A/N: Longclaw: Hi all. We're back and getting into the swing of things :D

Ran into an awesome new story: Black Reign by bykim0120. It's a great story for those that like House Targaryen and dragon action.

Be sure to check out my new collab fic A Targaryen Dynasty co-written with BlackRose999.

BRuh4: Hey hey, small bang before the massive bang here. Uh, lots of set-ups. Getting y'all ready for another big event. Stannis' tryna run the table again. Lots of differences this time around though. It's all about to go down. But we had to set the table first with this one. Many moving pieces and things to consider going forward.

I think there's a lot of underlying stuff with this more than many of the last handful.

Keep ya eye out.

Enjoy.

Chapter 39: Madness

Stroking his stubbly chin, the Supreme Commander of the Queen's armies did not know what to think. Staring at the bruised and battered sellsword - Tyrion's friend, though the relationship between them was difficult to discern - he found it easy to disbelief. "'The North Remembers.' You're saying this came from a companion of Sandor Clegane?"

"Isn't that what I fuckin' told you?" Bronn huffed, though the slight movement caused his bruised ribs to ache. "I shouldn't be out of fuckin' bed after what I went through for your fuckin' cause, but that's what I heard."

Nodding, Jaime wouldn't keep one of the few remaining allies of his sister's crown in agony any longer - his father might have, while Cersei definitely would have, though. "Go get your rest, Bronn. We'll need it."

A soft snort. "Aye. Stannis marchin' towards us. The Dragon Queen back in action with her beasts, we're all fuckin' doomed." The halls were open, but who cared? We're all dead anyway, be by Stannis, Cersei, or dragonfire. "I'm at least gonna be well-rested when I die." Gingerly, Bronn hobbled back into his guest quarters in the Holdfast, door shutting behind him and in Jaime's face.

The North Remembers… the North Remembers… While groomed to live in the Westerlands and bring glory to House Lannister, Jaime had been quite worldly in his travels as a Kingsguard. Picking up the customs of all the Seven Kingdoms, that particular phrase was one often said in the North. Had it been "winter is coming" and it points to the Starks. But that phrase could be any House.

House Lannister had so many enemies converging on it that one phrase by one little girl and a scarred reprobate didn't seem to matter in the scheme of things, but Jaime headed deeper into the Holdfast anyway. It merited discussion with Cersei at the very least.

Outside, the flickers of lights in the curfewed city were matched by the thousands of campfires cooking outside the walls. The tens of thousands of Stannis' army surrounding King's Landing, hemming them in like rats… this time coming from land rather than the sea. It made Jaime shake his head. Had he bet on anyone in the War of the Five Kings, he'd have bet on Robb Stark.

Not that your judgment has proven to be worth a damn.

As for Cersei's whereabouts, just as he was about to scramble up the steps towards the royal quarters, he spotted Ser Gregor waiting outside the entrance to the map chambers. He tried to move through, but Gregor refused to move. "Excuse me, Clegane." The Mountain said nothing. "Are you denying the Commander of her Grace's armies entry?" Without a word said, Clegane finally lumbered out of the way.

The chambers were open to the air, moonlight adding to the torches mounted on the wall to illuminate the massive map of Westeros painted on the floor. Boots clicking against the stone, Jaime found Cersei rather easily. Her black dress reflected the orange-red light in a lustrous sheen.

"Cersei?" he called out.

"No… it's mine…" Jaime heard her mutter, pacing back and forth across the center of the continent. "Their castles will burn and I'll find loyal lords…"

"Cersei." Voice firmer and louder, Jaime managed to snap the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms - more accurately the Queen of King's Landing - out of her funk. "What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be asleep?" As her paramour as well as her brother and commander, he took advantage and strode to her, arm around her waist and hand pressing against her swollen belly. "Think of the babe."

She leaned into his touch but wrenched away. "I can't afford to rest." Running her hands along her sides, Cersei walked along the length of the Crownlands towards their own home. Probably the last place any of their brood was ever happy. "There are enemies everywhere, brother. Out there, watching us… they're even in here. Qyburn finds them and silences them, but there are always more."

Paranoid, manic… it was almost the same as his past - then, he refused to do anything out of duty. Now, he could suppose it was a more selfish motive. "We have the Iron Throne, and the city defenses. Stannis tried and failed before and won't succeed a second time."

Nodding, a tiny smile stretched over her face. "No… he will not succeed. I'll see to it." Before Jaime could inquire what she meant, Cersei changed the subject. "Why are you here? I did not send for you."

"Ser Bronn returned."

"Who?" Cersei's brow nodded before finding recognition. "Ah yes, our little brother's pet sellsword. I thought I told him to raid Stannis' forces." She shook her head. "If he can't complete that…"

"He ran into the Hound," Jaime interrupted.

She scoffed. "So?"

"There was a girl with him, who asked Bronn to deliver you a message. You specifically, and I thought you should know."

Cersei clearly found it addled but humored him… and was partially curious. "Well… out with it."

"The North Remembers, that was the message," Jaime told her.

Cersei stiffened, in a quick motion she turned from Jaime. "What? Are you sure?"

"Certainly. Bronn couldn't wait to tell me. He refused milk of the poppy so he'd be awake to see me."

"The North Remembers…" Cersei whispered, lingering on the words. "What do you think it means? Who told Bronn this?"

"Some angry girl, he said, and Sandor Cleagne was there."

Chuckling, the Queen rolled her eyes. "I honestly forgot about him," Cersei said, turning back to him. Nearby, Gregor put his hand on his sword. "What could he possibly want?"

"That's all Bronn told me."

"Who's the girl?"

"A young one, he didn't recognize her."

"A northern girl."

"An angry one at that, supposedly," Jaime said. He watched his sister's face closely. Her mind clearly running overtime. "Sansa?"

"No, can't be," Cersei replied, shaking her head. "She wouldn't leave Winterfell. Especially not to come here." Her features formed into a dark scowl - the same she used when thinking of Margaery Tyrell before the latter's death. "Besides, I doubt anyone would refer to her as a 'young girl.' She was always a… pretty thing." The last came out as a hiss.

"...until there comes another, younger and more beautiful, to cast you down and take all that you hold dear." Sansa, Margaery, Daenerys… all those who could fit into the characterization of the old witch.

Jaime had no way of knowing this, for Cersei never told him - he believed it was jealousy and moved on. "There were two Stark girls. What was the other one's name?"

"Arya, I believe. I don't remember her well, save her existence and the fact she looked like a boy." Cersei snickered at how that must have driven Catelyn Stark mad. "Last I heard from Qyburn she'd returned to Winterfell."

"Well, it must be her," Jaime said, moving to the side, walking towards Winterfell on the floor. "She has some ability, fighting, I mean. I've not seen Bronn more scared - though mayhaps it was the Hound nearly breaking every bone in his body."

"People always revert to their lowest and weakest tendencies when death hangs over them."

"People always shit themselves when they die," Jaime remarked.

Cersei acted as if she'd tuned him out for a moment and only caught the tail end of his sentence. Scowling, "What was that?"

"Oh, nothing."

Stepping towards Winterfell herself, with a clunk she smashed her boot into the painted marker - symbolically destroying the home of her greatest banes as she did with Highgarden. "It won't matter. Let that bitch and her dog come… let the whore Sansa plot in her frozen wasteland and our monster brother plot from the Dragon Whore's lair." Cersei threw her head back in cackling laughter. "They'll all choke on their tongues after they see Stannis and his army become a pile of ashes in the wind."

A foreboding shuddered through Jaime. "Cersei…"

"You know…" she looked at him, eyes sparkling with zeal and mirth. "The wildfire is still here, sweet brother," Cersei smirked.

"What?" Jaime's voice came out as a whisper. "Cersei, what are you planning?" He wasn't in King's Landing when Cersei razed the Great Sept. She didn't even explicitly tell him what happened. He'd heard exactly what though. Whenever he thought about it he found it difficult to look her in the eyes.

The smell was one he'd never forget in his life, and only two had ever burned it into his memory.

Without delay Cersei strode to him, taking his hands in hers. Gods help him, he still enjoyed the feel of her soft skin on his. Once he found it his sole driving purpose. "There's a trap for Stannis. A trap to rid the world of the disgusting Stags that sullied this Realm as Robert did me."

Now… Jaime realized her allure as a curse. A sick jape played on him by the gods, slowly turning the woman he loved into the Mad King. "That… that is madness…"

While any other would have sent her into a murderous rage at that comment, Cersei merely gave him a patronizing smile - as their father or mother may have done when he said something naughty or wrongheaded. "It is brilliant. The one good thing that little monster ever did right in his life. My only regret is that he didn't roast Stannis alive as he did the rest of those ships," she hissed. "I will not make the same mistake." Her hand ghosted over her belly, the other taking Jaime's and bringing it to her visible swell. She always did know how to manipulate me. "House Lannister will have the Realm, even if it rules over a pile of ashes."

"What use is power if we lose ourselves to obtain it?" he murmured quietly. A question he and Tyrion discussed at length long ago.

She cocked her head at him. "Wasn't it you who told me 'Fuck everyone who isn't us.'" A gentle chuckle, Cersei wrapped her arms around his shoulders. Looping around his neck. "You were right then, Jaime. We're the only ones who matter. Everything they've taken from us, we're going to take back and more. Dragon, Direwolf, Stag… they'll all burn before us. The Field of Fire, only this time the lion shall breathe the fire."

The things I do for love… Everything to save Cersei and their children, only for their children to all die and Cersei to transform slowly into Aerys Targaryen before his very eyes. Cruelty in the extreme, but for what he personally inflicted on so many perhaps it was well deserved.

Allowing Cersei to lead him to bed in that moment - her mania and bloodlust engulfing her in desire - perhaps it wasn't the atrocities that doomed him to this. Perhaps it was simply who he was, sinful and weak.

"So the city is fully surrounded?"

"Aye, your Grace," Randyll Tarly proclaimed, standing with his son and Lord Rolland Caron of the Stormlanders. "The Westerlands are drained of manpower, and with Daenerys Targaryen currently in Dorne I'm confident she won't turn the assault into a three-way conflict."

Davos watched Stannis scowl. "You can't be sure of it." He was currently glowering over the defeat of Lord Baelor and the loss of so many good men - both to dragonfire and whatever extortion that the Dragon Queen had used to ensure the neutrality of the Hightowers and their Honeywine valley allies. "A dragon is never sated… she tasted blood and could want plenty more to whet her thirst."

"I can spare ten thousand of my men to screen against the Dothraki and Unsullied in Rosby and Stokeworth," Lord Rolland - a legitimized bastard much like Jon had been - offered. "There's good ground on a steep southern bank of a creek. Enough pikemen and archers and they could cut down cavalry for eons."

Deep in thought, Stannis finally waved it off. "We assault the walls sooner than later. See it done, Tarly."

Bowing, the Lord of Horn Hill departed with the others in tow, leaving the remnants of the Baratheon war council in the room alone. Not even any guards. "It begins, your Grace," Petyr Baelish remarked from beside the King.

"Aye… it does…" He snorted. "Twice I've been here… once by sea and now by land, and no Tywin Lannister is here to save Cersei from the fires of her own making." Stannis rubbed his leg. "She should have killed herself with her incest bastard when she had the chance."

"Have you known Cersei Lannister to not cling to delusions and false hope?" Littlefinger smiled softly when the King shook his head. "Get through the walls and I guarantee that even the Westermen will bend the knee to you."

"They don't deserve to get off so easily. I will make sure they face the justice of the rightful King before I entertain any idea of a pardon. For too long this realm has dealt with traitors and craven backstabbers sacrificing honor and justice for the barest of personal gain… I'm fucking sick of it."

The words of his King… unsettling him, Davos hated the current arrangement. Wishing for the council of old, simply himself, Stannis, Jon… even Melisandre. She fanned Stannis' ego, but she grounded him in a way. Without her, only the breadth of imagination restrained Stannis' estimation of his fate. As such, Davos held a heavy burden to hem in the excesses. "Your Grace, last time the threat was from land, but this time there is a threat from the sea."

Glancing at the map, studying the various markers, and committing them to memory, Stannis chewed at his lip - brow wrinkling in deep thought. "The Ironborn?" Below the table, he stroked his bad leg. The ulcerations managed to heal for now, but it still ached. "What of that pirate, does Cersei still have his loyalty?" Honestly, Stannis wondered why Euron Greyjoy still stood behind the woman that was reduced to control one geographic point hemmed in by walls. Ironborn scatter like jackals, coward, and craven.

"His ships still anchor in the harbor, your Grace," Baelish said, adding new markers to the map. Curved wood carved into crude ship figurines now filling Blackwater Bay. "Garrisoning the bay. Probably screening against invasion by Daenerys Targaryen."

"I doubt that," Davos mused. "She's already focused on land, given how Rosby and Stokeworth declared for her. Dragons are in Dorne, so I think they're worried we'll try by sea again."

"No." Stannis shook his head, lightly banging his fist against the table. "I'm not making that mistake again. Not damn again." Not defeating Tywin before assaulting the city… exposing his men to destruction from the wildfire… "I am far closer to sitting upon the throne that is mine by right and by fate, and I will not toss it upon the rocks!"

Having seen his King in the greatest of stresses before, it still disquieted Davis seeing how cracks were beginning to form on Stannis' soul. The closer he comes to his goal, the more it flays at him. Only three had truly grounded him - Davos himself, out of his depth swimming alone against the tide, while Shireen and the King were fraying in their own way, leaving only… "Your Grace, even if we defeat Cersei then there's still Daenerys Targaryen to defeat."

"My whispers indicate Jon Stark almost killed one of her dragons," Baelish said. "And that the Hightowers nearly killed her in Dorne. We can defeat her if we are smart."

"Why should our King risk the destruction of our armies?" Stannis scowling, Davos inhaled and leaned forward. "You Grace… I've seen the dragons, they are not to trifle with. Please at least consider an accord with Daenerys Targaryen. Offer her Dragonstone and her holdings in Essos in exchange for an alliance…

"Careful, Davos." Stannis only precluded treason charges because he knew Davos to be loyal. "One cannot trust that house."

"Your grandmother and her grandfather were sister and brother, making you kin." He had to try, for Jon. "Your father and her father were the closest of friends. This enmity doesn't have to last."

Pursing his lips, Stannis leaned back. "You were there, Lord Davos. You met her, saw her counsel. What is your opinion?"

Of this, Davos had to think. He wished not to try Stannis' patience… to push his luck. He may have had leeway with Stannis, but it wasn't long ago that the Stag King threw him in a cell for speaking out against something dear to him. Tread carefully. "She is fierce… like stone except when angry, then it feels like the room is melting." With this, he could say it honestly. "She is also very… sentimental. Cares about those around her, and about the smallfolk."

"So her attacking King's Landing while we do isn't likely?"

"I feel she wouldn't want to expose the smallfolk to the casualties of a sack - she refused to storm Yunkai and Meereen in Slaver's Bay for the same reasons." Stannis seemed to mumble something, to which Davos swore included the word 'weakness.' He waited till the King's eyes met his before continuing. "There's a struggle within her, I believe. Whether to rain fire and blood or go about things more diplomatically."

"We know what she will choose," Littlefinger mused dryly."

"I'm not so sure."

"How can you make that assessment? Because she didn't kill Baelor Hightower?" while it did surprise Littlefinger, what truly pissed him off about it was the inability to use his death to further secure the Reach behind Stannis… for now at least.

"No, because she refused to harm Jon Stark."

Stannis grunted. "Jon is dead. She had him killed," he growled."

To this, Davos responded quickly. "That is not at all the case. I saw him with my own eyes. Heard him with my own ears. Lest you think me a liar, Jon Stark is not dead."

A flash of pain and an almost fatherly affection flickered in Stannis' eyes. "Jon Stark… he is alive?"

"Impossible," Littlefinger dismissed. "You can't raise the dead."

"Lady Melisandre can, and did," Davos replied. "Believe me, I've seen her conjure wonders that others dismiss as nightmares, and this… by the gods, she actually did it. Jon returned to us."

Stannis closed his eyes, trying to keep his emotions in check. "What happened to him?"

"He remained under the care of Daenerys Targaryen - there was no chance for her to release him. I'm sorry."

"Yes… unfortunate he must continue in the cells of Dragonstone."

"From what I saw, he didn't suffer there, your Grace." Davos knew the perfidy of those cells, only Shireen's friendship keeping him sane during those months. "Jon was afforded a guest-chambers under guard. Space so he could recover."

Pinching the brow of his nose, the newest confidant of the Stag King leaned forward to whisper in his ear. "Your Grace, this Jon Stark has betrayed you," Littlefinger pointed out.

"Actually, Jon never bent the knee," Davos said.

"Never?" Stannis gasped quietly.

"Never," Davos replied, shaking his head. "Even under that immense pressure. It was my understanding that he endured quite a lot in their dungeons. Abuse of many kinds."

Stannis smirked, "What a man." There was a reason he had hoped for Jon to marry Shireen and be essentially his co-heir. "Standing up for his King, Kingdom, and his House."

"Yet, the Dragon Queen had to have ordered him to be… brought back to life. Correct?" Peytr said, at Davos' slight nod he continued. "She must have had a reason. A good one too. Jon Stark was her enemy. Master of War to the one person who stands between her and the throne."

"Yes, well…" Davos cleared his throat. "It seemed to me she had a certain affection for Jon."

Crossing his arms, Littlefinger smiled. He looked so serene, gentle - but Davos saw the snake within. "There's the truth of it."

"You mean… she and Jon?" Stannis seemed to be taken aback. A whore she is, but Jon is as his father, honorable.

Yet Ned fathered him… Selyse had said so much before she was taken from him. Could she have been right...

"Perhaps, Your Grace, I know not for sure," Davos said, raising his hands. "Jon was killed by one of her own. Perhaps she felt it was the right thing to do. He died under her care, after all."

"Still, it's a tale as old as time. Many a strong, steadfast man has found himself destroyed and coopted by a seductress into a broken shell of what he once was… serving only her whims and desires." Littlefinger looked at Stannis. "I assure you, your Grace, not every man can claim to hold the inner steel of R'hllor's chosen. Had it been you, I doubt you would've acted the same, but Jon is but a man."

Davos frowned. "If the Lord of Light did bring him back, then he has the favor of the divine as well. There's a reason he fights alongside you, your Grace."

The Stag rubbed over his face, "Aye, he was destined to fight at my side during the Long Night, but the question is not regarding him but the Dragon Whore." He sighed deeply. "Bringing back one of my enemies' most trusted advisors and commanders? Would I do the same? No. Even if it happened under guest right." He half-laughed, looking at each of them in the face. "Seven Hells, I wouldn't have even taken him prisoner if he refused to bend the knee."

Watching his King intently, Davos listened to every word. While he was not surprised at what Stannis said, he searched desperately for the person he once knew. Shireen lingered heavily in his mind, by every passing second. He believed what she had told him. Yet it didn't seem possible for Stannis to truly act or feel that way towards her. He wanted to find the truth of it. "Whatever the reason is, she did have the Red Woman bring him back. I saw it with my own eyes, Your Grace. It was... rather something."

"Yes, I imagine so," Stannis said, leaning forward a bit. "How'd she do it?"

"She said some words in her foreign language. I didn't understand them. Yet I understood it was some sort of sacred ritual. The same words, over and over again, she cleaned Jon's wounds. Then clipped some of his hair, recanted the special words, and laid her hands on him," Davos said, then outstretched his hands over the air in front of him to demonstrate. Stannis' eyes widened as he listened. "Then that was it. She finished whatever she had to say, and Jon didn't come back."

"What?" Stannis gasped.

"Well, it had a delayed effect… or so I think," Davos added. "We all left the room. But only a few moments we heard quite the racket back inside the room. We rushed back into the room to see Jon gasping for air. Like he'd just been reborn."

Stannis sat back, meditating on what he'd heard. Littlefinger cut in, "Well… That seems rather impossible. He was stabbed?"

"Yes, a few times, I believe."

The Stag King rose back up with some intense energy. "If the Lord bestowed Lady Melisandre with that kind of power, imagine what he might give to me." He said, glancing at his hands as he held them up. "Especially once I take the throne, no one will be able to stop the Lord's chosen. I'll be the greatest King this land has ever since. Far better than Robert, or anyone that came before. Because I'll not only have the greatest army, but also the Red God at my back... Ser Edric!"

From his bellowed command, the bastard knight entered from his watch outside the chamber. "Yes, your Grace," he asked his uncle.

"Tell the men to assemble all Lannister prisoners in the dungeons… seven hells, whatever Dothraki and Unsullied we still have. Tie them to staves and burn them."

Davos blinked. "Your Grace… is this necessary?"

Stroking his chin, Stannis nodded. "Our army shall face the greatest of challenges to strip the City of my ancestor, Aegon the Conqueror, from my whore of a goodsister. They will need the beneficence of R'hllor to overcome the defenses." He chuckled dryly. "Perhaps he'll give me powers beyond comprehension."

"The question is that of when, not if he grants you them, your Grace," Littlefinger replied, oily as ever.

Nodding, Stannis looked back at his nephew. "Well, nephew, get it done." The knight stood there, still slightly shocked at the request. Davos could only assume the various things that were going through his head. "Now!"

That jolted him from his torpor. "At once, your Grace." He scrambled out.

Lips tight, Davos looked at his King. He'd seen the Red Witch perform a lot of rituals… some of them sacrilegious and even close to atrocity. But this… even in contrast to what she had done and planned to do to poor Gendry Waters, it was beyond the pale. "Your Grace, while I defer to you on issues of battle, this could cost us."

"I don't follow? The might of the Lord of Light will provide the strength to win the coming battle."

"I do not doubt that, but considering the choice facing the Lords of the Westerlands, they may be more amenable to surrender if you show mercy now…"

"Mercy? Mercy?" Stannis laughed. "I'll not show mercy. Especially to those who don't recognize me as the true King of the Seven Kingdoms. They will meet a fate fit to the crime."

"What crime?"

"Treason. It's all treason."

"What of the women and children, Your Grace?"

Stannis shrugged slightly, "Fate fit for the crime."

Davos hadn't even heard Stannis spout such words before. He certainly didn't choose the Stag because of his lust for power, but rather his sense of justice, loyalty, and courageousness. Now… now he only saw a man consumed by the fate he envisioned for himself… one that valued not loyalty but obedience - dangerous to anyone who'd think twice about bending the knee.

He wasn't sure that Stannis knew what the word mercy even meant anymore.

And yet he was still Stannis Baratheon, the King Davos swore an oath to serve and follow into the heat of battle - the King his three eldest sons died for. That just man still exists… I cannot let him down or fall to his demons.

Both exiting the chambers - leaving Stannis to his called for solitude - Davos eyed Littlefinger with suspicion. "Lord Baelish, follow me."

Littlefinger raised his eyebrow. "Yes, Lord Davos? Do you wish to speak with me?" The two of them walked along the halls, which were narrow and winding - the low light of the early winter dusk casting it in dark shadows only banished by torchlight. "I suppose you still disapprove of his Grace's decision on the prisoners."

"His Grace has amassed the reversal of his defeat upon the city walls not through brutality, but through honor and justice," replied the Onion Knight. He… coached his words carefully, but even he wasn't aware of the type of snake he dealt with. "I understand his desire to punish those that broke their oaths but please, Lord Baelish. I need your help to avoid unnecessary death. Too many have died already and we will need them to fight the demons."

"Demons?" Littlefinger chuckled. "Too many children's stories, if you ask me. Lord Stark and the Princess Shireen, perhaps, could believe it but we are grown men with many decades of experience."

Davos' teeth gritted at the mention of the dear Princess. "Another thing, have you badmouthed the Princess Shireen to his Grace?"

"Badmouth? Of course not. But given the nature of Cersei Lannister's perfidy, it has been my responsibility to keep his Grace on the right mindset and unfortunately, it has led him to also apportion a hefty responsibility to the death of Queen Selyse to the Princess…"

Snapping, the Onion Knight grabbed Littlefinger by his gambeson and slammed him against the wall. Even his severed fingers could grip him in his anger. "I don't care what your little plots are, Baelish… do not threaten the Princess, or I will kill you." Trembling, he let Littlefinger collapse on the ground, walking away.

Hoping against all hope that he wasn't too late in saving the King he served and the Princess he cared for.

They managed to withdraw from the plane of existence their mind spent most of their time in right before she entered. Eyes resuming their normal blank grey pallor just as the telltale click of feminine boots echoed from the wooden floor. "Bran?" Sansa asked, seeing them by the fire. There was no reason for it, but somehow seeking out warmth made them look more human. "You didn't come to supper."

A human would have groaned at the chiding, but they were beyond that. "I asked for the servants to bring my… nourishment here." There was no need to eat except to keep the body alive.

She bit her lip, worried. "Brother…" The servants didn't like to come here, saying he unsettled them. Somehow Sansa could feel it too, but this was her brother. I can't lose anyone else. "You need to eat, Bran. I know things are troubling with Jon gone and Arya disappeared, but…"

"Why have you come?" Bran asked her. They didn't want her here any longer than needed. She impeded them. They had things to do. "Just state your request or question."

They didn't care much for Sansa. She cared for Bran, thinking he still existed.

"Bran," she said, reaching to lay her hand on their knee. Which, of course, had little effect on them. "Can you tell me where Arya is?" Well, they could. But telling Sansa where her sister was only complicated things. They knew she was going to King's Landing. They'd seen her skirmish with some Lannister bannermen. "I have a feeling she's gone to King's Landing. If that's true I need to get a raven to Stannis to look out for her. She won't be safe during the battle."

"Our vision doesn't allow us to everywhere at once. Only that if we are there, we see. We don't forget either."

She exhaled, "I'm confused."

"This may always confuse you," Bran told her. "Our ravens are in places we command them. Events conspiring in those places are what we see."

"Do you have ravens in King's Landing?"

"No," they answered. A lie. Most of their ravens were, in fact, in King's Landing. They thought their dead expression would carry the lie. It normally did. But, for some reason, Sansa didn't seem overly convinced.

"I just want to know if she's okay."

"We have no idea whether or not she is."

"I'd like you to find out."

"It's not as easy as you think."

Sansa pursed her lips and withdrew her hand. "Find her."

Bran slid to the side, internally aghast at the gall of her. To think she was in any way in command of them. It angered them. They also didn't think she planned to back down. Her hanging over their every move was the last thing they needed. They had things to do and things to see. They surmised anything would satisfy her. Anything to get her to leave. Wordlessly, their eyes rolled back, going into the ravens. It was all for show, of course. They already knew where Arya was. But Sansa had to see they had gone somewhere.

"The Riverlands."

"What? Are you sure?"

"She's camping with a man with a massive burn scar across his face," they said, mixing truth with a lie.

Sansa was completely shocked. "Sandor Cleagne?"

"Yes, could be."

"What were they talking about?"

"We don't know. You just wanted us to find her. Not listen."

Sansa clenched her teeth, willing herself to keep her patience. After Jon's death… everything seemed to be collapsing. The food that Daenerys Targaryen had sent was close to being eaten up, and she would rather slit her throat than write for more. Littlefinger was writing more and more to her, and Sansa couldn't help but shudder as she read his affectionate words. Baelish… he seemed to be a useful ally in Stannis' camp, but there was just something about him.

She'd never trust the man who sold her to the Boltons. Jon… why did you have to die? Perhaps it was fitting - Sansa had treated him horridly, and now when she truly needed him the gods took him away.

I'll have to handle things myself, then.

"What is Stannis doing?"

"Marching on King's Landing," they replied.

Blinking, Sansa was only moderately surprised. "Took him long enough."

You've been here far too long, Sansa Stark. They lassoed their mind around the guard standing outside the door. Something they'd done some hundred times by now, even easier with the same person. They made sure this guard attended to them every day. Every night or so, if they had the strength, they'd warg into him. The only one they'd ever been able to successfully warg repeatedly was Hodor. But he died some time ago. If they wanted to achieve what they needed, warging people would need to be second nature to them. This guardsmen's mind was already a second skin to him.

Making him enter the room easily, but forgot to make him knock. Sansa was aghast. "What are you doing?" she asked, snapping at the guard.

Warging into someone's mind was hard enough, making them move proved difficult. Yet getting words to come out of their mouth was the hardest. It took many nights of practice. Eventually, they could make a person sound somewhat human.

The guard trembled, knowing he made a mistake. They understood this as the person's consciousness not being entirely buried. Bran had full control but occasionally the person's mind might fight back a bit. As if trying to alert someone else what was happening. Thankfully, no one had been able to fully wrestle control from them. Still, they weren't sure whether or not the guard was conscious of what Bran made him do. He hadn't blabbed about the strangling foxes or stabbing squirrels yet, so that was probably a good sign.

"My… Lady…" he finally ground out. It sounded completely forced and halting, but they hoped it would be seen as mere apprehension at interrupting.

Sansa raised an eyebrow at the strange guard, but that was all. "Just eat something, Bran. I don't want you to starve." Walking towards the door, she peered back at him. "If there's anything new on Arya, please send for me."

"We will." They answered with the most warmth they could muster - not bloody much, but it disarmed her enough to smile as she left.

Mind a jumble of confusing and convoluted thoughts, Sansa didn't pay attention as she turned the corner - smacking into someone's chest and nearly collapsing. Only two strong arms managed to keep her upright. "Forgive me, my Lady." Her eyes focused and was met with the apologetic face of Podrick Payne. "I should strive to watch where I'm going more closely."

Sansa fought a tiny blush. "No, Podrick. It's fine, I was the one not paying attention." There was a slight hesitation for both of them, neither moving from what was now a rather… intimate position. Sansa broke it first, though she felt a bit cold once his hands were no longer clutching her waist and shoulders. "Podrick… mind escorting me to my solar?"

He bowed. "The honor is mine. My Lady."

Thankfully, Jon had plenty of time to gather his thoughts on the King's Road. His recollection of Stannis Baratheon was meager. The sharpness of those memories was especially dull. He knew they had met at Castle Black. Stannis' proposal to become a Stark had been too good to refuse. Or so he guessed, given that event was lost to him as well. What he knew of Stannis was only what he'd heard and what he'd been told. As such, Rumors. The problem with rumors is, they never seem actually real. Once words were passed around so much they lost meaning and context. Things got mixed up and lost.

Well, he did remember a few things. He recalled much of the journey to Hardhome - Stannis and he courting the Wildlings. The damn icy beasts that attacked them… those blue eyes. Jon's dreams were still filled with those same eyes. He felt like Stannis had been brave, right up until he saw the Night King bring bodies back to life. But that in essence spoke to his character. Showing cracks in his countenance, revealing fear, some might consider that brave in its own right. Especially for his own men to see it.

For men who aren't afraid are truly mad.

Though even if Jon had his full memory, he wouldn't have seen Stannis in months. Several months. During that time, Stannis had gotten up to all sorts of things. Taken Highgarden, burned Olenna Tyrell at the stake. Jon had no idea what to think about that. 'Course he knew that was Stannis' way of doing things. Yet for that poor old lady? Harsh. For no reason. She could harm no one without her castle and her army.

A monstrous deed… Stannis committed it, yet so did Dany. Was there any difference? Was there a glaring one. Only meeting Stannis could clear the storm in his mind, eliminate the confusion.

Part of Jon knew the truth. Knew which was the proper choice of destiny, but such was too small, too faint. Swallowed by the black abyss that engulfed him.

A fluttering filled his ears, joined by some sort of muffled screaming that puzzled Jon. Tilting his head, a sudden black cloud shot above him and startling the horse. A flock of ravens? The massive flock likely a thousand strong swarmed towards… then skirting around the city. Seeming to be both drawn by it and avoiding it at the same time. Odd...

Spurring his horse on, suddenly Jon's hand jerked to cover his face as the light of a second sun erupted in the distance…

Moments later, the blinding light was joined by a massive shock wave that bracketed him as would a blow from a stampeding mammoth. Clutching the reins tightly and bending forwards, in spite of the massive strain on his back Jon just managed to hold his position… but the horse wasn't following his lead. Staggered by the blast, it reared on its hind legs, neighing in terror and throwing Jon off its back. He hit the ground with a thud, rolling away from the now running horse while coughs and wheezes left his mouth.

Fucking hells… seven fucking hells… Retching out his lungs, Jon hesitantly pushed himself to his knees. Slowly rising as he set his gaze upon King's Landing. Where had been the greatest city of the Realm was now being enveloped by a massive cloud of greasy black smoke rising in an almost toadstool shape… green flames licking at the base.

Jon stared at the sheer magnitude of destruction in a dark wonder. By the old gods and the new… One foot staggering in front of the other, the second Lord of Winterfell in two decades made his trek towards a ruined and broken city.

Only the gods knew what Jon would find there.

A/N: BRuh4: Under the radar, there's plenty of shit going on here. Between Stannis and Bran's mental state to what the hell Littlefinger is thinking. You can think and prod all you want. But we're not gonna reveal too much. I'm also not gonna comment a whole on the events of this chapter. I do feel like it speaks for itself. I personally am going to heel back on the explaining from here on out. I just don't want to constantly go into further detail. If someone wants to ask some questions that's totally fine. But I'm done word-dumping really.

Anyhoo, the next chapter's going to be massive in length and events. So, cut us a tiny bit of slack. But, ah, we'll try our best to work on it often.

See ya around the bend.

Longclaw: The final battle for King's Landing is beginning. Gonna be a huge amount of moving parts and frayed emotions along with all the carnage. Stay tuned!

Tell your friends, and the more reviews we get the sooner we're likely to update :)