Disclaimer this is an alternate version of Game of Thrones season 6, with some facts more in tune with the books. Also includes house Forrester. I do not own the characters (except any original characters) this is for entertainment purposes only.
Author announcement: Sorry for the delay in posting this chapter, but academic work has been keeping me busy.
Of Alliances and Monarchs
Water Gardens of Dorne
With the rising sun came the warmth of the morning light. This was a rare moment, for it had yet to reach the sweltering climate that Dorne was infamous for. Having spent his entire life in Dorne, Doren knew all too well that even in the coldest of winters, an unfortunate traveler could die of thirst in the shifting sands of his homeland. But here in the Water Gardens, such hard realities are often forgotten. Even now the sight of young children, both high born and low, playing together lulled his concerns. Old memories of his time swimming in these very pools alongside his siblings, almost overwhelmed him. Oberyn always the most spirited of them, would make such flamboyant splashes while Elia was ever calm and serene.
Such memories were a source of comfort and sorrow for Doran, especially in these times. The times brought upon by his enemies… and his own family. Ellaria, his nieces, and his own daughter, had orchestrated the death of Myrcella Lannister. They had done so with the belief that their crime would go unnoticed. Or perhaps they thought him so weak that it would go unpunished? Perhaps that is why they seemed so surprised when the guards seized them from their chambers. Doren knew that he did not possess his brother's vigor or fiery temperament, the only traits that his youthful relatives held in such high esteem. 'But a cunning mind and the gift of patience can be powerful weapons at a man's disposal,' he thought, 'and I will remind them of this simple truth.'
The Prince of Dorne commanded Areo Hotah to bring Arianne and the others from their cells. Areo is indeed a good man, steadfast in his duty and ever loyal. The man had been born and raised in Norvos, having accompanied Doran's former wife Mellario to Sunspear. To his surprise, Areo chose to stay and continue serving as captain of the guard when Mellario returned to Norvos. Since then, Prince Doran had always relied on Areo's advise and long-axe in equal measure. Areo had counseled him to deal with Ellaria in a more permanent fashion, saying that she would continue fanning the already unbridled anger in the Sand Snakes. But her death would only sow further discord within house Martell. Her life, however, may be in better service to him if properly channeled. He then bade his steward to send for their guests as well, their presence would be vital in winning over his wayward kin.
As Doran shifted himself in his chair, he felt the growing discomfort in his knees and lower joints. Over the course of the last ten years his gout had grown worse, making extended travel impossible. Even short unaided walks through the gardens had grown too taxing for the Dornish prince. It also made the other high lords of Westeros think him weak and infirm. A sentiment that spread like a weed in his own household and like a weed it needed to be torn out by the roots. His maester must have noticed his discomfort, having promptly offered a small flask containing his treatment. A diluted mixture of dream-wine and the essence of a plant called River's Crown, a rare bloom only found in the Riverlands, and given its name for the crown like shape of its petals. As he slowly drank the mixture, he thought about the effectiveness of this latest remedy, while its effect certainly lessened the pain it could not cure his condition completely. We are all burdened in some form or another, he thought. His musings were interrupted as Areo returned with Ellaria, the Sand Snakes and… Arianne.
They had been treated well, despite all they had done and transpired to do. Ellaria and the Sand Snakes had been confined to the same cells as before, when they tried to kidnap Princess Marcella. His daughter had been confined and isolated in the Western Tower, a place reserved for highborn guests or hostages. As Doran gestured for them to sit, he could see the look in their eyes. Ellaria's eyes held nothing but contempt for him, a drastic change from the woman who had made his brother so happy. The Sand Snakes were different; there was anger and frustration for sure, but it wasn't directed entirely at him. Their true hatred was for the Lannisters, those responsible for their father's death. In their eyes they were seeking justice for his murder, only to be impeded by their own uncle. Little did they know that their actions only hindered their desired goal. They were children so eager to strike the next blow that they couldn't see the true path to justice that lay before them.
Arianne was another matter entirely, she portrayed no emotion, her thoughts concealed from him. She had learned the subtly of politics well, too well perhaps. It was by mere chance that they had discovered her involvement in the murder. A servant had told one of his guards about seeing Arianne leaving Tyene's chamber discretely. When word reached them that Myrcella had been poisoned it was plain to see what had happened. Tyene had always shared her father's interest in poisons and his creativity when applying them. Somehow, Arianne had smuggled the poison past his guards and given it to Ellaria. She was the only one close enough to apply the poison to the poor girl. Doran was both impressed and dismayed by the ruthless cunning Arianne had shown in this plot. The fiery blood of Nymeria ran through her veins. It was that same fire that caused them to drift apart in the last few years, but perhaps after today they could begin anew.
"Has the wise and ever-merciful cripple Prince of Dorne finally decide that our punishment has gone on long enough?" The first to speak was Ellaria with her all too familiar temperament. "Are we to be chastised before we are truly forgiven? Oberyn should have been born first, then Dorne would have a prince worthy of Nymeria's blood." The grieving paramour's face turned cold as Doran sat in silence, showing no sign to retort or dismiss her claims. "Do you lack the spine to defend your honor, or do you know what I say to be true?"
The Prince of Dorne considered his words carefully before answering. When he did speak, his response wasn't what any of them had expected to hear.
"Your anger blinds you Ellaria. Just as it blinds the rest of you." All save Arianne looked indignant at the remark, none more so than Obara. She was the eldest and most aggressive of Oberyn's daughters, preferring martial pursuits over elegant affairs. Obara matched her father's fiery temper but lacked his good nature. If it weren't for Areo and the rest of his guards, Doran was certain she would have leapt at him with anything within reach for saying such a thing.
"If we are blinded by anger then you are blinded by cowardice!" the Sand Snake roared, her tone matching her eyes, full of pride, anger, and bitterness. "The Lannisters and their mad dog murder my father, your own brother, and you do nothing! Just as you did nothing when the same murderers butchered your sister and her children in the Usurper's War! How much more of our blood must be shed before you act? How dare you do so little for your own family?!" By the end of her little speech Obara breathed heavily, her eyes rigidly fixated on him. Doran could feel the eyes of the entire room falling on him, all uncertain of his response. In a firm voice he put an end to their uncertainty.
"You now speak of loses you are too young to remember, of those you have never even met." By now his own voice had grown harsh, surprising all before him, even his daughter was taken off guard by this unusual display of emotion. "I do not need you to remind me of the loses I have suffered. I remember how my beloved sister Elia was raped and murdered by Gregor Clegane, at the order of Tywin Lannister. I remember how the bodies of her children were displayed before the Iron Throne and the Usurper. I remember how my uncle Lewyn Martell, who like so many of our countrymen, fought and died alongside the same prince who insulted our princess before the entire realm."
This rare show of strength left all witnesses silent as their Prince continued. "I shared my brother's outrage for what happened to Elia and her children, but by that time the war had already been lost. When Highgarden and all its banners bent the knee to Robert Baratheon, Dorne stood alone against the entire might of Westeros, and our continued defiance would have cost us more of our countrymen's lives. So yes, I made peace with the Usurper, but I have never forgotten the debt of blood owed to my house."
"A fine speech," interrupted Ellaria, "but if you truly wanted to avenge your sister, then why did you sit idle for so many years, why did you hinder your brother for so long?" Although she was still skeptical of him, Doran could hardly believe the change in Ellaria's voice. Was it newfound respect or mere curiosity?
"I am not my brother; where he was impulsive, I was patient. Where he was fierce, I was subtle. Where he was strong, I was clever. While the rest of the Seven Kingdom's looked on to see a passive and unthreatening Dornish prince, but in truth, I have spent the greater part of the last twenty years working towards the end of Tywin Lannister's legacy." By now Ellaria, the Sand Snakes and Arianne had given their undivided attention to the aging prince's words. Yet, he could still see the guarded expressions of their faces.
"While you have made misguided attempts of inciting a war, I have in part orchestrated events that will depose the Lannisters from the Iron Throne and restore a legacy long bereft of nobility and kingship. Not even Oberyn's journeys across the Narrow Sea were entirely without purpose. For years he kept me informed of the developments in Essos and of those who would be our allies… When the time was right." For a moment Ellaria was confounded by what she had heard. She had been at Oberyn's side for many of these adventures, yet in all that time the former paramour had never suspected any greater plot at work besides Oberyn's passion for life. That is when the Prince of Dorne noticed his daughter's eyes, they looked at him with reawakened pride… and pain.
"A remarkable achievement, father." even as she spoke the words, she could not hide her bitterness. "To conceal your intentions in such a way that even your eldest child couldn't see through the farce. Was I so untrustworthy that you could not share your ploys?"
"Very few are privy to such events Arianne. If word reached even one false friend, it would have meant all of our lives."
"Was Trystane privileged with such knowledge?" From that simple question, it became blatantly clear why Arianne aided the Sand Snakes. She knew that Trystane would attend Myrcella's funeral in King's Landing, where he would be a captive in all but name by Cersei. A part of Doran admired the cleverness of her scheme, while Arianne was not directly responsible for Trystane's confinement, she had obtained her greatest desire. Her rightful place as heir to Dorne.
"Your brother had no knowledge of my actions Arianne, I know it has not always been clear, but I have always recognized your abilities. It is true, at the time I planned on naming Trystane the heir to Dorne, but only because I planned a far greater role for you."
"The role of an obedient wife, promised to win the loyalty of some great lord perhaps. Was I to be traded as if I were property, with no say in my future? I am a Princess of Dorne, not livestock to be bartered off at the highest bidder."
"Yes, you are a Princess of Dorne by birth, but the pact that I made would have made you a queen." As the last word settled in her mind, Arianne's fair lips parted and closed several times, unable to respond to this. "But such plans are no longer important, for that young man died and by the time word reached Dorne the War of Five Kings had begun."
"But why didn't you choose a side in the war?" Doran turned to Nymeria, Oberyn's second eldest daughter, who was the most levelheaded of the Sand Snakes. "If Dorne had entered the war, the Lannister's would already be dead."
"Perhaps and perhaps not. Tell me, who was I to support in that conflict? Robb Stark, who had no claim to the Iron Throne or any interest in Dorne whatsoever. Balon Greyjoy, that witless pirate, who attacked a kingdom too large and defiant for his sea-raiders to hold. Either one of the Usurper's brothers? Renly, who had never fought a true battle in his life, or Stannis who lacked the support of noble houses and commoners alike. No, while these factions bled each other, Dorne has kept its strength in reserve, awaiting the right moment to strike. Neither do we stand alone against our enemies."
As if by fate's will, the doors opened to reveal an elderly woman dressed in black, but with one look all knew her to be the Queen of Thorns. Her presence certainly caused an upstart amongst the Sand Snakes.
"Is this the ally you speak of Uncle?" In her anger Obara had risen from her seat, fist clenched. "The Tyrells! They pledged to Renly before he died, then to Joffrey, and now to Tommen. Who will they follow in a week's time, the Unsullied? Their word is worth less than the contents of a chamber pot." The Queen of Thorns did not show any emotion at the insult, she merely came forward, stopping a few feet in front of Obara.
"What is your name my dear, Barbara?" At first Obara wasn't sure how to respond to the question, it certainly wasn't what she expected the old woman to say. She became irritated when she realized lady Olenna had said her name wrong.
"Obara!"
"Obara," repeated Olenna musingly, "you look like an angry little boy, don't presume to know my intentions nor about events you are clearly unaware of. So please, save yourself from further embarrassment by keeping quiet while the adults speak. Anything from the rest of you… No? Good, then let us put aside courtesy and discuss why I am here in this godforsaken desert."
Lady Olenna certainly lived up to her reputation, with but a few words she had silenced the Sand Snakes, Ellaria, and Arianne. Doran knew that this was a woman to be reckoned with, both in speech and intrigue. While the Tyrells have always played the game for their own advancement in Westeros, recent events had given them a common enemy.
"I apologize for my niece. She does not know of the loses you have suffered. She and the rest of my family have been out of touch with world events. Queen Margeary, her father, and brother were killed when Cersei destroyed the Great Sept of Baelor." A newfound silence filled the hall as the prince's family comprehended this information. Having spent the last few months confined, the would-be conspirators were cut off from the events of the world. "In her time of grief, lady Olenna has graciously agreed to meet with us to discuss terms of an alliance."
"I must admit I was surprised to hear this proposal of yours." Even as the Queen of Thorns sat down, her eyes never left prince Doran, studying him with great intent. "Considering, that the last Tyrell who set foot in Dorne was assassinated. What was it, a hundred red scorpions or something along those lines?"
"Past rivalries can be laid aside, when presented with a common enemy. You seek justice for your son and grandchildren, I seek justice for my brother and sister. It is only natural for our houses to ally against those responsible."
For a moment, lady Olenna sat quietly, undoubtedly weighing the matter, playing out all possible turn of events, and most importantly the risks and rewards. The Queen of Thorns was a master at the game, able to see through deception, outmaneuver adversaries and with a simple word change world events in her favor. A part of Doran had always admired their ingenuity, political nuance, and ambition. Afterall, these traits allowed the Tyrells to rise from the stewardship of Highgarden, to become the castle's appointed lord and master. Subsequently, the family was soon named the Wardens of the South as well, making them one of the most influential families in all of Westeros.
"Prince Doran, why would I ally myself with you when I am more than capable of avenging my family on my own? I have two more grandsons, Wylis and Garlan, both of whom are preparing the Reach for war as we speak. We possess the gold, the supplies, and the army to wage a successful campaign against Cersei's fractured hold on the Iron Throne. What is to stop us from simply marching on King's Landing, take Cersei's wretched head, and proclaim Wylis as the new king?"
The Prince of Dorne smiled, even in grief, lady Olenna was a shrewd woman, a woman who understood her advantageous position. She could not be won over with what she already possessed. No, she would require something that cannot be achieved on her own, something that secured the future of both their houses.
"For stability, something the Seven Kingdoms have lacked for some time now." At first this proposal only made house Tyrell's matriarch chuckle aloud.
"Stability? My dear, what makes you think that stability won't come with Wylis' reign? Despite what she thinks of herself, Cersei has never had the wit to rule her own children, let alone the Seven Kingdoms. She has repeatedly allowed petty grievances and victories to distract her from greater threats and achievements. By seven hells, the smallfolk despised her before she murdered their beloved Queen and destroyed their holy sept."
"No doubt your grandson would be a vast improvement over Cersei, but so was Robert to Aerys. Even in his royal court there were those who whispered Usurper behind his back. How long until your son or his son afterwards, face rebellion or the cloaked daggers within their royal courts?"
"As the brother who seeks justice for his murdered sister and Queen—"
"Whose only claim to the throne was through her marriage to two separate kings, with the legitimacy of these two brothers already in question. Such a claim may win over some minor lords, but not all of them. The Lannisters of Lannisport would claim the throne for themselves, inciting further conflict. The Stormlands are divided, with every house with blood-ties to the Baratheons vying for dominance. The Riverlands are in flames yet again, and the Vale remains shut behind the Bloody Gate. As for the North, the last raven we received told us a civil war was about to break loose."
From the look in her eyes, Doran knew that the Queen of Thorns saw reason in his words. The Seven Kingdoms would face endless conflict without someone with an undeniable claim to the crown. Without that the realm was in danger of reverting back to the Age of Heroes, when every man called himself a king and waged war to make it a reality.
"So, what is it that you propose, Prince Doran? Do we turn to the Seven and pray they reveal the person with the means and right to rule or should we carry on with this meaningless debate?"
"My dear Lady," a new gentle voice spoke from the shadows. It was a voice that she had not heard in some time but recognized immediately. Before them now stood the former Master of Whispers, the Spider in the garden, Lord Varys. "We needn't bother the gods to find such a person, we need only look across the Narrow Sea. There we will find someone, with a strong army, and an even stronger claim to the throne. Whose family once united the Seven Kingdoms and their quarrelsome lords and ladies under a simple promise. A promise of Fire and Blood."
Remote field on the Stark lands
The late morning air was cold and crisp as a light snow began to fall. The field was empty for miles in every direction, save for the snow-clad hills and sloping rocks. The only sign of any manmade structure were a few erected stones inscribed with ancient runes, their meaning long forgotten by the descendants of those who made them, and an ironwood stump. The utter silence of this ancient site was only disturbed by the neighing of horses and occasional creek of shifting metal as a group of soldiers approached. At the head of the group was Jon Snow, who at the behest of his sister had taken up their family name of Stark.
It had been something he had dreamed of all his life, to be recognized and accepted as a Stark, just like his brothers, sisters, and father. But now that he had the name, the young king felt he hadn't earned it. Despite all that he had done for his family and the North, it felt like a ruse, like he was still a boy playing at being something he wasn't. In his heart he knew that part of him would always be a Snow, regardless of what others called him. But whether he was a Stark or a Snow, that did not change his purpose for being here. Like his father, grandfather and ancient forebearers, he came here to fulfill his sworn duty.
Yet, as he gazed upon the worn stones and petrified stump, the White Wolf couldn't help reminiscing about the last time he had set foot here. The shades of his father, Ser Rodrik, Robb, Jory, even Theon Greyjoy stood amidst the stones, while young Brandon stood anxiously at his side. His last words to his little brother echoed in his mind. Don't look away, father will know if you do. He remembered how proud he was of Bran for handling the sight of the execution so well. Some would consider it barbaric for a child to witness such a thing, but it taught an important lesson, one that many lords in the south had forgotten.
The man that passes the sentence should swing the sword, as his father had told him and the rest of his brothers so many times. It gave weight to the knowledge that the lives of others rested in their hands. They could not take this matter lightly nor should they seek to pass this burden onto others. If they were to take another's life, they owed it to that person to look them in the eyes and hear their final words. Even for the likes of Barbrey Dustin.
As Jon looked towards the horses, he saw Barbrey being escorted by two of his guards. The northern king noticed that the condemned woman did not resist or struggle with her guards. She walked unhindered with dignity; her head held high. If she was experiencing any fear, she hid it well. A great anger took hold of him, this woman had no remorse for her actions, for handing Rickon over to Ramsay, for betraying her fellow northerners, and for all the death that transpired during the Battle of the Bastards. Even now, Jon was tempted to have her hanged instead.
Sansa had adamantly argued that hanging was a fitting punishment for her crimes and that it would serve as a warning to their enemies, both within and outside their borders. If he hadn't met with lord Ryswell, he may have agreed. It occurred merely a day after lady Dustin's trial. The trial itself was swift, since the former lady admitted to her guilt, having kidnapped, and delivered the rightful heir to Winterfell to the murderer Ramsay Bolton. By the condition of Lord Ryswell and his company's horses, they had ridden at great haste in hopes of reaching the castle before it was too late. Many whispered behind the aging lord's back, that it was only fitting for one turncoat to barter for the life of another. Yet, such insults did not phase the man before him, nor did they prevent him from asking a private audience with the newly declared King in the North. From that audience the young king remembered their conversation vividly.
[Winterfell, two days ago]
Once the great hall was empty, the two northern warriors met each other's gaze. While they were both weary of the other, that did not prevent them from showing the proper respect for their station. As was custom by the old ways of the North, Jon bid lord Ryswell welcome to Winterfell, offering him and his company safe lodging for the entirety of their stay.
"Your Grace," replied the lord of the Rills as he bowed his head and bent the knee to him. "I come before you this day for two reasons. The first is to pledge my house's fealty to yours, to answer when called upon, to draw steel against your enemies and to break fast with your allies. By the old gods I swear this." Lord Ryswell waited on bended knee for Jon to recite his oath as liege lord, pledging the king's protection to the elderly lord and his household in the winter storms to follow.
While this was certainly more than what he had hoped for, Jon felt wary of this oath, having seen the dangers of blind trust from his brother's demise and his own experience at the Wall. It did not escape the northern monarch, that lord Ryswell hadn't revealed his second purpose for being here, yet he already had some notion as to what it could be., Still this meant securing another region of the North, more soldiers to face the Night King, and a greater chance of seeing the Long Night's end.
"Lord Ryswell," Jon stated in a firm voice, as he stepped towards his potential bannerman. "As your king and liege lord, I swear that you and your household will always find safe-haven in my halls. I swear to never ask any deed of you that would bring dishonor. I swear to uphold the laws of our forbearers, and to meet out injustice with steel. I swear this by the old gods."
The reaffirmed Lord of the Rills stood meeting his king's gaze, his eyes showing weariness and anguish. Clearly the next matter he wished to discuss had weighed heavily on his heart and mind.
"Your Grace, I now must ask a great favor of you, that you show my daughter mercy-"
"Lady Dustin has been sentenced to death," Jon stated firmly, his voice becoming edgy at the very mention of her name. "She betrayed her oath to house Stark when she handed my little brother over to Ramsay Bolton. Her hands are just as stained with his blood as that monster. I cannot forget this, and I will not forgive it." Even if he wanted to pardon her, such an act would sow a rift between him and Sansa, as well as the lords who supported them. Granting her a pardon would be an insult to all the men who fought, bled, and died for their cause.
"And how many brothers have been slain by your hands?" the old warrior asked, shaking Jon to his very core. "How many fathers and sons? How many wives and daughters have cried out for loved ones who will never return? How many White Wolf?" For a moment he stood there silently, his mind racing with all the faces of those who were dead because of him; The Half-Hand, Mance Rayder, Janos Slynt, Olly, Alliser Thorne, Ygritte and all those whose names he had never learned. During each conflict, he'd taken their lives for justice, duty, and survival, yet there were nights where the young warrior would lay awake, haunted by the trail of death that followed in his wake. Was this all he was good at, killing? Making choices that cost him everyone he held dear? His moment of weakness ended when his guest spoke again.
"During your time as Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, you must have heard the story of the seventy-nine deserters." Even as he spoke, the man before him had aged twenty years, leaving only a mournfully old man in his place. When Jon replied that he had, he couldn't help but wonder where Lord Ryswell was going with this. "Then you know that one of those deserters was the youngest son of my ancestor, and when he returned home to his father in search of sanctuary, my ancestor marched him and his companions back to the Wall to face punishment for their actions. For abandoning their watch, they were all sealed within the Wall so that they could never do so again." Tears were beginning to well within Ryswell's eyes, a rare sight among the northern lords, who prided themselves for their strength and valor.
"That story has been passed down my family for generations, from father to son, serving as a lesson of duty. But I didn't understand the full weight of this lesson… until now. Now I know what my ancestor must have felt when faced with this decision. I know my daughter's crimes are grave and that she must atone for them with… with her life."
"If you know that I cannot spare her life, what is it that you want?"
"I come to ask that you let my daughter die with dignity. That she is given a clean death, not strung up like some prize game bird or torn apart like the Bastard of Bolton. Let her die in the Old Way, our people's way, and when it is down let me take her home… her true home, where she can be laid to rest beside her mother." The King in the North realized this was not the request of a proud lord bartering with his own fealty, but that of a father wanting his child's ordeal to end as swiftly as possible. For half a moment, Jon saw his father in Ryswell's stead. There was no doubt in his mind that his father, would have made the same request for any of his children, even for him.
"On the marrow, Lady Dustin will answer for her crimes… in accordance with our traditions," even as he said the words, it was difficult for him to rise above his hatred for the woman, but this wasn't for her, it was for her family. "And when her sentenced is carried out, her body will be returned to you, so that you may bury her accordingly in your family crypt."
"Thank you, my king," said Lord Ryswell, a single tear sliding down his worn and aged face, as the master of the Rills knelt before him once more. "Years ago, I placed the advancement of my house before my daughter's wellbeing and stood by as she was consumed by bitterness and grief. It seems that the gods have decided to punish me for my failures as a father. For as I stood idle as she suffered in life, I must now stand idle as she dies. Thank you, for letting me do this one thing right by her." Jon watched as his bannerman rose to his feet and made his way to leave the great hall.
"Lord Ryswell," he called out, stopping him before he reached the door. "If you wish to speak with your daughter, then I will inform the guards to allow you and you alone to pass, unarmed." With that said the Lord of the Rills nodded in silence, unable to express the gratitude he felt.
[End of Flashback}
The snow crunched as Lady Dustin approached the Ironwood stump, bringing Jon back to his surroundings. She showed no emotions as she stood there unfastening her fur cloak, letting it fall from her shoulders and onto the snow. Without a word, or duress from his guards, she knelt on the ground and placed her neck graciously on the headsman's block. Stepping forward, he drew Longclaw from its scabbard, resting the tip of the blade on the ground. It felt strange standing in the same place his father had all those years ago. Did his father ever question his own honor, like he did. Did he question his right to pass judgement onto others?
Such questions would have to wait, as all eyes watched him intently, he could not afford to look weak before them. For this was his first true act as king, establishing his authority over the northmen and the knights of the Vale.
"Barbrey Dustin, Lady of Barrowton," the king declared, his voice stoic and firm as he gripped the handle of his blade. "By the laws of the Andals and the First Men, I Jon… of house Stark, Lord of Winterfell, and King in the North, sentence you to die. If you have any final words, speak them now."
As she lifted her eyes to meet his gaze, the lady of Barrowton maintained her stalwart demeanor. With one look into her eyes, the former brother of the Night's Watch knew she would not beg for her life like Janos Slynt She was of the blood of the First Men, different from the rest of Westeros. Both proud and abstinent in the face of adversity, even in the face of death.
"Wage your war bastard king," she remarked coldly, fixing her gaze on the horizon. "Perhaps your reign will fare better than your predecessor's… or perhaps you'll lead our countrymen to death and ruin. Pray that the gods are merciful, you will need it for what comes next. Whether your enemies are to the south, beyond the Wall, or within your own keep, they will come for you. You and your kin will never rest peacefully on your throne."
The traitor nodded her head as she closed her eyes, telling Jon she had said her peace and was ready. As the White Wolf lifted Longclaw overhead, his surroundings began to fade, in that moment there was only him and Barbrey Dustin. When that moment ended the valyrian sword cut through the air and lady Dustin's neck in a single stroke. As her head fell to the ground, a spurt of blood erupted from her neck and began to pool in the snow. When Jon looked down at her body, he felt a wave of tangled emotions come over him: Closure for Rickon, enduring hatred for her, and fear for his own soul. This was not the first woman he had killed, having fought the spearwives of the Free Folk, but it was the first time he had killed a woman in such a manner.
Despite what he felt towards the traitor, carrying out her execution still shook him. Concealing his shaking hand beneath his cloak, he handed Longclaw to one of his guards, before making his way to the horses. In a grim way, it was comforting to know that killing still affected him so, it meant that some part of him was still good. Yet as king, Jon wondered if he would remain so by the end of the coming war. The former lord commander had no delusions that they could win the War for the Dawn without great loses. There was no guarantee that they would even win, not unless they made hard choices, choices that they would not normally make. 'I swear to you father, I will do everything I can to ensure the survival of every man, woman, and unborn child.'
A vessel crossing the Narrow Sea
As the bow of the ship bobbed against the coming waves, the crew went about their duties with great care and skill. Most had spent their entire lives before the mast and where accustomed to the changing currents of the sea. However, not everyone handled the motion of the currents very well. Lord Tyrion found himself leaning against the railing of the upper deck, desperately trying to keep down what little breakfast he managed to eat. This venture marked his third prolonged journey by ship, all rather unpleasant experiences on his account. Even though this one was far more comfortable than the first two, it solidified his preference for travel by land.
"Lord Tyrion," inquired the beautiful Missandei as she approached the half-man. "Are you well?" Ever since their first meeting, lady Missandei had proven to be a kind and intelligent woman. In fact, Tyrion found her company to be rather refreshing, she was quite different from the mad tyrants, cold hearted murderers, and lying opportunists he called family. This girl was only concerned with serving her queen to the best of her ability. Missandei was certainly better company than Greyworm and Ser Barristan. The former, due to his horrific upbringing, was a soldier down to his very being. In his mind there were only the Queen's allies and her enemies (having sworn to kill the latter of the two).
Barristan Selmy on the other hand, while more respectful than most of his former sworn brothers, openly expressed his distrust in him. But that was to be expected, Tyrion had admitted to murdering his own father and such an act could never be condoned by an honorable man like Ser Barristan. Still the Lord Commander of the Queensguard could not deny the merits of having him on their side. He had a greater understanding of their enemies and the game of politics than anyone else, save for the absent lord Varys.
"I've suffered worse my lady, I assure you," he replied taking an unbalanced step towards the stairway. "Considering how my last journey across the Narrow Sea went, a bit of seasickness is an improvement. The fine company aboard this vessel is certainly appreciated as well."
"I don't believe you told us what exactly transpired on that first voyage. Would you be kind enough to share it with me?" The Hand of the Queen knew what she was doing, she was trying to take his mind off the motions of the boat, and he appreciated it.
"I'm afraid it is not the most exciting or pleasant of experiences, it consisted mostly of being sealed within a wooden crate, surviving on whatever scraps were stuffed through a small hole, and-"
For a moment he was uncertain whether he should finish his story, considering that it entailed shoveling his own shit through the same hole he had mentioned. Thankfully, lady Missandei finished it far more eloquently than he ever could.
"-And disposing of certain waste, my Lord," the translator said, fighting the to urge to smirk. This elicited a smirk of his own, he had to remember that this girl had experienced many unpleasant events in her formative years, she wouldn't be put off by more vulgar language.
"Indeed, not one of my finest moments, but I endured it with as much dignity as possible for a drunken dwarf fleeing from his home." For a moment, Tyrion felt the weight of all the events in his life bearing down on him. From the countless jests made at his expense, to murdering his father with a crossbow and… and strangling Shae with the very necklace he had made for her. He suddenly felt the need for a strong drink, stronger than his usual vintage of wine.
"My lord?" Missandei's gentle voice brought him back to reality.
"Don't mind me, my mind is so complex, even I get lost within it sometimes. Perhaps if you have time later this evening, I could regal you with the tale of my voyage through the Doom of Valyria with Ser Jorah. It makes for a much more entertaining story, with deranged stone-men, a wonderous dragon, and the famous fellowship of northerners." Long sullen silences and the occasional punch to the face. The Mormont way, Tyrion thought, recalling Ser Jorah's reaction to his barbed remarks.
"It would be my pleasure, lord Tyrion," Missandei replied bowing her head. As the half-man returned the bowed to the former slave, he noticed that his stomach felt more at ease. Heading towards the Queen's cabin, the exiled lord thought it best to address a growing concern before reaching Dragonstone, the now vacant seat of Stannis Baratheon. As he approached, he noted the unwavering stance of the two Unsullied guards at her door. Even in the middle of the sea they are vigilant for any danger, he was their devotion to the Breaker of Chains, the woman who had in a few short years changed the course of Essos for the better.
An impressive start, he admitted, but Westeros is an entirely different theatre. After Tyrion knocked on her door, he waited for the Queen's consent to enter. When he received it, the Lord Hand found his Queen speaking with Ser Barristan, enjoying a glass of wine as well. However, the topic they were discussing must have been complicated, for the Mother of Dragons seemed wistful and resolved at the same time.
"Lord Tyrion," acknowledged Queen Daenerys, baying him to come closer. As he obeyed the Hand of the Queen received a respectful 'my lord,' from the legendary knight. "Ser Barristan and I were discussing my brother Rhaegar, regarding who he was and what was said of him after his death. Tell me, what do you make of Robert's claims about him?"
A test no doubt, Tyrion thought, to see whether I will tell her the truth or what I think she wants to hear. He took a moment to compose himself, thinking of the best way to answer.
"It is difficult for me to say your grace, I never met your brother and was only a child when he died. However, I am smart enough to know that Robert Baratheon's view of him was biased. He hated Rhaegar the very moment he disappeared with Lyanna Stark. However, there are others who speak of his faults as well as his merits."
"And what of Lyanna," the Queen asked, "Do you believe that my brother actually kidnapped her, keeping her locked away in a tower."
"I've heard many versions of that story, the loudest came from King Robert, and since he was king his version was called the truth. But once every full moon, I heard it whispered in washrooms, stables, and kitchens, that Lyanna left with the prince willingly. Whatever the truth is, I doubt we will discover it from bitter drunks or gossiping servants."
"Well said, but what am I to think of him, when one person says one thing and the other says the opposite?" Her eyes were now fixated on him, they were firm yet serene at the same time. "Was he the noble prince that was beloved by his people, or a madman like my father and second brother Viserys?" A valid point, considering that many Targaryen rulers were well loved at first, until the madness soured their reign.
"Perhaps your brother was noble, with the best intentions for his people, but in the end his actions at Harrenhal; divided the realm, cost his house the Iron Throne, and thousands of innocence their lives, including his wife and children. Anything else is a debate worthy of the philosophers." For a moment they all stood in silence, until the Dragon Queen placed her glass on the table.
"You are right," Daenerys said solemnly, lowering her gaze for half a moment. "My brother acted on his own, without consulting with those who might have advised against such actions. Because of this mistake, he lost everything he held dear; his family, his kingdom, and his life. That is why I need you and Ser Barristan, to tell me what I do not wish to hear and remind me of what I mustn't become." Tyrion could see that Ser Barristan felt this burden weighing down on him, as much as it did on the dwarf.
"Then as your advisor," began Tyrion, reaching to pour his own glass of wine, "I feel I must discuss a sensitive matter, regarding the Dothraki."
"The bulk of my army, you mean," she said arching her brow.
"Yes, the part of your army that may drive away the people you wish to rule." Taking a long draught of his sweet wine, Tyrion looked Daenerys straight in the eye as he spoke. "When Cersei learns of our approach and that the Dothraki sail with us, she will spin the tale that the last Targaryen has brought the savage horde to pillage the countryside until you reclaimed your family's lost crown."
"Which is far from what I intend to do," the young queen stated firmly. "I will not buy back the Iron Throne with the blood of innocence."
"Regardless, that is what the common people and nobles alike will believe and for good reason. For the Dothraki, pillaging is as much a second nature to them as riding their horses."
"The khals have all sworn to obey my commands, if I command them to stand down, they along with their blood-riders will do so."
"When in your presence yes, but can you guarantee that all of them will stay in line when left on their own?" the Hand of the Queen countered. When the queen did not respond, knowing the answer to his question, he continued. "Even with all three of your dragons, you cannot be everywhere or watch every soldier under your command. Every drop of innocent blood shed by the Dothraki will be used as a rallying cry against you. Instead of a swift victory, you would face a prolonged civil strife with the very people you wish to rule."
"And what is that you would advise, Lord Tyrion? That I send them back to Essos, leaving us only with the Unsullied and the Greyjoy fleet to fight in the campaign?"
"No, keep them in reserve while Varys secures the support of Dorne and the Reach. With their support and combined forces we'll no longer appear as the foreign invaders, trying to impose their will on the people."
"You believe that Varys can win their support?" Her skepticism was warranted, she had never met the man, hearing stories how he, under Robert's orders, sent the daggers after her and Viserys throughout their childhood. In fact, the only assurance she had of his loyalty was Tyrion's word and not even he fully understood what transpired in the Spider's mind. However, he had come to trust Varys, more so than anyone in King's Landing.
"Varys has apparently been in collaboration with Dorne for decades, so it is a matter of convincing the Queen of Thorns. Undoubtably, she will make certain demands on behalf of her house, but in the end, she will see the merits of an alliance. Although, he may suffer a few barbs from the woman, Varys is more than capable of bringing her to the table. He is almost as persuasive as I am."
"Ser Barristan, your thoughts on this matter?"
The legendary knight considered everything he had heard, before turning to his Queen. In the brief time he spent with them, it was apparent to Tyrion that Ser Barristan's opinion had great weight with the last Targaryen.
"Your Grace, I believe lord Tyrion is right, the Dothraki while capable fighters in any battle, they do not know how to keep the peace. They only respect strength and would fall upon the smallfolk." The queen considered their words before making her final decision on the matter.
"Very well," the Mother of Dragon said, with greater certainty in her voice than before. "The Dothraki will only be used in direct combat with our enemy's armies, while the allies awaiting us in Westeros will have the charge of maintaining the Queen's Peace." Wishing to retire, the dragon queen bayed them to leave for the evening.
As Tyrion left the Queen's cabin, he noticed the look of relief on Ser Barristan's face. Considering how long he served under the Mad King, Tyrion understood why he was so concerned with Daenerys' actions. The old knight did not wish to spend the remainder of his life in the service of another mad ruler. She may prove a great ruler, the half-man thought, who knows she may prove the greatest ruler in the last century.
Winterfell
The great hall of Winterfell echoed with noise as the servants prepared for this evening's feast. It was the first feast since the return of the castle's rightful master. But what truly motivated such diligence was that it welcomed the first Stark King to reside in the North since Torrhen Stark. Sansa supervised all the necessary arrangements, as the Lady of Winterfell such things were her responsibility. At first, it felt strange being in her mother's place, the auburn-haired Stark had spent so much time wishing to be in the southern court, that she overlooked her mother's role in the North.
While many saw this feast as a mere celebration for the return of the Starks, Sansa and her brother understood what it really was, a gathering to consolidate the Northern Realm. Many decisions would be made this evening, decisions that could very well mean their lives. She discussed several matters already with her brother, regarding the Barrowlands, rewarding those who answered their call, and the dangers Littlefinger posed to them.
There was no doubt in her mind that he was the greatest threat within their walls. After witnessing all that he had done to get what he wanted, Sansa knew his promises, however alluring, served his interests and his interests alone. He had to be watched, thwarted at certain turns, and if necessary, dealt with permanently.
The Lady of Winterfell had already taken steps to undermine the man's endeavors. Speaking to those who could be swayed to their cause, weakening his standing with the Knights of the Vale, and to limit his influence in the northern court. Certain actions and promises would be needed to accomplish this. It was a daunting task on its own, made worse by Baelish's ability to adapt his plans to accommodate transpiring events.
"My lady," remarked Brianne, placing a gauntlet covered hand on her shoulder. Her sworn shield gestured towards the far end of the hall, where someone lingered in the doorway. Speak of the Stranger and before your eyes he shall appear in the halls of your father, Sansa mentally recited as she looked upon lord Baelish, reminded of her lessons with Septa Mordane. Death and despair certainly followed in Baelish's wake, but unlike the Stranger, he was of flesh and blood. This made him venerable… and more dangerous at the same time.
Knowing that he would not leave without speaking to her, Sansa excused herself from the hall with Brienne following close behind. Without a single word the three of them found a private corridor to speak freely,
"Lurking in the shadows, Lord Baelish?" remarked Sansa, locking eyes with the infamous moneylender. "I would have thought you'd seek an audience much sooner."
"My apologies, lady Stark." He replied, maintaining a small distance between them, out of fear of Brienne no doubt. "But I did not wish to trouble you during such demanding times, brought about by a historic event. I must admit, I have always prided myself for predicting the actions and movements of the great lords of Westeros, but what occurred here surprised me. I wonder as to how a child, such as Lady Moment, came to such a bold notion?"
"Lady Lyanna is a daughter of the North," the rising lady answered, taking a step closer to the former master of coin. "They lose interest in dolls and elegant songs and turn their attentions to more practical things. Rather than let others decide her fate, she charts her own course."
"An admirable trait," Littlefinger replied with a half smirk, "One that many would benefit from. Yet, when charting one's own course, the wise assess not only their goals, but their surroundings and the risks they may face. That is why I've spent the last few days reassessing my position, of what I can offer both you and our new King."
"And what is it you have to offer, lord Baelish? The Knights of the Vale have already declared for my brother and more northern lord's rally to our banner every day."
"Leading an army is not the same as ruling a kingdom, as your brother Robb learned all too well. If our king is to avoid the same fate, he must know when to be honorable and when to be… practical. I told your father as much, but sadly he placed too much faith in honor and too little credence behind Lannister coin." The mention of her father and brother made Sansa bristle and she chastised herself for it. Baelish deliberately mention her murdered family to unbalance her.
"That is why I offer all my connections to the South. From my experiences, a mere whisper can decide a battle before it even begins. It proves a simple truth, that knowledge is power."
"Really Lord Baelish?" she replied composing herself as she challenged Baelish's claim. I would have thought you severed all your ties to the South when you broke faith with the Lannisters."
"When given a choice between two patrons, spies always pick the man that pays them the most. However, a more lucrative investment I can offer is the city of Gulltown." Sansa recognized the city immediately, Gulltown had been the sight of Robert's first battle, when he and her father rebelled against the Mad King. Without the taking of the port city, her father wouldn't have been able to return North and call the banners. Gulltown also proved to be one of the largest centers of trade in Westeros. "As a long-time friend to lord Grafton and the merchant's guild, I can convince them to divert their revenues to the royal coffers."
"Then perhaps your place is in Gulltown," concluded Sansa, hoping to unsettle Littlefinger with the prospect of being sent away from the royal court. "Surely, you could better oversee such financial transactions in person. With winter here, I worry how you will fare in the harsh conditions. Mockingbirds so rarely find a haven in these parts."
Unfazed by her suggestion and veiled threat, the unscrupulous Lord of the Fingers merely smiled. "You needn't worry, my Lady. The most gifted of mockingbirds can find refuge in any land, provided that they sing the right tune." He then bowed courteously before leaving Sansa to consider his offer. However, she would not let him have the last word.
"Lord Baelish," the Lady of Winterfell called out sternly, stopping him in his tracks. "Have a care what song you sing, wolves have keen ears and can be most unforgiving." For a moment Littlefinger seemed intrigued by her remark. Perhaps he was taking her seriously as a newcomer to the game. But before he could reply, she turned on her heals and returned to the great hall. However, her thoughts no longer dwelt of the feast itself, but towards Baelish's downfall.
000
[Several hours later]
The feast was in full swing, as the hall echoed in laughter, music and the crack of the fireplace. There was no short supply of food or drink for the many lords and ladies in attendance. Although Jon spoke to their guest warmly and drank to their health, his mind was focused on tonight's intended goals, the ones discussed by him, his sister and Ser Davos. As the White Wolf looked out from the king's table, he saw the faces of friends and enemies alike.
Lord Wull and Tormund were in a game of cups, with many circling and cheering them on. Currently Hugo Wull was in the lead, one cup ahead of the Wildling leader. But knowing his friend, Jon knew he wasn't beaten yet. Further down the hall, he noticed Yohn Royce, Brynden Tully, and Mors Umber talking, unbeatably discussing the state of their armies. Given their extensive years of military service, Jon invited them all to sit on his military council when the time came. Keeping to themselves, Lord Ryswell and his sons still grieved for Barbrey. Although he believed their oaths of fealty, he agreed with his sister that they should watch them closely.
The young king noticed Rodrik Forrester sitting by the fireplace with his reunited family. His siblings Talia and Ryan, along with his beloved Elaena Glenmore who was holding their young son Asher. It was reassuring to see at least one family reunited in these dark times, even more so knowing that they were, for the time being, set on returning to Ironrath. As a reward for his service in the Battle of the Bastards, Rodrik had been granted back his ancestral home and all its intended lands, with reparations from house Whitehill. The reaffirmed Lord of Ironrath gave his word that once his family had settled into their home, he would return with as many men as possible.
As a commander, Jon recognized the value having such a capable soldier in his service, but part of him still regrated taking him from his family. This is the reality of war, he thought, the only hope for all our families is to stand together.
Unfortunately, his mood soured at the sight of lord Baelish, who upon noticing his gaze lifted his cup as a toast. The arrogance of the man, who not so long-ago traded Sansa to the Boltons. His sister also informed him that Baelish had a hand in murdering Joffrey at the Purple Wedding, and while he had no qualm with the Lannister's death, it made him more wary of the man. There was a serpent in their midst, one that had to be dealt with carefully.
The light touch of his sister's hand on his shoulder garnered his attention. Just by meeting her eyes, he knew it was time. As the King in the North stood, the hall grew silent awaiting his words.
"My lords and ladies," Jon said for all to hear. "My sister and I are honored to house all of you under our roof, we hope that this night has forged stronger friendships between the Northmen and our new brothers of the Vale." At this the attending lords and ladies cheered and raised their cups to toast their alliance. "But now we must discuss matters of the realm. Lord Manderly."
As the master of White Harbor step forward, with flecks of Lamprey-pie stuck in his beard, "My brother Robb, once charged you with the construction of a northern fleet and to my understanding, over fifty longships and war gallies have already been constructed, with many more on the way."
"It is as you say, your Grace," remarked lord Manderly with great pride, "The mightiest fleet the North has seen since the days of Brandon the Shipwright. Every vessel captained by seasoned mariners, all of whom eagerly await your command."
"The time will come for their skill and service, but until that time comes I would have you consult with Ser Davos of house Seaworth, for the continued maintenance of the fleet. His lifetime of naval experience will prove invaluable to you." At the mention of his name the Onion Knight stood from his seat, bowing his head to Lord Manderly.
"It will be an honor to be of service to you my llord," replied the former smuggler.
"The honor is mine, Ser Davos," replied the Merman lord most courteously, returning the bow to his sea-faring counterpart. Both men were met with a barrage of applause and banging of cups against wooden tables.
"Larence Snow," Jon continued. As the bastard of the late Lord Hornwood approached, the former Snow saw much of himself in the boy. Eager to prove himself to his father's memory and bound by a sense of honor. "In house Stark's time of need, you led your father's men at arms to our aid. Kneel Larence Snow."
As the boy obeyed his king's command, Jon produced a royal decree, written and signed by him and his sister. "From this day forth, you are Larence Hornwood, son and heir of Hylis Hornwood, Lord or Hornwood Keep and all its lands."
"Thank you, my King," exclaimed the red-haired boy, his voice beaming with pride and gratitude.
"And know that the Bolton lands south of the Weeping Water, are here by granted to your house, in repayment for your courage and loyalty." To this the former Snow had no words to express himself. It was only when the cheers of approval erupted around him that the new Lord Hornwood rose from his knees, took the decree in hand, and return to his companions.
"As for the Dreadfort itself," Declared the wolf king, "it will act as a garrison fort for the Knights of the Vale, under the direct command of Yohn Royce." In his mind, there was no doubt that Yohn Royce was the man for the task. The Bronze Lord was a respected warrior and commander, his discipline could keep the Bolton soldiers, who had been pardoned, well in line.
The next to be called upon was Nestor Royce, Yohn Royce's cousin, who had served as the High Steward of the Vale during Jon Arryn's time as Hand of the King. This elicited a few surprised looks from the rest of the assembly, for Nestor Royce was the head of a cadet branch of house Royce. That fact alone compelled many to overlook the minor lord, much to his chagrin.
"In Jon Arryn's absence, you governed the Vale dutifully and you did it well. With the end of house Dustin and no clear heir to the Barrowlands, I grant you the Stewardship of Barrowton and its intended lands and holdings." To say this shocked lord Nestor, as well as everyone else in the hall, was an understatement. Why give such a historic keep and vast region to a minor lord from the Vale, rather than a northern family? He and his sister had done so because Nestor Royce begrudgingly supported lord Baelish. While a minor lord, the name Royce still gave credence to Baelish within the Vale
When Sansa presented this scheme to him, he thought it a mistake to give a supporter of Littlefinger greater say in the North. But his sister allayed his worries when she said that lord Nestor had no love for Baelish, having only been bought to his side with the Gate of the Moon. Jon could still hear her exact words about swaying Nestor to their side.
'Who would he rather serve? A man he dislikes, who granted him a small castle, or a family he greatly admires, who are willing to bestow upon him a greater keep and its vast lands?'.
"Should you serve your station well Lord Nestor, and no stronger claim can be found within the next full moon, then Barrowton and the surrounding lands will be bestowed upon you and your sons."
"I… I… thank you, your Grace, "stammered lord Nestor as he knelt before them. "I swear by the Seven, you will not regret your faith in me." Another round of applause arose, but not as loud or consistent as before. For a moment it appeared that this evening was finished, having secured greater unity for the Northern Realm. However, that moment ended when Baelish approached the high table.
"My King," he said, bending the knee to him. "It saddens me to bring grim news on this joyous occasion, but tidings from the South have reached my ear." Drawing everyone's attention to him, Littlefinger rose to his feet to address them all. "King Tommen and Queen Margaery are dead, the Great Sept of Baelor has been destroyed and Cersei Lannister now sits on the Iron Throne."
Those few who didn'y voice their disbelief, merely stood silent unable to comprehend what they had heard. Jon looked to his sister and Ser Davos; both shared his concern. Under Cersei, there was no chance of peace between the two kingdoms. From what Sansa told him about the former wife of Robert Baratheon, she would see all their heads on pikes before relinquishing control of all Seven Kingdoms. War would come from the South first. And when both sides finish bleeding each other, there won't be anyone strong enough to survive the Long Night, thought the King in the North, cursing under his breath.
"Are you certain of this," inquired Ser Davos, "During my time at sea I heard many things, but I could never vouch for them unless I knew the man or saw them with my own eyes."
"I can assure you Ser, that it is so," Baelish replied, turning his attention back to him and Sansa. "During my last visit to King's Landing the Faith Militant ruled the city in all but name, with tensions rising between the crown and the faith. It is said that Queen Cersei, set the Sept of Baelor aflame with Wildfire, killing all her enemies and thousands of innocents caught in the blast." At this revelation many of the Knights of the Vale, openly spat and cursed Cersei's name. In their eyes the destruction of the great sept was an affront to the Seven Gods themselves.
"Now that she has destroyed her enemies at home, how long until she turns her attention Northward?" asked Baelish, fanning the flames of outrage within their guests. "The Wall stands between us and Night King, what stands between us and the armies of the south? The safest course for us is to put an end to the southern threat before it comes to us."
Jon realized what Baelish intentions were, the moneylender was trying to force their hand, to commit to a southern campaign. Now that the northern lords and the knights of the Vale were given a more precedent enemy, they sought to avenge past wrongs by the Lannisters. He had to act swiftly if was to avert this. The sudden call for war only abated when the White Wolf stepped forward.
"Tell me Lord Baelish, how many fathers, brothers, and sons are we to sacrifice on this march to King's Landing?" Their king's question caught many of them off guard, eliciting murmurs throughout the hall. "My brother marched his army south to rescue our father, but when Joffrey executed him, Robb chose to stay in the south to avenge him. He chose to fight on their terms, trapped in Riverlands while the North was savaged by the Greyjoys."
Jon's words had the effect he hoped for, reminding them of the losses they had all suffered in the War of the Five Kings. "I loved my brother with all my heart, but I will not make the same mistakes as him. I will fight the Lannisters on our terms, I would have them bloody their armies against Moat Cailin and the Bloody Gate. Legendary keeps, that have never been taken by force."
The former brother of the Night's Watch could see that he was winning the lords over. His plan was sound, forcing their enemies to exhaust themselves traversing the natural defenses of their lands, leaving them vulnerable to a counterattack, all but assuring victory. However, this didn't daunt Baelish's resolve.
"It took an alliance between the North, the Vale, Stormlands and Riverlands to overcome the Iron Throne," he said, attempting a different approach. "It will take more than that to overcome the Night King."
"The Stormlands only followed house Baratheon, and that house died with Stannis. As for the other kingdoms, house Stark has no claim to them or the Iron Throne." Jon countered, wondering where his adversary was going with this notion. His concerns grew as he noticed the smirk on Littlefinger's face
"The name of Baratheon may be spent, but not its blood." A new silence took hold in the great hall. "Five years ago, Cersei ordered all of Robert's illegitimate children slaughtered to protect her children's claim to the throne. Her hounds were relentless in their hunt, but one child was kept safe. Robert's eldest child, Mya Stone of the Vale."
Jon's eyes widened as the rest of the hall erupted into undiscernible conversations. A living child of King Robert changed everything. Baseborn or not, as the daughter of the still beloved king, this girl possessed a greater claim to the Iron Throne than Cersei could ever hope for. Yet, as they discussed this Mya Stone, the former bastard of Winterfell felt pity for her, knowing too well the stigma of being born out of wedlock. He was lucky, he had been raised in the hall of his father alongside his trueborn siblings, most were ignored… or worse.
"My King," Baelish's voice brought the King in the North out of his musings. "Robert Baratheon hoped a union between the crowned stag and the direwolf would bring prosperity to the realms of men. Perhaps a union can still save them from the Long Night."
Jon's heart stopped at the suggestion. He swore on his father's memory to fight for the living, to lay down his life, if need be, but the prospect of marrying someone he didn't even know had never crossed his mind. As the dilemma swirled in his mind, the young king realized that this girl was facing the same prospect. If he said the word, she would be bound to his side, without any say on her behalf. His sister had suffered this indignity twice, for that alone he would refuse such a ploy. But there was another reason as well, a more painful reason.
As much as it pained him, part of his heart still belonged to Ygritte; the woman he had spared, the only woman he ever lay with, and the woman who died in his arms. In that moment, he prayed to all the gods to spare her, to let them return to that cave, and forget the rest of the world. But they were silent as ever, leaving the heartbroken boy with only sorrow and regret.
She wasn't enough to turn you, aye? Mance Rayder's words haunted Jon deeply, for they were true. He had chosen to return to Castle Black rather than stay with her. He honored his vow because it was the right thing to do… for the realm. He placed his duty before his feelings. As a member of the Night's Watch, it was his duty to protect his sworn brothers. As a king, it was his duty to protect his people from their enemies, both the living and the dead, no matter the cost.
Gods forgive me, he thought as the king made his decision.
And that is chapter 4, again my apologies for how long it has been. I spent a great deal of time reviewing the chapter, to avoid some grammatical issues the first three had as well as changing structural format. Hopefully this makes it easier to follow shifts in perspective.
On that account, I would like to thank Jido96 for making the suggestions. On a side note, I would highly recommend checking out his stories, they are well written and entertaining.
Regarding the story itself, I enjoyed doing the perspective of Doran Martell and Tyrion. In the show they did the Prince of Dorne an injustice, considering how prominent he was in the book.
For future record, I intend to use Tryion and Ser Barristan to cover Daenerys story, because I like them more than the Mother of Dragons, (If I had to hear her say "her birthright" one more time, I would quote Odin from Thor and say "Your birthright was to die,")
As for Littlefinger I think this ploy befits him, considering in the books, he intended to marry Sansa of two Harrold the Heir to consolidate a more permanent dominion over the Vale. If that were to occur, he'd arrange an "accident" for the heir and take Sansa, the North, and the Vale for himself. So, the concept applies to Mya in this case.
I think I've rambled on long enough. Again, thanks for reading, please follow and favorite. Also, constructive reviews are welcome.