chapter has been reposted upon further reflection, sorry for the trouble

A/N: Longclaw: Hey all. Sorry for the wait, but Bruh and I have been on a marathon brainstorming session for the rest of the story. Putting the pieces together quite well in my opinion.

Seriously, we're all very excited for what's coming up! An intense ride of action, character study, and a building love :D

BRuh4: Hey y'all, we back. Hasn't been too long I think. We got some really cool stuff in store.

We talked about some stuff this week that we really damn excited about. Can't wait to share it you when it's ready.

Enjoy.

Chapter 24: Something Terrible

"Feed us, your Grace!"

The smell of smoke had cleared from King's Landing, thank the Seven. Such was the only improvement that Jaime could note as arriving during the reign of Cersei of House Lannister. From atop his war stallion, only the two banner-bearers of the lion standard ahead of him as he led the five hundred strong Westerman towards the Red Keep, the capitol has only grown colder, shabbier, and dirtier since the last time. Robert has cared little for ruling and Joffrey's wars neglected the population to point of starving, but this was something else entirely.

Sullen lines of people gathered outside of impromptu markets, being doled out meager sacks of grain, oats, mead, or oil by the City Watch. Weapons bristling from the goldcloaks to ward off funny business. Rationing has its victims in the form of wastrels strewn in the streets and scrawny street urchins scavenging through piles of trash. The goldcloaks didn't even bother to kick them in the ass anymore, though such was a small comfort to Jaime - he doubted it was altruism.

"Gods…" he breathed at seeing a group of boys chasing after rats that were once feeding on an emancipated corpse. "This city is dying."

Riding beside him, Ser Bronn of the Blackwater snorted. The rest of the high command was back at Stokeworth in the current stalemate with Daenerys Targaryen, but the hero of Blackwater Bay was here in earnest. Wanting to make sure that he got assurances of his castle when the war ended. At least that's what he told Jaime. "Wasn't like it was exactly thriving before, but seven fucking hells." Apparently even he had reservations and qualms. "Only thing in abundance are goldcloaks and your sister's propaganda."

Jaime had to admit that true. Apparently cheap paint and cloth were the only plentiful items in King's Landing. Every block or so found massive banners of the golden lion of House Lannister atop a field of fire and black lines representing charred corpses. Whether referencing to Stannis or Daenerys the Lion of Lannister didn't know, perhaps both. 'She stands between you and this', the caption read in large block script. "Qyburn's smart. It's effective." Rumors of heathen gods and fires had kept the populace in line during the War of the Five Kings.

Bronn clicked his tongue. "That one's my favorite." He pointed to a giant banner stretched horizontally across two ruined but still standing spires of the Great Sept. Painted atop the white canvas was a rather flattering likeness of Cersei, smiling and happy. Surrounding her outstretched arms were a group of happy children of all ages. 'Queen Cersei loves children,' the script read.

"Artists must have been imported. No one that good lives in Westeros." Good relations with the Iron Bank likely kept trade with Braavos a going concern.

But that wasn't the only art in King's Landing. "Apparently, the tough shits still have fight in 'em," mused Bronn, pointing to the constant scribbling of graffiti on the walls of all the buildings. Fresh, based on how dark and vibrant it was. Jaime had to squint to parse the badly written scrawl. 'Pay your debt Cersei Lannister' read one, though 'Lannister' was spelled wrong.

'Where's our food,' was far more direct.

The large image of the Queen with the smiling children had its meaning changed with a crudely-drawn engorged male appendage adorning Cersei's hips. That was the most direct of them all, as was a rudimentary pornographic pictograph of Jaime and Cersei copulating. 'Brotherfucker Queen.' Both words spelled wrong. "It captures your likeness, Lannister," Bronn mused with a smirk. Jamie resisted the urge to throttle him.

Some were war related, bordering on treason. 'Stannis is our KING!' Whoever wrote it capitalized 'King' for emphasis.

'MOTHER OF DRAGONS, BREAKER OF CHAINS.' Seemed Stannis wasn't the only one with supporters in the capitol. A cluster of goldcloaks supervised a group of scrawny smallfolk washing over the last scrawl with chalked lime. "Good thing she stays in the keep." The crowds would tear her apart if she stepped out.

"Aye, she'd look less pretty with a cow pie in her face than Joffrey."

He better hope this procession ends soon before I kill him. Luckily for Bronn, they were only minutes away from arriving at the gates.

The Red Keep was like a different world altogether. The grounds were clean. Gardens lush with plant life, trimmed and watered daily with overripe oranges, lemons, and grapes dangling from their stems. Fine silks and laces clothed the members of court, while the servants were shabby and sullen but far better fed and dressed than those living outside. Only the best for my sister… was that way when we were children and is that way now. Dismounting his horse, Jaime saw the portly form of Ser Boros Blount - just embarrassing for a proper knight to end up that way, especially when the city was starving around them - approaching him. "Lord Jaime, her Grace has been expecting you."

"I gather that, but why my men? They're better served fighting the Dragon Queen's armies."

"Much as I would like them driving that bitch into the sea, you'll have to ask her Grace for such answers. You and Ser Bronn," Boros regarded the former sellsword with a haughty contempt. "Are to come with me to the royal apartments."

Maegor's Holdfast had undergone yet another transformation. All remnants of Houses Targaryen or Baratheon had been tossed out, leaving a veritable flurry of reds and golds adoring the walls. Furniture of Westerlands style, it was as if Jaime had entered a satellite branch of Casterly Rock. As if I didn't manage to escape the first one. It held no memories of significance since his mother passed away… hells, King's Landing barely did, but the days serving Prince Rhaegar and Queen Rhaella, along with the stolen moments with Tommen and Myrcella were more than his father's pride and joy ever gave him.

Approaching Cersei's solar, Jaime could hear her screams of anger through the walls and doors. "...some starving peasant cunt deface me in such a manner?!"

"Looks like she knows about the little surprise on her banner," Bronn whispered in Jaime's ear. "Poor cunt has guts."

"Or a death wish…" was Jaime's reply.

"Do not worry, your Grace," Qyburn replied. "I have my birds combing the entire city. I'll find the perpetrator, do not worry."

"Burn him! Burn his entire family!" Jaime winced as if scalded, that tone quite familiar to him. The screeching grew even worse as Ser Boros opened the door. "Burn all of them who stand in the way of my reign…!" Wild green eyes immediately softened upon seeing her brother, a flash of the sweet, loving girl he had fell in love with emerging from the bitter shell. "Jaime!" No longer caring about hiding and propriety - she was the true Queen of Westeros after all - Cersei practically flew into his arms. Kissing him deeply. "I missed you, my lion."

Even with all of his thoughts and reservations, Jaime couldn't help but melt into the kiss. "And I you, my Queen." After several seconds, he broke the kiss. "I bring you news of the defeat of the Dothraki at Old Stone Bridge. Rosby and Stokeworth are still in our hands."

Cersei seemed to puff up at the news. "You see, my Lord Hand, the situation isn't as dire as you are making it seem." Qyburn only nodded, while Ser Boros took his leave. The hulking form of the Mountain was plenty protection for her Grace. "The Dragon Bitch is licking her wounds, Euron Greyjoy has decapitated the Dornish leadership including the cunts that killed our beloved Myrcella." Even with his conscience, Jaime couldn't feel anything but satisfaction at the death of Ellaria Sand. "And Stannis and the Bitch have crippled each other while we merely watch!" The manic glint returned to her green eyes. "Picture it, Jaime! Olenna Tyrell burned alive! The Stark bastard in chains! They are falling apart before our very eyes!"

Smiling for effect, Jaime reached out to place a hand on her shoulder. "While that is welcome, we still have a war to fight."

Happiness souring into a scowl, Cersei waved him off. "Yes, yes I know." She walked to the window, gazing out at her domain. Starving and stinking of shit and death, but still hers. "He burns Olenna alive but the Reach has still bent the knee to Stannis."

Qyburn stepped forward, repository of information from across the realm. "It seems that Randyll Tarly switched sides prior to the Battle of Highgarden, and his championing of Stannis' claim as his Warden of the South won over many of the Reach Lords… who do they hate most, House Lannister, House Baratheon, or a Dothraki/Ghiscari/Dornish horde? Lesser of evils, I believe."

"Cunts," Cersei hissed venomously. "But I have a plan for Stannis. Ser Bronn, is it?"

Looking around, hoping to have melted into the walls and ignored, Bronn knew he had to say something. "Yes, your Grace?"

"My brother promised you a castle for your trouble… and a Highborn wife?" The former sellsword nodded. "Take the best cutthroats and riders you can find and go to the Stormlands and Reach. Slash and burn, reave and rape. Make Stannis expend his men and energy trying to find you as my father had with the Brotherhood Without Banners. Do it well, and you'll get your pick of Highgarden or Storm's End."

Blinking, Bronn hid his surprise. He'd been expecting something decent such as Duskendale or the Twins… The premier seats of the Reach and Stormlands, both very wealthy kingdoms, he couldn't believe his luck. "I will make you proud, your Grace." With that he turned and left. There was a thirty-seventy chance that it would actually pan out, but for Highgarden or Storm's End he would take it.

Once a minute passed, Cersei chuckled. "Good, with him gone we can talk the linchpin of my plan. Stannis won't ever attack us."

Pursing his lips, Jaime crossed his arms. "And how is that? He attacked King's Landing once and will do it again."

"Because we're going to bog him in Dorne." Cersei began to laugh. "With any luck he'll disappear into the deserts like Harlan Tyrell." She giggled with glee at the thought.

"The Dornish houses are weak, many led by children after Euron killed their fathers and mothers at Sunspear," Qyburn informed them. "Arianne Martell can't hold them together, so any assault into the Principality will cause them to collapse."

"Why would he attack Dorne?"

Walking towards Jaime, the Lion of Lannister fought from flinching. There was the look. Aerys' look. "We're going to assassinate Lord Leyton Hightower and frame the Martells." Kissing his lips hungrily, it seemed as if the thought alone drove her to pure arousal. "They're going to want to burn Dorne to the ground once it happens."

Jaime didn't know what was worse, Cersei becoming Aerys or their father… or both.

The arrival of Brandon Stark likely should've spawned an air of happiness throughout Winterfell. Seemingly instead a fog of confusion and mystery filled the keep. Certainly, many of the guardsmen throughout the castle were somewhat new. Some had seen Bran Stark when he could walk, fewer after the fall. Jon and Sansa had learned that Bran may still be alive after Theon confessed to not burning him and Rickon during the Ironborn occupation. But the odds of a crippled boy ever appearing again seemed so unlikely.

Even when he did appear, the momentary joy dissipated quickly because the boy who did return wasn't the Bran anyone remembered. The bright boy who loved to climb. Rickon expected to see his big brother that he loved so much, even though they couldn't run and play together anymore. He expected to be met with a smile and a hug. He got the latter without the warmth of the smile rendered the embrace joyless. When it should've been a magical moment filled with glee.

The boy sitting before them wasn't the Brandon Stark they remembered. Instead, a shell of his former self strolled through the gates. The original Bran seemed to be long gone. A different spirit rested inside him, adding to the Ghosts already residing in the crypts.

At night, while the keep was quiet, Arya and Sansa strolled through the winding corridors. Somewhat dark, only light being the torches on the wall. Almost silent, except for their footfalls against the stone. "He didn't seem right, Bran I mean."

Sansa agreed, "He was… cold. His skin was fridged to the touch. He didn't even feel alive."

"Something must have happened to him."

"Something terrible."

Arya kept her eyes forward, "He's not the Bran I remember."

"Just like us, the time he spent away from home changed him. Though it appears as if he had a more drastic change."

"We need to find out what happened."

"Why? What would that help? I don't think something like this can be fixed."

"We owe it to ourselves to try to help him. If we can." Arya said, making it sound like it isn't any other option. Truly, she had no clue if Bran could be helped. After the two sister walked for a while without talking. Until Arya broke the silence, "I'm going to King's Landing."

Sansa stopped dead in her tracks, "What?" Arya stopped as well but she didn't turn around.

"I'm going to kill Cersei before Stannis does. I have to."

"Why?"

"She's on my list."

"Your list?"

"List of people I'm going to kill."

Sansa shook her head, catching up to her sister. "What are you talking about?"

"It's hard to explain," Arya sighed. "It's just something I have to do."

"You have a list of people your going to kill?"

"Most of them are dead already." Arya kept walking without allowing Sansa to respond. The older sister followed close behind many questions flooding through her brain. Though she wouldn't have a chance to ask now. The two sisters came to a crossroads within the keep. Sansa glanced to the way to the right, torches along the walls. "I'll think I'll go check on Rickon."

"That's a good idea," Arya agreed. "We can talk more later."

"Yes," Sansa replied, grimacing a bit. "We must." Arya went left without responding. The older s hi ister stared at the younger as she walked. Watching until the darkness shrouded Arya, not allowing a further view. Never had Sansa felt further from her only sister, even when they were thousands of miles from each other.

Eventually, Sansa strolled off. It didn't take long for her to get to Rickon's room. She stood before it for a while before knocking. When Rickon's voice allowed her entry, she pushed her way in slowly. Her eyes found the smallest Stark sitting on the side of his feather bed. The wooden floorboards creaked underfoot as she approached.

"Hi, Sansa," Rickon said.

Taking a seat next to him, Sansa said, "Are you okay? You looked pale earlier."

"I… I'm fine."

"Something's bothering you, I can tell. You can't hide it from me," Sansa said, smiling a bit. Perhaps some innate motherly instincts kicking in. Though she had difficulty imagining herself as a mother given all that's happened to her.

Seemingly unable to hold it in any longer, Rickon sputtered words out. "It was Bran! He scared me."

"Scared you how?"

"What he said."

"What did he say to you?"

"I.. I just wanted to know where Hodor was." The young boy began, "That's it."

Sansa knew little of Hodor, save his existence. He often made rounds of the courtyard when she was young but her mother wouldn't let her anywhere near him. As a result, she looked down on the simpleton. Even when she returned to Winterfell, him not being there didn't even cross her mind. Probably better for Hodor overall, being in Winterfell while Ramsay was alive probably wouldn't have gone well for him. Despite that, she decided it was best to act like she knew him well. "What did Bran say?"

"Bran… Bran said he died," Rickon sniffled, holding on tighter to his sister. "Hodor died. The worst part was the way he said it. It sounded like he didn't even care."

"That's what got you so upset?"

"Yeah, I don't know what happened to Bran. But I want him to stop it."

"He did look… different. And the way he talked bothered me. Nothing like the Bran I remember," Sansa added, thinking back how cold his cheek felt. Even then, she could feel it.

"What happened to him?" Rickon huffed.

"I don't know, but I intend to find out."

"I trust you'll like the accommodations, Lord Stark."

A shrug from the prisoner. "A cell, a room… when you have to sleep in the gut of a dead mammoth to protect from the icy blizzards north of the wall, you learn not to care as long as you get to sleep," he grunted.

Missandei didn't know how to answer that - it was gruff and rude, but she couldn't find fault with that assessment. "I suppose so." Hearing the clinking of chains as they dragged along the stone floor, Missandei knew this was long delayed. Efforts to use the harsh cells of Dragonstone to break Jon Stark had been in vain. Anyone that truly knew him could tell, and as his unilateral caregiver, the Naathi translator made the decision to transfer him to a guest chambers as befitting his standing. "But you'll be more comfortable here."

"I'll be more comfortable back home, in Winterfell."

"That won't happen, so I'd suggest you enjoy what you can, especially being out of the cell."

Jon eyed the Unsullied guards leading him. "I assume they'll be at my door." There was no answer. "Then it's still a cell. Soft sheets, washbasin… doesn't matter if I'm not free to go and come if I please."

Trying not to shoot an annoyed retort back at Lord Stark, Missandei gestured to one of the Unsullied to open the door to the designated room. It was spartan in accommodations, but did include a bed with furs and sheets, a washbasin, a chest filled with plain but clean clothing, and even a looking glass. "All yours." Her voice was more… guarded than before.

Pursing his lips, Jon entered as soon as the shackles were removed. Under the watchful eye of Lady Missandei and his guards the entire time, inspecting the accommodations. Sitting upon the bed - it was firm, not the best quality even by northern standards. "Better than my bed at the Night's Watch, that's for sure."

"You are a Lord Paramount. Even as a hostage, you deserve to be treated well."

"My bruises are still healing and my ribs are still rather sore from where the Queen's dog attacked me, Lady Missandei."

"That was an unfortunate lapse to which the Queen has already made amends. Better too late than never, I would think."

He nodded. "Better too late than never, yes." Scooting to the edge of the bed, he patted the far end. Bidding Missandei to sit, which she did. "I know what you are trying to do, my Lady. The kindness, the comfort, you are trying to bait me to betray Stannis."

"Lord Stark…"

"No, let me speak." His voice was firm, but not loud. He had no quarrel with the freed slave, someone who he could tell was genuine and kind. "Your Queen… she refuses to see the true threat in the North. The actual threat that faces us all."

"You do have to admit that your story is fantastical, Lord Stark. Her Grace would be a fool to make it the central focus of her campaign without proof."

Crossing his arms, Jon's instincts told him to clam up, to not say anything... somehow this woman reminded him of many he had known. Cowed, broken souls that rose to the occasion. Simply by being here meant she had an importance beyond her birth, and there was honestly no reason she had given to make her out to be a monster as many of his foes. He would trust her with innocuous information, for now. "She refuses to consider it, while others in her position have."

Missandei narrowed her eyes. "Don't think Stannis is altruistic." She had prepared herself, studying everything about the wars and political situation Westeros had been mired in for decades - not about to become some useless paperweight for her Queen. "He fights for the same chair."

Jon shook his head. "His Grace knows the true threat."

"And yet he's down here instead of up there."

"He's seen it and is committed to defeating it, which requires unity."

Part of him said that the Dragon Queen was similar... only part.

"You gave him a chance. Why don't you give her Grace the same chance?"

"I can understand her attacking my men. I can understand her desire to win a battle…" His hand trembled, forcing him to pinch the bridge of his nose to still it. "I see them, every night. My bannermen, my allies, my friends… I see them burn in my nightmares." It wasn't just them. He saw Robb get his throat cut, Sansa getting raped, Ygritte dying in his arms over and over again. But those weren't because of the Dragon Queen. A grim chuckle passed Jon's lips. "Better to die on your feet than on your knees…" Wildling words to live by. Jon took a deep breath… "She caused it… her dragon, her orders."

There was nothing Missandei could say to calm his words, not much, anyways. "War always brings hardship, death. But better that than a peace with the same death and torture..."

"Did the Blackfish deserve to be burned?!" Seeing the Unsullied tense, Jon drew back. He wasn't Ramsay, or Karl Tanner - an unarmed woman would not receive his wrath.

Long beaten and violated into submission, Missandei wasn't about to be submissive anymore. "Did Olenna Tyrell deserve to be burned? Did the King Beyond the Wall, whom you gave mercy to, if I recall? Your King burned him for the same reason, and without dragonfire it's a slow, painful death."

The Lord of Winterfell said nothing for the longest while. His eyes boring a hole into the stone floor. "Queen Daenerys… every time I've seen her…" Jon's lips were curled in a sneer. "She's either been a monster or some manipulator. Why in seven hells is she different from Cersei, Tywin, Joffrey, or Roose Bolton? Other manipulators and monsters that only desired power?" He opened his arms. "I have yet to see it."

Letting the silence take hold for what had to be a minute, Missandei slowly met Jon's eyes. "What tales have you heard of her? Her campaigns in Essos, I mean?"

Blinking, Jon wasn't sure where his supposed caregiver was going with this. Nevertheless, she seemed to be the only person in the damn keep that gave a damn about his welfare. I'll indulge her story. "What's there to tell? Secured an Unsullied army and then pillaged and burned her way to conquer Meereen by fomenting slave uprisings."

Suddenly, Missandei began to chuckle. "Oh, you know nothing, Jon Stark."

His ire was piqued. "You're the second person to say that to me…" He clenched his hand, not willing to think of Ygritte. Of showing weakness in front of Missandei. "I figure I don't know much. But Daenerys has turned out to be exactly what I imagined her to be." Maester Aemon had talked about her considerably, but given what information he had heard from Stannis… Jon was not inclined to rethink his position on the daughter of the most vilified man in Westeros.

"I don't blame you for not knowing the truth of what happened. The Targaryens aren't beloved, and your rulers have every interest in continuing that hate." Anything to justify what Tywin Lannister and Robert Baratheon did, butchering Daenerys' family and hunting down every last Targaryen. "I was there, Jon Stark. I saw the truth."

Jon knitted his brows in confusion. "Well… it's not like I have anything better to do at this point. Enlighten me."

Setting her hands in her lap, Missandei thought of where to begin. Of what to tell him of her Queen to get through his stubborn skull. After a minute of soul searching, she had settled on a particular story. "Queen Daenerys arrived in Astapor seeking to purchase the Unsullied. Which she did by tricking the 'Good Master' that had previously owned them… and me."

Jon gave away nothing, but the very concept of slavery didn't sit well with him.

Clearing her throat, she went on. "The 'Wise Masters' of Yunkai offered gold and access to a fleet of ships for her to return to Westeros, she refused." There was a tiny flicker of surprise in Jon's eye - a subtle tell, but one Missandei recognized. "She stayed, taking the city so that she could free all the slaves held within. Hundreds of thousands of them."

This was always where the tales and rumors Jon heard had diverged. Some said she had stormed the city, others had her besieging it for months until starvation forced the defenders to yield. Based on Stannis' speeches to his command, the official line of the Baratheon King was that the dragons burned their way into Yunkai. Aemon claimed that it was done practically without bloodshed, but after enduring dragonfire at the Battle of Duskendale, Jon was inclined to believe Stannis. "And Meereen?"

"What have you heard about Meereen, Lord Stark?" On this, Missandei was genuinely curious. Who knows what they fed him about the evil Dragon Queen?

"Not much," Jon admitted. "There was a tale of how she crucified fifty men. A gesture of her conquest of the city." He snorted. "Did they refuse to bend the knee as Brynden Tully did?"

A sigh. The freed slave wasn't surprised that people like Cersei Lannister or Stannis Baratheon would try to gin up sympathy for the masters in order to tear down Daenerys. "Crucifixion… it's what they use to execute slaves, Lord Stark. A form of torture in death, and as a message to other slaves that there is a price for disobedience. As such, it is often in public." Jon did not respond. "In Astapor, before she bought the Unsullied, there was a line of slaves that had been condemned. Daenerys… she gave them water."

"Did you see this happen?" he ended up asking dismissively.

"Ser Barristan Selmy did. He was with her at Astapor. He and I both saw the slaves along the road." Ser Barristan… one of the greatest knights of the Kingsguard. Someone he had idolized from a young age alongside Aemon the Dragonknight or Daeron the Young Dragon. Jon refused to comment. "But what she faced from the 'Great Masters' of Meereen was far different. Far worse." Missandei closed her eyes, the images still haunting her. "One hundred and sixty three children, children…"

"My brother's son, his son, and the children… even the children…" From the pain in Missandei's voice, Jon remembered Maester Aemon's long ago words. Grieving his family… Daenerys Targaryen's family… She suffered a loss too, now that he thought about it, head aching.

Taking Jon's silence as an invitation to continue, Missandei did just that. "One dead, crucified child for every single mile between the beginning of the mountain coast road and the gates of Meereen. Each of them left to die from thirst and exposure, none allowed the one form of mercy in broken legs or arms. A small mercy, but gargantuan in the face of days of abject suffering." Trying best to hold herself together, the weight of all the degradation and pain of her bondage beginning to overwhelm her, Missandei breathed deeply. "Barristan wanted to have them removed. But she wouldn't let him. She had to look them all in the eye. Every person that was placed up there."

"Why?"

"She wanted to remember them."

Jon said nothing. What could he say?

"She had each of them buried with all honors, and the crucified masters were in response to that. Even now… I can see her hidden tears at those children lost because a group of sadistic monsters wanted to prove a point."

There was the longest silence, neither speaking. "I don't believe you," Jon finally said.

"Yes, you do." It was as if the former slave could see right through him. "In your heart, you know it's true. That those you most trusted have lied to you about the nature of your enemy." Letting the truth settle for several moments, Missandei stood. "You think yourself the only one who knows loss, Jon Stark. To know that you are a survivor of a family hunted. To bear the weight of countless innocents - you saved the Free Folk from this threat behind the wall, but Daenerys freed millions of human beings from the chains of bondage..."

"What do you want from me?" Eyelids tightly closed, Jon was barely holding it together. "I've told you the threat, the reason that I fight. I've told you that I cannot betray my oath. What. Do. You. Want. From. Me?"

He didn't mention Daenerys - didn't mention how she was a Mad Queen that attacked his men. "I don't want anything from you, Jon Stark." No threats, no demands. None of those would work. "Just for you to come face to face with a simple fact."

Eyes fluttering open, Jon looked directly at Missandei. She had made her way to the door, standing in the entrance. "What fact?"

For someone seemingly so meek, her dark eyes were hardened with an inner steel. "Ask yourself this question. Would a monster feel grief for the innocent?" Missandei turned to leave. "In that, you'll find the truth you seek." The door closed before she received an answer.

Do not blame children for the crimes of their parents. Such was why Jon forgave Alys Karstark for her father and brother betraying House Stark. Or Walda and Roslin Frey for what their father did. And yet you didn't for Queen Daenerys…

That's different. His mind was at war with itself. She is evil…

Do you really think that? Or does your anger truly come from blaming her for what her father and brother did. Jon knew not how to answer that question - knew not where to separate Daenerys' actions from the Mad King's.

Would a Mad Queen look at the faces of murdered, innocent children?

For once, he had an answer - no.

The plenty of the Reach was wasted on Stannis. Sumptuous feasts, free-flowing wine, and the fairest of maidens might have enticed his older brother - while only an inverting of the sex of the latter would serve the same for his younger brother - but the same celibacy, sour wine, and spartan dinner of bread, cheese, apples, and simple beef stew would suffice for him. He asked for nothing, desired no worldly comforts. Only power chinked the thick armor that cloaked him, the seeking of his birthright and destiny that arose Stannis' lust.

And now, staring at the newly shaded map that was draped over his table, that same lust drove the One True King of Westeros to melancholy once faced with the obstacles. And such obstacles were many. "Is it true?"

Davos pressed his lips together tightly. "Aye, it's true. We received a raven from Riverrun today, Raventree Hall yesterday." He pulled the two folded scrolls out of his belt and handed them to Stannis. "Both the Tullys and the Blackwoods are abiding by the same surrender terms to Daenerys Targaryen as the North and Wildlings, sitting the war out."

"Traitors," Stannis mumbled, though in all honesty he couldn't be bothered to raise too much of a hackle. Everything was just… numb. Even after his legendary victory at Highgarden. "We must send a force to destroy them, send a message."

A throaty cough directed attention to Lord Yohn Royce, the unofficial commander of the Vale forces. "I… I wouldn't do that, your Grace."

Piercing blue eyes found the Lord of Runestone. Dark and unsettling, fire dancing within. "Why is that, Lord Royce?"

Royce gulped. He was a renowned knight and fighter, but age had turned his brown hair to grey and his handsome face to wrinkles and chin wattles. "They haven't taken up arms against you and their loyalty is still secured… they simply do not have the strength to fight after Duskendale, most likely. They aren't worth the distraction of your attention - not with the Mad Lion and Dragon Queen facing against you."

"He makes an excellent point, your Grace." The floor went to Littlefinger, alone among the men in the war room to eschew combat wear, instead clothed in a fine silk doublet. "Besides, the Blackwoods follow the Old Gods and Edmure Tully is Lady Sansa's uncle. We cannot afford to antagonize the North if we target either of them."

Antagonize the North, and we doom our cause in the Long Night. A figure in the snow, flaming sword in hand. Stannis would not deny himself his destiny. "Fine." He turned to Davos. "What news of Jon Stark?"

Their forces could have won a hundred decisive victories and conquered a dozen cities, but the capture of Jon Stark would have driven Davos to pain even still. The boy was like a surrogate son for him, and it showed from the flicker of pain that crossed his face. "We received a raven from Ser Barristan, Hand to Daenerys Targaryen. It said that Lord Stark is being held on Dragonstone and that he's alive, on his honor."

"So the old bastard finally showed his true loyalties." Stannis snickered, though his grimace was far from humorous. "My cunt of a goodsister and her bastard son were fools for cutting him loose, but he should have come to serve his true King." Said true King looked at another of his commanders. "How is your loyalty, Selmy?"

Lord Arstan Selmy bowed. "I am loyal to you, your Grace."

"And if it comes to it, can you be trusted to fight Ser Barristan if need be - like the Cargyll Twins?"

Everyone knew the story of the twin Kingsguards, each having chosen a different side in the Dance of Dragons. They were tasked to fight each other, and chose duty over family in their duel to the death. "I will choose you, my King."

"Good." Stannis turned back to Davos. "Can we get him back?"

"I'm sure I could get a ransom price from Daenerys Targaryen… though she'll probably require immense concessions." One could only imagine what she'd demand - unlike the rest of Stannis' war council, Davos didn't believe that she'd summarily burn them to death with dragonfire. No one that freed slaves in Slaver's Bay would be a madwoman, enemy or no. Always good to be realistic.

Littlefinger smirked, rolling back and forth on the balls of his feet. "By concessions, the good Hand means that she'll offer you Storm's End in exchange for bending the knee…"

All fell silent when the King slammed his fist against the table. "The only knees that will bend are those that pledge their fealty to me!" His hand automatically went to his own leg, rubbing it gently. Hoping the ache there didn't mean the wound would open again. "Our forces are strong, well rested. The Stormlands are prepared to go to war once more. All we need is Jon back - and you, Davos, will get him for me."

The Hand blinked. "Your Grace?"

"In a moon's time I will send notice to Dragonstone that I am sending you there to negotiate Lord Stark's release… but you are to leave now for Braavos."

"Braavos, your Grace?"

"That sellsail you hired before, the man that can sail the Narrow Sea in little over a week?"

"Salladhor Saan?"

Stannis nodded. "Get him to get you to Braavos. There, you will pay off our loan with the Tyrell gold. Obtain another loan and hire the Golden Company. That will more than prepare us to storm King's Landing."

Frankly, the ploy would be brilliant if it worked. "But what about the negotiations?"

"You will go to Dragonstone after, Davos. Tell them nothing about the Golden Company, but get Jon back by any means. Promise anything, you understand?"

"Will do." Davos bowed. "Your Grace."

"I will go with him."

All eyes turned to Melisandre. "Why do you wish to go?"

Her red gaze met her King's… at least who she said openly was her King. "Azor Ahai will be born among salt and smoke on Dragonstone… you have dragon's blood, and the Targaryen has brought dragons into the world." She inhaled slowly, hoping Stannis would buy what she was selling. "The sooner Lord Stark is saved, the sooner you can return and become the Prince who was Promised."

Stannis did understand. Me, a dragonrider? He did always feel a calling to the flames, never afraid of them when Melisandre conducted her fire rituals. "Do it. Go prepare now... Hells, everyone leave but Baelish and Tarly."

Everyone complied, most talking amongst themselves. Melisandre was quiet but with a ghost of a smirk… Davos similarly silent, but eyeing Stannis with worry. Praying to the Seven that he be kept with wise counsel in his absence. Jon's absence was already greatly felt.

The door shutting, Stannis gripped the bridge of his nose. "You know that there is no choice in bringing Jon back?" Littlefinger asked.

"Aye," Stannis nodded. "He's doomed either way, much as I detest that fact… but pretending to negotiate leaves open the small chance, as well as distracting the Dragon Bitch while I deal with Cersei." With all his strength, all his power… going against the dragons was courting death. He'd have to play it smart and ruthless.

At that moment one of the Baratheon bannermen entered, offering a dispatch to the first person who stood… which happened to be Lord Randyll. Unfurling the message, his already infamous scowl deepened. "Seems we have a bit of a problem."

"More good news?" Stannis asked sardonically.

"From Oldtown. Seems Lord Leyton Hightower passed away in his bed."

Littlefinger shrugged. "Probably a bad heart." He slapped the table. "The cunt was older than all of us - I'm surprised he lasted this long."

Shaking his head, Randyll glared at the man he considered nothing but a pimp. "The Archmaesters of the Citadel performed the autopsy. Discovered the work of the Long Farewell."

"I know that poison." Stannis rose, eyebrow quirked up. "That's the same poison that Ellaria Sand used to kill Cersei's bastard daughter." It couldn't be a coincidence the same one killed Lord Hightower, currently the only house in the Reach that had yet to truly pledge to his cause.

"That's what the Hightowers believe," Randyll continued. "The new Lord, Baelor, he wishes for your permission to go on the offensive against the Dornish. Houses Redwyne and Peake are mobilized behind them and they wish to seek House Caron."

"Marcher Lords…" His best men. Rising from his chair, Stannis hobbled to the roaring fireplace. Wishing he could see the same visions of his glorious future as Melisandre did - perhaps they'd bring clarity… no, he'd have to rely on his own intelligence. "Baelish, what do your whores say of the Dornish?" With Qyburn working for Cersei and Varys for Daenerys, the brothel owner was his de facto Master of Whisperers.

A syrupy smile spread upon the lips of the Vale Lordling. "Aye, after Euron killed their Lords at Sunspear, Arianne Martell has been having trouble reigning in the others. Half of the new Lords are children, and many wish to sue for peace."

Just the information he needed. "Tell Lord Baelor he may proceed, but he may not repeat the mistakes of the last Dornish Wars. No desert campaigns, no getting bogged down. Seek the Martell armies and wipe them out." Randyll bowed, making his exit. The King turned back to the flames Staring blindly until a flash of the flickering inferno came to his vision… if he squinted, Stannis could just make out an image of himself sitting on the Iron Throne.

Soon… soon it shall be mine.

A/N: BRuh4: Really hope you liked this one. Certainly lacked in action but there's a lot to glean from this and I hope you were paying attention.

Lots of really exciting stuff to come. Hope you guys will hang in.

Longclaw: And so it begins. Jon starts to see the truth about Dany behind the veneer of the Dragon Queen. In his anger, it took Missandei to make him realize that his enemy is still a human, not the monster that he thinks she is (change from the original version; we felt it was better). Not the end of it, but it's a start.

Cersei and Stannis are plotting, lion and stag trying to kill each other while the dragon licks her wounds and watches. The propaganda and graffiti were my little humorous touch, and the assassination attempt will cause even more chaos.

Melisandre is still devious.

And with the Golden Company in the mix... nothing good comes from this ;)

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