Lorath 298 AC.

Ser Richard Lonmouth.

Years of planning and preparations were finally set to pay off. Training that no army before them had undergone was about to be put to the test. As Richard looked around at the barracks he'd named his home, he found he'd miss it not. He saw it as it was, a means to an end. An end was now soon to be realized.

From the moment that he'd come here, this had been what it had all been building up to. Justice and Vengeance for the prince and the family that he had sworn his life to. Looking now at a different prince who seemed even more eager to be at sea than he did, Richard smiled a true smile. Viserys had come here with ambitions to take over and make these men his own. To usurp his nephew's true and proper place. While he'd failed in almost every single way, he'd succeeded in a surprising one too. For these men now respected the young prince and would follow him into battle. They would give their lives to save his own and name him a brother in arms. For Richard, there were few things that were worth more in the world than that, and the young prince had learned that lesson under his and Jon's tutelage.

They knew their task, where they'd land, and who they'd more than likely face once they did so. The Stormlands were Robert's own men and just like the Company of the Sea Snake, they too would fight and die for their king. Jon, Richard, Aurane Waters, and Monford Velaryon along with Prince Viserys, would do all they could to see those men suffer much on their march. Their task was to bleed them and bleed them good. To fight them where they least expected it. A surprise cooked up in one of their late-night strategy meetings and one that Richard was most keen to see was sprung.

"All is ready, Ser." Ser Jareth, his second called out.

"Then it's time we leave this place once and for all."

"Will you miss it, Ser?" Jareth asked as they walked to the waiting horses.

"Yes and no," Richard answered as honestly as he could.

Mounting his horse, he looked to see Viserys do the same. The young prince's destination was different from theirs as Viserys had a wedding to attend. His own. Looking at the expression on the prince's face, Richard could see both the doubt and the eagerness. He knew full well that the prince had objected when Jon had told him of Prince Doran's request. Yet in the end, the need for the alliance had won out and the prince would do his duty. Something they had both feared he would never accept when he'd first come to them all those years earlier.

That it would be a wedding bereft of family or any man of importance other than Aurane Waters, had been the prince's own decision. Jon and he himself had offered to travel to Dorne with him and then on to where their men awaited. The prince, however, had instead bid them to stick to their plans and promised to join them there before the first battles had begun. Had Richard still been the man he once was, then he'd have offered a wager and taken the bet that Viserys would do as he'd said. The determination they'd seen build up in the lad over the years would be more than enough to see that so. Or so Richard believed.

Riding to the docks, he wondered what the people of this fair city thought of them. Over the years they'd gone from unwelcome to, at the least, accepted residents. Their presence alone had been enough to keep even the Dothraki away from the city gates. So no tribute had been paid for almost the entirety of the time the Company named Lorath their home. Richard wondered if that could still be something that would be said in a year or two and doubted very much that it would.

"My prince," Aurane called out as Viserys climbed down off his horse, Richard doing likewise as Jon Connington walked down the gangplank of the Griffin.

"Lord Waters," Viserys said formally.

"The Sea Snake awaits you, my prince. As does the tide."

Viserys nodded before turning first to Jon and speaking to him about where and when he'd join them. Then he moved to speak to him and Richard waved off his thanks for all the training and advice he'd given him over the years. Richard instead simply told him to put it all to use when he rejoined them in the Stormlands.

"It's been a pleasure, Ser Richard, truly."

"It's been my honor, my prince."

After a few more words spoken with Jon Connington, Viserys joined Aurane and they walked up the gangplank of the Sea Snake. Five hundred men at arms would travel with the prince to Dorne. A company within a company and all of them were men who were trained in some of the most important forms of warfare. Ostensibly they were outriders, foragers, men who could fire their bows from atop their horse and were as adept on the ground as they were mounted. Even the prince himself had been trained by a Dothraki so he could let loose an arrow while riding at full speed.

With Blackfyre in his hand, Prince Viserys was a match for almost anybody while atop his horse. There were few who'd outmatch him on the ground either, Richard would dare to say. Jon had told them all that their king was a true warrior. Daeron had earned his spurs at two and ten proving himself so and Viserys had taken that as a challenge rather than a condemnation. As the Sea Snake's ropes were untied and it and its three sister ships headed out to the bay, Richard offered a prayer to the gods that the training they gave the prince would stand him in good stead.

"Let me see him again and may it be in victory, Father."

With the prince off on his journey, it was time for Richard to embark on his own. Turning to Jareth, he gave the man a nod and then he moved to Jon Connington. They embraced like the brothers they'd become over the years. The Griffin had once been a man that Richard had little time for. He'd in truth never liked the man when they'd both served Prince Rhaegar. Now, he'd name him as close to him as Myles Mooton had once been.

"May the winds and seas be fair, my friend," he said as Jon chuckled.

"May it be us who brings the storm, Richard."

A nod to each other and then they parted. Richard made his way to Skull while Jon hurried back up the gangplank and was soon shouting his orders on the deck of the Griffin. By the time night had fallen, every single one of the Company's one hundred and fifty ships was in the open sea and Lorath was far behind them. They would, with the luck of the gods, face no storms and suffer no hindrances to their travel. While they'd not been fortunate to pick the timing of the start of this war, they'd had good fortune with the weather. Were this later in the year then there would be a decent chance they'd sail right into a storm and their fleet would be scattered. Now they had a better than even chance that they'd see none and know only fair weather.

Far ahead of them, the Sea Snake hugged the coastline and sailed through more dangerous but quicker waters. Aurane and the Prince were eager to get the wedding over and done with and Richard would not wager against them arriving before his own men were ready to march. To Massey's Hook and then into the Stormlands itself, that was their initial plan. Soon enough it would be one or mayhap even all the Baratheon brothers who would know Richard's rage.

"For Rhaegar and Myles, for Elia and the children," Richard said to the wind before he turned and walked down to his cabin, eager to be at rest and refreshed before he was truly at war.

The Realm Reacts.

Pyke 298 AC.

Balon Greyjoy.

Hearing it from one source hadn't been enough and so he'd sent Asha and Victarion to Seagard and Oldtown to see if the reports were true. While he'd then awaited their words, Balon hadn't been idle. The Iron Fleet had been gathered and the Captains summoned to Pyke to make ready. All he'd wished for and sought was close to being realized and he'd not deny that he had walked with a spring in his step these past few weeks.

A realm at war was a realm full of easy pickings. The West, Reach, North, and Stormlands would all be open to him, and yet try as he might to think of the plunder, it was vengeance that was at the forefront of Balon's mind. It hadn't been the Old Lion or the Fat Flower who'd wronged him. No, it had been the Stag and Quiet Wolf and so it was them that Balon's ire was focussed on. Eddard Stark and Robert Baratheon both owed him a debt of blood and so while he awaited his brother and daughter's return, Balon concentrated on how best to see that debt paid.

Theon being a hostage caused him a problem, however. Any attack on the North would see his son lose his head and even though Balon had long given up on the boy, Alannys and more importantly, his own people, had very much not. Should his actions cost Theon his head, then there would be those who'd not forgive him for it. Both amongst his own family and those among the Captains of the Iron Fleet.

"I needs must make a plan." he thought as he sat looking down over the maps of the North.

Had he his way, then he'd care not for his son's well-being. Theon had spent more years as a Greenlander than he had as an Iron Born. Balon would wager the boy was more Wolf than Kraken now. His son he doubted knew much of the Iron Price and had mayhap never paid it in his many years as Stark's hostage. Still, he was his blood, his heir, and so a token effort would have to be made at least.

As he looked down on the maps, a thought came to mind, one he couldn't shake. Would Stark take his son with him? Would he keep him close just in case? For if he did then Theon would certainly be doomed by his actions. He tried to remember all he could about the letters Theon had sent over the years. Cursing himself that he never actually bothered to read any of them and knowing then that he'd have no choice but to now speak to his wife and the Reader. Alannys would no doubt have kept each and every one. So, reluctantly though it was, Balon made his way to his wife and Goodbrother's chambers.

Entering the room, he sighed when he looked at the broken woman his wife had become. The deaths of two of their sons had left her a shadow of the woman he once lusted after with all he was. Taking a seat, he looked to the Reader and readied to play a role he was most unfamiliar with. A loving father he was very much not, but anything less would serve him badly here, or so he believed.

"Theon, Alannys." he began, his wife looking up only at the naming of their son. "Has he written often?"

"Each and every other moon, Balon." the Reader answered for his wife who simply glared at him and let him know that she blamed him for Theon's imprisonment too.

"And the Starks, they treat him well?"

"As well as any hostage can be treated." The Reader started." He and the Heir had a friendship of sorts, though it's long a thing of the past. Apparently, he's now more hostage than ward."

Balon almost smiled. He would have had it just he and the Reader alone in the room, but he dared not do so in front of his wife. Instead, he offered her up hope that he himself didn't truly feel. A glimpse at an opportunity to rescue their son that would bring both Alannys and the Reader onside. Who cared if that was all it turned out to be, as it would serve his purposes well should they manage to rescue Theon and should they not, well he'd see that served them just as truly.

"If these stories we hear about war are true, then we may have an opportunity with Theon."

"Rescue?" the Reader asked and Alannys perked upon hearing Balon's answer.

"Indeed. The Men of the North will march to war, leaving fewer to stand in our way and mayhap even a chance to see Theon back where he belongs."

"We risk going against the King, Balon. Stark and Baratheon would look to us."

"Not if they're already looking to each other."

He left it at that for now. Moving from the room without a touch or sign of affection to his wife. Not that Alannys would have welcomed either from him or had done for many a year. Walking from the room and through the corridors, Balon wondered why he'd not set the woman aside. They'd not shared a bed since Maron and Rodrik had breathed their last and with Theon always under the pain of death, he truly needed a new heir. Yet not once in the nine years since the death of their sons had he truly considered it. True enough there was no shortage of thralls that he'd taken to his bed. Never, had he sought even a Salt Wife, however, let alone a different Rock one.

Shaking the thoughts from his head for now, he entered the great hall and took his seat upon the Seastone Chair Tower. An idea soon came to his mind as he did so and it was one that took root over the next few days and weeks. More so when first the Iron Victory and then the Black Wind docked at Lordsport. Balon eagerly awaited the confirmation that first Victarion and then Asha brought him. He smiled as truly as he ever had when he heard that not only was it a war, but it was one to be fought between former allies.

"Truly, Stark and Baratheon are on opposite sides?" he asked, unable to believe the words he was hearing.

"They are, brother. Stark hid a bastard dragon from the Stag. His sister's whelp with Rhaegar Targaryen has now claimed the Iron Throne as his birthright and the battle lines have been drawn."

"Drawn how?" he asked as both Asha and Victarion painted him a picture that opened up so many opportunities.

The Vale and the North along with the Riverlands against the Stormlands, West, and the Reach. For Balon like his brother and daughter could see what price the Fat Flower would ask for and how only the one side could offer it to him. Had the Dragon of the Vale not already been wed and father to a babe then it would be he that the Golden Rose would seek for a husband. With him already wed, it would be the Fat Stag's son and that would win one side the war while costing the other much in the process.

"The North and the Riverlands it is then," Balon said to a nod from his brother and a shaking of his daughter's head.

"Theon father."

"We'll make arrangements to see your brother safe, daughter. A party sent to infiltrate Winterfell and secrete him away before our men reave through the North."

"What of the Driftwood Crown, Brother?" Victarion asked and Balon was sorely tempted to see it rest upon his head once more. Only the knowledge of how this war would end and who would turn out to be victorious stopped him from doing so.

"The Fat Stag and Old Lion will welcome our attacks on the North and the Riverlands, Brother. They'll even see no wrong in us bringing Theon home. Were I to name myself king, however…."

His brother nodded his acceptance, while Asha seemed to be thinking more about the brother she'd not seen in nine years than anything else. Balon saw only the vengeance he'd take against the Wolves and so he would, for now at least, forgo what debts the Stags owed him.

The Twins 298 AC.

Walder Frey.

Dark wings, dark words, or so the old adage went. Yet all Walder could see was the opportunities for gain that those words brought. Each raven that arrived at the Twins was another that allowed him to refine his plans. Another look at the board so he could ensure that no matter who ended up winning the war, House Frey would wring their price and benefit greatly.

The new Hand of the King bid them to rise and do all they could to hinder the progress of the Dragon of the Vale. Not that Tywin Lannister deigned to name Jon Snow as such. His Liege Lord called his banners and bid him to join with the rest of the Riverlords and rise against the Stag and the Lion. While the hidden Targaryen bid them to renew the oaths they'd once spoken and to once again follow the House of the Dragon.

None of them actually promised Walder or his House anything for doing so. Yet only one of them was a House known to forever pay their debts. Were that not enough, then the simple fact that the Old Lion was not a man to be crossed may have won him Walder's support. Still, he looked at the board and worked out the alliances, and sought to see whether or not there was any way that the Dragon could win. It would matter not that the Lions of Casterly Rock held all the gold in the land if they ended up on the losing side after all.

Around him, his sons and grandsons awaited his orders and offered their own suggestions. To split their forces and play both sides. Wait until the last possible moment and then and only then pick a side. Walder listened, ignored them mostly, and made his own plans for the war to come. Plans that he believed would see them gain the most. He knew full well that their position gave them an advantage too. The North and the Vale would need to use the Crossing at some point and he could delay them should that be his wish.

"What of the Reach, Father?" Stevron asked, taking Walder from his thoughts and earning himself a glare in the process. Walder much enjoyed seeing his son and heir shrink like the craven he truly was.

"The Reach will ally with the Lions and the Stags. Who else can make their Golden Rose queen?" Black Walder answered for him and Walder chuckled.

"The Dragon should have remained unwed."

"Or not allowed his cousins to be betrothed."

Walder listened as his sons and grandson talked over one another. The truth in their words was one that he had come to days ago. Robb Stark would have been a decent match to offer in order to seek an alliance. As too would his sister, given she had inherited her mother's looks and was a beauty by all reports. Yet Eddard Stark had wasted them both on matches with his Bannermen.

"He has a babe, does he not?"

"No one would accept a match with a babe, Father."

He allowed the arguments to continue around him as he himself pondered on some of the words that were spoken. It was true that Jon Snow was a father now and so he did have a son to offer up as a potential match. A son who would be the future King of the Seven Kingdoms should his father be victorious. His grandson was right, however, there would be few who'd accept a betrothal with a babe as their price for an alliance. After the war was won, mayhap, but certainly not when it was still in question. Which it very much was at the moment.

Looking back to the maps, he could see no other outcome than the one he'd already been certain of. The Reach would join with the Stag and accept a betrothal between Prince Joffrey and Margaery Tyrell. Along with the Stormlands and the West, they'd have the numbers, and the coin, which would leave the Dragon outmatched. It would be in the best interests of House Frey not to find themselves on the wrong side of this and the day when he'd need to choose was drawing ever closer.

"Make ready the defenses, should the Dragon come then he'll need to offer a price too high to resist or he'll not pass the Crossing. Maester, the ravens to Casterly Rock are fed and rested?"

"They are, my lord."

"Good, I'll have need of them over the next few days."

After dismissing his sons and grandsons, Walder took a seat and wrote out his message to Tywin Lannister. Over the next week and a half, ravens flew to and from Casterly Rock. Plans were made and discarded and a price was finally agreed on. A betrothal to a bastard girl, though a Lannister all the same. More coin than he'd made in years from the Crossing and his son to be named Lord Paramount of the Trident when the war was won. It was a price he could live with and one that Walder looked forward to collecting.

"Now, all I need do is wait for the Dragon to come my way." he laughed as he readied himself for the night's feast.

The Bloody Gate 298 AC.

The Blackfish.

It surprised him to be asked to join the war council. Brynden was unsure of why that was until Daeron Targaryen bid him to speak to him alone. He met him in the sparring yard, where the young king spent much of his time. They'd even crossed blades together before they spoke on why his counsel was not only required, but much needed.

"You wield that sword like it's an extension of your arm, your grace," Brynden said after he'd been soundly beaten.

"I thank you for saying so, Ser Brynden. I've been fortunate enough to have been taught by men whose skill is unmatched."

"Yet without some of your own, your grace," he said to a chuckle from the young king.

"I wished to speak to you on the Riverlands, Ser Brynden. Though like me you've spent many years naming the Vale as your home, I wager there is no man in the Vale that knows those lands better than you."

"I wager you'd be right, your grace."

"Daeron, Ser, else we'll be here all day just speaking my title."

"Brynden, Daeron," he said and was rewarded with an easy smile.

"Your brother has declared for me, Brynden. He and Lord Edmure name my aunt's words as their reasoning as much as anything."

Brynden looked at the young lad and could see how touched he was by Cat's sending of a raven to her father and brother. His niece had ever named the lad as kin and one look at the boy would be enough to tell you that he welcomed it greatly.

"Cat always had a way with words. Though I wager my brother understands the Riverlands even better than I do, Daeron. Some Houses rose not for us during the Rebellion. Loathe though I am to admit it, I wouldn't be surprised if more refused should we have taken a different side this time around."

"Truly?"

"We rose against your grandfather, Daeron. Against his actions and yet some wished to fight for your father, still. Now, against Robert Baratheon seeking to do to your family what Aerys did to the Starks…well, more would rise for you than against you I believe."

"Ser Arthur speaks similarly," Daeron said proudly. "Yet it's those who won't that give me pause."

"Daeron?"

To Brynden's surprise, he was handed a small piece of paper that wasn't quite a raven's scroll. Reading the words written down, he felt his anger rise and so he took a moment to compose himself.

"The Old Weasel always seeks to wring the heaviest price he can, Daeron. I'm not surprised he's sought to ally with the Old Lion since it's he who has the gold."

"I care not for his men, Brynden, nor which side he and his House have picked."

"Then…" Brynden hesitated just a moment before he realized what it was that preyed on Daeron's mind. "The Crossing," he said to a nod of the king's head.

"Our own forces need it not, but the North…"

"Will be forced to march for longer and then have further to cross."

"And should the Old Lion be given leave to cross instead…"

"They'd be bogged down in a fight not of their choosing or they'd get fucked in their arses," Brynden said to a half smirk from the king.

"You were an outrider were you not?"

"I was, many years ago though it was."

He listened eagerly as he was told what the king wished him to do. Why he had wished him to be in the war council, now finally became clear to him. Brynden needed to know the battle plan so he could relay it to the North even more truly than ravens could. Taking his leave of the king, he gathered up fifty men and enough supplies for each of them and they set off that very night.

Less than a week later he was in Maidenpool and by the end of that first night, they were sailing to White Harbor. Brynden bore messages for Lord Manderly, for Catelyn, and for Ser Rodrik Cassel. As well as those for Ned Stark and the Lords of the North. He himself would lead them through the Riverlands and show them where they could cross and what they were to expect. While those at the Twins would wait and wait and find that it was the men they intended to fuck in their arses that would be the ones who were late.

Brynden much enjoyed the jape he'd come up with at Walder Frey's expense. As for King Daeron and the Knights of the Vale, they would ensure that neither Robert Baratheon nor Tywin Lannister was given free and easy access to the Riverlands. The king had a surprise in store for the Stag that Brynden believed neither Robert nor Tywin were aware of. A company had already set sail from Essos and they numbered close to ten thousand. As well as an army from the Reach whose incursion into the Stormlands, would enrage both Robert and Stannis more than anything else.

When it came to the Old Lion, it would be Dornish Spears who sought him out first and foremost. Then King Daeron himself and finally the Lords of the North should all go well. Not that in war anything ever went well, mind. Still, as plans went, Brynden could find few faults in the young king's and so as the days passed and the cold air was felt atop the deck of the ship, he readied to play his part in the war to come.

"Family, Duty, Honor," he said as White Harbor finally came into view. He would fight for all three and if the gods were good, then when the war was one so would his fighting days be behind him once and for all.

King's Landing 298 AC.

Varys.

His little birds flew throughout the Seven Kingdoms and soon enough their songs were ready to be heard. Varys reading over each and every one of them and deciding which ones needed to be acted upon, stored for later, or dismissed. Those deemed most important were sent directly to the king along with Varys' own interpretation of what they meant.

Thus far things had proceeded almost how he'd expected them to. Though House Frey all but declaring for Robert and Tywin had been a surprise. Not that the Old Weasel would pick the side that offered him the most gain, simply that he'd done it so truly. Varys had expected Walder Frey to do as he always did. To wait things out and see which way the wind was blowing before then picking a side. That he'd jumped so early could only be down to him not knowing just how strong Daeron's forces truly were. This meant that there was a better-than-good chance that neither the Old Lion nor the Fat Stag knew either.

Given they'd already caused the Fat Stag some distress with the desertion of both Barristan the Bold as well as Jaime Lannister, Varys believed they held the upper hand when it came to their information gathering. Though considering that Robert Baratheon relied on Varys to see to his own, that was mayhap not truly a big surprise. He chuckled to himself as he remembered the reaction Robert had to finding out that not only had two of his Kingsguard deserted him, but they'd taken two of his children too.

"What do you mean they're gone? Talk sense, Woman?"

"My children, my children are missing. I want them found now. Where is Jaime, where is my brother?"

"Imp, what in the seven hells is going on here?" Robert asked as Tyrion entered the chambers uninvited. Varys watching it all from the small hole in the wall and doing his best not to laugh out loud at the confused looks all there occupants of the King's Chambers wore.

"My niece and nephew are missing, your grace. As too is my brother and Ser Barristan." Tyrion declared, his worries clear.

"Missing! Missing! What madness is this?"

By the time he'd been sent for, Robert was apoplectic. Whether it was the loss of his children, his Goodbrother, or the Lord Commander of his Kingsguard, not Varys and he'd wager not even the man himself could tell. Varys stood there as Robert ranted and raved and he waited until he'd finished doing so before he stuck the knife in a twisted it just a little. The words he said had the desired effect almost immediately.

"What do you mean he's joined with the Dragon?" Robert shouted, his voice bellowing so loudly that Varys wagered it could be heard as far as Flea Bottom.

"It's the only thing that makes any sense, your grace. Ser Barristan's loyalties would be in question given who we now know Ser Jon truly is and…"

"You're telling me that my Lord Commander has thrown in with the Dragonspawn?"

"I know not for true, your grace. Yet where else could he have gone?"

"My Children, Where are my Children, Lord Varys?" the Queen answered as Robert looked fit to burst and Tyrion seemed to have already figured it out in his head.

"I would wager they're with Ser Barristan and Ser Jaime, my queen."

He, Tyrion, and even Cersei were left with little choice but to leave the room. Robert's rage was a thing to behold and not a single piece of furniture didn't suffer under his wrath. By the time the Small Council meeting was called, Varys believed the word had spread through the entire city of what had happened. He'd not even had to use any of his little birds to do so himself. As gossip was a currency in the Red Keep and so the tale had spread all on its own.

The king had been abandoned by the Bold. Ser Jaime had declared for the Dragons and taken Robert's children with him. Questions were asked about whether that was for them to serve as hostages or if there was some reason why Jaime Lannister felt they were not safe with their mother and father. Questions that Varys had set his little birds to pose answers to over the next few days and weeks.

Cersei was despondent at first, but then her anger took over. Servants, guards, and any fool enough to cross her path when her moods were at their worst, all suffered greatly in doing so. Tyrion sat with a contemplative look on his face for days after the absconding had occurred. The Imp not speaking to him about his thoughts on what his brother had done until Robert and his brothers had left the Capital and set off to gather their army.

"I understand it not, surely my brother wouldn't join with the Dragon, not against family?" Tyrion said as they enjoyed a glass of wine together.

"Your brother is a complicated man, Lord Tyrion. Mayhap King Daeron offers him the chance at something he's always wished for."

"What?"

"Redemption. Redemption of both his name and his character."

Tyron looked at him contemplatively, a small nod of his head the only reply he gave for some moments. The Imp was a clever man and he liked to think things through, yet often he sought to show his cleverness too and so he hid his mind not enough at times. A decent player of the game, or so Varys had named him. Yet not a true master of it as of yet.

"Jaime idolised, Ser Arthur. He was who he wished to be more than anyone else in the Realm." Tyrion said after some time.

"The chance to fight alongside him was mayhap too good to resist."

"Against family?" Tyrion said aghast. Before he then seemed to find something else to worry about. Though to Varys' surprise, it was not the children.

"The Bold, Jaime, The Sword of the Morning, Daeron Targaryen has more to name him a king than the man who sits on the throne. Should the people hear of it…."

"Most already know, my lord."

"They can't win, Varys. Jaime will at best end up at the Wall for this and knowing my brother how I do, I fear he'll meet his end protecting this so-called king."

"Then in his own mind he'll have died happy will he not?"

"I don't want him to fucking die at all." Tyrion declared angrily.

Unlike the Fat Stag or even his sister, Tyrion was a far more capable administrator. Defences were strengthened and daily food supplies had begun to be rationed. The Imp, however, turned the people against him simply because of who and what he was more so than anything he did. Were he a different man then Tyrion would be praised by the people for worrying about the days to come. Yet to one and all, he was the Demon Monkey, the Imp and it was he they blamed for their bellies being less full.

Varys felt he could use it to turn the city against him, should the need arise to do so. Yet he hoped that Daeron would win the war without resorting to such tactics. Tyrion was no fool and with Jaime Lannister on his king's side, when and if Daeron's army reached the gates, Varys believed the city would be surrendered. Especially considering that Daeron sought not Tyrion or Cersei's deaths.

Reading more of the songs, then sending them on, Varys shook his head at Balon Greyjoy's plans and welcomed very much those made in the North. The Iron Born may think they'd find easy pickings but the North had prospered much from Illyrio's patronage and so they'd find them very much not to be so. More so since the attacks they'd launch were not as surprising as they wished them to be.

Around the Realm, armies marched and alliances were forged, and yet thus far only he and those who served his king knew the full truth of both. He was under no illusion it would stay that way, but for now, they held the upper hand. Should the Company of the Sea Snake land successfully, Dorne march truly, and the Reach march quickly, then Varys could see no way they could lose this war. Yet one arrow would be enough to see it so and so as he wrote his message to Ser Arthur, the words it bore were simply enough.

Protect the King at all costs.

Casterly Rock 298 AC.

Tywin Lannister.

The entire might of the West had answered his call. More than 40,000 men Tywin would have at his disposal and yet it was not the numbers that gave him pause. Instead, it was the news from King's Landing, the reason why Jaime had been so reluctant to join him when he left the city, now finally being made clear to him. Once again the Dragons had stolen his son and heir from him. This time they'd taken two of his grandchildren along with him.

It was something that Tywin simply understood not. For all his son's faults and they were many, Jaime had loved his family far too much to go against them. Or so Tywin had believed. Had someone asked him to wager on which son would betray him, then Tywin would not have hesitated in naming the Imp. Yet Tyrion it seemed had stayed loyal to the bond of family while Jaime had abandoned them completely.

That it left him with a large problem in terms of leadership, was yet another reason why Tywin had been close to raging since the ravens arrived. Kevan now needed to split from him and ride in charge of part of their army where Jaime once would have held that command. As for the thoughts that he'd needed to face his son across an open field, Tywin did his best not to let them overwhelm him. For there could be no forgiveness now and no path back to his side for his errant son. Death and dishonor were the only things that lay in Jaime's future.

"Why?" he asked loudly. His frustration and annoyance were clear and only that he was alone or he'd need to explain himself somewhat.

Standing at the table, looking down at the map, he welcomed the fact that it was early and others hadn't risen yet. Kevan would break his fast and join him and plans would need to be made. The armies were to split and march separately and the Riverlands were to feel the Lion's Fury and Wrath. He pictured the battles in his mind. Worked out where he'd most like to see them fought and who would cause him the most trouble in the war to come. Tywin dismissed the North and the Riverlands and focussed his attention once again on the wooden symbol for the Knights of the Vale.

"We needs must pick the ground," he said to himself as he moved the symbols around the map.

Tywin would leave Robert and the Stormlords, with help from the Reach, to deal with the North. While he and Kevan pillaged the Riverlands and made their way to face off against the Valemen. His eyes were drawn more than once to the Trident and though he liked the idea of another Dragon meeting their end there, he wished not that to be where the battle was fought. One rarely got their wishes in war, however, and the more he looked at the map, the more he was certain that it would be there. The only reason why it would not be would be that the Knights of the Vale managed to march quicker and more truly than his own men did. Something that Tywin couldn't or wouldn't accept.

Turning from the map, he moved to his desk and once again looked over the missives that he'd spent most of the night reading. Managing to ignore the one that he'd not been able to burn and which had told of Jaime's betrayal. Littlefinger had brought them the Reach, the offer of his grandson's hand enough to buy them the Roses. Tywin was unhappy to gift them the withered old cunt what she wished and yet he'd agreed wholeheartedly that it needed to be done.

Walder Frey came much more cheaply and were it not for the strategic value of the Twins, then he'd not even have considered making the deal. A delay to the Northern forces, however, would ensure Robert's victory and allow his own battle to take place unhindered. The last thing he wanted or needed was for the Northmen and the Knights of the Vale to join up. Even should his own men and Robert's manage to do the same, the ensuing battle would be too close to call.

"The Dragon is the key," he said to himself. As he read the raven that had set everything in motion. Words of a dragon's hatching and what it meant were still seared in Tywin's brain. Along with words spoken by a Mad King many years earlier.

"You'll burn, Lion. You and your whole House will burn one day."

Despite knowing that the dragon could be no larger than the size of a small dog, Tywin still shuddered at the memory of Aerys' words. So much so that it took him a moment to accept that it was the other Dragon that he had been speaking about. Jon Snow, Arryn, Daeron Targaryen, or whatever name he deigned to call himself. Should he fall, then this war would be over before it had truly begun.

So Catspaws had been sent out. Contracts had been offered and were it not for the price they'd charge, even the Faceless Men themselves would have been engaged.

Would they be successful? Probably not.

Could they be? Certainly.

As for the man's wife and child, they too would need to be dealt with and Tywin again cursed Arthur Dayne for his actions years earlier. There would be no Mountain sent to see to the deaths of a woman and a babe this time. Though he had other monsters to unleash and Vargo Hoat and his Brave Companions would be let loose upon the Vale. With luck, they'd see to the deaths of Elaena Arryn and her babe, if not they may at least distract her husband enough to cause him to lose his mind and in turn the war itself.

By the time Kevan arrived, Tywin felt more than ready for the day. He and his brother going over the last of the preparations and Tywin was left in no doubt that Kevan would carry his orders out. It would be left to him to see Riverrun fall. The keep was to be besieged while Tywin took the larger force onward to face the Knights of the Vale. Joffrey was now to join with Kevan's forces rather than his own as Tywin had already had enough of the stupid proclamations that his grandson was wont to make. Tywin shaking his head at the proud boasts that it would be Joffrey's blade that took the Dragon from the world.

'Only if he's captured and was to lose his head would that be so.'

No, if it came to men with swords then they'd lose this war. Ser Arthur, Jaime, Barristan the Bold, Sandor Clegane, and Daeron Targaryen himself. Tywin would wager they didn't have a swordsman of their equal in theirs, Robert's, or even the Reach's ranks. Forces of men, arrows, and crossbowmen, numbers more than anything else, that's what it would take to see the Dragon brought low. That and the best-laid plans he could come up with.

Two days later.

They marched, the largest army the West had ever assembled, marched finally. He and Kevan rode at the front of it. Their Lealest and Truest lords riding behind them. To victory or death, for there was no other outcome open to them in the war to come. Should the worst happen and they somehow lost, then Tywin would certainly lose his head. Kevan was likely to too, as was Joffrey. His House would then be cast down from the lofty heights it had taken so much effort to reach.

Defeat, however, was not truly an option and certainly not one that Tywin would countenance for long. Instead, it was with thoughts of the victory to come that he rode. Thoughts of the end of the Dragons once and for all. To seeing Stark and his House fall and even to see his errant son pay for his betrayal. While behind him, his men sang the Rains of Castamere, in the front of the lines Tywin cursed Jaime once more. He cursed him for leaving him with naught but an ill-made, spiteful creature full of envy, lust, and low cunning to name as his heir and to carry forward the Lannister name.

"Damn you Jaime, Damn you to the Seven Hells," he muttered, relieved his words went unheard.

The Vale of Arryn 298 AC.

Daeron Targaryen.

His war council had left him and yet Daeron still found himself concentrating on maps and numbers. Distances to travel and supply lines. Battles to come and where they may be fought. On the table in front of him, the map was covered with wooden symbols that served as representations of each of the forces. Some of them bore larger numbers than others.

He now had the numbers, the largest army, and yet the distances involved in bringing it all together were vast. Looking at the table, moving the wooden symbols here and there, Daeron felt like a boy playing at war. The truth of things was that he could only hope things turned out how he wished them to. Could only pray to the gods that the plans he made and the adaptations to those plans would be enough to win the day.

Should Robert not turn back and face the threat that Dorne and the Reach brought to the Stormlands. If his uncle and the North's forces were delayed too much because of now not being able to use the Twins. Were Robert and Tywin able to join their armies together. Then it would be he who was outnumbered and outmatched and the battle and war would be lost before it had truly begun.

It would matter not that Prince Doran had accepted the offer of Viserys' hand or that Olenna Tyrell had welcomed the thoughts of a Princess for a Goodgrandaughter. Nor that the Company of the Sea Snake had managed to land successfully and without hindrance, should that indeed be the case. The mere fact that he traveled with four of the best swords in Westeros or that he had the Brotherhood at his back, would make little difference at all. Sighing as he looked at the map, he was soon laughing as the dragon flew and landed on his shoulder. Tyraxes caring not about numbers, logistics, or battle plans.

"You have the right of it," he said, feeding the dragon from the leftovers from his plate and then helping it back to the small wicker basket that he'd had made for its bed.

No sooner had he done so than Ghost entered the tent. The white wolf's fur splattered with the blood of its most recent kill. Laying down on his bed, he needed not to pat the pillow at the end of it as the white wolf simply jumped up and lay down to sleep. Both Ghost and Tyraxes showed him what it was he needed to do and so closing his eyes, Daeron too soon drifted off.

He dreamt of them then. His wife and babe. Elaena and Duncan, who though they missed him, were safe and secure. Winter and Frost were by their sides and even when one of the two wolves went to hunt, the other left them not. Daeron seeing how whichever one had stayed behind was then brought its fresh food by the one who had not.

Through the wolves' eyes, he watched his wife holding their babe. Though he couldn't hear her, he believed she sang to Duncan as she did so. Elaena certainly did so when she lay their son down in his crib to sleep. Seeing them was enough to calm his worried heart and soon enough he was in a much deeper sleep. The dreams were then of his father and mother. Of battles that had been lost and what they had cost his family and his House.

"Win, Young Dragon, nothing else matters but that you win." a man with one eye said and Daeron looked on as arrows flew and beneath them, men fell.

"Use your men to their best ability, Young Dragon." a silver-haired man said while another who could well be his twin simply pointed to the field below and Daeron watched as two forces swept over one. The Hammer and the Anvil now shown to him as clear as day and it was a beautiful and terrible thing to behold.

Lastly, a man not much older than him moved toward him and pointed to the table some distance away. Daeron looking on awestruck as the table he'd only heard about and which had been made at the Conqueror's behest was now revealed in all its glory.

"Know your enemy, Young Dragon. Know the worst they may do and pray expect it." the young man said as he moved to walk from his sight.

"Who are you?" Daeron called and the young man looked back at him, a smile on his face that showed just how young the man truly was.

"A man who forgot what truly lay in Dornishmen's hearts."

"Daeron?" he shouted. "The Young Dragon?"

"Is that not you?" the young man said with a smile before he faded from Daeron's sight.

When he woke the next morning, he called for Jaime Lannister, Arthur, Barristan, and Sandor to join him. Together they broke their fast and Daeron bid them all to speak on all they knew. To name the worst atrocities that both Tywin and Robert Baratheon had committed or were capable of. Though it pained him to hear once again of the Sack of King's Landing and the deaths of his brother, sister, and their mother, Daeron listened to it keenly. As he did to Jaime when he spoke about the Rains of Castamere and his father's relish and joy in seeing the two Houses brought low.

By the time they marched, orders had been sent. Gulltown was placed on standby and more men were sent to guard it and stop any ship from landing. Any men who made their way to the Vale were to be treated as suspect until the war was over. Only those bearing letters from sources that could be unimpeachable were to be allowed free movement. Ravens were sent to the Eyrie and though he wished to, he was talked out of sending a Kingsguard back to watch over his family. Instead, he was told to place faith in those he'd left there, in Winter and Frost and in the Eyrie itself to see them safe.

As they readied to leave the Vale behind them, Daeron felt he was as prepared as he could ever be. Together with his Kingsguard and Sandor, they'd played out the worst possible scenarios, or so he hoped. They'd made contingencies and now relied on good fortune as any man in war truly did. Looking to Ghost and to Tyraxes, seeing the determined looks on the faces of his friends, Daeron felt he could do little more. From here it was simply the Game of Thrones itself that would decide their fates. A game with but one rule.

"You win or you die."

Pentos 298 AC.

Dany.

While Illyrio didn't speak to her much about the preparations her nephew was making for the war to come, Septa Lemore showed no reticence in doing so. Dany had already learned much from her lessons with the Septa and yet the woman kept proving she was full of surprises. After the lessons on etiquette, what it meant to be not simply a lady of a great House in Westeros, but a princess of one. When they'd reached the end of the lessons Dany needed to know regarding the makeup of the Great Houses. Or the alliances formed between some of the main ones and the regions of the Seven Kingdoms. Septa Lemore then spoke to Dany about military tactics and battles long since passed.

They'd covered everything from the Conquest to the Dance of Dragons. From the Young Dragon to her brother Rhaegar. Tough Septa Lemore was no Maester, her knowledge when it came to the ways of war wasn't lacking. So after her other lessons were done, or simply upon Dany's request, the two of them would look over maps and numbers of men and Dany would ask whatever questions that came to mind. It had been these lessons that had shown just how important a marriage alliance was to their cause. The truths she'd learned in them that had truly led her to offer herself up to the Tyrells in return for their support.

Dany may not be able to fight in the war itself, but she would do all she could to ensure that her nephew and brother had all the tools they needed to win it. Which was mayhap why she'd begun to pay so much attention to the dragon eggs that Illyrio had gifted her and why she'd asked for rarer and rarer tomes and books to read. True both the Septa and the Magister had warned her off some of the more outlandish theories on hatching a dragon egg. The words that both of them had spoken on Summerhall and what it had cost her House were ones that Dany took to heart.

Yet once she'd heard that her nephew's own dragon egg had hatched and that it had done so as his son was born, Dany had become somewhat obsessed with the three eggs she had in her possession. So much so that she'd now taken to sleeping with all three of them in her bed. To talking to them and even, thankfully to no one's knowledge but her own, feeding them her own blood from time to time. That those times had become more a need than a want on her and the eggs part, was again something only she thus far knew about.

'Fire and Blood.'

Why she believed her House's words to be the key, she knew not. Nothing in her reading suggested it was so. Though in truth she'd found nothing in any of the books that actually pointed her in any direction whatsoever. The secrets to hatching dragons had been kept quite close to her family's chest for generations. Too close mayhap as over time that secret had been lost to history.

"Yet my nephew brought a dragon into the world, which shows it can be done."

Hearing that the war had truly begun and that their armies now marched, did at least for a while take Dany's mind off the hatching of dragons. It focussed her worries and fears on her nephew and brother's safety and she took comfort in both Illyrio and Septa Lemore's words. They had prepared as best they could. True the war had not started on their own terms, but it was one they had known was one day to come and so they were as ready for it as they could be.

Still, Dany would be a liar if she said that until Illyrio shared the news that the Tyrells and Martells had accepted the offer Jon Connington made them, hadn't removed a large weight from her chest. Nor that since she'd received that news, two thoughts now filled her head almost entirely. One was that she was to be wed to a man she'd never met and knew little about. Though Willas Tyrell was said to be comely, intelligent, witty, and by all accounts, a good man.

The second thought was one that was becoming ever more pressing. Feeding the dragon eggs her blood had no longer become enough. They wished for more, they sought the fire. So Dany gave it to them as best she could. First thing in the morning, after a night spent embracing all three eggs, Dany would place her eggs in the hearth and call for a fire to be made around them. Sometimes she'd watch them as the flames licked around the edges of their shells. She'd take comfort in seeing them so and at those times, Dany swore she heard three contented voices. Mere murmurs and whispers that those voices were.

"Free us."

"Free us."

"Mother."

It was the first night of her Moonblood that those whispers became almost a shout. Dany was embarrassed to find that she'd soiled the bed and had forgotten to take the precautions she usually did at that time of the month. Why she did what she did, only the gods themselves would be able to say for certain. All she knew was that knowing what the blood she spilled signified and hearing the voices in her head name her as their mother, she moved the eggs to the dark spot on the bloodstained sheets.

The blood had been drunk up almost completely. A small stain was all that remained of her soiled sheets. Where normally the thoughts of laying down with those very same sheets still on her bed would repulse her, now they very much did not. So much so that no sooner had she lay down, than Dany was fast asleep. Dreams of a black, green, and golden dragon all filled her head. Images of herself, Viserys, and a young silver-haired boy that were she to name, she'd say was her grandnephew, all flying in the sky. A silver and bronze dragon joining them as they did so.

Upon waking the next morning, Dany wrapped the dragon's eggs in her bloodstained sheet, and then much to the servants' horror, she asked for a fire to be set around them.. For a week she repeated the same process. Upon waking up on the seventh day, Dany believed she should be horrified at the sheer amount of blood that had come from her the night before. Yet she felt naught but true and unadulterated excitement at the sight. Placing the eggs atop the sheet, wrapping them up in it, and watching as the heaviest portion of it was almost swallowed away, Dany once again called for a fire to be lit. a much larger one than her room allowed.

"Please Magister, it must be done, I beg you trust me." she implored Illyrio when he'd come running after the servant had told him what she planned.

"It's too dangerous to do such a thing in your room, princess." Illyrio began and Dany wondered if she was enough of a dragon to command him and if he would even listen to her should she do so. Only for the man to continue speaking and offer a solution, much to Septa Lemore's annoyance. "However, if you feel it's what needs to be done, we can do so in the largest of the dining rooms. The fire there is much larger and far more suited to such a thing as you suggest."

"Magister, surely not." Septa Lemore shook her head as Dany implored her with a look.

"The princess and her House know more about dragons than you or I ever will, Septa. As long as there is no wildfire involved, I believe we can allow her will be the one we follow."

Dany almost skipped to the large dining room. Once there, she waited until the remnants of the previous night's fire were cleared. When was, Dany herself placed the eggs and the ruined sheet they were wrapped in into the hearth. As the fire was then set and then as soon as it took hold, Dany knew that around her people looked at her as if she was mad. Where they not so loyal to Illyrio and he himself, not a man who thought so much about her House, then those words may be spoken aloud. People may have even dared to name her as her father's child, rather than her mother's as she and Viserys had come to think of themselves as. Yet other than a disapproving and somewhat worried look on Septa Lemore's face, Dany cared not for how she was looked at or thought of.

"I am in the right on this. I know I am," she whispered determinedly to herself.

The loud gasps that soon rang around the room weren't loud enough to cover the sound of the cracking of the first egg. Excited whispers and dumbfounded comments went unheard by Dany as the second one quickly followed. Though not even she heard the sound of the third as another louder sound had muted it somewhat. A screeching of a black dragon was soon followed by a golden and then a green one. Small, tiny little creatures whose roars were far louder than their size should allow, all now crawling from the fire and looking around the room eagerly, were all anyone concentrated on.

Yet above all of that, one word was spoken loudest of all in Dany's mind. Three distinct voices all called that word out as they flew and landed atop her. Each of them found a place to call their own with the black one wrapping itself around her neck and looking her directly in the eyes.

'Mother.' they called out as one, and as Dany looked into the most expressive eyes she'd ever seen, she answered that call loudly.

"I'm here, my children. Your mother is here with you," she said to loud joyful screeches.

A/N: Thanks to all who've read and reviewed. Up next: Doran plots as Arianne fumes before meeting her future husband. We take a look at how the Stark children are reacting to the truth about their brother. Tywin receives news that changes his destination and the first skirmishes of the war take place. Robert Arryn makes an unbelievable suggestion to his Goodbrother while the Brotherhood of the Winged Knights has a need to protect their king. In Essos Dany names her dragons and marvels at the wonder of them. While in the Eyrie, Elaena and Duncan miss Daeron terribly. Robert fumes over his losses and hears even more troubling news.

For those following my other fics. When the Dragonwolf Danced is to be updated next, followed by My Name is Daemon and Winter King.

VFSnake: I deliberately went with the dragons being small this time, as they give such a big advantage and while Daeron still has a huge one numbers-wise, it's not as easy as it would be with a fully grown dragon or more than one. Tyrion always sought his father's approval and Jaime couldn't tell him it all, so it's the combination of both that leads where it leads.

Atp: Agree completely. People talk about fanfic writers overweighing the odds in favor or their favorites and I'll admit I can be as guilty of that as most. However, I do try and make it be what would logically happen. For example, given the choice of a marriage to Jon Snow (who is Rhaegar's son and is going for the Iron Throne) or Renly Baratheon, then logically to me, the Tyrells chose Jon. Had you added the Reach to Robb's forces, then Tywin was fucked. He could barely handle Robb on his own, let alone with a powerful ally. Here I do have plans to make the war more even-handed than it at first appears to be, but hopefully not at the cost of logic. Daeron should win and win easily, yet unlike canon, just taking KL isn't the winning move here. Or so I believe.

OneDocToHealThemAll: Real life intruded I'm sorry to say. I had an illness, then my mother did and to pile on top of that, work was an absolute nightmare. Thankfully I've now settled back into a routine and once I've brought up all my stories to date, they'll all follow a more standard schedule of updates. This one should be a month or so away after this update, but no more than a week or two longer than that.

J: I probably should have put it in, just to clear up any possible confusion, but I'm glad you get where I'm coming from. The big thing here is that by creating the OC I created the issue, where in canon obviously there was no Elaena and so Hoster and Jon simply agreed that any child from Lysa was the heir.

OMG, that would be freaking hilarious to see. Thoros there with his burning sword and a bucket of water thrown over him LOL. I do still think GRRM uses it to set the stage for Lightbringer later, to show the value of a burning sword, with the limitations that Thoros' sword brings. I mean he was beaten by Yohn Royce in a melee simply because his sword burned too much and then broke when it was struck. So I would say I'm hoping that's the plan, to show Lightbringer as the truer version, but given GRRM is never ever going to finish the books, I hold out no such hope.

You definitely misunderstood what I was going for with the dragon bit. I was trying to make it a fun question, to ask you to guess without it being simply a direct question. As in "I wonder who it could be for hmmm?" but I must have missed the question mark or something. Anyway, this chapter answers it I think.

I do wonder with Jon being ruthless in the books, how much more ruthless he'll be when he comes back? Like, I could see him killing LF without a second's thought, but you're probably right, if the man had shown loyalty it may have earned him another chance. Even with Bookjon. Oh, and Helliweg is being watched so you know.

Rhatch: Thanks for saying that. I like doing it this way and much prefer them to be in the same chapter rather than a POV a chapter as some people do it. That way you may face a wait between chapters and so you get a single perspective on events. I try to do it so that you always see the main character and get a broader view of things. But hopefully, you're not left waiting for the next part of the story that interests you most. I mean, say you're seeing only Dany in Essos, while the last chapter showed Daeron in Westeros, there is such a big disconnect from things and it can take 3 or four povs to get back to what you want to see. Not an issue if you get it all at once, but if the chapters are done over time, then it could be ages before you see the next part. Hope I'm making sense.

: Yes, Numbers Wise, Tywin is screwed. He and Robert can't win, and yet all is not going to be plain sailing and certain moves will change things too. Nothing ridiculous mind, I mean I'm not going to give Tywin or Robert this hitherto unknown ally, but they will make moves that change the war and make it more difficult for Daeron and his allies.

Classhole: Jon was acting on Daeron's orders, so he went in with a certain offer already agreed to. Also, Jon is not Daeron himself, he's not even Hand of the King here, he's little more than a messenger and he's dealing with a prince, so there have to be some levels of deferral.

Jon does know Doran too and how prickly he and the Dornish can be and so there is that to take into account also. As is the fact that sometimes in a negotiation, you have to appear weaker than you are, and while it's not quite flattery, it's a level of allowing your opposite to think they have the upper hand. Jon could have gone in and done as you say, but would Doran then have got his knickers in a twist or let his pride be what he led with? Could doing so actually cause the negotiations to fail? That has to be taken into mind from the very beginning.

There is a time to come across as having all the cards and to somewhat browbeat the opposition into doing your will and a time not to. As I said, personalities are very important and so this negotiation was much different than the one with Olenna. Olenna didn't need to be buttered up, Mace would have, Doran somewhat does. Does Daeron need Dornish Spears? Perhaps not. Do they bring much to the war? Debatable. Would they fight for Robert/Tywin, almost certainly not. But by pissing Doran off, what do you gain? Again Jon is the messenger, he can be humble and appear weak and yes you could say it reflects poorly on Daeron for him to do so. Yet Daeron can when he eventually meets with Doran, go a completely different route if need be. Especially now with dragons.

There were two main goals in how I wrote this though. 1. To show how different a negotiation between Doran and one with Olenna was and 2. To Highlight the different personalities that Oberyn and Doran have and what may be the differences in what they seek from an alliance.

Oberyn could be swayed by going about things how you say, Doran, I believe cannot. Unlike Oberyn, Doran's goal isn't simply to avenge his sister, niece, and nephew, Oberyn's is. Doran may want that too, but he wants far more than that. This is why, along with his different personality from both Olenna and Oberyn, the negotiations have to happen a certain way.

Celexys: So glad you liked it, my friend. Things will be getting much busier here in the next few chapters, with battles to come and wars to be won.