Snow dead and now had the perfect opportunity to do so and raise no questions in the process. He'd already been named as a deserter of the Watch and ravens had been sent out declaring him so. Still, Tyrion feared that no man of the Watch nor Northern Lord, other than mayhap Robett Glover, would seek to take Jon Snow's head from his shoulders. More than that, he feared that even were they to try, they'd find themselves no match for the man.

"It needs to be professionals," he said to himself as he poured a glass of wine and drank it down while he waited for Bronn's arrival.

It took far too long for his former sworn sword to grace him with his presence. Long enough for Tyrion to actually begin to go back to his work. He, like his father before him, read missive after missive and wrote just as many as he read. Notes about a gathering in Oldtown to honor Lord Leyton's Nameday or Davos Seaworth drinking himself to a stupor in a nearby tavern both filled him with some annoyance.

Losing Davos was not a good thing and he only thanked the gods that the man was still basically a smuggler and minor lord at heart. Had he been someone with more power or ambition, then his resignation would be a much larger problem for them. As it was, he'd no doubt take to the seas once more and that would be the last they heard from him. The Reach gave him more concern and he cursed himself for his stupidity in granting Bronn even more than he'd asked for. Naming him as Lord of Highgarden had caused enough problems with the remaining Reach lords and ladies, adding Warden, Lord Paramount, and Master of Coin, he knew not what had possessed him to do so.

Getting up from his seat, he walked to the book on the Hereditary of the Great Houses of Westeros. As he glanced through the names of those in the Reach he sighed loudly at the ones who were no longer there. Randyll Tarly would have kept them in line and a Tyrell would have been best of all, he thought to himself as his fingers moved over Olenna Tyrell's name. Then when he saw it he smiled and though he knew the man himself would complain, he'd heard the lady had taken more after her mother than her father and Bronn would have his head turned by a pretty face. Besides, she brought the Arbor to their side and her father's fleet and it would give the Reach Lords little that they could complain about.

"You sent for me? Bronn called out from behind him and Tyrion was angered at his guards for not announcing his arrival, though only a fool would have tried to stop Bronn from entering his solar when he wished to.

"I do, Catspaws, Bronn, the best of them."

"It'll cost ya, and it won't come from my purse."

"A Lannister always…"

"Go fuck yourself, you little cunt." Bronn said annoyed and Tyrion chuckled as he retook his seat.

The day had been a long one and he'd eaten and drank to his heart's content. He wished to lay with a woman and yet had found difficulty keeping one in his bed due to the nightmares he had most nights. So instead he just paid for a girl to come and suck his cock while he ate his nightly meal and at times would play a game to see if she could make him spend before he was done. Thus far he'd not found a single one who'd managed to do so.

"That one I'll fucking wed." he chuckled as he stumbled to his bed.

Hearing the knock on the door, he frowned and almost shouted at them to go away and come back on the morrow. Instead, he moved to the door, opened it, and was surprised to find Samwell Tarly standing there looking worried.

"Sam?"

"From the Wall, Lord Hand," Sam said shakily, handing him a raven's scroll.

Taking it in hand, it took him a moment to get his eyes to truly focus and when they did, he found he wished they had not.

Lord Hand,

I write to you with tale of Jon Snow, the former Lord Commander and now a deserter of the Watch. As per the instructions from his grace and yourself, we sent men out to pronounce sentence on him and they found him near the Bridge of Skulls. Now those men have returned, or one of them at least. He bore with him a message and though I understand it not, I was bid to pass it on and so pass it on I shall.

Dragons do not forgive and they never forget and I am now the dragon I was always meant to be. Tell me, Tyrion, am I lying?

I know not its meaning and have not the men to stop Jon Snow from doing whatever it is he wishes, I sent my best and he sent me back but one, the Watch cannot punish him alone, and so no longer will we seek to. I leave his fate in your hands, Lord Hand.

Lord Commander of the Night's Watch,

Ser Martin Flowers.

Tyrion gulped and let the raven's scroll fall to the ground, the room around him feeling like it was spinning and he swore he saw white fur and red eyes, and yet it was the dark grey ones that glared at him that truly terrified him.

"What have I done?"

King's Landing 306 AC.

The Honorable Smuggler.

He was not a man for drinking. Davos may very well have enjoyed an ale or two but it was not something that he overindulged in. Men who had served Stannis Baratheon such as he had, knew full well what the man who would be king thought about those who drank to excess. Yet even before he'd truly entered into Stannis' service, Davos had rarely gotten fall down drunk. In truth, he'd probably drank far more while serving Jon Snow than he ever had while serving either Stannis or himself.

Not that even then he'd gone too far with his drinking. Just enough to enjoy himself and be a part of the company he drank in, much like the man he'd served at the time. Jon Snow had only been drunk once in his presence and given that was the night after they'd saved the realm from an army of dead men, it was not something he'd ever hold against the lad. Especially not since he'd spent the last four nights needing to be helped back to the Black Betha because he was too drunk to walk.

By all rights, he should have already left this city behind him. There was nothing for him here any longer and more and more he had come to believe that he should have traveled with Jon Snow when he was sentenced to the Wall. It was but one of the many regrets that had reared their heads as he drank himself to melancholy. Thoughts of the things he should have said or done and had not, as well as the image of a young girl who was his daughter in all but name and who deserved a far better fate than she was given.

Reaching for the mug, he swallowed a large mouthful and wiped his eyes with his sleeve. The tears that always came unbidden when he thought of Shireen had begun to flow again and he so wished to forget what happened to her, even if but briefly.

"Whatdaaaa….Watddaaaaa…." he mumbled as he was helped from his seat, his men doing their best to not let him fall to the ground and he doing his best to almost throw himself onto it.

The cool air of the night brought him a moment's clarity and he swore he saw a small bird look his way and chirp a sweet sound.

"At least it's not a fucking raven." he thought as he was helped through the streets of Flea Bottom.

It was ironic to him to find that Flea Bottom had come off best when the Dragonqueen and the Black Dragon had unleashed their flames. Almost as if it was the nobility and the great and good rather than the great unwashed that Daenerys Targaryen had unleashed her grief and anger upon. True, some of the residents had been caught up in the path of Drogon's flight, yet by and large, it was other parts of the city that had suffered the worst of it. Something that was rarely the outcome when war or battle was unleashed upon this city or the realm.

How long it took him to be half carried and half dragged to his ship, he knew not. He may have passed out as they were doing so, or he may simply just have been too drunk to care. They somehow got him into his bed and he was asleep before they left the room. The sound of his snores reverberated around the small cabin and canceled out the sound of the small bird as it pecked the glass of the window, seemingly seeking its way into the warm room.

In his dream, he was speaking to Tyrion and Varys, talking about a wedding between Jon Snow and Daenerys Targaryen and being looked at as if he was a halfwit. In no mood for arguments, he stopped speaking of the match and instead talked more about the North and the battles they'd soon be facing. Turning to look at the window of the room they were in, he swore he saw a small bird try to break the glass so as to come inside.

There was something wrong with his king. Though he was never the happiest of men, Jon Snow was hurting and Davos knew not what to do or say. He tried, he beseeched the young man to open up and tell him what ailed him and Jon seemed on the verge of doing so. When the red woman came their way though that was it, the end of another conversation that hadn't even actually begun. He couldn't stay in her presence a moment longer and so he bid Jon goodnight and walked away from them both. The bird chirped loudly as he passed the tree, and yet Davos ignored it and made his way to his room.

The city burned and the Unsullied were killing men who had already surrendered. Meanwhile, Jon Snow was risking his neck trying to save men who'd mayhap played a part in the murders of his father's household and in keeping his sister prisoner. Any other man would be seeking to join in and none would raise an eyebrow or name him wrong for doing so. Yet here Jon was, arguing with the leader of the Unsullied, outnumbered and yet unafraid and unyielding. He dragged him away, fearing for his life, and ignored the bird that chirped and flew over his head as he did so.

Each time he got to the cell door, he turned back. Mayhap he was afraid of what he'd find if he opened the door as he had no wish to see Jon Snow as broken as he believed him to be. He had loved her, any fool with eyes to see would know that was true and yet he had driven his knife deep into her heart. That alone would break a man, even though after what she'd done it was warranted. Yet there had been things on Jon's mind from the moment they'd left Winterfell, he'd not been the same man and Davos had failed yet another man he'd named as king. So he turned and left him alone, the last thing he needed was advice from a man who had never truly had any good advice to give.

"Fuck off bird," he said loudly as he passed the small chirping bird that sat on the ledge of the cellblock's only window.

The sound of the song woke him up, the bird rested on the headboard of his bed and its song was a thing of beauty. Hungover as he was, he sat up and listened to it sing and closed his eyes to just let the sound wash over him. It brought peace and calmness to his heart and when he felt the wind brushing against his cheeks, he smiled. Opening his eyes, he almost shat himself, however. It was now flying directly in front of him and its beady bird eyes stared deep into his own.

He shooed it away and it flew to his table where it began to peck and eat some food that still remained there. Davos rose to his feet, scratched his itchy arse, and looked for the piss pot. To say he welcomed the feeling of his bladder emptying would be an understatement. The sheer relief he felt when he was done was a palpable and true thing. Putting his cock away, he turned to see the bird was no longer on the table, and for some reason, he felt its absence deeply. The sound of a chirp rang out and he looked to see that the bird was among his books, journals, and maps. So he again shooed it away and then looked on in amazement as it flew through the air with a large map in its talons.

"Give me that you little fuck." he called out and the bird answered in kind, chirping even more loudly than he had shouted.

The next few moments were like something out of a mummer's play. He chased the bird around his small cabin and almost caught it more than once. Each time he thought he had, the bird flew from his grasp and more than once, Davos ended up flat on his face or his arse. It was as he was sitting there, angered and yet wearing a smirk because despite it all he was amused as well, that the bird flew to the table.

Davos looked on in disbelief as it dropped the map to the table and somehow when it fell from the small bird's talons it opened up. The bird then landed on the now opened map and Davos rose to his feet, panicked that it was about to shit or do something just as bad and destroy a map that had cost him much coin to have made. Yet the bird just chirped again, once, twice, and then thrice before it began to sing that very same song he'd awoken to.

Walking slowly to the table so as not to frighten it away or cause it to damage the map, or so he told himself, Davos listened to the song and found that a sense of peace and calm came over him once more. Moving his hand carefully to the map, he almost jumped when the bird took flight and landed on top of his shoulder. The song sounded even more lovely hearing it sung this close to his ear, almost as if this was how it was meant to be listened to. A song that needed to be sung and one that required you to be close to the singer of it was a strange thought and not something he'd ever imagined himself capable of.

When it flew again, he almost reached for it longingly. Davos looked on as it landed back on the map and as it then moved its beak so it touched the parchment the map was drawn on. It never broke through and did so as carefully as it could. The song never stopped being sung either and Davos felt the need to see where it was that the bird was pointing. He saw the Shield Islands, the Reach, and yet it was Oldtown the bird's beak kept hitting on the map, its eyes looking deep into his own all the time, and the song being sung as he did so.

"Oldtown?" he asked and the bird stopped singing, its head tilted to one side, and then it began to sing again "You wish me to go to Oldtown?" he asked and the bird flew and landed on his shoulder again. The song now sounded even sweeter than before as it did so.

He spent the day making sure they had the supplies needed for the trip and when the tide was right, they set sail. What it was he was sailing to, he knew not, but the answers he sought were in Oldtown and so it would be there that he and the Black Betha would go.

Winterfell 306 AC.

The Red Queen.

She had barely readied the proposal for the Iron Bank when Lord Manderly informed her that the banker was on his way. Tycho Nestoris had apparently already been in Westeros when she sent word that she sought a meeting. The Iron Throne's debts had not been forgiven just because it was no longer Cersei Lannister who sat it and Sansa found she took some enjoyment from finding that out. They had refused to help her in any way without it costing her the crown she'd worked so very hard for and so she reveled in them having their own problems.

Not that it truly helped her situation much. Their reserves of coin were even lower than she feared. War, Winter, and the greed of men all had seen to that. Ramsay Snow had damaged Winterfell much when he'd sacked the keep and thankfully his father had quickly sought its repairs, unfortunately, he'd used much of their treasury to do so. The rest had barely been recovered when they'd taken the keep back and though her family was never rich, they had never been as poor as they were now either.

Tax increases helped her not and brought her disfavor and while she believed that some of the lords of the North were holding out on her, she was not yet in a strong enough position to force them to comply with her demands. One day she would be, and on that day she'd make them pay greatly. Today however was not that day. Looking over the books, she found herself rubbing her nose with her fingers to try and remove the ache in her head the figures gave her. Sums were never something she was adept at and so she had Wolkan simplify it for her a little. A part of her wished she had not, as while she may not be good with sums, she at least understood what numbers meant and these numbers were bad.

Rising to her feet, she decided to forgo another day trying to make sense of all she had to offer and what she may have to give up. Instead, she wished to go for a walk around the keep and the grounds. Calling for her guards, she, they, Jeyne Poole, and Lady Cerwyn who she'd added to her ladies in waiting, all began to stroll down the halls and corridors of her family keep. Guards, servants, lords, and ladies, all offered her a greeting as she passed them by. Bows of their heads, curtsies, warm smiles that on some of the faces even looked true, she was welcomed by each of them.

"Your grace."

"My queen."

"Hail, your grace, good health."

She waved, smiled, and most of all she reveled in the attention and deference. While it had never been the cold North that she had wished to rule over, Sansa had always felt destined to be a queen. At first, she had believed it would be of the Seven Kingdoms and by Joffrey's side, though that dream had quickly turned into a nightmare. Then as they marched to retake her family home, it had become the North, and yet a part of her had always believed that this would just be a stepping stone to much more. Now she was simply happy that she had ended up as queen of anything and felt it was the least she had deserved.

Not to be a Warden, a Lady, nor even a princess, a queen was what she was born to be and it was that which had turned her so quickly against Daenerys Targaryen. That and how Jon Snow looked at her. As while he was easy enough to manage alone and in time she'd have taken his crown from him, as she did, with the Dragonqueen by his side he'd not have been. Had they wed and joined their claims, then unlike with Bran she'd not have been able to convince the lords and ladies that an independent North was what they all had fought for. They'd have knelt for Jon, they had already knelt for Jon, and she couldn't and didn't allow them to have that choice again.

"Lord Glover, your grace," Jeyne said, taking her from her thoughts.

"My queen." Robett Glover said with a bow and then he kissed her glove-covered hand.

"Lord Glover." she smiled.

"May we speak in private, my queen."

"Jeyne, Lady Cerwyn, if you'll wait for me by the gates of the Godswood."

"Of course, your grace."

She accepted their curtsies and waited until she was alone with Glover, or as alone as she would ever be with him. Her two guards stood a couple of steps back and no more. Sansa feared the man not, she simply didn't trust any man at all, not anymore.

"The Iron Bank, your grace. They will wring a heavy price from the North for their coin and 'tis one we can afford not."

"And yet, winter is here, Lord Glover. I would see our people's path through it as comfortable a one as I can make it."

"Indeed. To that end, your grace, I was wondering if you gave any further thought to my suggestion about the Lands Beyond the Wall?"

She had and she had liked it not. The idea of launching attacks on the Wildlings did not sit well with her. Sansa may not hold any love for them as Jon had, but they had fought on their side and they'd left when the fight was done. To now turn on them and stab them in the back all because they may possess treasures they had not given up or their lands may possess some unknown bounty, did not sit well with her. Not to mention that to do so would certainly incur Jon Snow's wrath and better he looked not in her direction at all, never mind with thoughts of vengeance in his head.

Still, desperate times call for desperate measures and better the North prosper than some savages from the other side of the Wall. Jon had been named a deserter too and should he come south, then his head would be forfeit.

Mayhap it was for the best if she sent men to do the task long before he looked south at all?

"You have my leave, Lord Glover. I want a full accounting of what spoils you take, the crown must have its share, my lord. I take no issue with you gaining from this expedition but I'll not be cheated out of my due, on that you can be certain." she said firmly.

"I'd not dream of it, your grace," Glover said with a bow.

The man was not a practiced liar and not even a very good one. So she'd need to ensure she had men with him that she could trust. If he did try to cheat her, which she knew he would, then this could turn out to be a blessing in disguise too as the North Remembers such things.

"And should I run into Jon Snow, Your grace?" Glover asked eagerly.

"Then I've no doubt you like any Leal lord will seek to carry out the fair sentence that has been imposed on him."

"With pleasure, my queen," Glover said almost gleefully.

Watching the fool of a man walk away, Sansa smiled. Should Glover actually run into Jon Snow then she'd need to deal with the craven no more and even if by some quirk of fate he was the one to survive such a meeting, his time was coming to an end soon enough as it was. She almost sang as she practically skipped to where her ladies waited for her, though as soon as she was in sight of the Godswood she shivered somewhat.

As Queen in the North, she was expected to pray to the same gods that the North prayed to, which meant visiting this place far too often. She liked it not and felt as if she was being judged by something unseen each time she walked to the Weirwood, and then even more so as she knelt down and prayed by it. Deciding to forgo appearances, for now, she made her excuses about the cold and feeling a chill and with Jeyne and Lady Cerwyn by her side, Sansa turned and headed back to the warmth of the keep and the comfort of the Great Hall.

Two days later she sat on the Winter Throne and welcomed Tycho Nestoris into her home. The banker was an unremarkable-looking man who wore no sign that he was wealthy or important. Other than the fierce-looking men by his side, he'd seem to be just a simple merchant or trader and not a man who held the North's fate in his hands. She welcomed him with all the pomp and circumstance that a queen could convey and yet it seemed she had impressed him not. When he suggested they get right down to business, she bristled and yet offered him her fakest smile and bid him join her in her solar.

He turned down the offer of food for himself, though took some for his men. She was happy enough that he accepted the wine when she offered it and that she smiled when he tasted the Arbor Gold that she had procured for this meeting especially. Sensing he was not a man for small talk, she spoke of the amount she wished to borrow for the North and the terms she was willing to accept for borrowing that amount and the man simply sat silently looking at her for some time before speaking.

"Rarely have we dealt with the North, Queen Sansa. Rarer still with the House of the Wolf. Which does give us pause."

"For why, Lord Nestoris?"

"Tycho, your grace, I am no lord." the man said and though she smiled back at him, she hated that he'd corrected her "We know not your faithfulness to whatever terms we may agree to, your grace. Having rarely dealt with your House before and not for some time, we know not if the truth of your reputation is as it seems."

"You would insult me by saying that I don't live up to my father's honor, Tycho." she snapped angrily.

"I knew not your father, your grace, and our only dealings with your House involved a different wolf, Cregan Stark the Wolf of the North. Many years have passed since then and I would hope you can understand our wariness."

She nodded at him, surprised the Iron Bank had ever dealt with her House in truth although how she'd ever have known if they had or had not was beyond her.

"There is the question too of collateral, your grace. The North is not a land of bounty and it has suffered greatly these past few years."

"It has, Tycho, as have I."

"My apologies and sympathies, your grace," Tycho said and yet it was easy to see that he felt the need for neither.

"What know you of Brandon's Gift, Tycho of the New Gift?"

He shook his head and so she explained it to him, Sansa ignoring the small voice that told her that he knew of them full well.

"And to the Iron Bank, this means what exactly?"

"Those lands are back in the hands of the North once more, Tycho. They are the most bountiful lands in all the North and soon will give up their bounty, or they will once winter has passed." she said and he looked at her inquisitively "We're willing to give up a percentage of their crops as collateral and even mayhap some of the lands itself should we find ourselves unable to pay this debt. Though I have no doubt that will not turn out to be a problem."

Sansa watched him as he pondered her proposal and she thanked the seven for Lord Manderly's suggestion. Once Bran had refused to help out and with the North now being an independent land once more, they were no longer beholding to agreements made by a southern king or queen and as Brandon the Builder's heir, she had the right to rescind his gift too. To use them how they were now being used had come from Wyman Manderly and yet to all who heard it, they'd think it came from her.

"Twenty percent interest, your grace," Tycho said after some time and she shook her head.

"Five." she offered.

They eventually settled on fifteen and though she liked it not, it was the best she felt was on offer. Nearly 500,000 gold dragons payable back over ten years at 50,000 plus 7,500 in interest per year, it was a steep price and would take up a large chunk of their tax receipts, and yet it would be enough to see them through winter. Happy that the deal was concluded and she could breathe more easily and hopeful that Glover's adventure could only add to their coin reserves, she readied to say her goodbyes to the banker. Tycho then made her breath still in her chest as he asked her about Jon Snow.

"Jon Snow, your grace, where may I find him?"

"For why, Tycho?"

"We don't discuss the business of the Iron Bank's other clients with those it doesn't concern, your grace. Just as we won't discuss our business with you."

"Jon was sentenced to the Wall, last we heard he had traveled somewhere in the lands beyond it," she said, annoyed.

"Then it seems my time in the North is not yet at an end." Tycho said, rising to his feet "A representative from the bank will await your man in Braavos, your grace. Now if you'll forgive me, but the day is almost at an end and I've many miles to travel."

She nodded and watched the man leave and then later stood at her window looking down as he walked out the gates. A part of her almost wished to take him prisoner and demand to know why he sought Jon out and another part simply feared what the reason could be. Almost storming from her solar, she hurried through the keep and made her way to the courtyard, happy to see that Glover hadn't yet left.

"My lord."

"Your grace," Glover said with a bow of his head.

"Jon Snow, my lord. Your queen seeks his head for his desertion. When you remove it, I wish you to bring it back here for all to see."

"I would be honored to, your grace."

Feeling the chill as she watched the lord and his men leave, she felt no shame nor pain at the thoughts of Jon's death. He was not truly her brother and if killing cousins was Kinslaying then Westeros would be full of men, and soon a woman, who would be named as such.

The Bridge of Skulls 306 AC.

The White Dragon.

The storm raged and he could see that the men of the South had never experienced anything like it. Even had they returned to the Wall and spent their night at Westwatch, one or two of them would not have made the morning. Truth be told they had been lucky to have arrived here when they had. As had it been a little earlier or a little later, then he doubted that all of them would have been traveling back to their families.

Since the Free Folk and he too were more than equipped to handle weather such as this, Jacaerys had set them to task and bid them ensure their guests made it through the storm. Furs had been shared, the fire burned fiercely and some warm broth had been offered up and eaten greedily. Some of the knights and their guards had even partook of the god-awful goat's milk and while he'd not touch the stuff himself, he knew that it would at least light a fire in their bellies and help them through the worst of the storm.

Looking around the camp that they had built, he was reminded of nights marching to the Wall with Tormund, Orell, and Ygritte. The latter of these brought a sad smile to his face as he thought back on her fondly. Bidding the knights a good evening, he made his way to his tent and settled in for the night. Ghost added to his warmth and even Syrax left her perch to sleep close to him and the white wolf. He was asleep within moments and the dreams came as soon as his eyes closed. Dreams of days long past and men no longer here and some that he very much wished were.

Jeor Mormont as he sat at his desk and ate the stew that he'd brought to him. Pyp japing and making them laugh as they ate their own meals. Grenn getting annoyed as he was made fun of and Edd, who was just as miserable as ever and it was he that he missed most of all.

What would you think of me now, old friend?

Of what I did to our brothers?

Would you name me a traitor? A deserter?

Would you have sought my head?

Would you have joined my side?

He let the questions go unanswered or in truth, there was no one there to answer them and he found himself alone and walking around Castle Black, the keep devoid of life as he did so.

"This was never where we were meant to end up, Jacaerys." a voice said and he turned to see a man wearing the same armor and cloak that he now wore, the white weirwood bow was on his shoulder and the ruby clear as it hung from his neck.

Yet it was the sword he wore on his hip that Jacaerys found himself focussing on and he smiled a young boy's smile when Bloodraven unsheathed it.

"Dark Sister, the sword of Visenya, Aemon the Dragonknight, and the Rogue Prince," Bloodraven said as Jacaerys looked at it in awe.

"You…you brought it here?" he asked to a nod of Bloodraven's head.

"I did."

"You brought it beyond the Wall?"

"I did but that's not where it stayed."

He looked at him, hopeful, eager, and before he knew it they were in another place that he recognized. The round tower stood on an island surrounded by a small lake. A path of stepping stones led the way to it and he watched as Bloodraven skipped across them with all the grace of a dragon in flight. Following him, he was surprised by how easily he did the same as each of the stones was moss covered and slippery.

Entering the tower, he followed Bloodraven up the stairs and then joined him in the room that was on the second to last floor. It was a barren and empty room with naught but a large hearth to mark it out as anything special at all. Almost in the blink of an eye, the fire burned and he looked on as Bloodraven cut his palm and allowed his blood to drip into the flames. They rose higher and then almost as quickly as they'd done so, they were extinguished.

"Fire and blood," Bloodraven said and Jacaerys watched as he pressed his bloody palm onto the mantle and as the stone moved beneath the hearth.

The sword was sheathed in a black and red scabbard with a belt wrapped around it. Laying there beside it was what looked to be an egg. Its black and red coloring reminded him so much of Drogon that he was forced to turn away for a moment.

"Many years ago a fool thought to give away that egg as a prize to sate his lusts. That fool was my father and my curse was to fix the mistakes that he made. The egg was never meant to be mine, Jacaerys, it was always destined to be yours as was the sword. Find them, find them both, and use them well for it now falls upon you to restore our House."

The sound of Syrax's screeching woke him from his dream, though Bloodraven had already disappeared from it once he'd spoken his words.

"How is a woman to steal you with those here, King Crow?" Val asked annoyed.

"She's not, Val. Trust me I'm not the prize you think I am."

She left the tent, angered, annoyed, and he doubted that she had been dissuaded. Turning to his eagle, he stroked his hand through her feathers and chuckled when she flew to her perch, Syrax now acting as his sentry for the rest of the night. Not that he needed her to as he slept not. Instead, he lay back and considered both what he'd seen and what his next steps would be. Ser Humfrey's presence and naming of him as his king was interesting and yet Jacaerys was loathed to think this meant he had House Hightower or the Reach's support. Or mayhap he was still too distrustful of those who'd not yet earned his trust. It mattered little, it was to Queenscrown and not Oldtown that he intended to head to first of all.

Four Days later.

They'd ridden hard and he'd been grateful that the men of the Reach had brought horses with them. Though they hadn't brought enough for everyone and as uncomfortable as it was having Tormund hold onto him as they rode, it was more preferable than doing the same with Val. She wished to steal him and nothing he had said to her would dissuade her from the notion. If anything he'd probably made her only more keen to do so.

So he'd had her ride with Ser Humfrey and he with Tormund and had needed to suffer the constant japes from his friend as they rode across the North. Ser Humfrey and even more so his brother had been angered that he was going on this detour and yet he cared not. He still was unsure about the two men and more so about those they served and yet at least in the younger man's words, he could discern no lie and neither Ghost nor Syrax seemed to take issue with him either.

Seeing the tower in the distance, he bid his horse ride faster and she quickly complied. Soon enough they were at the edge of the lake and after dismounting, he led the horse to the lakeshore and let her drink her fill. In the sky above, Syrax soared and he'd looked through her eyes to find out if they were alone, which they were for miles around. Moving to the water, he took a step and could only imagine that to those behind him he looked as if he had gone mad.

"Your grace." Ser Humfrey called out as he moved to him.

"Stepping stones, Ser. Our path to the tower yonder," he said as he pointed to the tower.

By the time that Val and Tormund had joined them, all ten of those he rode with had crossed from the lakeshore to the base of the tower and the four Free Folk all wore the same awed looks on their faces. Other than Ser Humfrey, the Reachmen too wore the same look and when Jacaerys opened the tower and stepped inside, it was as if he was back in the dream he'd had just days earlier.

Moving up the stairs, he very soon came to the door on the second to the top level and held his breath as he pushed it open. The room inside was exactly how it had been in his dream, if a little dustier, and there was a stale smell in the air. Yet it looked almost identical and before anyone could speak, he moved to the hearth.

"The sticks, Tormund," he called out and a moment later he was setting the fire using the sticks that he'd had Tormund gather a day earlier.

Taking his flint, he struck it once, twice, and then thrice, with the fire taking hold on the third attempt. Then he waited until it was burning for true before he removed his dagger and took off his glove.

"This will look strange and may perplex you, but trust me it's needed," he said as he cut his hand and let the blood drip into the fire.

As in his dream, the flames rose and for the briefest moment, he felt they covered him somewhat. Then almost as quickly as they had risen, they fell and the fire burned itself out. He moved his blood-covered palm to the mantle and pressed down where he'd seen Bloodraven do the same and for a moment nothing happened. Before he could even begin to become disheartened, the stone moved and he looked down at the sheathed sword and the dragon egg that lay beside it.

"Is that?" Ser Humfrey said as Jacaerys picked up the sword and unsheathed it.

"Aye, Dark Sister," he said reverently as he looked at the blade before sheathing it and thing tying the belt around his hip, the thin sword was now worn on his right side in an almost mirror image of Longclaw on his left.

Picking up the dragon egg with his blood-stained hand, he felt its warmth almost immediately, and then there was an odd sensation that he could not name. Jacaerys barely heard the words spoken about the egg he held and instead he found himself looking deep into its black and red scales and seeing a dragon break through and force itself out. In the blink of an eye, the image was gone, and he held the unhatched egg in his hand, and yet he was certain he'd seen the red and black dragon hatch. As he put the egg into a small sack that Tormund handed him, he noticed that the blood that had pooled in his hand was gone and the wound itself seemed to have healed up.

"How did you know, your grace?" Ser Garth asked, his voice showing both disbelief and far more reverence than it had done up to that point.

"These are my birthright, Ser Garth. They were left here for me and I just took far longer to take what was mine than I should have. It'll not be a mistake I make again."

After they had set up camp that night, he swung Dark Sister properly for the first time. The sword almost sang as it moved through the air and it felt as much a part of him as Ghost, Syrax or the dragon egg did. Had someone ever asked him if he'd swing a sword that was truer than Longclaw, he'd have laughed and named them a fool. Now he wasn't sure he could do the same. Though he was not yet certain that he was ready to give up the sword that had served him so well.

It took them a week to reach the ship that Ser Humfrey and Ser Garth had traveled on. They'd talked much and while the younger of the two knights seemed keener to serve him for some reason, the older brother had come around a little too. He'd listened to them speak of their father, brothers, and sisters, and of a sister named Malora who it seemed may well be a green seer. It was her who had sent them north and to the Wall. She who had sought him out and so it was her that he would need to speak to and ask questions of.

As the ship set sail, he looked back to the Wall and wondered if he'd ever see it again. He looked to the North and knew that he would, for he had business with its queen and with some of its lords. Sailing south, he knew he had much to do there and as Syrax landed on the rail beside him and Ghost moved to stand by his side, he rested his hand on Dark Sister and felt the fires within him begin to rise.

"The Hour of the Dragon is nigh," he said as he turned and he, Ghost, and Syrax moved to the cabins below.

A/N: Thanks to all who've read and reviewed. Up Next Jacaerys and Ser Humfrey speak and find common ground while in Oldtown the truth about Jon Snow and Lord Leyton's plans is revealed. Bran finds himself perplexed and confused as he seeks out the whereabouts of his cousin when Tyrion reveals what happened beyond the Wall. Sansa hears a worrying rumor that sends her mind into panic and makes her make a desperate call while Davos arrives in Oldtown to find he's not the only new arrival to the city and is reunited with a man he once named as his king. Malora and Desmera spend more time together before each of them have an encounter with the White Dragon.

For those following my other fics, the Dragonverse is next to be updated.

Daryl Dixon: Most severely here will she be punished.

Cheryl Pollock: No worries about the spelling and feel free to suggest any ideas you may have, I'm always open to listening. I understand completely about the reviews and am just happy to see your name when I do, my friend. Glad you're liking the idea behind the Dragonverse I do have some fun plans with that one, especially when we hit some of the other timelines.

So with Bloodraven, he in one way completely messed up, though Bran did show the most promise. But he allowed his own feelings that family ties would bind to almost blind him to Bran's unsuitability and it was only near the end that he realized that he made a mistake. However, he did put the contingency with Malora, and things like the sword/dragon egg here were things that were meant to happen before they did, which we'll see more of as the story continues.

In regards to the match, it'll be Jon/Desmera as she fits the best and ties the Reach to him even more so and Jon here will be thinking far more practically and politically at first.

Arya, we'll see much later as for the Unsullied, they are in Naath and we may or may not see them again, I've not yet decided. The Dothraki roamed free but eventually returned to Essos much to Bran's relief. So it's still Sweetrobin in the Vale, the wording I used may have confused it, but it was more that Tyrion was dealing with the Vale and Bran was uninterested than anything else, but it's still Sweetrobin.

We may see Drogon again, but he won't be Jon's mount. I have plans for dragons but for now, I want it to be a more conventional war, well as conventional as one involving wargs ever could be. Bran is like number one on Jon's list and that's not a pleasant place to be. I think that's spot on with Sansa, you also have the queen thing and no matter how you look at it, Westeros would always take issue with Sansa being a Queen and not a Queen, the North even more so IMO. Especially when there is an alternative. When you then add in Sansa's own personality, actions, and temperament, you are creating an untenable situation IMO.

Mythic: I mean let's face it we'd all want them to just go back and redo season 8 at least, maybe even season 7 in a perfect world, but a Jon Snow sequel that actually addressed and fixed some of the issues with the end of the show would be easiest of all. And you could even bring Dany back into it at some point as raising someone from the dead is literally already part of the core lore. So for me, Jon seeking vengeance and his throne is easy enough to do and would fix some of the biggest issues. Jon on a quest to bring back Dany and them both doing so would fix even more. Jon simply accepting events and showing him facing things Beyond the Wall, would be pointless, and so we can hope.

It's funny you say that as with Sansa that is about to become even more true due to her upcoming actions.

There are so many possibilities and as I said, Jon Snow sequel is probably the easiest way to fix the crap we got and I think Emilia at some point would be happy to come back and play the right version of Dany too.

Xan Merrick. Thanks my friend, and no, my biggest thing about it is that it's supposedly Kit's idea and his writers and producers who are pitching it. So it's not them seeking him out, it's the other way around which bodes better IMO. He doesn't seem to be doing this for the money, but to fix the role, now I could be wrong, but that does give me hope.

Blackstarblake1: Estoy tan contento de escuchar eso.

Nagiten. Not sure if you ever watch Overlorddvd on Youtube, but he speculated that this was one of the many ideas being discussed to fix things. A Jon Snow sequel is imo the easiest and I don't care if Emilia says she's not coming back, she's not needed initially, and then later if it is done right and the show was successful, I think she'd come back if they were treating her character more respectfully than the idiots did. In truth, it can just be hand waved off that Drogon brought her to Valyria and that's it, but given that the dead can be brought back to live, it's just as easy to say she was brought to Volantis and resurrected.

One idea that was apparently discussed was a complete redo, where season 7/8 or maybe just season 8 was simply Bran looking into the future and seeing the worst-case scenario, but I doubt they can ever get the whole cast together again. So Jon fixing his own storyline and in turn making sense of the BS is probably the best use they could do.

Phineasn: We sort of have that with him just riding off into the sunset, it's very easy to just go somewhat like what I'm doing here, having him just take some time, regroup and then look south once more.

NOt2day. Syrax will be a big part of things in this, I always wanted Jon to have a bird companion, and ravens are out, so an eagle that kills them just almost wrote itself lol. My biggest issue with Arya is that at the end of the day she's a bloody assassin and she wants Dany dead. She knows how Jon feels about her, then knows she's his aunt and yet her words are to help make him kill her. Why didn't she just do it herself and save everyone the danger. Then after he does that, she has no issue with him being sent to the Wall, yes she threatens Yara, but that's as far as her loyalty goes.

Moonlight echoes: So very glad you're enjoying it.

Celexys. Thanks so much, my friend. The funny thing is that I think the vast majority of us think the same thing about the ending and have the same issues with it. Now some blame Jon for Dany or Dany for Jon or whoever, but the way they left things just doesn't tie up any loose end at all and creates far more problems than it solves and so we're left to pick up the pieces. Here I hope to both do some of that and make it a fun ride too.

Ymrgr: I think that may be my one shout, the Last Dragon lol.

The Sphinx: Good to see you, my friend, hope you like where this goes and it inspires some of your awesome poetry.

Scarila; The first few chapters will update quickly enough, the next one is due in two weeks for example. Glad you're liking it.

The Last Northumbrian: The one reason I love the lore and the fandom is that there are so many alternate paths within the same story and using the same characters. I know it's the same in other fandoms and something like The Last Kingdom has some interesting what-if paths to my mind, but for now, I'm happy enough to find so many in ASOIAF. I think you may have hit onto a winner though with your snippets/ideas thing and it would allow people to give early feedback, so I may begin to work on that, thanks for the suggestion.

Iprg: With Arya, it's partly that in another story I went the full reunion and restoration of family bonds between her and Jon and simply didn't want to do the same thing and partly because this Jon is very influenced by Bloodraven and so far more likely to be more unforgiving. Gendry is right now not even a blip on Jon's radar. But he is the Lord of the Stormlands, sworn to a king, and was named so by Dany originally and so a little like with Bronn or even Edmure Tully or others, he may over time make himself one.

I thank you for your concern and things have returned to some normality, thank god, but your words are much appreciated, truly.

Vega0987: I think we're of the same mind. Here I want to make it that each of them had their reasons and other than Bran, none of them are evil exactly, ambitious, greedy, or selfish maybe, but Bran is the only one whose somewhat evil. The Arya thing is exactly my issue with her, she's literally trained for that and has no love for Dany, and yet she wants her brother who does love her to kill his own aunt making him a Kinslayer and cursing him, that just doesn't sit right with me. On a Jon Snow show, again right there with you, if the show was Jon simply accepting things and living and dealing with threats beyond the Wall or coming to the Starks aid to face some new threat, then I'm out. It needs to be Jon being a dragon and acting as one.

So we will see Drogon but he and Jon won't be allies, not sure if they will be enemies as of yet. I do have plans for dragons, but want the war to be sort of without them. As for Dark Sister, Bloodraven made other plans as you see here and we'll find out as we go why he did so and why those plans weren't realized.

Dunk: Thanks so much, I wanted to go a different way with Dark Sister and the Dragon egg, part of another plotline that will be clarified as we go on and not just have them in the cave or at the Wall waiting for Jon. I also wanted him to almost be forced to use the bow more too. That is another big part, other than the warging, and some aspects of almost pre-planned things because of green seeing, a little of the dragon magic, I want this to be more grounded than other of my fics. And yes, a lot of politics mixed with action is what I'm aiming for.

I felt I had better at least explain my process as it would at least allow people to understand why I was releasing a new fic.

A Random dude: Thanks for saying so.

Keb: I think GRRM created so many interesting characters that he just never uses, Malora is one of them and she works as a perfect counter to Bran in a way. Oh, they definitely screwed Dany's character over completely and by the end she was unrecognizable. They weren't even consistent in their character work with her or Jon or some others. As she goes from one snaky comment to Sansa "anything they want" to literally being a doormat to her and others for no reason. They then tried to retcon her actions that they'd presented as heroic and tell us they were anything but, it was just complete BS.

So here while of course there will be those who denigrate her, Sansa and others, Jon won't be one of them, but he won't praise her too much either. I want to try and have him both blame her for what she did but understand why she did it and more importantly his own failure in stopping it from ever getting to that point. We'll see him stand up for her, and yet acknowledge what she did, while at the same time always acknowledge the wrongness of what he did, or at least that's my aim.

But make no mistake, the Dany at the end of the show was a bloody impostor, as was the Jon we saw.

Frenchwhitefox: Thanks so much, you like it.

Death lantern: Given the BS of the show's ending, we have a right to be salty, and had the Starks not been given far more than they bloody deserved, their fans would be even more covered in salt than we are.

Irish Hermit: For me, one of the big things I swore to myself when starting to write a fic was to try and keep communicating with anyone I'm blessed enough to have read my work. First and foremost I'm a fic fan and I know how frustrating it can be waiting and worrying if a fic is to be finished and so that was not something I ever wanted anyone reading my fics to consider. I do think as a writer you have an obligation to at the least let people know what's going on. Real life can cause delays, lack of interest, or even make you give up, but it'd be nice to just say it so people aren't left waiting or even worrying about the fic, the writer, or whatever.
I said early on, that all my fics will be finished, no matter how long they take, and if they're not it's because I'm dead lol. So as long as I breathe still, they'll continue and any delays, issues, or whatever will always be explained somewhat.

I agree completely, like was there any more stupid piece of dialogue than Tyrion saying that Bran Stark had the best story, like what world were the writers living in? He is probably the most pointless character in the entire show and every single time he actually did intervene, others paid a terrible cost. Jojen, Hodor, Viserion (he was who sent the raven to Dragonstone), and then the people of KL as it was his interference in Jon's life and the timing of it that pretty much set things in motion. He was a man with visions who saw nothing that actually helped at all. Stupid little raven as our good friend Gollum may say.

With Sansa, I think she shows the least character growth of any when you actually think about it. She starts off as a girl willing to do anything or sell out anyone to be queen, (now early on it's naiveté and selfishness more than malice that she leads with) she ends up exactly the same. I mean when you think about it, she placed Jon in a position that could have got him killed and cared not, Dany could have believed he was plotting and had him and Sansa executed, but she did as she did regardless. The big difference is that unlike earlier, at the end of the show all the agency was taken from those around her and so her plans worked out. But she never changed, and her crowing is all you need to see to know that.

My issue with Arya is yes she didn't defend Jon more vociferously but worse than that, she was an assassin and yet she sought him to kill Dany. She knew he loved her, that she was his aunt and that cursed is the Kinslayer and literally had "a particular set of skills" that would mean that he had no need to take that on himself, and yet she not only let him, but she also pushed him to do so. Remember she's from the North, they believe those words and yet she was happy enough to curse her brother. So that to me needs to be addressed.

Ned did set it all in motion so he may be rolling as it is lol. It is funny when you think about it that Jon is the only one left with a wolf, someone is sending us a message.

I think that way with Davos too, and he isn't fully in the loop on things either which gets him an even bigger pass. As for Tyrion, the Varys thing pretty much is another nail in his coffin for me, but I do think it was and always would be Jaime for him that truly influenced his actions. Sam stood up and argued for democracy and yet never mentioned the fact that Jon Snow was the rightful king, enough said.

That will be a big theme here, Westeros has been waiting for Jacaerys for a long time. And he's not been ready for the burden, now he more than is.

Syrius: that was a big plus point for me, to use Desmera and while there will be shades of Margaery in her, she'll be very different from her too.

Outcome: your wish is my command.

Simargi: So very glad you think so, hope you enjoy it.

Victoria: Thank you, my friend. The funny thing is that I too am a Stark fan and were this earlier in the timeline, then I'd be even more so. But by the end of the show, I find it hard to be given how easily they discard Jon. They show they're as far from a pack as can be and go against all they're meant to stand for. Each of them shows selfishness and cares only about themselves and what they want which goes against such a big theme of the books and their House.

Like we see them all get separated from each other, all suffer while far apart and we wish to see them come again, to go from being long wolves and to become the pack they're meant to be. But in the show, we get what we got, Arya who goes from wanting to go home to then abandoning it and her family to sail off into the sunset. Sansa who suffers greatly and then uses the lessons she learned to screw over a man she knows is supposed to be king, the less said about Bran the better. But for me, those people, in the end, were not the Starks I once loved and so I have no regard for them. I was always a Jon fan and yet they turned me into a Targ one more than anything.

With Jon, I think what we all want is to see him become the man he's meant to be and we see some of that in the books/show, and then it's abandoned at the end. Here he will be that, but he's also been hard and unforgiving because he's been wronged. Tormund is petty much the only one who stuck by Jon's side right to the end, others would have but died like Edd but so many just turned their backs on him. Davos I can forgive because it's somewhat explainable. I agree completely about the wolves and I do like to use the animals as much as I can, so Jon, Ghost, and Syrax all have this bond that's unshakable.

In regards to the name, Jacaerys Velaryon was the son of Rhaenyra Targaryen who flew to Winterfell during the Dance of Dragons and got Cregan Stark to support his mother's claim for the Iron Throne (it's no coincidence that Tycho Nestoris mentions Cregan btw) he was the instigator of the Pact of Ice and Fire and there is also another as yet not explained reason as to why the name was chosen. But that is a large part of it and Lyanna and Rhaegar both chose it for that reason and the other which will come out later in the story.

I do hope you like Desmera, she'll be the Anti-Sansa in some ways.

You too my friend, take care and be well and remember to keep smiling.