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.

12. To Truly Break a King

King's Landing 306 AC.

The Craven Maester.

Not even laying with Gilly was enough to chase his worries away. The fear that had always defined him had only grown larger and ever more debilitating as Jon's army marched their way. It now infected every single aspect of his daily routine, costing him his appetite in the process. If Sam had been able to think in any way clearly, then he'd laugh at the irony of finally finding something which helped with his weight. Though not only could he not, but that the something was not eating and constantly shitting was not really a blessing to be happy about.

When he could get his mind to work or concentrate, it was numbers that he turned his attention to. The number of men that he believed Jon had gathered to his cause. Their own numbers and what that meant in terms of the battle to come. Mainly, however, it was the number of days until the city was besieged and how long the city could hold out once it was. Neither of those numbers brought him any comfort this morn. What did was the conversation between Bran and Tyrion that Sam had overheard. The idea that they may have a dragon on their side when the battle raged. While later that day what brought him just as much comfort was the sight of the ships that carried the Unsullied as they were allowed passage by the Iron Fleet and made their way to the docks.

Sam stood and watched as Grey Worm and his men disembarked and he felt a surge of hope rise in his chest. So much so that he concentrated on nothing other than that and so forewent looking at both their condition and their numbers. Had he done so, then his worries would have only increased and multiplied. Instead, he allowed the thoughts of what having those men on their side to fuel his appetite once more. He gorged on food and wine and even attempted to lay with Gilly later that night. Though drunk as he was it was not something he found any luck in doing.

"I'm sorry…Sooooorrrryyyy…." he blubbered as he fell to sleep, Gilly not answering him or at least Sam didn't hear her if she did.

Waking the next morning, Sam felt refreshed, or as refreshed as a man who'd eaten too much and now had a terrible hangover could feel. He was alone in his chambers, barely able to drag himself out of his bed, and in dire need of the privy. With no Gilly to help him to his feet, Sam instead practically rolled off the bed and welcomed not the pain as he hit the floor. Hurrying to empty his bowels, he spent the next hour or so doing just that before then dressing and setting out in search of something to break his fast on.

To his dismay, his appetite once again deserted him. As just as he was about to eat, he heard talk of the Stormlord's defeat and Gendry Baratheon's apparent death. Sam needed to hear no words spoken on who it was who had taken the former blacksmith from the world. Nor any details on how clean or not that death had been. If he was a betting man, he'd wager it would be a damn sight cleaner than his own would be should he fall prey to Jon Snow's blade.

Leaving the hall behind him, Sam made his way to the Tower of the Hand and to one of the many hiding spots that he'd found since becoming Grandmaester. Though it was a tight squeeze and built for someone far slimmer than he now was, somehow he managed to move himself into position and then he waited for Tyrion to drink and speak as he was oft wont to do. It was a long and arduous wait and at one point Sam drifted off to sleep. The nightmare he had though soon woke him from his slumber. Sam then found that he could still feel the chill of the cold wind that had been blowing in his dreams and for a moment he almost believed that he was still at the Wall. Shaking the thought from his mind, Sam looked through the peephole and listened to the two men as they spoke.

"Your men are fewer than I expected," Tyrion said as Grey Worm stood in front of him. A look of disdain that was clear on Grey Worm's face even from Sam's hidden position.

"Men lost to fever." Grey Worm replied succinctly. Sam admired how he was able to say so much in so few words.

"And those who were not?"

"Will fight to avenge Queen Daenerys."

"The Dothraki?" Tyrion asked and Grey Worm stepped forward and handed him a sealed letter. "What this?"

"Terms."

Tyrion was not the only one who was surprised by Grey Worm's words and Sam would dearly love to see what terms the Dothraki had asked for. He, like Tyrion had believed that they'd come simply to avenge their fallen Khaleesi. Though mayhap they had simply reverted back to what they had once been before. A wandering tribe of savage Horselords who demanded tribute or sacked cities.

"Agreed," Tyrion said before being handed yet another letter by Grey Worm.

"Our terms." Grey Worm said simply as Tyrion broke the seal and read the contents before then nodding his agreement to whatever it was the Unsullied had asked for.

Sam was more than grateful when both men left the room soon afterward, as it allowed him to noisily make his own escape. The words he'd heard had left him with a troubled mind however and so he went in search of the Unsullied so as to judge them more truly. Not that he was a good judge of what a warrior truly looked like. Even if he had known a few in his life.

He found few answers at the barracks that he and Tyrion had put aside for the Unsullied. Fewer when he sought to find out just how many Dothraki had landed near Rosby. What he did find that day were more raven scrolls that bore news of the army that Jon Snow led and just how large it truly was. His night was then once again spent looking over numbers and by the time he made his way to his bed, it was to find Gilly already asleep.

Climbing into the bed beside her and doing his very best to wake her in the process, Sam found her to be too deeply asleep to wake without shaking. Reaching down between his legs and feeling no sign of life there, he allowed Gilly her sleep and sought his own. Only for the nightmares to come and deny him even that.

They were beating him in the training yard at Castle Black, Rast, Grenn, Pyp, and the others. Sam could hear Thorne cheering them on and bidding them beat him even more severely. He saw him out of the corner of his eye. Jon dressed in black, as always, as he looked on. Yet this time the expression on his face was much different than he remembered it.

There was a glee there that had not been. A joy in his suffering that Sam remembered not. Still, as Jon moved forward Sam felt the hope rise in his chest. Only to see it dashed when Jon simply laughed at him and walked away leaving him to his fate.

He was stuck alone at the Wall, friendless and bruised and battered. Daily they beat him and no matter how much he cried, begged, or pleaded for them to leave him alone or for someone to come to his aid, not one of his pleas was answered. Tonight, however, he'd welcome a simple beating. Looking out at the torches that seemed to stretch on forever, Sam would relish hearing Thorne's putdowns. Given what was coming for them all, a beating was the least of his worries.

The attack when it came saw him do as he had always done. Run, hide, cower, and cry. They were no match for the Wildlings that now threatened to overrun Castle Black and Sam was no use in the fight that was taking place. Hands over his ears so he could dim the noise, he prayed to any god that would listen and bid them to allow his hiding place to go undiscovered. It was not a prayer that would be answered and far sooner than he expected, Sam was dragged unceremoniously through the hall and out into the cold frigid air.

"What's this then?" A bald scarred man shouted out as he looked at him.

"We found this one hiding in the privy."

"He's a big un, there'll be good eating on him." the bald man said as he laughed.

Sam saw him there, standing alone on the wall. His black clothing made him almost invisible to the naked eye and yet Sam could see him as clearly as if he was dressed all in white. Jon looked unharmed, unmarked, and yet as Sam felt the knives begin to cut into his belly, it was only the smile on Jon Snow's face that he could truly concentrate on.

Images began to blur as he felt himself be torn asunder by the dead. He saw Jon Snow ride side by side with a man who could only be his brother, the two laughing and japing with each other as their wolves walked by the side of their horses. Jon was in a cave undressing as a red-headed woman bid him to join her in the warm pool. Next, Jon stood next to the Dragonqueen as they swore their vows in front of a heart tree. Finally, he rode at the front of the largest army that Sam had ever seen and there in front of him, looming large but not large enough, was the walls of King's Landing.

Sam woke with a start and stumbled from the bed. He made his way to the privy on hands and knees and was relieved it was just through his mouth that he lost the contents of his stomach. He cried, bawled like a babe, and barely noticed it when Gilly came to him. Even as she tried to comfort him with her hands, Sam was almost unaware of her presence. Instead, it was the dark figure that stood behind her that his eyes and thoughts were filled with. That and the words that the dark figure spoke and which only Sam could hear.

"I'm coming for you, Samwell. Your days of hiding are finally over." Jacaerys Targaryen said as Sam cried out and begged him to leave him alone.

The King's Road 307 AC.

The Unfulfilled Knight.

She had called it stealing him. Had said that it was a tradition amongst her people north of the Wall. That he was hers and she was his now and only the gods themselves could part them. Val making it more than clear it was her gods and not his own that she was referring to. Humfrey had laughed at the thoughts of being stolen, or at least he had at first. For the more time he spent with her, the less the idea seemed silly to him.

When he'd gone to his king to speak about her, he'd been relieved and grateful to find that not only did Jacaerys not wish to deny them leave to be together, but he wished them well. Humfrey had listened and taken note too when Jacaerys bid him not to speak to Val about seeking his permission to be with her. His king telling him that Val was a free woman and to her, that meant a great deal.

"The freedom to make mine own mistakes," Jacaerys said as Humfrey listened keenly. "The King Beyond the Wall said that to me once, Ser Humfrey, and that's the truth of the Free Folk in a nutshell. Val is a free woman, she needs no permission from any but the man she chooses as her own."

"I'm a Kingsguard, your grace."

"Aye, and the old oaths were shit. Which is why I made you all swear new ones."

Smiling as he looked down at the woman who lay beside him on his bedroll, Humfrey was glad he'd taken his king's advice. As he was that he'd been stolen by a woman as amazing as the Wilding Princess. Moving his hand to her face, he brushed the golden hair softly away from her cheek and watched as she leaned into his touch. Never had he felt anything as soft and smooth as her skin and nothing had ever brought him as much peace as simply looking at her while she slept.

Despite wishing he could just sit and stare at her for the rest of the day. Or that he could allow her to simply sleep until she awoke of her own volition. Humfrey instead rose and began to dress before then leaning down and placing a soft kiss on her cheek and then shaking her gently. He chuckled as her hand slapped him away and then rose from the bed so as to allow her to roll over. Something that had become part of their morning routine.

"Will it be today?" Val asked as she sat up and Humfrey had to turn away from the sight of the blanket falling and uncovering her breasts. Knowing full well if he did not, then the day would get away from them both.

"On the morrow," he replied.

As he put on his armor, he could hear her move behind him and he both thanked and cursed the gods that there was no looking glass in their tent. Had there been one, then his eyes would have been graced with the sight of Val in all her naked glory. A sight that he'd already named as the greatest of all the gods' gifts, more than once. Thankfully Val was fully dressed even more quickly than he and they both left the tent together. Though once outside, they parted, for now at least.

Humfrey made his way to the tent that housed the king and queen and he smiled to see that for once he'd beaten Jacaerys in awakening this morn. Usually, his king was an early riser and would seek to spar first thing in the morning. Though this had become a rarer thing since the queen had arrived. A nod to his fellow Kingsguard and Humfrey took up his position and bid them both to break their fasts and seek their own rest. It would be for Ser Sigorn and Ser Triston to get some sleep in the covered cart today as he and Ser Asher had the day before.

"Lord Commander." Ser Asher said as he arrived a few moments later to begin his duties and Humfrey was only stopped from greeting him back with more than a nod when the tent flap opened and the king, queen, along with the white wolf walked out from the tent.

"Your grace." he bowed first to the king and then to the queen.

"You've eaten, Ser Humfrey?" Queen Desmera asked and Humfrey shook his head, Asher doing likewise when he too was asked. "Good, you can join my husband and me as we break our fasts.

They ate together and were joined by Lady Malora and Ser Davos along with Mathis Rowan and other men of the Reach. Humfrey paying as much attention to those around him as he did to his own breaking of his fast. Even eating while standing despite the queen's reproving look. Though he never intruded on the privacy of the conversation that Jacaerys and Desmera were having, he did much enjoy the light-hearted nature of it. As he did the king's warm and true smile that he had worn more and more since the queen's arrival.

Given what he'd seen Jacaerys do to the Catspaw and how much pleasure his king had seemed to take from his death, it was a much-needed thing to see him so joyful. The darkness that Jacaerys had shown that day was not something that Humfrey truly understood or could easily explain. Not even Ser Davos or Tormund Giantsbane's words about the betrayals that Jacaerys had known in his life. Or those spoken on the losses that he'd endured, had been enough to wipe the memory of a man being torn apart and burned by beasts. Only Jacaerys' own words along with Val's had the power to do so.

"Knives in the dark, that's what King Crow faced and what took him from this world and into the next," Val said as they lay in their bed. "He speaks little of it, of what he saw when he died. Yet on the few times he's been in his cups, I've seen how much it terrified him."

"Yet what he did to that man…to kill him, I can understand that. I would even have swung the sword myself had I but been asked to do so. But to….with animals…."

He felt her hand in his own, the soft touch of her fingers, as they intertwined, was enough to stop his thoughts from going back to what he'd seen on the night the Catspaw had met his end. That and the look on her face as she did her best to comfort him.

"That man wished to take his wife from the world, my love. His babe. Death would never have been enough for the man who dared to do such a thing."

When Val had bid him to speak to the king about what he'd seen, Humfrey had at first refused. Seeing and hearing the Catspaw's final moments in his dreams, however, had forced him to do just that. So Humfrey waited until the king had finished his prayers and then asked permission to speak freely.

"You want to know why I was so cruel to the man. Why I sought not simply his end."

"I need to understand it, your grace," Humfrey said, swallowing the lump in his throat. "The man had to die, I've no qualms about that, nor do I even question that you wished him to suffer."

"But you do about the nature of that suffering?" Jacaerys asked and Humfrey nodded. "My ancestors used fire and blood to make their point, Lord Commander. While those on the other side of my line were oft to make sacrifices of their enemies to the Old Gods. Yet, the men who took my life were simply hanged upon my return."

Humfrey looked at his king and found no expression on Jacaerys' face, no true memory of what he'd done to the traitors who'd stabbed him in the night. He knew full well that Jacaerys had those memories. That they were ones he carried with him always. For now, however, they were locked away in a box deep inside him somehow and Humfrey marveled at how he was able to do such a thing.

"When I heard about my brother's death, I wished nothing more than to see those responsible suffer. Though not by nature a cruel man, I thought the cruelest thoughts when it came to them. Since I found out the truth about who I really am, I've thought the same about Tywin Lannister. About Amory Lorch and the Mountain that no longer Rides." Jacaerys still wore no expression and yet he seemed to take a moment to close his eyes and compose himself anyway. "That man tried to take my wife from the world. He did so simply because we were wed. Had he succeeded…."

Humfrey looked on as Jacaerys opened and closed his fists, squeezing them tightly before he began to speak once more.

"My wife is with child, Lord Commander," Jacaerys said. How fondly the words were spoken and how softly, catching Humfrey completely by surprise. "Our babe grows inside of her and a man was sent to take them both from this world. Can you imagine the rage I feel knowing that? The terror I feel?" Jacaerys laughed a bitter laugh. "I thought myself unafraid of death, only to find that 'tis only mine own that worries me not."

Jacaerys moved toward him, his eyes looking directly into Humfrey's own.

"My Rage. My Terror. Ghost, Syrax, Aegerax, they felt it as keenly as I did and so they wished to chase it far away from here. For had they not done so, then I'd be as crippled as the Broken King. It was not cruelty that took the Catspaw from this world, Lord Commander, it was kindness." Jacaerys smiled. "Just not mine own."

Humfrey still didn't understand it truly. Yet he'd asked his questions and he'd been given true answers to them. Still, he much preferred the laughing and japing Jacaerys Targaryen than he did the one he'd seen in that tent that night. While he very much hoped that he'd never see that side of his king ever again.

An hour later he was being knocked on his arse by his king. He, Ser Asher, along with Torrhen Snow all finding themselves far outmatched in the sparring yard. Another hour passed and they were riding at the head of the army once more. The queen sitting atop her own white horse as she rode beside the king. Desmera looking radiant in riding britches and a matching cloak to the one the king wore.

They'd been joined by the golden eagle and the red dragon, both of whom flew over their heads and were being pointed at by the king. The two of them trying their best to outdo each other in their showing off. Listening to the laughter, seeing how every so often the king would lean towards his wife and place a kiss on her cheek, lips, or sometimes her hand, Humfrey found he had no doubts he was following a good and true man. A man who knew kindness and yet how knew that sometimes you had to be cruel too.

"My king," he whispered softly, all his doubts chased away for true now.

The Kingswood 307 AC.

The Azure Lady.

She called out his name as he brought her over the edge once more. Her husband finally spending inside her as looked deeply into her eyes and kissed her again and again. When she then took the offered mug of water, Desmera drank it down so greedily that she spilled some on them both. Her husband's laughter was soon joined by her own as Jace wiped the water from her breasts and named her a savage rather than a lady from the Reach.

The words were on the tip of her tongue and yet for now she didn't utter them. Truthfully there was no real need to do so as she'd spoken them to him more than once before. Jace brought the savage out of her, or so she'd told him the first time he'd named her so. The things he did to her lit a flame inside her and that flame needed to be released. Besides he was the only person who ever saw that savage side of her and he'd told her that he very much enjoyed doing so.

"Hungry?" Jace asked, taking her from her thoughts.

"Not the now."

"Not the now, my wife is even talking like me now." Jace chuckled and tried to duck the playful slap she aimed in his direction.

Seeing his arm move to lay across her pillow, Desmera lay down and welcomed it when he pulled her closer to him. While she truly enjoyed their coupling, it was these moments after it that she oft found herself looking most forward to. Just the two of them alone and without a care in the world. Or at least they would be until the world intruded on their peace once more.

"It's starting to show," Jace said and Desmera looked down at her belly, not seeing whatever it was that he saw.

"You truly believe so?" She asked curiously.

"Aye or mayhap it's simply a hope I see."

"It pleases you?" she asked worriedly. "That I am with child?" she added when Jace looked at her slightly confused.

The feel of his fingers, as he turned her to face him, was quickly replaced by the touch of his lips on hers. Both of them much enjoying the soft gentle kiss that meant much and yet was over far too soon for Desmera's liking.

"I have not the words to say how joyful I am." Jace smiled when the kiss was finished. "Nor to tell you how full my heart is right now. You, our babe…both are more than I ever believed I deserved and everything I've ever wished for."

She felt her heart still at not just the words but the expression on her husband's face as he spoke them. Desmera had so very much believed that Jace still had love in his heart. That, in time, that love she'd sought all her life would be something she'd finally experience. Never had she dared to dream it could be found so quickly. Moving to kiss Jace herself this time, Desmera then lay back and once again welcomed the feel of his arms as they held her tightly. Safety, security, love, and happiness, all the things she'd believed her mother had found with her father, the man beside her now brought to her life and she owed the gods their thanks because of it.

Sleep was to be denied to them, however. Their time to rise arrived far too soon and yet Desmera felt no fear or trepidation about what was soon to come. The battle would be fought on Jace's terms and had been planned to each and every detail. Lady Malora too had used her considerable powers, Desmera finally being let in on just what gifts the Lady in the Tower possessed, and each move that would be made against them had been predicted. They knew their enemies' plans even better than their enemies themselves did, or so Jace had told her.

"Will you fight?" she asked as she finished dressing and moved to help Jace with his armor.

"I wager Grey Worm will seek me out," Jace replied, Desmera shivering at the thought of it. "With luck before the true battle begins."

"Why would that be lucky?" she asked, not seeing how a fight against the commander of the Unsullied would be anything but dangerous.

"He's an honorable man. Should I get the chance to offer him a one-on-one fight, it may stay the hands of the rest of the Unsullied."

"You believe they'll stand down?"

"I'd hope they would," Jace said as he turned to face her once more. "The threat they pose ends today. Either in death or an accord, I'd prefer it was an accord."

"Why?" she asked as Jace sighed.

"We find our true friends on the battlefield and those men fought with me against the dead."

Desmera believed there was more to it than simply that, yet for now at least, that was all Jace spoke on the Unsullied or the battle to come. Seeing him reach out for her hand, she took his own and allowed him to lead her from their tent. They would break their fast and then the army would march to the gates of King's Landing. By the time the sun set on the morrow, the city would be theirs and their reign would truly begin. It both worried and excited her simultaneously when she allowed herself to think of what was to come. Though for the rest of the day, it would be thoughts of battle and worries about her husband that Desmera would spend her time on.

To her husband's credit, Jace had involved her in every meeting and planning session. Desmera along with Lady Malora and Val being the only women present at the war council. She'd listened as questions were raised and tactics were discussed and then later when they were alone in their tent, Jace would answer every single one of her own questions. Her husband had even allowed her to try to poke holes in his plans or to express any doubts she had about them. He'd then taken the time to explain just why this would work or that would not and why he sought to do one thing or the other. While it didn't remove every single fear she had about the battle to come, it certainly limited just how many she'd carry with her for the rest of the day. As too did the promise that Jace made when he and his men eventually left their encampment and moved to where the battle would be waged.

"I know what it's like to grow up without a parent. Though my uncle was a father to me for most of my life, he was not my true father and my mother…." Jace paused. "I make but one vow to you….to our babe…I will see them born, and be there when they take their first step or speak their first word. I will be there when they grow to be the man or woman they will one day be." Jace kissed her, a deep and passionate kiss that took Desmera's breath away. "I belong to you both, now and always."

She lit candles at each of the seven statues. Then along with Ser Triston and Ser Sigorn who'd been left to stand as her guards, Desmera made her way to the Heart Tree to pray to her husband's gods for his safe return. Once she had done so, it was back to their camp and then the waiting began, the day feeling never ending until it finally did and Desmera was told the battle's outcome.

The Battle of King's Landing 307 AC.

The Broken King.

To say he'd not been fearful, worried, or even panicked at times would be a lie and Bran would never lie, not to himself anyway. At times he'd feared that the powers he'd come to rely on were finally deserting him. That the promise Bloodraven had made to him when he'd told him he'd one day fly, would prove to be yet another lie. Had it not been for what he'd seen through Drogon's eyes, Bran would still worry that was so.

Now he worried not. He held no fears and the only thing he felt this morning was excitement and eagerness. Today Bran Stark would not only best Jon Snow in a battle, but he'd prove which of the two of them was truly a dragon in the process. Closing his eyes, Bran sought and once again easily found Drogon. He was so close now. So close to finally being able to fly for true. An hour, two, three at most, and then the Black Dragon would be here. As too would be the man he'd named a brother once.

While he waited, Bran contemplated on how things had changed between him and Jon over the years. As a boy, he'd idolized both Jon and Robb. They'd been who he'd looked up to for true. Yes, he'd worshipped the famed knights of the Kingsguard and dreamt of being the next Barristan the Bold or Sword of the Morning, but those were simply dreams. Bran's reality was of two older brothers who could best any of their guards, men, and their father's ward, and who only found a match in each other. They were who he longed to, and yet would never be.

"I'm better than you both."

The words seemed to echo around his chambers and yet they were spoken with little conviction. A crown may rest upon his head and six kingdoms might name him king, yet Bran knew better than anyone that he was simply an impostor. His reign was a mummery up to now and only defeating Jon Snow would allow for that not to be so. Only then could he do as other victors had done and shape the tale so it was a more convenient truth. Tell the story so that just like with Robert's Rebellion, it was Bran's name, not Jon Snow's, and certainly not Jacaerys Targaryen's that would be spoken of in the years to come.

To do that, he first needed to beat Jon Snow and see him dead. The first of which he'd thought beyond him until Drogon. While the second was something that gave him no pause or hesitation whatsoever. After all, the only way to deal with a threat was to end them and now that he had Drogon under his control, Bran would end each and every threat that ever came his way.

"Fire and Blood." he chuckled, a rare thing indeed and yet one that he'd been indulging in more and more when he was alone in his rooms.

Seeing that Drogon had now reached the Stepstones, Bran left the black dragon for now and went to look through other eyes. He found the Dothraki exactly where they were meant to be. Rosby was far behind them and when the battle raged, they'd attack Jon's forces from the rear. The Unsullied were arranged as the Golden Company had been. Though this time there would be no dragon to unleash its flames upon them like Drogon had upon the famed sellsword company.

Tyron was busy organizing the defenses at the docks and the Red Keep itself. Gold Cloaks who would take care of any who'd managed to get past the Iron Fleet without engaging them. While Samwell Tarly seemed to be looking for a place to hide and Bran almost wished that Jon would win, just to see what he'd do to the Craven Maester. Almost, for he knew full well that should Jon actually win, then his own fate would be just as unpleasant as Samwell's or Tyrion's would be.

"Looks like you'll get to live another day, Samwell," Bran smirked.

Finally, Bran looked North and watched as Sansa feasted, danced, and made merry with her new husband. His sister thought herself so very clever and even had plans to usurp his rule once Jon was finally dealt with. Bran knew so much that Sansa did not, however. Things that had been put in motion on Jon's behalf that would actually serve Bran even better when the time came.

"The King in the North." he laughed. Another crown that would allow him to outmatch what first Robb and then Jon had accomplished.

Hearing the knock on the door, Bran bid Podrick to enter and he was then wheeled to the large open space atop the roof so that he could look out while the battle raged. Not that he'd be there once it finally began, as Drogon now flew over Blackwater Bay itself and Ser Brienne and her contingent of guards took up their places at his side.

"Time to fly," Bran said as he closed his eyes and was welcomed into the Black Dragon's mind.

The Honorable Smuggler.

He had wanted to be by Jace's side. Had even wished to ride into battle, though he was not a man who truly fought. The task he'd been given, however, was one far more suited to his particular talents. So Davos had set sail on the Black Betha at the head of a fleet that put the last one that sailed to Blackwater Bay to shame. Close to a hundred ships and with nearly 5,000 men aboard them. Had Stannis this many to call upon then who knows what would have occurred.

'More would have burned to death' the voice in his head cried out and Davos wasn't certain he could argue much with it.

There would be no wildfire to face this time, however. Lady Malora had looked and found that not only had it all burned away during Drogon's attack on King's Landing, but even the men who made it had perished. While the books, notes, and recipes they used had all gone up in the green flames of the foul liquid too.

Davos believed that the Citadel would still have the recipe and that there would be men in the East that knew how to make more. For now, they had no need to worry about it being used against them and so he'd welcome that much at least.

"For now," he said softly.

In time, Jace had promised that he'd see every mention of it, every man or woman who could make it, and every single remaining stock of the accursed unnatural flames was dealt with. A boon his king had given him without the need for Davos to ask for it. Jace knowing full well just how much he hated the green fire and what it had cost him.

It meant that as he, and the ten ships that had been tasked to do their king's bidding, split off from the rest of their fleet, they did so without any fear of a fiery death. Or at least any fear of one that should it come to them, was unpreventable. Which in turn made sailing into Blackwater Bay under the cover of night a far more pleasant prospect than it had been all those years ago.

A thousand men of the Company of the Rose. Archers, spearmen, swordsmen, and men who did things that even Davos wasn't fully aware of. That's what his ten ships carried with them and as they sailed past the Iron Fleet, Davos wondered if they truly did so unnoticed or was it as Jace and Lady Malora had insisted, they'd be seen but not hindered or stopped. The Iron Fleet was to stand down and do no more than act as mummers when their own fleet finally entered and the mock battles began.

Even with that knowledge, Davos had still taken no chances. They sailed with black sails and were far from the light of the moon. Their ships weaved a path through the Iron Fleet that took them far enough away from any prying eyes should those eyes look their way. His own ship was the first to drop anchor and Davos led the first boat to the shore himself. Happy to see that just as it had always been, it remained a safe and secure, as well as a secret route into the city itself.

"Send word to the others, tell them to make haste," he said to his second, while he then readied himself for the long night that was to come.

The Kinslaying Hand.

When he saw the Arbor Fleet through the Myrish Eye, Tyrion gulped. He'd expected it to be large, though not as large as it was and he again thanked the gods that they'd struck a deal with Yara Greyjoy. Had they not, then not only would there be nothing to stop the fleet from just sailing right through Blackwater Bay, but the men he'd left to mop up any who'd made it past the Iron Born would be severely outmatched.

Yet the fear he felt beginning to rise was nothing compared to that he felt as he looked out on the army that surrounded the city. Never had he imagined that Jon Snow could gather such support. Not even when he'd read the words that had been written, or heard the tales that Yara Greyjoy had told, did he believe there were actually so many men. Nor that there would be men of the West among them.

Almost the entirety of the Reach had come to Jon's side. The old alliances had held true as once again they'd found a dragon to support. It made Tyrion ponder on days long passed. His thoughts turning to a war that had been won through the foulest of means and his father's words now came back to him. A reasoning and a justification that at the times he'd disagreed with, now seemingly proved right in front of his very eyes.

"What of the lives lost should the war continue? The good and true men of the West who look to their liege lord as their protector? Should I care more for Northern Savages than I do for them?"

"It's dishonorable, Father."

"Honor is the luxury of the dead, Tyrion, not the living."

As he made his way down the never-ending steps and to his awaiting horse, Tyrion cursed himself for not being even more dishonorable. He should have called for Jon Snow's head after he'd killed Daenerys. Sought his death and mayhap he would have if he'd not so very much feared that his own would follow. Afterward, he should have sent knives in the dark to remove him from the world. Fool that he was, he believed the Bastard of Winterfell to be little more than an honorable man.

'You forgot that he was never a bastard, brother mine. He is the Son of the Dragon and he comes to do to you what I failed far too often in doing. He won't fail.'

The sound of her voice in his head almost had him falling to his knees. It took every single bit of composure he had inside him not to. Her words were hateful and yet they were true too. While the delight in which Cersei spoke them was something he should have expected and yet very much did not. Had he been alone, Tyrion would have screamed out and told her that she was dead, that it had been a dragon who'd taken her and Jaime from this world. He was not alone and so the screams resounded only in his mind and they along with his thoughts made the ride to the parley a silent one.

"Your men are ready?" he asked Grey Worm once they'd reached the small clearing where the parley would take place.

"He will come?" Grey Worm asked, eagerly.

"He's already here," Tyrion replied as the sight of the black stallion along with the white wolf came into view.

Despite his small stature, Tyrion had always felt that Jon Snow cut an imposing figure. That even when stood next to men much larger than he was, it was the Bastard of Winterfell that would take the eye. Whether that was true or not, Jacaerys Targaryen certainly did. So much so, that even though he rode with two of Tyrion's cousins, it was the King without a Crown that Tyrion found himself focused on.

Atop a jet black stallion, Jacaerys Targaryen looked a true Dragonking. He wore armor that put even the most impressive sets that Jaime, Renly Baratheon, or Loras Tyrell had worn, to shame. Beside him, Ghost looked even more massive and dangerous than he had when Tyrion had last seen the white wolf. While in the sky above, a golden eagle soared so close that he couldn't put it down as a coincidence.

"The Bastard of Winterfell," he said by way of greeting. Hoping that just like it had on Dragonstone a couple of years earlier, it would be welcomed just as warmly.

"Is long since dead and 'tis the Prince of Dragonstone you now address." Jacaerys Targaryen replied coldly.

"Prince, I thought you named yourself a king."

"I was born a king. The rightful king. Though none have ever cared for what is rightfully mine, as well you know." Jacaerys began. "Yet until that Broken King you serve is no more, I can name myself as king, can call myself a king, and even have others do so, but some can dispute it is so. None can dispute that I am the Prince of Dragonstone, nor that I am my father's trueborn heir. And none, after today, can name another their king without facing the charge of treason that you, Bran Stark, and Samwell Tarly have all been found guilty of."

Tyrion shivered at not just the words or how they were spoken, but the hateful look that Jacaerys Targaryen aimed in his direction when he spoke.

"Without a fair trial?" he laughed, a bitter one that it was.

"Was mine own fair? Did you care to make it so? Or did you just sentence me for the crime you all wished me to commit?"

"Commit it you did." Tyrion retorted.

"You killed my queen." Grey Worm snapped angrily.

"Aye, and I'd do it again and again," Jacaerys said, surprising them both. "I did what was right and was punished for it. The story of my life, I suppose. A valuable ally, friend, or brother when a threat was needed to be dealt with, a disposable thing once there was none." Jacaerys spoke his words in a tone that Tyrion at first couldn't make out. A tone he'd later name as kingly. "It falls to me to remove tyrants and monsters from this world and I name you, the king you serve, and the man you both named as Grandmaester, to be a little of both."

"You will die, Jon Snow." Grey Worm threatened and Jacaerys began to laugh. Tyrion finding it as worrisome as it was rare to hear him do so fully.

"Death comes for us all and the only thing we can say to it when it arrives is, Not Today. Today is not my day to die, I can say that with great certainty. Can you, Torgho Nudho? Or you Imp?" Jacaerys said pointing to them both. "Can they?" he said pointing to the men behind them, the Unsullied who lined up in front of the walls of the city.

"We fight and die for our queen." Grey Worm replied.

"Then fight me," Jacaerys said loudly. "Not every man with you needs to die today, only one. Fight me and should you win, your queen will be avenged. When you lose, however, the Unsullied will stand down and promise to leave these lands never to return."

Tyrion saw Grey Worm move forward and then heard the loud roar as Drogon flew over the city. Using the one to stop the other, he looked to Jacaerys and found to his surprise there was no worry or fear in his eyes. Still, he stopped Grey Worm from accepting the offer and offered Bran's terms only to have them slapped down and refused as he was doing so.

"Your men will burn, Jon Snow," he said pointing to the black dragon. "Stand down and let them live, even if it costs your life to do so."

"Today is not my day to die, and a dragon doesn't fear another dragon, Tyrion. It welcomes one."

Riding back to the gates of King's Landing, Tyrion felt that he'd missed something. Even when the gates closed behind him, he couldn't shake the feeling that he'd messed up and messed up badly. Yet looking to the sky, he could see the Black Dragon wasn't loosing it's flames upon them and as Drogon flew out towards where Jon Snow's army was lined up, Tyrion could only believe it was because it was they who'd soon feel those flames.

The Bearded Lion.

Facing Dothraki made his men nervous, as did facing Unsullied. Nothing though could compare with the thoughts of facing off against the Black Dragon once again. Daven had needed all of his persuasive skills, along with the fact that due to the king's planning, they'd so easily beaten the Stormlords, just to get them to listen. Now he only hoped that the faith he was putting in Jacaerys Targaryen wouldn't prove to be a false one.

As they'd planned the city attack, Daven had once again wondered just how Jacaerys knew all he claimed to know. How he'd been able to plan, counter plan, and draw up contingency after contingency. Whoever he had as his spymaster was more than a match for Lord Varys, or so Daven believed. For everything that the king had said would occur, had taken place just as he'd predicted. Right down to Tyrion Lannister riding out to parley and seeming to be far more confident than he should be.

Now, as they rode back and readied for the battle to commence, Daven found that his faith needed some reassurance and so he rode to where Jacaerys and the Kingsguard were. The white wolf and golden eagle taking note of his each and every move as he did so. Once he reached the king, he looked to Jacaerys, and with a simple nod of the king's head, Daven was given permission to ride alongside him.

"You have questions?" Doubts?" Jacaerys asked.

"Questions, your grace."

"Ask them."

For the next few moments, Daven asked each and every question that came to mind. Even the one that he'd almost told himself he'd not. Though the only answer he received to that one was that at some point in the future, mayhap, he'd be told just how it was that Jacaerys did the things he did or knew the things he knew. For now, he was simply to accept that he did and that he'd shown him enough to prove that so. Something that Daven had no difficulty in accepting, for now at least. As to the rest of it, the true answers to those questions would be proved before the day ended. Or he'd be dead and would care not to find those answers.

So after making his way to his men and giving them their orders, Daven sat atop his horse, lance in hand, and waited for the signal to attack. It would not be a standard cavalry charge they'd make and if things played out, they'd not even truly need to fight today. Yet rarely did plans work out without some variation or issue arriving. Looking to the wall of the city and the Unsullied standing in formation in front of them, Daven was glad that they'd not be needed to break them. Instead, that honor would fall to crossbowmen and archers. One to thin the ranks while the other would decimate them. Only then would his cavalry or Mathis Rowan's be called in to finish them off.

"Why not just charge them, your grace?" he asked as Mathis Rowan, Aurane Waters, Duram Bar Emmon and others looked at the king with intrigue

"The Three Thousand of Qohor," Jacaerys replied, earning a respectful nod from Torrhen Snow and the men of the Company of the Rose in the process.

"Your Grace?"

Daven had listened and been told just how formidable the Unsullied truly were. The most famous of their victories had come at an incredible cost and yet they'd fought on regardless. He knew then that those men wouldn't break easily and that having the walls behind them wasn't as much of a hindrance as it may very well be to others. Which only meant that he respected the tactics that were to be used to fight them that much more. As for the Black Dragon, Daven could only hope the king's words on that proved just as true.

"Only a dragon knows a dragon."

Men now lined up, Lance in Hand, Daven began the slow march towards the Wall and the mummery was now in full effect. Behind them, a Dothraki Khalasar readied to fuck them in their arses and Daven prayed to the Warrior that his king was as right here as he had been in the Stormlands. He prayed too that the archers, pikemen, caltrops, and the ditches all did their jobs and that the Black Dragon kept far from the battlefield this day.

The Last Khal.

Ahesso liked not being in these lands once more. He'd almost refused the call when Torgho Nudho had come to him. Not that he didn't wish to avenge the Khaleesi or didn't feel she deserved to be avenged. Simply because the Khalasar was a shadow of what it had once been. So he'd almost refused the call to arms and would have were it not for the words that Torgho Nudho spoke. The challenge that he presented to him and what it would mean going forward if they rose to that challenge.

"Together we kill them all, Ahesso. The Broken King, The Betrayer, and most especially, Snow."

"Why? What benefits us other than vengeance?"

"You wish the Khalasar to be feared as it once was? To be named as Drogo, as Qhono. To be loved as they were. Do this and you will be."

He'd never known the Unsullied Commander to be so free with his words. Though he had seen him with Missandei of Naath and so he believed it was she who'd taught Torgho Nudho to speak so. When he'd asked for tribute from the spoils, Torgho Nudho had only been too happy to gift it all to the Khalasar. The vengeance that the Unsullied Commander and the men under him sought was payment enough it seemed.

So he'd called his Bloodriders, told them his plans, and been surprised that they'd accepted them so quickly and without question. Ahezzo had even begun to notice just how differently he was looked at once he'd told them they would be avenging the Khaleesi. The respect and reverence he'd hoped for since being named Khal of Khals, was now something that seemed obtainable. He doubted that there was any other way he'd manage to do so as quickly.

For he'd led not great victorious raids, achieved no great deeds, or won no historic victories since their return to the Dothraki Sea. All he'd managed to do was somehow stop them from splintering off into numerous smaller Khalasars. Though given some had refused to once again sail the poisoned water with him, mayhap even in that he'd failed. Still, he knew one thing above all others. Ahesso knew that should he return with the head of Jon Snow, then all would name him their Khal once more. All they had to do was break the army in front of them and kill the man who'd killed Daenerys Targaryen.

"Ha tih Khaleesi! Ha kishi Khalasar!" (For the Khaleesi! For the Khalasar!) Ahesso shouted as they began to ride forward.

Slowly at first, the horses getting ready to truly stretch their legs. Bows in hands, his men ready to loose their arrows at the men in iron dresses. Around him, the sound of hooves hitting the ground was drowned out by the screams that he and his men let out. Their war cry forcing their enemies to turn their heads from the battle they thought they were about to face, to the one that was now being thrust upon them.

Ahesso could almost smell the blood of the first man he'd kill. The victory was all but assured as their surprise attack had worked to perfection. So drunk was he on the thoughts of that victory that it took him some time to realize they weren't as unexpected as he'd believed them to be. Nor were the arrows that flew through the air, theirs.

Horses crashed to the ground crushing their riders beneath them. Some horses came up lame and threw an unsuspecting warrior from their back and hard to the ground. Others seemed to disappear into holes in the ground while others vainly tried to pull up or make to ride in a different direction. Not since the doomed ride during the Long Night had so many Dothraki warriors fallen so easily. Few even managed to dirty their Arakhs as they did so.

'!Kirekosi! Fin!' (How! Who!)

The thought was but fleeting as the true extent of the carnage the Khalasar had suffered was revealed to him. More than half would not ride again. Horses would mayhap never be able to ride or at least never again be mounted. Warriors were dead or injured and those who were not were disunited and somewhat panicked. Ahesso tried to call them to him. He tried to be the Khal he believed he was on the way to becoming. However, he was not yet that man, and the battle they were involved in required for them to be led by someone who was.

Arrows still filled the sky. Men and horses still fell and when the horns rang out, Ahesso saw the only moment of glory that was left open to him this day. Victory was long since something that would not be his. Vengeance would need to be left to another to see it realized. The only thing he could now do was to meet the Great Stallion as every Dothraki should. Taking his Arakh in his hand, he cut off his braid and held it in the air before dropping it to the ground and then he rode hard and fast towards the men in the Iron Dresses. A lance taking his life as his Arakh bounced harmlessly off Duram Bar Emmon's armored chest.

The Faithful Shield.

For almost two years the anger had been building inside of him. The deaths first of Missandei, then of his queen, and the lack of true justice for either of them hadn't allowed it to ever truly dissipate. While his time on Naath had only brought death and suffering to those who looked to him for leadership and guidance. So he'd been grateful when the request came. Even if he hated who had made that request.

An offer to face off against the man who killed his queen. The man who he should have killed the moment he'd found him kneeling by the blood stain in the throne room. Yet it was not Jon Snow alone that he held responsible for the deaths of Missandei or Queen Daenerys. Bran the Broken, Sansa and Arya Stark, Tyrion Lannister. All of them had played their parts and all would pay before he finally left this world behind. It started with Jon Snow, however, he first and then the rest to follow, or so Grey Worm had told himself.

Now, as around him, his men fell to flaming arrows or those fired from unseen bows. As crossbow bolts continued the deadly work that the fever and plagues in Naath had started, Grey Worm wasn't as certain that he would ever see his vengeance realized. Moving his spear to knock an arrow from the sky, using his shield to block yet another, he cursed Tyrion Lannister once more.

'I should have taken the offer and fought Jon Snow myself'

The thought was as true as could be and it was another regret that he now added to a life full of them. He should have attacked the ship that carried Jon Snow north rather than accepted that was to be his fate. Should have taken his and Tyrion Lannister's heads while he had them as his prisoners. Grey Worm should have done more to protect Missandei of Naath when they had sailed together on that fateful day and never should he have allowed his queen to speak to her killer without guards present. Each and every regret was now seared into his mind as he faced the unseen enemies that were quickly taking his men from this world.

'Unlike the fever'

Another regret reared its head as once again he blocked an arrow that had sought his end. The journey to Naath had been at his behest and it was one that he now wished he'd never undertaken. Or at least if he'd done so, that he'd done so alone. A fight against the dead had cost him half his men. While one against butterflies cost him most of the rest. Those who hadn't been killed outright had been weakened considerably and yet still he'd sought vengeance and justice. His actions dooming the rest in the processes.

Around him, Unsullied fought to fend off wave upon wave of arrows. So many had been fired at them that they filled the sky and blocked out the sun. Flaming ones even managing to set some of his men alight and were he not in as much danger from them as his men were, then he'd wonder just how that was so. As for the crossbow bolts, who fired them and where they were was a mystery to him and one he was not like to solve before he met his end.

Then, just as he was resigning himself to his fate, Grey Worm saw the men move forward. More than that, he saw who led them. So even though he'd spent years honing his skills and refining how he fought and had stood still through all the arrows and crossbow bolts, no longer could he do so. Rage, anger, a feeling that this was the one and only chance he'd get. Thoughts of his queen and his love, all of it was enough to force his feet to move forward. The sight of which soon had others doing likewise.

Of the 2,000 men he'd brought back to Westeros, less than 500 now stood. Three-quarters of them were dead or dying and some of those who moved by his side were injured or ill fit for battle. Yet still they marched. Not even the fact that there were more than five or six times their number coming towards them was reason enough to stop them from doing so. No matter that the arrows and crossbow bolts had not yet let up and around him, men still fell. Their commander led and the Unsullied followed. It was who they were and what they'd been trained to do.

"SNOW!" Grey Worm bellowed "FACE ME SNOW!"

It wasn't Jon Snow he saw first, but the white wolf which had been his reason for moving forward in the first place. Its presence though was enough to tell him that its owner was close by. That the figure he'd glimpsed atop the black stallion was indeed the man whose death he truly longed for. As the arrows finally stopped and the crossbow bolts flew no more, Grey Worm readied his men for the attack that was soon to come.

He ordered them into formation, told them to ready their shields and spears and then the sound of horses racing across the ground forced him to turn his head away from his quarry. A slow resigned nod of his head and the truth of things was now fully revealed to him. The chance to face Jon Snow was lost. His vengeance was to be denied to him. Justice was something he'd only ever known by his queen's side and she was no longer here to see it done.

Worse than any of that, however, was the knowledge of what he'd led his men to. Just like bringing them to Naath had cost so many of them their lives, bringing them here had done so too. Though unlike with the butterflies, here there would be no respite or no quarter. None would walk away from this fight. Grey Worm had led his men to nothing but their deaths.

Closing his eyes, he smiled when he saw them there. His queen looked as regal and imposing as she always had. While beside her, his love wore the smile that had always lit a light deep in his heart. Their hands waved to him as they beckoned him to join them. Grey Worm's feet moving of their own accord as the cavalry of the men of the West crashed into their broken and defeated line. Around him, men fell to lances, morningstars, maces, or slashes from swords. Some were crushed under the feet of the horses as they simply rode over them. Only Grey Worm himself somehow managed to remain unscathed or unharmed by the attack.

"Missandei," he said as he opened his eyes for the very last time.

He didn't see the red dragon as it flew down towards him, nor did he hear the screech of the eagle as it made its anger at him clear. As for the white wolf, even had he been looking and listening keenly for its approach, Ghost's movements would have gone unnoticed. His teeth and claws, however, very much did not. Grey Worm felt the pain in his leg, the scratch to his face, the tearing out of his throat, and finally the flames as once the white wolf was done with him, the red dragon finished him off. Fire, blood, and then the sound of Missandei speaking his name. As final moments go, his were more welcomed than most.

The Essosi Wolf.

Artos led the archers and crossbowmen. Torrhen would see to the Dothraki along with the men of the Reach, West, and some of the Lords of the Narrow Sea. His own task was to take the city and to do so quickly. To use stealth, surprise, and overwhelming force, against men who were not trained to fight against those who very much were.

Brandon understood it not. Westerosi were supposed to be much cleverer than this. Their cities were said to be well protected and sieges were known to last weeks, moons, or mayhap even a year depending on the keep. Storm's End had withstood almost the entirety of the Reach's army during Robert's Rebellion while King's Landing could have held back the Lannister forces for some time had the Mad King not ordered the gates opened.

Still, Stannis Baratheon had almost taken this city in a single night too. Something that the king that Brandon served was seeking to outdo. A battle that would not truly be a battle waged outside the walls while inside them, men moved and awaited his command to attack. The Onion Knight had done his job well and their arrival had gone undetected. His men had done their own with much aplomb and they'd moved into position without the need to shed blood. Now, the time had come to put the final part of Jacaerys Targaryen's plans into action. Brandon raising his hand so that the flaming arrows could be fired high in the sky.

"The Gold Cloaks are not true warriors, few have even seen a proper battle. While knowing Tyrion as well as I do, he'll think himself so very clever with his deal with the Iron Fleet." Jacaerys said as they stood in the command tent, the war council in full effect.

"Ser Davos is certain we can land unseen?" Brandon asked. Though it was the Lady and not the Onion Knight who answered.

"You will land unseen. The Old Gods will show you their favor in this endeavor, Brandon Snow."

"Accept any surrender and harm no innocents. We're here to liberate this city from the tyrants that rule over it, not to become them." Jacaerys said and Brandon nodded.

"The Kinslaying Hand, the Craven Maester, the Broken King?" he asked.

"Alive if possible, dead is just as good."

Brandon hoped they'd take them alive. A part of him wished to see just what Jacaerys Targaryen would do to them if they did so. That the king hated them had been made all too clear and none more so than the one he'd named a brother once.

Sword in hand, Brandon moved with his men as they took the docks first of all. A few scuffles and more than one sword being thrown down as men begged for their lives and it was done in less than an hour. Leaving some men to guard their prisoners and after sending the signal to the ships that they now controlled the docks, it was to the city itself that he turned his attention. Their next targets were the gates themselves and those who guarded them.

Upon reaching the Old Gate, they at least faced some true resistance. Brandon had to cut down three men himself before they took the first of the gates and opened them up to their allies outside. Another signal was sent to let their men know that they could now simply ride or march right into the city at their pleasure.

'So far, So easy' he thought as they moved to the Iron Gate and fought another small skirmish before it too fell under their control.

The fiercest fighting was at the Dragon Gate. Whether it was because news had spread of the other two having fallen or the men here being a more loyal sort, Brandon knew or cared not. It took them thrice the time to take it as it had the other two and he lost almost ten men in doing so. Five of them dead, three soon to join them, and two who with help would live and fight to see another day.

Thankfully the rest of his men had found much less resistance in achieving their own goals and they'd since been joined by reinforcements both from land and sea. The king himself had entered the city and so it was to Jacaerys that Brandon now made his way. He found him swinging his sword with skill and purpose that put the men beside him to shame. Right there in the thick of the action while beside him archers and crossbowmen made sure that those in the murder holes and atop the walls wouldn't get off a lucky shot.

Outside the Red Keep the fight was a true and bloody one. The defenders not caring that they were outnumbered and outmatched. Brandon looked to see Torrhen, Artos, the Kingsguard, and the Wildlings were all willing to accept, yet were offered no surrenders. Then he saw one of the largest women he'd ever seen as she moved forward with a large group of armored knights and entered the fray. He too moved forward, only for a hand to stop him from doing so. The king's words rang out loudly and truly even over the sounds of steel clashing against steel.

"Stand Down, Ser Brienne," Jacaerys shouted loudly. "Do not lead these good and true men to their deaths."

"I serve my king." the giant lady responded.

"Then face me and should you win, you'll have served him well."

Never had Brandon heard such silence as he did then. The sounds of battle almost seemed to just disappear as the woman, Ser Brienne as the king had named her, nodded and accepted the offer she'd just been made.

"I win and your men will cease their attack." Ser Brienne asked, clarifying the terms before she moved forward.

"I win and your men throw down their arms." the king replied.

Terms set, the fighting stopped, barring for a fool who sought to end the king's life with a bolt through the heart. The man's screams as the red dragon burned his face off, the only sound that broke the unearthly silence that had replaced the battle's din.

"That man had no honor." Ser Brienne said disgustedly.

"Few men truly do." the king replied.

In his hand, Jacaerys now bore Longclaw. Dark Sister once again sheathed on his hip and covered in blood. The Valyrian steel glimmered and was pristine. Unblemished by the fights the king had thus far taken part in. Ser Brienne too wielded Valyrian Steel and yet her blade looked poor in comparison, or at least it did to Brandon's eyes. The white wolf's head pommel and the red garnets that served as its eyes were something he and the men of the Company of the Rose had been much enamored by.

Around the courtyard they now found themselves in, men looked on with eager anticipation. All but two of those men seemed to do so with little confidence and more than a few worries. Both those men shared a concern for Ser Brienne and no worries for the king, even though one of them was the king's truest friend. Brandon wondered why that was and so he moved closer to the Wildling Princess to see if she knew the answer. Only for the sound of two swords clashing and the ring of Valyrian steel to turn his attention back to the fight itself.

Ser Brienne had clearly been trained and trained well. Her stance, guard, and movements all looked as if they had few if any flaws that he could see. While the King was all grace and movement, feints and counters, as he faced off against his far stronger opponent. They seemed evenly matched, at first at least. The two of them countering the other and neither finding an opening to deliver a telling blow. A kick and a shove from Ser Brienne were the only attacks of any note that were somewhat successful.

It took him a few moments to see it and had it not been for the Kingsguard's whispered words, then he may have not.

"He's playing with her." Ser Humfrey said to the Wildling Princess.

"Aye, he seeks not her death," Val replied looking not at the king but to Tormund.

Jacaerys wasn't quite playing with the woman in front of him, what he was doing, was ignoring the few brief opportunities he'd been presented with to take her from this world. Instead, he was looking for a way to incapacitate and beat the woman without taking her life. Brandon shook his head as he felt the first true worry for the king take hold. In a fight the object was to win and nothing else. When your opponent sought your death, you stopped them by seeking their own. To do less was a fool's errand. Yet, a fool's errand was what the king was about and in this, he truly had the Old God's favor.

'Or mayhap he's simply that good'

The end when it came took them all by surprise. None more so than the woman who found herself on her knees, unarmed, and with a sword pointed to her neck. A feint, a dropping of his sword which forced a hesitation from Ser Brienne and allowed for Jacaerys to unsheathe Dark Sister and disarm the woman knight. Followed by a trip, a push, and then finally, a yield.

"I yield, your grace." Ser Brienne said, still stunned that she'd lost if her tone was anything to go by.

"Your arms!" Jacaerys said as around the courtyard swords and other weapons fell to the ground. "See that the prisoners are treated well. Tormund, look to Ser Brienne's confinement if you will."

The red-headed wildling offered the king his broadest smile and Brandon noticed the small nod of Jacaerys' head. Then with a look to his two Kingsguard, the king and a large group of men entered the Red Keep to end this war once and for all. Brandon, Torrhen, and others all quickly following in his wake.

The White Dragon.

Battles were one part preparation, one part anticipation, and one part participation. To win a war, you had to be prepared for every potential outcome of whatever action you took. You needed to anticipate how your enemy would respond to those actions and what actions they may take to counter your own. Once you'd done all of that, you then needed to simply play your part in what was to come.

Jace's original plan was to besiege King's Landing, while he took care of whatever allies Bran and Tyrion would call upon. So he'd sent the Iron Fleet to blockade the city by sea and he'd see that the same was done by land. Together they'd put a stranglehold on the city's essential supplies and while the small folk would suffer greatly, they'd not suffer for long. Or so Jace had believed. In the end, they'd not need to suffer much at all, as his actions had then offered up another path to victory.

Tyrion had sought to turn Yara Greyjoy's cloak and in doing so had opened himself up to a new line of attack. The Kinslaying Hand had proved once more just why he was not a man who should ever be listened to when it came to military tactics or plans. That it changed Jace's plans to ones more suited, well that's where the final part of a successful military campaign came in. For no matter how well prepared you were, how truly you anticipated your enemies' moves, or how committed your army was to the battle itself, in the end, it was all in the hands of the gods.

'And the Gods owe me much indeed'

In Lady Malora, the Old Gods had shown that he held their favor. Allowing him to block so much of what he was doing from Bran, had proved that even more so. While being able to see things clearly for the first time and understanding the true nature of people, was yet another example of their faith in him. His familiars, Ghost, Syrax, and Aegerax. The dragon eggs that he'd found and the dreams he'd had of his future, all only showed that Jace was about their bidding. While what he felt for his wife, having her in his life and the promise of their babe to come, that could only be them rewarding him somehow.

It was why he'd been so sure that today would go as he had wished it to. Why he'd been able to promise Desmera that he'd return unharmed and why as he'd sat atop Winter, he'd done so safe in the knowledge that victory was all but assured. Then he'd simply watched, waited, given his orders and only when the time had been right, finally joined in the battle itself. Jace had played no part in either the fight against the Dothraki or the one against the Unsullied, other than in planning the where, when, and how those fights would occur.

He'd not shed a tear as the Dothraki were decimated. They may have changed their ways under Daenerys but they were still rapers and raiders at heart. Jace was certain that it would only be a matter of time until they reverted back to their old ways. If they'd not already done so, that was. As for the Unsullied, he'd given Grey Worm a chance to change their fates. An opportunity to save his men, if not himself. For Jace was under no illusion that their commander needed to die.

The tactics that they'd adopt should his offer be refused were easy to predict. Just as the Knights of the Vale would seek to break an enemy with a cavalry charge or the Dothraki would seek to ride across an open field, the Unsullied would look to Qohor and see their path to victory. Jace was not Khal Temmo, however. Nor were the men he'd send against them, Dothraki Screamers. Arrows, crossbowmen, their own poor condition due to their time on Naath, something that Lady Malora had been only too happy to tell him about, he'd use it all to beat them. So he had, and once it had been done, only then did he order the cavalry to ride against them.

The city and its garrison would fall to stealth, surprise, and overwhelming force. He had all three in his favor and so he'd used each of them to his advantage. Brandon Snow, the men of the Company of the Rose, Davos, and then finally his own blade would be enough to take the city and the Red Keep from Tyrion and Bran's hands. While honor and chivalry would be enough to keep a promise he'd made to his truest friend.

"The Big Woman, she'll be there?"

"Aye."

"She's fierce, King Crow, she'll not surrender."

"No, she'll have to be beaten."

"Beaten? Not Killed?"

"I seek not her death, old friend."

It was more than he could say for others within this keep. One of whom had just been dragged in front of him and blubbered and wailed like the craven he truly was.

"Please Jon…Please…I…."

"Throw him in the Black Cells, I seek not sight nor sound of him until his execution," Jace said as Ser Asher did his bidding.

The sight of a tearful Gilly and her babes was not enough to make him feel any compassion for the man she foolishly loved. Nor did the sound or her own wailing stir any compassion in his heart. A simple nod of Jace's head was enough to get Val to move the woman and her children from his sight.

Tyrion he found drunk, as was to be expected. A bitter smile on the Kinslaying Hand's face as he realized he'd been outplayed and outmaneuvered.

"See that he's sober for his remaining time in this world," he said as Ser Daven Lannister gladly moved his kin to the Black Cells. Jace sending some of the Free Folk with him to serve as Tyrion's guard and to make certain that there were no familial ties still remaining between the Lannisters.

Bran sat in his wheeled chair atop the parapets of the Red Keep. His eyes were white as he soared through the air as a Black Dragon. Jace smiled as he moved towards him. Dark Sister in his hand calling out for his traitorous blood.

"Zaldrizes buzdari iksos daor," he said as he drove the thin sword through Bran's dark and unfeeling heart.

The Fiercest Son.

The call was faint but he heard it still. His mother gone but not completely. Whether the call came from inside him or from the lifeless body he bore in his talons, it mattered not. Drogon wished to answer it and so answer it he did.

Over seas, mountains, and lands he knew and knew not. Through smoke and fire, he flew ever onward. When he landed, it was to feed, though he hungered not. To drink, though he felt no thirst. Mainly though it was so he could blow his warm breath over her cold body and seek to reignite the flame he knew she held inside her.

He'd rub his head as gently as he could against that coldness. Fight it away with all but his very flames themselves. Then, when morning came or night fell. When his tiredness had been chased away and only his grief remained, Drogon would take her in his talons once more and his flight would begin anew.

Where he flew to, he knew not. Yet when his journey ended it did so with hope and eagerness. There were other flames here. Fires that burned less fiercely than his own, but fires that could mayhap do what his could not. So he waited, he watched, he threatened and cajoled, and made it clear he'd accept no further harm befalling his mother. That he sought their aid and their compliance and was not afraid to show them a dragon's flames in order for both to be given to him.

Soon he heard another call. One he wished not to answer and yet was powerless to ignore. A voice that called out in the darkness and wished to make him a slave to its whims.

At first, he resisted. Easy as that was. Then he rejected that voice completely. Waiting instead for his mother's voice to grow stronger. Then through boredom, tiredness, or simply curiosity, he allowed the voice to enter his mind and while it sought out his secrets, Drogon went in search of the voice's own. Finding truths that answered some questions, while others yet remained unanswered.

He said his goodbyes to his mother. Not knowing if they were simply farewells or the final ones he'd ever whisper to her. Drogon set off on a flight back to lands he cared not for and wished not to travel to. Each mile he travelled bringing him ever closer to the answers he sought and to the owner of the voice that whispered ever gently in his mind. The voice that promised him vengeance and justice for his mother. Not knowing that Drogon cared not for the one and needed no help to bring about the other.

Images filled his head of the man who'd killed his mother. The one with blood that smelt the same as both his mother's and his own. Again not realizing that Drogon had judged that man already and had he wished him dead, then none could have stopped him from seeing that so. He needed no help to end that man. To take him from this world and send him into the next. Certainly not the help of a voice that unbeknownst to itself had shown him far too much of who he truly was.

The city lay beneath him now. Its streets were still marked by the ferocity of the flames that Drogon had unleashed upon it at his mother's behest. Flames he'd gladly unleash once more should she be here to bid him to do so. Drogon flew over the armies that fought against each other. One of them more than outmatching the other. He took comfort in knowing that were he but to just wish it, then he could destroy them both, yet he flew onward and left them untouched.

When he felt him, he welcomed him in. Opened himself completely to the voice and the presence that the voice belonged to. In his mind, he felt him make himself a home and Drogon allowed him his comfort for a few more moments. He allowed him to order him to do his bidding. Listened as he was told to burn the ships in the bay and the army at the gates. Only then did he let the voice know that he knew the truth about him. That he had found the answers he had sought and knew now that he was the man truly responsible for his mother's death.

"For Mother'" he roared loudly as he flew out over the bay and made his way back to the land of his ancestors. While inside his head the voice cried out in pain and agony as over and over Drogon bathed a raven with three eyes in flames.

The Sunset Sea 307 AC.

The Girl with No Name.

She'd needed to kill three men in Braavos. The House of Black and White had not been happy that she'd used the gits they'd given her for her own gain. In Pentos she'd turned down an offer of a contract to work for one of the Magisters. A paid assassin was not the life she wished for or one she cared to seek out. Supplies, another dead body, and then a quick and hasty departure was all she'd gained from stopping once again.

So it continued A new port, a new offer, threat, problem to deal with, or fool who wished to test her skills and sword. Tyrosh, Lys, Sunspear, Starfall, Oldtown, and Lannisport. Almost a year of travelling and she was now closer to the North than she had been a year ago. Arya leaving nothing but dead bodies in her wake and finding that life aboard a ship was dull and boring. Not to mention that it gave you little else to do but be alone with your thoughts.

Thoughts that led her to seek a distraction and take one of the men of the crew to her bed. The poor deluded fool had since even declared his love for her more than once and was it not for the dreams that came when she slept alone, he'd have been shown the door much earlier than he finally was. As for those dreams, Arya knew not what to make of them and so at first, she tried to simply ignore them. Hard though that was proving to be.

Sansa knelt in the Throne Room, her top ripped open to uncover her breasts as Meryn Trant beat her with the flat of his sword. Atop the Iron Throne, Joffrey looked down with a gleeful expression. His smile beamed as he bid the Kingsguard to beat her more truly so that her brother could hear her cries of pain.

Tyrion Lannister entered with a man and tried to put a stop to the beating, only for his words to be cut off when he was attacked by a white wolf. Arya looking on as Ghost killed each and every man in the room. Joffrey suffering more than any before Ghost looked Sansa's way.

"Please…"

"Please…."

"I'm your sister."

"Jon, don't do this….I beg you."

"My sister is dead and you are no kin of mine." Jon's voice rang out as Ghost tore Sansa apart limb by limb.

Bran climbed the broken tower. His feet and hands finding every single point to hold onto unerringly. Higher and higher he climbed until he reached the window and Arya found herself seeing what it was that he saw when he looked inside. The Kingslayer was behind his sister, thrusting inside her with a look of pure pleasure on his face. While Cersei Lannister screamed first in delight and then in terror as she saw Bran at the window sill.

Then in the blink of an eye, they both were gone and Arya smiled when she saw Jon walk in next to Ghost. Her brother looking different in her eyes. Jon seemed more confident and composed, which made her as proud as she'd felt when she first heard that he'd become king.

"Jon, I….."

"The Things I Do for Love," Jon said as he ignored her voice and pushed Bran from the window, Arya looking on in horror as her brother crashed loudly into the ground below.

Gendry swung his hammer and pounded the metal into shape. The thin sword was a thing of beauty and Arya could barely believe that even her Bull could make anything of the like of it. He held it up into the light and she saw the swirls that named it as Valyrian Steel. Her attention was so focussed on that, that she missed the ruby and flamed guard which would name it something else entirely.

As she looked on, the hand that held it changed to a black-gloved one and the voice she heard forced her to turn and look as Jon spoke and thrust forward the sword. Its hunger for blood soon being sated by that which poured from the open wound where Gendry's heart should be. Arya cried out as her Bull fell to the ground and whispered out her name.

Each of her dreams was variations on the same theme. In most of them, Jon killed someone she loved. Her sister, her brother, or Gendry. While in others it was men she knew and cared not for. Samwell Tarly. Tyrion Lannister. Grey Worm. All of them found their ends at Jon's hands and Arya could understand it not.

The night they finished loading the last of the supplies on board, she had another dream of Jon. Though in this one he killed no one and seemed to be her brother once more.

Jon sat by the Heart Tree, the ground around him covered in ice as he ran the whetstone down Longclaw's blade. He looked so very much like her father that it brought a tear to her eye and made her footsteps that much heavier than they usually were. The sound was enough to make Jon look her way and offer her a warm smile. One that had always warmed her heart and chased her worries and doubts away. Something it managed to do once again.

"I loved you most of all, you know," Jon said as he rose to his feet. "The sister of my heart if not my blood," he added sadly.

"I am your sister." she declared and Jon shook his head.

"My sister would have fought for me. She'd have never allowed them to judge me for a crime I should have been applauded for. Never would she have allowed my rights to be denied to me or my birthright to be stolen."

"I…they…."

"Not they, you," Jon said angrily. "A woman who can wear any face she wishes and yet chose not to wear one to see me free. Why was that I wonder?"

"Jon I…."

"You all killed Jon Snow. That day in the Dragonpit when you decided that he deserved to be sent back to the place he'd died in once before. You all killed him and not a single one of you even bothered to mourn over his corpse."

"You lived, Jon, I….you lived…."

"I died and have become death, Arya. I bid you seek not that my blade is aimed in your direction too. For though it would pain me, I know that my true sister died long ago and I mourn her still."

She awoke alone in her bed. Her tears falling from her eyes as she rose to her feet. Lannisport was but a day behind them, while the open sea stretched out before them. Yet once again, Arya knew not which path to take.

A/N: Thanks to all who've read and reviewed. Up Next, Tyrion and Samwell face their fates as Jace makes plans for a new Iron Throne. Allies are rewarded and plans are made to deal with enemies. While the small folk wonder if their lives will be any different under a king and queen than they were under any other regime. In the North, Sansa finds false hope and promise while Harrold sets his sights on the wars to come.

For those following my other fics, Dragonverse is up next followed by two chapters of Live as a Wolf to bring that fic to an end.

Finkarhu: So glad you liked it.

Dunk: You called it right with Bran, he only thought he had control. Hope you enjoyed the Unsullied and Dothraki being dealt with, as for whether or not Jace still has more enemies to fight, you'd be completely right if it wasn't for Sansa being Sansa. Even if she lost allies, she'd still seek to fight. Glad you noticed just how loaded Sansa's letter was, and so did Edmure. But for me the key with Edmure was that after the fights he'd gone through, he really didn't wish another and especially not one he couldn't win. I also think that a small part of him would be bitter over the fact that once again he's being called to fight for family in a fight not of his choosing.

Irish Hermit: It very much seems that way doesn't it? You raise an interesting point as I've always blamed Ned for how his family fell to pieces once he was gone, and how he'd left them ill-prepared for the world they lived in, but when you take their subsequent actions into account, they are probably more to blame. Bran can only have wanted to be king, to win, to prove himself better than anyone else, his actions don't make any other logical sense. While Sansa certainly only wished to be queen. I do think the key thing is that neither brought up Jon's claim, even if to see it rejected because they feared it wouldn't be. That to me tells a lot when it comes to their motives.

I also think that while Sansa eventually takes the lessons on board that life dealt her, she takes the wrong lessons completely. There is a reason why a lot of the fan base calls her Cerseifinger, she basically becomes a combination of them both. Willing to sacrifice anyone or anything for her dream of being queen. None of them take Ned's lesson to heart, they're certainly not a pack and so they need to be reminded of the other side of that saying.

Edmure I think would be annoyed at how Sansa belittled him, Bran being so unfeeling would play a part too, but mainly it's the fact that he'd look at the board and see only a loss. Had this been during the WOFTK, then that Edmure would have joined one or the other, here, now, he's smarter and has suffered from being naïve, so he's not going to blindly follow.

You pretty much nailed my feelings regarding Arya to a T. She never supports Jon from the moment he arrives back in WF, which goes completely against her character mind you. But it is what we're given and so here I have it addressed by Jon in her dreams. Hope you liked it.

Lester: I'm an unapologetic Jon fan, he's my fave character and so always my protagonist. In regards to him being awesome, well yes guilty as charged. But what I try to do is instead allow the logic of the situation to define just how awesome he truly is. For example, do you think Robb would have won the WOTFK had the Reach allied with him? I'd bet you do, I certainly do. Well, Jon being Jon, with his truth, he could bring the Reach with him and so he'd have a much larger force at his disposal, logically it stands that then he'd win far more easily than if he had a lesser force.

In canon, Jon's struggles are simply down to numbers. He is in charge of a broken-down Night's Watch. His army would later be made up of Wildlings. He never had Robb's numbers, yet not only did he manage to win victories, but the game plan he gives Stannis would win the North. So again when I give him more and more numbers, allies, raise him up so he's in some way outmatched, to me that's logical based on the starting point of the story.

Would the Reach knowing who Jon is support him over Bran in a setting like this? I believe they would. And if you have the Reach, you have the coin, men, and supplies to win against the fractured alliance that Bran or Sansa could cobble together. Again to me, this is logical. As it would be Jon bringing the Reach on board during the WOTFK and allying them with the North. Now in order to make the fight an even one, you have to move certain pieces around the board so that's so. So for example, in my story Honor so High, Jon has no dragon and fewer allies, he's also going up against Tywin and Robert, so it's a much more even fight and he'll struggle more there.

This fic takes the end of the show, paints those against him as the villains that IMO the show's ending left them as, and then works on the basis that logically, given that I believe under Bran/Sansa the Seven Kingdoms would fracture and descend into chaos, having a figurehead to rally around would only make their defeat inevitable.

Those with Jon being awesome too, well we're seeing them from one side of things. We're seeing how they see themselves or how others with Jon see them, which is a biased narrative and completely by design. Those against him, well again we're seeing them mainly from the eyes of those with Jon, so of course they're bashed, painted badly. Or do you think Robert's painting of Rhaegar as a rapist/kidnapper is bashing?

I won't apologize for a pro-Jon bias or for making him almost unbeatable, simply because I think the circumstances of the premises I start with, allow that to be so. But I'm not going to write an anti-Jon fic or one where he's bashed, other than by the characters who are against him. I mean Sansa or Bran here have done just as much bashing to Jon as Jon or his allies have to them, have they not?

VfSnake: The funny thing is that in my head, Sansa wouldn't even consider herself a Kinslayer in doing so. Not even in seeing Jon dead would she? I don't think she sees Jon as kin, not truly. She may have in the moment she arrived at Castle Black, but literally in the very next, he simply became a means to an end for her. I'm so glad you brought up how Drogon had his chance to kill Jon, yet didn't. That was something I was very keen to use here, so I hope you like it. That's exactly it with Yara, she is smarter than Theon, and she knows just how much support Jon truly has. I think if she actually believed he could be beaten, she may consider it. But on the flip side, I don't think she'd trust Tyrion and Bran as far as she could throw them.

Scarilla: With Edmure I did consider going that way, to have him align himself with either Sansa or Bran. But in the end, he does actually care for his people and he understands that just like his father before him, he's not got the full support of the Riverlands. Knowing that, weighing up the odds and feeling a little bitter about how Sansa showed him up in KL as well as being drawn into yet another war because of the Starks. I think Edmure would be far more clever this time around. Also, I wanted to show he'd learned from his mistakes of the past, that what he'd gone through had helped him grow.

Oh don't worry, Jace will reveal that little titbit very soon. Tyrion unfortunately still isn't the man he used to be and now he never will be.

Celexys: I think certain characters work with just a little push one way or the other. Sansa, Ned, Catelyn, Tyrion, all can be slightly changed while people like Euron, Ramsay, Joffrey, and Littlefinger really can't Imo.

Syrius: I do think it's something the show really dropped the ball on. I mean firstly they made Jon into Ned 2.0, but even after his death and resurrection, there was no change in his character whatsoever. Like in the books, I think Jon has shown a ruthless dark side which will only be even more apparent when he's resurrected. So here given that he's realized he's been played and is seeking revenge, he's more easily able to put away the wolf and be the dragon I think. I'm glad you're liking it.

CeeLee: Thanks so much for saying that, it means a lot.

Galwitanatiud: So very glad you enjoyed it.

Lord of the East: Happy you liked it.

Xan Merrick: Thank you, my friend, glad you liked our first, not last, look at the Mountain Clans.

Wrysenseofhumour: That's exactly it with Daemon, they never showed the other side of his character and so he's very one-dimensional. It misses some of the key aspects of who he is. His true love for Laena, for his children, even for Rhaenyra. Yes, he lusted for power and was a rogue, but he's a far more rounded character than they made him out to me. A far more likable one too.

I'd not considered it that way with Ned. This is funny for me as with Ned I think I've probably over analysed him more than any other character and had my opinions on him swayed the furthest over the years. But yes, he does pretty much abandon the North to a 15-year-old boy to deal with. I do think in Ned's defense, one of the few I'll make for him, the thing we have to take into account is that so much of where his thoughts should go, we're not shown so as to protect George's big secret.

So his true thoughts on Jon are only half explained since we'd need the truth about Jon revealed in those thoughts for the full explanation to be given. But let's be honest here, his entire reason for going south is just an excuse at the end of the day. His bringing his girls to where he is ostensibly going to prove the Lannisters guilty of killing the Hand of the King is just ridiculously stupid and clearly a plot point for what happens with Sansa/Arya. You're reasoning here actually makes more sense and does indeed paint him in an even worse light.

On Viserys, I do think he stood up occasionally and with Daemon I don't think it was ever that, more simply a brother tiring the patience of another brother. I would reckon there was some jealousy between Viserys towards Daemon's lifestyle, and him having the skills that he himself didn't possess. Mainly though he wanted an easy life and like any man who wished for that, he created all the problems he faced for himself and then left them to someone else to deal with them.

I'm sorry you disliked Jon/Rhaenyra's growing attraction in my fic, it was meant to be childish and first blooms of desire and supposed to be as innocent as it could be too. Maybe I got the tone wrong, but nothing further is happening with them until they're older and wed. Like you, I can be creeped out at the thoughts of children doing those things, which is why I thought I'd restrained it enough. Anyway, we're past that part now, so hopefully you'll enjoy the rest of the story from here on out.

Andy2800: So very glad you liked it. The way we were denied so much of the North's great characters in the show irked me. I mean Wyman Manderly is given one scene, and we don't get to see Howland at all, it was just pathetic really. So I wanted to show them in a positive light here and I do think they'd be fully behind Jace over Sansa.

With Desmera/Jace, the news about the babe brings them even closer and the attempt on her life has allowed for Jace to think about a world without her, which he doesn't like at all.

Yara is fully aware of the support that Jace has and pretty much just wanted to know how much Bran/Tyrion knew about them. So even if she had briefly considered joining them and turning against Jace, she certainly wouldn't be doing so now. Jace through Malora knew all about the Unsullied/Dothraki and Drogon. Though he'd already somewhat predicted the first two as being a move that Tyrion would make. You raise an excellent point about Drogon too, even Dany struggled to control him, Bran had no chance.

Yeah, I fear if we do get a show at all it'll be a continuation of the same Jon we saw, even some comments that have been made by Kit seem to lean that way. I still hold out hope that he was just talking about where Jon is right now emotionally and not what the show would be about. Mainly because Kit is on record as saying he wished they'd allowed him to play the Jon Snow of the books rather than the one he got to play and he is heavily involved creatively this time. So we can but hope.