Beyond the Wall 306 AC.

The Not So Iron Fist.

The more he traveled through these lands the more Robett had come to hate them. Colder than the North itself and with no true place to shelter, he could see why the Wildlings had always sought to encroach into their territory. Something that would now be much easier to do given the state of the Night's Watch and the large hole in the Wall where Eastwatch by the Sea had once stood. While they'd crossed to the other side through the gate at Castle Black, they'd been told that most of the Wildlings would be to the east rather than ahead of them. So partly because he wished to see it for himself and for the respite from the cold winds that the Wall itself offered, they'd ridden alongside it until they could ride no further.

When he'd seen it, it had shocked him to his very core. He'd not believed the tales of it, partly because of who spun those tales and partly because there was no earthly way that the Wall could be breached in such a way. True enough he'd heard people speak of an undead dragon and once again, he'd not believed in something that he'd not seen with his own two eyes. Then upon looking at where the Wall no longer stood, he had been awed by what he'd seen. Awed and terrified at the same time and he was glad that he'd not been one of the poor unfortunate souls who'd been manning the Wall when this took place. Gladder still that he'd been back in Deepwood Motte and had missed the battles completely.

"By the Old Gods, I'd not believed such was possible, Lord Glover."

"Nor I, Artos, nor I."

He still shuddered at the thoughts of it now, days later. Though given he shivered most of the day and night, it may very well just be the cold itself that caused him such grief. They'd found not a single one of the Wildling clans. No settlement, not even scattered travelers and for all intents and purposes, they may as well be alone in this godforsaken place. What he'd thought was to be an easy way to make some extra coin had turned out to be very much not and more than once, Robett had considered turning back and calling it a day. His pride however would not allow him to do so without showing some benefit and so they continued further north than he'd ever been before.

They rode with the sea on one side of them. The hunting had been poor and at least they found fish and crab in the waters nearest them. Had they not, then they'd have had no other choice but to turn back as their supplies had dwindled down to almost nothing. Wood for the fires was harder to come by, as some fool had lost their axes and forced them to use their swords to cut and break the branches off the trees. So they gathered any fallen wood that they could and even dried out any wet wood by the fires so they could then use it later on.

Robett had lost track of how many days they'd spent riding north. He'd wager it was close to a moon or more since they'd passed through the gate at Castle Black and they'd been told that Hardhome was no further away than that. At times, he was sure they'd traveled in the wrong direction, but following the coast was certain to take them to the largest of the settlements, or so he'd been told. Still, as he took to his bed after a poor supper and with the cold still in his bones, he knew that were they not to reach it soon, then he'd have no other choice but to name this whole thing a failure.

"Goodnight milord." Artos said and Robett mumbled something back at him as he entered his tent.

No sooner had he drifted off to sleep than he heard the loud shouts and pained screams. Grabbing his sword and thanking the gods that the cold meant he slept fully clothed, Robett raced from his tent and found himself in a scene from the seven hells. Fires burned freely, horses whinnied and neighed while some raced off mayhap never to be seen again. Yet it was the bloodied features of some of his men which truly terrified him. So much so that the axe that came his way would have taken his head from his shoulders, was it not for Artos pushing him out of the way and gutting the Wilding who'd just tried to end him.

Dodging an arrow that barely missed him, Robett called out to his men and had them form up. They'd somehow been caught unawares, the Wildlings having come from who knows where. Their ambush would be costly and should they not fend them off quickly, then they may not make it to the morrow. Soon enough order was restored and those attacking them began to retreat. His first instinct was to give chase and yet he knew he could not. Not until he'd taken stock of just how much damage this attack had inflicted upon him and his men.

"Line the perimeter. Make sure they're gone," he shouted as some of his men ran off to carry out his orders.

"Milord, are you unharmed?" Artos asked and Robett nodded, relieved that he was.

"See to the men, the wounded and the dead," he said trying to sound commanding and he believed that it was only because of who he was, rather than how he sounded, that allowed that to be the case.

By the time morning arrived, the truth of the night's attack had been revealed to him. Twenty men he'd lost. Ten more would be lucky to make it back to Deepwood Motte and they'd lost a quarter of their horses. Tents had been burned, supplies carried off, and as he listened to the words being spoken, Robett felt his anger grow. He'd come here to take coin and valuables off the Wildling Scum, now he'd take their lives too.

"Mount up, we ride for Hardhome."

"Milord…"

"I said we ride," he shouted angrily.

They hit them again three days later, this time costing them even more and he knew then that he had no choice now but to turn back. Not only did he not have enough men, but he'd underestimated the mettle of those he'd come up against too. It was not a mistake he'd make again. Ships, his entire guard, he'd bring them all to bear and when he came back to these lands, he'd bleed them and bleed them good. Yet little did he know, as he swore these things to himself, that his troubles Beyond the Wall had only just begun.

One moon later.

Two and twenty men he'd brought back to the Wall. Of the more than a hundred he'd brought with him, half had been killed outright by the Wildling savages. Another five and twenty had died due to their injuries while three had deserted or been taken in the night. He'd lost all but five of his horses and was cold, starved, and badly in need of rest. They still had miles to travel before they gained any true respite. Yet crossing back onto the right side of the Wall was a boon to his and his men's spirits.

The first night they set up camp, he and others had sat and watched. All of them were fearful that even here they may still not find safety. Thankfully the night passed peacefully and over the next few days, they took comfort in the warmer weather and more plentiful supplies of food, as well as the wood for fires. By the week's end, they had left the Wall far behind them. He still felt the same anger he had the morning after their first attack. More than that, he still wished to deliver retribution to the Wildlings for daring to turn him into a craven who feared he'd not see his wife and children ever again.

It was not until a week later when he found himself back in his own keep and his own bed that he truly slept a good night's sleep and even that was one that was broken by the screeching of the bird at his window. The Gyrfalcon stared at him with what to Robett looked like judgemental eyes. Then before it flew away he swore he heard it call out a name. Climbing back into his bed, relieved that Sybelle slept still, Robett shook his head and put such thoughts out of his head. After all, he knew no man named Jacaerys and the Targaryens were all dead.

Tumbleton 306 AC.

The Sellsword Lord.

This was folly, a fool's errand. Not only had he no wish to wed, but what need did he have to bring an army to bear in order to do so? True enough, these Reach cunts liked him not, yet none were fool enough to go against him, not truly. The Broken King was out of his mind to think that his raven would go unanswered. There was no one left to stand against him or them. For the realm had accepted and sworn fealty to him already had they not.

As for Tyrion, he'd thought him to be smarter than he was now showing himself to be. Bronn had argued with him and told him that he'd not wed some prissy lady from the Arbor. There was no need to, he was Lord of his own keep and had gained it without needing to be wed in order to do so. The last thing he wanted or needed was a wife. Especially one that brought him little that he hadn't already taken for himself. Coin, position, and power, he had them all. He wasn't about to share them or to spend his days being gainsaid by any woman, let alone one he was wed to. So he'd told Tyrion so, only to then be told that any position he had could be taken from him just as easily as it had been given. To refuse an order from the king was an easy way to see that was what would happen.

"They don't support you. Most of them don't fucking like you and while I care not for your reputation, we need the Reach on our side."

"They're already on our fucking side. Cravens the lot of them, any who step out of line I'll see in the ground."

"And what if it's all of them?" Tyrion asked.

"Then I'll kill all of the fuckers and you can name new Lords. They'd be better than those useless cunts."

"Those useless cunts as you name them, are meeting in Oldtown as we speak. What pray tell do you think they're discussing? Marry the woman. Put a babe in her belly and fuck whoever you like once you do so, but marry her or find yourself without a keep or a position."

"Oh for fuck's sake, right, I'll wed the bitch. I'll set sail…"

"No, march. It's time they had a show of force. The King wants you to gather as many men as you can, let them see what they face should they even consider going against our will on this or on anything else."

Two thousand men he'd gathered. Cutthroats, former men of the City Watch, men seeking coin who'd fought for lords that breathed no more. They were not a proper army, but then he didn't need them to be. The Reach was full of piss poor soldiers and men who wouldn't know a true fight if it came to them. He'd seen it at Highgarden when they'd cut down the Tyrell guards. All of them had been green boys of summer who had shat themselves even before they'd lost their lives.

Bronn felt it was overkill and worse than that, an expense he could do without. Not that it would be one he'd be paying for when all was said and done. It was when he got to Tumbleton that he found that things had changed and not for the better. The raven had come from King's Landing, though its words were straight from Oldtown and they infuriated him. The sheer fucking nerve of them to name him how they did. To dare try to deny him what he'd worked so very hard for, while they'd just been born into it.

Leaving the town behind, he'd sent the call out for more and more men. The reckoning he now intended to bring to those named on the message from Tyrion, would be one that the Reach would long speak of. Hightower, Rowan, Ashford, Mullendore, Florent, Caswell, and Redwyne, all of them would pay and pay dearly. Even the bitch that Tyrion wished him to wed had signed her name to the accursed message and unnamed him as the Warden and Lord Paramount of the Reach. As for Ser Jon Fossoway, it would be a cold day in the seven hells before he ever took over the running of his keep.

So angered was he, that he fought down the voice inside him which bid him be wary. A voice he'd listened to much over the years and which had gotten him out of more trouble than he could count. There had been other times when he'd ignored that voice and only by the good grace of the gods had he come out the other side of whatever he'd found himself caught up in. After taking the gold from Highgarden and when he'd traveled to Dorne were prime examples of that. Yet, here once again, he ignored that voice and continued his march southwest.

"We'll camp here for the night," he said as he felt the light starting to dim.

"Where the fuck are we?" he heard someone say from behind him and Bronn paid them little mind.

Truth be told he wasn't exactly sure himself, other than they'd traveled on the Roseroad and had passed Bitterbridge. A part of him had wanted to sack the keep, but it would have been a fool's errand. There were much larger prizes than House Caswell's seat and the last thing he wished for was to get bogged down in a siege. Unless that siege was of Oldtown and the Hightower itself that was. They were mayhap more than a week or more from Highgarden, though he hoped it was less, and he looked forward to joining up with more men once he reached his own seat.

All in all, he now had close to 5,000. With less than a fifth of it a cavalry of any true sort. Highgarden's garrison would bring him another 1,500 men, a third of them mounted and he felt that would be enough to deal with the cunts he marched to. He'd not be merciful either and would take blood and coin from them before he was done. As he sat down to eat his meal, he did so with a smirk on his face that soon turned into a full smile, and then he was laughing truly. Even when he took to his bed, he did so wearing that self-same smile. Bronn was unable to keep from expressing the amusing thought as he undressed.

"The little fucker won't be the only one whose House has a fucking song." he chuckled.

At some point during the night, he woke up and was sure he was being watched. Yet when he looked around the tent, he was alone still. Unable to fall back to sleep, he dressed, armed himself, and went for a piss. Poor as his army was, they at least understood the basics of setting up a camp and he was relieved to see guards on watch and pickets set out. Moving past those awake and those not, he soon came to the tree and leaned against it. He was midstream when the feeling came to him once more, his head turning as he quickly finished and put his cock back into his britches. Once again, he was alone and he cursed himself for his paranoia.

"Who am I fucking worried about?" he asked no one as he walked back to camp.

In truth, there was no one for him to be worried about. He rated the Reach lords not. Even if he did, they'd not have been able to muster a force against him and have them close enough to do anything as of yet. Bronn even begrudgingly thanked Tyrion for making him gather men before he marched, for it gave him an edge that he intended to make the most of. No, it would be weeks until he faced any threat at all and it would not be a true one when it came.

It was with this thought in his head that he made his way back to his tent after stopping off to grab a bottle of wine from his personal supplies. He considered looking for one of the camp followers and wetting his cock before he fell back to sleep, only to remember that there wasn't a decent-looking wench amongst the lot of them. It'd be not until they got to Highgarden that he could scratch that particular itch and he smiled thinking of one or two of the serving girls he had in his service.

The screech of the bird as he entered his tent, almost had him reaching for his sword. He heard the sound of the wings as it flew and then sought it out with his eyes, soon finding it as it flew overhead. In the dark of the night, its wings looked as black as the raven he believed it to be and he shuddered a little. What powers the Broken King possessed, Bronn knew not, but they discomfited even him. Shaking the thoughts of being watched from as far as King's Landing from his mind, he entered his tent and was soon drinking the wine and then falling to slumber.

Had he just watched the flight of the raven for a little longer, then he'd have seen a wondrous and terrifying sight. The Gyrfalcon had flown fast and true from the tree where it had been looking over the camp and one tent in particular. Its talons at the ready and its beak open, the raven was no match for it when it crashed into it. With barely a squawk out of the black-winged bird, its end was upon it. As it plummeted to the ground, the Gyrfalcon flew back to the tree and resumed its watch.

Oldtown 306 AC.

The Truest Friend.

He'd not lie and say he didn't welcome the softness of the bed or the feel of the sheets as he lay his weary arse down upon them. Nor that the food was not only the best he'd ever known but more plentiful than he'd ever believed it could be. Tormund had thought that those in Winterfell had never known true hunger, but compared to them, those in Oldtown were wasteful. What was left after one of the big meals that they had would have fed his village for a week and yet never did they seem to have a shortage of fresh food to replace it with.

The drink, however, was piss poor. An ale that wouldn't get a man drunk no matter how much they drank of it and wine that made you piss it out before you even felt your senses dull. What he'd give for some Goat's Milk or even some of that Mare's Milk that the Dragonqueen's horsemen were so fond of. Still, he forbore it because his friend needed him by his side and Tormund would no longer let Jon Snow or Jace as he'd bid him name him, do what he must without him. After all, every single time he did so, the fucker ended up doing something stupid and he needed him there to slap him across the head should he try to do so again.

It was because of Jace, that the rest of those with him had been treated so well. They'd been armed with good weapons and even been offered armor too, which all of them had welcomed. His own set was a poor copy of Jace's but wrought in a bronze that almost matched his hair. While Val's was like the woman herself, a thing of beauty. True enough, he'd had to listen to his friend take the piss out of him when he'd seen him in it the first time, but he'd noticed too just how relieved he was to see him and the others protected so. Given what he had told them about the battles to come and then about the craven lord, it was clear that protecting the Free Folk was still something he cared about. No matter what his name was now.

"We should sail back. Our people need us, King Crow." Val said angrily.

"I've sent word, Val. Mother Mole will have received my message by now and know what to do and Glover is a piss poor commander and a craven to boot."

"If they come at us like the Stag King…"

"They'll not, Tormund." Jace said as he placed a hand on his shoulder "If I believed it even for a moment, I'd be here no longer."

"You'd not?" Val asked.

"They're my people too, Val."

That was it, four words were all it took to soothe his worries and calm his heart. He hadn't even needed to look into Jace's eyes to see that he spoke the truth. The tone of his words had been enough for him and when he'd then promised swift and unyielding vengeance would be wrought down upon the craven lord should he manage to make it back to the other side of the Wall, Tormund, Val and the rest of the Free Folk who'd followed King Crow south of the Wall had truly welcomed his words.

"I swear it, as truly as I have for the vengeance and justice I see. I swear that should he live still, then Glover will find his death at mine, yours, or Val's hands."

It had allowed him to put his mind to the battles to come. Thoughts of the Broken King, the Kinslaying Hand, and the Red Queen and the fury they'd unleashed upon themselves, were almost enough to make him forget about the lack of a decent drink. They would have been thoughts that filled his days more often than they did were it not for the Onion Knight and what he came to talk to him about. Though what he brought with him had helped greatly too, Tormund thought as he took another swallow of the amber liquid.

"Here, I thought you may like a decent drink," Davos said as he handed him the bottle, Tormund sitting on the wall that overlooked the sparring yard, empty of people though it was.

"What's this?" he asked curiously as he removed the cork.

"Black Tar Rum."

He swallowed it down and almost spat it out given its sweetness, only for the fire to come, and then he looked to the bottle and smiled.

"You can get more?" he asked worriedly.

"Aye, any ship has a decent stock of it."

Tormund offered the bottle back, but Davos shook his head and took a seat beside him. It was clear he had much on his mind and even if he hadn't known the man as well as he did, he'd know what most of it pertained to.

"You should speak to him," he said after he'd taken another swallow of the best drink he'd had since arriving in this city.

"I fear I know not what to say."

"The truth. He's still the same when it comes to that, Davos."

"Will he speak to me?" Davos asked worriedly.

"Aye. I think he's waiting for you to come to him. He's a fucking king now for true, he no longer comes to people." he japed. For while that may be true with the kneelers, Jace still came to him and Val as much as they went to him.

"I didn't know, Tormund. Fool that I was, I didn't know."

"He was not one for telling what was on his mind, Davos. He'll blame you not for that."

"No, just my other mistakes."

"Come, I'll bring you to him." he said jumping off the wall "I owe you for this at least." he laughed as he took another swallow of the rum "Besides, I now need to speak to him meself, he'll surely get me more, right?"

They found him on the balcony that was just off his room. Jace was standing there with Ghost beside him and both of them looked on as Syrax flew in the sky above them. Which of the three he found would grab his attention at times was a difficult question to answer. The eagle was larger than any he'd ever seen and could be as vicious as Ghost himself was sometimes. Yet both of them were placid and docile when with Jace. As for Jace, rarely was he at much at peace as he was when he was with his familiars.

"I wondered when you'd come," Jace said without turning.

"I wasn't sure I'd be welcomed," Davos said and though he wished to leave them to it, he knew he could not. So he stood silently and let the two men speak, willing to join in and offer his own take should it be requested.

"You were always welcome," Jace said as he finally turned from the eagle who now flew and landed on the wall beside him.

"I'm sorry, Jon," Davos said softly.

"Jon Snow, is dead, Davos. I meant those words when I spoke them. I am my mother's son, my father's heir, it's taken me some time to embrace the truth of who I am, and I'll no longer accept the lie.

"I…"

"Jace or Jacaerys, Davos. Your grace when we're with others, but Jace or Jacaerys when we're not."

Tormund looked to the two men, happy to see them speak, and then with a nod to Jace, he left them alone. Some things were not for him to hear or be privy to. Besides whatever had been broken between them, was now well on the way to being fixed.

The knock on the door took him from his thoughts, Tormund shook his head and looked to the empty bottle by his bed. Rising to his feet, he opened the door to find Val standing there.

"By the Old Gods, there's a sight I'd never imagined seeing."

"Fuck off, Tormund."

Closing the door behind him, he followed her down the corridor and to the Great Hall. There was to be a feast tonight, a true one. The banners had been called and they'd soon be marching off to war, tonight they'd be feted and while he was dressed as he always was, Val was very much not. She wore a white dress that he doubted any of these noble ladies would look better in. It showed some skin, a hint of the delights she no doubt had and even though he knew it would not gain her a king's favor, he'd wager someone else would try and steal her before the night was done.

"If Mance could see us now, HAR."

He caught the smirk, the smile on her face as they entered the Great Hall. It had taken some time for them to be able to jape about Mance, Dalla, and all those they'd lost. Some time before the memories of them weren't only sad ones. For there had been good times spent with them and more of them than there had been bad ones. Looking to the High Table he saw Jace had not yet arrived, though the woman who was kissed by fire had. She was a woman who wished to steal his friend, would he but let himself be stolen. Tormund then caught sight of the knight who followed after King Crow and how he looked at Val showed he may be the one who'd try to steal her. Smiling to himself when he saw Davos sitting at their table and the bottles that he had in front of him. The night would be fun and he'd be drunk before the end of it, and on the morrow, they'd march to war. What more could anyone wish for?

Winterfell 306 AC.

The Red Queen.

She was pleasantly surprised by the number and quality of the men that her cousin had sent to her. Especially the man in charge of them. Sansa had heard little of Harrold Hardyng while she was in the Vale. Though Littlefinger had mentioned him briefly to her during his time at Winterfell. He was her cousin's heir, a former ward of House Waynwood, and far more of an Arryn than Sweetrobin was in both looks and temperament. That he was attracted to her was noticeable too and where normally she felt repulsed by the interest of men, with him she did not.

Mayhap that was why she not only welcomed his flirting but took part in some of her own too. It felt fun to her and made her remember a little of the girl she had once been. True, she was and never would be that naïve silly girl ever again, but she'd be a liar if she said that there were not times that she missed her. She'd believed, however, that part of herself to be lost forever. After all the things that Ramsay had done to her, Sansa had resigned herself to it. Yet as she sat beside Harrold Hardyng. As he looked at her with those bright blue eyes of his and charmed her with his devastatingly handsome smile. Sansa almost allowed herself to get swept up in what she had feared to be long-gone emotions.

Never was this more true than when he asked and she accepted the offer to dance. Around her, she could see surprised looks and knew that there would be gossip spoken, and yet she cared not. So long had it been since she'd actually danced with someone, that she feared she'd forget all her lessons. She did not, and Harrold proved that he too had taken many lessons which only endeared him a little more to her. Sansa welcomed his touch, being held in his strong arms, and had to actually stop herself from moving even closer to him.

"I thank you, Ser, you dance very well," she said, once the dance was over and again she was treated to that incredible smile.

"I'm only as good as the Queen who graced me with the dance," Harrold said and Sansa offered him her own smile in return for his words, the dance, or simply for making her feel something she'd not felt in so very long.

They took their seats, spent the rest of the night speaking on subjects that mattered little, and yet never once did the conversation falter. By the time the night had come to an end, Sansa couldn't truly recollect one that she had enjoyed more nor one that had flown by so quickly. When Harrold offered to escort her back to her room, she had wanted to say yes, but she knew she could not. Not only would it raise the gossip to mayhap a scandalous level, but she feared that in her current mood that she may do something inappropriate. For there was a part of her that very much wished to.

Instead, they parted in the Great Hall and she allowed him to kiss her hand. She set her spies to watch him for the rest of the night, keen to know if the interest he'd shown in her was genuine or a mummery of sorts, and then made her way back to her room alone. As she was helped out of her dress and put on her slip, she caught sight of the marks and scars that Ramsay had inflicted upon her. Sansa was long passed crying over them or even noticing them truly and yet tonight she almost did the former and certainly the latter.

Would he be repulsed by them?

Think her ugly because of them?

Would it be enough to dissuade his interest?

Could any man wish to lay with someone who bore such marks?

The thoughts that ran through her head were strange and off-putting. Even at her darkest when it came to the marks she bore, never did she consider what anyone else would think of them. She cared not for what some man would see when he saw them. For no man would ever see them, or so she'd told herself. They bothered her and her alone, angered her, disgusted her, and repulsed her, that was all she ever felt when she looked upon them. Now, tonight, here alone in her room, she found herself wondering how a man may see them and it confused her greatly.

"You're being a silly girl, Sansa. You swore you'd never be one again." she chided herself as she climbed into her bed.

Her dreams started off pleasant enough. Dreams of dancing, feasting, or going hawking and on rides on the warmest of days. She dreamt of wearing her finest dresses and of picking out men's clothing that she found pleasing to look at. Britches that would be tight in all the right places and even how they looked when the man she'd picked them for, then put them on. There were kisses that were soft and sweet, chaste and polite, and ones that very much nothing of the sort. Touches that strayed into areas that sent a flutter to her stomach and a longing for more of them.

At some point, the dreams changed and were replaced with the nightmares that she would occasionally still have. Dresses were torn from her body and touches that caused naught but pain. Private and public humiliations and promises of more to come. Just as she was about to wake from them, to rise from her bed and do as she had done so many times before, the strangest thing happened. Blue eyes and blond hair, a soft caress, the feel of lips on hers that she welcomed greatly, and the promise of the words she heard whispered in her ear.

"I will protect you, always."

When she woke the next morning it was this part of her dreams that she concentrated on. Though the thoughts or other things vexed her too. She had told Jon Snow once that no one could protect her and she had meant it with all she was. It had been why she'd needed to take the power for herself, no matter the cost. Why she'd felt nothing when she'd gone against him both subtly and overtly. That simple piece of knowledge was why she'd held her tongue in the Dragonpit and not spilled his secret to even more people. Or so she had told herself. For in truth it wasn't only that reason that had led her to walk the path she felt she must. Sansa had wished for what she was owed too and she was owed a crown.

Shaking the thoughts of her cousin from her head, she concentrated on the ones regarding Harrold Hardyng. He couldn't protect her, at least not in the way his whispered words in her dream may suggest, but he could in other ways. So it would be them she'd focus on. Calling for her servants, she had them braid her hair and help her dress. Then with Jeyne and her guards, she made her way to the Great Hall to break her fast.

She listened as Jeyne told her that Harrold Hardyng had behaved like a true knight and had gone to his bed alone and didn't notice how she smiled upon hearing those words. Had he taken someone to his bed, it would both have annoyed her and ended any interest she may have him in, in one regard at least. Taking her seat, she looked out and found that there was no sign of him amongst those breaking their fast and this annoyed her somewhat. As discreetly as she could, Sansa asked if he was still abed and found to her delight that he was not.

"I believe Ser Harrold and some of his men have taken to the sparring yard, your grace." Beth Cassel said.

"Very well."

Torn between breaking her fast and going to watch Harrold spar, she sat and pondered the merits of each before going with the latter. The thought of breaking her fast with him for company was what truly won out. Though she wished to see if he was accomplished too, or so she told herself. Rising to her feet, she put her need for food on hold and soon found herself standing where her father would as he'd watch her brother, Theon, Jon, and others being put through the paces by Ser Rodrik. Below her, Harrold faced off against two men and was not only accomplished but lithe and graceful too.

He performed for her, she noticed it when it became more than a simple spar. How his moments became more elaborate and his eyes sought her own more and more. Sansa enjoyed it immensely. This was the life she was supposed to have, the life that had been denied to her. Good and true knights seeking her approval. Handsome men wishing to find her favor. Images of her tying a ribbon to his arm and watching as Harrold rode in a tilt came to mind. At one point she was so lost in them that she could almost smell the flowers of the garland he gave her when he crowned her Queen of Love and Beauty.

"Well done, Ser Harrold," she called out, as he beat his two opponents, shocking herself with how enthusiastically she did so.

"I thank you, your grace," he called back to her, that smile she was growing ever more fond of, now appearing on his face once more.

"Mayhap you'll join me as I break my fast. Unless you've broken your own already?" she called down to him, caring not how forward it was or how it may look to those around her.

"Even had I already done so, I would welcome the offer, your grace. As I have not, I would be delighted to."

Walking back into the Great Hall, she tried her best to compose herself. She quietened down the voice that told her the truth about why Harrold was here. Her cousin's mixed words and not-so-subtle moves in the game were well known to her. He wished her for a bride, intended to propose a union between the North and the Vale, and yet, as she walked, it was a union of a different sort she was considering. After all, she may not wish to be wed, but were she to need to, then far better it was with someone she may actually welcome in her bed, was it not?

Oldtown 306 AC.

The Azure Lady.

The king's words still resounded in her head days after he'd spoken them. Jacaerys had found her at one of her lowest ebbs. He had offered her comfort when she'd feared there was none to be had. When he'd told her that he would, in essence, fight for her, she'd not known how to take it. Had he not said it how he did, she'd have thought it to be simply an offer of political expediency. She knew that he needed the Arbor on his side, both for its men and its ships. Were she to actually accept the Broken King's demand then it would strengthen his side against Jacaerys' own. Yet, the more she thought on it, the more she had come to believe that Jacaerys had made the offer not for those reasons at all. He'd simply done so because it was the right thing to do.

Desmera shouted down the voice in her head that said it was more even than that. The voice which said that he may not have made the same offer to another lady. Instead, she allowed herself to consider what she knew of Jacaerys Targaryen and came to the conclusion that it was because of his mother that he'd been so keen to not see her wed against her will. Not because he may have looked at her in any romantic way whatsoever. For the mere thoughts of such had brought more than one true smile to her face since last they spoke. That it was days since that had been, had only brought frowns.

She'd seen him more than once, but not alone and not on his balcony, no matter how many times she'd found herself almost waiting for him on her own. He was busy, early to rise and late to go to bed. Sparring in the morning, meetings during the day, he broke his fast rarely in the great hall and only ate there when they had their main meals. Ghost, Syrax, from time to time she'd catch a glimpse of one or the other and she was not idle herself. Desmera found that she more than wished that their paths would cross and they'd speak some more, and yet for whatever reason, it had not happened since that night.

"And this is the last chance of it doing so," she said softly, glad to be alone when she realized she'd spoken aloud.

Looking at herself in the looking glass, she'd never looked prettier. Her hair was loose and lay against one shoulder, leaving the other shoulder bare. She wore a blue dress that was tinged with accents the colors of the grapes that made up the Arbor's best wines. Adorned in simple jewelry and made up lightly, never had se looked as good as she believed she did right then. As she waited for her escort to take her to the feast, she hoped for a chance to speak to King Jacaerys at some point in the night. Little knowing just how much fortune or the gods were about to shine on her.

Ser Garth Hightower was to be her escort and when the knock came on her door, she rose to greet him. The knight had shown no interest in her whatsoever and she would wager it was his sister who'd been the architect of him asking to accompany her tonight. They walked almost in silence, her attempts at small talk falling flat which only showed that he truly was as uninterested in her as she believed him to be. Were there even an inkling of desire on his part, then he'd have at least made the effort to feign some keenness to be by her side. Which he very much did not.

"My father wished you to sit the High Table tonight, my lady. Alas, only so many can be seated there, so this is where we must part." Garth said as they walked through the Great Hall and to the high table.

"I thank you for your gallantry, Ser Garth," she said, offering him a practiced smile, which he accepted and then quickly left her alone to take her seat.

Desmera looked around the room, seeing where each Lord or Lady was seated. She quickly noticed who was missing and to her dismay that she'd been collected from her room earlier than most. Thankfully she had not long to wait as Lord Mathis Rowan, Ser Jon Fossoway, and his good lady wife, along with others quickly filled out the high table. It was only when she was asked to move her seat by one of the servants that she began to think that there was something else at work here tonight. The seat she was then placed in was next to what could only be the king's or Lord Leyton's own seat.

Before she had a moment to collect herself, however, Lord Leyton, Ser Baelor and his wife, and finally the King and Lady Malora all arrived to much fanfare and she and others rose to their feet. For once the king was unarmed, the only time she'd seen him not bearing one or both of his swords. Ghost too was noticeable in his absence. Jacaerys actually looked as uncomfortable as she'd ever seen him and she caught the look he sent in the direction of the table where the Free Folk sat. As she did the wink he was given by the redheaded Tormund Giantsbane. Then almost in the blink of an eye, the seat beside her was being moved and Desmera found herself sitting beside Jacaerys as he sat down.

"Lady Desmera," he said offering her a small bow of his head.

"Your grace," she said as she curtsied before taking her own seat once more.

The first course was soon served and she almost chuckled when the king sent it to the Free Folk. Politics and propriety may have demanded that it be sent to the highest of the lords or those most in the king's favor, and if so then Jacaerys had just left them all in no doubt who he truly held in such.

"It amuses you that I chose them over another, my lady?" Jacaerys asked, a half smirk on his face.

"No, your grace. Nor does it surprise me."

"None have been truer to me, Lady Desmera. None do I owe more than Tormund Giantsbane."

"For why your grace?" she asked curiously.

"I could spend the night speaking of such and I'd not cover even the half of it. Anywhere I've gone since I first met the man he's been there with me. Hardhome, the Battle of the Bastards, even Beyond the Wall on a fool's errand. Anything I've asked of him, even things I've not…." Jacaerys paused "All without question or complaint. Had I brought him with me when we marched south, I'd have been the better for it, but I thought the better of it and allowed him and Ghost to travel north while I went in the opposite direction." he sighed.

"Do you really think it would have changed things, your grace?"

"Mayhap not." Jacaerys shook his head, "But I'd have felt the better for it and some of the questions and doubts that I still have would not run through my head. My father had Ser Arthur Dayne, Lady Desmera. It was he who he shared his innermost thoughts with and he who he trusted more than any other. Tormund is no knight and no Sword of the Morning." Desmera chuckled as did Jacaerys himself "But he's just as true as he and no man had a truer friend than I."

Lord Leyton chose that moment to ask the king something and Desmera found herself looking to the table where Tormund sat laughing with the rest of the Free Folk. Wildling, savage, uncouth and unclean, she'd heard some of the words spoken about the man and those with him since they'd arrived. None were spoken too loudly and certainly not where the man himself or the king beside her could hear, but she'd name those who spoke those words as fools now. If the king believed Tormund to be of the stature of Arthur Dayne, then she'd name them fools indeed.

As the night went on and the courses kept coming, Desmera spoke thrice as much to the king as anyone else did. Jacaerys spoke to Lord Leyton, to Ser Baelor and Lord Mathis, to Lady Malora and Lady Janna. Yet each time he finished doing so, he would then turn to her and they would speak some more. They spoke of important things, of unimportant things, memories of childhood, and tales of growing up, him in Winterfell and she in the Arbor. At one point they spoke about the losses that each had suffered and she was stunned when he handed her the handkerchief to wipe her eyes and the look he gave her when he did so. Though it was when he asked her to dance that caused the biggest shock to her of the night and seemed to start whispers around the Great Hall.

"My lady, would you honor me with a dance."

"I…your grace…I'd be honored to," she said stumbling over her words.

He took her hand and led her to the open floor, they were the first to do so as if it seemed people were waiting to see if the king would dance or not. She found herself wondering if he knew how to dance, other than on sparring or on the battlefield. Finding quickly to her delight that he was most adept here as he was there.

"You dance well, your grace," she said and heard him chuckle.

"Lady Malora has been giving me lessons."

"She has?"

"Aye. Given my station or perceived station, it was not the done thing for a bastard to learn how to dance, for who would wish to dance with one." Jacaerys began, not bitterly to her surprise "Lady Malora was aware of this and said among the many things a king must be able to do, dancing is but one of them."

"And so she gave you lessons?" she asked.

"After she suggested it, aye."

"And what other lessons did she give you, your grace?" she asked and then gasped at how that had sounded "Forgive me I…" the sound of his laugh was a pleasant one and soon enough she was laughing with him and so it took him some time to answer.

"Singing," he said softly, his voice little more than a whisper as if he feared someone may overhear.

"For true?"

"Aye, apparently I have some talent for it," he said with a shrug of his shoulders.

"And will you grace us all with a song tonight?" she asked eagerly.

"Not tonight, no. In the future, mayhap."

"I'll hold you to that your grace."

"Jace."

"Jace," she said softly.

She was the only one he danced with. Two more times and they spoke even more as they did so. It seemed that he preferred to speak to people one on one, or mayhap it was just her that he enjoyed doing so with. When the night came to an end, he thanked her for the dance and the company and though it was Ser Garth who escorted her back to her room, she was able to pretend it was not. As she was readying for her bed, she heard his voice come from the balcony outside and so quickly dressing, she hurried out to join him. The smile he gave her when he saw her, showed he was happy with her company and it was morning when they parted.

They'd not shared an intimate moment, or what to most would be an intimate moment and yet she'd been far more intimate with the king than she had with any other man ever. She'd enjoyed spending time with him and believed he had enjoyed it just as much as she. Laying in her bed, it was with thoughts of Jacaerys Targaryen that she eventually fell to sleep and it was with thoughts of him that she awoke to.

Oldtown 306 AC.

The White Dragon.

His days were as busy as ever and his nights, tiring. He went over the plans in his head, discarded some, adapted others, and would fall into his bed exhausted. The armorer had done an excellent job and the difference between wearing a suit that fitted compared to one that did not was incredible. Jacaerys had gotten more adept at wielding Dark Sister and had even begun to believe that he could or would be able to dual-wield one day. though that day was probably far off in the future. Longclaw was still his sword by choice, the one he'd wield against a true enemy, but he'd now beat most men with Dark Sister in his hand. So it was that sword that he now used most often.

The bonds he had with Syrax and Ghost were as fully formed as they would ever be. Time Beyond the Wall, traveling to Oldtown and here in the Hightower itself had all seen to that. He'd soon begin to seek out more and more familiars, maybe more than even Varamyr Sixskins had and he'd had more than one laugh at the idea of riding a Snow Bear into battle. Though he was happy enough to settle for the horse that had been gifted to him by Lord Leyton. Amongst the many things, that he'd been thankful to the man for.

He'd found Leal men amongst the Lords of the Reach. Lord Leyton had spoken to him of his uncle and the man who'd been Lord Commander of his grandfather's Kingsguard. The words he'd said about Ser Gerold along with Jacaerys' own gratitude to the man had bonded them together a little. So had his naming of him as Warden and Lord Paramount of the Reach, before the man had even asked for it. Something which had surprised those around him as much as naming Ser Jon Fossoway and his wife as Lord and Lady of Highgarden had.

"Your grace, I had not…"

"There is no better choice, Lord Hightower. No one who even comes close and in your son, Ser Baelor, I can see that even in the future I'll have no truer man to call upon."

"I thank you, your grace, truly I do. I know not whether you'll believe me or not, but it was not why I chose to seek you out, though I'll not lie and say I'm not happy to be asked to serve."

Jacaerys knew politics, he may not have liked the game, or even played it much, but he knew it. The North may claim to be different from the South, but they too played the Game of Thrones as much as anyone did. Given who he was going up against, it was a game he would be playing more and more and so he'd started making his first real moves in it. They'd not be the last he'd make before he took his rightful seat on the Iron Throne, or what remained of it.

The largest of them was one he'd both considered and had not. He'd no desire to be wed, nor to be close to a woman again. As Edd would say were he here, "You've shit luck with women, Jon Snow, mayhap you belong in the Watch where there are none", though he'd say it better and he'd welcome hearing the words and seeing the man who spoke them even more so. But he both understood the politics of it and more than that, the needs of his House overrode the needs of his heart. He could not be the last Targaryen, he would not be the last Targaryen. So he'd listened to Lady Malora and had not ignored her advice.

"Dancing, what need have I of such?"

"A king needs more than just his wits or his blade, Jace. You're no fool and you know this well, and that's not all you need. You need to find your voice too."

"My voice?"

"It's time to sing your song and I don't mean the song of ice and fire, but an actual song. Your father was a bard, I've no doubt you'll be one too."

He'd laughed, full and truly. Yet the woman had persisted and he'd found that not only could he sing, but he had some talent for it. Not that he had much intent to actually use it. Still, it made him feel closer to his father than he had thus far and so he welcomed it for that alone. As for the dancing, well that he had already put to use.

He felt comfortable around Lady Desmera, had thought it no more than that and though she didn't still his heart how Daenerys had or even how Ygritte once did, he'd not lie and say that there was no attraction there. She had a resolve within her that would stand her well and yet she was much different from the women he'd known. Closer to Sansa than mayhap he may have liked, both in her courtesies and somewhat in her looks too. Yet politically, practically, and even simply for his own sense of comfort when with her, he doubted there was a better choice to name as his queen.

Yet, he held back for some reason. Had not asked the question or made the request. Why that was, he wasn't sure. For it was not as if he wasn't afraid to ask difficult things and seek people to do as he wished them to. As his talk with Davos had shown when Tormund had brought him to speak to him.

"Why didn't you tell me, Jace?"

"I hadn't even begun to deal with it myself, Davos. I barely could speak the words aloud. To Dany, to my sisters. I feared losing who I was and yet, I needed to."

"Had I but known…"

"Wishing it won't make it so. It is what it is and neither of us has the power to change the past. We do however have the power to forge the future." Jace said as he moved to Davos and placed his hand on his shoulder "I wish to name you Hand of the King, Davos. Yet for now, I…"

"I understand," Davos said sadly.

"No, you don't."

"Jace?"

"It's not that I hold some grudge against you, nor that I feel you need to prove something to me. I blame you not for mine own mistakes, nor for King's Landing."

"I should have seen you freed, Jo…Jace. I should have spoken for you more at that accursed meeting."

"Aye, you should. Yet my so-called sisters did not, my so-called brother did not. They let a Kinslaying Hand free and sentenced me to the fucking Wall, and it pains me still. But your name is not on my list, Davos. Never did I wish it so."

"Jace…What is it you wish of me."

"I'd name you Hand now, but for what I must ask of you. For I'd not have any use it against you or put you in more danger than I must."

"Danger?" Davos asked confused.

"From those who are my enemies, known or unknown. I've lost too many people I care about and have been left with far too many I do not. A war is about to start, Davos, one that could well envelop all of Westeros or only parts of it. I'd seek it to be the latter, though it's not in my power alone to see it so."

"Ask it of me, Jace. Bid me do whatever I can to help."

"Gendry. I seek him to accept my rightful claim and to name me king. To stand the Stormlands down or to march with them by my side. I've no wish to march against him, yet if he forces me to do so then I'll do so and he'll find no quarter offered." he said seeing Davos' slight shudder.

"You seek an alliance," Davos asked.

"Aye, though I fear it not one I can forge."

"But I may." Davos said and Jace nodded "I'll travel on the morrow, speak to him myself and do all I can to convince him, Jace."

"As a friend, Davos, not as my Hand."

"Aye, as a friend, your grace."

He'd done as he'd requested and the Black Betha had already set sail. Within the week he'd be at Storm's End and though Jace felt it to be a wasted effort, it was one he was willing to make. He didn't blame Davos, hate him for his inaction during his imprisonment, or for not speaking up more for him during the sham of a trial that he wasn't even allowed to attend. How could he, when there were five people at that trial who knew the truth of him and yet spoke it not. Four of who had benefited greatly from not doing so and a fifth who was as lost to him as she had been since leaving Winterfell all those years ago.

Upon Davos' return, he'd name him Hand and damn anyone who named him a fool for doing so. They may never be as close as they once were, or mayhap in time they would be again, but he could trust few men more. Davos, Tormund, in time mayhap Ser Humfrey, and others that he'd find along the way. Or he'd die in the doing of what needed to be done and he'd need not worry about placing faith in faithless men or the wrong ones ever again.

Moving to where he kept his dragon's egg, he picked it up and welcomed the feel of it. It was something he'd been doing more and more since arriving here. With a nod to Ghost who quickly rose to follow him, he walked from the room with the egg in hand and made his way to the rooms at the top of the tower. Ser Humfrey was joined by Sigorn, the young Thenn having proved himself the best warrior of those amongst the Free Folk. Neither man wore a white cloak and yet both would before they marched south to face the army that moved their way. His first two Kingsguard, even if the order would be much different than it had ever been before. No vow of chastity would be sworn anymore, no forgoing wives or children. Jace had seen the folly of oaths such as those while serving in the Night's Watch, he'd broken his own, and he'd not see men worry about breaking theirs too.

"I may be some time, one of you should get some rest," he said to the two men when he reached the rooms.

He'd leave it to the two men to decide, though he'd wager it would be Sigorn and not Ser Humfrey who'd be gone when he next left the room. Malora awaited him inside and he walked to where she sat, placing the dragon egg on the table once he did so. He felt its loss almost immediately and his hand reached down to stroke Ghost's fur just as Syrax and a Gyrfalcon both flew in through the open window.

"How have you been girl," he said softly to the eagle as he moved to her, her beak was unblooded which showed that she'd found no sign of ravens on her flight.

"Lord Glover is soon t be dealt with, Jace."

"You've seen it?"

"He'll live, chastened, but he'll live."

"Good, he deserves a more painful death than even Mother Mole's people would give him. What of Lord Bronn?"

"He marches with a rag-tag army and men who are poorly organized by his side."

"Some would say the same about the Free Folk. I'll send Syrax ahead when we march ourselves."

"I'd bid you wait a day or two more before you do," Malora said and when he looked at her curiously, she then added "A visitor from the North, Jace. One who bears good tidings."

"Very well. I wish this to be copied a hundred times and sent out once I've signed them," he said, taking out the parchment from his shirt.

"You're not remaining hidden?"

"Let the Realm know of me. We'll see who rallies and who scurries, who comes to my side or clings to the Broken King. I want all my enemies to show themselves." he said to a nod from the woman as he handed her the parchment.

Taking his seat across from her, he looked to the egg and then to her, Malora smiling when he did so.

"Long have I searched and finally I've found what I sought. Your aunt brought dragons back into the world with blood magic and yet you'll not need to do the same."

"I won't?"

"This is your own egg, Jace. It was always meant to be yours. Had it been placed in your crib, then it would have hatched by now. As it is, its time is almost here."

"What do I need to do?" he asked, looking at the egg and not her.

"Fire and Blood. Keep it in the fires during the day and in your bed at night. When your Nameday arrives, it'll hatch. As soon as it does, feed it some of your blood. Fresh, Jace. From an open wound, and let it drink its fill."

"My Nameday, you're sure?"

"I'm certain."

He looked to the egg once more, his smile coming to him unbidden. Ghost moved to him and he heard Syrax call out. Soon they'd have another who was as bonded to him as they were.

"You'll join us on the march, Malora."

"I will," she said, as they sent for food and then ate together.

It was dark when he rose to his feet. Syrax had flown to his balcony and would await him there and Ghost wished only for his place in his bed. Picking up his dragon's egg, he felt it almost call to him. A moon, in less than a moon the egg would be hatched. While it would be too small to help him in the wars to come, he found himself eager to meet it as much as he was to bring justice and vengeance to those who deserved it. The banners had been called, his plans were set and he was as ready as he'd ever be. Time was no longer to be his curse, instead, it was to be theirs. For their time was soon to come to an end and his had only just begun.

A/N: Thanks to all who've read and reviewed. Up Next: Jacaerys find the Iron Bank to be intriguing allies while around the realm Lords, Ladies, and Houses great and small receive word of the new claimant to the Iron Throne. In the North, two Lords bristle while Sansa rushes headlong into making an alliance. While in the South, Davos meets with Gendry and Bronn finds himself caught between a king who won't yield and an army larger than his own as Highgarden sees the first battle of a new conquest.

For those following my other fics, The Dark Prince is up next.

I've also joined with my good friend SPH to collaborate on a Dance of Dragons, Jon Snow fic, separate from the Dragonverse. It's called When the Dragonwolf Danced and the second and first full chapter of it will be up this week too.

Missed Reviews:

Modir: So glad you're enjoying it. I think it's a sign we're all sane because for me anyone who actually liked Season 8 has to be mad lol.

Ares: Jon will find it very hard to fall in love again, he won't be cold though.

Tasting Darkness: I've written so many fics now dealing with various different setups and different starting timelines that I've sort of examined them all when it comes to pairings. You're limited both in who you're seeking to match, so Joffrey for example rules out a few right away as does Jon, and then by just who is available.

Shireen is a really interesting match in some ways, but literally only long after Stannis won the IT, which never happens of course. Sansa just doesn't work for Jon, not only is it to me more incestuous than Dany ever is, he actually grew up thinking her a sister, but she offers no political benefit unless you set it up a certain way. Marge works best of all for Jon going south and claiming his crown, and even later on, should she still be alive. While Dany works best if Jon goes east early or if we wait until she arrives in canon. Arianne can work, but she's hard to get right too.

It's almost a goldilocks problem, where most have some issue or other and some have more than one.

Other than that, you're almost in OC territory. And I really hate making an OC that important to the story.

In Last Wolf yes, I sort of had Olenna look at things how she would with the info she has, but once that info changes, then it would always be Margaery she'd push forward. I mean let's face it if Margaery and Olenna were alive here, then there is no other match that works.

So I'm sort of the one pushing the Jon/Margaery ship more than anyone because it just removes so many of the problems the others bring up, and I find that there are loads of different scenarios that work with it. For example in Last Wolf or in some future fics that I'm plotting out. A Jon/Marge vs. Robb/Dany fic and one where after he leaves the Wall, Marge is saved from the Wildfire and Sansa reaches out to bring her and Jon together. Forms an alliance to take back the North and then go for the Iron Throne.

Chapter 4 reviews.

Pankajsureka: There have been yes, but few cover it in this way I think. Hopefully, it'll reach great once we get into the action aspects which are upcoming. Regardless, this is my take on what a possible Jon Snow show could be, and since I know this isn't getting made, it's much needed IMO.

Biohazard: Thanks so much.

Daryldiixon: So very glad you enjoyed it.

Jonathorrhen: That was and is a bit thing for me here, to show a lot of characters we don't get to see much, you'll see more of Ser Jon and Ser Humfrey next and as we go forward.

Tsroughs: That's why I try to stray far from canon as I can. We've almost seen the same fic over and over. Here at least the setting allows for it to be somewhat different. While the chants may be somewhat cringe-inducing, they are logical and should be expected. Hell, we take no issue with The King in the North, chanting, being shouted loudly by Northerners or in hearing Winter is Coming. So when a king is announcing himself in front of people who are only now showing their support, for them to chant My King or Fire and Blood or even to do so after a victory, that's to me almost expected.

KEB: Thanks for that, for a mistake, though it's almost one that works, Sansa is a Broken Queen too, but it's still an error and not the context I was going for, so thanks for pointing it out. I'm considering how best to get it done, as there is the age difference, though I've seen Jon and Cersei fics and that gap is just as large.

Celexys: I do love the plotting aspect, especially if they are somewhat delusional or being countered as it's fun to show how the lack of knowledge on certain actions makes a plotter's thoughts just seem delusional. So I'm glad you've enjoyed that aspect too.

Dunk: I think that given we've eight seasons of almost setup, it doesn't require as much as a different fic might. So it was more for introducing the players really. In saying that, even though the action starts next chapter, it won't go all action to, there will be pauses. Jace is not simply marching to KL and ending this war once and for all, he's building an alliance that can't be stopped, so that takes work. He's only marching now because Bronn is for example. So I hope I get the balance right. The first battle will basically be HG yes. It would have been the most strategic move to make, to cut Bronn off from it and see it secured, and now it just is even more pressing.

Ah, we'll see if you're right about the IB support, though I have said that I do intend to use a lot of characters that we didn't get to see in the show, so let's wait and see. Glad you're liking Malora and yes she sort of is putting forward the idea, Jace himself understands it as you see here. The only reason he didn't come out and make the suggestion yet is because of Bronn, once he's dealt with then he will. Because the reasons you point out are extremely important and for Jace not to recognize that his line is basically him, would be dumb as fuck. You'll see some reactions to Jace announcing himself and the Reach test is coming up next sort of.

Frenchwhitefox: So glad to hear that, it's up next.
Xan Merrick: Thanks so much my friend, so glad you're liking it.

Orthankg: So happy you enjoyed it.

Irish Hermit: You and me both buddy. Exactly, Gemma was one of his only supporters but not only did Tyrion kill his father, but he was also convicted of killing Joffrey, even though he didn't do it. There is also the Tyrion/Cersei scene from season 7 which sort of covers some interesting points. His actions in killing Tywin are the catalyst for what comes next. Would Dorne have dared kill Myrcella with Tywin alive, would their enemies really come at them, knowing he was there to deal with. Now the answer is probably yes, but there is a case to be made that Tyrion made them vulnerable when he killed Tywin and so Gemma may not be that welcoming of him. Even apart from all of that, he's an acknowledged Kinslayer, without the might of Dany to back him up, no one would support him.

I think the first instinct is always to threaten, even Cersei did so. It's the actions of a fool and as Tycho put it, go ahead kill me, it'll matter not. I would imagine the IB have deals with so many different people, hell they could simply shut off trade to Essos and that would almost bring down the IT, but yes, a FM more than likely would be their port of call. I do so hate later seasons Sansa. In the books, we see her learning the game, that Sansa would be smart and has earned or is earning her knowledge. The show version had her basically be dumb but get away with it because they made everyone around her even dumber than she. They gave her knowledge she could never have learned and never did she face any pushback for her mistakes. This one here is there Sansa without the Plot Armor.

Scarilla: Jon took an idiot pill somewhere along the way in the show. He was smart and capable right up to when he very much wasn't. We see him being political just once really, in what he does with Ned Umber and Alys Karstark (Who I literally only found out this week that they killed off screen, the bloody morons, they had her fight and die with Theon, meanwhile Sansa hides in the blood Crypts, of all the…Never mind) but Bookjon is very political, we see it in his dealing with the IB, with Stannis, and with the Free folk. Here, he's had time to think, Bloodraven's intervention has opened up his eyes, and knowing who he's up against, he knows he has to play the game. Given that let's face it, Sansa/Tyrion were actually terrible players of it at the end of the show and only won because the writers made Dany/Jon even worse, he's more than ready for them here.

The surgery went really well and my eyesight is even better than it was. Thanks for your kind words. Being Irish I have my own issues with the British Monarchy but I never really had any with QE2 so her passing meant little to me.

Annoyed Guest: Exactly we have the historical context to show us and you pretty much cover it here far better than I ever could. Dany would have faced issues, but Dragons sort of changed the game in that regard too. Yet still, she knew what Jon being a Targ did to her claim and she was completely right about that. Though the simple marriage alliance would have ended that and had the writers not just ignored the fact that they pretty much set the stage for it with her breaking up with Daario and then never revisiting it again, not even when you know, King comes a calling.

Sorry mini rant over lol.

For me Sansa never grows, she starts off as a spoiled girl who wants a throne and ends up the same spoiled girl. The difference is she gets the throne. I think the biggest issue though is that the progression from Jane Seymour to Bloody Mary is an interesting one if handled correctly. It's a great journey to show, but you have to acknowledge the character is on that journey. The writers tried to pretty much have Dany do that journey, only forced it in while not realizing they had Sansa make it and so kept trying to tell us the viewers that she was Jane Seymour still. When she was clearly not.

I've said that I can see BookSansa do pretty much this exact same thing, however, the difference will be that there will be no pretense. GRRM won't be telling us that she's still a good girl and Dany is evil personified while showing us no context which allows for that perception to be made. I don't mind evil or selfish Sansa as a character, as long as it's acknowledged that's what she is. But the show wanted us to believe that the heroine we'd been following (and no matter what anyone said, Dany is portrayed as a heroine) was actually evil all along and that Sansa despite doing evil things, was as innocent as the purest snow.

RickonJon: The youngest Hightower daughter has a son whose about Sansa's age, so that would put her somewhere in her thirties. So there really isn't a daughter of age. Granddaughter wise he has Margaery Tyrell and that's really it. So there really isn't a choice here.

Surpemus: Bookjon may not have been, Showjon certainly was. Brienne beat the Hound but the Hound was ill, she beat Jaime who'd been held prisoner for moons and was chained. Her one true victory where it can't be questioned if she'd beat them had they been fully fit is against Loras Tyrell who's like the second-best sword in his House, though the best in the show since he's the only one.

The line that Ramsay says to Jon is pretty much there for us to accept that Jon is almost unmatched with a sword in hand, that now with Jaime Lannister one-handed, he's the best sword. Or at least that's how I took that, his beating of the WW and how the show compared to the books portrayed him.

The Citadel isn't alone in denying the facts of the WW and it matters not, they're the ones that decide the GM no one else. Bran doesn't have the power to overrule them, nor to just go against the traditions of the KG. He may have the right as king, but he doesn't have the gravitas for it to be accepted. Nor for his word on Tyrion to be accepted. As for Bronn, while the show may not have mentioned the other Houses in the Reach, they went out of their way not to remove them. So House Hightower still stands and they're now the richest House in the Realm. House Redwyne stand and they have the largest fleet in the realm. Who does Bronn have to call upon? What forces? The Boltons were almost able to overthrow the Starks and the power dynamics there were far less than Bronn has at his disposal.

No matter how you cut it, the choices the show made in the end make no damn sense. They lead to civil war. Dorne and the Iron Island would both secede after Bran allows Sansa to simply ask and do so. The faith would revolt against a king who worships a Tree. No man would follow a crippled king and the fact he has no actual claim on the Throne other than he has the best story, joke that that is, would create problems. And all of that is without him then naming a Kinslayer as his Hand, Sam as his GM, and a woman as LC of his KG.

You have to have the power to make such decisions or dragons. Dany may have been able to do so, Sit and Spin would not have been. But all of that is somewhat pointless. Jon being a Targ gives those who may take issue a rallying point and him pointing out all of the above, which he very much will. Will cause Bran/Tyrion etc problems.

Jaenerys: Supremus and I have a bit of a back and forth and while we disagree, I can understand where they're coming from. I feel exactly as you do in regards to the points raised though and you express them even better than I've tried to do.

Dany would have had trouble making the changes that Bran has just made, and she has dragons. Bran would face serious pushback because of them, and he already would face serious pushback because he didn't bloody do anything to win the war and he has no claim on the Iron Throne. Once anyone with more of a claim than he came along, those issues would all raise their head. Could Dany have named a woman LC or Sam as GM or Tyrion as Hand, maybe, but let's face some facts here. The show completely ignored the fact that Tyrion was an acknowledged Kinslayer. That he'd done so for no reason other than his own petty revenge too. No way would he have been accepted as Dany's hand, let alone Bran's.

Nagiten: Thanks for that, yes it is. I made a mistake with the Broken Queen bit. We'll see some of Jon's tactical nous next.

Venerabledeom: Jace will have some big plans for changing things yes. As for which areas he'll seek to place under his direct control or who will rise against him, we'll see.

Spirit of the Black Wolf: No this story is stand-alone. The Chronicles will cover a few different Jon potential outcomes. So part one was just what he'd do if he refused to accept his sentence. Part two is about what would happen if he'd found out earlier about his truth and is still ongoing. Part three will be a different version of him leaving the Wall and taking back the North and there are another couple of ideas within it that I and my co-writer are considering. But this is just my take on what a potential Jon Snow TV show could be.

Your thoughts on Bran line up with mine perfectly, he did nothing, and if anything he caused more deaths than anyone. He can see things, see how events play out yet he sent the raven which in turn sent Jon beyond the Wall and cost them Viserion. Jojen, Hodor, Summer, Bloodraven, the Children of the Forest, all their deaths are down to him. And even what Dany ends up doing, well that's down to him too, as he could foresee it yet never warned anyone about it. And forge that don't interfere BS, because then he takes the throne, so that's a load of crap.

Sansa for me never changes. As a young girl, she betrays her family for a crown, and as an older woman, she betrays her family for a crown. She never grows as a character. Show Sansa that is, Book Sansa is growing and while I think she'll do the same thing, there it may make more sense as it'll not try to paint her as a Heroine when doing so. Arya, we'll see at some point yes, both on her actual journey and her return.