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.

11. Catspaws and Wolf's Claws

The North 306 AC.

The Lord of the Mountains.

Rare had it been since Hugo had received a raven from the Merman, rarer when one arrived from the Lord of the Crannogs, yet in his hand, he bore messages from both. Both bore similar words and they were words that Hugo had long wished to read. Words that spoke of the man he'd named his king and which promised the truth of why it was a queen who now ruled the North.

There were other words too. A visitor was soon to arrive who'd speak those truths to all who wished to listen, followed by a call to arms that Hugh longed to answer. For as much as Sansa Stark may claim to be a wolf, her coronation proved her very much not to be one in Hugo's eyes. A Southern ceremony was not how the Kings of Winter accepted their crown. So while Hugo "Big Bucket" Wull had no problem in swearing his allegiance to, or following a woman, he had many in doing both to the one who now sat on the Winter Throne.

The words in the raven's scrolls he held in his hands offered him a different choice. That it was a choice he'd made willingly once already, only made it one he was now keen to make again. Yet things needed to be readied for their visitor and so rising to his feet, he walked from the small room that served as his solar and set out to find his sons. It took little to no time to find them both and watching them as they sparred and trained against the fiercest of their men, Hugo could only look on proudly.

"Brandon, Rodrik." he bellowed, his voice was one that was unable to ever truly speak softly.

"Father." Brandon, his oldest replied.

"Walk with me, both of you."

A quick swallow from the water jug from each and his two sons joined him as he walked away from prying ears. Not that Hugh worried about his words ever being repeated to those he wished them not to. Nor did he fear spies amongst his people. Outsiders weren't welcomed easily into the mountains and even a man who'd lived amongst them for many years wasn't as trusted as one who could trace his line back generations. Trust was earned and never given freely amongst the Mountain Clans, as it should be everywhere else.

'Would that had been so in Winterfell.' Hugo thought as he pictured a squid who had been allowed far too much of it and had earned so very little in the end.

Together with his two sons, they walked to the Heart Tree. Hugh keen to make it look as if it was answers from the gods rather than setting a task for his boys that he was about today. Once he was sure they were alone, only then did he speak on what it was he wished from his sons. The journey he was sending them on was not a long one, nor a perilous one, but it was mayhap the most important one either had ever embarked upon.

The very future of the North depended on them bringing The Liddle, The Norrey, The Flint, The Harclay, The Burrel, and the Knott to meet with their visitor. Hugo, however, spoke few words to his sons about what the meeting was about, other than to tell them that the White Wolf was not as lost to them as some would have them believe. Something which the eager looks on the faces of both Rodrik and Brandon showed their own intrigue to learn the truth about. Bidding them both to be safe and well and to make haste, Hugo then offered a prayer to the Old Gods to see them successful in the task he set them.

Both left within the hour. They were accompanied by a few men to act as guards, just in case, though Hugo feared not that they'd return. He worried little that those he sent for would return with them either. The call of the White Wolf would see to that. As to what that call truly looked like, he'd find no answers to that until his visitor arrived. So for the next few days, he was forced to sit and wait, impatiently though that was.

It was The Liddle who arrived first, followed by The Norrey. His sons then arrived back with almost all those he'd sent them to speak to. The Flints were the last to arrive and Hugo was pleased to see that Old Flint himself had come and not simply sent his sons in his stead. Though it was Winter, he feasted them all as befit their status and welcomed them happily into his halls. Waving off their requests for singular meetings, Hugo instead spoke to them all together and as equals. Something that he knew the so-called lesser lords were grateful for.

"Our visitor arrives soon enough and they will speak the White Wolf's words, until then, my home is as your own."

Little did he know when he spoke those words that his visitor would arrive that very night. Nor how shocked he'd be when he saw who it was who'd come to his Hall. The Crannog Lord had sent his last remaining child in his stead and even Hugo had heard the tale of where The Meera had traveled to and what she'd seen Beyond the Wall.

"I had not expected you, The Meera," Hugo said by way of greeting.

"My father sends his regards, Lord Wull, yet he wishes to save his strength for the battles to come and so bid me to come in his stead." Meera Reed said apologetically.

"And most welcome you are," he said truthfully while waving off any need to apologize.

"The others are here?" Meera asked.

"Aye, all await the White Wolf's words."

The young woman nodded and to Hugo's surprise, she then wished to speak to them that very night. She sought not to clean herself up and asked only for some food for her and her men, as well as some hay for her horses. Both of which he was only too happy to provide. Then once she'd eaten and her men and horses were settled, Meera asked him to lead the way to the Great Hall and Hugo did so with eager anticipation.

They'd not been called to fight when the White Wolf and the Sansa marched on Winterfell. Though given the fight they'd all taken part in afterward, that was not as much of a slight as it seemed at the time. While they'd then sworn to their king, they'd not truly been asked to swear to their queen. The Sansa seemed to think them irrelevant or unimportant. A slight this time that was not accepted or welcomed. Now the White Wolf was seeking them out, seeking their aid in a fight to come and Hugo only awaited the words so that he could readily accept them.

As they entered the Great Hall, all eyes looked to Hugo and to who walked with him. Some recognized Meera as who she was, as they'd known her father and bled with him during the rebellion. Others looked at her curiously and so as they reached the High Table and Hugo bid her to take a seat, he remained standing. Looking out at all the eager faces that stared his way and noticing as whispers began to name Meera Reed as who she was to those who knew her not, Hugo took a breath and began to speak.

"The Meera comes from the Crannogs with the words of her father, the Merman, along with those of the White Wolf," Hugo said and almost as soon as he spoke, the whispers stopped.

Nodding to the young woman, he took his seat and awaited her words just as keenly as the rest of those in the Great Hall now did. Each of them looking at the dark-haired girl and doing so silently. A rare enough thing for the loud men of the mountains.

"I bring word from the White Wolf. The White Dragon." Meera began. Hugo, looking at her confused. "But first I must speak upon a truth that has been allowed to remain hidden for far too long. Jon Snow is not the son of Ned Stark."

Around the room, voices began to raise and though Hugo himself was shocked by what had just been said, he readied to quieten them, only to find he had no need to do so. The loud bang as Meera Reed smacked her hand down on the table was enough to silence any questions. For now at least.

"Jon Snow is a Stark, yet he is a Targaryen too. A Wolf who is a Dragon." Meera's words confused them even more and yet this time, they listened quietly. "My father was there on the day he was born, and so he heard the truth of things from his mother before she breathed her last breath. Lyanna Stark was not kidnapped, nor was she raped, she was wed, married to Prince Rhaegar, and their son, Jacaerys, was born into a world where his name alone was enough to guarantee his death."

Hugo, the Lords of the Mountains, his sons, and every man and woman in the Great Hall, all now listened as the tale was spun. A betrothal that was unwanted and forced, a wild She-Wolf who would not bend or break. The Mad King, a race against time, messages sent but not received, and a war that was fought for the wrong reasons. All of it angered and annoyed Hugo, and yet, it changed things not. Or so he thought.

"After finding out the truth of who he was, Jon Snow spoke to the family he believed he was a part of. He spoke a truth before the Heart Tree to a sister who'd come to him for aid when she had no one else to turn to. A truth that very same girl then used against him even after vowing that she'd speak of it to no one" Meera snarled and Hugo was not the only one aghast at the revelation.

"She broke a sacred Oath!"

"Dared to go against the Gods!"

"Brought a curse down upon herself!"

"For why!"

"For What Gain!"

The young woman beside him let the words be spoken and only once they'd quietened down again did she speak further. Hugo listened as Meera told of a girl who saw not a brother or even a cousin when she looked to Jon Snow, but an obstacle to her path to a throne. A tool that could be used to get what she wished and who cared not about what fate befell him afterward.

Meera spoke of why the White Wolf became a Kinslayer and though that gave Hugo and others some pause, her words that some kin needed to be slain rang true. As did her words on how after he'd done what he'd done to the Dragonqueen, not only was he not applauded for it, but they instead punished him for it. Yet it was the why of that punishment that Hugo found rang truest of all.

"Not once was it brought up who Jon Snow truly was. Not when they named Brandon Stark as King in the South nor when they named his sister as Queen in the North. The true heir to the throne was kept away and hidden and his truth was once again denied by a Stark. Though this time for their benefit and not for his own."

"Yet you would now have us go against the Starks, would you not?" The Liddle called out.

"Aye, I would. For it was not the Starks by name alone that we followed. But the Wolves that they once were." Meera said and Hugo smiled at that. For that was the truth of things, or at least it had once been.

The Ned had been a wolf, a quiet one though he was at first. Hugo had fought and bled beside him and while he'd liked it not that he'd gone South, Hugo had named him a true friend all the same. He knew not Brandon Stark and found it odd that he'd been named King in the South but not the North. Then again most things the South did were strange to him at times.

As for The Sansa, she was never a wolf and had never cared for the North. Which was not something he could say about Jon Snow. Though he wasn't as sure he could say the same for Jacaerys Targaryen and in this he was not alone given the questions that now resounded around the Great Hall. Questions that Meera Reed seemed to answer easily and to the satisfaction of those who asked them. So it was time for him to ask his own.

"You wish for us to follow the White Wolf into battle. To fight against men of the North for a man who while he may be a wolf, is a dragon too as you yourself have named him."

"Aye, I do."

"Why should we?" he asked.

"We find our true friends on the battlefield, Lord Wull," Meera said with a half smile on her face. "It's something that each of us in this hall knows to be true is it not?"

"Aye."

"Aye."

"Aye," he said after the loud chants of it had died down.

"Yet on the other side of it those we face are our enemies are they not?"

"Aye, they are." he nodded.

"Trust me, not a single one of us wants to make an enemy of the White Dragon, my lord," Meera said, smiling more fully now. "Fierce as Jon Snow was, he was a mere boy compared to who Jacaerys Targaryen is. A boy who believed he had no right to anything and so who desired nothing for himself."

"And now he does?" he asked.

"No, now he knows it was all his by right all along, Lord Wull. A man who is aware of such will stop at nothing to regain what was taken from him. Yet that is only partly why I bid you all to join my father and Lord Manderly when the battles begin."

"It is?" he asked, confused.

"Not one Stark has a wolf any longer, Lord Wull. Not a single one of them holds the favor of the Old Gods. Brandon Stark is not a Wolf. Neither I'm sorry to say are Sansa or even Arya. Yet there is one with Stark blood in their veins who the Old Gods have always shown us the truth of. One who died and yet still lives, whose wolf has not deserted nor been taken from him. What color is his wolf, Lord Wull?"

"White of fur and red of eye," he answered.

"White and Red, Lord Wull," Meera said loudly. "White and Red, the color of the very Weirwoods themselves," she called out. "The Old Gods have named the White Wolf their champion and have done so ever since they gifted him a wolf who bore their own colors. Is there a man amongst you who wishes to name this man your enemy?" Meera asked.

"No."

"The White Wolf."

"The King in the North."

"The Last True Stark."

"The Old God's Chosen."

Around the room, the chants grew ever louder and Hugo sat and smiled.

"We find our true friends on the battlefield and I name Jacaerys Targaryen a friend, not a foe," he whispered to himself.

Riverrun 306 AC.

The Floppy Fish.

Edmure had stupidly believed that all wars were now at an end. He'd ignored the voice in his head that whispered doubts about his nephew's reign. Had been so caught up with pride for what Sansa achieved that he never even considered that there would be any who'd seek to usurp her rule. Even when it came to Jon Snow, Edmure had simply believed that he'd accept his sentence and be thankful that it wasn't a harsher one he received.

The raven's scroll in his hand along with the reports he'd heard since his return to Riverrun, all proved just how wrong he'd been in every single one of those assumptions. Bran had no blood claim to the Iron Throne and despite the words of the Imp, there actually was someone with a much better story than the Broken King. Sansa was a woman, capable and driven though she may have been, her sex would always stand against her.

Men sought to be ruled over by men, and while at times they'd accept that it was a lady they needed to follow, they'd only do so if there was no other alternative. The Queen Who Never Was and the Dance of the Dragons had proved that to Westeros once and for all. As for Jon Snow, he very well may have accepted the judgment that he received and the sentence he was given, but Jacaerys Targaryen certainly would not. What it meant for Edmure, for his family, and for his niece and nephew, was still to be determined and the cause of Edmure's current frustrations. Something the raven's scroll from King's Landing and the letter from Winterfell made all too clear. Edmure now looked over both of them once more.

To the Master of Laws,

Lord Tully,

The King bids you to call your banners and make haste to King's Landing. To gather as many men as you can and do so quickly, for we are in dire need of the men of the Riverlands. An attempt to usurp his grace's rule is underway and an army has been formed, one led by a criminal that names himself a king. We seek your aid in putting down this attempt at rebellion and in making Jon Snow see the error of his ways and adhere to the just and true sentence that his crimes deserved.

March at once, my lord, and march true, for your king, your kin, bids it of you.

Tyrion Lannister,

Hand of the King.

Placing the raven's scroll back down on the table, Edmure lifted up the letter. This one bore a wolf, trout, and a falcon on its seal.

My Dearest Uncle,

I bear news that pains me greatly along with news I would hope you welcome. My cousin who I always named a brother by choice if not blood, Jon Snow, has committed a most grievous act. Despite seeming to accept the fair and most lenient sentence that he was given, he has instead left the Wall and the Night's Watch behind and seeks to now do what my mother always warned me he one day would. He seeks to take Winterfell and the North from my father and mother's trueborn heir and to take the rest of Westeros from my dear and noble brother.

His actions leave me with but one choice. I must call my banners and raise an army and face my cousin in a battle that I have no wish to see waged. My heart breaks with the thought of facing Jon Snow and yet his actions have left me with little option. Thankfully, I do not have to face him alone and without aid. For I am wed, uncle. Married to a man I've given my heart to willingly, even though I had not believed it could ever be so again. Lord Harrold Hardyng was sent to help me by my dearly departed cousin, Lord Robin, and as I gave my heart to him, he gave his own to me. The Vale will join with mine own forces and together we shall do as we must. As hard to bear as that may be.

Yet, I fear it may not be enough, so I beseech you to come to my aid and join with our forces. Together we will surely prevail and with your help, I can put this troublesome business behind me and live the life of peace that I so very much long for.

Your ever-faithful niece,

Sansa Stark,

Queen in the North.

Edmure sighed once more before rising to his feet and moving to the open window. He breathed in the smell of the fresh river air and looked down at the lands of his birth. Closing his eyes, he was beset by memories of the wars that the Riverlands had only recently recovered from. Hit by images of men he'd known and named as friends and who were now no more.

Tywin Lannister had unleashed his mad dogs upon the people of the Riverlands and none of those people had come away unscathed after he'd done so. Friends, servants, and even family had lost their lives during the War of the Five Kings and Edmure had prayed to the Seven who are One for that to be the only war that he or his family ever knew. Now it seemed that his prayers had gone unanswered once again.

Yet what was he to do?

Could he turn his back on family?

Ignore a King's Call?

Let his sister's daughter's plea go unanswered?

Those questions should have been the only ones that resounded in his head and yet they were not. For there was one that loomed much larger than any of them. One that he had yet to find an answer for and one that until he did, would stay his hand.

"Why was I not told the truth about who Jon Snow was?" he whispered to the wind that now blew in through the open window.

It was not a question that Edmure would have imagined would be first and foremost in his mind. If anything, the one that had was more in line with how he'd thought he may have reacted to the news that war was being thrust upon the realm once more.

'Why should I help any of them?'

Sansa had belittled him and made him look and feel like a fool. While Bran may have given him a role on the Small Council, he'd shown time and time again that he cared not for Edmure's opinion. As for the Imp, Edmure wouldn't lie and say that the thoughts of Tyrion Lannister being strung up or losing his head didn't appeal to him greatly.

Now, however, he couldn't let go of that one question. Although it too had since been joined by others.

Why did his niece and nephew withhold the truth about Jon Snow's parentage?

For what reason and to what benefit would they do such a thing?

What did this mean in terms of support?

Did the Realm really wish for another dragon to rule over it?

Leaving his solar so as to go and break his fast, Edmure found his footsteps took him not to the kitchens or the Great Hall but to his son's room. Cracking the door open just a sliver so he could peek inside, he quickly felt that wasn't enough and so he opened it more fully. Then, slowly and trying his utmost to make as little noise as possible, Edmure crept to the bed and looked down at his son and heir as Hoster lay sleeping.

The peace and contentment he could see on his son's face was something that was almost contagious. Edmure felt some of his worries and troubles begin to fade away as he watched his son sleep. A smile that soon appeared as Hoster dreamt of something pleasant was quickly reflected back in Edmure's own expression. It was followed by the slightest of touches to his son's head and the soft moving of Edmure's fingers through Hoster's auburn hair.

"Dream well, son, and dream often," Edmure said quietly before he leaned down and placed a soft kiss on Hoster's forehead.

An hour later he broke his fast in his wife's company, Hoster was still resting and not yet ready to be disturbed. They spoke little and Edmure did his best to keep his questions to himself and to allow his wife to simply enjoy the day she had ahead of her. Placing a kiss on her cheek, Edmure rose and then made his way to a meeting with his Steward and the Maester. Both men had served House Tully through thick and thin and their advice was now much needed.

Edmure met them not in his solar, but on the parapets of his family's keep. He felt he needed the cool crispness of the mid-morning air and to be able to look out upon where inevitably the war would be fought. No matter where it started, all wars for the now-melted Iron Throne eventually made their way to the Riverlands. Edmure once again shuddered at the thoughts of yet another one soon to begin.

"My Lord." Utherydes Wayn said as he moved to join him, Master Vyman a few feet behind the old Steward and he greeted Edmure even more warmly.

"Good morrow, my lord."

"Would that it was, Maester." Edmure sighed a familiar sound these past few days. "What of the Riverlords?" he asked.

"It is as Utherydes expected, my lord." the Maester replied and Edmure's brow furrowed as he grinded his teeth.

"All of them?"

"A little more than half, my lord."

Edmure had suspected as much and in some ways it made his choice that much easier. Half the Riverlords had once again thrown their lot in with the Dragons, just as they had during the Rebellion. Edmure had managed to mayhap keep a few more than his father had, or so he believed. Men who'd come through the War of the Five Kings had done so with more loyalty to him than he himself felt he deserved.

'Not all, though' a voice that sounded much like his father's whispered in his mind.

Looking at the two men, both of whom stared at him and awaited with their judgment, Edmure still found his mind torn between two sides of his family. His niece and nephew or his wife and child.

"He can't be beaten can he?" he said after a few moments of silence.

"All armies can be beaten, my lord," Utherydes replied as Vyman shook his head.

"Not this one, Utherydes." the Maester said as he moved closer to where Edmure stood.

To Edmure's shock and surprise, Maester Vyman placed both his hands on Edmure's shoulders and looked him right in the eye.

"There were those who named you a fool for seeking to save the people from hardship during the War of the Five Kings, my lord. I was not one of them." Vyman said. His last words removed a weight from Edmure's chest that he'd carried for so long he'd almost forgotten about. "You have a good heart, Lord Edmure. You once tried to do what was best for those who look to you for protection, I would beseech you to now do the same."

"And go against his king and kin?" Utherydes said loudly and angrily.

"His kin reside in this very keep, Utherydes. 'Tis not a Wolf that is House Tully's sigil, 'Tis a Trout. The Last of a line that goes back generations reside not in King's Landing nor in Winterfell, but here, in Riverrun. It is to them and to the people of the Riverlands that all is owed. Not to any other."

"Bran is my nephew, Maester, Sansa is my niece."

"And their fates are sealed, my lord. I would seek not the same for you, your wife, or your son." Vyman replied.

Edmure made no decision then and did not do so until he'd lain with his wife and held Roslin in his arms that night. As he watched her fall to sleep, he knew what it was he must do and so without waiting any longer, he rose from his bed and made his way first to his solar and then to the Maester's Chambers. Waking Vyman up as he knocked loudly on his door.

"My Lord?" the Maester asked concernedly when he finally opened the door and let Edmure in.

"Send this to Oldtown, Maester, to the Dragon who would be King."

"A declaration of war, my lord?" Vyman asked worriedly.

"No, an offer of peace and fealty," Edmure replied.

Oldtown 306 AC.

The Azure Lady.

As she'd awaited news from the battle, Desmera had kept herself as busy as she could. With her mother and Lord Leyton's help, she'd made plans for what was to come once the war was done and had even gone over ideas about the North and the Riverlands. Not that she would be the one making the decision about either, but simply so she could offer Jace any counsel he may seek from her. Something that Lady Malora had said he would and her husband had already shown some glimpses of.

It should have surprised her that she was wed to a man who actually listened to her and sought her advice and yet it very much did not. Instead, it excited her, intrigued her, and made her ever more certain that Jace was the good man she believed him to be. Yet none of that prepared her for the two events which happened so close to each other that they seemed to almost be the work of the gods themselves. The first of them was finding out that she was already with child. A secret known only to the Maester and her mother thus far. As for the second, the raven's scroll she held in her hands and had read more than once was the only reason she'd not shared her news with her husband as of yet.

My dearest wife,

I write to you with the good news that though a battle with the Stormlords did indeed need to be waged, it was one that we were not only victorious in, but we suffered few casualties in the gaining of that victory. Storm's End too has been taken and a new Lord Paramount of the Stormlands has been appointed. Yet 'tis not really such things that are the reason for my sending of this missive.

I find I miss you terribly, Desmera, and I long for you to be by my side. King's Landing is all that stands now in my way and I would have you with me when the city is taken. To that end, I shall await you where the Wendwater meets Blackwater Bay and together we shall continue on to King's Landing.

Be safe, be well, and know that you are in my thoughts and the subject of my dreams when I lay my head down each night.

Your loving husband,

Jace.

To say she relished the thought of seeing her husband again would be an understatement. As would saying that his words hadn't touched her deeply. Knowing that Jace missed her as much as she did him and that he wished her by her side, was enough to make her heart soar. While just the thoughts of actually telling him to his face that he was to be a father, were enough to make her wish her travel had already begun. Alas, it had not, but the time for her to set sail was almost upon her. So despite wishing to simply read her husband's words once more, Desmera instead placed the raven's scroll among her most precious things and made her way to speak to Lord Leyton and her mother.

"My Queen." Ser Desmond said as she walked from her chambers.

"Your grace." Ser Andrew added with a nod.

Desmera greeted her two guards warmly and almost skipped to her mother's chambers. Though when she arrived it was to find that her mother had already broken her fast and was presently making her own arrangements to depart from Oldtown. Waving off the apology from her mother's handmaiden, Desmera turned and made her way to where she believed Lord Leyton would be and was happy to find the new Warden of the South was indeed in his solar.

After speaking to Lord Leyton, but briefly, it was to the docks and their ships that she went next, happy to find her mother there and in the midst of organizing their loading. For the next few hours, Desmera, her mother, their guards, and those who Jace had assigned to watch over her, all went about the business of readying the fleet for its journey.

All in all, there would be almost seventy ships in the fleet that sailed to join up with her husband's army. Twenty of them would then split off and dock in the Arbor while the rest continued onward and it was a momentous effort to ready them so quickly. Desmera's pride in her men for being able to do so was something she shared with each of the captains and any of the sailors she spoke to. As it was to her household guard and those who'd been left by Jace to see to her safety. Though as the last of the ships was readied and she and her mother made their way back to the Hightower to say their goodbyes, it was a much different emotion that Desmera felt rise to the surface.

Lord Leyton had cautioned her to set sail on the morrow's high tide, yet Desmera's own eagerness to be underway had left her reluctant to listen. Still, she'd spoken to her captains and not a one had raised an objection to setting sail on the second tide and so after saying her goodbyes, it was under the cover of a full moon that they made their way to her ship, The Arbor Lady. As soon as Desmera was settled in her cabin, they set off and as she took to her bed, it was with thoughts of Jace and the babe she carried that she fell to sleep. It was not a sleep that she was allowed to enjoy as the sound of fighting, loud shouting, and the crashing and thrashing in her room, were more than enough to awaken her.

"Your grace, are you hurt?" Ser Desmond asked to no reply. "Your grace?" he asked more insistently and Desmera turned her eyes from the bloodied man on the ground a few feet from her bed and to the older knight.

"I…I think I am…What….What happened here?" she asked looking around her cabin and seeing just how much destruction had taken place.

"Fetch the Maester." Ser Desmond shouted to Ser Andrew, ignoring her question for now, before he then turned back to her.

The pause allowed Desmera to take in more of the scene around her. On the ground with two men now kneeling over his prone and yet not lifeless body was a man that she recognized not. Leaning against the wall and holding an injured and bloodied arm was one of the Wildlings that Jace had left as her guard. A little further off, unconscious or so he seemed, was the man's brother.

'Saverik, no, that was not right, Sverik, that was the man's injured brother's name. Steirigg, she believed was his brother'

As she looked from one to the other. The two Wildlings and the man who her guards were now lifting unceremoniously to his feet, Sverik's words resounded around the cabin.

"He lives, be sure he remains alive. King Crow will wish words." Sverik said to a nod from the three guardsmen who moved the injured man out of the room.

"Ser Desmond?" she asked, bidding the knight to explain what had happened, even though she was beginning to put it all together.

Again they were interrupted as first the Maester and then her mother both entered the cabin.

"My daughter, let me see my daughter!" her mother demanded.

"Mother," she called out, happy to see that she was unharmed and just as happy to now feel her embrace as they held each other tightly.

"Forgive me, your grace, but I needs must make my examination." the Maester said apologetically and so holding her mother by the hand, Desmera allowed the Maester to go about his business.

She saw no sign of blood and felt no injury and once the Maester had assured himself that both she and the babe she bore were well, Desmera bid her mother to join her on the bed.

"Ser Desmond," she said once the Maester had left the cabin, taking Steirigg with him so he could see to his injuries.

For the next few moments, Ser Desmond and Sverik took turns in relaying to her the events of the night. Desmera listened intently as she was told that after she'd gone to her cabin, Sverik had noticed that one of the crewmen seemed to be paying too much attention to her movements and so he and his brother had followed the man. They arrived at her cabin to find her guard dead and the man leaning over her bed.

"He meant to kill my daughter." her mother gasped loudly and Desmera squeezed her hand to reassure her that she was unharmed.

"He was stopped from doing so, Mother," she said, though her words comforted neither of them truly. "Continue Ser Desmond, Sverik."

The two brothers had stopped the Catspaw from doing his job. A fight had ensued and Steirigg had been knocked unconscious, Sverik injured, and the Catspaw captured. Listening to how close she came to being murdered in her sleep, Desmera could only think of her babe and so her hands instinctively moved to her stomach.

"My babe, is my babe….where is the Maester," she called out, the panic hitting her all at once and it took a few moments for Ser Desmond and her mother to calm her. Their words that she'd been examined and all was well, finally getting through to her.

As Ser Desmond helped Sverik to his feet, Desmera saw his injured arm and found herself worrying for him far more than she now was for herself. Despite her mother trying to stop her, she rose from the bed and moved to the Wildling.

"Your arm, you…what you did for me…."

"King Crow bid us guard you, my queen."

"I thank you….your brother, you….I thank you both."

A nod of his head was Sverik's only acknowledgment of her words and then he walked from the cabin, eager to see his brother and get his wound dealt with no doubt.

"See that he and his brother are well cared for, Ser Desmond. I owe them both my life."

"I will, my queen."

"The man who was lost, he had a family?" she asked and Desmond nodded. "They will want for nothing, Ser, I give you my oath on that."

"I thank you, your grace." Ser Desmond said, before moving to the door "I'll double the guard, treble it, we'll take no more chances, your grace, you have my vow."

"Thank you, Ser."

Left alone in the cabin with her mother, Desmera gave into the emotions and fears that she'd barely kept under wraps until then. The tears fell as she thought of how close she'd come to dying, to losing her babe and never seeing her husband again. Her mother's embrace was both needed and welcomed and yet it was the comforting arms of her husband that she truly wished for.

She slept not that night. Her mother stayed with her and they both spoke on much and little, but neither got any sleep. Surprisingly, she rose the next morning and felt no tiredness and much hunger, so she broke her fast and ate a full meal. Then she made her way to see that both Sverik and his brother were well, happy to find that both were. From there it was to pay her respects to the man who fell and Desmera stood and spoke prayers over Ser Lyman's body. Lastly, it was to the man who'd tried to kill her that Desmera made her way to. Finding him bound and chained and looking as if he'd been beaten severely.

Why this man wished her dead, she knew not. Though she could only imagine it was because of who she was married to. As for who sent him, she doubted he'd speak of his employer or mayhap that he even knew who it was who paid him. What she had no doubt of, however, was that the man would suffer greatly before he left this world and what secrets he did hold, he'd not take them with him when his end was nigh.

"My husband is a Dragon and you tried to kill his wife and child. I pity you not and pray your suffering will be long and drawn out and that you'll know naught but fire and blood before you leave this world behind," she said before turning to walk from the storeroom that was to be the Catspaw's prison for the remainder of their journey.

King's Landing 306 AC.

The Kinslaying Hand.

Each morning that he awoke was one where he expected to find an enemy at the gates and not even finding none was enough to wash away his worries over the day ahead. It was all just a matter of time, Tyrion knew it, Samwell Tarly knew it, and he'd wager that Jon Snow knew it most of all. As for the all-seeing and all-knowing Bran Stark, Tyrion had long given up trying to discern what it was he knew or did not. Though he had begun to believe that it was far less than he had led them all to believe.

He'd never truly understood the concept of what Bran claimed to be. The Three-Eyed Raven who knew every single thing that had or would ever happen, had just seemed such a foreign concept to him. Tyrion, however, had accepted it. As he knew had all those who'd had any contact with Bran whatsoever. Lately, he wondered just how stupid they'd all been to blindly do so. The more he thought about it, the more he realized that Bran had never truly proved he had any powers at all. Or to be more precise, that he still had any.

Even when Bran showed what seemed to be glimpses of this incredible power that they all believed he possessed, it seemed more and more like a parlor trick. Like a mummery of sorts. A simple use of information that could easily be found out some other way and then a presentation of that information as if it had been obtained magically. When it actually came to things that could be useful to their current predicament, suddenly the all-seeing, all-knowing, Three-Eyed Raven, knew as much as Tyrion himself did. Which to both their costs was very little.

Yet I'd believed him, Why?

I supported him, Why?

Why did I not name, Jon Snow?

The last of those was a question he'd pondered much on these past few months and it was one that he had still to find an answer to. Now, rising from his bed and hurriedly dressing, it was not a question he'd answer today. So once again it would be to other questions that Tyrion would put his mind to. Key amongst them all was the offer that he would present Yara Greyjoy to get her to turn her cloak. Just as her brother had done almost a lifetime ago.

Walking through the corridors of the Tower of the Hand, Tyrion wondered had Jon Snow defeated Gendry already or whether or not the battle had even taken place. He cursed himself for not demanding that the Stormlords ride to King's Landing and awaited the King Without a Crown there rather than face them across an open field. As he did for not offering Lord Hightower the role that Jon Snow had seemingly done.

As he left the Tower of the Hand behind and began the long walk across the courtyard, Tyrion was surprised by the loud shouts from Samwell Tarly. His first instinct was to run. To find a horse, boat, or ship and seek to leave this city behind. Only to turn and see that while the Grandmaester was flushed, he wasn't flustered or panicked.

"Samwell?"

"The king wishes to speak to you, most urgently, Lord Hand."

Sighing, knowing now that he'd not get to break his fast until much later on, Tyrion nodded and followed Samwell as he led him toward the Small Council Chambers. Despite asking numerous times what it was that the king wished to speak about, he received no answer and he knew then that whatever it was had some import. It actually quickened his step and made him eager for once to hear words from Bran Stark's lips. A small tingle of something he'd name as hope began to rise in his chest as he speculated on what news he was soon to be privy to. Quickly though that hope seemed to burn away. For it had been long indeed since any news they received was enough to leave them hopeful.

Arriving at the Small Council Chambers, he entered to find Bran sitting alone and as lost to the world as he usually was. Ignoring the brief thought about wrapping his hands around the crippled king's throat, Tyrion instead waited patiently for Bran to return from wherever it was he traveled to at these moments. He did not have long to wait.

"The Unsullied and the Dothraki will arrive four days hence," Bran said, unemotionally as ever.

"For true?" he asked to no reply as Bran just continued to speak as if he'd not heard him.

"We must make peace with the Iron Fleet, Lord Hand. Else we must find a new landing spot for our allies."

"I've sent the message to Lady Greyjoy, your grace."

"Good, make the offer, and then once we've dealt with the other rebellious lords, we'll deal with the Iron Born," Bran said. His words sent a shiver down Tyrion's spine. The days when a son of Ned Stark would forsake oaths and plot to turn on allies were not ones he'd ever have believed he'd live to see.

"The Stormlords?" he asked and received a shake of Bran's head in reply. Though for the briefest moment, Tyrion swore he saw a smile come and go too.

Before he had even a moment to wonder about whether or not he'd actually seen Bran Stark smile, Tyrion was soon listening to words he could barely believe.

"Drogon?" he gasped, as images of fiery death now were added to the many other ways he'd seen himself die in his dreams.

"Has let me in," Bran said almost gleefully and that smile was there for longer this time.

Tyrion shook thoughts of his death from his mind and tried to concentrate on the words that Bran was saying.

Drogon, they controlled Drogon. The black dragon was returning and when he did, he'd be on their side. They needed no other ally and yet even in this, they were being blessed by the gods. Unsullied. Dothraki. Their own forces. One or the other wouldn't be enough. All of them together, however, would leave Jon Snow outmatched and outmaneuvered. Ignoring the voice at the back of his head which begged him to get more answers, Tyrion instead spoke more on their plans and the offer he was soon to make to the Iron Born.

Less than two hours later, the ship he was traveling on reached the flagship of the Iron Fleet. The Black Wind wasn't what he'd call an impressive-looking ship. Compared even to the one that Tyrion sailed on, it seemed poor indeed. Yet, other than The Silence, which had been destroyed by Drogon's flames, there had been few as feared as Yara Greyjoy's longship on any of the eleven seas. Knowing that he was soon to be boarding that ship, Tyrion felt fearful and hoped that his offer would at least allow him to keep his head.

To his surprise, both his guards were allowed to board with him. Although one look around at the crew that Yara Greyjoy had assembled was enough to leave him in no doubt that they wouldn't stop his death if that's what was sought. As for the woman who may well seek it, Yara Greyjoy strolled across the deck and bore a look on her face that told him how she truly felt about him. Disdain, disgust, hatred, Tyrion knew those expressions all too well and yet it was the one that he glimpsed briefly that he concentrated on. Intrigue was enough to work with for now and more than enough to allow his offer to be made. Something he did far more quickly and with far less wine than he'd wished for.

"Jon Snow has already offered me a crown, Imp. Why should I take your offer and reject his?" Yara asked as they sat facing each other in her cabin.

"Because Jon Snow killed your queen," he replied, happy to see the angered look that came over Yara's face.

"And you played no part?" Yara sneered.

"It was not me who wielded the knife or took her life, no," he stated firmly before sighing. "Yet we all played our part and would that I was able to go back and play a different one," he said. His words were both true and not at the same time.

For a few moments, Yara just looked at him. Then, much to his delight, she reached back behind her and took a bottle of something or other from a shelf. Tyrion licked his lips as two mugs were produced and as both were filled. Then, after waiting for her to take a sip, he took a large swallow of the more than delightful Tyroshi Brandy.

"He has the Reach, along with other men who've sworn with him," Yara said and Tyrion nodded.

"We have the North, the Vale, and the Riverlands along with our own men. And the Reach are ever the same cowards that they've always been."

As he awaited a reply to his words, Tyrion swallowed another big mouthful of the brandy, even finishing his mug and happy to be then offered another.

"I hold no love for Jon Snow nor for your Broken King." Yara began. "Yet you speak right and 'tis only the one of them who drove his dagger into Daenerys Targaryen's heart. Still, I was promised a crown while your king denied me one….."

"As you'd not made your deal with King Brandon at the time, he felt no need to live up to the terms of it." Tyrion interrupted and was taken aback by how hateful the glare that was aimed in his direction was.

"And now I'm to believe he will?"

Reaching into his shirt, Tyrion took out the pouch and then the letter that was inside of it. Handing it to Yara, he briefly wondered whether or not the woman could actually read, before dismissing the thought a moment later. After she'd looked it over, a simple nod of her head was enough to tell him that their terms and offer had been accepted. Where once he may have worried about an Iron Born keeping to the terms, now he knew a king who'd not. Something which at one point in his life would have worried him greatly and yet now very much did not. After all, what mattered if a king's word meant less than that of a Reaver. Everybody lies eventually.

'Not Jon Snow'

With their terms agreed, Tyrion laid out his plans and Yara agreed to carry them out. The Unsullied would be allowed to land at King's Landing, while the Dothraki would be ferried a little further away and would assemble at Rosby. The Iron Fleet would allow any ships that Jon Snow had at his disposal to sail right up into Blackwater Bay and would then engage them. While hopefully above them all, Bran and Drogon would rain down fire and see their enemies burn.

One last drink and a shaking of hands and it was done. All that remained was to wait for the army to arrive at their gates and hope that their numbers and the surprises they had in store were enough to win the day. A loud screeching sound as Tyrion made his way across the deck of the Black Wind wasn't enough to ruin the much better mood that he now found himself in. Nor did Tyrion even look to see the source of that sound as he was helped back into his boat and rowed back to his ship. Had he done so, then mayhaps his mood would have soured quickly. As it would have if he'd waited for a little longer before ordering the captain to sail back to the docks.

The sight of the Grylfalcon, as it landed on the deck of the Black Wind next to Yara Greyjoy or its flight but a few moments later, would surely have been enough to do so. While had he but had a single glimpse of the message attached to the grylfalcon's leg and the knowledge of who that message was addressed to, then Tyrion would certainly not have slept as comfortably as he did that night.

The Stormlands 307 AC.

The White Dragon.

As a boy, he'd always been torn when it came to traveling. A part of him had longed to see the world and travel to far-off places. While another had wished for nothing more than for Winterfell and the North to be all he'd ever experience. In the end, it had been inevitable that he'd know more of the one than the other. For as much as he, Robb, Arya, or even his uncle may have wished for him to stay at Winterfell, in truth it was someone else who held his fate in the palm of her hands.

Jace had always known that Catelyn Tully had reluctantly accepted his presence among her children. That a day would come where she'd tolerate it no more and he'd be forced to leave. Yet little had he known just what leaving would bring and what roads he'd be forced to travel once he'd done so. Nor that those roads would eventually lead him into battle against those he'd named brothers and sisters once.

Traveling through the Stormlands, Jace pondered on that more and more. As he did on the fate of Bran and Sansa Stark when he finally defeated them both. Memories of lessons that Ned Stark had tried to impart to him and Rob were now ones he tried to forget and yet remembered far too vividly to ever truly do so. Eyes closed as he rode at the head of his army, Jace could almost feel the wind that blew through the Godswood as he and Robb listened intently to Ned Stark's words.

"The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword."

"Why father?" Robb asked. His brother was always able to speak when and where he could not.

"If you would take a man's life, you owe it to him to look into his eyes and hear his final words. And if you cannot bear to do that, then perhaps the man does not deserve to die."

A pull from Winter's head was enough to drag Jace from his daydreams and he turned to see Lady Malora look at him curiously.

"Memories of days long past," he said. Though he'd wager the woman knew his thoughts even better than he himself did.

"Mayhap it's other thoughts you need to ponder on, your grace. You and your wife shall be reunited on the morrow." Malora smiled.

"You have the right of it, my lady," he replied, offering his own smile in return.

Truth be told he'd thought much about being reunited with his wife. Finding himself both eager to see her again and yet worried about having her with him in equal measures. Not once so far had he questioned his decision to ask her to join him, however. Instead, Jace had simply planned their attack on King's Landing in ever more detail. He'd covered every contingency and possible outcome of that attack. Happy to have the aid of so many men with as much, if not more, military experience as he himself did.

In the men of the Company of the Rose, he'd found those who'd taken cities and besieged fortresses. Amongst the men of the West, he'd found some who'd been in Tywin Lannister's army when they'd beaten Stannis Baratheon at King's Landing's gates. Thankfully there had been none left alive that had played their part in the Sack of King's Landing during Robert's Rebellion. As Jace wasn't certain he could be unemotional around men who'd played even a minor role in the deaths of his brother, sister, and their mother.

Turning his attention from the battles to come and the reunion with Desmera, Jace went in search of his familiars and was soon wearing a true smile on his face as he found them. Ghost was several miles ahead of them The white wolf was close to a stream and enjoying a recent kill while Aegerax and Syrax were presently hunting over the sea. All three would rejoin them before or soon after they set up camp for the night and tonight would be the last one where they shared Jace's bed.

By the time they'd chosen their resting place for the night, Jace had found hunger and tiredness to be more than enough for him to concentrate on. Though he knew he needed a spar to loosen up and no doubt Tormund would join him when they walked the camp after they ate their meal. His closest friend had decided to ride beside and annoy Val and Ser Humfrey rather than Jace, Malora, and Davos as he usually did.

"Your grace?" Davos asked, seeing Jace shake his head and hearing him chuckle.

"Pitying Ser Humfrey, Davos," he said, getting a laugh from his Hand in the process.

"'Tis worth having your balls broken by Tormund to know a woman as good as Val, your grace," Davos said, his laughter stilled for now.

"Aye, that it is," he said truly.

The knight had actually come to him and asked his permission as if it was in Jace's power to deny him or Val what it was they felt in their hearts. Ser Humfrey had been lucky that Jace had taken pity on him and not revealed that conversation to either Tormund or Val. The one would never let him live it down while the other would be angered and annoyed that he'd not simply accepted that she'd stolen him.

He'd been happy for them both, as he was for Asher Forrester and Gwyn Whitehill. The two had shared one letter each thanks to Lady Malora and what they'd always felt for each other was still as strong as ever. Dismounting from his horse, Jace still smiled as he thought about other words that had been spoken to him by a man he'd not known was his uncle. Words that at the time he'd taken their meaning wrong and only now knew what they truly referred to.

"Love is the death of duty," Jace whispered softly.

Happy that no one heard his mutterings, Jace nodded at Ser Triston and Ser Sigorn, and together all three moved to some open ground so they could spar. An hour, or two, how long it truly went on for, Jace knew not. Only that Ghost and then Aegerax and Syrax returned just as he was finishing and for the next almost hour, Jace spent time praising and softly stroking all three. With that done it was time for a meal, his hunger now almost ravenous.

Tonight he shared his table with the men of the West and those of the Company of the Rose. Last night it had been men of the Reach and the Lords of the Narrow Sea. While the night before it had been Free Folk and men who'd joined up with them from amongst the vanquished Stormlords. Those men were more eager than most to prove their newfound loyalty to their king and Jace was happy enough to allow them to do so.

With the meal over with, Jace shared a mug of ale with Torrhen and Brandon Snow before then looking at Davos and Lady Malora and nodding his head. Ser Humfrey and Ser Asher took their places at his back and Tormund quickly joined them as they left the tent. Ghost walking by his side as they went in search of the red dragon and the golden eagle.

"How far are we from the fight?" Tormund asked as they walked.

"A week, less," he replied.

"You think they're ready for us?"

"I think they believe they are."

"And the Men with no Cocks? The Horselords?" Tormund asked worriedly.

"Aye, them too."

Jace moved his hand onto Tormund's shoulder, a comfort that he hoped his closest friend appreciated, even if he'd say it was unneeded. He knew that Tormund and others didn't agree with his choice to allow the Unsullied and Dothraki to land but Lady Malora's words and his own thoughts were what he had listened to.

In time they'd need to deal with Grey Worm and his men. With the Dothraki too. Be it a year or more from now, at some point word would reach them that Jace was now king of the Seven Kingdoms, and given what he'd done to their queen, their Khaleesi, they'd seek to avenge her. It was for the best that they did so while Jace led an army as large as the one he'd assembled. Even more so since they were shadows of what they once had been. The largest army the world had ever seen was no more, and could never be allowed to regain its numbers or its strength. Not if Jace wished for his family to be safe and his line to be secure.

"They are not what they once were, Tormund, not even close."

"The Horselords, King Crow." Tormund shook his head.

"Are not to be faced across an open field and men who wear no armor are no true match for those who do."

Jace knew full well that Tormund was uncertain. As too were some of the men under Ser Daven Lannister's command. For it had not only been Drogon who'd wrought havoc on the Lannisters' ranks on the Kingsroad, the Dothraki too had been just as destructive and devastating to face. That was men caught by surprise, however. Men who'd had to face a dragon at the same time. An arakh or arrow against armored and mounted men was far less of a threat and should it come to the two armies colliding, then only one would come out on top. Especially if Lady Malora was right about both the numbers the Dothraki had to call upon and the Khals who now led them.

"Come, I seek my bed, we've a long day on the morrow," he said slapping Tormund's back and enjoying the sight of the wiggle of Tormund's eyebrows.

"The night is far too young for bed, King Crow, and those wolves from the east never seem to sleep."

"And like a drink as much as you do." he chuckled.

"Aye you have the right of it" Tormund chuckled as they turned and walked back to their tents

Jace said his goodnights and walked into his tent to find both Syrax and Aegerax waiting. After a quick stroke to first feathers and then scales, he removed his armor and took to his bed, happy and content in the knowledge that when next he did so, he'd not be alone. What was less satisfying were the dreams that came to him that night. Dreams of growing up at Winterfell and time spent with those he'd named his brothers and sisters. Only two of whom he now welcomed seeing at all.

Yet, he'd be a liar if he said that he didn't wish that the Arya that was off traveling the world and doing only the gods knew what, was not the one from his dreams. Or that he had not cared for the Sansa and Bran that he found there. As for Rickon, he only wished that he'd had more time with the boy his brother had become and had been faster on that fateful day. However, as it had been for some time, his true regrets and wishes were reserved for the brother he'd truly loved. So much so that he awoke far earlier than he had planned to and did so with tears streaming down his face.

"Would that I was by your side or that you were by mine own. Had that been so, then mayhaps neither of us would have felt the sting of the blades that took our lives." Jace said as he wiped his eyes.

After quickly dressing, Jace opened the flap to his tent and watched as first Aegerax and then Syrax flew out into the crisp morning air. A nod of his head was enough to bring Ghost to his side and as they both followed after the red dragon and golden eagle, Jace welcomed the cold chill that he felt on his face. Thus far he'd found the weather in the Stormlands to be much like that on Dragonstone and as close to the North as he was like to find this far south.

"Your grace?" Ser Triston asked worriedly and Jace simply shook his head to let the knight know there was naught wrong and that he'd simply awoken early.

Within two hours, he'd eaten, sparred and the army was marching once again. It took less than one more to reach where Lady Malora said they'd meet Desmera's ship and to his delight, he could see that the Arbor fleet was already at anchor. Hurrying to the makeshift docks and doing a terrible job of hiding his eagerness to see his wife again, Jace noticed that there seemed to be more guards on duty than he'd expected. A quick glance to Lady Malora showed no concerns on the woman's face and yet it did little to remove the knot that was beginning to form in Jace's stomach. Only for the sight of red hair and a smiling face to do just that.

"Jace." Desmera greeted him warmly before Jace took her in his arms and kissed her lips deeply. The true smile she wore once he'd moved from her was more than enough to tell him that she'd welcomed him doing so.

"You are well?"

"I…I am well." Desmera hesitated. "Come, there is much we must speak on. Some news of great import I must share."

Though he wished to push and prod to find out what that hesitation was all about, the way his wife grabbed his arm and moved him towards the gangplank of her ship stilled his questions for now. Instead, they spoke of little of importance and both seemed to just look and take the other in. Once they'd reached her cabin, talk was the last thing on either of their minds and so once again Jace took his wife in his arms and kissed her deeply.

"I missed you," he said breathlessly. Before laughing as Desmera had just said the very same words almost at the same time as he did.

"I…Jace I'm with child." his wife said nervously, Desmera biting her lip as she awaited to see how he took the news.

Jace stood there stunned for a moment. Unable to speak as the weight of the words took hold.

He was to be a father.

To have a son or daughter of his own.

No longer would he be the last of his line.

His wife was carrying their child.

A worried frown came over Desmera's face due to his silence and it was one he did his utmost to quickly remove. Another embrace, a softer kiss, and a warm smile were followed by the words that named him as happy as he could ever be.

Together they moved to her bed and sat down side by side. Jace held his wife's hands in his own as he swore to do all he could to ensure their babe was born into a realm at peace. Feeling a small shiver from Desmera as he spoke about how he'd do everything in his power to see them both safe and protected, Jace knew he needed to ask the question he'd put off earlier.

"I was attacked," Desmera said, sounding more angered than frightened. "After we set sail from Oldtown, a man snuck into my cabin while I slept. He sought to…." she whimpered. "Had it not been for the men you left…."

"You were unhurt?" he asked, holding his temper which threatened to boil over at any moment. The mere thought that someone had tried to hurt someone as good and true as Desmera was almost enough alone to raise his ire. That they'd tried to harm his wife and babe, lit a flame inside him that only those who shared his blood had ever known or understood.

'A dragon's flame.' Jace thought as he let that fire simmer for now.

"I was unhurt." Desmera smiled as she kissed his cheek.

A part of him wished to undress her so that he could look over every inch of her body just to make sure that she truly had not been harmed. Another wished to lay with her so that somehow that would be enough to prove she was truly unhurt. While the largest part of him wanted nothing more than to burn the world and everything in it to make sure that nothing or no one could ever be a threat to his wife and their babe. The words that Desmera spoke next were the ones that charted Jace's course of action and while he awaited until she was asleep to do so, he did not wait idly.

Leaving Ser Triston and Ser Sigorn standing guard at his wife's door and telling Ser Humfrey that from now on Desmera was to be guarded even more truly than he was, Jace made his way below decks and to the makeshift dungeon. He was not alone in doing so. Ser Humfrey insisted on guarding his back and Tormund refused to allow him to be alone when he interrogated the Catspaw. While Ghost, Syrax, and Aegerax fed off Jace's emotions and wished to see the man suffer as much as Jace himself did.

"I would have a name," Jace said to the man who was chained to the wall. A nondescript, unkempt, and soon-to-be-dead man who'd been paid to murder his wife.

"I…"

"Will suffer much this night," he said, relishing the thoughts of what he would do to this thing in front of him. This fool that had dared to earn a dragon's wrath.

"Please….I….it was just a job." the man cried out and Jace chuckled bitterly.

"This won't be. This is as personal as it gets."

He used his knife at first. Cutting into the man's skin as he promised him that this was as good as it would get for him. That after this it would never get this good again. A deep cut down and through his bicep was followed by the burn of a torch to cauterize the wound. Jace made sure that both were as painful as they could be and used water thrown over the Catspaw's face to ensure he remained awake and present through it all.

An hour, or two, it could have been more or less that he used his knife on the Catspaw. To the man's credit, he refused to name who'd hired him and was this another time, another place, and Jace a different man, then he'd have offered him his life in order to get him to do so. Jon Snow would have, but Jon Snow was long since dead and Jacaerys Targaryen would never let a man who'd tried to kill his wife, live to see another day.

Removing his armor, his gambeson, and finally his undershirt, Jace stood in front of the Catspaw and let him see the scars that he bore. Moving first to Ghost, then to Syrax, and finally to Aegerax, Jace let each of his familiars know just what he wished them to do. Then he turned and faced the Catspaw once more.

"I was killed by men I named as brothers," he said, loud enough so that Tormund and Ser Humfrey could both hear each word he spoke. "As dead as dead can be and yet I knew no rest or peace," Jace said as Ghost moved close to him and brushed his head against Jace's hands. The white wolf had lived Jace's death as much as Jace himself had.

An angered screech from Aegerax was followed by one from Syrax and Jace turned and looked at them both. Each of them was eager to tell him that had they been there then they'd have ensured the men who'd killed him had paid greatly for their actions. While at the same time, they both promised that none would ever harm him again.

'My wife, our babe. They as much as me.' Jace's words were accepted as if they were orders and he knew that along with Ghost, they'd protect Desmera and their babe as he had asked them to.

"Would you like to know what awaits you when you leave this world?" he asked to a shake of the Catspaw's head. "Or mayhap you would like to know why, even after dying, I still breathe good and clean air?" this time there was a less enthusiastic shake of the soon-to-be dead man's head. "I've thought long and hard about why death was not the end for me and have heard many people's opinions on why that was so. Some say that I'm some prophesized prince, a savior. That I'm Azor Ahai reborn. Others that my time was not yet done. I had much work to do, after all."

Jace moved closer to the Catspaw as did Ghost. The white wolf snarled and showed his teeth which drew the man's attention almost as much as Jace's words did.

"The truth of it is I'm still here because the gods don't want me and the seven hells are afraid I'll take over," Jace said as he laughed cruelly. "You my murderous friend, are now about to find out just why they are right to be so fearful."

Ghost bit and clawed at the man's leg while Aegerax flew and loosed his flames over the open wound. Syrax too took flight and her talons began to rip at the skin on the Catspaw's face. Blood spurted and Jace wiped it not from his brow, nor did he do anything to quieten the screams that resounded around the room. Behind him, Tormund looked on with a dark smile while Ser Humfrey turned his head away more than once. The knight would no doubt have questions that Jace would answer later. For now, he cared not about anything other than the pain and suffering that the Catspaw was undergoing. Only that and one other thing. A name. So with a nod of his head, all three of his familiars moved back and Jace moved forward.

"The night is young and should you keep your silence, it'll not be until the morrow that you find your own peace," Jace whispered. "A name ends your suffering, and while it will still cost you your life. Death is far more preferable to this, is it not?"

A nod which once again caused blood to land on Jace's cheek and brow was followed by three words that were spoken so softly that both Tormund and Ser Humfrey only barely heard them.

"Queen Sansa Stark."

He knew it. Expected it. Yet a part of him had almost hoped it would be someone else. That he had some as-of-yet unknown enemy that wished to harm his wife. To find out that it had indeed been a girl he'd named a sister once was no true surprise. Jace could even understand the logical thought process that led to Sansa making such a decision. Foolish though that thought process truly was.

His cousin still thought of him as less than he was. She believed him a bastard. When he'd never been one and had been born a prince. In Sansa's mind, no one would ever willingly follow a bastard son, so that meant that it was Desmera who brought the men to Jace's side and not who he was or what he planned. It showed a distinct lack of clear thinking. One that Sansa had no excuse for. For had the North not named a bastard as their king? Even though they had a trueborn daughter that they could have named instead.

As for what it meant for Sansa Stark, well in sending a Catspaw to change her fate she'd been somewhat successful. Jace no longer wished for only her death. Now his very blood demanded it. It would not be a clean and easy death either if she was taken prisoner when he'd dealt with Bran and then looked to the North. She'd suffer and before she left this world, Sansa would beg and plead for her life.

"I'll make her time with the Lannisters feel like warm summer days compared to the darkness of winter I'll bring her way," Jace swore. "Ghost, Syrax, have at it," Jace called out, even though he needed not to do so. "Aegerax, Perzys Ānogār." (Fire and Blood.)

Turning to walk from the room, Jace ignored the screams, pleas, and the sound of teeth and claws as the white wolf, golden eagle, and red dragon took the Catspaw from the world. He thought little about the battle to come and what he'd do to Bran, Tyrion, and Samwell Tarly. In his mind, victory at King's Landing was all but assured and so Jace thought only about the North and its queen.

A queen that he'd gladly stab through the heart and feel no regret in doing so.

A/N: Thanks to all who've read and reviewed. I won't go into details about why I've been so lax in my updates, other than to say I hope it's resolved now. To try and make up for things, I'll be posting double chapters of each of my fics in order to catch up, Starting with this one with the next chapter coming next week.

Up Next, All roads lead to King's Landing and a Battle between a Broken and a True King as debts are settled and old allies become enemies. Meanwhile, in a land far from Westeros, a girl struggles with being No One.

For those following my other fics, I'll be posting the follow-up chapter to this next followed by another Dragonverse, and then double chapters of my other fics to follow and get back up to date.

Missed Reviews.

Kairan 1979:

Chapter 1: So glad you liked it, I thought it an apt description.

Chapter 3: It just bugs me that Arya never even considers what it would do to Jon to kill the woman he loved, his family. As for Sansa, I think she's too southern to rule the North, and at the first sign of war, she's screwed.

Chapter 6: I do actually like Bronn but here he was doomed.

Type Faith

Chapter 2: It would be too much to do so, but there will be hints at things, so we'll see.

House Awesome:

Chapter 9.

The thousands of unsullied who demanded his death and yet rather than you know kill him, they put him in a cell, kept him there until Sansa and others could come from the North and then do what? How did they know that when everyone gathered they'd not simply free Jon and force them to fight a battle? Why would they wait when they actually had Jon as their prisoner?

Logically it makes no damn sense, other than the morons who wrote the show had them do so.

As for Jon having no other option. Well he could have demanded trial by combat and yes I know Tommen banned it, but why would anyone care what a Lannister king did or did not do? Especially when said king was dead. Trial by Combat was the standard way to decide someone's guilt or innocence should they wish to invoke it. Tyrion killed a king (or so everyone believed) he was allowed to invoke it, so why would Jon not?

So would a fight between Jon and Grey Worm not be acceptable to them, since they in the end accepted a lesser sentence from him anyway.

But again all of this is irrelevant, as to get there you have to ignore the fact that the Unsullied supposedly wanted him dead, had him as their prisoner, and yet waited and then accepted a sentence where he's not killed.

Jon blames Bran for far more than taking a crown that wasn't his. Or have you not been paying attention to the story at all? The crown is just a symbol, something taken from him by yet another Stark.

As for them saving his life, who asked them to? At what point did anyone ask Jon what it was he wished before they decided his fate? That's part of the point too.

Also with Grey Worm, he leads the Unsullied, he wants Jon dead, so why doesn't Arya simply kill him, take his face and say, Free Jon Snow. I mean it's not like they don't have bloody options now, is it?

The North knelt for 300 years, Robb may have taken a crown but that doesn't stop the fact that it knelt willingly, and not just to Targaryens either, or did Ned not kneel to a Baratheon? Jon isn't claiming the North as a Stark either, other people are doing that for him. Jon is claiming the North because he's a Targaryen and by right of blood it is his. It wasn't six kingdoms that were forged, it was seven and while the North may have declared independence, they never won their independence, Robb died before doing so.

Sansa has no right in the books if you believe Robb's will, which plays a part here as Jon knows about it through Malora. But more than that, she has no right because she used her position to send Jon to the Wall. Now you may say this is done to save his life, though again I'll point out that the Unsullied who so badly want him dead, literally had him and yet didn't kill him. But not only did Sansa apparently reveal Jon's truth because he was supposedly the true heir and rightful king, she then withheld that truth and never spoke of it again. Had she done so, then it would be up to the Lords of the North whether or not they named her over Jon, she and Bran took that choice away from the North and from the South.

Jon is never given a chance to say screw the Unsullied give me my crown. Never allowed to name himself the rightful king, hell he's not even bloody invited to the meeting where it's all decided. That's kind of the point.

Had he been and been rejected and told it was the Wall or Death, then your points are valid, but instead it's all decided without him. He's not even given leave to make a case for himself, a defendant not only not allowed to confront his accusers, but not even allowed to be present at his trial. Why was that I wonder?

As for his hate for his family, again, you seem to be missing key elements. It's only partly about the Crown or the throne and is far more about a realization of just how much they used him for their own ends.

That's what he came to realize while North of the Wall, the reason why he doesn't just accept his fate and why he then headed south. Once he does so, the rest is politics. People being given the choice to support Jon or Bran or Sansa and most choose Jon, as I believe most would when given that choice. Especially once he gained any momentum whatsoever.

Do you honestly believe that faced with a choice between Jon and Sansa, the North wouldn't mostly choose Jon? Or that there would be those in the North who would not wonder why Bran Stark was fine to be King in the South, but couldn't rule the North? Conversely faced with Bran or Jon, who would most of the South choose? The guy with the blood right and two working legs or the strange boy in the wheeled chair who has literally no claim whatsoever on the Iron Throne?

Even taking Jon out of the equation, the logical inconsistencies that the show left us with would lead to civil war within a couple of years. No one would support Bran, no one. The Iron Island were promised a queen, Dorne barely interacts with the Seven Kingdoms and there are no dragons to force them to do so, while ambition runs rife in Westeros. The show may have whittled the world down to a few Houses at the end, but Westeros is vast and those who got passed over would never accept it for long.

Without a unifying figure like Jon to rally around, the most likely outcome would be a return to the seven separate kingdoms and if Bran was as useful in the wars to come as he was in the Great War, then he'd be doomed.

Chapter 10 Reviews.

Kairan: I love parallels when it comes to storytelling and Gendry was just begging to be his father come again.

Suppes: Dragonwolf will be getting 2 new chapters in a couple of weeks.

Anonymous: I agree in principle regarding the Baratheons, but it's not really something that anyone in Westeros would do. I mean, even the Boltons didn't dig up the crypts at Winterfell. So you really need to be a certain type of personality to desecrate the dead and you could pretty much be certain that Jon and most of Westeros aren't that type of personality.

As for Arya, we'll see her next chapter.

Celexys: Thanks so much for saying so, my friend.

Andy: As you can see, the assassin made his attempt. Arya is up next, we'll see her travels and her thought process, as for her coming back to Westeros, it won't be too long for that. I've updated Purple Deception since this was last updated, but there will be a double chapter coming up soon as I try to get all my fics up to date.

Batmanrishi: My update schedule kind of got thrown into the bin, some personal issues that took far longer and were far more involved than I'd hoped. I'm back somewhat to normal now and so I'm doing double chapters of each of my fics, (the next chapter of this will be my next update, hopefully, this week) after that, it'll be hopefully monthly or sooner.

Irish Hermit: I do have a big Lyanna moment upcoming, it'll involve Howland Reed. With Gendry I kind of went with just how little time we saw them interact during the show as my guide. It's funny because while I'm not a Gendry fan by any means (his whole arc in the show is a mish-mash of other people's arcs, Ned Dayne/Edric Storm) I do think in their rushing to the end, Jon/Gendry was another lost opportunity. They could have played up on the Ned/Robert thing more, the parallel's leading to the eventual reveal of who Jon truly was. Instead, we got a cave scene where Gendry spills the truth of who he is and Jon telling Gendry to Keep on Running and that was basically that. Though considering they also pretty much went from 0-60 and back again with Jon/Dany's relationship and gave that no time at all to grow, Gendry/Jon suffers little in comparison.

I also went with the supposed deleted scene which apparently had Gendry advocate for Jon to die during the meeting in the Dragonpit, as dumb as that would have been. But for me, I think if you take all of that into consideration and remember we're dealing with post-season 8, then this sort of makes sense for Gendry to think he was standing for Arya even against her brother.

Ned would turn over in his grave to see them like this, yes. Though he may probably do that simply to see Jon seek a crown. I have so many issues with Ned that I didn't have when I first read the books. And it's not about him going for the throne with Jon, that's simply not him. But I always find it hard to reconcile him allowing Jon to go to the Wall and betrothing Sansa to Joffrey. I mean it's one thing to believe it's for the best of Jon never looks south and to the throne, quite another to then tie your daughter and future grandchildren to the Iron Throne. No matter how you look at it, Ned in essence usurped his nephew. Not only by denying him the truth of himself but by allowing him to forswear an oath not to ever seek a crown, wife, or children. I find that among many things hard to forgive Ned for.

Now some will say what choice did he have. But, I'm sorry, by all means, go and serve Robert, but do not betroth your daughter and thereby usurp your nephew, that's just not what the so-called most honorable man alive should do.

Sansa even in her crowning showed she was of the South. Which is why I wanted to have someone address that here. She never wanted the North, not until she did. As for Bran, I mean I know the morons who made the show couldn't be arsed to understand the lore, but there were few characters as useless as Bran and everything can actually be blamed on him too. Had he listened to Bloodraven then he'd not have been marked by the NK, who probably couldn't cross the Wall then either, and even Viserion is down to the raven he sent Jon. As for him telling Sam to inform Jon of his truth, I'm sorry, there is no way on earth that can be anything other than an evil act, not logically.

Arya, I think makes the least sense of all. Hell, she should have rescued Jon and taken him with her, but then again, none of them cared about him at all in the end. Had they, then the very last thing they'd have done is send him back to the place he was murdered. Fuck,. Simply exile him from Westeros FFS.

I do think there will be a moment in the books where Jon does something likewise. He does feel lesser and yet he's ambitious too, the one thing holding him back is not wanting to prove Catelyn right. But that's all based on being a bastard Stark. When he finds out who he really is, IMO he'll change.

Dunk: Very much not, Sansa has truly earned Jace's ire. What we don't really see yet is Jace is thinking much about his brothers and sister here. Aegon, Rhaenys, and Robb, as well as himself. Knives in the dark and murderers set against them, it's literally the worst thing Sansa could have done.

So glad you liked the tactics, I've done some studying and there are some good vids on Youtube that show how certain battle tactics worked. But I wanted to try and explain them as simply as they could be, rather than go overly technical with them. Basically, though, Jace understands tactics and numbers, surprises, and planning things out. When you add that to actually having a decent-sized army, 9 times out of 10, it's an easy win.

Hope you liked Edmure here, I went with the book version of him allied to the fact that logically you can look at the board and if you're thinking clearly, work it out. Edmure knows full well that he can't bring the entire Riverlands to his side, he knows too that losing means his family is screwed, his actual family, added to the fact he does actually care about the people and well, this is the only choice he could make.

Guest: My thoughts exactly. I'm no Gendry fan because he takes up other people's story arcs, one of them being Ned Dayne who I do think Arya would actually be with. It's so jarring with her emotions and how they switch on and off and that could have been something interesting to portray. Instead, they simply used it to excuse stupid plot points.

I mean they put her at a literal crossroads, have her make her decision, then for no damn reason at all, she simply abandons it. The worst aspect of what they did, however, was that they completely ruined the relationship between her and Jon. It's such a key one in the books, even when separated they both think of each other. Yet from the moment that he arrives back at Winterfell, Arya isn't on his side completely, if at all.

Xan Merrick: A little of both, my friend. The eggs are for the children, but Jon will see them hatched, or be the reason for it.

Orthankg: Thanks so much.

VwChick: I think given how he feels about Arya and the fact that she's not here, this is the only path Gendry can take. If she was in Westeros, he'd look for her and ask her what to do, but without her there, he just sees Jon going against her brother and sister and so, he goes against him. Glad you liked the battle.

Lord of the East: So very glad you enjoyed it.

House Awesome: You're very right and that's an interesting plotline for a fic. One where Jon is greyer and perhaps less in the right of things. Though for this one it's more black and white, with Jon as white and Bran/Sansa as black.

One thing I would say and this is also partly why I couldn't incorporate that idea here is that part of Sansa's arc is that she betrayed a sacred oath spoken in front of the Heart Tree. That means something to the people of the North and like most things in the show, it's never addressed. Which is why here it is. It's said that to break that oath is to curse yourself and doom yourself in the light of the Old Gods. So knowing that, is it likely that Sansa would then be gifted with a Direwolf or children?

Never mind the fact that Sansa had a Direwolf, had the chance to speak up for her Direwolf, to tell the truth, refused to do so and so helped set in motion the death of that Direwolf. So really, does she deserve a do-over?

The main thing, however, is that whether or not some people feel her actions justified or like her character or the actress or hate Jon or whatever, there are so many logical inconsistencies that the show just hand waves away.

Sansa names Jon as having the best claim, of being the true king, yet not only does she not have that discussion with him, but she goes behind his back but she does so supposedly with the notion that Dany is dangerous and unpredictable. Hell, for all she knew she was setting Jon up to be killed for treason, yet she cared not. And the less said about the entire Dragonpit fiasco the better. I mean, not only does it make no sense that the North wouldn't accept Bran as king, but neither she nor Bran is the rightful heir to the throne or the most logical choice to unite Westeros. Jon killing Dany doesn't harm his ascent to the throne, it helps it, and if the very best story of all.

A man kills a tyrant who murders thousands, all to stop her from doing the same to thousands more.

So, this story is to fix the inconsistencies as I say them.

Wrysenseofhumour: I'm good now thanks.

So I'm a huge fan of the Dance and Daemon, which meant I was so hyped for the show, and from early on I found the lore changes to be just too galling. Now some of it is really good and it does feel like early GOT, but as I said, especially after the experience of letting some of the lore changes go in the early GOT seasons, it just bothered me more and more.

Daemon is a dick, but there are likable things about him too which the show doesn't really emphasize. The Rhea Royce thing is questionable, by that I mean whether or not he did it or not. Not the act if he did it. They also don't do enough to show why he may have, so it comes across far more callous than it could have been. They also do something similar with Laena and the children, where they show too much of one side of things and not enough of the other. While Laena's death is a fucking joke and so against the lore it's from a completely different book.

Rhaenyra is spoiled and temperamental, but again they don't show enough of why that is and make it out as if it's simply her being entitled. It's more nuanced than that. As for Alicent, aging Rhaenyra up so she was close to her age just completely ruins the whole dynamic. Aemond is made far too sympathetic and Aegon is a bit of a caricature. While they pretty much nail Viserys.

I do think comparing him to Ned is apt, both put their heads in the sand like the ostriches they were and their families suffered because of it.

You should take a look at my dance fic, When the Dragonwolf Danced, where I've put Jon in the middle of all of it. I think I show the characters in a truer light there. Though I will admit my own biases lol.