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.

4. Those Seeking Revenge, Dig Six Graves

Oldtown 306 AC.

The Honorable Smuggler.

Seeing Jon Snow again was a surprise and yet very much not at the same time. He'd not been told that he was traveling here, yet had been asked numerous questions about his time by his side. Questions of his character and temperament. Even odd and confusing questions about whether or not he'd ever seen signs of madness in him, which he'd simply laughed off. Broody and far too serious he may have been, but there was no madness in Jon Snow.

Hearing him being named the One True King had taken him aback. As he'd not understood why those in the Reach would care about a former King in the North, let alone seek to see him crowned a king once more. When he'd told those who'd questioned him, that Jon Snow had never sought a crown, wanted one, or felt comfortable being a king, it had only seemed to please them even more so. It wasn't until talk turned to oaths and to his service in the Night's Watch and how Jon had been freed from those oaths, that Davos had felt like not answering their questions. Some secrets were not his to tell was what he'd tried to tell them, only for Lady Malora Hightower to then spill those secrets and bid him confirm them.

"Knives in the dark wielded by men he'd named as his brothers. They spilled his blood in the snow and took him from this world. Only for the gods to send him back. For his time here was not yet at an end and he had much work still to do." Lady Malora said as Davos stood in front of her, her father, and her brothers, all while surrounded by the great and good of the Reach "Is that not so, Ser Davos?" the lady added as around him everyone hushed.

"Aye." he began, though he'd not wished to speak on it. It was clear that it was known and none believed it, best they heard the truth of it from someone who was there, or so he felt "He was as dead as dead can be, and then he was not. He bears the wounds to this day and while I'll allow any of you to name me a liar, I'd not allow you to do so to a man who speaks the truth as if it were a calling."

"You'd name him good and true, Ser Davos?" Mathis Rowan asked.

"None more so, Lord Rowan. I've known no man I'd name so more than he. On that, I give you my oath."

"Thank you for your words, Ser Davos. Daved will see you to your room." Lord Leyton said and Davos was glad to be dismissed.

The answers as to why they were so curious about Jon Snow had then been revealed and when he saw him, Davos barely recognized the lad. He walked a little straighter, stood taller, and had a presence about him that he'd not had when last they'd seen each other. Though given that was just after he'd killed his queen, mayhap that was understandable too. Jon was dressed in armor of a quality that Davos had never seen him wear and wore a smoke black cloak that showed glimpses of its scarlet underside when he moved. On his back, he bore a white bow and seemed to be bearing two swords, one on either hip.

As for his companions. Davos was pleased to see both Tormund and Ghost again, and not surprised truly by the large group of Free Folk that accompanied them. Of all those who'd followed Jon Snow, in the end, it was those who were thought of as savages that had held true to him most of all. Something that now shamed him greatly. The eagle on his shoulder was as large a bird as Davos had ever seen and yet as lethal and dangerous looking as it was, it seemed calm and non-threatening for now. The sigil of the white dragon with red flames coming from its mouth that was embossed on Jon's breastplate surprised him. Yet it was not to be the biggest surprise to come to him that night.

Hidden from view, he watched as Jon moved through the High Hall as if he'd been born to do so. Gone was the almost shy young man who seemed ill at ease when surrounded by a crowd of those that some would name his betters. As he waited for Jon to speak, he looked to Tormund who was glaring at all and sundry and daring them to speak words about him, his people, or Jon Snow. He caught his eye and offered him a nod of his head, happy to see the smile and his nod returned. Two red eyes caught his a moment later and he knew now that even were Tormund not to tell Jon that he was here, the white wolf would soon alert him to his presence. It was as he was edging towards he door that Lady Malora spoke and her words confused him. Yet in truth, they actually made more sense to him than any of the others spoken to him since his arrival in Oldtown.

"My Lords, My Ladies, Good Sers. It is my great pleasure to present His Grace, Jacaerys Targaryen, The First of his Name. The Rightful King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men. Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realms of Men."

A Targaryen. Jon Snow was a Targaryen, not a Stark. A king by blood and right as well as one by merit. Of course, the Reach would seek to crown him as their king.

Though would Jon wish them to do so?

Was that why he'd traveled here?

Why he now wore that armor?

He didn't hear the words that Jon spoke in response to Lady Malora's and by the time he'd composed himself, the lad had left the High Hall. Looking around for someone to offer him an explanation, he once again caught sight of Tormund Giantsbane and so moved to speak to the red-headed Wildling. By the time he'd reached where he'd seen him last, Tormund had left the High Hall as well and Davos was again left with unanswered questions.

The answers finally came, or some of them at least, a couple of hours later when Jon Snow, Jacaerys Targaryen as he was now known, entered the High Hall once more. He was dressed as befitted a king and Davos was certain that it was the Hightowers and not Jon himself who'd seen these outfits chosen for him. Not even Stannis had dressed as well. Either as Lord of Dragonstone or when he'd put that accursed crown upon his head. Other than Renly Baratheon and Loras Tyrell or mayhap the Kingslayer, Davos was sure he'd never seen a man dressed in such expensive-looking clothing. He'd wager that even the Hightowers themselves seemed poorly dressed compared to the man they now named as their king.

Jon still bore two swords, one on either hip. His long coat was black as were his britches, though there was a tinge of scarlet in places. Underneath the coat, he seemed to be wearing a crimson shirt and his boots were neatly polished. Ghost was ever present by his side, though the giant eagle he's seen with him earlier was now noticeable in its absence. What surprised him most of all, however, was the jewelry that Jon was adorned in. Never before had he seen the lad were any at all. Still, it was his bearing more than anything else which truly took Davos' eye. He actually seemed kingly to him, if that were such a thing.

"Lord Hightower, My Lords and Ladies, Good Sers, I am sure there are many questions that you would bid me answer and yet I believe that while the truth of me is known, it is for the best if more of that truth was spoken here first. My name is Jacaerys Targaryen, though it's not a name I'd known I bore until recently. My father was Prince Rhaegar Targaryen, and my mother was his second wife Princess Lyanna Stark. Aye, they were wed, and yet other than my word I have little to prove it so. But I was in truth born a prince by blood and a king by right "

The words were let sit, Jon almost seeming to wait to see if someone doubted them or questioned him about them. When it was clear that no one was willing to do so, only then did he begin to speak again.

"I never wished for a crown. Never sought nor wanted one. It may have been mine by right of blood, but it was never something that drove me. Even after finding out the truth about who I was and who my parents were, I sought it not. For by then I had knelt to a good and true queen and felt she not only deserved the crown more than me but was better suited for it too." Jon said and Davos was not the only one who wished to listen to him speak more on Daenerys Targaryen. especially given the looks on the faces of those in the High Hall "Whatever you may have heard about Queen Daenerys, or think you may know about her actions, I bid you to now listen to a man who was by her side for most of them."

Jon seemed to pause so as if to compose himself, and once he was ready, then and only then did he speak again.

"Without her army, her dragons, and her support, not a single one of us in this room would be here this day. Speak to those who fought in the War for the Dawn and they'll tell you much about the odds they faced. The Imp and the Broken King may wish to speak up about Arya Stark being the one to bring down the Night King and I'll not stand here and name that a lie. Yet what they neglect to say is that without Queen Daenerys bringing her army North, then she'd not have been in a position to do so."

Again Jon paused and let his words sink in, once again almost seeming to wait for someone to question or deny them. Once again, no one did and so Jon began to speak once more.

"I knelt to her because she risked her life to save not only mine own, but those who traveled with me on a fool's errand Beyond the Wall. Not only because she lost one of her dragons in the process. But because even with no certainty of any reward or even respect, she then put on hold the war she'd come to Westeros for, so as to fight in the only war that mattered. I knelt to her and named her my queen and gave her my heart as freely as I did my fealty because I believed in her with all I was. She more than earned that belief."

Jon closed his eyes and it was clear to Davos that what he was about to say next was hard for him. Yet far sooner than he expected, he began to speak again. His words then proved what Davos had believed to be true.

"And yet, in the end, I stabbed her in the heart because it was the right thing to do.

While some may name what happened in King's Landing as madness, they are fools who know not what they speak. It was grief and loss that drove Queen Daenerys' actions that day. Grief, loss, and betrayal." Jon spoke the last word bitterly and Davos was not the only one who saw the restrained anger that seemed to burn behind his grey eyes as he did so.

Composing himself once more, Jon took a breath and looked to those in the High Hall. Davos doing likewise. Lady Malora seemed most sympathetic. Though the way that Lady Desmera was looking at Jon, showed that she too wished to be so. Lord Leyton and his sons all seemed to eagerly await whatever Jon said next as did Davos himself. Yet it took some time for him to actually utter another word.

"I was raised as a bastard, my lords, and ladies. Brought up to believe that I was owed nothing and deserved even less. The man I thought of as my father, turned out to be my uncle, and the honor I ascribed to him, turned out to be far more flawed than I'd ever imagined it could be. For all my life, he lied to the realm and to me most of all. He told me not of my mother and allowed me to believe my true father to be a rapist and kidnapper." Jon said angrily before again seeming to compose himself "His wife treated me with naught but contempt and offered me nothing but cruel words and crueler looks. It was that and seeking to remove the stain of my birth from his cloak that led me to the Wall and the Night's Watch."

Around the room, people seemed riveted now and Davos found that he was too. Jon had rarely spoken much about his life growing up at Winterfell, or anything truly personal at all now that he thought about it. To hear him do so in a room of what could only be named strangers was more than a bit of a shock to him.

"I fought, bled, traveled Beyond the Wall, and saw brothers of the Watch die in front of my eyes. I was named Lord Commander though I wished it not and in turn made friends of those I'd once named my enemies" Jon looked to Tormund who smiled at him "Facing a threat unlike any I'd ever seen or even imagined before, I let the Free Folk through the Wall and then the men I'd named as my brothers, killed me for it. Some of you may have heard the tale and some may now name me a liar for repeating it. So I'll offer you this proof and do so only once."

He looked on stunned as Jon began to take off his coat and then unbutton his shirt. Pulling it over his head, he stood there naked from the waist up and then turned around so that each and every person in the High Hall could see the wounds he bore. To Davos' eyes, they looked just as they had when he was laid on the slab and one or two of them almost seemed to be bleeding still. Some of those looking on now turned away. Though most offered up gasps or moved their hands to their mouths while shaking their heads. Lady Desmera seemed to almost move forward as if she wished to offer Jon some comfort that he sought not.

"I show you these wounds and tell you this not to gain your sympathy, but so that you know that the words I speak are true." Jon said as he put his shirt back on and then slowly rubbed his hand over Ghost's soft white fur before speaking again "On the eve of the Battle of Winterfell, the truth of who I was, was finally told to me. A man I thought a friend was sent to do so by a thing that I'd named a brother once. Not to give me the one thing I'd always wished for, my mother's name, but to drive a wedge between me and the woman I loved. The woman I'd named as my queen."

Davos felt his own anger rise and yet for now Jon's seemed remarkably restrained.

"To my everlasting shame, it worked. My life had been shattered in one fell swoop. Who I'd thought myself to be was not who I truly was and I knew not how to deal with such a thing. It created a gap between my queen and me, between my aunt and me… my love and me." Jon said sadly "A gap that was deliberate and premeditated and one that set the seeds for not only what happened in King's Landing, but for the events that followed too."

Davos remembered it now, the moment that Jon seemed to almost fold in on himself. How one moment he and Daenerys were almost inseparable and then in the next it was rare to see them even share the same space. He'd thought it odd that they had marched while Daenerys and the others had sailed. Given what had happened when she did so, he'd only been relieved rather than suspicious that they'd done so. Now he was very much the latter and it seemed that there were answers to be had to prove him right to be so.

"A girl I named a sister, very quickly revealed a secret that she had sworn not to. It led to a plot to replace Queen Daenerys with me and one I was in no position to stop from occurring. I cannot be certain, though I'd say we were betrayed even more clearly than that. For the attack that took another of the queen's dragons and one that had begun to bond with me, was not one that could have occurred without some foreknowledge of our movements."

He'd wondered about that too, had meant to bring it up with Jon but had not and now he was angered at himself for failing to do so.

"The bond between a Targaryen and a dragon is one that better men than I could not explain to any of our satisfactions. The bond between a mother and her children, however, is one that all know full well, and believe me, the dragons were as much Queen Daenerys' children as any child of the womb ever could be.

Their loss, the capture, and execution of her truest friend. The loss in the Battle of Winterfell of her truest protector and the loss of my heart and my counsel, all of it was too much to bear and because of my own trouble dealing with my truth, were things Queen Daenerys needed to bear alone. Allied to the plots that were occurring around her, King's Landing and innocents rather than those responsible were who paid for all of it."

Davos had not considered things like that and in that he was not alone. As while he doubted that any man or woman in the room looked on what Daenerys Targaryen had done with any favor. They at least now did so with some understanding.

"I say this not to excuse the actions that Queen Daenerys took, but to explain them somewhat. Nor do I wish to see mine own actions in cursing myself by taking her life, to be looked at more favorably. She needed to pay for the lives she'd taken and it fell upon me to be the one who made her so do. Now those as responsible as she was for them, need to pay too." Jon said firmly.

Davos and everyone else then heard the loud screech of the eagle and looked on as the dead raven fell to the ground. The giant bird then took flight and landed next to where Jon Snow stood. Jon immediately reached down to stroke its feathers as if by way of praising it. The silence was but brief and when Jon turned his attention from the eagle back to those in the room, Davos felt he looked even more kingly than he had up to then. It was almost as if all was resolved in him. As if the man he was born to be had just been birthed and he'd be a liar if he said that he was not taken in by the sight of him, or the words that Jon now spoke.

"I was born a king and yet I wear no crown. I sought it not and yet now I do. Vengeance and Justice demand it of me, My mother and father demand it of me and I now, finally demand it of myself. Jon Snow was a fool who knew little about the truth in men's hearts. Nor what lay in the heart of a woman who'd been pushed to the very edge and sought only a hand to stop her from falling off it and into the abyss. For killing a woman who'd destroyed a city and had taken countless innocent lives, a woman they had named a tyrant, they called me a murderer, and Jon Snow was sent to rot and die at the Wall once more. In that, they got their wish. For make no mistake, my lords, my ladies, good Sers, Jon Snow is finally dead for true.

My name is Jacaerys Targaryen. I am the First of my name, the Rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms. Aye, Seven, for the North is mine by right of blood too. I seek my crown, my throne, and to see those who sought to deny me those things, now pay for that and for what they did to a good and true woman. I bid you join me and rise up against the Broken King and his Kinslaying Hand. To join me as I put Westeros to rights. I bid you join me as I bring Fire and Blood to those who deserve it more than most. What say you?"

"My king."

"Your grace."

"King Jacaerys."

"Fire and Blood."

The chants rang out long and loud. Davos speaking them himself though he knew not which words he spoke. He caught Jon's nod to Tormund and the wink that the red-headed Wildling gave him in return. Then his eyes caught Jon's and try as he might, he found he could not turn away. To his surprise, there was no anger in those eyes, no recrimination, though there was some disappointment he believed

He needed to speak to the young man. More than anything he needed to speak to him and clear the air between them. There may not be a place by his side for him, but should there be, then it would not be Jon Snow that he served from here on in. As the lad had said himself, Jon Snow was dead, and now only Jacaerys Targaryen remained. Davos was actually glad of it and he felt no pity for those who would soon find themselves facing him.

The Barrows of the First Men 306 AC.

The Coin Counter.

The North was a land that he was fast becoming to hate. Its harsh winds seemed to rob you of every ounce of warmth and its difficult terrain made traveling a nightmare, combining to make it so. Just the thoughts of having to travel the entire length of the North from Winterfell to the Wall were not ones that brought him much comfort either. Though the reason for doing so was at least one that brought a half smile to his otherwise stern face.

Tycho was not an idealist, far from it. He was however a realist and in the two meetings that he'd held with the two newest monarchs in Westeros' history, he'd been left decidedly unimpressed. As he had been with the previous two that he'd met if he was being honest with himself. Sansa Stark and her brother were not the people to lead Westeros forward into a new age. So while he and the Iron Bank usually cared not for who ruled, as long as they got their due, they had been more than happy to find an alternative to them both. Happier still considering who that alternative was.

The simple truth was that with a Targaryen on the Iron Throne, Westeros was as profitable to them as Essos was. No matter the circumstances of the reign of whichever particular dragon named themselves king, the Iron Bank had always come out on top. Ever since the last dragon had died on the Trident, however, that was not something that was so easily said. Oh, it was true enough and they always got their due. Even with the whoremonger and drunkard who ran the crown's debts up to almost unsustainable levels or the crazed lioness who paid off one debt and had immediately incurred another. Yet they'd needed to work for it, threaten for it, and had at times been denied payment of it. All of which had soured their feelings on kings and queens who were anything but dragons.

Not that the Dragonqueen would have turned out better for them in that regard, Tycho thought with a shudder.

Upon finding out that there was another option, another choice, and one that was far more palatable to Tycho and to the key holders of the Iron Bank, it was to the North to seek out Jon Snow that he was ordered. So while he may dislike the North, its weather, and its lands, he forbore it for the good of the one thing he'd always believed in, the Iron Bank.

He'd first traveled to King's Landing and met with the Imp and the so-called Broken King. The former tried to outspeak him while the latter had tried to scare him away with parlor tricks. As if the magic he claimed to control meant anything to a man who'd traveled to Asshai by the Shadow and seen truly terrifying things firsthand. Even now it brought a smile to his face as he thought of what he had said when their soft words had turned to threats and the debt he'd been sent to collect had been denied.

"I am merely a representative of the Iron Bank, King Brandon. My job is to carry out its will and nothing more. Many times over the years, those who sought to deny us our due have used threats to do so. More than one of my colleagues has been sent back to the Braavos in pieces or have lost their lives to fools who forget one simple fact." he said emotionlessly.

"One simple fact?" Tyrion Lannister asked.

"The Iron Bank will have its due, Lord Hand. Always and without question, we will have what is owed to us be it in coin or blood."

"You threaten a king, Tycho Nestoris, a king who is well within his rights to see your head removed from your shoulders for such."

"Indeed. But how long will you remain a king after doing so, King Brandon?" he replied.

Arguments, name-calling, denials, he'd heard it all and in the end, the result had been the same. The debt would be repaid and the first installment of it had already been sent to Braavos.

After that, it had been to the North to deal with a queen who was out of her element and misunderstood the truth of the things she believed she was so clever in. All the while, he'd thought not on Sansa Stark or her crippled brother, but on their cousin that they'd named their bastard one. Jon Snow. Jacaerys Targaryen as he was truly named and the king that he, the Iron Bank, and dare he say it, Westeros itself, all sought to see crowned.

He'd learned all he could about the young man who was Rhaegar Targaryen's son. The journal that the Iron Bank had composed on Jon Snow was extensive. As it was on any man or woman who may turn out to be a player in the great game. Though there had been one glaring omission in their knowledge and it was one that he'd continually wondered about as he'd sought the young man out. They'd not known the truth of his birth until recently and even then only by accident. Had they, then who knows how events in Westeros may have played out? As the snow began to fall once more, Tycho moved to his tent and readied for a night's fitful sleep. Once inside, his thoughts turned to the mission he'd been tasked with and to the dragon that he now sought.

"Daenerys Targaryen is dead." Bessaro Reyann said as they sat around the large weirwood table.

"How?" Noho Dimittis asked.

"Killed by the former King in the North, Jon Snow," Bessaro replied.

"I thought they were allies?" he asked to a shake of Bessaro's head before the rotund grey-haired man spoke once more.

"Not after what she did to King's Landing, it seems."

He listened as the tale was told of the destruction of the city at the hands of Daenerys Targaryen and her dragon. Noho almost looking pleased with himself as the words of caution that he'd spoken about them backing the Dragonqueen, had now seemed to have been proven true. Tycho was stunned when Bessaro named Brandon Stark as the new king of what was now six kingdoms. The crippled son of Lord Eddard Stark hadn't even been considered important enough to deserve a journal of his own and instead was only briefly mentioned in his father's one. His sister being named Queen in the North was just as much of a surprise to Tycho. Though Sansa Stark at least had been deemed worthy of their interest. More for her marriages than for anything else though truth be told.

"What of Jon Snow?" he asked and was stunned to see the smile that appeared on Bessaro's face, stunned even more so when the older man clapped and a set of journals and tomes were brought in and laid out in front of them all and upon the weirwood table.

"House Targaryen?" Noho asked confused.

"It seems the Pact of Ice and Fire has been enacted. Jon Snow is not the son of Eddard Stark and some unnamed woman, he's the trueborn son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark. He's the rightful king and it seems that the Last Dragon left one final gift to the world. Tycho, it's time for you to travel to Westeros and for the Iron Bank to pay the only debt we have left outstanding." Bessaro said happily, the smile as true a one as he'd ever seen the man wear and he'd worn them more today than in all the years he'd known him.

He awoke to the sight of a Gyrfalcon staring at him. Its head was tilted to the side and its beady eyes were locked directly onto his own. The sharpness of its beak was clear as were the talons that it gripped his blanket with. Tycho feared he'd be at risk if he called out for help and yet the bird seemed to have no intention of attacking him. Still, the shock of it being in his tent and so close to him meant that it took him some time to move and even longer to see the scroll that was attached to its leg. Even after he'd done so, it took him a while to gather up the courage to move his hand towards the bird and that hand moved ever so slowly when the time came.

A loud screech and then the bird was gone. Tycho was left alone in his tent and was still covered by his blanket. Were it not for the scroll that he held in his hand, then he'd have believed that he'd imagined that the bird had been there just a moment earlier. Opening out the scroll, he read the words and was soon hurrying to get dressed and be on his way. The Wall was no longer his destination and he thanked the gods for that small comfort. Instead, it was to be south and not north that he was heading. To the Kingsroad and through the Neck, the Twins then Seagard, and finally to Oldtown. It seemed that the Iron Bank was not the only ones that had found out the truth about Jon Snow and in turn, his mission had just become so very much easier.

Oldtown 306 AC.

The Azure Lady.

He'd not been as she'd expected. Of an age with her, handsome if somewhat serious and yet not unkind, at least in his words. Still, he'd killed his queen, his aunt, and a woman that all had said that he'd loved, which gave her pause. Or it had when she was alone and back in her room. Desmera had found that she wished to hear him speak the words. To find out his reasons and whether or not they were the reasons that she believed them to be or were they more selfish. So she had hurried back to the High Hall and had joined others in waiting for the man they wished to name their king to reappear.

The wait had felt never-ending and yet in the end it had been more than worth it. Jacaerys Targaryen covered almost everything that she'd wished to hear him speak on and had done so with passion, pain, determination, and resolve. She had been somewhat surprised that he'd spoken so fondly of Queen Daenerys. Though when he mentioned that he'd given her his heart along with his fealty and she'd seen the pain in his eyes as he did so, she really should not have been. Yet it was not simply his words that had proved him to be true or as true as those in the High Hall clearly wished him to be.

Among the many tales of Jon Snow that she'd heard, the one that her mother and she had both dismissed was that he'd died and been reborn in some way. Not only was it nonsensical or unbelievable, but it was impossible, or so Desmera had thought. Seeing the wounds on his chest, she no longer thought so. More than that, she had longed to offer the king whatever small comfort she could because of them. Desmera had felt righteous anger build up in her at the thoughts and the sight of what had been done to a man who'd clearly only done the right thing. She'd felt a desire to see those who'd dared to betray such a man were made to pay for their actions. So she'd resolved to speak to Lord Hightower and Lady Malora to make that so once this meeting had been called to an end.

Listening to the words that were spoken, to how they were spoken, and looking at the man himself as he did so, she found it hard to believe that any had thought him to be a bastard son. Harder still to imagine anyone naming him as a Wolf, for it was a dragon that was clearly in their midst. Much to the delight of some of her fellow lords and ladies of the Reach. Mathis Rowan was almost swooning and Lord Hightower seemed to have gained vigor that he should not have at his age. His sons seemed to be even more enthused than he. With Ser Humfrey seeming to be the happiest of them all, at least to Desmera's eyes. As Jacaerys began to speak again, Desmera found her attention soon focussed on him and him alone. Something that pleased her greatly.

"There is much work to be done, my Lords, Ladies, good Sers, and many plans that must be put into action. Though I wish it not, it'll take a war to remove the Broken Queen and Kinslaying Hand from their usurped positions and it's a war that brings with it some unique obstacles to overcome. Things you've heard about Brandon Stark are somewhat true, though he is not some all-powerful thing nor some god to fear. He is not beloved as much as he may wish either. Clear as this is, given those I see around me." Jacaerys japed to some laughter.

She found her eyes were drawn to the man, his wolf, and his eagle. Both of whom were no more than a foot away from where Jacaerys stood and acted as his staunchest of guardians. At times, she was sure she'd seen the black-gloved hand touch one or the other. Jacaerys ruffling Syrax's feathers or softly stroking Ghost's white fur. Once or twice she was certain that the red eyes of the wolf and the golden ones of the eagle had caught the blue of her own eyes. Which for some reason brought a small smirk to her face. All too soon, Jacaerys had stopped speaking and she watched as he, the white wolf, and the golden eagle then left the High Hall.

Thinking that their time with the king was at an end, Desmera was surprised when Ser Baelor moved to her and her mother. The gallant and noble knight then asked her to join his father, the king, and some of the largest Houses in the Reach at a more private meeting. Bidding her mother farewell, for now, she joined Ser Baelor and was unsurprised to see the lords, Ashford, Rowan, and Ser Jon Fossoway all leave the High Hall at the same time that she did. She was about to ask Ser Baelor about his impressions of the king when Lady Malora joined them. The older woman offered her a small welcoming smile as she did so.

"I had not thought we'd speak to the king again this night, Malora," she said as they walked down the long corridor.

"King Jacaerys is a man who is most motivated, Desmera. As you've just seen." Malora said as Ser Baelor listened on eagerly.

"Some of what he said surprised me, I'll not lie. I'd not expected him to speak so fondly on Queen Daenerys nor had I ever imagined the tales of his death to be true ones." she almost whispered.

"The men who betrayed him paid for it with their lives, Desmera. Take comfort in that, as do I. As for Queen Daenerys, I believe had they had more time then we may have known another Jaehaerys and Alysanne. Alas, it was not to be."

"You truly think so highly of them both?" she asked surprised.

"Of Jacaerys, without question. While Queen Daenerys actions are unforgivable, you heard some of the reasons for them as did we all."

"Yet a woman who could do such things…" Ser Baelor interrupted.

"Is no different than a man who in his pain will seek to lash out and relieve it, brother. Ask his grace about Brandon the Burner or of his own actions against those who took his life."

"They were traitors, Malora, they deserved to die." Desmera said, shocking herself with just how much vitriol was in her words.

"That they did, but ask his grace if he'd have done differently with them had he taken more time to consider their fates."

At times the words that Malora spoke confused her, almost as if she was privy to things that no other was. It seemed that she was more knowledgeable about events and especially about Jacaerys Targaryen than any of them and it both perplexed and intrigued her equally. By now though they'd reached the room they'd been heading to and upon entering it, she saw the large table with the map of Westeros laid out upon it. Inside the room were the rest of Lord Hightower's sons, Lord Ashford, Lord Rowan, Ser Jon Fossoway, Lord Florent, and the king himself. Along with the white wolf and golden eagle. To her surprise, the red-headed Wildling was there too. As well as a very beautiful blonde-haired lady who looked at both the king and Ser Humfrey hungrily.

"Ah, my son, daughter, Lady Desmera, good of you to join us." Lord Hightower said happily as Ser Baelor moved to his father while Lady Malora stayed by her side.

Her eyes briefly caught the king's and he offered her a small polite bow of his head which she returned. Turning down the offer of some wine or some food, she moved to the table and looked down at the map below. There were numerous figures placed at various points upon it. Desmera shuddered as she realized that these represented the men they would send into battle. She shuddered even more so when she saw her own sigil painted on some of the figures, as well as those that were used to represent the ships of the Redwyne fleet.

"The Broken King can't count on the Lords of the West. For in naming the Imp as his Hand he's lost their support." Jacaerys began.

"He has, your grace?" Ser Garth Hightower asked.

"He killed his father, Ser. Westeros may not have loved Tywin Lannister, but there are those in the West who did and still do. His sister lives still, does she not?"

"She does, your grace." Lord Hightower replied.

"Then we should reach out to her. She may not support my claim, but she'll certainly not support her nephew and may if anything seek his head in return for her fealty."

"You intend to make her that offer, your grace?" Ser Baelor asked.

"No, I'm just willing to accept it when she requests it from me." Jacaerys replied before moving to the Riverlands "Lord Tully is a man I know little about and have had no dealings with. Yet if he's anything like his sister then he'll be no ally of mine. Given I seek his niece's removal from a position she earned not, mayhap even more so. Yet he's no true fighting man and if it comes to it, he can be made to kneel."

She looked around at those who listened even more keenly than she did. Mathis Rowan again was chief among them. His loyalty to the Dragons had never been a secret. So having one to follow and name his king once more, had clearly made him happy. Ser Jon Fossoway almost seemed impassive next to him, though given they'd not yet spoken on the Reach too much, that was no great surprise. While Alekyne Florent seemed to be watching the king most eagerly. Alyn Ashford almost seemed to be trying to pretend to be above it all. While the Hightowers were all just as eager as Mathis Rowan seemed to be.

"The Vale is run by Lord Arryn, cousin to mine own. Again I feel we'll find no allies there and unlike the men that Lord Tully may call upon, the Knights of the Vale are far more formidable when faced across an open field. So I'd seek not to and would instead seek to use the Vale against itself."

"Your grace?" Ser Humfrey asked.

"Land and Sea, Ser Humfrey. We use the Bloody Gate against them and use our fleet to starve them from any aid."

"A siege would take some time, your grace." Alyn Ashford said, the Lord finally speaking.

"The threat of one would not, my lord. Lord Arryn is but a green boy and as such, we can use that to our advantage. We besiege them and he'll seek to react, rather than do as a weathered warrior would were he in the same position." Jacaerys said to nods.

"The Stormlands, your grace?" Lord Florent asked curiously.

"I know its new lord somewhat and Ser Davos knows him far better than I. However it was Queen Daenerys that named Gendry as Lord Paramount and Lord of Storm's End, and so he may not be amenable to joining my cause."

"You'd fight him, your grace?" Mathis Rowan asked and though she knew it not, it was thoughts of Robert's Rebellion that had bid the question.

"Storm's End is not a keep that can be besieged, Lord Rowan, nor one that can be taken without dragons or subterfuge. Yet just like Lord Arryn, Gendry is a green boy when it comes to war and the Stormlords are ever prickly and proud."

"You think you can provoke them into a battle, your grace?" Mathis said with a large smile on his face.

"I would hope there would be no need to, my lord. Yet should there be, then I believe given who my father and mother were, given who the Lord of Storm's End's father was and the nature of the Stormlords, then aye, they'll be easily provoked."

"Which brings us to the Iron Islands, King's Landing, and the Reach, your grace." Lord Hightower said.

"Yara Greyjoy was promised a crown as payment for services to Queen Daenerys, I'll offer her the debt to be paid in return for her fealty and her men." Jacaerys began, "As for the Reach, I believe if you put your names to this, it'll bring its Warden and his army to the field."

She looked on as a raven's scroll was handed by the king to Lord Hightower who smirked upon reading it. Then as it was passed around before it finally came to her hand. Looking down at the piece of parchment, she quickly scanned the words and found she agreed completely with the king in his assessment. If this didn't bring Bronn of the Blackwater to the field, nothing would.

We the undersigned, do hereby deny the rights of Ser Bronn of the Blackwater to be named as our liege lord. We refute his claim as such and deny him our fealty. We name the Reach to be a land where sellsword scum are not welcome and offer him only the pain of death should he dare deny our words and set one foot on our free lands. We name Lord Leyton Hightower as our own Warden of the South and Lord Paramount of the Reach and Ser Jon Fossoway and his wife Lady Janna Tyrell as the Lord and Lady of Highgarden. We do so with the blessing of the Seven who are One and dare anyone to try and stop these words and commands from being legal and binding.

It didn't surprise her that the Lord of Oldtown had been named Warden and Lord Paramount. Though it clearly did his children, which at first confused her. Had she not looked at the king's face as she passed the parchment on, then she'd not have realized that he'd done this without prompting. Which certainly meant that he'd named Ser Jon and Lady Janna as Highgarden's recipients without their knowledge too. Something confirmed by Ser Jon's response.

"Your grace, I had not…"

"Your wife is the rightful heir, Lord Fossoway," Jacaerys said simply and directly and it brought a smile to her face to see Ser Jon now be named as the Lord that he was to be.

"The Lords of the Narrow Sea are ever true and so I'd bid you have this sent to them, Lady Malora," Jacaerys said and Malora moved to take the scroll from his hand.

"I'll send one of mine own birds, your grace. A gyrfalcon." Malora said and the smile she got in return for her words was one that stirred something in Desmera that she'd never felt before. It wasn't until later that night when she was alone in her room, that she realized what that had been and it shocked her that such a simple thing as a smile could inflame her desire for a man so. Though it had truly been a wondrous sight to see the king's expression change so truly.

"Once we see what moves the other players in the great game make, then we can decide how to proceed to King's Landing. The Imp thinks himself a clever man, but at each turn, he failed Queen Daenerys. Both in peace and in war. As for the Broken King, he may know things, but knowledge without experience means little, my lords, my ladies. We deal with the South first, then with the North, and we fight the battles that we chose and decide. If the Gods are good, they'll be few and far between and if not, then I'll do all I can to spill as little blood as possible. I wish not for the deaths of those following orders, but only for those who give them." Jacaerys said and she took some comfort in that.

It was the last comfort she took that night as when she arrived at her room it was to find her mother waiting for her. The raven's scroll she bore in her hands, soon had her both furious and worried. Which once again took her to her balcony. Though this time there was no king, white wolf, or golden eagle to soothe her worries or concerns.

Winterfell 306 AC.

The Wingless Falcon.

He truly hated this place. Each mile he traveled only made that more apparent to him. Harrold cursed himself for practically volunteering to be the envoy for his cousin, but needs must and he needed to at least appear to be Leal. By right it should be him who ruled the Vale and yet it was not. All the words spoken about Sweetrobin not living to manhood had been proved wrong and if anything, he was as hale and hearty as Harrold himself was. Something that displeased him as much as the North had thus far.

It was supposed to be different, easy, and yet his life had turned out to be anything but. Without the income that would come from being Lord of the Eyrie and Warden of the East, he was practically destitute and very much in debt. His cousin had bailed him out once or twice as had Lady Anya. Though even she had given up on him ever being in a position to pay her back what he owed. He'd even considered marrying Saffron just to get his hands on her dowry. His pride in the end not allowing him to do so.

'No, not just my pride,' he thought wryly.

He was destined to be wed to a lady of a Great House. Just as he was destined to be the Lord of the Eyrie and Warden of the East. The two things were interchangeable. To forgo one was to remove the chance of the other and despite Robin Aryyn's apparent good health, Harrold was not yet ready to give up on what was his by right. So for now he'd play the errand boy and Leal knight. He'd bide his time and if the gods didn't act soon and show him the way, then he'd take matters into his own hands. After all, it wasn't as if he even liked his cousin or would miss him were he to suddenly fall. Nor was he alone in thinking that the Vale could and should be in better hands than a spoiled boy whose mother had almost led them to their ruin.

The crackling of the thunder and the first drops of rain that fell on his helm soon took him from his thoughts and once again he cursed that he was in this godforsaken land. With little time to spare, their progress was halted and their tents set up and he had barely gotten into his own before the rains fell for true. Thankfully though it was only rain that fell this time. For the snow was not something that he or his men could truly handle.

He ate well, slept surprisingly comfortably, and woke the next morning to what passed for bright skies and fair weather in the North. After a quick breaking of his fast, Harrold was once again riding and this time he did so with some good cheer. All things being well and good, then they'd arrive at Winterfell by late afternoon or early evening. Thoughts of a warm bath, warm food, and even mayhap a warm body to lay beside, soon brought a smile to his face. One that was removed when his thoughts turned to Sansa Stark the so-called Queen in the North and the true reason for his journey from the comforts of the Vale. A betrothal offer and an offer of an alliance. Should they be accepted, then his cousin could very well end up with a crown upon his head. Not something that normally would have meant much to Harrold, but it would at least mean he'd get his due.

"I'm so glad you've chosen to offer your services, cousin," Sweetrobin said as he finished writing his letter to Sansa Stark.

"I felt it was for the best that family should deal with such a momentous issue, cousin," he replied with a false and practiced smile.

"Should things work out as they must, then it'll be to you that the Vale looks, cousin."

"And you?" he asked curiously.

"Oh, I have bigger goals in mind than the Vale," Sweetrobin said, smirking to himself.

It had taken time, conversations, coins he could ill afford, and a night spent with one of the servants closest to his cousin for Harrold to figure out just what plans Sweetrobin had made. To be honest, they had surprised him as he'd not thought him to be either that clever or that ambitious. It had meant that the words that Lady Anya had oft spoken about now rang more true. The doubt about his cousin's parentage that she would bring up from time to time, had become something that Harrold had long pondered on since he'd set off from the Vale.

"There is not much of House Arryn in that boy, Harry. Would that I could prove it, but a part of me believes he may not be your kin truly."

"You're not saying…"

"No, I'll not speak the words aloud. Though no one will stop me from thinking them."

As the great stone walls of Winterfell came into view, Harrold put aside thoughts that Sweetrobin may be a Mockingbird's son rather than a Falcon's. Riding in through the great gates at the front of a force of a little less than two thousand mounted men, half of them full-fledged knights, Harrold looked around at faces that showed no joy in their arrival. He'd expected it somewhat. Yet it annoyed him too and he would have been in a much worse mood about not being greeted by the Queen of the North, were it not for the lady that he saw looking them over from a window above the courtyard.

He'd heard many the tale of Sansa Stark's beauty and the glimpse he had just gotten of the red-headed and blue-eyed woman, would prove those tales true. As quickly as he'd seen her, she was gone, however, and instead, it was some grim-faced men who came to greet him. After a brief introduction and being left in no doubt that they truly weren't welcomed here by the men of Winterfell at least. He and a small honor guard were then escorted to the Great Hall of Winterfell, the Winter Throne, and the queen who sat upon it.

Harrold was pleasantly surprised both by the warmth of the keep and the decorations that adorned it. The North was a poor and frugal land, or so he'd been told, and yet Winterfell seemed to at least try and mirror a southern keep. Wall coverings, tapestries, and wolf sigils were everywhere you looked and the heat almost made him wish to remove his helm and be out of his armor. Only protocol stopped him from doing so until he was face to face with the Queen of the North. They were asked to disarm and did so reluctantly. Guest right had not been offered to him and those with him, though he would wager it had been to those outside the Great Hall.

"Her Grace will see them now, Artos." a young pretty girl said to the grim guard that had escorted them this far.

"Be respectful, for you stand in front of a queen." Artos said as he glowered at them and Harrold simply nodded in return.

He knew full well how to act in front of those of a higher position than he. While he may hate that there were any who were, he'd been taught well enough how to cover that hatred and so it was with a soft false smile on his face that he and his honor guard entered the Great Hall. Harrold felt his breath hitch when he caught a true sight of Sansa Stark. She wore a golden circlet on her head and was dressed in an immaculate and well-fitted dress that allowed a glimpse and promise of the body that lay beneath it. Her eyes were striking and were colored the brightest blue that he'd ever seen. They were eyes that put his own to shame and they now stared at him with interest. The red hair which was mayhap her most striking feature had been made up in an elaborate set of plaits and he longed to see it loosened and flowing.

"You stand in front of the Queen of the North, Sansa Stark. The She-Wolf of Winterfell, The Freer of the North, The Unbroken Lady, The Stark in Winterfell, and Protector of the North." a young lady said loudly and proudly as the woman in question simply looked on and waited for him to announce himself.

Harrold took off his helm. His blond locks were now free and he noticed how some of the ladies that were present seemed to be more than happy with his appearance. Not the Queen in the North, however. Sansa Stark sat almost implacable and unmoveable and it made him want her for his own even more. He found he wished to see her nostrils flare. To see her in the full flush of passion and desire and as he looked at the crown on her head and the throne she sat on, he began to wonder if destiny was what had brought him to this place at this time. He believed it had and that the time was almost nigh for him to claim what was rightfully his. The Vale, a Lady of a Great House, and mayhap even more than that.

'Far better me than Sweetrobin.' he thought as he took a step forward.

Looking at the Queen in the North directly in those bright blue eyes and happy to see that she didn't blink or turn away and even the beginning of what he felt was some intrigue in her expression. Harrold then introduced himself and readied for the games to begin.

"Ser Harrold Hardyng, your grace. Sent by our cousin, Lord Robin Arryn, and your most faithful of servants.." he said with a bow, noticing how the first inklings of a smile suddenly appeared as he was welcomed to Winterfell.

"Winterfell and its queen welcome you, Ser Harrold. We offer you our hospitality and bid you join us at our table this night as way of thanks."

"I'd be honored to do so, your grace," he said, smiling at the woman that he now vowed to make his own. His lady, his wife, his queen.

Oldtown 306 AC.

The White Dragon.

He'd had much time to consider just how to go about taking the throne from Bran and Tyrion. Had considered everything from a simple direct assault where he'd overwhelm them, to a more considered approach where he'd take each kingdom one by one. A part of him wondered if he should take the North first. For as much as he now hated Bran Stark and Tyrion Lannister, Sansa had somehow made it to the top of his list.

Why that was, he wasn't quite certain. Mayhap because he'd allowed her to play him most of all or because despite it being Bran using the truth of who he was to forge the gap between him and Dany, Sansa had used it to truly bring Dany down. Dany had told him and he'd not listened and the guilt he felt about that only added to the guilt he felt about what he had, in the end, no other choice but to do. Had he but listened to her words about his sister, then who knows how things would have turned out. So it had made him consider taking the North from her and making her suffer. As well as the added men and legitimacy it would give him. Though he had in the end decided it was for the best to look to the South and not the North first.

The Reachlords would only wish to travel north once they'd taken much of the south. Besides, he had yet to judge the mettle of those he'd command. A single voice in his head, that he had now learned to listen to where once he had ignored it, reminded him of past campaigns fought by the Lords and Knights of the Reach. They were not campaigns that covered them in glory. Numbers, equipment, coin, the Reach had all in abundance. True military men, leaders, fierce fighting men. Those he wasn't yet sure he had any of other than those he brought with him. So he'd made his plans, laid them out, and then when all had finally left him alone, he turned to Tormund and Val, eager to hear their thoughts on all he'd said.

"You speak too many words, King Crow," Val said exasperatedly.

"Aye, the Spearwife has the right of it," Tormund said as he held a glass in his hand and looked at it with disdain, quickly moving over to lift the jug of wine and beginning to drink directly from it instead.

"These are not simple men, Tormund. They're not even the same as men from the North or the Watch, let alone those of the Free Folk. Flowery words and many of them are what they're used to. My uncle when he did tell tales of the war and those he fought against, that's all he told us about the Lords of the Reach." he said with a sigh as he thought of the man he'd once named his father and had once thought could do no wrong "For moons, some of these men sat and feasted outside a keep while many miles away their prince, my father, fought a battle where their numbers would have made all the difference. I know not how capable these men are, Val. What I do know is that they expect certain things from a king. So flowery words are what I'll give them if need be."

"Har, be thankful he doesn't make you wear a dress," Tormund said as he drank his wine and Val looked at him mortified.

"Do…"

"I wouldn't dream of it." he said interrupting her and were this another time and another place, was he another man, then he knew those words would be a lie "They'll feast us tonight. I'll not ask any of you to do anything that you'd not, but try not and gut any of them at least." he chuckled as Val smirked and Tormund finished off the large jug of wine.

"No promises, King Crow," Val said before walking from the room and leaving him alone with Tormund, off to do who knows what with who knew who.

He stood there alone and looked down at the map. Jacaerys was happy enough that his plans were sound or as sound as he could make them without more knowledge of events in the Realm.

"She'd steal you in a heartbeat, Jon."

"Jace, Tormund, if you must call me by a name, call me Jace. I meant what I said earlier, Jon Snow is dead and I've no wish to be reminded of the fool he was."

"Not only a fool, Jace." Tormund said as he rose to his feet and placed his hand on his shoulder "Now come, surely there is some trouble we can get into before we eat, Har."

He was still chuckling when they reached the sparring yard and they'd been joined by Ser Humfrey who wished to act as his shadow, his Kingsguard in all but name. In time, he'd need to bring the knight further into his confidence, for now, this would need to do. Feeling stiffness in his shoulders, he walked down the steps and took out Dark Sister to ready to go through his forms. Ghost had found the kitchens and where a dog or even a wolf would have been shooed away, the King's Direwolf it seemed was a different matter altogether. This meant that at present he was busy devouring a large stag's leg and as happy as can be in doing so. Syrax was in the sky above, watching for ravens and seeking out her own entertainment. As Jace finished his forms, it seemed he was about to have some entertainment too.

"Would you honor me with a spar, your grace?" Ser Humfrey asked and Jace nodded.

As much as he wished to use Dark Sister or Longclaw, he knew not how these men fought and so live steel was put aside for now. It took him some time to find a sword that somewhat mirrored the thin blade of his family's ancestral blade, but in the end, he found one that almost did so. Taking it easy at first, he allowed Ser Humfrey to dictate the course of the spar and by the time he felt ready to take it up a notch, a large crowd had formed around them.

The knight's form was perfect and his fundamentals were excellent. He'd clearly been trained by good and capable men. Jace had too, by Ser Rodrik Cassel, but it had been at the Wall that he'd truly learned how to fight. There and beyond it and in the many battles he'd fought since then. Battles that had shaped him into the warrior he now was. Pretty soon it became clear to him that for all his training, Ser Humfrey was a green boy when compared with Jacaerys Targaryen. So with the crowd looking on eagerly, he decided it was time to show that to those watching and to the man himself.

He parried a blow and spun, placing his sword close enough to gain a strike and yet not landing one. The second time he did it, he followed the blow through and as he caught Ser Humfrey across the side, he spun before catching him on the other side. A feint, a duck out of the way from a blow aimed high, and then a side step and it was all over. Jace spun his sword over extravagantly in the air and as he had expected, Ser Humfrey's eyes followed it rather than his feet. A kick to the ankle, a sweep of his legs, and the knight was soon on his back and looking up at Jace who held his sword to his neck.

"I yield, your grace." Ser Humfrey said with no sign of being annoyed at his loss.

Jace helped him back to his feet and for the next hour or more, he fought another five knights including two of Ser Humfrey's brothers. Ser Garth, who he'd heard being named as the Greysteel, and Ser Gunthor, both of whom he'd name as lesser swordsmen than their brother. He fought against Val, much to the shock of the men of the Reach, and yet by the time he'd beaten her, he was sure that it wasn't just the woman's beauty that the men were commenting on. When Mathis Rowan asked him for a spar, he gave him one gladly. By the end of it when he'd beaten him, the Lord of Goldengrove looked at him even more reverently than he had been doing since he'd arrived.

"You're a better swordsman than your father was, your grace. It's been an honor to cross blades with you." the Lord said happily.

"You sparred with my father?"

"More than once, your grace. He took to the sword late, but he was most skilled. You though, I'd say are on a par with Ser Arthur Dayne. For up to now he was the best I've ever seen."

"A true compliment then, my lord, I thank you for it. Mayhap later we could speak more on my father and Ser Arthur?" he asked eagerly.

"I'd be delighted to, your grace."

Feeling the sweat run down his back and knowing it was almost time for the night's festivities, he brought the sparring to an end. He was about to head back to his room to wash and change when he received a note from Lady Malora. Ghost had returned to his side now that he was done eating and so he and the white wolf, followed by Ser Humfrey, made their way to the top of the Hightower itself. Despite not asking him to, Ser Humfrey took up a station in front of his sister's door and Jace and Ghost entered the room alone.

There were books scattered everywhere, tomes and parchments were opened and clearly had been read. At the window pointing to the sky was a Myrish Eye and on a nearby table were charts that seemed as if they were of the heavens themselves. Lady Malora sat at a small desk and beside it were two perches, one that had a Gyrfalcon while the other to his surprise had Syrax perched upon it. Moving to the golden eagle, Jace rubbed his hand over the feathers and felt the giant bird move into his touch. A soft sound of contentment soon came from deep within her chest.

"You and she are bonded, your grace?" Lady Malora asked.

"Aye. I found her beyond the Wall, she seemed to be just like me." he said fondly "An Orphan who was unwanted."

"So you took care of her."

"Someone had to."

He picked up a piece of meat from a plate on the table and Syrax took it from his fingers. Picking up another piece, he threw it to Ghost who barely noticed it as he swallowed it down in one bite.

"I have bad tidings, your grace. About the Lands Beyond the Wall. A vision of death and destruction and yet one that can be avoided."

The anger in him grew, he felt it almost threaten to surge and burst forth in a fire, and was it not for Ghost moving to him, then it may well have done. Malora didn't need to speak the words and yet he bid her to anyway. His lips snarled as he listened to her tell him that Sansa had sent Lord Glover to plunder what little the Free Folk had and take it for his and her own. That the man was a craven and a fool as well as a poor warrior, helped keep him from storming from the room and seeking the first ship back North he could. Though in truth it was the woman in front of him and her words that truly did so.

"I can get a message to the Free Folk, your grace. A warning of sorts. But I need to know who to send it to and what message I should send them."

"Mother Mole." he said to a nod of Malora's head "Tell her that enemies come her way and to use the lands and the hunter's skills against them."

"Your grace," Malora said nodding.

"You can get the message to her before they're upon the settlements?" he asked and Malora smiled as she nodded once more.

"I thank you, my lady, truly."

"Lord Glover, your grace?"

"If they kill him then so be it, if not then it'll be mine, Tormund or Val's blade he'll fall to," he said as he turned to walk from the room, stopping so that Syrax could fly to his shoulder and to speak a little more to the lady who he knew so little about.

"You and I have much to speak on, your grace. Now is not really the time for such, mayhap we can put aside some time later?"

"I'd like that, my lady."

"Malora, your grace."

"Jace, Malora, at least when we're alone."

"As you wish, Jace."

Walking back to his room, he was happy he'd not brought Tormund or Val with him and though he knew he needed to tell Tormund what Glover and Sansa were trying to do, it needed not to be yet. When he reached his room, he tried to send Ser Humfrey away but the man was having none of it. So instead he bid him to at least make sure he got some rest later on. Entering the room, he removed his jacket and was taking off his shirt when the sound of what seemed to be soft sobs came to him from the balcony outside.

Ghost had laid down on the floor and seemed unperturbed or even interested by the sounds while Syrax too had flown to what had become her corner of his room. His shirt was tucked out from his breeches and he was still unwashed, yet Jace moved to the door that led out to the balcony. Unarmed, he walked outside. The source of the crying was quickly revealed to be Lady Desmera and as of yet, his presence had not been noticed. A part of him wished to turn back and leave the woman to her own devices and yet he knew he could not. Moving slowly, he walked over to where she was and tried his best not to startle her when he spoke.

"My lady?" he asked softly.

"What? Oh…..Your grace, please forgive me." Lady Desmera replied as she wiped her eyes and moved away from him. Her embarrassment had replaced her sadness for now it seemed.

"Is there something wrong, my lady?" he asked

"I…I'm to be wed, your grace. Forced to be wed against my will. Sold off by a king with no thoughts of mine own feelings or wants, let alone my desires."

With a nod of his head, she handed him the note that she held in her hands and he read the words while she reached into her dress and took out a handkerchief to wipe her eyes. The note was from Bran but written in Tyrion's hand. The Broken King it seemed had ordered Lady Desmera Redwyne to be wed to Lord Bronn of Highgarden. The anger he'd felt earlier regarding the Free Folk now raised its head again and this time he gave into it some. One look back at the crying lady a few feet from him was enough to hold back the angry words he had wished to utter. Instead softer more calm ones came from his lips.

"This will not come to pass, my lady."

"It's an order from a king, your grace. I have no choice in the matter."

"Am I not a king, my lady? Tell me truly, what do you fear, my lady? What makes you think that you must do what is not in your heart to do?"

"I fear war, your grace. I fear what will happen to us if we lose a war. I fear I'll be forced to wed a man I don't love"

"We win or we die, Lady Desmera, there is no other option," he said and noticed the small shudder that the lady gave at his words. He decided to offer her something more than that, so he spoke some more "You are a lady of a Great House, the Daughter of a great man. The Arbor and its fleet answer to you and you alone. I do not think this will be your fate."

"Your grace?"

"We fight for the things we wish for most of all, my lady. For me, it's Vengeance and Justice. It's to be who my father and mother wished me to be. It's for the people of Westeros who deserve better than a Broken King, Kinslaying Imp, or Red Queen who cares about them not. I believe it to be a fight worth dying for, worth killing for. What are you willing to fight for, my lady? To die or kill for?"

"The freedom to make mine own choices, your grace." Desmera said resolutely.

"The right of every man or woman, my lady." he said as he tore the note in half "If they wish to force you to wed, then they'll need to strike me down and send me to my gods, Lady Desmera. Believe me, they'll find it to be a task that's far beyond them."

"I cannot ask that of you, your grace." Lady Desmera said almost shyly.

"You did not, my lady. I offered it freely. The right of every man and woman." he said with a smile before he nodded and then turned to walk back into his room.

He didn't see her eyes on him as he did so, or the smile she wore on her face which was as true as any. Nor did he hear her speak his name softly when she turned to enter her own room. Jacaerys may not have said the things he said to win a fair maiden's heart, yet the saying of them had gone a long way in doing so. Readying for the feast later that night, he had little idea that over the course of it that he'd go even further in making that heart his. High above them both in the Hightower, a different lady had seen it all and as she readied to send a message to the True North, she too wore a smile as she thought of the king and queen she'd soon be serving.

A/N: Thanks to all who've read and reviewed. Up Next: A feast is held where a Lady finds herself falling for a king. In the True North, Robett Glover finds things not so easy. Bronn marches with an army to put some errant lords down. While Sansa finds herself somewhat eager to forge an alliance of a different sort. Jacaerys learns more about his dragon's egg and banners are called as the realm readies for war.

For those following my other fics. Brother's Keeper is up next. It'll be followed by Live as a Wolf and Dragonverse.

Missed review.:

Davildante1993: My main reasoning behind it not being Val is twofold. 1. To go for the Iron Throne, it really can't be Val given where Jon is starting off from. Even for him seeking revenge alone, in the scenario you suggest, he'd need to make allies and alliances and since I want to show him as having learned from past mistakes, he's aware of that now.

The second reason is far more selfish on my part. I have Jon/Val stories lined up and one soon to come. I don't want to mess with the relationship here when I can do it far more justice there. Especially since it'll be my first time writing Jon/Val.

In regards to the destiny aspect. To not address it or incorporate it is to dismiss a huge aspect of who Jon is. He is Rhaegar's son, Lyanna's son, the first child born of a union of two magical lines. The show simply hand waved that off, making it pretty much irrelevant where the books make it this big mystery thing. So for me, we have the canon TV version where it matters not, I don't need to do it in fics too. Also, depending on the setting of the fic, the truth of all of who he is has to be a huge part of things.

For example. Not making Jon have a destiny doesn't really allow him to go up against Bran in a way where he's on some sort of equal footing. Not addressing who he is, doesn't allow him to gain the allies he needs to go against those he's going against. Blood matters, but more than that, your bloodline and who you are because of it, matters.

It would be so easy to make Jon, Ned's bastard son, and ignore the Dragon side altogether. One last thing, your scenario takes the agency out of Jon's hands, it makes him a tool of other people's actions. That was something I didn't want here. Jon had to be the one to come to the realization about Bran and Sansa, not be forced into it, as otherwise, he's still Jon Snow from the Show.

Chapter 3 reviews.

Celexys: I tried to get to the Jon/Davos meeting here but there was still so much ground to cover that I had to leave it to the next chapter, but we will definitely see them talk and try to put things behind them then.

Tsroughs: As Tasting Darkness puts it so well. Desmera is Olenna's granddaughter, second only to Margaery in terms of importance in the Reach. She's the Lady of the Arbor, Paxter Redwyne's daughter which makes her the person in charge of the largest fleet in Westeros, bigger even than the Greyjoys. In terms of suitable brides for a king, unless Princess Arianne existed and was still alive, there is none more suitable. So she's not some Random Chick as you put it, she's a canon character and one of the few highborn ladies wealthy and highly ranked enough to be considered for a role as queen, even was this earlier in the canon.

As for the name, I'm assuming you got mixed up with Jaehaerys, as there is only one Jacaerys, Jacaerys Velaryon, Rhaenyra's son who died in the Dance. I do my research, my friend. I'd back my knowledge against yours or most people's. So maybe keep that in mind next time.

Daryl Dixon: Really glad you liked it.

Irish Hermit: In a way, he is broken, but he's internalizing it somewhat and has a focus that allows him not to be overwhelmed by it. Becoming the Dragon that he truly is, also allows him a goal, as does killing the last remnants of Jon Snow. We will get a glimpse, a sort of tease of Drogon but nothing more for a while as I want to keep that part of the story more of a mystery. He won't be playing a role in the war and is at present somewhere in the East.

They did somewhat make Robin more palatable in the Dragonpit scene at the end of the show, but yes, at his heart he is that boy still. Though I've added a little twist to the tail that will come out later. For the Stark in WF, at present Jon really doesn't care, but in time it could be a child of his. Were he to be asked right now, he'd say that he'll simply put someone trustworthy in the seat. That having a Stark in WF didn't actually do anything good really, but that would just be his anger and somewhat his bitterness showing.

Simargi: So very glad you enjoyed it.

Syrius: We will see if the old alliance can be brought together again. And you've somewhat forgotten the Stromlands too, as Gendry may not have any love for Jon given it was Dany who named him Lord. A small side note, apparently in a deleted scene of events in the Dragonpit, Gendry actually called for Jon to be executed, just thought I'd mention that. Glad you liked the intro between Jon/Desmera. It'll both be a slow burn and a quick thing, with the wedding alliance being far quicker than any love story.

Dunk: It's also yet another example of the writer's inconsistency. I mean seriously in the last few episodes, they just threw continuity out the window. You get Dany speaking about Euron at the war table and asking where he is, to literally forgetting about him in the next episode. Tyrion basically hounding Dany over an heir to then picking a cripple who can't bring one forth. Though it starts pretty much in the very first episode with Jon lying about why he knelt. So we go from him being George Washington in the Dragonpit and being unable to tell a lie. Literally spelling out why lying is bad, then he sits in front of the Northern Lords and lies about why he knelt. Terrible writing.

Sorry for the digression. But I will be having Jon bring up furthering his line over the next few chapters. We'll also get a Bran pov, either the next chapter or the one after that will truly show his frustrations at what Malora is able to do. Tycho will probably be the chapter after next, just to make it clear there was some traveling to do. He's in the barrows, so he's a long way to go yet.

Victoria: Thanks so much my friend, all is now finally well again. My eye op went perfectly and even fixed up some issues with my sight I was unaware of and I've recovered fully, thank god. With Arya, the one thing she has in her favor is time and distance. Unlike the others, she's not in Westeros and so there is a chance that Jace's anger and rage towards her could dissipate. But the betrayal he feels from her is real and by the time she gets back, he may have done things that will set her after him regardless.

With Desmera, I wanted to give her this one moment of not exactly weakness, but of doubt. But yes, she is to be a strong character. She's been the heir of her House for some time and has been handling the duties as such. Plus she's Olenna's granddaughter, Margaery's cousin, those are some big shoes to fill. Davos will be given a chance and Jace doesn't truly blame him, just the trust between them needs to be re-established. We'll be learning more of the Dragon egg the next chapter so you may get your dragon sooner rather than later. As for Drogon, we'll get a small tease of him, but I'm keeping his arc sort of a mystery for now. Glad you're liking Syrax and Jace needs both her and Ghost. Be well my friend, be happy, and don't forget to do something to make yourself smile each day.

Redalpha: Thanks so much for saying so.

Keb: So glad you felt that way. I wanted him to address it, to not just sweep it to one side and especially not to put all the blame on Dany. At the same time, she does need to be blamed, so I hope I got the balance right, which is why I went more into it here.

That's an interesting idea. I've not yet done a Jon raised in the Reach story and the Hightower are actually probably the real richest House in the lands. It could also be linked to Ser Gerold Hightower too, that he sent a letter to the Hightowers letting them know of Jon, so you get that link early. Very interesting, you've given me much to ponder on.

Tasting Darkness: Thanks so much for pointing that out. You've laid out things even better than I could. I spend quite a lot of time on research and prefer to use canon characters for that reason. It would be so easy to make up a random OC and have them fit the role you wish, but the world of ASOIAF is full of such wonderful and more often than not, underutilized characters. Desmera is a viable candidate for queen even during the Canon timeline. There are actually so very few when you truly look at it. Margaery, Sansa, and Arianne, pretty much being the top tier with Ysilla Royce, Desmera, Shireen, and Myrcella depending on who is being wed, following. Dany of course, and that's pretty much it.

I thank you for your post, and for expressing my words better than I did, it's very much appreciated.

Guest2: Personally for fics, I prefer to follow the book timeline as I know all the dates and don't have to do the math and change things for the couple of years that the show messed around with. However, since this is showverse and dealing with the events in the finale, I've gone with Show ages for the characters we saw in the show and book ages for any we didn't. So Jon is 25 while Desmera is 23. I do hate it when GRRM does that between things with the ages like just put a damn year already. Malora is probably more mid-forties, you're right. Maybe around Rhaegar's age, though I like to think that Baelor was Rhaegar's age since he was linked to Elia too. So possibly slightly younger. Either way, more of a motherly figure for Jon than a romantic one.

Biohazard: Your wish is my command.

Surpemus: It doesn't matter if Sam is more clever or not, he's not qualified. He's not earned the chains and Bran went over the Citadel's head. None before him ever did, and so that causes problems. That's not even taking into account that Sam was a man of the NW, had then joined the Citadel and so falls under their brief and had broken the oaths of both orders by sleeping with a woman and getting her with child.

As for Brienne. Again her skills are not called into question, it's her sex. If Westeros won't accept a Queen, why in the hell would it accept a woman Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. As for her beating Jon, give me a break. Unlike the books, the show made Jon the greatest swordsman that ever lived. Brienne would have no chance against him. So it's not me making him OP when it comes to swordplay, it's me following what the show showed us. Bronn is a sellsword, cutthroat, a man of low birth, and one who we have no idea if he's even educated or not. Given his birth, the chances are that he's not. He's not suitable to be named as Master of Coin, for pretty much all of those reasons. In fact, it's literally the worst job he could be given as Master of Laws or Ships requires more practical education while being able to manage figures would literally require some book learning.
As for Tyrion. We saw how well suited he was to being Hand of the Queen, everything he did he made a mess of. The competent Tyrion who served as Hand early on was long gone by the end of the thing.

But you say I give too much attention to perception, you, my friend give far too little. Literally, the entire society is about perception. It's clear from the very start of things with Jon's Bastardry, Dany being her father's daughter, etc., etc., etc. Westeros runs on perception, my friend. A Kinslaying Hand would never be accepted unless you forced it on people by might. Sam would never be accepted as Grandmaester because the Citadel wouldn't agree to it and the Maesters are blood everywhere whispering in the ears of their lords. Bronn would not be accepted as Lord of HG, Warden, and Master of Coin, because he has no right to any of those things. No claim to the seat he was given because of his birth and nature. Brienne would never be accepted as a female leader of a Martial Order, certainly not one as storied as the KG. Hell, she literally spends her entire storyline moaning about how she's not accepted. Jaime may have knighted her, but it was simply for show, as not even Renly knighted her when he named her to his Rainbow Guard and he thought himself a bloody king.

I get your wish to defend these things, but logically I'm sorry you're way off here. In the confines of the setting and story we've been told, the only person who could get the realm to accept all of this is Dany with her dragons, her Dothraki and her Unsullied and even then she'd find it hard. We go from Tyrion counseling her on what the Lords and Ladies of Westeros would accept, to him them allowing Bran to completely ignore all of that, just so the writer can tie things up in what they think is a nice neat bow. Let's be honest here for a moment. The end of the show was shit. How they resolved things makes no damn sense. Sansa as QITN and being given independence would not be accepted by Asha who was promised the same, nor by Dorne who are literally the only region with an untouched army. Bran would never be accepted as King, not only does he have no blood claim, but he can't produce an heir and not a single one of these appointments would go down well. You're trying to defend the indefensible here IMO.

This is not an anti-Stark thing, or not how you may think it is. Yes, Jon is going against the Starks, but that's because it's only logical that he'd either do that or simply fade into obscurity beyond the Wall. My argument with the Small Council's makeup is not truly because Bran is the king and made the choices, more he's serving as a substitute for the writer's terrible writing. He just happens to be the avatar for that.

Nero: Exactly.

Annoyed Guest: Not to mention that Elizabeth took over a crown that was well established. That she was the only true heir and she even faced serious pushback over the course of her life.

Your other points so closely mirror my own that I'll not say much about them other than I agree lol. Westeros runs on perception, we see this throughout literally every single season of the show. Through the eyes of pretty much every single main character too. It's brought up time and time again, how this won't be accepted, or how this may be perceived. In every single imaginable context. To say it wouldn't be or that I place too much emphasis on it, completely misses that it's literally in every facet of GRRM's writing. As you so rightly say, the peasants won't care much, but the nobility will, and you need both on your side to rule.

You make a great point about Sansa too, she is very much like Jane Seymour, and Marge is so much more like Anne Boleyn, I couldn't have come up with a better analogy, kudos.

Elisabeth was a remarkable woman, she's the exception rather than the rule. As you say, the two Marys show the difference starkly.

I do think that the Bloody Mary aspect is somewhat there with Sansa too, we see it in how she wants to punish Alys Karstark and Ned Umber and you could say with Ramsay as well. What I think with Sansa is that if her rule was threatened, she'd have no qualms about killing to protect it, even killing innocents.

Evil Hound: So glad to hear that.

Xan Merrick: Thanks my friend, glad you liked it.

Ares: Ich möchte, dass es einfach um Jon geht, aber die Wahrheit dieser Welt ist, dass Dany sehr gut wiederbelebt werden könnte, es ist kein Bruch der Überlieferungen. Es ist auch die Art von Dingen, die eine Fernsehsendung für Einschaltquoten tun würde.

Sibeal: We'll truly see him as ruthless once the battles begin.

Lucyerios: Für mich wäre es eine Farce, Ghost Schaden zuzufügen, und er und Syrax sind mehr als in der Lage, sich zu verteidigen. Ich möchte wirklich, dass das rüberkommt. Er verzeiht ihr vielleicht nicht, was sie getan hat, aber er weiß, dass nicht alles ihre Schuld war und sie seine Königin war und bleibt.

Orthangkg1: Really glad you liked it.