A/N: Longclaw: Sorry for the long wait, everybody. Both BRuh4 and I had other projects taking up our time and we wanted to make sure this update was perfect. Anyways, we're back!

Gonna be getting into a lot of action coming up, all culminating on Dany's arrival in Westeros. Basically the moment we've been planning since the beginning - we're both stoked about it, and I don't think y'all will be disappointed :D

Good news! I have just published a new story called A Terrible Resolve. Basically it's a Season 8 fix-it fic. Be sure to check it out, and I swear y'all will like it :)

BRuh4: Hey y'all, we're real sorry about the wait. We've both had a lot going on with other projects and stuffs. Also, and for me personally, it really hasn't been flowing recently, light case of writer's block. I'm A-okay now though.

This is a cool one. I like it a lot. It's got some rumblings of what you've all been wanting.

Hope you enjoy it.

Follow, fav, and review!

Chapter 10: Three

Meereen had stayed calm for most of her reign, keeping it that wasn't difficult. The majority of the people loved her - she freed them, and they adored her for that. The former masters feared her, especially after she ordered their leaders crucified for their crimes against the hapless slaves. As a result, she didn't have to deal with many issues within the city.

That was until the Sons of the Harpy.

In taking control of Astapor, Yunkai, and Meereen, Daenerys Targaryen had done her damnedest to be rid of the slave masters that once controlled all three cities. Anything from burning them alive to beheading them. Most fell in line, simply wanting to live their lives and even coming to support her once the economy stabilized. But a stubborn minority just wouldn't bend the knee. They were an itch that wouldn't go away no matter how much it got scratched. A weed that couldn't be just torn up, it's already spread.

They funded a cult of sorts, an underground group of people - mostly young upstarts eager to cause trouble and the richest slave owners that wanted a return to the status quo - that tirelessly attacked her men and her people. Increasing patrols had only driven up the numbers of deaths of her Unsullied. They were not garrison or counterinsurgency troops.

Which just frustrated her to no end.

Her lieutenants couldn't find any trace of them. No matter how many houses they searched, anything that would assist their efforts. Leaving them helpless in knowing where they would attack next.

Often she'd wander out onto her terrace, lost in thought. Watching her children fly above her. Her dragons were little help with this issue, her impulses said to use them. But she didn't know where to attack, the Harpies hid themselves well in the city.

And the dreams. Gods, the dreams. To call them nightmares was… too simplistic. They varied in the minor details, but the main tenets were all the same. Stuck in a blinding snow, fighting either as herself or a mighty silver dragon. Battling harpies and lions and stags. Sometimes she'd be doing well on her own, others she'd be close to defeat. But always, the same white wolf from the first dream so long ago would appear. Teeth bared and tearing through all that opposed her. They would win, but the wolf would die, wound through his chest as she or her dragon form nestled him in her arms.

Every single dream. Every single night for weeks. It boggled her mind as to why, why this dream and why now?

Daenerys just felt frustrated. Frustrated and useless.

Footsteps behind her snapped her from her thoughts, she turned to see Ser Barristan's warm gaze.

"Ser Barristan," she acknowledged him.

"I didn't mean to disturb you," he bowed. "Your Grace."

"You did no such thing."

"Tyrion Lannister is here, wishes to speak with you."

She hummed, perturbed that he would ask to meet with her. Instead of the other way around, "He's sober enough?"

"Well enough, Your Grace."

"What does he wish to speak of?"

"He didn't say."

The Queen only nodded in response, stepping by her sworn shield. He followed her to the solar, where the Imp sat, waiting. A curious gaze about his face, along with a chalice of wine amidst his grip. His fourth or fifth? He wasn't sure. Watching as the Daenerys glided into the room, her flowy white dress trailing her.

"Your Grace," Tyrion bowed his head.

"Lord Lannister," she replied, taking a seat across of the dwarf. Barristan lingered behind her, giving Tyrion a somewhat unimpressed gaze.

"Hmm… Guessing as I'm still alive, I assume you have a use for me," Tyrion remarked, swirling the wine around in his cup.

"Is that why you asked for me?"

"I suppose," he drawled out.

Daenerys glanced back to Barristan before speaking next, "What is it you think? My purpose for you?"

"I've thought a lot about it. Whilst spending my many hours in your… pyramid. One option would be to serve me up to my sister on a silver platter. The—"

"Your tiny nephew, you mean?" Daenerys smirked, cocking her head to the side.

Upturning his lip, Tyrion scoffed, "My nephew is innocent."

"Innocent? He sits upon a throne that is mine by right."

"He's harmless." Tyrion sat up, remembering his fondness for Tommen.

"Then perhaps taking the throne will be easier than I thought."

Tyrion glared at her, downing the rest of the wine. When he reached for the flagon on the table, Barristan stepped forward and grabbed it, stopping him. Saying, "You've had enough."

The Lannister made to retort but thought better of it.

"You said something earlier," Dany started. "Whether or not I'm worthy of your service. Have you decided?"

"Yes, well, Lord Varys brought me here, or wanted to… Your dear friend Jorah expedited the process," Tyrion said, grumbling. "I'd given up on life. But he told me that you were worth it, that you," he raised his finger. "Are what Westeros needs."

"Am I?"

"He thought so."

"What do you think?"

Tyrion cleared his throat, eyes shooting between the Queen and the ever-vigilant Ser Barristan the Bold. Noticing he should choose his words carefully, but also he felt he should be honest.

"I have heard rumors, all sorts of things. Some say you are a savior, a messiah from the god of the Red Priests. Others aren't so kind. Calling you some kind of demon, or an actual physical dragon. I heard someone say that you can transform - nevermind. Some say you are... terrible."

"You traveled across the world to meet someone terrible?"

"I wondered if you're the right kind of terrible," Tyrion replied.

"What sort is that?"

"The kind that ensures that those who follow you aren't."

Daenerys reached for her own cup and poured herself some wine. Tyrion raised his eyebrows, surprised. As she lifted it to her lips, she said, "A Queen isn't allowed to taste the delights?"

"I didn't say that."

She took a sip, "I reopened the fighting pits, much to my own chagrin, murder is entertainment, once again." Sighing, setting the cup aside.

"I believe that was wise," Tyrion nodded in reassurance. "I was also impressed to hear you agreed to marry someone you despise for the overall greater good of your people. Reminds me of my sister, marrying someone she loathed, but with complete opposite intentions. Eventually, she had him murdered."

"I don't foresee that happening."

Tyrion smirked, "Then maybe it's not entirely outrageous that Varys was right about you after all."

"Ah… Varys, the Usurper's spymaster? The man oversaw the plot to murder me."

"He did many things that he had to do to survive, other things he didn't have to do as well," Tyrion explained, biting his lip. "I'd wager to guess that the Spider was the sole reason you weren't smothered in your crib."

Daenerys stiffened, leaning forward, "Where do his loyalties lie? You trust a man like that?"

"Varys is loyal to the people, the common folk, the sort of people whose hearts you aim to win… and yes, I do trust him. Maybe the only person I do… well, aside from my brother."

"The man who betrayed and murdered my father?"

"The very same."

"I know who my father was… what he did, he earned his name. But perhaps I will have you killed after all," she said, unmoved as Ser Barristan stepped forward, hand on his sword.

To his credit, Tyrion only shrugged, "Couldn't stop you even if I wanted to. Kill me if you so wish… then my last few days will have been exciting. Seeing dragons… that only made it worth the trip."

Daenerys narrowed her gaze, examining the smaller man before her. Thoughts swirling through her head, this type of decision would normally merit discussion and further mediation. But somehow her conclusion came swift, and the choice even quicker. This Lannister may be useful yet, and if not, she can think of one particular solution to his potential insolence. Clearly, he has knowledge of the land she aims to claim. Westeros. A place she's never even set foot on. Honestly, she wouldn't know the first thing on how to take the throne. At least without using dragon fire, that's her immediate impulse of course. Yet, something tells her that wouldn't be conducive to a long-standing reign.

"I'm not going to kill you."

Barristan backs up at the words, but still keeping his eyes on Tyrion.

The dwarf swallowed hard, "No? Send me away?"

"No… You're going to advise me."

They had heard that the fighting in the North would begin soon. But they didn't know when or how long it would be before they received word. Well, a raven arrived.

Cersei was not happy.

"Those dull Northerners couldn't stop him?" she raged. "Father paid fucking Roose Bolton plenty to deal with Robb Stark and hold the North for us, and he can't even fucking do that." All highborn grace and manners were lost on Cersei as her fury roared through the small council chamber.

"We were told the appearance of Jon Stark, and his wildlings were the deciding factors," Qyburn announced.

"One man? And a pack of rapists and raiders?"

"A man who lived in the North his whole life," Jaime added. "I'd be willing to bet his knowledge of the land was paramount."

"Where is the King? He should be here," Kevan said, shaking his head.

As if on cue, King Tommen strutted through the double doors, entourage in tow. Looking elegant despite his somewhat cowardly countenance. Though still a force to be reckoned with, those seasoned knights trailing. Everyone rose at the sight of him, slowly bowing. He came to rest before the long table.

"Your Grace," they all said.

The King nodded, "Where are we on my uncle?" In the dark as to what the results of the battle were.

"Stannis took Winterfell… Your Grace," Kevan frowned.

"Oh, well," Tommen sighed. "What does that mean for us?"

"It is likely that Stannis will move South," Qyburn said, then bowed his head. "Your Grace."

Tommen hung his head, taking a seat at the opposite end of the table, laying his palms on the table. Feeling extremely unsettled at the news, him himself being just a child when Stannis attacked King's Landing. He didn't know what to think then, nothing's changed now. All eyes on him, he's supposed to be leader. The King. He hasn't done much of anything since his reign began. His boyish tendencies bubbled up, wanting to run away a cower like the child he is.

Kevan cleared his throat, sitting forward, "I think we need to call our banners. Get all our forces together, then move out to meet him. We don't want a battle outside our gates."

"How many men do we have?" Jaime asked the room.

"Around fifteen thousand among the Lannister forces," Kevan replied. "Any more and we risk leaving the Westerlands and the capitol unprotected."

"I can muster an additional ten thousand," Mace Tyrell added.

"With everyone here, I'd venture to guess that we'd have a force of twenty-five or so thousand for offensive operations."

"Sizeable," Jaime nodded, clenching his one fist. "We may stand a chance yet."

"How many will Stannis have?" Cersei wanted to know.

"We heard he had somewhere around nine thousand men at the Battle of Winterfell," Qyburn answered. "The Boltons were defeated rather soundly, it's unclear how many he lost in the battle. But his numbers will only grow as he marches onward with the northern houses sworn to him and Jon Stark. I'm sure the Riverlands and the Vale are in his sight now."

"Only that old cunt Walder Frey stands in his way?" Cersei scowled, clasping her hands on the table.

"I've also heard rumors that the Blackfish and the remaining Tully forces are moving towards his home, Riverrun," Qyburn added, with a furrowed brow. This announcement causing vocal groans throughout the room.

"I suppose he expects support from Stannis," Jaime surmised.

"Which he'll likely give," Kevan sighed. "Stannis will move on the Twins next. Walder won't be able to send anyone to accurately defend Riverrun, he'll need all his men at his own gates. The Blackfish can easily take it if he so wishes."

"When will all this happen?" Cersei asked.

"Likely in a fortnight or so," Qyburn answered, flexing his bony hands. "Stannis will regroup in Winterfell before departing with his full force."

"I don't expect Walder will stand much of a chance," Jaime shook his head.

All became silent, no ideas forthcoming, until young Tommen called out, head shooting up, "What if we send our own men? To help."

"They wouldn't make it in time, Your Grace," Kevan frowned. "Plus, our forces aren't even ready to move."

"Why not?"

"Because we haven't called for them."

Tommen looked surprised, "Perhaps we should, I expect fighting will begin soon."

Kevan cleared his throat, feeling somewhat embarrassed, he brushed his finger over his Hand of the King pin, as if to make sure it was still there. Then he said, "At once, Your Grace." He glared at Pycelle, "You'll call the banners."

The Grand Maester bowed, and slowly rose from his chair, "Immediately."

"When we're ready," Kevan began, laying his open palms on the table top. "Ser Jaime, you will ride out to meet Stannis, with the bulk of our Lannister forces."

"Where?" Jaime frowned, glancing to his sister.

"The Riverlands."

Boots crunching in the snow, Sansa came upon an eerily familiar sight. One that tugged at her memories, pulling at her heartstrings and placing upon her face a rare smile - a happiness that Ramsay and Joffrey had spent so long trying to banish completely from her.

During her childhood, whenever the Lord Eddard had been missing from the castle, one could find him in the Godswood. Beneath the great Weirwood tree polishing his Valyrian steel greatsword Ice. Even as it shined with the brilliance of the finest golden jewelry, the rag slid down the length of the blade. Inch by deadly inch, the Lord of Winterfell never at more peace than when he was there. And now, Sansa found her bastard brother - bastard no longer - in the same place at the base of the Weirwood tree, gently polishing the shorter blade of his Valyrian steel bastard sword, Longclaw.

Approaching, crossing her arms with a small smile upon her face, Sansa bit her lip to keep from laughing at the scene. "If you're trying to pose for father's statue in the crypts, you're too late."

As if only realizing she was there at that moment, Jon's head jerked up. Registering what she said and the smile on her face, he returned the smile. "I don't mimic father."

"I once heard mother tell me that if father brooded any harder than he did, his jaw would break… no, scratch that. You're worse than father." The two of them stared at each other for a straight face for mere seconds before succumbing to temptation - bursting out in merry laughter.

Laughter came sparingly for Jon… but with the hell Sansa had been to, the unfamiliar smile was inevitable. It was wonderful to see her be happy. To have the brother/sister moments he had never had in their childhood. The sound of snow kicking up every which way as a figure ran through them only widened his smile. He had just leaned Longclaw against the side of the Weirwood when Rickon threw his arms around him.

The young lad, grown like a weed from when they had last seen each other, looked up at his big brother. "You look like father."

"Sansa said the same thing, though not as bluntly," Jon quipped back. Their family may have been torn, ripped apart both figuratively and literally - but the pack had against all odds managed to survive. He kissed the crown of his youngest brother's head as the two figures of Lady Brienne and… Osha, he seemed to recall, arrived. Along with the two fur-covered forms of Ghost and Shaggydog. The latter sat next to Sansa, who softly stroked his fur, while his now bigger brother sidled up to Jon and started to lick his hand. "Alright Ghost, I know you're excited." The big lug had turned into a scampering puppy again now that he had a playmate again, dashing off towards the godswood, Shaggy following with twin quick barks.

"You summoned me, my Lord. My Lady?" Brienne stated after bowing, formal and respectful as ever - though the ghost of a grin crossed her lips at the antics of the two direwolves.

"Wonder what King Crow wants," Osha grumbled. The free folk woman, despite being in the service of House Stark for years, had quickly picked up the jargon of her fellow wildlings. Including a near reverence for Jon, though masked out of pride.

Clearing his throat, Jon's expression hardened as the family moment transitioned back into the business of the day. "This conversation doesn't leave this place, understood?" Sansa nodded almost immediately, the same strength of her mother present in her. Brienne, having sworn her sword to both Sansa and Jon the day after the battle, bowed in agreement. Osha shrugged, but Jon had been with the wildlings enough to know that was the best he'd get. A sad frown crossed Rickon's face, Jon reminding him that his innocence was dead and buried, but he nodded as well. "Good. Stannis will want to march south as soon as possible. Sansa and I have joined with Ser Davos to convince him to hold off for as long as possible, but I'll eventually have to leave Winterfell for the southern battlefields."

"No!" Rickon clutched onto Jon's arm frantically. "Don't go, Jon. We just got you back."

"I have to, brother." He hated to leave his home, but honor demanded it. "I swore to King Stannis that I would fight to install him on the throne in exchange for his help taking Winterfell back, and he complied. I must comply."

"Jon…" Sansa's lips were pursed in a tight line. She felt the same as Rickon, but was more circumspect about it. We are far closer than we were, but I hate how it came about. "Rickon is right. You just got back, just took your mantle as Lord. Father rode south and died, Robb rode south and died…"

"I will not make their mistakes, Sansa. Nor will I fall into the same traps."

Sansa fought tears, thinking of how she had seen Ned die and of the nature Robb and her mother died. "I'm not suggesting that you would, but no Stark that goes south has ever had good luck. What message are you sending to the people of the North if you go south immediately after you liberated them?"

This was a good point. "Father intended to stay in the south. Robb was fighting the entire south. I will not do that, instead fighting alongside King Stannis as father fought alongside Robert, then come home. All those in the North understand. As long as the Lannisters control the Iron Throne, we are always under the threat of destruction. The Lannisters took Father and Robb from us, they will not take me."

"Please, Jon. Don't go!" Rickon was shaking, close to crying. "Father left, you left, Robb and mother left… I nearly died with Bran…"

Jon pulled his brother in his arms, gently patting his back. "You'll be safe here, Rickon. I won't let anyone hurt my family ever again. You'll have the Free Folk spearwives protecting you, and they are as loyal to me as they were to Mance." He hoped that the further south they went, the less Stannis would be inclined to care. "You also have the Lady Brienne."

Catching Brienne's glance, Sansa waited until Rickon quieted down. "Jon, I want Brienne to ride with you." He sent her a questioning look. "I'm sure your wildling spearwives are enough to protect me, while you need someone I trust to watch your back from the Lannisters."

Sighing, Jon nodded. "Lady Brienne, I would be honored to serve by your side if you so wish it."

"Of course, my Lord. I could think of nothing more honorable that fighting beside the great Ned Stark's son."

Ruffling Rickon's hair, Jon turned to the wildling woman. "Osha, you protected and looked after both my brothers. I have a task for you."

"Ask away, King Crow."

"The Boltons are dead, but there may still be threats. Bran was nearly killed by a Lannister assassin, after all, so I need you to keep your eyes and ears open. Head off all potential threats to my family that could transpire within Winterfell."

"Don't worry, King Crow. I'll keep the little lad and his sister alive."

"While I'm gone, Sansa. You are the Lady of Winterfell. Rickon, you are my designated heir should anything happen to me… not that it will. The lone wolf dies, but the pack survives. Our pack will survive." For the first time since the meeting began, all present smiled.

Racing through the keep, Jon made for the great hall. Stannis was expecting him, but the meeting in the Godwood ran long.

"Lord Stark!"

Jon stilled, turning… and bowing. "Greetings princess. Forgive me, but I didn't see you."

Smiling, Shireen curtseyed at the Lord of Winterfell. "No need for apologies, Lord Stark. I tend to wander. Drives my mother mad." She chuckled. "I seem to be lost, so it is good that I ran into you."

"Fortune smiles on House Baratheon," Jon said, unable to not be happy around the young princess. No wonder Davos thought of her as close to a daughter to him. "May I be of service?"

"I was wondering where the castle library is."

Extending a hand, Jon laughed as she took it. "It's just this way."

"Thank you, Lord Stark." The two began to walk down the corridor. "So is it true that Bran the Builder created this castle after creating the wall…?"

A Baratheon bannerman opening the door to the great hall - a whispered "mi'Lord" in near reverence - Jon wandered in to find the gathered Lords and their entourages all seated on the tables. Only a year before, he would have shrunk back, pretending not to exist. Now, despite the bastard armor once wrapped around him, he strode in confidently. As his father once did through this very hall.

Lords of Winterfell.

"You're late, Lord Stark," Stannis said gruffly from the head table. "We were just about to begin without you."

He bowed, stepping atop the dias. "Apologies, your Grace. I was answering a question for the Princess Shireen." Hearing the name of his daughter, Stannis' expression softened… as much as he could soften, that is. "Must have taken more time than I thought."

"That sounds like the Princess, your Grace. Always asking questions," commented Davos, sounding himself a proud father.

Beside the King, on the right while Davos sat to the left - with one empty space for Jon, befitting his status as Lord of Winterfell - the Queen scowled. "I'll have to have a talk with her."

"It was no need, your Grace," Jon smiled. "The princess is a delight. I was happy to answer her questions." While Davos beamed and Stannis offered a small smile, the Queen's scowl deepened. He was not going to win any plaudits from her.

"It's fine, my dear," the King told his wife. Stannis then motioned for Jon to take a seat. There were few things that Stannis had a soft spot for - Shireen was one of them. As such, Jon took his seat between his King and Davos, the Onion Knight giving him a warm smile. He had already liked Jon from the beginning, and being kind to the Princess only further convinced him of the former bastard's worth. "Alright," Stannis stated. "Let us begin."

Davos stood, eying each Lord in the room with a look of respect - inside, such respect was largely inflated. He vastly considered those such as Lyanna Mormont or Larence Hornwood to be far more worthy, as they had fought for Jon and Stannis rather than wait like cowards, seeing who would come on top. But he was wily enough to keep it to himself. "My Lords and Ladies, welcome to this assemblage. It heartens me to find the great houses of the North once again united under…"

Famously blunt, the Northerners didn't waste time in beginning their bickering. "For fucks sake, why are we sharing bread and mead with Wildlings!" proclaimed Lord Glover, old voice still rising to anger.

"We didn't invade," Tormund stated back, oddly restrained. As were Karsi and the other Free Folk clan leaders resting along the far wall by the windows. "We were invited."

"Not by me," snorted Glover, smatterings of approval among the other lords.

Davos did his best to calm them down. "Please, my Lords. Bickering doesn't solve anything. Not with the threat of the Lannisters breathin' down our necks."

Lord Wyman Manderly laughed. "I was pretty sure the Lannisters weren't botherin us before yer southern King killed off Roose Bolton. No, I'm completely sure."

"Yeah, fat Mermaid, the only cunt botherin' you was Roose Bolton." While he still hated the wildlings, when SmallJon Umber pledged, he went all the way. "Need I remind you what happened to the last Lord Cerywn?" Eyes drifted to Cley Cerwyn, who held his head in his hands. When his father refused to pay taxes to Roose, the Lord Bolton had Ramsay flay him alive. It was… quite sobering to know what the Lords were saved from. "Say what you want about Jon Stark, but he has his daddy's honor."

Eyes quickly glancing at Stannis, Jon found the King trying to hide his glower - he was succeeding, only someone who was around him for any long period of time could tell his true thoughts. But both he and Davos had advised the King to let them do the talking, given how distrustful the north had for Southern Kings. "My Lords." Jon stood, looking every inch Ned Stark's son. "We know our true friends on the battlefield. The Free Folk, the men of the Stormlands, the northerners, we all fought together and won together." He gestured to Stannis. "His Grace could have conquered us alone, but he didn't. He could have just allied with the Boltons, but he didn't, respecting the North to bring the Stark direwolf back to Winterfell."

"And why should we trust you, Jon Snow?" Robett Glover's eyes narrowed, insult testing him. "We trusted Ned Stark going south, and he lost his head and gave us a war. We trusted Robb Stark going south, and he lost his head and many of our sons at the Red Wedding. And I take it you would wish us to follow Stannis Baratheon south. What would you cause us to lose?"

Jon's hands tightened into fists, feeling the same surge of anger as before. Not for himself - cheap insults mattered not. But the wolf protects the pack, and Lord Glover brought the raised fist of his sigil on the memory of his father and brother. This, Jon couldn't stand.

But meeting eyes by chance with his sister and brother, the two having entered behind him and sitting with the Lady Brienne and Maester Wolkan, they calmed him. Tempered the inner fire once roaring to spew forth. "Lord Glover," Jon breathed, restraining his anger. "I seek no throne. I seek no glory. What I seek only is that the north prosper and our honor restored. Roose Bolton cared not for this, as shown by his swearing to the Lannister bastard." He gestured to the King. "Stannis Baratheon is an honorable man, as loyal to House Stark as was his older brother, King Robert. We fight for him, and he will reward the north.

"What does he offer us?" asked Wyman Manderly, less hostile than inquisitive. Progress.

It was Davos that now spoke. "Full autonomy, and your share of the spoils to rebuild your lands from what the Red Wedding wrought." Davos looked to his King, uneasy for some reason. Stannis nodded, causing the Onion Knight to sigh softly - only Jon could hear. "And he is willing to betroth his daughter, the Princess Shireen, to a northern boy to cement the alliance once she comes of age."

This was news to Jon, as was the fact that the northern boy was likely to be him - if Stannis willed it of course. Thoughts of such bothered him, supposedly of Ygritte… but when he thought about it further, Yigritte wasn't what put him off of the idea. It was all a jumble, but the shouts of the Lady Lyanna Mormont drew him out of it.

"Your son was butchered at the Red Wedding, Lord Manderly. You refused the call. And you, you were pledged to House Stark, Lord Glover. You refused the call." She shook her head, disgusted. "House Baratheon was good to the north. They honored their friendship with Ned Stark, and our land had peace and plenty." The she-Bear pointed to Jon. "Stannis could have allied with the Boltons, but he didn't. He honored his friendship with Ned Stark even though our Lord is beyond the grave, and bled on the battlefield to restore our honor. House Mormont remembers."

"I don't care if he was born a bastard," Lyanna continued. "Ned Stark's blood runs through his veins. He will avenge us, and bring us glory, and if Jon Stark feels that Stannis Baratheon is the man to be our King, then I shall trust his judgment. A judgment proved right upon the field of battle." She drew her sword, nearly as big as she. "I pledge myself to Stannis Baratheon, King of the Seven Kingdoms, and Jon Stark, Lord of Winterfell." And upon the floor, she knelt.

House Mormont was not the largest house in the North - frankly, it was the weakest in terms of numbers and holdings - but its reputation was strong. Having never submitted to any by conquest. For the She-Bear to bend the knee was telling in and of itself, and it proved the final push for the other lords to do what their advisors had suggested for weeks.

"House Manderly pledges to Stannis Baratheon and Jon Stark." Fat Wyman Manderly bent the knee.

"House Cerwyn pledges to Stannis Baratheon and Jon Stark." Young Cley Cerwyn bent the knee.

"House Umber pledges to Stannis Baratheon and Jon Stark." Burly SmallJon Umber bent the knee.

"House Karstark pledges to Stannis Baratheon and Jon Stark." Demure Alys Karstark, young and grateful to be allowed to hold her title after her father's betrayal, bent the knee.

"House Reed pledges to Stannis Baratheon and Jon Stark." Weary Howland Reed, eyes sparkling as they gazed upon the now grown Jon, bent the knee.

"House Glover pledges to Stannis Baratheon and Jon Stark." Reluctant Robett Glover bent the knee.

And so it continued, over and over again until each man, woman, and child in the great hall was on their knees, pledging to their new King and new Liege Lord. A pleased smile passed over Stannis' lips, hauling himself to his feet - not a flicker of a grimace graced his expression. The pain must have subsided that day. "By the Old Gods and the New, none that follow me shall know dishonor nor defeat. I, Stannis of House Baratheon, rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, swear my protection and loyalty to the Kingdom of the North."

Jon clasped his fist over his chest, an offer of honor to the lords now sworn to him. "I, Jon of House Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, swear my loyalty and fealty to those that swear before me. To have bread and mead on my table. To fight as a son of the North, sworn sword of the one true king." Clasping the King's hand, he raised it in a show of unity and fealty. "Long may King Stannis reign."

"Long may he reign!"

And soon it was over. The Lords returning to a boisterous familiarity as the feast was served. "Lord Stark." Before he could dig into the meaty pie presented before him, Jon looked up to see the squat form of Howland Reed approaching him. The Lord of Greywater Watch had been silent through the meeting, allowing the others to speak and bicker. It actually heartened Jon, the man clearly having the most honor out of all of them. "You carry yourself like your father. He would be proud of you."

Jon blinked, a wistful smile forming on his face upon thinking of his father, Ned Stark. "I only hope so, Lord Howland. It is hard, living up to the great Eddard Stark's footsteps."

"A great man he was. I was honored to ride with him south to Dorne… to find his sister Lyanna." The Crannogman's eyes glossed over, as if lost in a rather deep memory of the past. "I hope it isn't too forward, my Lord, but I would like to offer you my services. Not riding with your brother, the Young Wolf, filled me with shame. Allow me to ride alongside Ned Stark's eldest son as I did with him, as we journey south into the jaws of death."

While aged, lines of grey marring the mousy brown hair of the Crannogman Lord, Jon could tell Reed had something to say. Yet he stopped himself.

Stannis spoke up before Jon could, "How many men?"

Reed cleared his throat. "Four hundred, your Grace. Not the best in a stand up fight, but no better bushwhackers and raiders."

"Hmmmm…" Stannis rubbed his beard in thought. "Very good. I could use raiders, given how Ramsay Bolton nearly crippled my army. You shall ride with Lord Stark."

Apparently Jon's mind had been made up for him - though he had been about to accept anyway. "I shall be honored to ride with you, Lord Reed."

"The honor is mine… Lord Stark."

A/N: BRuh4: The Dany scene at the beginning is pretty similar to the one they had in canon, but with the added bonus of Barristan. Whom you may have been surprised to see, we decided he should breathe a little bit longer. We haven't seen much of Dany, and we've talked at length about the reasoning behind it. You'll be glad to know that we appearances will only go up from here.

Longclaw: Howland Reed will have a big role to play coming up - with Ned dead, he's basically the last living link to Jon's real identity and he knows it. So he has every incentive to keep close to Jon. Given he's a good warrior, it works well.

Be sure to check out my new fic A Terrible Resolve! Plus our already existing fics Empire of Ice and Fire, To Catch a Dream (on Ao3), and My End is Your Beginning.

Leave your reviews, follows, favs.

Tell your friends.