A/N: Longclaw: Greetings readers. All is close to the standoff we've all been waiting for!

BRuh4: Hey all, it's finally time. Strap in because it's about to go down. We've crafted an event (as far as we can tell) unprecedented to this point in GOT fics. Some of the stuff that happens in the next few chapters were outlined before we wrote the first word.

We're very excited to finally share it with you.

Hope you enjoy it.

Chapter 18: Be a Dragon

Dragonstone before her for the first real time, reared a rare smile out of Daenerys. As she stood at the bow of her massive ship, seeing it poke through the horizon. Her palms tightened over the railing, itching to actually set foot on the land.

When her boot finally sank into the sand, her heart began to pound. As the waves crashed against the shore, she stepped on. The wind blew her hair and the dark garment she wore. Her camp slowed their pace as she moved. Though she suddenly stopped, crouching down to lay her hand on the sand. Rubbing her hand over the damp bank, taking pebbles into her fist, rolling them in between her fingers. She stood then, but kept her hand closed around the sand.

After walking a ways, they came to a giant gate on the sand, large faces of dragons sculpted into it. Dany stopped before the gate as her Unsullied passed by to open it. It took five men to push the doors wide. A few moments later, her ancestral home bursted through the skyline. Feeling a small smirk bounce across her countenance, Daenerys stepped on.

Next, she began the long climb upwards the stone stairs to the castle. Her pack still lingered behind her, watching as she went.

The dark drabness commanded the deary stone walls, as Daenerys strolled through the keep. Unexpectedly, inside they find an air of life, with accompanied lit torches along the walls, Dany's bloodriders stuck to her side.

Tyrion quickened his pace to catch up to Dany, "My Queen," he began, huffing quietly. "There might be some Baratheon bannerman still hiding here."

"I've suspected as much," Dany replied, dryly.

"They must have gotten stranded here," Ser Barristan suggested.

"Or perhaps they've just set a trap," Daario called out, hand tightening on his dagger. "The Baratheon King knew we'd come here, and there's twenty men hiding somewhere with crossbows."

Dany didn't respond to either of them, just turning her head to gaze upon another mural of a dragon on a nearby wall. This one depicting a large black dragon with a white-haired rider on the back of it. She liked that one.

After essentially tip-toeing through the already quiet halls, the group reached the floor to ceiling doors leading into the great hall. Daenerys stopped as the Unsullied moved forward to attempt to get it open for her.

Yet this time, the doors didn't move all the way open, barred from the inside. But just enough to alert the people on the other side. Immediately, they felt the presence of movement through the door. Shuffling, and the clanging of swords together, chainmail glinging, in response Ser Barristan stepped in front of Daenerys, sword drawn.

All went silent, no more noise from the other room. Until Dany moved out from behind Barristan, heading nearer to the door.

The Lord Hand reached out, "My Queen, what are you doing?"

Dany didn't turn to him, just held her hand up in response. She pressed her palm against the door, then her ear. Then she knew that there was in fact a number of people just mere feet from her.

"You're scared," she said. "I understand. You're not supposed to be here. But what happens now is your hands. Let me in, and bend the knee, or face the wrath of my dragons. Because do not be dismayed, this is my home and you are trespassing."

Glancing to Barristan, Tyrion shifted somewhat uncomfortably.

No voices came from the opposite side of the door, only moments later hearing the movement of the large object that blocked the door. Screeching against the stone floor, it sounded like a boulder rolling. Once the noise stopped, Daenerys uttered, quietly, "Throw your swords aside, and move away from the door."

After the sound of their swords hitting the floor, Dany moved aside for her Unsullied to step forward and open the door. A few moments later revealing six Baratheon bannerman shaking in their armor. Mostly boys, not much older than seventeen name days. The oldest among them stepped forward, this one did look to be reaching half-life. His grizzled face scowled, and in his hand, he still gripped a small blade.

Daenerys looked the man in the face, and shook her head. The man's scowl worsened, gritting of teeth, face reddening. The Queen was unburdened. Much to her camp's immediate dismay, she stepped forward toward the last armed Baratheon. The Lord Hand surged forward, but Daenerys again held her hand out to halt him. For some reason, despite the danger, Barristan the Bold stopped.

The Bannerman's eyes widened as Daenerys neared, though he didn't move. Even as the enemy Queen arrived mere feet from him. The Dragon Queen, right in front of him, he should stab her right on the spot. But his petrified by her piercing stare, her purple eyes paralyzing. Her feet carried her inches away, the blade even closer to her in his hands. She kept her eyes on him, still as a tree, and him trembling like a leaf in the wind.

Not spending on another second on the weaker man, she moved past him. The other Bannerman evaded her path at all costs. As she went, the older Baratheon loosened, falling to his knees, the blade falling from his hand. Barristan and the Unsullied flooded the room, taking prisoners.

Her ancestral throne before her, that truly meant more. She approached the seat carved into the rock. Uncaring of anything else in the moment, a small smirk appeared again.

She took the seat that was always supposed to be hers.

Guards throwing open the doors, Jon and Sansa stepped inside to find two figures hunched over a map table. At once, they bowed. "Your Grace," the Warden of the North said graciously. "Lord Hand Davos. To what do we owe the honor of your summons."

The Hand chuckled at the formality, while Stannis reacted not. "Come here, Stark. Lady Stark." Both complied, each taking positions across the table from the King and Hand. "I received a raven from Dragonstone. Apparently the skeleton garrison I left there surrendered without a fight to the Dragon Bitch."

Jon shared a glance with Sansa. One quite worried. "I won't begrudge them. Against three dragons and Unsullied legions, they didn't stand a chance."

"Dragonstone means nothing to me," Stannis waved it off dismissively. "The problem is that now we have her to deal with. Her and her armies."

"I'm sure this would be better served with others rather than myself…" Sansa began, only for the King to cut her off. She nodded. "What would you have of me, your Grace?"

It was Davos who answered. "Daenerys Targaryen has allies in Westeros, namely House Tyrell and House Martell. Allies with large armies that dwarf our own. You were in King's Landing last, and dealt with both Olenna Tyrell and Ellaria Sand."

"I only knew the latter in passing, Ser Davos."

"Still, out of all I can trust you're it," Stannis answered, glaring at the map. "We have a narrow window until Daenerys lands enough of her foreign army to threaten us - so far she hasn't yet, and yet I'm still fucked since the Tyrells and Dornish are massing."

The operations officers had calibrated the figurines atop the map with precision based on the latest intelligence. As one of Stannis' veteran commanders, Jon could tell the exact size of each of the armies. They outnumbered the Tyrells, but not them, the Martells, and Cersei combined. Let alone the wild card that was Daenerys Targaryen. "You need to attack now, hit while you still have the opportunity." Jon stabbed at the map. "Annihilate the forces opposed to you one by one."

"There poses a problem," Davos countered, Stannis silent. "If we march against Cersei, she can bog us down in a siege or savage us in city fighting like the last time. If we target the Tyrells, we risk Cersei assaulting us from the rear in a desperate breakout attempt. She has the city walls, it gives her a flexibility we don't have… and that's not mentioning the Dornish."

"Dorne is in no hurry," Sansa claimed. "That was one thing I remember about Oberyn. They don't care about the Seven Kingdoms."

Jon peered at her. "They allied with Daenerys Targaryen."

She smiled. Jon was too honorable sometimes - just because he would carry out his oaths to the death didn't mean others would. "They has the same alliance during Robert's Rebellion, and delayed all the same. I expect them to support the Dragon Queen, but not rush."

Her brother was once again impressed with her level of knowledge. Far from the naive, romantic girl of before. "So, that still leaves the threat of Cersei…"

"See Davos," the King said suddenly, stilling conversation. "Has the Queen of Thorns mobilized all her banners?"

Davos shook his head. "No, your Grace. Several houses have sought neutrality. Why?"

A small smirk poked through his dour visage. "We will divide our forces." He leaned forward, repositioning the figurines to suit his stroke of genius. "Lord Stark will lead his Northerners, Wildlings, and the Tully army and take Hayford Castle in the Crownlands. Box Cersei into King's Landing. Meanwhile I march the rest of our forces to Highgarden."

Jon caught on quickly. "You'd have a mostly mounted command, which can cover more ground. Hitting the Tyrells quickly before the Dornish could arrive and annihilating a third of your opposing force." Aggressive, almost insanely so, but the divide between madness and greatness was often a fine line. Executed well, the plan could be a war winning move. "And Cersei?"

"We take Highgarden, then quick march to King's Landing and find a way to defeat Cersei's forces in the field. A victory in the south would rally the Stormlands truly behind me once more and we'd have an army fresh and motivated to crush that incestuous whore and get me the Iron Throne before the other whore lands." Stannis' blue eyes burned with triumph and ambition. He could taste his victory.

Sansa, leaning closer to Jon, glanced at the peninsula of Dorne. "Defeating the Tyrells and securing King's Landing could convince the Dornish to back off, especially if you offer them Cersei, the Mountain, and the Kingslayer as a gift. Compensation for the loss of Oberyn and Elia Martell."

"There exists only one problem." All eyes shifted back to Jon. "If you divide your forces, then Olenna's army is only slightly inferior to yours, my King. We cannot afford significant losses."

The burning triumph only roared higher, Stannis' grin taking on an eerie quality. "Lord Stark, allow me to take care of that."

Unsullied guard yanking open the door, the occupants of the Dragonstone war room all bowed at once as Queen Daenerys Targaryen entered. Black dress brushing along the stone floor, hands clasped together and silver chain across her shoulder and chest. Held in place by a three-headed dragon clasp. While not the leather battledress she had taken to wear, it painted a picture of a fierce warrior queen. Visenya reborn, if without the sword.

Behind her trailed Missandei, herself in all black. Grey Worm brought up the rear as they made their way towards the head of the room, Dothraki bloodriders fanning inside and taking positions along the walls. Hands clasped to their Arakhs. No one in the Queen's orbit was taking any chances anymore, and none of the small council begrudged her for the precaution.

Reaching the head of the table, Daenerys ran her hands along the gleaming ironwood. The cold stone. The bumps and ridges depicting the mountains and valleys of her homeland. Where she had been born, only to be ripped away as a mere babe, condemned to exile. Now, with her dragons and her armies behind her, Daenerys had returned. House Targaryen had returned. It filled her with a burning resolve.

Wordlessly, she scanned the various members of her council. Yara Greyjoy and her quiet brother, Ellaria Sand and her daughters, Olenna Tyrell leaning on her walking stick, Tyrion Lannister - barely able to reach the table - Lord Varys, Daario Naharis, Grey Worm, Missandei, and finally Ser Barristan Selmy. Hand of the Queen and her sworn sword, much like Ser Criston Cole had been for Aegon II, although her situation seemed more like Rhaenrya's. A motley sort, drawn out of the hodgepodge of alliances that brought her back to the place of her birth.

The sort that would deliver her victory.

"Alright." Her purple eyes gleamed with the triumph soon to be hers. "Shall we begin?"

The conflict immediately grew heated. Few phrases spoken before it descended into a melee of words. "You have to attack King's Landing now!" Yara Greyjoy stated, vociferously splaying her hands on the table. "Cersei is weak. Hit her before my brother arrives with his fleets and you'll be sitting atop the Iron Throne in a week."

"If you mean for her to use her dragons," Tyrion responded with a scowl. "Then thousands of innocents will die in the firestorms."

"I doubt you care, Imp," Daario shot back with a scoff. "I think what you're worried about your cunt siblings."

Tyrion bristled, but did not take the bait. "If Cersei were smart, and she is, already she is making sure there are plenty of smallfolk in the grounds of the Red Keep. Any attack will only cause massive loss of life."

"It's called war." Ellaria Sand sat in her chair, swilling a glass of wine and sounding bored with the whole thing. "If you don't have the stomach for it then crawl back to your sister's skirts and let the true highborns sort it out."

Narrowing his eyes, the Imp blazed a fury at Ellaria. "We know how you wage war. We do not poison little girls here. Myrcella was innocent."

"She was a Lannister." The Regent of Dorne looked incredulous. "As it seems most Lannisters are her Grace's enemies. As they are ours." She huffed. "Perhaps the sellsword is right about you…"

"Enough." A single word from the Dragon Queen stilled the argument. "Lord Tyrion is a member of this council, and you will treat him with respect." Curling her lips distastefully, Ellaria nevertheless obeyed. "We all have different motivations, different goals. But uniting us is both a desire for revenge and a desire to see a better world. I am not here to become Queen of the Ashes."

"I believe that is wise, your Grace." Eyes turned to Varys. "It seems that the Usurper Cersei has established a new series of defenses meant to fight your dragons." The Queen's brow rose, a flash of concern in her eyes for but a moment. "The songs are vague, but these sound like the same device that took down Meraxes during the First Dornish War."

With the Queen's dragons being their biggest asset, even the hint of them falling chastised the attack King's Landing at any cost proponents. Daenerys turned to Ser Barristan. "You've been quiet, Lord Hand. Anything to add?"

Lips pursed in a tight line, Barristan gestured his finger away from the capitol and towards Harrenhal. "Everyone is fixated on the Iron Throne, but that is not the main threat. Cersei is weak and without many allies. The problem is Stannis Baratheon."

Such had been on the minds of all involved, a sort of honest shock. Once a defeated joke that barely had any forces upon this very island, they had landed to find him in control of three Kingdoms, allied with a fourth, and with a host of Wildlings under his command. A proper force to be reckoned with. "I agree with Ser Barristan. Stannis is the greater threat," Olenna Tyrell chimed in, fanning herself. "His army is vast and undefeated, far larger if the negotiations with Petyr Baelish and the Vale prove useful."

"Send me and your forces to Harrenhal immediately, your Grace," Daario said. "With your dragons, we will turn his entire camp into the second field of fire."

Daenerys seemed to consider his boasting, fitting in with the Targaryen Fire and Blood. Several worried glances made their way across the table. "I would advise against it, your Grace."

The Queen's eyes found Theon Greyjoy. "Speak, Lord Theon."

"Stannis' Master of War is Jon Stark, Lord of Winterfell."

"Jon Snow?!" Tyrion exclaimed, shocked.

Theon nodded. "A man I grew up with when I was a ward of Eddard Stark - almost like a brother. He is a fundamentally honest man, and I think he could broker an arrangement between yourself and Stannis."

Olenna snorted. "Stannis cannot be reasoned with. He killed his own brother with blood magic rather than allow any compromise without himself as King."

Peering curiously, Daenerys wondered why Theon would speak up for someone sworn to her enemies. Her eyes fell on her Master of Whisperers. "Lord Varys, please tell me what your little birds say of this Jon Stark?"

Closing his eyes for a moment, Varys kept his hands clasped under the folds of his Essosi-style robes. "My birds sing many different songs, your Grace. He was a bastard son of Ned Stark serving at the Wall, only to be legitimized by Stannis Baratheon and absolved of his vows. The northerners call him the 'White Wolf.'"

"White Wolf?" Daenerys suddenly remembered the white wolf in her dreams - wounded, alone, struggling and howling for help. The dream had plagued her all through the voyage to Westeros. Could they refer to this… Jon Stark? "Why is that?"

"He had a white direwolf by his side when he journeyed to Castle Black," Tyrion stated. "Perhaps that's it."

Varys sighed. "There's more to it than that - every victory Stannis has had since finds Jon Stark in a starring role, earning him the title of the Usurper's Master of War. He is also called the Wrath of the North for the systematic killing of all of the enemies of House Stark."

"Which include House Targaryen," commented Ellaria. "Your father killed his grandfather and uncle - unlike what the Ironborn says, he won't be disposed to even treat with you."

"How vital is he to Stannis' cause?" asked Missandei.

The Spider smiled softly. "The Wildlings see him as close to a saint. The Northerners adore him, he is respected among the Rivermen and Stormlanders. I dare say he is the most popular and skilled man in the entire army - more so than Stannis himself. They say he's quite a force to be reckoned with. Taking down scores of men in battle, he's said to be a master swordsman."

Drawing his dagger - naked whore spread-eagled on the hilt - Daario pointed at Harrenhal. "Let me take my best men there. I'll slit his throat and end him once and for all."

"Doing so would destroy any chance at ruling the North, your Grace," Tyrion rebutted. "Any defeat of Cersei or Stannis must be done on the battlefield."

Theon leaned forward. "Send me to confer with Lord Stark. Perhaps…"

Daenerys held up a hand. "I appreciate your efforts, Lord Greyjoy, but I only intend to confer with the Usurper's Master of War after he bends the knee before me." Theon drew back, quiet once more.

The floor was completely yielded to him, discussing a plan to ferry the Dornish to outside the capitol where they would join with the armies of the Reach to both besiege it and wait for Stannis. An Unsullied force would move to assault Casterly Rock with the Second Sons, while the Dothraki would land at Crackclaw Point and wait for Stannis to arrive, trapping him in a double hammer and anvil.

To say Daario, Yara, Ellaria, and Olenna were skeptical was an understatement. "That would take months just to set up," Daario exclaimed. "Didn't you say your uncle was sailing the high seas looking for allies?" Yara nodded. "We have to strike. Strike hard."

"That exposes us to Cersei's forces in the city," defended Tyrion. "A cornered Lion will lash out viciously, so we must proceed with caution."

"Jon Stark crippled her army, ripping away all Riverlands support it had. She'll stay bottled up," Olenna said bluntly. "That bitch was obsessed with the Iron Throne. It'll weld her in place, hoping that you and Stannis destroy each other. That's why you have to annihilate Stannis and absorb his army. Hoist her by her own petard." Her fading green eyes were still sharp and piercing. "You're a dragon. Be a dragon."

Conversing with her daughters, Ellaria gestures to the map. Sand Snakes shifting several markers that represented various Dornish Houses towards Starfall. "Recent news from home. Edric Dayne, intended to my niece the princess Arianne, has assembled our army at his keep. Subjecting us to march back to Sunspear to be ferried to Blackwater Rush would be inefficient."

Tyrion stroked his beard. "That allows more of the fleet to the ferrying of the Unsullied to Casterly Rock…"

"I do not intend to sail halfway around Westeros and back again," Daario hissed. "I may be the son of a pillow slave, but from what I can tell the Westerlands are as bare as a sixty year old whore. Easy to fuck, but why the fuck would you want to?" He smirked at Daenerys, who simply looked back to the table. The sellsword found more fertile ground among the Sand Snakes. "Let it rot."

Taking the moment to interject, Ser Barristan leaned in to whisper in Daenerys' ear. "Tyrion's plan should be followed as to the Reach and Dorne. Let them form a pincer to attack Stannis."

Nodding, Daenerys looked at Olenna. "Stannis' army numbers about forty thousand. That is less than the army massed at Highgarden, I believe."

Grimacing, the Queen of Thorns nodded. "Aye, by about fifteen thousand according to my spies. My grandson Garlan informs me that Lord Tarly is delaying while Lord Hightower won't move until the High Septon says the gods favor it." Daario laughed, while others sighed. "The Dornish army should allow us to dwarf his host, though. That and Randyll Tarly's arrival."

"He could attempt to destroy you."

"That would open him up to an attack from my sister," Tyrion noted. "He'll need to leave a screening force, which would negate his numerical advantage."

"Stannis will go for Cersei." Olenna seemed confident of her prediction. "One of his biggest mistakes was not going after Tywin in the Riverlands rather than attack King's Landing. However, he and Jon Stark crippled the Lannisters at Northhill. The Kingslayer's force is a shadow of its former self while Stannis has nearly forty thousand under his command. He's in a position to take the capitol, and he'll do so with all his forces, then turn on us."

"It would be mad to divide his army at this point, your Grace," Barristan spoke. "As it would for yours."

Nodding, Daenerys stared at the painted table. Watching, studying the various figurines on the table vast distances between them. She knew not of complex tactics or grand strategy, but the machinations of men and the folly of certainty in conflict were known to her. Hammered into her by countless years of hardship and suffering. And yet through it all she had faith in her instincts. Faith in herself.

In the end there was really no choice. "Grey Worm, Naharis, begin preparations to land at Crackclaw Point." The Unsullied commander nodded, while Daario grinned like a hyena. "You said, Lady Tyrell, for me to be a dragon." Daenerys smiled, violet eyes blazing fire and blood. "I think that is the best advice I have gotten since arriving here."

"I trust you enjoyed the demonstration, Lord Tarly." Refusing a walking stick yet again, Stannis stepped slowly through the gardens of Harrenhal. Before he had little time for such nonsense, but as the stress piled on he had developed a newfound appreciation of nature's beauty. "The Dragon Whore thinks herself impenetrable on her dragon. Dorne proved Rhaenys wrong and we shall prove her wrong."

With a reputation as an even harder, more sour-faced Lord than even Stannis, Randyll Tarly's contemptuous expression gave nothing away. It was his only face, so the King didn't find himself dissuaded. "I am a brave warrior, but the idea of dragons does… or did make me pause."

The image of the 'scorpion' - as Baelish called it - sending the massive projectile punching through stone. It filled Stannis with resolve. King. Prince that was Promised. Dragonslayer. Titles he would take to his grave as the greatest monarch the Seven Kingdoms had ever seen. "My army is strong. Riverlands, North, Wildlings, Vale, and Stormlands. Generalized by myself and the White Wolf of Winterfell. You were the only one to ever defeat my brother in the rebellion, so I cannot think of a better man to serve as my general alongside Jon Stark."

Randyll slowed his pace, not wishing to burden the Stag King. "What does give me pause are the actions of my Leige Lord."

Stannis frowned. "Garlan Tyrell is a puppet. The real strings are pulled by the Queen of Thorns, and she is too blinded by revenge." Even he hadn't expected Cersei to detonate the Sept of Baelor. "Revenge is well deserved, but not allying with a foreign whore."

"She was born in Westeros." Word of Lady Tyrell's alliance with Daenerys Targaryen had hit Horn Hill like a comet. He had dutifully answered the call when Mace Tyrell backed both Aerys and Renly, but this was a different matter entirely. Randyll didn't know what to think. "Cersei has no claim. An adulteress and usurper. You do have a claim, your Grace, but so does Daenerys Targaryen."

"A claim her father gave up when she burned the Starks alive. When his rapist son stole and murdered Lyanna Stark." Pausing, Stannis turned to look the shorter Lord of Horn Hill in the eye. "You know what Aegon did to House Gardener on the Field of Fire. I understand the thought that surrender and bending the knee would save you, but the nobles of Meereen thought so. Daenerys Targaryen butchered them all, crucifying them and feeding her dragons with their corpses. Just think, have you done anything in your life that could raise her ire… supporting my brother perhaps?"

Eyes narrowing, there was silence as Randyll digested the statement. Any rebuttal hesitated - Stannis' words truly terrifying him for a moment. "I'm a Tarly, it means something. I do not betray my oaths. I do not kill my kin with blood magic."

Anger welling inside him, Stannis willed himself to be calm. The same indefatigable control that kept him in the game of thrones after all others had written him off. "Olenna betrayed her oaths when she allied with a woman raised in Essos. A woman that heads an army of slaves and horselord savages in to destroy everything before them. I do not wish to see this land burned and defiled, and I doubt the man I shall name Warden of the South does either."

At that, Randyll merely raised an eyebrow. "Warden?"

Stannis scowled, and grunted hard before stomping off, leaving the Tarly to his thoughts.

As his eyes opened wide, he knew it was morning. He hadn't been looking forward to this day, knowing what it meant. He'd be leaving his family again, they'd go North, he'd go in the opposite direction. It was possible that they'd never see each other again.

Jon had fully considered this the last time he left them in Winterfell. Yet he had been reunited with them again at Harrenhal. This goodbye would feel far more final. Even as he laid under the furs, he comprehended that fact.

Therefore, he took his time preparing himself that morning, once the cloak hung across his shoulders. It felt a bit heavier than usual.

Even the morning air didn't feel as good as it normally did, the cool breeze always calmed his senses. But not this morning, this morning it only made him sigh. Because of what the sun rising on that day truly meant. It laid heavy on his heart, but stiffened and pushed it down.

Stomping out into the camp, he knew that his sisters would likely be getting prepared to leave. Sansa's red hair made her stand out, he noticed her from across the encampment. As Jon approached, Arya breezed by him, giving his shoulder a light push.

"Where are you goin'?" Jon called after her, but Arya turned around to smirk at him before reaching Sansa. Before he got close he stopped, just so he could gaze up the sight. Arya and Sansa, appearing somewhat… friendly to each other? Not warm, by any stretch of the imagination, but compared to what Jon saw out of the two of them when they were young. This is quite different. They're able to hold a conversation without arguing. Often Sansa might even let a smirk, and Arya will constantly tease, though not with malice.

They almost look like sisters.

Arya clearly expected Jon to have joined them by now because she turned back in his direction. Causing Sansa to do the same, who said, "Jon, are you going to stand there all day?"

The eldest brother didn't reply, though he did finally walk over. The two girl's eyes scanned over him as he stepped through the mud.

"Always so sullen," Arya said. "What are you thinking about?"

Jon looked away from them, seeing his sister's horses getting ready to ride. "This could be the last time we see each other," he eventually said.

"Why would you say that?" Sansa asked with a frown.

Shrugging, Arya added, "It is possible."

"What is wrong with both of you?"

"I'm going to war, Sansa," Jon said, flatly. "For real this time, and this time there's going to be dragons. For the first time, I'm wholly uncertain of the future."

"You're not going to die, Jon," Sansa said, trying to reassure him. Her brother simply locked eyes with her, saying all he needed to. Suddenly, she crashed into him, wrapping her arms around him. Jon reciprocated the embrace, closing his eyes. Arya stood by, watching.

"Don't worry, Sansa," Jon whispered. "Don't worry about me, you all will be fine." He let Sansa go, and she back up to compose herself. While Jon looked at Arya, who did finally show a bit of emotion on her face. They hugged moments later, but not as long as with Sansa.

Arya huffed, and punched Jon on the arm, "Don't you dare die, big brother."

"I'll do my best."

Sansa return to them next, still sniffling a bit, "Just come back, Jon. Please."

"I will. I've been lucky so far," Jon could only say. Not having the heart to leave Sansa in suspense, even though he truly had no clue if he'd ever see Winterfell again. "The two of you just stay safe, nothing I do matters if anything happens to either of you."

"What about Rickon?"

"Rickon too," Jon smirked, shaking his head. "Give him my best."

The presence of others arriving near halted the conversation. Brienne and Podrick approached, Ghost trailing them. Tongue lagging out of his mouth as he scampered about, excited for a new journey. Jon turned to them and smiled, "Ah… Lady Brienne, Podrick, both of you ready?"

"What?" Sansa said.

Jon regarded her, "They're going with you. As well as Ghost."

"Why?"

"I'll feel better with all of them accompanying you."

Brienne stepped up, "I made a solemn vow to your mother, to protect you Stark girls. It's high time I make good on that vow."

Arya leaned her head to the side, and raised an eyebrow, eyeing Brienne, "As long as we get to spar."

"I think I can oblige that."

They didn't talk much as the sisters mounted up, Jon sat by looking on. Noticing Podrick's eyes lingering on Sansa longer than the boy probably realized. He wasn't sure how exactly he felt about that, but the lad was at least the most nonthreatening man he knew. Falling to his knees, he embraced Ghost, giving him one last flurry of scratches. "Take care of them for me, boy." Ghost merely licked his face, causing Jon to laugh. "Good."

The two Stark sisters, Brienne, and Podrick all on horses, with some accompanying Stark bannermen and the white direwolf neared the time to depart. The bannermen went on first, galloping into the forest, then Brienne and Pod. The two Starks and Ghost stayed behind a few seconds longer, looking back at Jon, who smiled and gave them a small wave.

Arya nodded and left, Sansa pursed her lips, calling out to Jon, "The lone wolf dies…" Before following after her sister.

Jon rocked back, huffing a bit.

"But the Pack survives."

Ghost merely howled.

The winds were strong that day. Howling fiercely over Dragonstone, tall grass of the volcanic fields blowing from the gusts passing westward towards the Crownlands. There were clouds above - large, fluffy dollops of white that obscured the winter sun. But behind to the east, cresting over the horizon, there was nothing. A sheet of blue, heralding a perfectly sunny week to descend over the lands that Aegon the Conqueror had looked at hungrily over three centuries before.

Exactly the same lands as Daenerys Targaryen looked at, violet eyes narrowed in resolve. To the right, Viserion took off from his perch atop the cliffs. Joining his brothers above. All three dragons enjoyed the winds, letting them soar effortlessly over their ancestral home. To seek the freedom only dragons could bear witness to.

"Cold this morning, your Grace."

Daenerys turned her eyes to see Lord Varys walk up beside her, huddled under his robes, shivering. She tightened her cloak around her petite form as well. "Yes, cold." It didn't really bother her, not with the blood of the dragon flowing hotly through her veins. The feeling of impending triumph. "You did well. Sending that last message about our lack of men."

Nodding, Varys rubbed his hands together - likely to warm them. "Information wins wars, your Grace." His ruddy face and narrow eyes stared out to Blackwater Bay before them. "It's time, isn't it?"

Before them were the hundreds of ships of the Targaryen Navy, each loaded to the brim with thousands of Unsullied, Dothraki, and Second Sons. Already having disgorged thousands upon the plains of Crackclaw Point, Daario and his scouts going ashore a week before. Enough to form the largest army Westeros had ever seen in many decades, ready to fight for the Queen they chose.

The smallest of smirks formed on Daenerys' lips. "It's time."

A/N: BRuh4: A lot went on in this one and it set up so much stuff. I hope you were paying attention.

Next time comes to the biggest event of the story so far. It'll be divided into two chapters, so I don't think we'll leave you in suspense for too long. But no promises.

Longclaw: All sides having military sense. It's shocking, isn't it?

Fundamentally, Stannis' position is the most precarious. He doesn't have the geographic strength of Cersei since what he holds doesn't confer much legitimacy. He also doesn't have the numeric strength of Daenerys since the only Kingdom allied to him that hasn't been tapped out is the Vale. Thus, he must be aggressive. High risk, high reward.

Let us know what y'all thought in a comment. If we get 30, we'll publish the big update on Thursday! :D

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