Chapter 8

Notes:

Warning crass language, canon typical everything, you know the drill. Mentioned unknightly behavior by Sir Loras, nothing too horrible, just running into and slapping little girls, you know things Sandor would point at for knightly hypocrisy. Some Joffrey related things, you know what to expect from that little you know what.

Also, I didn't grammar check this chapter. So please let me know if you see any names misspelled or really major grammatical errors. I'll get around to editing this someday, says the guy who left a very irritating grammar mistake in the first chapter of a story for nearly over a decade.

(See the end of the chapter formore notes.)

Chapter Text

(North – Winterfell)

Margaery Tyrell knelt next to her betrothed before the heart tree of Winterfell. Since he first introduced her to this place, she had made a point of accompanying him as often as she could. This would be the place they wed, she'd heard from her grandfather that Lord Eddard had approved the match, and the rest of her family was already on their way. It had surprised everyone to hear Mace wanted the wedding done and consummated before the end of the year. She'd hoped to have some time to get to know her future husband.

Grey Wind whined from his place between her and Robb, with a smile she continued her ministrations of stroking her hand through the soft fur atop the wolf's head, "You must be deep in thought."

She rolled her eyes at her betrothed, "I pause but a moment and you'd think I had abandoned him." She waited for Robb to stand before taking his hand and allowing herself to be pulled to her feet. She brushed the few leave that had clung to her dress, Nymeria was trying to convince her to adopt leggings to her attire, as they'd be more prudent in the cold of the North. Checking she was put together she turned to give Robb a once over pausing only as he plucked a crimson leaf from her hair.

"Wouldn't want anyone to get the wrong impression," Robb picked up his sword, and affixed it to his belt, "You think the rocks for brains have finished working each other over in the sparring ring?"

She sighed, "I hope there was nothing more than wounded pride. Loras is normally much better behaved, I know he is upset over his plotting being undone." She'd told Robb during one of their walks through the godswood of Renly and her brother plotting to supplant Cersei with her. Margaery's father had upset the plot which had her grandmother's support when he opted to offered her to House Stark. Not that she'd have baulked at being Queen, but she'd been nervous about Renly's claims she looked enough like Lyanna Stark to seduce the King.

Robb had laughed at the claim before taking Margaery to see the likeness of Lyanna in the crypt. Sarella had joined them as Margaery's escort and the Sand Snake had marveled at the statues having read about them in a book some time ago. She'd been practically in tears over the worn and weathered state of some of the older statues, but upon seeing the likeness of Lyanna she snorted in amusement.

Robb had been offended until Sarella informed she'd met Lyanna briefly when she was very young. The statue in the crypt was obviously been done by someone who'd never seen the woman personally, no doubt done from a portrait, and a poorly done one at that. This had peaked Robb's curiosity as he'd met few people who were outside his father's influence who'd met his aunt.

Sarella had been almost three at the time and had traveled with her father to a watchtower within the Prince's Pass. They'd met Lyanna and some knights, her memory was fuzzy due in part to her youth, but she'd spent most the visit picking flowers for Lady Lyanna who'd seemed very sad at the time. When they departed, her father had told them he would return after seeing Sarella safely to Sunspear.

Margaery had realized that must have been during the rebellion or shortly after it began, which meant the Martells knew where Lyanna had been during the entire war. She'd wanted to ask so many questions, but Robb's brother Jon had appeared with candles to replace those on the graves of their grandfather, uncle, and aunt. She had noticed the young man had appeared cross that Robb had brought people into the crypts that were not members of their family.

Exiting the godswood they could hear the sound of fighting and cheering coming from the sparring yard. The silent white direwolf of Jon Snow greeted his brother and led them to where Jon stood watching the fight, "Come on Theon, don't let that southern dandy get the better of you."

"Shove it Snow," Theon spat back from where he was kneeling on the ground, "It was your sister he assailed."

Loras snarled, "I did not assail her," he charged forward only for Sandor who was overseeing the fight to hold him back, "I tripped over her, how was I supposed to know the girl was Lord Stark's second daughter."

Theon snapped as he stood back up, and pointed at Jon, "Because she and her bastard brother look closer related to Lord Stark than any of their siblings you damn twat." He moved froward raising his tourney sword and shield, "Now yield you ponce before I make that scowl on your face permanent."

Robb took the place next to Jon as Margaery stood at his side, "Surprised, you are cheering on Greyjoy, even if he's fighting for our sister's honor." He chuckled at the glare from his brother, "Right, Arya would kick my shins for that, how is she?"

"Fine, Luwin is keeping her in the tower," Jon looked to Margaery, "thank you my lady for taking care of her until the Maester could see to her."

"It was only right, it's my idiot brother who ran into her," Margaery frowned, "do you know what she was doing in that part of the keep?"

Robb sighed, "She's been hoping to catch either of your Sand Snake friends where mother wouldn't see her talking to either of them. She has forbidden our younger siblings from speaking to them." He frowned then turned to Jon, "Didn't she tell you to stay away from them to?"

His brother nodded, "Something about my lack of honor doesn't mean I can shame father by bedding guests in his house. She still doesn't know we only go to Winter Town and drink, it's Theon who does all the other stuff." He noticed Margaery's look, "Truth, Robb here is a maiden. No way the brothel will supply a son of Lord Stark with anything more than a stiff drink. They fear father far more than they value our coin."

"Why?" Margaery looked amused as Robb was looking ill at ease over the topic of whether he'd been intimate with a woman before.

"Because they know the Quiet Wolf is the deadliest of the pack," They turned to find Lord Tywin and his brother approaching, "Lord Robb, Lady Margaery, good day," He looked to Jon, "I was visiting my grandson in the maester's tower, your sister was curious what all the commotion down here was. I am curious how your father's ward is the one reminding young Ser Tyrell of his knightly duties."

Jon rubbed the back of his neck, "Coin toss, Theon got first go at him, I was going to go next, but Ser Selmy said that wouldn't be very honorable. Father and his grace agreed, so, just got to make sure Theon doesn't muck it up." They turned to the fight to see Theon charge into Loras and knocking him into the mud of the sparring yard. The Iron Born straddled the older young man using his wooden shield to pin one arm while his leg kept the other pinned to Loras's side. Theon raised his tourney sword and pointed it at the Reachman's throat, "Yield, you fop."

A grimace appeared on Loras's face, but his body relaxed as he sighed in defeat, "Yield." A cheer went up around the yard as Sandor hoisted Theon off of Loras and helped him to his feet. As Theon received congratulation by guards and other observers, Loras made his way to Margaery. He looked to Robb, "Please inform your sister I am deeply sorry for the altercation and will seek her forgiveness for my transgressions against her and your house."

Robb held out his hand, "Seeing Theon best you will be enough for House Stark, Arya prefers things like fighting and archery she has not been one for the womanlier pursuits as it were. Another reason she is so often compared to our aunt."

Loras nodded, "I will think of something in the coming days, we are to be kin soon after all." He looked to Jon, "Had Ser Selmy not taken both you and Bran into his service, I'd have done so. Perhaps when Bran reaches the age to promote to a squire himself The Bold will consent to let me take over such responsibilities."

"Which reminds me," Jon took notice of the position of a few shadows to realize the time, "The Bold asked me to find a couple of our guards to help guard his grace, he only has two of his sworn brothers here now, and he only trusts Oakheart."

Margaery saw the excitement in her brother's face and rolled her eyes as he spoke up, "If Ser Barristan needs another to help guard his grace, I am willing to lend a hand."

Robb frowned, "Should you not be focused on acting as your dear sister's escort?"

"As I have been reminded multiple times," Loras snorted as he indicated Grey Wind who'd settled between Robb and Margary, "An adolescent wolf is just as capable of handling such a task."

(North – On the road to Winterfell)

Aegon rode ahead of the Wheelhouse at the side of Wendel Manderly. Wyman had chosen to accompany them to his liege lord's seat, his second son and granddaughters accompany them as well, leaving White Harbor in the capable hands of a castellan, a distant Manderly cousin with close ties to the main branch of the family. Aegon pulled tight the traveling cloak one of the Manderly girls had gifted him before they departed. It was supple leather lined with thick wool and seal fur. The sun and spear of his mother's house had been stitched so it rested over his heart. The girl had whispered she had already made the crimson three headed dragon of his father's house and would adorn it to the cloak when it was safe to do so.

"You nervous lad?" He turned to see Wendel watching him carefully.

"It shows?" Aegon looked to the older man who nodded sympathetically, "We do not know if his grace," Aegon had been practicing not calling Robert Baratheon by the title Usurper, "actually knows Jon's true parentage. What if we are mistaken and Ser Barristan took my brother as a squire out of the belief, he is truly Lord Stark's bastard. What if this is a mistake, all we could be doing is putting both my brother and myself in harm's way. We could be putting both my mother's family and the Stark's in danger as well."

Wendel sighed, "I had my reservations as well," he looked to the wheelhouse before looking back to Aegon, "I asked my father, and he told me he sent a message to Lord Howland Reed. Doing so is nearly impossible as no raven can find Greywater Watch. Yet, the messenger returned with word that Lord Reed's children awaited him at Moat Cailin with a response. A response written to a message that had yet to reach him. It's that response that has father making the effort to journey to Winterfell."

Aegon frowned at that, "How could this Lord Reed respond to a missive he has yet to read?"

"There are some questions in life one simply does not ask," Wendel chuckled, "How the Reeds do half of what they have done is prime among those questions. They have served as the North's southern watchmen since the day their last king laid his crown at the feet of the Starks. They appear when needed, even before that need may even be known to them. My ancestors have kept close ties with the Reeds, more so that we are both outsides when it comes to the North in general. Both held at arm's length by our countrymen, us of White Harbor for our faith, and those of the Neck for their peculiar nature."

Aegon turned to look at the riders behind them. Quentyn and Trystane had had even less time to acclimate to the cold of the North than the members of Aegon's party yet had both chosen to ride with their cousin. At sixteen Quentyn was the eldest of them, while Trystane was about four years younger than Aegon. Rolly was the only other non-Northman willing to brave the elements, he rode with the guards positioned between the wheelhouse and baggage cart. Another band of guards brought up the rear of their small column.

"We best make camp," Wendel spoke up, "Your cousins are due for a bit of warming up, and it's best not to travel this route at night. Wildlings are known to make their way this far south from time to time." The Manderly knight motioned to a clearing along the road. There were significant signs of repeated use.

Aegon watched over the proceedings as men readied the clearing for their camp. Wyman had sat upon a stool near the wheelhouse, dispensing orders as he honed the edge of his sword. The large man made an intimidating sight for any who did not know his jovial nature. Haldon had mixed a concoction for Doran that eased the discomfort of his condition, but Aegon's uncle remained on the wheelhouse where it was warmer. Lemore or Ashara as he kept reminding himself had taken to overseeing the preparations for the evening meal.

Arianne approached him, "Dearest Cousin, you seem restless."

"My brother and his closest kin are surrounded by murderers and cutthroats within their own home," Aegon sighed, "I am the eldest, is it not my place to watch over my remaining kin?"

"I was never allowed to know the truth," Arianne confided, "father only assumed Jon Snow was in fact the child Lyanna Stark bore at the whim of your parents. With Ashara's confirmation of this truth, we must plan accordingly, tie him to us."

Aegon snorted, "Plotting to secure Martell control over the throne?" At his eldest cousin's sheepish look, the exiled prince glared, "Lemore, Ashara, whatever you want to call her has seen more than it is time we return. An evil not seen since the age of heroes is coming. This is not a matter of prophecy or some misinterpreted legend. This is a simple fact." Aegon rolled back his shoulders and made himself taller, "An endless tide of the dead is coming to consume the living and extinguish all we hold dear. I failed to make a difference before," His shoulders seemed to sag, "In Ashara's vision she saw my aunt and me lose ourselves in the greed and desire for the throne. We left Jon to fight the Others on his own, he fell alone, abandoned by his own kin to die with what was left of his mother's house."

Arianne paled, "You cannot be serious, the Others are just old tales the barbarians of the North use to explain the changing of the seasons."

"He is deadly serious my princess," both turned to see a man in a green cloak seemingly melt out of the surrounding trees. His eyes pierced them with an uncanny shade of green.

"Howland, you old frog eater, you should have said you were coming," Wyman called from his place by the wheelhouse, "I'd have waited for you."

The man they now realized was Lord Howland Reed turned to the Lord of White Harbor, "Wyman, you've gained another chin since last we met."

"One," Wyman laughed, "I'd say three, come my friend, join me, it has been far too long."

"It has," Howland moved putting weight on his trident as he made his way to a stool a guard had swiftly placed next to Wyman, "and why make you wait my lord when our paths were meant to cross here and now. Such illustrious company you travel in."

Wyman chuckled, "Not that it is any surprised to you of course. Your letter said you were not well enough to make the journey yourself, what happened to make you chance such a trip on your own."

Aegon approached as Howland chuckled, "I'm never alone Wyman, my gods of earth and tree are always with me. Just as your seven in one are with you. Though, much has changed, and those of us with loyalty unshakable must be there to be the voices of reason against those who are too stubborn or prideful."

"Karstarks and Umbers," Wyman huffed, "you see trouble brewing there?"

Lord Reed nodded, "Karstark was hoping to bind his house to the Starks through a marriage between his daughter and Lord Robb. He will not be happy that Ned has agreed to the betrothal between his son and the Tyrell girl. His pride will be wounded over being passed over for such prestige." Howland then grimaced, "Umber though, the Great Jon is as stubborn as any among his household, and that stubbornness will rage war against his loyalty to Ned. Winter is coming is more than just words my friend, and to survive it we must put aside old prejudices in favor for the good of all. The Umbers will be hard pressed to agree."

Wyman sheathed his sword with a great sigh, "I'll deal with Karstark, the old sod is hardheaded especially when he's in his cups, but I can usually reason with him. I'll leave the Umbers to you, I'm sure you can influence them by some beseeching to your gods or what not, they are practically as pious to your beliefs than your own house."

A chuckle came from Howland, "I am sure the confusion of the survival of Prince Aegon will be a useful distraction for us to seeing to our wayward countrymen."

(Beyond the Wall)

Brynden Rivers watched the surprise on the faces of his caretakers, he could feel the power of the very earth and trees coursing in his veins. He no longer felt like a man over a century old, he felt the strength and vigor he had in his youth, the youth spent fighting his brothers to protect the true born lineage of their father. He looked to the child of the forest Bran would name Leaf, "We must go south my friends. Soon there will be nothing alive this side of the Wall."

Leaf nodded in understanding, as she turned to her kind and began speaking orders. He could already feel the half-wight ranger waiting in the grove, he would be their shield on the journey. As some of the branches that enthroned him to the great heart tree cracked, his hand slipped to the ancient sword at his side. He had transferred as much of his rejuvenation to Aemon as he could from such a distance, his nephew was needed just as he was. Aemon held a century of wisdom and learning, while Brynden held more than that of tactical and political experience.

As the branches that held him finally splintered and fell away, he dropped to kneel on the cave floor, his legs having long forgotten how to hold him up. He felt the tree above them begin to die, the very essence of it moving south as a beacon. South to Winterfell, which was further south than he would go. He may no longer be the commander of the Night's Watch, but he still drew breath, his watch was not at an end.

One of the children forced a bowl of weirwood paste between his lips, and he could feel renewed energy course through him. Newfound strength came to his legs, and he forced himself to stand. Looking to his hands he realizes two things, first through his right eye his hands look as they had when he was much younger, the skin unwrinkled with age, yet through his left he still saw the withered and aged hands he knew they should be. The fact he could see anything from his left side was surprising as he'd lost that eye to one of his brothers during the first rebellion.

Reaching up he felt what should be an empty socket was filled instead with a hard mass, moving to a pool of water he looked to his reflection. The once empty socket was now rimmed on the lower area with roots that painlessly embedded into the skin of his cheek and attached to these roots resting in the socket a red eye with a slit pupil looked back at him. He could now understand the surprise his friends and caretakers had been expressing.

It had taken the better part of a day to prepare for departure, many of the Children had been afield or deep in the caverns. Not that this had mattered much to Brynden, it had given him time to further recover his strength and prepare for the long journey ahead. He had spoken to his other self and the boy who'd take the mantel of the Three-Eyed Raven but had not expected the gods to involve themselves in the affairs of mortals.

Leaf appeared at his side, "How? How have you become like this?"

"A good question my friend," Brynden frowned, "I believe it to be a transference from that other world, a time that will never be for us. The lifeforce of those few who remained living was transferred to our world to power the spread of their warning. Those ravens needed to use me to reach out to people of our time. In doing so they gave me the lifeforce that remained of theirs, the Old Gods used that lifeforce to restore my physical youth in a way. I used my own powers to send some of that rejuvenation to my nephew on the Wall."

"What do you mean by, in a way," Leaf frowned, "you look as you did when we first found you."

Brynden grimaced remembering his first encounter with an Other. The White Walker had surprised him and his ranging party, having already killed the wildlings they had been tracking. It had turned those wildlings into wights and unleashed them upon his men. Brynden had only barely made it out of that encounter thanks in part to Blackfyre, the ancestral sword which only Egg and Duncan knew he had brought with him to the Wall. He knew Aemon had suspected but never asked. Blackfyre had split that Other like a hot knife through butter, and with it the wights of the wildlings and his men crumbled. Weak and wounded from the battle, Brynden had wandered aimlessly until Leaf had appeared before him.

"I may appear to be young again, but the truth is I am still well over a century old," Brynden sighed, "I have lived long past my time. Another will need to take my place, a successor, one more worthy than I. Until then, I will do my duty, I will protect the living from that which is worse than death."

It was as the last vestiges of life left the ancient heart tree that Brynden took his first steps out of the warded cave in over forty years. The ranger stood waiting; the caravan of Children of the Forest already headed south. Moving to stand beside the half-wight he watched the last leaves of the great heart tree fall, "You know what you must do."

The ranger nodded, his voice a rasp, "My men await the call, their sleep comes to an end. We will give those at Hardhome time to flee. The Others have not yet turned their attention to this region."

"Your curse will come to an end," Brynden mused, "I envy you my old friend. When next we meet, it will be at the table the gods prepare for their servants, at the great feast of the dead. If you happen to find my siblings in those storied halls, will you tell them I am sorry for the wait, but I will be along soon."

"Aye," The ranger sighed, "if I make it to those sacred halls instead of the hells, I fear I am destined for."

Brynden's brow raised, "Does she still come to you?"

The ranger shook his head, "I have not ventured so close to the Wall in many a year. I remember how my men took their rage and vengeance upon us when the magics that bound them to my will were broken. I saw the folly of broken vows. Yet, on the darkest nights of winter, I still see her slipping between the trees, always just out of reach."

"Your folly was her doom, just as much as it was yours," Brynden somberly said, "had she been like the Others of her kind the Wall would not have let her pass, just as now you are forbidden like any other wight. It was your lust and desires which corrupted her, she bore the blame for your crimes. Men may even forgive you, claimed you were seduced, but we both know that was not the case."

"It is for the best my name is forgotten even by me," The ranger moved to mount his great elk, "we had best go. I will see you all to the edge of the haunted forest, then ride to the barrows where my men slumber in wait."

Brynden nodded as he moved to the great elk Leaf had procured for him, "We need to stop at the Fist of the First Men, there are a few items we should collect least they fall into the wrong hands."

(Crownlands – King's Landing)

Renly frowned at the letters sitting before him on the table. The first had been a ranting profanity filled diatribe from Robert, which Renly pitted the poor scribe who had to record it. Robert informed that Cersei had been having an affair with her brother the Kingslayer and said brother was now on the run somewhere in the North. Lord Stark had his banners hunting the fugitive, but Jaime seemed oddly aware of the Northern terrain and had avoided capture as of yet. Robert's letter also informed that the Queen's children were all incest spawn was not of Robert's seed.

This letter made Renly even more irritated by one of the other letters. It had been delayed in arriving due to it first being sent to Storm's End before being relayed to the Red Keep. Loras had written that their plot to supplant Cersei with Margaery had been ended as Mace decided to build bridges with the North. Margaery was being offered as a bride to Lord Stark's eldest son.

"It appears a new alliance is forming my lord," Renly looked to Varys who was seated across from him. Currently they were the only members of the small council present. Pycell had been suddenly called away by the Citadel, his apprentices unsure of when he would return. Stannis was still on Dragon Stone but had sent word he'd be returning to greet their brother and Lord Stark. Varys must have read the confusion on the Master of Laws face, as he continued, "The rebellion was an alliance of The North, Riverlands, Stormlands, and Vale that brought down the dragons who ruled for over two centuries. It appears a new alliance is forming between the North, the Westerlands, and the Reach. All they would need is a fourth kingdom and even the vaunted Demon of the Trident would faulter."

"Such a cheery thought Spider," Renly looked to the third letter sitting on the table. It was a report from spies close to the exiled Targaryen siblings. Viserys was dead, killed by Dothraki he'd been attempting to sway to join his cause in reclaiming the throne. Viserys sister on the other hand had apparently vanished shortly after her brother's death, the informant only knows a Westerosi they were familiar with had escorted her from the manse where she'd been staying with her brother. "Do we know who this Westerosi who absconded with Daenerys is? It seems as though he's one of ours if our informants are familiar with him."

Varys smiled, but it seemed forced, "I have many exiles I use, but with what little information I have gleaned so far. One of my men has not been reporting in as he should. I learned he had been ill, and that was why he missed his standard reporting after I had sent him a task. Yet, after he recovered, he has failed to report in, and has failed to keep me appraised of his doings."

"The great web weaver has lost one of his pets," they both turned to see Stannis entering the small council chamber, at his heels was an unusually confident Davos Seaworth, and a Red Priestess who looked quite subdued. Stannis took his seat, his companions standing in flanking positions, "If your man is named Jorah Mormont, then simply look to the North."

Varys brows raised at that, "Pardon my lord, but I had not taken Jorah for caring so little for life. Lord Stark will not hesitate to make the poor man a head shorter."

"That may be, but doubtful," Stannis leaned back in his chair, "Lord Mormont travels with Princess Daenerys and plans to deliver her to the safe keeping of his liege lord." He then focused on Varys with a stony glare, "Though, you already knew this didn't you. Seeing as they made a stop here to leave a certain something in your care."

"I haven't a clue what you are talking about," Varys chuckled as he glared at the Red Priestess, "whatever this charlatan tells you, my lord. You cannot trust such creatures."

Stannis snorted, "Indeed, but it was not Melisandre who told me these secrets." The middle Baratheon brother indicated Davos, "The good Ser Davos Seaworth had a more than illuminating encounter with a pair of ravens. Upon waking he nearly ripped poor Melisandre's throat out with his bare hands. She has since verified all his claims, a more than mollifying experience for her."

Renly frowned, "What do you mean brother?"

"The witch would have murdered you, dear little brother," Stannis steepled his fingers as he leaned forward in his seat, "in the belief she was securing my place to be her god's champion in the war to come. Her interference did nothing but to weaken us, drive more division between what remained of our house, and hastened an end to our line."

"Does this have anything to do with Robert's letter?" Renly glared at the woman, "Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen are not his, that mean you are next in line."

Stannis quirked a brow, "I have no desire to sit on that blasted throne, not after hearing what it could cost me. Neither should you, the true place for any Baratheon is Storm's End. Our people need to be preparing for the coming storm. Let lesser men fight over scraps of melted steel. Our eyes should not be turned here, but to the North. An evil is descending upon us from beyond the Wall."

Varys chuckled, "I dare say, you are not intending for poor little Edric Storm to be our next king."

This seemed to spark something in Melisandre as she turned glowering eyes upon the Spider, "The Lord of Light has revealed to me what is to come. You have played your part little spider, spinning your webs of deceit. You have played all sides, pretended loyalty to all when in truth you held loyalty to none."

The Red Priestess took a step towards Varys who immediately stood and backed away, "I am not afraid of you, witch, your tricks are nothing compared to the vile sorceries I have been victim to. It is true my loyalty to the crown might be questionable, but my loyalty to the realm is not. That is why I abandoned the Targaryen king in favor for the Baratheon."

"Yet you secreted away Rhaegar's first son," Stannis narrowed his eyes, "and kept the truth of Lord Stark's bastard. Davos was shown many things he could not understand without my guidance. Perhaps that was why the ravens assailed him with their warnings instead of giving the warnings to I directly."

Varys grimaced, "I know not what you speak of."

Stannis stood and Renly mimicked him, both settling their gaze on the Master of Whispers, "Then you are either a shit spy master or a traitor. Which is it Lord Varys, are your fabled skills all talk, or are you destined to face the headman's axe."

With a frantic look Varys scanned the corners of the room, but a simpering giggle came from Melisandre, "If you are looking for your little birds, I am sorry to say they no longer work for you." A child dashed into the room and stood next to Davos who pulled a piece of candy from a pouch at his belt, exchanging it for a scrap of paper the young boy handed him. Melisandre took the paper, as Davos was unable to read. "My lords, it seems Lord Varys was attempting to destroy the items within the chest. He failed to cause damage and instead ordered the chest dumped in the bay."

A glare from Stannis had the woman continue, "The chest is secured my lord. The little birds guided your men to it before Varys men could load it into a skiff."

"What is so important about this chest," Renly asked.

Davos grimaced, "Everything, if we are to survive the coming war."

(North – Winterfell)

Joffrey Waters sat on the cot he'd been using since first waking in the maester's tower. Swiftly after the revelations of his mother's actions had come, he'd been tossed from the chamber meant for someone of higher birth. Shuffled into a dingy little room which obviously saw little use. It was a cell meant for the apprentice of Winterfell's maester, a position which was currently empty, and thus the reason for the availability of the room for Joffrey's use.

His eyes focused on the bandaged stump of his right arm. Part of him wished he'd not done something so stupid as picking up a snake that had literally just killed a full-grown man. A smaller part reasoned he wished he'd used his left arm instead. An even smaller part wished his father's stupid bastard hadn't killed it.

The last thought echoed in his head. Gendry was King Robert's bastard, but Joffrey wasn't even that. He'd tried to deny the accusations, called for guards to beat anyone who wouldn't do as he said. Lord Stark had come swiftly and informed him if he tried to command harm done to anyone else of his household, he'd cast him out the gate before dusk. Joffrey learned from one of the Winterfell guards that the Starks' wolves went hunting around that time.

"Arya you are not supposed to be up and about," Joffrey turned at the voice of one of his guards, a Northerner named Jorey, "Old Luwin is going to have a fit if he catches you up and about."

"I'm fine Jorey," the voice of a girl responded, "I was only knocked over and scraped up my arms and knees."

Standing Joffrey walked to the door and opened it a crack to look out at the hall beyond. He hadn't been kept locked up, though there was the understanding he wasn't allowed to wander unsupervised. His grandfather had told him they were still deciding what exactly to do with him. Tommen would be grandfather's heir, apparently, he'd been deemed less corrupted by their mother and would make a suitable lord paramount one day.

Outside Joffrey saw a girl a few years his junior standing imperiously before the more than intimidating form of Jorey Cassel. It had taken all of three seconds for Joffrey to decide antagonizing the Winterfell guard captain was not something he wanted to accomplish. Starks didn't give people positions based on politics nominally, yeah there were certain noble families that historically served in certain roles. Cassels while noble, had earned their positions through merits and deeds, or so the smitten maidservant who brought his meals gushed annoyingly.

"You were struck in the face by Ser Loras," Jorey snarled, Joffrey would pity this Loras but if it was who he was thinking, he hoped Jorey found the pillow bitter in a dark corner and left him there bloody with that perfect face permanently marred.

"Listen to your protector dear one," Joffrey's eyes widened as a Dornish woman approached, "you have not yet learned this, but for a woman your face is your most dangerous weapon."

Joffrey doubted this, the girl to him looked rather horse faced and that was besides the split and bruised lip and shallow cut on her cheek. While his assessment was rather cruel, the girl seemed to agree with him as she spat back, "Then why does everyone call me Arya Horseface?"

The Dornish woman snorted, "They are petty and jealous, they fear the beauty you will wield that they could only dream of. There are different types of beauty dear one, there is the blatant beauty your sister will one day grow into, the demure beauty of your lady mother, and even the calculated beauty of your soon to be good sister. All of which pales in comparison to the fierce beauty you no doubt share with your late aunt."

The girl frowned, "Mother said Aunt Lyanna was comely. That's why she never believed Prince Rhaegar was smitten with her, he had to have abducted her."

The still unidentified quirked a brow, "An interesting appraisal, perhaps I will have my dear Uncle or Father discuss it with her upon their arrivals." This had made Jorey tense, but he relaxed as the Dornish woman knelt next to Arya, "It is true, when compared to my Aunt Elia or even the late Ashara Dayne, your Aunt Lyanna may have been seen as only plain. Remember dear one, they were both women grown, the Lady Lyanna was merely a girl of four and ten name days at the tourney of Harrenhal."

Arya frowned at this skeptically, and Joffrey was not really following most of it because he was fantasizing about the Dornish woman kneeling in front of him and doing something other than talking. The fantasy abruptly ended though with the woman's next words reached him.

"Now dear one," the woman's voice held a playful lit, "I will see you back to the cot the good maester had requested you rest upon. They you will tell me all about the wonderous creature you so wisely graced with the same name that my loving father bestowed upon me."

Maybe noisier than he'd intended Joffrey forced the door shut before rushing back to his cot. His grandfather's parting remarks still lingered with him. Though the King and Lord Stark had yet to decide what to do with him, Lord Tywin had already put things into motion. Prior to coming north he'd sent a letter to Dorne, a letter offering his daughter and eldest grandchild as offerings to appease the Martell desire for blood. Joffrey had realize the Dornish woman he'd been fantasizing about was one of the Sand Snakes, the baseborn daughters of Oberyn Martell.

(North – Somewhere near the Dreadfort)

Osha smiled as one of her men held Ramsey. She'd tamed the bastard's mutts, it had taken more than a moon, and while her compatriots had desired to head south, they were too scared to cross someone touched by the gods. They had just come over the Wall when she'd been stricken with fever, the Three-Eyed Raven had spoken to her like a long-lost friend. He knew things about her she'd never shared with anyone before.

It was for those reasons she'd been heading her group to Winterfell. Pledge her spear and those of her company to House Stark, kneel if they had to, but they'd just accept them without that. There were a few things she wanted to handle before getting back to her place protecting Rickon. She'd failed the boys once; it wouldn't happen a second time. First off her list was fucking Ramsey. This time, he would be ash long before he could put an arrow through her boy or slit her throat.

"Osha," the former leader of her group stood next to her glaring down at the pitiful piece of shit before them, "be done with it, we need to burn the bodies and be gone before the Lord of that castle gets word of us."

She nodded, "Put him on top of the other bodies, his screams will guide them to whichever hell they belong to."

The man grimaced as Ramsey began begging, "Osha, that's cruel."

"You know not what this thing is capable of," Osha whistled and the war hounds came to her, "is the girl Anders tending to not proof enough of that fact?"

"Please," Ramsey whined, "I can change, please don't do this. My father is the Lord of the Dreadfort, he'll pay any ransome."

Osha laughed, "You're a bastard, he can remarry and have a true son, you are nothing but a mistake."

"Quite right my dear," Roose Bolton walked into the clearing, "I'll have the girl taken to town. Have your people off my lands before I leave for Winterfell, if that is truly your destination take a long trek there and arrive from another direction. If asked I will say the band who killed Ramsey were led by a large man with hair as black as coal and missing his nose."

Ramsey blanched as he looked at the scene before him, "Father?"

"Father?" Roose glowered, "You murdered your brother, my trueborn son and heir, and you did not expect to be punished for this? It was only thanks to these wildlings I learned the true extents of your depravity. My spy in your little band of near do wells had informed me your hunting trips had been not going as expected, your prey was seemingly escaping regardless of your unfair advantage. I investigated and found Osha and her band of merry free folk had been rescuing them, they had built quite the cast to present to Lord Stark. One that could have been very unfortunate for House Bolton, but we came to an understanding."

Ramsey grimaced, "An understanding?"

"Yes," Roose grimaced, "You forget son, I am only the last Bolton of my line. I do have a few cousins that have daughters who only await my word to have them placed as my heir. It so happens one who is neither betrothed or otherwise spoken for is of age with Rickon Stark."

Shaking his head Ramsey tried to fight against the wildling restraining him, "You'd end our house."

"Better to end it than let a beast like you tear it down," Roose's eye twitched, "I had ignored a summons by Lord Stark to handle this matter, now I must go to him as his most loyal banner. He will need allies in the coming days, for the storm that is coming down from the North. I will remind him that our houses are strongest together, Rickon Stark of the Dreadfort does have a certain ring to it."

Osha and Roose watched as Ramsey was placed atop the pyre of bodies, the bodies of the foolish men who'd followed the mad bastard. Osha's companion approached her, "Why'd you never tell us the man letting you into the castle to work the dogs was the lord flayer himself?"

Osha remained silent a moment as she savored the cries of Ramsey the bastard as pitch and lantern oil was scattered and poured over the pyre. As Roose passed her a lit torch she glared at her companion, "Because your stupidity got the rest of you killed and left me a plaything for these twats. I told you when we left that old crow fort. From now on, we do things my way." She tossed the torch onto the pyre near Ramsey, who's cries swiftly turned to screams.

Roose smirked at the wildling woman, "Whatever he'd done to you left a scar it seems though you did not directly experience it."

"Do you truly plan to ask Lord Stark to betroth little Rickon to one of your cousins, so he inherits your castle?" Osha glared, even Roose could see the knife slipping from her sleeve.

A brow raised at the question, "A contingency plan, a bluff at most. Lord Stark's son would never inherit the Dreadfort, but his second or third son could take the name Bolton and claim the lands and titles if I die without another heir. Though, from what you implied that is not out of the realm of possibilities."

"True," Osha glared, "but do not join with the southerners called Frey."

Roose paled at the thought of joining houses with Walder Frey, "Gods forbid such a horror to come to pass. I'd take you to wife long before I settle for such a loathsome match." He eyed Osha with a smirk, "There is an idea."

The wildling woman glared murderously, "If you want a free folk bride, look elsewhere."

Roose only chuckled as he watched the wildlings depart, his now late son's dogs following in their wake.

Notes:

Davos notes - So this version of Davos is more book related. His other time self died either on the way to Skagos or while on the island when the Wall falls and it's overrun by the dead. He met or might of met up with Osha and Rickon, but wasn't one of the events shown to him, just that he was setting out for White Harbor, Three-Eyed Raven (Bran) cryptically tells him what happens afterwards, before showing him the waves of dead storming across Westeros, your basic jump scare.

Osha notes - Physically the Osha from the show, but has some of the traits from her book version. Really they're like two different characters who just happen to share a name. She was shown multiple versions of her death, including the one from season six, she also shown Rickon's death from the show. So, she was given plenty of reason to barbecue Ramsey.

Nymeria note - Yes, Nymeria sought out Arya, but not just because of Nymeria the direwolf. Margaery informed Nymeria and Sarella about Catelyn warning her younger children away from them. They like Sandor are not going to take it from the trout. Lady Stark says stay away because of some unfounded claim that states they are evil, well let's see how long it take to make her teeth to start cracking from irate jaw tensing.