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.

3. The King and the Tower of Light

The Shining Light 306 AC.

The Unfulfilled Knight.

It was said that Prince Rhaegar was a melancholy man who was prone to brooding and if that was true then it seemed his son took much after his father. While he'd seen Jacaerys laugh and even jape, mostly with the red-headed Wildling that he seemed closest to, more often than not he wore a look on his face that said he had much on his mind. He was not, or so far at least he was not, a man who engaged in idle conversation or even initiated one. Instead, when he was not speaking to one or two of the Wildlings, he spent his time on deck and looking out on the sea as they sailed through it.

As for the Wildlings themselves, they were not as he'd imagined them to be. Oh, they were savage in their manners and speech, but there was something honest about them, Humfrey felt. A lack of pretense that the man they wished to name as their king seemed to both share and enjoy. That there were women among them had surprised him greatly and at least one of them was a woman he'd quite readily admit was as beautiful as any he'd ever seen before.

All of them spoke very highly of Jacaerys Targaryen too. They named him as King Crow and said that while they'd not kneel to him or any man, he was the closest who'd ever come to getting them to do so. They told tale of him when they were in the mood as well and held his secrets as if they were their own when they were not. Not a single one of them broke a confidence or told any of them anything they'd not heard in some fashion before. The most you could wring from them, even when they were drunk, was their version of the things that Jacaerys had done for them and for their people.

"Never afore have you kneelers cared about me and mine. Not 'til him."

"Aye, were it not for King Crow then my children would know no tomorrow."

"Killed by his own kind 'e were for us, yet death cannot take King Crow from the world."

They spoke of him with reverence and a belief that wavered right on the edge of devotion. None more so than the red-headed Wildling who almost served as a gatekeeper of sorts. Tormund Giantsbane, the Tall Talker, The Mead King of Ruddy Hall, and from what Humfrey could gather, the one man that Jacaerys trusted above all others. It was said that Prince Rhaegar was closer to nor trusted no man more than The Sword of the Morning, Ser Arthur Dayne. A Kingsguard or anointed knight he was certainly not, but just looking at him and Jacaerys interacting, Humfrey would believe himself right to name Tormund as Arthur's equal when it came to Rhaegar's son.

Other than Tormund, it was the eagle and the white wolf that were Jacaerys' closest and truest companions. Where he went, the white wolf went, and just looking at the impressive beast, Humfrey would wager he easily filled the role of almost all seven white cloaks that a king would call upon for his protection. Not to mention that the bond that Jacaerys had with both the white wolf and the eagle was unlike any he'd ever seen before. They were more than trained and almost seemed to share some unheard language or connection. One that had taken him some time to hear it being spoken of.

"King Crow is a warg and they are his bonded."

"A warg?" he asked.

"A skin changer, aye. Same as me 'n some o the others."

"He can control them both?"

"Aye, powerful is my king."

He understood it not. Yet the more they sailed and the more he watched and began to notice little things, the truer it became to him. The eagle would soar ahead of them and alternate between flying out to sea or heading to the land to their port side and always while Jacaerys stood on deck with the white wolf by his side. As for the wolf, he was now certain that it was through whatever connection he and the king had that alerted Jacaerys to his presence each time he walked up on him and not as he'd first thought, that his footsteps gave him away.

In regards to his own interactions with the man who perplexed him as much as he intrigued him, they were friendly enough without revealing too much. Had he not found himself on deck as they sailed around Cape Kraken and when the Iron Islands came into view, then he may have arrived in Oldtown having learned very little about him at all. As it was, it seemed good fortune or simple timing helped him out greatly as he found Jacaerys to be in the most talkative mood he'd been in since they'd set sail.

"Those are the Iron Islands are they not, Ser Humfrey?" Jacaerys asked.

"They are, your grace."

"And is it a queen or a lady that rules them?"

"Lady Greyjoy, your grace," he said and noticed the dark expression that came and went so quickly that he later wasn't certain he'd seen it and that it was not just a trick of the light.

"She was supposed to be queen. Reward for a promise kept."

"Your grace?"

"Queen Daenerys named Yara Greyjoy as Queen of the Iron Islands, in return for her ships and her help in retaking the Iron Throne. And as with all things, in this, her wishes were ignored." Jacerys sighed.

"Should we care what the Mad Queen wished for, your grace."

"Was she mad when she made that agreement, Ser Humfrey?" Jacaerys asked though he did not let him answer "For if she was then she must have been so when she agreed to bring her armies North to fight for the living against the dead then must she not? When she agreed to put the war for the Iron Throne on hold so she could help a people who hated her and treated her with naught but disrespect."

"I…"

"Knew her not and now know only what she did and not what she was truly like. I would bid you remember this when next you speak of Queen Daenerys to me or to anyone."

"Your Grace?"

"She freed slaves from men who would own them. Freed cities from tyranny. Alone and with nothing to her other than a name that none cared about and the fire that burned within her, she brought dragons back into the world. Then she gathered the largest army that ever was and brought them to these shores. You, me, all of us would be dead were it not for all that she did. And while she lost herself at the end, she deserved far better than we gave her...than I...than any of us gave her as thanks for all she did."

He watched as Jacaerys reached his gloved hand down to rub the white fur of the wolf that leaned into his touch.

"She was my queen and I killed her. But before that I loved her and my knee bent easily to her and her alone. Her coin only turned because we helped it to do so, had we not….."

He hadn't been sent away and no words of the king's had been required, the white wolf had simply risen to his feet and faced him and the message was clear, he was no longer welcome by its owner's side. Not then at least.

The next day they sailed by the Westerlands and he again found himself on deck and speaking to the king, this time his mood was far different. He found him laughing almost as he sat on the deck and it took him a moment to see that he'd fallen on his arse. Reaching his hand down to help him up, he looked on as once he did so, Jacaerys moved to the two Valyrian steel swords that he must have dropped when he fell.

"They say that Arthur Dayne could dual wield, you've heard this, Ser Humfrey?"

"I have your grace."

"Then he truly was the greatest swordsman that ever lived as it's far beyond mine own skills." Jacaerys wore a smirk on his face as he looked at the two swords "As a young boy tales of this sword fascinated me." Humfrey looked on as Dark Sister was held in the air.

"As it did me, your grace."

"Visenya's blade. The blade wielded by Baelon the Brave when he avenged his brother. Would that I had it in my hands when mine own brother fell…." the king seemed to drift off lost in some memory before he spoke again, "The Rogue Prince carved out a kingdom for himself with it and the Dragonknight defended his sister's honor while wielding it. Blackfyre may have been the sword of kings, but Dark Sister is a warrior's blade." Jacaerys said almost reverently.

"That it is, your grace," he said as the thin sword was sheathed and he looked on while the king looked intently at the bastard sword he now held aloft.

"You know much about the Mormonts of Bear Island, Ser Humfrey?"

"Some your grace, my sister was wed to Lord Jorah before his…" his words were interrupted before he could finish.

"A good man and true and one who died fighting for his queen. Whatever honor he lost early in his life, let no man dare say he didn't regain it before he died." the king said firmly.

"You knew him, your grace?"

"But briefly. I tried to return his family's sword back to him but he refused to take it. Had he….no matter." Jacaerys shook his head.

"Did he make mention of my sister, your grace? Did he speak of her?"

"Only the once, Ser Humfrey. He said he failed her and was not the man she needed him to be. That when last he saw her, she was happy and he wished her no ill will. He blamed her not for his shameful actions, other than that I know not of her."

"Was it because of what he did that he refused the sword, your grace?"

"Aye. That and the fact that his father himself handed it to me. Jeor Mormont was my former Lord Commander and one of the very best men I ever knew." Jacaerys said wistfully "They're gone now. The House of Mormont is no more. Some lost their lives fighting by my brother's side and the last of them by mine own. This world is a cruel and terrible place, Ser Humfrey, best you do not forget that."

"Your grace." he bowed his head.

"In the end, it's only the swords and not their wielders that remain. Their tales added to those who wielded them before them." he watched as Longclaw, for that was the name he'd heard the sword being called, was sheathed and then swore he saw a smirk on the king's face "Do you believe it's the sword or those who wielded it that truly had a taste for blood, Ser Humfrey?"

"I know not, your grace."

"I believe it was the wielders. For be it with Dark Sister or Longclaw that I end lives with on this path I now walk, it's me who hungers for blood and not they."

The day they passed Lannisport and Casterly Rock, he saw what he believed was that hunger on the king's face. Tormund told him later that it was not the Lannisters who still lived there that had earned Jacaerys' wrath but the one of them that served in King's Landing with the Broken King. As they sailed down the western coast, more and more he found himself on deck and speaking to the king they meant to crown.

Their conversations had gone from terse and brief, to more friendly and lasting much longer. He caught the king in japing moods, angered ones, contemplative moments, and lost in thought and he believed he'd come to know somewhat about him as they sailed. Far more than Garth did, for his brother still knew not the truth of Jacaerys Targaryen and while neither did he, he knew some of it better than most. Still, it was not until the night before they reached Oldtown that their first true and proper conversation took place. One where things were spoken of that he'd not with any other than his sister before then and one he was most happy for the having of.

"What is it you seek, Ser Humfrey?" Jacaerys asked as they stood on the deck, he, the king, and Ghost while Syrax flew over the lands in search of her dinner or some other spoils.

"A name, your grace."

"You come from one of the most storied Houses in Westeros, Ser Humfrey. Your name, like mine own, is one known far and wide."

"Not mine own name, your grace," he said to a nod of the king's head.

"Have you heard tale of my upbringing?"

"I did, your grace. My sister Malora told us as much of you as time would allow."

"I was raised as a bastard with no name to call my own. A stain on the cloak of the man I thought a father. All my life all I wanted was a name of my own. Little knowing that the one I truly bore was even more storied than those of your own House, Ser Humfrey."

"Is that why you joined the Night's Watch, your grace?"

"Aye. Though the more I think back on those days the more I think I was helped there too…a tale for another day."

"Of course, your grace."

"Many men have stood by my side, Ser Humfrey. Men I named as friends, some I even named as brothers. It's proved itself to not be one of safety nor even one that's spoken of well. For no songs were sung of Eddison Tollet and yet he was as good and true as any man who lived. Mayhap there will be no songs sung of you too, or mayhap the tales they'll speak of you are the same ones they speak of those who stood by my grandfather's side. So I'll ask you but the once, are you sure this is the path you wish to walk?"

"It is, your grace," he said without reservation.

"Then in time, we'll see if they speak of you as Criston Cole or Arthur Dayne, Ser Humfrey," Jacaerys said as he placed his hand on his shoulder before walking past him.

"You've not spoken much on my House, your grace, on what we seek?" he asked curiously.

"I know of what your House seeks, but unlike Aegon the Usurper, my claim is true and my right is real. There are no Blacks against Greens in the wars to come, Ser Humfrey. There is but me. those who stand with me and those who stand in my way. Your House seeks to stand with me and so I name them my allies. In time to come, mayhap I'll name them my friends too. It matters not, for it'll be on the battlefield that the truth is revealed."

"The truth, your grace?"

"We find our true friends on the battlefield, Ser Humfrey," Jacaerys said as he, Ghost, and the returning Syrax who had landed on his shoulder as he walked, now left him alone on the deck of the Shining Light.

King's Landing 306 AC.

The Broken King.

Each time he looked North it annoyed him to find no sight of Jon anywhere. He knew that he was losing his birds to something Beyond the Wall, yet he believed it was a coincidence and nothing more. The eagle that he'd seen through the eyes of some of his ravens was not bonded to anyone as far as Bran could ascertain and he had not seen it with enough time before it had forced him from one of his birds so as to make it his own.

In truth, he cared not about the fate of the birds he lost, only that in the losing of them it made his task that much harder. A voice deep inside him told him that Jon was involved somehow and yet he almost laughed that voice away. Jon was a poor warg and he had not yet opened his third eye. Even his connection to Ghost was pitiful compared to what it should and could be. Had it not been so, then certain things that had happened at Winterfell while he was on Dragonstone and then later as he traveled south with Daenerys Targaryen, would not have been able to come to pass.

No, he had no fears of Jon being a warg, and even was he to be one, Bran was the Three-Eyed Raven. His power compared to Jon's was like the light from a candle compared to the fire that the Mad Queen had unleashed upon King's Landing. Still, each time he looked and found no sight of his cousin, it bothered him. So much so that in the end it was others that he looked to and for. Eventually spending most of his time looking not to Jon, but to Tormund Giantsbane. The red-headed Wildling was the one person who he knew would always be at his cousin's side and protecting his back.

It was through watching Tormund that he mainly saw Jon sit alone and broken and then one day, not even that showed him what he wished to see. His birds could see the camp that the Wildlings had made for their own, the beginnings of the small settlement taking shape as more and more of them arrived. Yet one day it seemed as if Tormund Giantsbane and because of that, Jon or so he believed, simply were no longer there. Had Tyrion not come to him and told him the content of the message from the Wall, he'd not even have known where to look for his cousin or his Wildling friend.

"From the Night's Watch, your grace," Tyrion said, handing him the raven's scroll.

"About, Lord Hand?" he asked before looking at the piece of parchment.

"Jon Snow, your grace."

How he kept his temper in check as he read the words, he knew not. Though he'd be a liar if he said that reading the threat to Tyrion didn't amuse him a little. Still, his fears about Jon had now been proven true and much sooner than he had ever expected them to be so. He'd thought they had more time. Had believed they'd broken him more completely than they obviously had and now he wasn't certain they shouldn't have just taken his head and ended this threat before it could ever truly manifest itself.

"It pains me to read such words. As it does to do as I must."

"Your grace?"

"Ravens are to be sent to all the Houses in the realm, Lord Hand. Ravens that name Jon Snow not simply as a deserter of the Watch but as a murderer too. He is not to be bargained with, offered any quarter, or sought to be taken alive. I'll not risk the safety of those sworn to me in some vain effort to reason with him, not when he's clearly inherited his family's affliction."

"You think him mad?" Tyrion asked.

"What else would you name this as?" he asked holding up the raven's scroll "He's to be killed on sight, Tyrion, by order of the King. I would see a bounty placed upon his head too, a large one."

"Immediately, your grace."

The ravens had been sent far and wide and Tyrion had been only too eager to do so. There had been a time when the Imp was a clever and learned man and one who understood what truly lay in men's hearts. That time was no more and his Hand was a fool when it came to what lay within his own. Tyrion was a man of selfish desires and Jon had threatened him, so it was the risk to his own health that drove Tyrion's thought process above anything else. Had it not been, then he may have asked questions about Bran's orders regarding Jon and wondered why he was so keen to see no trial given or offered.

He may have wondered why Bran was as keen, or in truth even keener, to see a man that they all believed he named a brother, dead. As he sent his birds out once more and then began to look deep within himself, Bran worried that once again he'd not be able to find sight or sound of Jon Snow and that the next time he did see him, would be the last time he drew breath.

Hours stretched into days and then a week and he had caught not even a glimpse of his cousin anywhere. He had first concentrated on the ground where Jon had encountered the Night's Watch and once he'd found it, he'd then sought to see events that had happened there in the days or weeks before now. Sailing the river of time was a hard and confusing thing, however, even for him. He traveled too far back, saw things from decades and even centuries before, and then things from but a year or two.

The shiver he felt running down his spine at seeing the White Walker move over those grounds as he sought more meat for the Night King's army, was the same one he felt later on when he saw what he believed to be Jon Snow for the first time in weeks. His cousin was a shadow, a wraith and the men of the Night's Watch had no chance against him, Bran watching as one by one they fell, and yet he couldn't truly see the face of the man they fell to. It was Jon, he knew it was Jon, and yet unlike the faces of the men he killed, his face was hidden from him.

Why?

How?

What does this mean?

What is your plan, Jon?

Where are you going?"

He asked himself the questions as man after man of the Night's Watch fell and the shadow that had taken them from this world, left but one of them alive.

Why him?

What makes him so special?

He had little choice but to follow after the final black brother as the shadow seemed to look in his direction and then Bran was certain he heard a laugh before it faded from his view. While he wished to take comfort in the fact that Jon was alone, it was hard to do so when he'd not truly seen him and now couldn't find him. Following the black brother on his journey back to the Wall, he soon found himself looking on as the man gave his report to the Lord Commander.

"All of them?"

"Aye, all of them. He offered us the chance to retreat, Lord Commander, and fools that we were, we took it not."

"How did he kill all of them?"

"Easily, Lord Commander. You did not serve under Jon Snow, you know him not as I do. There is no man as fierce as he with a blade in his hands and Longclaw itself is a better blade than any, let alone when it's wielded by Jon Snow."

"Yet he let you live, Artos? Why is that? Why you and not the others?"

"I fought with him when the Wildlings attacked the Wall, fought side by side with him and my brothers when we traveled to Hardhome, and then later in the Battle of Winterfell. He let me live because unlike the others he considered me a true friend. One he'd fought and bled with." Artos said as Bran left him and the Lord Commander behind.

He called for Podrick and Sam and had them bring him the map that showed the lands Beyond the Wall. Tracing his finger over them, he looked to see where he'd cross if he was his cousin. Had it been further east, then he'd have looked to the Nightfort, yet instead, his fingers moved to Westwatch by the Bridge and he felt his heart begin to race. The ramifications of such were immediately clear to him and after sending Podrick and Sam away, he once again looked to try and find anything he could to tell him where Jon was going.

Again he found himself frustrated and annoyed by the lack of clarity that he found in his visions. He was the Three-Eyed Raven and yet his powers were helping him not. He took some comfort in the fact that Jon was alone and without allies and yet if he was being honest with himself, it truly comforted him not. For should he find any, then added to this seemingly newfound ability to shield his movements and intentions from him, Jon was an even bigger thorn in his side than he'd believed him to be.

At dinner that night, he sat while around him people ate and drank. Tyrion was engaged in some conversation with Bronn and Sam gorged himself while ignoring Gilly and her children. Brienne sat with Podrick and spoke to the young man about something or other. Had it not been for Bronn arguing with Tyrion about Desmera Redwyne and some betrothal that his Hand wished the sellsword to accept, then Bran would have gone to his bed no closer to figuring out where his cousin was headed than he had been for days.

"I'll not fucking marry her, I need no fucking wife."

"You need to bring your Bannermen to your side, you can't just threaten them or kill them," Tyrion said exasperatedly.

"Who says I fucking can't?"

"Lord Hand," he called out.

"Your grace?"

"For why does Lord Bronn need to wed?"

He listened as Tyrion told him of how the Reach bristled under Bronn's rule and how the great and the good had gathered at Oldtown for Lord Hightower's Nameday. Bran saw nothing in it, no need to worry, and yet Tyrion seemed to be concerned somewhat. Had it not been for Jon leaving the Wall, or for him somehow being able to hide from his sight, then he'd have mayhap thought little about it still. Yet the memory of looking at the map just earlier that day now played out in his head and his fingers moved across the table as if he was moving them across the lands the map displayed. Westwatch, the Bay of Ice, the Stoney Shore, Cape Kraken, The Iron Islands, Faircastle, Lannisport, the Shield Islands, and finally Oldtown.

"Send word to Lady Desmera that by order of the crown, she and Lord Bronn are to be wed." he said loudly when he opened his eyes "NOW!"

"Your grace," Tyrion said, rising to his feet and Bronn may have wished to argue but the look that Bran gave him seemed to silence any protest he may make.

"Podrick, take me to my chambers. I'm not to be disturbed for the next few days," he said as Podrick hurried to move his wheeled chair and bring him to his rooms.

Once inside he closed his eyes and sent his ravens flying. To the sea along the west coast of Westeros and to Oldtown, while he began to look into House Hightower even more closely.

"I will find you, Jon, I will find you and see you dead."

Oldtown 306 AC.

The Lady of the Tower.

Being able to control the visions rather than have them inflicted upon you, took some getting used to. To be able to delve deeper into them, to see more of them and so discern their meaning more quickly was something she welcomed. Since they'd returned, she'd had to resist the temptation to not just lock herself away and spend all her time lost in her head so to speak. The temptation to see things that were happening across the Seven Kingdoms now, things that had in the past or would in the future, was one she'd had to continually fight. Were it not for a strange phrase that she would hear in her mind when she was almost ready to give into that temptation, then it would be a fight she'd lose.

"It is beautiful beneath the sea, but if you stay too long, you'll drown."

So she instead treated it almost as brief interludes during her day. Something she did just as she would break her fast, stroll around the Hightower, read a book or stare out the highest window of the tower. It became part of her daily and nightly routine. She'd sit alone, close her eyes and wait for some thread to beg her to pull on it. Most times she did not have to wait for long and thus far she'd been shown much of the Red Queen, the Broken King, the Kinslaying Hand, the Faithless Craven, and a Girl with No Name. She'd seen them through her own eyes and through the eyes of birds, mice, rats, cats, and dogs. Something which took more getting used to than being able to see them in visions for some reason.

There were others too, an Honorable Smuggler, the Truest Friend, a Coin Counter, and more. It was the first of those that she was looking at now. Malora watched Davos Seaworth through the eyes of the small bird. He had received her message and would arrive before the king himself would, which she knew would please her father. Turning from him, it was to the North she looked next and though she couldn't see her own face as she did so, the smile she wore was as true as it had ever been when he came into view.

Jacaerys Targaryen stood on the deck of the Shining Light like a sentinel. On his shoulder, the great eagle Syrax stared off in the distance just as its bonded did and woe betides any set of dark wings it saw through its ever-alert eyes. Ghost, whose pristine white fur stood out like a beacon, was right by his master's side as he was always meant to be, and not only did looking at them together please her, but it calmed her too. She felt something she'd never felt before when she looked at the man who was born a king. A sense of something that it took her some time to put a name to and one that she only did so when she opened her eyes and let the vision fade.

"Destiny," she whispered.

Their destiny was interlinked, it had always been so. In another life, a visit to her greatuncle would have brought her to Jacaerys Targaryen's side. There she'd have served as his guide and helped him walk the path he had been born to walk, but for some reason, the gods had seen fit to change that path somewhat. To delay it at least. Why that was, Malora knew not, but three men died who should have lived and a prince, a king, was then raised as neither.

Rising to her feet, she readied for the day ahead and organized the things she needed to do before the meeting her father would be holding. She dressed, then broke her fast with her brothers, their wives, her nieces, nephews, and her father before then making her way to the aviary to send the message to the Coin Counter in the North. It would not be at the Wall or beyond it that Tycho Nestoris would find the man he'd traveled so far to see. Nor would it be there that the Pact of Ice and Fire was finally realized.

Malora was tying the note to the gyrfalcon's leg when she realized that she had company. Turning to see who it was, she found herself looking into the eager face of Desmera Redwyne who it seemed had an interest in birds too.

"Is she yours, Malora?" Desmera inquired curiously.

"She belongs to my brother Baelor, but he allows me to use her from time to time," Malora said as she let the gyrfalcon loose and watched it take to the sky.

"And you use it to send messages?" Desmera asked disbelievingly.

"Sometimes it's better to send a bird that can protect itself than one that cannot."

She knew her answer would only raise more questions, but for now, she intended to be as vague as she could. In time she may need to let the younger woman more into her confidence, or mayhap this would be all she'd wish or need her to know. It was for the best that she didn't make mention of the fact that the ravens didn't work for them any longer. Should their master seek to find out what messages she was sending then he'd find his ravens no match for the birds of prey that she and Jacaerys had both chosen to be their messengers.

"I find myself at a loss for what to do." Desmera sighed.

"The mayhap you can join me on a trip around the city?"

"I'd like that."

It was hours yet until the meeting was to take place and she knew that Ser Davos' ship the Black Betha would arrive around midday. With her message sent North, her own morning was likely to be a dull one and it had been long since she'd had a woman that she named a friend. Desmera may be some years younger than her, but she was smart, witty, and good company. There was her connection to Jacaerys or possible one too to consider and if she was indeed the match the king would seek to make, then they'd be spending much time together in the future.

So they walked, talked, and laughed about certain things and time seemed to pass quickly in each other's company. The young woman was fearful about what was to come and yet not afraid or unwilling to play her part in it. She was curious more than anything, eager to know more and so when Malora saw the sails in the distance, she decided to speak to Desmera a little more about the man she waited on and the one who'd arrive first.

"What know you of Ser Davos Seaworth, Desmera?" she asked as they took a seat on one of the small walls near the docks.

"The Onion Knight?"

"Yes, some have named him such."

"He smuggled food into Storm's End during Robert's Rebellion, earning himself a knighthood from Stannis Baratheon for doing so. I believe he may have been given a keep too, but I know not if that is so."

"It was."

"When Stannis named himself as King, he named Ser Davos as his Hand, and afterward he served the Starks in some fashion." Desmera said and even though she'd missed much, she'd known more than Malora expected.

"You're well informed, Desmera." she complimented the younger woman who accepted it with good grace.

"My father would oft tell tales of great deeds done at sea, Malora. Of Corlys the Sea Snake and of great battles that had been fought. He fought with Stannis Baratheon at Fair Isle and though he had no love for the man, he spoke highly of his military prowess."

"And he spoke of the Onion Knight?" she asked.

"He did, and I must confess that the name always stuck with me. A knight of onions, as a young girl I found such thoughts amusing." Desmera giggled.

"We're about to meet the man himself, Desmera," Malora said as the Black Betha edged close to the dock.

"We are? For why?"

"Few men know more about the king we mean to crown than him and my father as well as others will have many questions for him."

"He knows the king, how?" Desmera asked eagerly.

Malora was lost in thought for a moment as she looked to see the small bird flying her way. Its colorful feathers glistened in the sun as it flew in the air and it began to sing the closer it got to her. Holding out her arm, it landed almost on her wrist and so she cupped it in her two hands and brought it to her mouth.

"You did well, little one," she said softly and the songbird sang happily as she reached into her pocket and took out the few small seeds she'd placed there for it. Once she brought it back to the tower she'd make sure that she had some juicy insects for it to devour as it deserved a treat for doing all she'd bid it to.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw how Desmera looked at her and knew she'd face some questions on the way back to the Hightower, or she would if they were heading back there alone. Without saying a word, Malora moved towards the now docked ship and she was happy that Desmera followed after her. She asked to see the captain once they reached the Black Betha and was soon face to face with the grey-haired and bearded Davos Seaworth.

"Ser Davos, welcome to Oldtown. My father would much like to speak to you."

"Forgive me, my lady, your father?"

"Where are my manners." she said apologetically as Davos looked not at her or Desmera but at the songbird that had now flown to perch on her shoulder "I am Lady Malora Hightower and my companion is Lady Desmera Redwyne, my father is Lord Leyton Hightower, the Lord of Oldtown, and we mean to speak to you on the king you once served.

"Stannis?"

"No, the other one, the true king," she said, smiling as she did so.

Oldtown 306 AC.

The Beacon of the South.

He felt young again, vibrant for the first time in only the Seven knew. Not even when his precious daughter Malora had broken from the malaise she'd been in for years did he feel the way he now felt. A purpose, he'd been given a purpose in a life that up to now had little of one was he being honest. Leyton had always done his duty as Lord of Oldtown and as the head of House Hightower, but for many years he'd found that duty to be a dull one.

While he'd brought forth heirs and spares, had wed his children for the betterment of his House in some instances and for their own hearts in others, memories of Lynesse never being far from his mind, it had been simply going through the motions. He loved them all, some more than others as every father was wont to do, and wished what was best for them, but he found little accomplishment in their actions. Not that he wasn't proud of them or thought any of them lacking, it just didn't fill the hole in his heart that had always been there.

Had Malora not had as many issues as she had over the years, then he'd have felt his life to be a pointless one. He'd have believed that he'd done all that he must and would have welcomed the day his life ended. Leyton wasn't suicidal, nor was he depressed or even saddened by life, he was simply bored by it. For the last couple of moons, he had been anything but bored. Sending his sons on a mission Beyond the Wall, calling the lords and ladies of the Reach to come to Oldtown so they could discuss crowning a king, readying to march to war, all of it had given him a new lease on life. Even knowing that he may not survive the upcoming war had simply added to his excitement rather than caused him concern.

Leyton sat in one of Hightower's largest rooms. His sons, Baelor and Günter to the left and right of him, and Malora sitting next to her oldest brother. She'd arrived back at the Hightower with Ser Davos Seaworth and had told them that she'd arranged for the man to come to speak to them, though she'd not known until today that he'd arrive when he did. He'd noticed that she'd taken an interest in Lady Desmera Redwyne and had yet to speak to her to find out the reason for it. As the last of the lords of the Reach and the lady in question were both escorted into the room and took their seats, Leyton saw the smile that his daughter and the young woman shared.

"My lords, My ladies, Good Sers, forgive me for not speaking to you much since your arrival. I know you all have questions and so I wished to wait until all had arrived and we could hold this meeting before I…"

The cawing at the window was followed by a loud screech and Leyton was not alone in looking on in shock as the raven fell prey to one of the hawks from their aviary. Had he been looking at his daughter, then he'd have seen that she had her eyes closed and she didn't open them until long after the raven had met its end. Turning away from the distraction that the raven's death had caused, he again looked out on the lords and ladies of the Reach. Most of them were known to him and some he'd even named as friends once. When he'd cared to have friends that was.

Lord Alyn Ashford had been one such man as was Mathis Rowan, Alekyne Florent and Lorent Caswell were not. Nor was Lady Arwyn Oakheart, though her husband Alester had been before his untimely death and her son Ser Arys had been well known to his own sons before he'd taken the white cloak and lost his life in Dorne, just as his father had before him. Ser Jon Fossoway sat with his wife Janna and they were both next to Lady Desmera Redwyne and Leyton couldn't help but wish that her father Paxter had more years left in him than the gods had seen fit to give him. He'd have been much use in the wars to come and while the lady seemed smart and capable, she was a lady still and young with it.

"Before I was interrupted." he began to some laughs, "I asked you here because I know that just as I do, not a one of you wished to kneel to a Broken King and none of you wished to be made to swear oaths of fealty to an up jumped sellsword."

The looks, the glares, and the angered expressions told him how true his words were and so he let those words sit for a little before he continued.

"It seems the gods agree with us, my lords, my ladies, for in this our darkest hour they offer us a beacon of light." he said and he almost chuckled at his wit, for he knew exactly how their minds would be working "No, not I. I am simply the bearer of this news, the harbinger of what's soon to come."

"And what is that Lord Hightower?" Alekyne Florent asked.

"Why the return of the king of course," he said, smiling brightly.

There were raised voices, questions asked that were shouted over other people's questions, keen looks from some who held their counsel and he was relieved he'd decided to have a smaller meeting before the much larger one he'd soon need to hold.

"A Broken King sits a throne that belongs to him not. Served by a Kinslayer for a Hand and a sellsword as his Warden of the South. In the North, a Red Queen wears a crown she never earned nor deserved while the true king is banished to serve a life in service to an order that should not exist. For why? For killing a tyrant? A monster? A mad woman? Surely he should have been rewarded for such and not punished for it." he said loudly.

"Jon Snow, you speak of Jon Snow?" Alyn Ashford asked just as loudly.

"No, Lord Ashford I do not. I speak of the one true king of Westeros. The trueborn son of the Last Dragon Prince Rhaegar Targaryen and his wife Princess Lyanna Stark. I speak of King Jacaerys Targaryen, sent unjustly to the Wall not because he killed a queen as they would have you believe, but so they could steal that which never belonged to them. The right to rule, the right to name themselves a king or a queen. It was not wolves that forged the Seven Kingdoms, it was dragons and I'll not kneel to the one and ignore the other, not when the other has proved himself good and true.."

There was silence, then mumbling, questions asked, and then quietened down by Mathis Rowan when he rose to his feet.

"I heard much about Jon Snow these past few years, though I know the man not. Heard tale of him marching from the Wall to Winterfell and the Battle of the Bastards he fought there so as to take back his family home. How he traveled to Dragonstone to treat with the Mad Queen before she lost her mind and convinced her to march her army north to face dead men and a king of ice. Oh, the Imp may sell the story that it was the Broken King we owe our lives to, but who amongst us believes that horseshit?" Mathis said looking around the room.

Leyton did likewise and it was clear that there was not a single one of them who believed any words that were spouted by Tyrion Lannister.

"I both cursed and praised him for stabbing Daenerys Targaryen in her black heart. For as well you all know I served the dragons and felt no shame in doing so. Which is not something I can say after what Aerys' daughter did."

Mathis paused and seemed to compose himself before he began to speak once more.

"You say now that he is my prince's son? That he is true and was always a dragon, not a wolf?" Mathis asked hopefully.

"I do."

"Then I say we make haste and send for him at once. We send for him and make ready for war, for he's a dragon I'll serve with all I've left in me."

There were some who cheered, some who did not and it was to his surprise Lady Desmera who asked the next question.

"I know not of Jon Snow, Jacaerys Targaryen as he may well be. Yet if what you say is true then the man you would have us crown is a Kinslayer, Lord Hightower. He is a dragon, and we've all had proof have we not, of the dangers in following a dragon. King's Landing is proof enough of that is it not?"

"It is." Lorent Caswell spat.

"Yet you would have us follow a Kinslayer, my lord? A man with dragon blood running through his veins. Was Aerys not a Mad King? His daughter, not a Mad Queen? I know not Jon Snow, but I'll not lie and say it comforts me that this is who you seek us to crown, my lord. For it comforts me not." Desmera said and her words seemed to find some who agreed with them.

He was about to speak when Malora rose to her feet.

"Some kin need to be slain, Lady Redwyne. Some dragons don't only have dragon's blood. Prince Rhaegar was a man we all put our faith in and it's his son we mean to crown, not Aerys' heir, but Rhaegar's. Unlike his aunt, his mother wasn't wed to her brother, nor did she come from the same loins as he. She was a wolf and few would name the wolves as mad, though in time they may name the Broken King so."

Leyton saw more nods of some heads and so he sat back and allowed Malora to finish.

"The Targaryen Madness is a myth, a figment, a tale made up by the enemies of their House. Aerys may have been so and in the end, so too mayhap was Daenerys, but was the Conciliator, the Unlikely? Remember too it was not a dragon that set the Great Sept aflame and killed every single person inside. It was Tywin Lannister's crazed Lioness that did so, yet do we name the Lions as mad? You say you don't know Jacaerys Targaryen, Lady Desmera and only some of us here have heard the true tales of Jon Snow, so let's speak to a man who knew him better than most."

"My lady? Ser Jon Fossoway asked.

"Ser Davos Seaworth served him from the Wall to King's Landing, Ser Jon, few men know him better than he," Malora said before turning to him and nodding. Leyton then sent Gunther to fetch the man and bring him to the room.

"And should we be happy with what Ser Davos says?" Mathis asked before adding "Will you then send men to bring his grace before us?

"No, Lord Rowan. For I've already done so," he said to a beaming smile from a man whose knee was already practically bent.

Winterfell 306 AC.

The Red Queen.

Each time she looked at the raven's scroll she felt her chest tighten. The words it contained were probably the stuff of her worst nightmares if she was being honest with herself. Yet they weren't truly a surprise to her either. As much as she may have hoped that Jon Snow would be lost to the lands Beyond the Wall and forgotten about, she'd always believed that at some point he'd turn his eyes south and towards her and Bran. She'd just not expected it to be this soon.

Sighing, she rose to her feet and moved to the warmth of the fire that burned in the hearth. Her mind was doing its level best to come up with some solution to the problem she now faced. While the words sent to her by Tyrion, on Bran's orders no doubt, named Jon as a murderer and now truly demanded his head, Sansa feared that few of her lords or men would comply with them. Lords Manderly and Reed certainly would not and would probably offer her cousin aid to leave the North rather than take his head. Glover would have attempted to do so and that was another thing she now found she cursed Jon Snow for. Without him Beyond the Wall, the Lord of Deepwood Motte would be someone she'd need to keep on dealing with.

Try as she might to welcome the fact that with Jon not there to stop him, Glover's mission would now prove more successful, she found she could not. Whatever benefits that the excursion Beyond the Wall may bring to her, Glover dying after facing off against her cousin would have trumped them all. Her fingers tapped against the mantle as she considered what she was to do and again she found no solution presenting itself. Annoyed and frustrated, she walked away from the hearth and took her seat back at her desk to continue her work.

"We should have killed him there and then," she said frustrated when she couldn't concentrate on her work.

Later that day, she was walking around lost more in her own thoughts than paying attention to what was going on around her. She'd ordered ravens to be sent to every keep in the North that echoed the words of the crown and named Jon Snow as the murderer he now was. Sansa had even sent a rider to the Neck to inform Lord Reed, as well as a raven to Lord Manderly, knowing full well she'd soon face pushback from them both.

She was Queen in the North, they'd say, so why was she taking orders from the King of the South. Or she'd be asked what the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch had to say when she'd sent word to him to ask for the details of Jon Snow's alleged crimes. Sansa could almost predict their responses, or to be more precise, she could predict the words they'd respond with. What she couldn't predict and what all her time with Littlefinger and Cersei had never truly taught her, was how at times men would act against what seemed to be their interest.

Were he here now and not long dead, then Littlefinger would bid her do as she had done. He'd tell her that she had naught to fear from Jon Snow as no matter what words were spoken in his favor, none would truly stand with him. Littlefinger however had, in the end, proved himself to be a fool who had found out to his cost that when it came right down to it, might always won out. Fancy words, politics, manipulation, all of that paled in the end to him being in Winterfell and Arya holding a knife to his throat. None of those things had saved him in the end and none would save her when Jon Snow marched her way.

"Maester Wolkan, your grace," Jeyne said, taking her from her thoughts, Sansa was annoyed at the girl and the Maester for doing so and yet welcoming of it too.

Yet the way the Maester seemed to be almost rushing to her caused her some concern. When he handed her the raven's scroll, it was only by the grace of the gods that her hands didn't shake. Somehow she didn't let out the breath she was holding in, in any noticeable way when she saw the falcon of House Arryn on the seal. Glaring at the Maester for daring to worry her so, she enjoyed seeing him take a chastened step backward. Wolkan may not fear her as he had the Boltons, but she would ensure that he still feared her somewhat.

Breaking open the seal, she began to read the words, and the smile that came to her face was a true one as she did so.

My dearest cousin,

As with your own sadly departed mother, my sweet aunt Catelyn, mine own mother was very clear in her warnings to me about the true nature of the baseborn. They are wicked and wanton and covet what belongs to others and always must they be watched. I had hoped that after receiving his just sentence your bastard brother Jon Snow would have been content that his life had not been taken from him and with the mercy that he was shown. However, it seems that he is not.

I find myself most fearful for you, my dearest cousin. For the crown you wear was once worn by a bastard king and given their nature, it may be one that he seeks to wear once more. Given the news we received from King's Landing, this fear now only grows. I wish you to know that the Vale and its Lord and Warden stand ready to offer you any aid you may need, so as to see the sentence pronounced on Jon Snow is carried out. I say this not to suggest that you are unable to see it done alone, but to let you know that in this and in all things you are very much not without allies.

Ask of me anything, my dearest cousin, and if it's in my power to give it to you then it shall be done. I await your correspondence with great eagerness.

Your ever true cousin,

Lord Robin Arryn,

Lord of the Eyrie,

Warden of the East.

She almost skipped around the courtyard and yet somehow other than the smile she wore, she kept her expression steady. After sending Wolkan back to his duties, she returned to her own. The coin from the Iron Bank and the first set of supplies bought with that coin would be due within the next week or two and she intended to organize a feast to celebrate it. Hearing that Jon had killed men of the Watch and most likely crossed into her kingdom, she had resigned herself to cancel it. Now she most certainly would not.

While she still hadn't decided what aid she'd ask for from her cousin, just the thoughts that he was willing to offer it if needed were enough to make her worry far less about what Jon may or may not do. It allowed her to formulate more than one course of action and even later that night as she ate her meal in the Great Hall, her mind was busy doing just that. Once she'd finished eating and had stayed a respectable amount of time with those who served her, she had her ladies see to her bed-chamber while she retired to her solar before taking to her bed.

By the light of a candle that had almost burned out as she finished, she wrote out two raven scrolls. The first of them to her uncle in Riverrun, where she'd seek to renew the bonds of family and make mention of what Jon Snow may be planning. She added many mentions of her mother and how she had always rightfully warned her of what Jon would truly wish for, while at the same time she was quick to add that she believed that her half-brother had hated her mother with all he was. She'd hated to name him so, for she no longer saw him as such, but far better it was that he was seen as than what he truly was.

The second raven was to her cousin in the Vale and she thanked him profusely for his offer of aid while speaking much on her fears for her safety. She said enough to suggest that she didn't truly trust those around her, while not naming any of them as traitors or cravens. Hinted at enough to seek some aid from him without directly coming out and asking for it. Had she not seen in King's Landing just how much he'd come on without Littlefinger and his mother smothering him, then she'd be far less subtle than she was being in regards to Sweetrobin. Yet his raven had suggested that he had learned to play the game a little too, or at least was being advised by someone who did. Once done, she sent Jeyne to fetch Maester Wolkan and then bid the girl head to her bed.

A week later.

"From the Vale, your grace," Wolkan said, handing her the raven's scroll.

It had taken a week for the reply to come back from the Vale after she'd sent the raven. A week where she found she looked over her shoulder more than once. She'd doubled the guards on her rooms and that followed her. At times she'd catch glimpses of white that looked like fur and it would nearly send her into a panic, only for it to be snow and not Ghost that she saw. There had been no sign of Jon Snow since the raven from Tyrion had arrived. Which Sansa felt was both a good and a bad thing.

"Will you wish to send a reply, your grace?" the Maester asked and Sansa shook her head.

"Not for now, Maester."

"Your grace," he said as he bowed and then turned to leave.

Breaking the seal, Sansa read the words eagerly, and again a raven from her cousin brought a true smile to her face.

My dearest cousin,

It soothes my worried heart to find that you are most well and most capable. However, our family has lost too much for either of us to be complacent or not worry about losing anymore. So I beg you to forgive the liberty I have taken. A detachment of my finest knights led by my heir, Ser Harrold Hardyng, has departed from Gulltown and set sail to White Harbor. From there, by your leave, they will ride to Winterfell and add to your own guards.

I do this not to dare suggest that your own men are not capable, good, or true, but purely to assuage mine own fears about your safety. These are my truest men, cousin, swordsmen of a like that even your bastard brother cannot match. They shall answer to you above all others, even myself, during their time in your kingdom. I pray their presence brings as much comfort to you as it does me in knowing that your safety is assured.

Your ever true cousin,

Lord Robin Arryn,

Lord of the Eyrie,

Warden of the East.

Placing the raven's scroll on her desk, she tried to remember what she could about Ser Harrold Hardyng but found to her dismay that she knew the man not. Looking over the words her cousin had written, she wondered if they were truly the words of a concerned family member or were they more the words of a potential suitor. The more she considered them, the more she believed they were the latter. While she had no intention of ever marrying again if she could help it, given Jon Snow's actions and what she feared they may lead to, marriage was looking more and more like a good idea. Especially a marriage that brought her an army made up of Knights of the Vale.

Taking her quill and a piece of parchment, she wrote a reply that was somewhat flirtatious so that she could test the waters with her cousin. Smiling to herself, she blew on the parchment to dry the ink and was doing so when Jeyne Poole knocked and entered the room.

"Your grace."

"What is it, Jeyne?" she asked irritably.

"Lord Manderly's party has been seen, your grace.

"Very good." she said and then as Jeyne turned to walk from the room the thought came to her and so she asked the question on her mind "Are Lord Reed's banners amongst the Manderly ones?

"I believe so, your grace."

"Have the Great Hall prepared and my guards called," she said and Jeyne hurried off to do her bidding.

She misliked that the two men were becoming so friendly and that she had received no reply from either in regards to her ravens about Jon Snow. There had been no word from Robett Glover too, though that concerned her less. Looking at the raven's scroll she'd just written, she found she hoped that it was a large detachment of knights and men that her cousin had sent. Enough to deal with some errant lords as well as a bastard pretender to her throne. Sansa prayed they'd be enough to ensure that unlike those she'd learned to play the game from, her fate would be one of her choosing and not of someone else's.

The Shining Light/Oldtown 306 AC.

The White Dragon.

His sailing companions were an interesting bunch. The Free Folk named him king and Tormund kept him from going too deep into himself. Val wished to bed him and he'd be a liar if he said that was this another time and he was a different man, then he'd not have given in and allowed her to steal him by now. Yet it was now and he was who he was and while Val's hair was blond and the color of honey, it was far too close to the silver of another's for him to welcome her into his bed.

Although if he was being truthful and not lying to himself somewhat, then he'd admit that not even were she to be dark of hair would she tempt him truly. It was for the best she kept far from him and further still from his bed. Those who had shared it before had found out to their cost that the gods who had always fucked with his life had fucked him most often when it came to those he loved. A mother he'd never known, an uncle he'd believed a father, a brother who was good and true, and two women that he'd let into his heart. Those they'd taken from the world and as for the ones they'd left behind, those he'd found to his cost that the love he'd had for them had never been returned.

There was a part of him that bid him deny himself nothing. To take whatever pleasures he could before he finally left this world and he so very much wished to give into that part, he truly did. Yet sex was not something he could just take or leave. Lying with someone wasn't simply an act for him and to deny that to himself would only mirror other denials he'd made since he'd found out his truth. So he'd not allowed himself to be stolen and he was starting to believe that the woman in question had finally come to accept that, or was at least close to doing so.

"Will you keep to that vow, Jon Snow, to that oath above all? Will you take no wife and father no children, Jon Snow? Or will you remember that Jon Snow is dead and Jacaerys Targaryen swore no such oaths? Will you remember that you are the last of the House of the Dragon and should you not bring forth an heir, then our House dies with you?"

The voice was his own and yet the words were very much not. Each time he heard them he'd feel his resolve break a little and yet he only ever heard them after Val had been sent away and never before he'd done so. It gave him much to ponder on as they sailed to Oldtown. Those words, what he'd find once they reached the city, what the city itself looked like, and those who he sailed with. For just as with the Free Folk, the men from the Reach had held his interest greatly. None more so than the two brothers who reminded him much of himself and the brother he'd lost so many years ago.

Garth Hightower was much like Robb had been. While his brother Humfrey was to Jacaerys' eyes much like he had once been. As close as two brothers could be, one of them was in the shadow of the other and sought to escape that shadow. He knew he saw things in them that were not there, and yet he cared not that he did. His mind may tell him that there were few true similarities between the Hightowers and him and Robb. Yet his heart told him that his mind was a fool and he'd be a fool to listen to it. So despite himself, his wariness and doubt, and his lack of trust, he vowed to give them at least a chance to prove themselves true. Something Tormund surprisingly seemed to agree with him on.

"You trust these kneelers, King Crow?" Tormund asked as they sailed past the Shield Islands.

"You know all those I trust, Tormund. They are few and far between."

"You think they play you false?" his friend asked angrily.

"No one will ever play me false again." His reply brought a smile to Tormund's face.

"Good."

"I need them and more like them if I'm to do as I must., Tormund. You'll see the city we sail to soon and it puts Winterfell to shame and makes Wintertown look like Whitetree."

"Har, it's good to hear you make fun of things." Tormund laughed only for the shaking of his head to stop his friend from doing so "You speak true?"

"Aye. The number of men they can offer me makes the Knights of the Vale that rode to our aid look like the Night's Watch too," he said and Tormund's eyebrows raised for once of their own accord.

"The younger one seems a decent sort...for a kneeler," Tormund admitted after a few moments of silence.

"We'll find out the truth of them soon enough, old friend," he said, slapping him on the back as he welcomed Syrax back to the ship and to his shoulder.

"And if they aren't true?"

"Then like Thorne and Olly they'll find I've no time for traitors or men who play me false."

The more time he spent with them, the more he was starting to believe that they were somewhat true at least. It made him even keener to arrive at Oldtown so he could get a truer sense of those who had sent them. For while Humfrey or Garth or the men with them may have earned enough of his trust for them to be given a chance to earn more, those who they served had so far earned none. House Hightower had played his family false once before and while Ser Gerold had proved himself as true as any, the same could not be said of Lord Otto and his daughter.

When he was not on the deck staring out and furthering his bond with Syrax and Ghost or speaking to one of the Free Folk, Reachmen, Val, Tormund, or Ser Humfrey, it was in his cabin or exercising that he spent most of his time. He couldn't spar for true and so he'd tried to get used to wielding Dark Sister as much as he could, more so after his pitiful attempt to wield both it and Longclaw. He'd found the sword different and it had taken him some getting used to, and he felt it would take him even more before he felt ready to use it rather than the one that had served him so very well.

Alone in his cabin, he would find himself staring often at the dragon egg he'd found in Queenscrown. He could feel the life inside it, the heat of it as he held it in his hands and close to his chest when he fell to sleep. Jacaerys still remembered the insult that Val had sent his way one of the nights that she had been rejected by him.

"You're a fool of a man, King Crow. For only a fool would rather sleep with that wrapped in their embrace than to share their bed with me."

Fool he may very well be, but where every instinct he had in him would push Val away, those same instincts would make him hold the egg close. He'd speak to it, tell it tales of Drogon and the queen who flew on the black dragon's back. Tales that never included what the queen and the black dragon had done to a city and its people. Fewer tales were told of Viserion and when he spoke of Rhaegal it would bring a tear to his eye for it wasn't only his queen that he'd failed.

"Should you grant me the honor of being your rider, I will not fail you. I swear it here and now and though there is no Heart Tree to guarantee my oath, I hold to it just as truly as if there was one."

He'd not bled again, though the closer they had gotten to Oldtown, the more he felt the need to. The egg required his blood, it needed it and fire too. How he knew this to be so, was beyond him, and yet he knew it to be true.

He had recognized the ship when they sailed into the bay at Oldtown, while the Free Folk marveled at the city and the Hightower, Jacaerys was in Syrax and flying over the docks and the city itself and he saw the ship. Davos was here and he knew not how that made him feel. Syrax had rejoined him by the time they docked and there was a welcoming committee lined up to greet him as he and Ghost and the great eagle made their way down the gangplank.

"My brother, Baelor." Ser Humfrey said as he directed him to the heir of House Hightower.

"Oldtown welcomes you, your grace." Ser Baelor said, the man clearly older than his two brothers and yet fairer and somewhat younger looking than them both too.

"It is good to be welcomed. I had expect…." Syrax screeched and took to the air and his eyes followed the eagle to the nearby raven, its death quick and bloody and witnessed by one and all.

Holding his arm out as if it was a falcon or hawk he was welcoming back and not an eagle that he was starting to have trouble bearing its weight, Syrax landed gracefully and made her way to his shoulder. He praised her quietly and then turned back to face Ser Baelor who had been looking as much to his brothers as he had been the eagle and the spectacle she'd just put on.

"I have little time for ravens, Ser Baelor and my eagle even less so than me."

"Then you'll find much in common with my sister, your grace. If you'd follow me, we can see that rooms are made available for your companions and I'm sure you'll all like to get settled and have some refreshments."

"King Crow?" Val asked as more than one of the knights and guards who'd greeted them looked at her with hungry looks in their eyes.

"Drink and something to eat, Val."

"Fucking kneelers, why use so many fucking words." the blond muttered.

"Lead the way, Ser Baelor."

He could see how the Free Folk looked almost awestruck by the city as they walked through it. The cobbled streets, the wynds, and alleys that crisscrossed each other as well as the bridges that crossed over the Honeywine. Buildings that were taller than anything most of them had seen before would grab their attention and he heard the loud voice of Tormund moving them along when they'd stopped to stare at something for too long.

As for him, he was not immune to the sights of the city either. He'd seen little of a true one until now, as even in King's Landing he'd barely seen it before it had been destroyed. To see a city such as this and one that was going about its daily business was eye-opening to him. So many people all living in the one place and yet unlike King's Landing, the smell here was much different. It made him consider if it had been more than just the smell of shit he'd encountered when he'd first set foot in the capital. Had it been the stench of corruption he'd smelt too? And if so, did this mean there was none or mayhap less corruption here?

"You've not been to Oldtown before, your grace?" Ser Baelor asked as they walked.

"I've not truly been anywhere before, Ser Baelor."

"To the right is the Citadel, home of the Maesters. While up there is the Starry Sept, the home of the Faith." Baelor said and Jacaerys looked at first the one and then the other, before then seeing the Hightower in all its true glory.

Taller than the wall and just as impressive. The Free Folk were not alone in gasping at the first proper sight of it, Jacaerys joining them and just as impressed. When he eventually turned his eyes away from the top of the Hightower to its base, he was stunned to see the black stone it was built from. So much so that he moved to it and ran his hand over it almost in a daze.

"Dragonglass?" he asked to a shake of Ser Baelor's head.

"Not quite, your grace, though it does look similar. It's much harder and far more durable, however."

He nodded at the words, then he was surprised to see the servants arrive with the trays that bore bread and salt.

"While it may not mean as much to some as it once did, your grace, you have my oath that House Hightower does indeed live up to the rights it protects." Ser Humfrey said and with a nod of his head, Jacaerys bid the Free Folk take a bite of each.

He took his own from Ser Garth and noticed how all three brothers looked at him when he offered a piece of each to firstly Ghost and then Syrax. The eagle barely tasted either but she did accept it from his hand.

"A sight I'll never be able to explain, your grace." Baelor chuckled when he was finished.

They entered the Hightower and he was immediately struck by just how gloomy it was. He had for some reason expected it to be full of light and to almost feel like the South, yet it reminded him more of Winterfell and even Dragonstone than what he'd imagined a southern keep would look like. It wasn't until they entered the High Hall that he finally saw what he'd expected to see. For here there was more wealth and opulence on show than anywhere he'd ever known. Lords, Ladies, Knights, and men at arms all wore clothing or armor that was clearly expensive and both men and women were bedecked in jewelry.

At the front of the large open hall, there was a raised dais and a large ornate seat in which an aged man sat. To his left stood a man who Jacaerys would wager was a younger brother of Ser Baelor and Ser Garth and a woman who must be their sister. Both of whom were older than Ser Humfrey which named him as the youngest child of the aged man that he'd now name as Lord Leyton. Looking around the High Hall, Jacaerys took note of any symbol worn by the lords, ladies, or knights and was soon naming them in his head. House Rowan who'd been Leal to his father, House Ashford, Caswell, and Florent.

There were two houses represented by ladies, House Oakheart and House Redwyne and the sight of the red-headed lady from the Arbor made him think instinctively of Ygritte. As he moved to the front of the High Hall, he noticed Ser Davos was there trying to hide amongst the crowd and look at him without being seen. How it made him feel to see the man here for true, he knew not. Though he'd be a liar if he said that a part of him didn't welcome it. Between the Free Folk, Ghost, and Syrax, or he himself, it was a close call to name who was garnering the most attention. Jacaerys probably won out but barely. He was surprised when as he reached the front of the High Hall, the woman he'd named as Ser Humfrey's sister moved forward. Her blue eyes sparkled when they looked at him before she then began to speak.

"My Lords, My Ladies, Good Sers. It is my great pleasure to present His Grace, Jacaerys Targaryen, The First of his Name, Rightful King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men. Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realms of Men." The lady, Malora he believed was what Ser Humfrey had named her, said as proudly and as firmly as Missandei had spoken Daenerys' titles to him on Dragonstone all those years ago.

As one, the lords, knights, and men at arms took a knee and the ladies curtsied. None more truly than Lady Malora, her brother, and her father, and when he turned to look to those with him, he was stunned to see Ser Baelor, Garth, and Ser Humfrey all doing likewise. With a motion of his head to Tormund, he somehow held back his laugh when his truest friend shook his own. King Crow, he may very well be to them, but they were Free Folk still and the Free Folk do not kneel.

"Rise my lords, ladies, and good Sers. Rise for a king uncrowned is no king at all and I stand here before you only as what I was born as, a prince of the blood," he said when it was clear that no one would move before he bid them to.

"You were born a king, your grace. Uncrowned or not, from the day you were born our fealty was yours by right, and as head of my House and Lord of Oldtown, I hereby take the chance to renew the oaths we swore to your own House, my king." Lord Hightower said as he moved to take a knee in front of him.

"I accept your oath, Lord Hightower, as I will any who wish to swear their own to me. Yet for now, there is much we must discuss and no doubt many questions that need to be answered. I bid you allow my companions and I to get settled and then we could mayhap speak and share those answers with one another?"

"As you say, your grace." Lord Hightower said happily.

Jacaerys glanced at Tormund who nodded his assent and he caught it from the corner of his eye when Ser Baelor bid both his brothers to stay and speak to him rather than be the ones to see him to whatever rooms they'd given him. Instead, it was Lady Malora who introduced herself and then bid him let her escort him to those rooms.

"I would be honored, my lady."

"No, your grace, it's me who's being honored so."

They talked somewhat as they walked. The lady telling him that she had much she wished to speak on, and though he was far less trusting of her than he may once have been, by the time they reached his rooms he was very much not. Seeing her stroke Ghost's fur and the white wolf lean into her touch or how calm Syrax was in her presence, as well as her words about being a warg too and how there were no ravens anywhere close to the Hightower itself, was more than enough for that to be so. Hearing her speak of the clothing she'd had readied for him and that she'd organized the armorer to come by and refit his armor, while discomfiting was somewhat relieving too.

"Your brother said that you had a vision of me, my lady."

"Malora, your grace and I did, more than one."

"You're a greenseer?" he asked as they walked, wondering if she knew of such.

"I am. I believe I'm a counter, your grace. Your counter," she said, her words making him stop and look at her.

"Counter to what, Malora?"

"To the Broken King, your grace."

She left him at the door to his room and had arranged for a bath to be prepared for him should he wish it. Food was brought for both Ghost and Syrax which both more than enjoyed and the bath he had was truly refreshing. After finding a place to keep his dragon egg where he felt it would be safe, he moved to the wardrobe. The armorer arrived as Jacaerys was looking at the clothing that Lady Malora had seen prepared for him. Silken shirts, coats, and breeches of some material that he'd never felt the like of and leather boots of quality that not even Robb had worn. All of it in the colors of his House and never before had he seen so much black and red.

He dressed as simply as he could and allowed the armorer to take his measurements and then his armor. The man promised him that he'd have it ready by the day after the morrow at the latest. When he went to offer him some payment, however, it was refused.

"I work for House Hightower, your grace, and have been tasked by Lady Malora to see this done."

"Surely a few extra coins would be welcome?"

"The honor of serving your grace is payment enough."

Though he wished to argue more, he did not, and soon enough he was alone once again. Or he was for a few moments at least. Ghost then moving to the balcony and Syrax flying after him made him wonder if some threat was about to present itself and to his surprise, it was Dark Sister and not Longclaw that he reached for.

Following the white wolf and great eagle outside, he was greeted by the sight of the red-headed lady of the Arbor that he'd seen earlier in the High Hall. Her rooms were close to his own it seemed and their balconies were next to each other. She was standing leaning against the wall that surrounded her balcony, looking down at the ground below and seemingly unaware of his presence. In the fading light, he thought that her hair looked like the flames of a roaring fire and as it blew in the wind, he found himself almost fascinated by the sight.

"Your grace." she coughed and stuttered when she saw him.

"Forgive me, my lady."

"I'd not…I thought I was alone, your grace," she said as she moved to walk back into her room, stopping when Syrax landed on the wall and cawed out for his attention.

He felt her eyes on him as he stroked the eagle's soft feathers and then heard her gasp when Ghost made his presence known.

"Worry not, my lady. Ghost is friendly enough most of the time."

"I've never seen a wolf such as he," she said, her voice full of wonder as she stared at the white wolf.

"Ghost is a Direwolf and my truest and most faithful companion." he said as he reached out to rub his hand over the wolf's back, Syrax then screeching a little loudly "Though he's no longer alone in that regard," he said as he moved his hand to the eagle and stroked her feathers feeling her lean into his touch as he did so.

"They are both quite remarkable, your grace."

"Jacaerys, my lady. I fear if people don't use my name I'll forget it and it's one I wish not to."

"For why, Your ... .Jacaerys."

"Other than my life it's the only thing of my mother's I have left to me, my lady."

"Desmera," she said, offering him a soft smile.

"Desmera."

They spoke for a few more moments, a simple conversation that covered little of consequence, and had it not been for the loud knocking at his door, then he felt he could have spoken for far longer. There was something easy in speaking to the lady of the Arbor, he felt. Something relaxing about having a conversation that held no true meaning and asked no questions of him. A conversation in which he asked no questions of the person he was speaking to or their motives. He knew such things would be rare indeed from now on and even the next time he spoke to the woman in question, it would more than likely be with a much different tone and context.

Bidding her farewell, he moved to his door to find Tormund standing there looking agitated. Though as soon as he saw him and that he was unharmed and in no danger, his truest friend relaxed almost immediately. Then when he saw the clothing he wore, Jacaerys felt the brunt of Tormund's japes and jibes at his expense. With only the sight of the wine jug stopping him from speaking them all.

"This is good stuff, King Crow. Tastes sweeter than the milk from a giant's teat." Tormund said as he drank the wine greedily.

"Our people?" he asked.

"Were given rooms the like 'o which I never seen afore. Mine own was as big as Ruddy Hall, I tell no lie."

"Good. They and you deserve some comfort and there may not be much for some time once the war truly begins."

"You know they'll be waiting for you, King Crow," Tormund said worriedly.

He moved to him, placed his hand on his shoulder, and looked his friend in the eye.

"They may think they are ready for war, Tormund, but trust me, none of them are prepared for this one," he said as he walked to the door.

A/N: Thanks to all who've read and reviewed. Up Next: Davos and Jacaerys speak and come to an understanding, questions are asked and answered in Oldtown and an accord is reached. A raven carries dark words which bring Desmera and Jacaerys closer while in the North a banker receives a message and a Knight of the Vale catches a queen's eye.

For those following my other fics, Aemon the Dragonknight is up next.

Tsroughs: They know somewhat of Jon, of course, they do, but killing Dany would to a lot of those in the south be far more well known than Jon being LC of the NW, or some of his other achievements. More importantly than that, it's pretty much the last thing he did and it makes him a Kinslayer, so in a way that trumps everything else and would make his other achievements be put to more question. People don't talk about Jaime Lannister as being the youngest knight ever named as a Kingsguard because he killed a king which earned him the epithet of Kingslayer. One sort of trumps the other. In regards as to why anyone would think he could be made, well for bloody obvious reasons wouldn't you say? Aerys was mad, Dany would be considered mad and Jon is now being named as Targ just as they were, a Targ who killed his own aunt, it would be illogical for the question not to come up.

Supremus: You're perfectly entitled to your opinion, but I have to disagree completely with it. The show may have turned Sansa into the smartest person that Arya ever knew, but Sansa showed no signs of being a good queen if you actually looked at her actions. She pretty much from the moment Dany got there allowed her personal feelings to override any political nous whatsoever and put at risk the alliance needed to save the North. Cannot lead men into war and is a woman in a man's world. Even taking the North as independent as she did would lead to it falling very soon as they have no coin and are in the worst state they've ever been.

As for Bran, he's even worse than Sansa as the show at least made an effort to portray her as having knowledge she didn't deserve. Bran on the other hand as a lord lost his keep, got everyone around him killed, and now is uncaring enough that people are expendable to him. In his first actions as king, he gave the North its independence because his sister asked for it, even though the logic she used to say why it should be given made no sense since he was who it would have been sworn to. His next act was to name a Kinslayer as a king, an untrained man as Grandmaester, A lady as Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, and a sellsword as Master of Coin, Warden of the South, and Lord of Highgarden.

Lastly, he can bring forth no heirs, and unlike Bloodraven, he's not tied to a tree so can live for an incredibly long time.

Jon as king always did what was best for his people and is the perfect example of a man who doesn't want it but is actually good at it. So you can have your opinion and I can disagree with it and in the end, neither of that matters as the first step to being a king for Jon here would have to be seeking revenge. Or does he get the crown by asking nicely?

Venerabledemon: I have a couple of reasons for why Desmera, they're of age (Malora is late thirties) she's a lady of suitable standing to be a queen, as Lady of the Arbor she is in control of the largest navy in Westeros and is one of the wealthiest women still alive. And one other reason which we'll see play out over the next few chapters.

TheSphynx: So good to see the poetry back my friend.

Celexys: Thanks so much. I agree completely with Tyrion and we will see more of it when the net tightens. His actions bothered me just as much because other than once being shouted at by Dany, there is no consequence to his failures. I have a big Bloodraven flashback scene coming soon and we'll get a look at Tycho next chapter.

J: You have to deal with what you're given, unfortunately. Glover is loyal in the books, he's an idiot but loyal yes. But given his show actions and that this takes place after those actions have already occurred, you have to follow them through to a conclusion.
So with Arya as compared to Jon and Dany, the thing is that her actions are somewhat consistent with her character arc and previous ones while Jon/Dany's are not. Dany's actions are retconned by Tyrion to try and explain that she was always going to do what she did and Jon literally goes from George Washington and being unable to tell a lie in the Dragonpit to straight up lying about kneeling to Dany in the meeting in WF. Arya's character may do some stupid actions, but those actions are in keeping with her character and she never does a complete 180 as Jon/Dany do. So that's why I say what I say.

Scarilla: I will try and comply with your demand, my friend.

Dunk: Thanks so much. Yes, that's exactly how I picture him in my head. I think it would be Jace as a nickname as I think that's what the Velaryon he was named for was called. That sense of dread is something I want each of the key players to feel as well as a sense of somewhat being lost as Jace makes his moves and they can't predict them. In regards to people turning, yes there will be some of that and hopefully, it makes sense for which ones and doesn't feel forced.

You may get your wish with that, also with some of the deaths of his animals when he's warged into them.

Guest: I'm going later thirties early forties for Malora here. I mean Ned would be around 43 or so now and I think she was younger than him. But you're right she's too old for him and also has a different important role to play. Desmera is of an age and fits every criteria to be queen and I have some other story reasons which we'll see play out too.

Tasting Darkness: Spot on, you have to play the cards you're dealt. Besides the reason Robett was rotting in a dungeon was because he went against orders and launched an attack that cost Robb a large part of his army, so loyal is still a little questionable. What they did with the Umbers was just horrible. We should have all known so much earlier that the two morons who wrote the show were talent-less hacks.

Annoyed Guest: I've read the books and Bookjon is literally my favorite character. If anything his swordsmanship is his weakest element, especially when compared to the show. However to write that story and that Jon you either have to go far back in the timeline so that you're not dealing with events that the show portrayed him interacting with or create a valid reason as to why the show version would suddenly act like the book version. One fic that since got deleted literally had Bookjon wake up in Showjons body and it was both brilliant and hilarious at times. How he reacted to his deal with the Wildlings and to why people like Davos, Tormund, etc, were so friendly with him.

I still think that as bad a king as people may think Showjon would be, he'd be better than ShowSansa or ShowBran as he has something neither of them does, empathy. Would he be too trusting, perhaps but I'd stack the decisions he made as KITN against any that either Sansa or Bran have shown/made and think they came out on top.

But that's a different argument. The entire premise of this fic is to deal with the events we're left with after the show ends and to have a Jon pretty much turn away from how he'd been to that point. To make him more ruthless and more Bookjon but by giving him a reason to do so.

Grimgoth: I hope when they see what he'll do people will tell me he's being too ruthless. I'm so glad you're enjoying this and my other fics.

Frenchwhitefox: Thanks for saying that, I'm hoping to hit some different beats with this than the other fics.

Lordoftheeast: Thanks so much, glad you're enjoying it.

Anonymous wanderer: That's so nice to hear. I do plan on showing Arya and Drogon at some point so we'll at the very least get that answered.

Clayvus: Thanks so much.

Guestd: Really glad you like it.

LAzHellRaiser: I agree completely and especially about ShowSam, now I'm not a fan of BookSam either, but showSam deserves a special place in hell.

Iprg: So glad to hear that. I do want to do somewhat of a slow build here to put the pieces in place, but hopefully not too slow so it drags. With Tyrion, I wanted to go with that as a motive for the simple reason that in the end, I think that Tyrion had pretty much devolved into a man with no grand plans. Be it drink or for some other reason, the Tyrion that arrives in Essos and from that point forward was an idiot. We will see some FB's to his time on Dragonstone.

I hinted at the IB's purpose during Tycho's talk with Sansa, it was no coincidence that he brought up that the last time they dealt with a Stark was with Cregan. With Drogon, he will be shown here as we need to know what he's up to, won't go into more than that. He certainly won't be Jon's mount. I've sort of gone the redeemed Sansa route before so here there will be no redemption and Jon won't even be looking for her to redeem herself. As for her having some self-reflection, she may, but given her personality, I think she'd only do so when it's too late.

I'm of the same mind with Arya, she is one of my fave characters and it's why it annoyed the hell out of me that she was not her true self by the end of the show. Now some of that I hope to explain a bit as we go, or at least give a reason for, but as with Sansa, Jon is not seeking her to be redeemed. He's not even truly seeking that for himself. I want to keep her somewhat powerful, so she could at least offer a threat to Jon at some point.

I'm much relieved about things and happy that finally, things are looking up, thanks for your kind words, and yep, you're stuck with me and my fics for some time to come lol.

Simargi1985: It means a lot to me that you've commented at all and especially since you're using a different language to do so, don't worry about long detailed comments, just knowing you're reading my fics is enough.

Xan Merrick: Thanks, my friend. There will be some setup before the main events, but hopefully not too dragged out.

Keb: You pretty much nailed it on the head, my friend, I'd already planned it out with Malora and the banker, well done. Yeah, I felt the same with Drogon and while them being reluctant allies could be fun, I also don't want the dragon to truly play a role in Jon's vengeance.

Irish Hermit: She did yes. Now she thinks that she's made a good deal and that the debt repayment will be easier and also that without the food they'll not survive Winter too, but the terms of that deal will not go down well. I think so too with Sansa and Cat, other than the reunion, she never once shows Jon any true respect or love, and let's face it the reunion scene was all about relief for her more than anything.

That point about Arya is what I can't let go of, she's a trained assassin, not a helpless bystander and yet she not only wants Jon to kill Dany, she pretty much helps push him to do so. She's from the North, she understands that to kill kin is to be cursed and yet she wants it to be him. When you then add that she knows he loved Dany, that this would break him, it just gets worse and worse. In another fic, I wrote Jon's thoughts on this as being she was an assassin and like any good assassin she found the means to kill her target, he just happened to be the means. In regards to Tyrion, I think this is even more clear as each season passes. There was some family loyalty there too, but it was self-preservation and even advancement above all.

The timing, method, and messenger of Jon's truth being told are all suspect. Sam actually brings it up about his father and brother and so his motives aren't just suspicious but blatant IMO. As for Bran, how long was Jon in WF before he told him? Why tell him on the eve of battle? Logically that would be the worst time to want the commander of your armies dealing with anything other than battle plans, so why then? So again going by logic, the only thing that makes sense is that he had an ulterior motive.

I'm with you completely on Dany and it's one of the key things that I want to get across, especially when it comes to Jon's verdict on her. He understands that he had to do what he did, but that doesn't mean he liked it nor that he doesn't understand that it was all avoidable. He may blame, Bran, Sansa, Trion, et al, but he places s a huge amount of blame on himself too and so he won't let her be denigrated here.