A/N: Longclaw: Final chapter before the beginning of the big stuff. I'm stoked for all of it, but there still needs to be the chapters of discussion and planning first. Your wait will soon be over, I promise.

Good news! My Rhaegar/Lyanna story has finally been published! It's called My Father's Son! Everyone be sure to check it out! :D

BRuh4: Hiya there folks, thankfully it hasn't been too long. We're so close to the big events, I hope you're as excited as we are.

Hope you enjoy it.

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Chapter 17: Harrenhal

"Are you nervous?" Jon asked from beside Arya, watching as the first of the Winterfell party rode into their camp. Direwolf banners fluttering in the wind.

Looking up at him, Arya sighed. "No, not nervous." Not the complete truth, but Arya's life had been filled with shades of grey. "I love her, but Sansa and I never got along and I don't expect it to change."

Jon sighed. "She's changed greatly, like both of us." He cleared his throat. "The lone wolf dies, Arya."

"And the pack survives." Her lip curled up. "You know just what to say, don't you?"

He grinned, spotting his other sister. "I try, though I'm not a bloody poet."

Dismounting her horse with ease, as far a cry from the romantic, giggling maiden that had first left the North so long ago, Sansa stepped gracefully forward until she was face to face with her brother. Without hesitation he embraced her, kissing her cheek. "I'm glad to see you again, sister."

"Same to you, Jon." She pulled back, gazing at him with conviction. "You avenged Robb and mother."

A firm nod. "I did. It felt good." The darkness coursed through him every time the death of Walder Frey replayed in his mind - Jon seemed to revel in it. Though he felt guilty at times for enjoying such darkness and bloodlust, he never regretted killing the old cunt. He'd do it again, gladly.

From the steel in Sansa's blue eyes, she understood and approved. "Only one remains." Cersei. At last, Sansa's gaze met Arya's. The two sisters sizing each other up for the first time in years - since they were at each other's throats more often than not. "I see that you are well, after your fight."

"More or less," Arya shrugged, emotionless. Her grey eyes narrowed. "Do I have to call you Lady Stark, now?"

Sansa's lips remained flat. "In public, yes." Suddenly, the corner of her mouth curved upward. "But in private I'll make an exception for you." Both sisters bursting into huge grins, they practically jumped into each other's embrace. "I missed you, Arya," Sansa breathed into her hair.

When the older sister pulled back to look at Arya, she expected a continued smile. Instead, the younger girl raised her eyebrows, and cocked her head to the side. The momentary joy of the embrace gone, Arya said, "You haven't changed a bit."

Sansa frowned, backing up fully, "You've been gone a long time. A lot has changed."

"Same old Sansa I see," Arya shrugged, putting her hands behind her back, shifting a bit.

"Perhaps it's just that I'm better at acting like a normal person," Sansa smirked.

"I've never been normal."

Wrapping his arms around both of his sisters, Jon laughed at the whole exchange. "Come on, lets get back on the march. We're less than a day away from Harrenhal."

Several hours later, Sansa narrowed her eyes at the massive spires that made up the largest castle in the Seven Kingdoms. Although for her it wasn't the impressive size of Harren the Black's undoing or the melted stone that served as a reminder of the dragonfire that roasted him and his line alive that perturbed her, it was the fluttering mockingbird banners that flanked those of the flaming stag heart ones that served as Stannis' sigil. "I didn't know he still controlled it," she murmured out loud, thinking no one could hear her.

Turns out someone did. "Who still controls it?"

Sansa couldn't help but snort, a ghost of a grin forming on her face. Arya's senses were as sharp as Ghost's - she should have known that as long as her younger sister rode at the head of the Stark column with her and Jon, anything said would be heard by her. "The banners on the walls."

Arya's brows furrowed. "Stannis never controlled Harrenhal. I know, I was here at the time." The memories of being a prisoner here were not ones she wished to remember - but the north did remember.

"Not the stags, the mockingbird. That's the sigil of House Baelish."

Her sister frowned darkly - Baelish another memory she would rather forget. Jon, meanwhile, clicked his tongue. "Looks like Littlefinger made quite a haul for himself. The Vale and Harrenhal." A frown crossed his lips as the column grew closer and closer to the massive gate. "I am not looking forward to this. Snakes like him disconcert me."

The guards atop the walls were ready for them. "Open the gate for the White Wolf!" they shouted, many gawking at the infamous northerner. Wanting to be able to tell their grandchildren they had once caught a glimpse of the Wrath of the North.

Sansa leaned towards her siblings as the gate opened, her words for them and them alone. "Let me do most of the talking, please."

"We can speak for ourselves, Sansa," Arya huffed.

"This isn't a comment on your abilities, sister, or your intelligence. But Littlefinger is… slippery. Bluntness doesn't work with him. He is a snake, yes, so you also need to be a snake." She took in Arya's… grudging respect and Jon's… Jon wore a pained look. The events of the last few years had hardened all of them, and it was left to Jon to accept most of the grief and blame - for all four of them, Rickon included. It hurt Sansa, and was endearing at the same time. Offering him a smile, she reached out and patted his hand still on the reins. "The pack survives, Jon."

This earned a return smile from him and Arya. "Aye, it does."

While the main body of the Northern forces moved towards the massive camp growing on the tourney grounds outside Harrenhal, the three Starks proceeded with their detachment of twenty household guards towards the receiving ground outside the inner wall of the keep. Waiting there were the King, Lord Davos, Princess Shireen, and several of the Baratheon Kingsguard. Without prompting, they all dismounted their horses and knelt for the King. "I present you the victorious Northern Army, Your Grace."

"Rise," replied Stannis, hiding the smallest of smiles - such was high praise from Stannis. He never smiled. Davos and Shireen were beaming. Taking stock of the two women, Stannis nodded. "Lady Sansa, welcome to Harrenhal. I am glad we could meet once again."

Sansa added another curtsey. "The pleasure is mine, your Grace." Catelyn Stark hadn't skimped on teaching her eldest in the fineries of southern etiquette.

Stannis' eye turned to the smaller woman. "And this must be the Lady Arya. Your brother told me how much of a spitfire you were."

Grey eyes inspected the King head to toe. "My father died supporting your claim," she said simply. Sansa glared sharply while Jon sighed. "But you helped our brother right the wrongs of the past. That earns my support." Both of Arya's siblings visibly relaxed.

A snort left Stannis. He may have been hard, but also fair. "Shireen, please escort the Ladies to their chambers."

"Of course, father." The cheery princess motioned for Sansa and Arya to follow her, which they did after each kissing Jon on the cheek.

Soon, it was just Jon, Davos, and the King. "Lord Stark," Stannis greeted, clasping hands with Jon.

Jon smirked, "It's good to see you, Your Grace."

"You've been busy," the Stag remarked.

"All in your name," Jon replied, gesturing towards the gates of Harrenhal at the Northern and Tully army massing outside. They both began walking. "For the most part, that is."

Davos chuckled. "All expected. Walder Frey did kill your brother."

Jon's eyes darkened. "Frey deserved every bit of what he got." Neither of the others disagreed. "Where is her Grace?"

Stannis grunted quietly under his breath, limping slightly, his leg still ailing him - Davos and Shireen had chided him about it, but he still refused to carry a walking stick on all but the worst days. "The Queen isn't feeling well," he answered cryptically, leaving it at that. "I expect your sister will assist with securing the Vale?"

"Yes, I've already spoken with her about it."

Stannis grunted, "I don't look forward to dealing with this snake… Baelish. I want to be done with this as soon as possible."

"I feel similarly, Your Grace," Jon nodded. "I don't trust Littlefinger."

"Baelish is her uncle by marriage," Davos commented. "Certainly there's a family bond."

Scoffing, the King gave him a sharp look before turning back to Jon. "Lord Davos hasn't made the acquaintance of Lord Baelish. At least your sister told you enough about him. The man is worse than a snake… I'd rather deal with a viper than he," he explained for Davos' benefit.

The Hand nodded, understanding enough. "I've dealt with enough people like that. They'll be loyal enough if you remain the winning side. At this point, we are winning."

"I'm not so sure about that." Stannis grimaced as his leg twinged, but they kept walking. "My letters to Highgarden and Sunspear were rebuffed."

Jon frowned. "I would think Dorne and the Reach would wish to defeat Cersei."

"Oh they do, but they are siding with Daenerys Targaryen," Davos chimed, catching Jon's sudden stiffening. "She hasn't arrived yet, but it appears we have a three-way conflict coming."

The discomfort of the King was growing and growing, but Stannis was stubborn. "Which is why we need the Vale in addition to the North, Riverlands, and my Stormlanders. I have a plan, but need Littlefinger and his troops to even hope for victory."

Mind still on the image of the silver dragon from his dreams, it took Jon a few moments to respond. "Don't worry, your Grace. If there's anyone up to the task of securing you those troops, it's Sansa." He trusted her implicitly, and the King and Hand trusted him with the fate of the Seven Kingdoms.

The maesters said that the great hall of Harrenhal was where Harren the Black and his sons hid during Aegon the Conqueror's assault upon the castle, praying that the defenses would save them. It didn't work, Balerion the Black Dread engulfing the room in a tongue of flame so hot that it melted the very stone. The ill-fated Mad King of the Riverlands didn't even have a single ring left to identify where in the hall he had died. When Aegon gave the castle to a loyal follower, he commanded that the melted spires be left as a warning to those that defied House Targaryen. The great hall had been rebuilt, however, and with high coffered ceilings and the most brilliant of stained glass, Jon had to admit it was a beauty.

Given the size of the retinues involved, this was the only room considered to hold the parlay. Stannis sat at the head of the table, joined by the Queen - the first time she had been seen in public since the royal couple arrived at Harrenhal - and Ser Davos. Directly adjacent were the Stormlands, represented by Arstan Selmy of Harvest Hall, and the North, represented by Jon, Sansa, and Arya. To the left of the North were the wildlings under Tormund and Karsi while to the right of the Stormlanders were Edmure and Brynden Tully's Rivermen.

And finally, directly opposite the King, was the Vale. Robin Arryn sat at the head, but it was clear by his short attention span that those that flanked him were the real powers to be in the Mountain Kingdom. Yohn Royce of Runestone was well respected - Lord Protector Petyr Baelish on the other hand…

"Well, I must say Lord Stannis," grinned the minor Lord that had ended up one of the top powerbrokers in the Seven Kingdoms. "You certainly have a talent for pulling victory out of the jaws of defeat."

The scowl on Stannis' face deepened. Most took it as a sign of disapproval and disgust - while there was plenty of that, Davos and Jon knew the King's leg was acting up again. It had been fine for a moon turn, only to be soiled again only days before. "I shall take that as a compliment," Stannis finally stated. Say what one wanted, he had grit. "But it's King Stannis."

"You shall refer to the one true King of the Seven Kingdoms by his honorific, Lord Baelish," Davos said firmly.

Littlefinger was not perturbed. "He is not the King of my dear goodson, Lord Arryn. Not yet at least." The same unctuous, manipulative smile crossed his face. "That is the question that we are here to settle."

"What I don't understand is how we're expected to treat with Wildlings," scoffed Lord Royce, directing an accusatory finger at the clustered chieftains and magnars. "They are nothing but thieves and savages."

Angry growls came from the Free Folk. "Well, what do we expect us to do?" Karsi spat. "Stay in the desolate True North with barely any food to feed ourselves after all of you southerners walled us off?"

"Yes," commented Edmure Tully. "My sister wrote to me about all the Wildling raids in the North. As far as I'm concerned the only good wildling is a dead wilding."

"How's about I show you what we Thenns do to prissy cunts," snarled Sigorn, an uproar nearly ensuing.

Jon shot out of his chair. "Silence!" Heads turned, most in shock, at the normally quiet Lord of Winterfell erupt in a sudden fury. Selyse glared, Stannis and Sansa nodded in pride, while Davos and Arya almost split their faces open with their smiles. Eyes meeting those of every high lord assembled, Jon was prepared to play the adult in the room. "Lords and Ladies, we are here not to squabble like children. Only our enemies win when that happens."

Smalljon Umber smacked his palm against the table. "Aye! Do ya' cunts want fuckin' Cersei Lannister fuckin' her brother in the Red Keep forever?" If there was someone that all of them hated, it was Cersei. House Lannister murdered Jon Arryn, burned and raped through the Riverlands, killed Ned Stark and Robb Stark, gutted the Stormlands' favorite son, and fought the Friend of the Free Folk. All wanted her head on a pike.

"So I take it that not only do you wish us to pledge to you, your Grace," Littlefinger deftly moved to Stannis, while keeping an eye on Jon… and Sansa. "But also to fight to defeat Cersei and secure your throne for you?"

"Yes," the King responded. "I almost took King's Landing before."

"Almost is the keyword there, your Grace. What makes you think you can take it again?"

Stannis pursed his lips, fighting a stabbing pain in his leg. "With my capable Hand, Lord Davos, and my Master of War, Jon Stark…" Jon's eyes widened at the new title bestowed upon him. Arya punched his hip as a belated congratulations. "We have liberated the North from the Kingslaying Lannister lapdogs of House Bolton, crushed the Kingslayer in the Riverlands, reclaimed the Riverlands for House Tully, and wiped out the traitors of House Frey. Our army stands ready to deliver the final blow and take on Cersei."

Littlefinger nodded. Good points all. "Well, if that is the case why do you need the Knights of the Vale? We can bend the knee when you have the Iron Throne."

"Daenerys Targaryen sails for Westeros," Davos answered Littlefinger's question. "She has a Dothraki horde, crack slave soldiers, and three dragons. If we are to survive her wrath, we will need a united front."

"Dragons?" Lord Arryn's interest was peaked. "I want to see the dragons, Uncle Petyr!" Many of the Vale Lords shifted uncomfortably at their Lord's… immaturity.

The Lord Protector took it in stride, ruffling the boy's hair. "In time, Sweet Robin."

Wanting to spare his Lord the smirks of the Northmen and Rivermen - and outright laughs of the Free Folk - Royce stood. "You don't mean to pit us against a dragon?"

"The Night is Dark and Full of Terrors, Lord Royce." No one had seen Melisandre enter, but there she was, stealing the show. Long red hair shimmered as if literally alight, eyes burning. Boring on every man and woman present. "Only by banding behind the Prince that was Promised may we defeat our foes and bring the dawn."

Royce scowled. "I'm well aware of your strange cult, Red Witch."

She met his gaze without shrinking. Strong and proud. "A terrible war is coming, my Lord. The one true deity has preordained it. Those who do not stand with the Promised Prince are doomed to hellfire the likes of which Westeros has never seen."

"I will not allow superstition to draw my knights into another Field of Fire."

"The Field of Fire is coming regardless!" Stannis thundered, shooting out of his seat in spite of the pain of his leg. "She is the Mad King's daughter! She burned thousands, murdered thousands more! The foreign whore will kill us all if we do not stop her, and Cersei is too mad herself to do it! It can only be me!"

Silence beginning to descend on the assemblage, Sansa looked around. Littlefinger seemed little swayed, only a smirk on his face. A quick glance over at Jon to nudge him into the discussion, to talk about the Long Night - but her brother was lost in something. Thinking, brooding, far away. He sometimes was like this and Sansa had always dismissed it, but a pattern was now emerging. Every time Daenerys Targaryen was mentioned, he'd withdraw into brooding.

Never mind. This was best dealt by her and her alone. "My Lords and Ladies, I know you may not trust his Grace. Nor my brother. Nor even myself, but there is a man whose honor stood the test of time - even in death." Feeling Littlefinger's leer upon her, she resisted the feeling of revulsion to continue. "My father fought for what was right. He rose up against the Mad King. He left our home to serve as Robert Baratheon's Hand. When the Lannisters plotted against the realm, he fought to stop them. There was only one man he ever considered naming King of the Seven Kingdoms."

Gesturing to her left, she looked at Stannis in the eye, then to Littlefinger - as if addressing him personally. He wouldn't be swayed by appeals to honor and glory as the other Lords would, but a good game and advantageous position would sway him. "Stannis Baratheon is the man Ned Stark chose to serve. That proves his honor. He is the man Jon Stark chose to serve. That proves his justice. He is the man Brynden Tully chose to serve. That proves his strength. He is the man the Free Folk follow. That proves his greatness. If there is a man that can defeat Cersei, fight back the foreign invaders, and secure a lasting peace in the realm, it is he."

Jon was impressed. Arya was impressed. Even Stannis was impressed. The formerly sweet, romantic girl had been reborn into someone formidable in her own right.

The most impressed, however, was Littlefinger. "My dear Lord Arryn. I do believe we found our King." His smile found Sansa's, and both knew there was no sincerity in them - but as the Vale Lords bent the knee to Stannis, she knew it didn't matter.

Today was a victory. Tomorrow would be the day to worry.

"The news will travel fast, my lady," Lord Baelish remarked, matter of factly. "Ravens journeying to each of the Seven Kingdoms - to the free cities and beyond. Proclaiming that I, the Lord Protector of the Vale hath proclaimed the Vale of Arryn for Stannis Baratheon." He spoke with a self-aggrandized flourish, and at least in this case it was well deserved. He was one of the most powerful men in Westeros.

Arm looped in the crook of his, Sansa made sure to keep her voice guarded. Never giving anything away. "You've declared for other houses before, Lord Baelish. And yet it seems the only person you've ever truly worked for is yourself." They walked along the walls of Harrenhal, ostensibly watching the sun set to the west, glittering over the massive lake.

It was beautiful. It was pure and natural. Neither of them cared, the schemes of men more prominent on their minds.

Littlefinger chuckled, as if charmed by a naive child. "I'd like to think of myself as returning to my original allegiance. Given the truth of Joffrey and Tommen's parentage, Stannis is the heir to King Robert Baratheon, the true King."

And based on legitimacy grounds, Daenerys Targaryen has a higher claim over all. As she shivered at the chilly wind, Sansa knew not to say that. Taking Littlefinger's words on their face was always foolhardy - experience had left her capable of discerning the things Jon or Arya couldn't. Naive child indeed. "Now Lord Baelish, sentimental are we?"

A smirk crossed Littlefinger's face. "Perhaps, Lady Stark. Perhaps I do feel some gratitude for the King and house that first allowed me to rise from a lowly Lord of the Fingers to great heights." He spread his free hand out, gesturing to the great castle they were strolling in.

"And yet it was Lady Cersei, if I recall correctly, that granted you Harrenhal after Janos Slynt was sent to the wall." If only Jon could have killed him there before he hung up his black cloak. "One could think you still hold connections with her." A very dangerous game of words between the two, so seemingly friendly yet more akin to giants battling.

His smile only widened, stopping to stare into Sansa's eyes. A twinkling look that Sansa had seen in many men - longing, lust, desire. It made her disgusted, but one of the things learned long ago from Cersei and Margaery was how to mask such a feeling. "I understand how his Grace and others might think that, which is why I have provided him a gift."

Sansa furrowed her brows. "A gift?"

"Aye, something stolen from under Cersei's nose. Something the disgraced Maester who advises her created, a device that can be used to defeat Daenerys Targaryen's dragons."

"Oh?" Now this genuinely interested her. "May I see it?"

Littlefinger chuckled. Reaching out to stroke her cheek with his thumb. "My dear Sansa, you shall watch the demonstration with all the others." Still locked in an intimate moment, he leaned forward to kiss her head. "I can tell you don't enjoy being here, my Lady. That you wish to be home in Winterfell. With your brothers and little sister."

Even with how guarded she was, Littlefinger had an ability to pierce through Sansa's armor. It was what scared her the most. "I will go wherever Jon requires it of me. He is my brother and my Lord."

"Ah yes, the motherless bastard born of the south. The one the Northerners supposedly rally behind over the trueborn son and daughter of Ned and Catelyn Stark. Also the one the bannermen of the Stormlands and Riverlands and the Wildling warriors seem to join the northerners in worshipping."

Sansa's eyes narrowed. "Your point, Lord Baelish?"

He pulled his hand away, but with his face inching closer and closer to hers. "Just a vision I have been having for the longest time. One of you, sitting right beside me… upon the Iron Throne." Littlefinger's lips were just about to brush upon Sansa's…

But she pulled away abruptly, allowing a slight revulsion to show upon her expression. "I shall see you at dinner tonight, Lord Baelish." Sansa began walking towards the nearest tower, suppressing a shudder.

"I'm glad we were able to come to an agreement with the Mockingbird so quickly," Jon said, leaning over to Stannis.

The King gave a grumble of agreement, then nodded, "Yes, I was as well." But he rapidly turned to the Stark, "Though you didn't think… he gave it to us so easily because he had… ulterior motives?"

"I don't know, Your Grace," Jon frowned. "From what Sansa's told me, he isn't to be trusted. But unfortunately, we needed his help."

"What are the possibilities of…" Stannis started, but then his eyes wandered around the room until he saw Sansa. He slightly motioned in her direction, "Installing your sister instead? She was paramount in securing the Vale after all."

Jon seemed to ponder on the thought for a few moments, mulling it around in his mind. Sansa had already been sold off to another family not once, but twice. Could he do that to her yet again? His initial thoughts told him she most likely wouldn't be elated about the idea. Because she would undoubtedly have to marry Sweet Robin. Though it would solve an imminent issue, Petyr Baelish. The more he thought about the man, the farther he wished to be from him. The man was positively repulsive, and the unknowns surrounding his true allegiances worried him.

"To be honest, I'm not sure how my sister would feel about such a thing," Jon replied, shaking his head. "Marrying a child, she's already been sold to a monster."

"Robin Arryn isn't a monster, Stark. Just a boy," Stannis said. "And with a woman as strong as your sister, he'd be merely a puppet for her."

"He's just… not quite the man I think she'd want," Jon sighed, his own eyes flying to his red-haired sister, talking with Arya. "I don't even know if she'd ever take man again. After what she endured."

"She's a woman of your house, and she should do her duty," Stannis said as if it was obvious. "It doesn't have to be a discussion."

"I know, Your Grace," Jon huffed, holding his hands up. "I just want to take her wishes into account."

"I see," Stannis rubbed his bearded chin. "You don't want her to be unhappy."

"Yes, of course."

"I understand," Stannis said. His mind filled with thoughts of Shireen being sent off to marry a stranger. "But despite that, if she can alleviate the burden of the Mockingbird… I must say I might insist."

"How do we know that she can?"

"She has some say over them, it was her word that was the final utterance they needed to hear," Stannis pointed out. "Baelish is Lord Protector. If Sansa the Lady of the Eyrie, she'd be able to take more control than him. I'm sure Lord Royce would be welcome to the idea. Surely Littlefinger isn't the most loved man there."

Jon leaned a bit closer, and whispered to the Stag, "He did push Lysa through the moon door, or so Sansa says."

Stannis frowned, "Truly?" At Jon's nod, he continued, "He did so to take control of the Vale. Seeing as they had just married, he'd be at the head… If that's true Stark, we must be rid of this man. There's no telling what he's capable of."

A silence settled between them, for some time the two of them sat quietly. Until Jon spoke, "What shall we do about the Dragon Queen, Your Grace?" He voice was hesitant and very uncertain.

"I… I don't know, at least not right now," Stannis replied, his voice low.

Not the sort of answer Jon was looking for, he sighed, "I suppose we'll have to think of something."

"I suspect she'll be very difficult to defeat," Stannis grumbled. "Three dragons… seven hells."

"Just like Aegon the Conqueror," Jon remarked. "Only he had three dragonriders. She only has one… I think that may be used for an advantage."

Blinking, Stannis offered one of his rare smiles. "I made the right choice when I made you Master of War. Those winged beasts will be far easier to take down without a rider controlling them." He leaned back in his chair. "Do you think Littlefinger's contraption would actually help?"

Jon shrugged. "I haven't seen it, so I don't know. It's better than what we have at the moment, however. Little more than King Loren and King Mern on the Field of Fire." By that, he meant nothing - both men knew that.

Across the way, Selyse eyed the pair. Her gaze narrowing harshly on them, she leaned forward to yell out. Going as far to open her mouth wide, though she stopped. Thinking better of herself than to openly call out her King. Though that didn't stop her from removing her deathly stare from Jon Stark's forehead, clenching of the jaw, and her hands tightening around the arms of her chair. Her fingernails digging out chunks in the wood. Only did she stop fully when she felt blood pooling under her nails, not the pain.

Nearby, Arya and Sansa engaged in conversation.

"I can't stand the thought of dragons flying over my head," Sansa shivered.

Arya didn't share the same sentiment, "What? You don't want to see a dragon?"

"I've gone this long without witnessing one," Sansa said. "Going the rest of my life won't be so bad."

Huffing, Arya crossed her arms. "Where's your sense of adventure, sister?" At the withering look Sansa sent her, she sighed. "Fair enough, but still. A real life dragon! Like in all the stories of old with Visenya and Rhaenrya Targaryen. Not much wonder left in this shit world, but there's still that."

"Wonder yes, but also fire, burning, death…" Sansa glanced at Jon, thinking of Rickon as well. "The last Targaryen King burned our uncle and grandfather. The last Targaryen Prince raped our aunt. What would the last Targaryen Princess do to our family?"

Frowning, conceding Sansa's point, Arya could only look down at her plate. "Perhaps Princess Daenerys can come to an understanding with Stannis." She shrugged. "Jon is young and unattached. Perhaps he could get a Targaryen Wardeness of Winterfell. Neutralize her, then their child could marry Stannis' heir?" Eyeing her with a raised eyebrow, both women knew that such a plan was more wishful thinking than anything.

The long oak doors sung open suddenly, and small blonde-haired boy strutted in clasping a raven scroll. Everyone quieted down as he entered. The child kept his head down, circling around the table to where Stannis sat. Once reaching there, he held the scroll out to the King.

Stannis stared at the parchment in the messenger boy's hands. "What's this?"

"Word from the South," the boy said, in a small voice.

Once the scroll was snatched from his hands, the boy just about ran anyway. Slowly, Stannis unfurled the paper and read the words within. His eyes scanned over it quickly. He grumbled, tossing it forward onto the table. Not immediately saying anything, and his face gave nothing away.

Jon leaned forward, "Your Grace? What happened?"

"The Dragon Queen is here."

The War of the Three Monarchs had begun.

A/N: BRuh4: Ah... the introduction of Littlefinger, I wonder what he might get up to? Dany is finally making her way over the sea so fools better be prepared, right? Well, they're sure gonna try. Because she just might be the biggest threat to them right now. Many of you surely have questions about what going to happen moving forward and you can ask, of course, but we'll probably keep the suspense in the air. At least until the chapter drops, then we can talk more about it.

But yeah, don't freak out, just yet at least.

Longclaw: Littlefinger is always scheming as usual, but Stannis getting the Vale still is a coup for him.

With Dany here... Things are gonna get crazy ;)

Be sure to check out my new story, My Father's Son!

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