Arthur: any advice is welcomed gladly.

Robb Stark

"Father…smith…warrior…mother…maiden…crow…stranger. I'm his/hers…as he's/she's mine. From this day…till the end of my days." Two voices renounced in a union.

Robb gazed with love at blue-grey eyes. Alys karstark smiled shyly at him while a heavy blush smeared against her pale cheeks. Or rather, Alys stark. He was still in a trance in his wife's eyes as he leaned for the kiss to seal the deal. Chapped lips met together as one while whistles blew.

The wedding was commenced in the Godswood. Ned had suggested it was only fitting for a stark to marry in front of the wierwood tree, as it is per custom.

Robb held Alys around the mid-section and waved at the common folk and the lords who were fit enough to travel to Winterfell for the occasion. Snow fell gently to the ground, and long tables that were set up were covered in the process. Automatically, Robb's eyes searched for a certain wild-haired broody. When he didn't see one he mentally wept. If only he was here, Robb thought sadly, but he wasn't. He hasn't been for a very long time.

Great Jon lumbered from his seat and raised his goblet."This is great an all, but my lords…it's time to bed them!" He bellowed in a strong tongue. A collective of cheers agreed as men and women marched their way to the newly wedded couple.

Ned stark stood up, ceasing the legs of many as they stared at him respectively. The Stark let the silence to linger before speaking, "Do not be so urgent lord Umber." Flustering, great Jon lowered his eyes. Ned then smiled sheepishly. "I am your liege lord, so I get to say the words…let us bed them!" He shouted.

The men and women laughed at his way of humor, glad to have a great and honorable warden like Eddard Stark. The folks then continued their way to Robb and the new family member of house stark.

Robb was lifted off the ground by a cluster of blushing women whilst Alys was carried by a group of men. Jon would want me to be happy, not to be sad on my wedding day. Ron thought to himself. The party passed the smiling faces of Ned Stark and Catelyn. They made their trip inside the castle, footprints fading in the snow in their wake.

Aegon Targaryen

The prince of the seven kingdoms clashed swords with ser Arthur Dayne; the greatest knight the realm seen in decades. His sisters cheered him on as his silver-blond hair whipped across his defined shaped face. Aegon fell for a feint and before he knew it, he was lying on the ground gasping for oxygen. On the balcony, the yells of inspiration dimmed as the women of house Targaryen slightly moaned in disappointment.

Arthur walked over to him, holding a single hand for assistance. Aegon clasped the hand and stood up wincing as he did so. The prince glowered at the king's guard."I thought I had you this time."

"Don't worry my prince," Arthur replied sympathetically."When I am old and grey then you could possibly hope to defeat me," He said amusingly whilst clapping his hand on Aegon's shoulders.

The son of Rhaegar scowled, annoyed at the streak of losing to this knight would continue, even if the man was the best sword in the land minis ser Barristan.

Daenerys smiled at him as she leaned over the rail. "its okay egg!" she called out."You will beat him someday!"

Next, to her, Rhaenys scoffed in disbelief. Aegon shrugged off Arthurs' hands and took the offered flask filled with fresh water from a servant at waiting. As he drank the refreshment, his silver-blond hair shined. The future king of Westeros was a grown man at nine and ten. He was tall and elegant like his lord father. He had a nice formed jawline, with his bright hair reaching the back of his neck. His skin was slightly toned from the blood of his mother; Elia Martell. Lastly, he also supported the indigo eyes of the ancient blood Valyria. While Aegon and Daenerys look the part of the famed Targaryen's, the eldest of Rhaegar took the part of the Dornish of old. She had curly brown hair that reached her spine, her skin tone was even deeper than Aegon's, and she had the same soft brown eyes of the queen of Westeros.

"Not in a million years," Rhaenys said dismissively.

Aegon snorted. "Thanks for the support dear sister of mine," He replied sarcastically.

A short man walked into the training grounds, he stopped and bowed before Aegon."Excuse me, my prince, the king summoned your presence in the council room," He said and he left.

The Targaryens and Arthur barely blinked an eyelash. They knew what Ageon was summoned for because it was normal. Aegon nodded at his family and left the training grounds with Arthur on his heels.

...

"The war across the narrow sea has ended," Varys, the master of whispers said. "The city of Lys managed to reach a settlement with the Tyrosh. They agreed to an alliance and to share the undisputed lands." The spymaster went silent.

Rhaegar nodded and looked to the hand. Jon Connington spoke up. "My king, the repairs to Harrenhall has begun. Thousands volunteered to help bring back the castle to its former glory." He explained.

"Excellent," Rhaegar replied in a soft but firm voice.

Aegon sat at the long table; the table held the small ring of men who helped to secure the stability of the realm. King Rhaegar seated at the head of the table, and Jon sat to his right. Varys was in the middle. Petyr Balish, the master of coin sat next to Ageon. The grand maester Pycelle was spending this time nodding off, and finally, there was Paxter Redwyne, the master of ships.

Rhaegar quietly observed Pycelle, an emotionless face expression in work. With a grin, Balish tapped the old man on the shoulder, and Pycelle woke up so swiftly the sound of a bone cracking rippled through the room.

"Maybe you should retire grand maester," Rhaegar suggested mildly. It was clear to anyone that it was an order.

Pycelle appeared to protest when he took in the warning in the king's eyes. "Yes, of course, your grace," The old man murmured while bowing. He soon left.

Ageon watched the session of the council developed. For the past couple of years, Rhaegar took it himself to teach Ageon how to deal with issues that frequently occur in Westeros. And so the prince was summoned to every meeting that was held.

Instead of paying attention to the discussion that he would usually hear with rapt focus, Ageon peered at his father. Lords and such knew Rhaegar was a fair and just king; however, it was common knowledge in the red keep that the ruler of the andals was open to pouts of melancholic. Ageon knew the reason, and the whole family knew. It was by the death of his wolf and its stillborn child. Ageon grew grim at the thought of the sibling he could have had; a sibling that would've been raised beside him with the others. The prince turned his gaze from his father's sad lilac eyes and returned back to the session to be prepared to rule in Rhaegars name.

Jon Snow

"Where did you hear this from?" Jon asked.

The young man grinned at him, very drunk with rich wine. "My father of course! I wasn't supposed to tell, but oops?" The man yelled obnoxiously before spilling the whole content of liquid on his face. It was the wine Jon had purposely offered. This man in question is the very son of Harry Strickland, the man at the head of the Golden company.

The only thing Jon had to do was to swish up some drinks there and there and James Strickland is ready to talk. Harry is a fool to spill his secrets to his buffoon of a son, and it was a very large error. An error Jon is going to exploit.

Jon had an excited glint in his purple eyes. "So, where is this Blackfyre?"

Jon awoke to the warm body of Ghost. The white direwolf snored as he propped against Jon's side, unaware of the state of his owner.

Jon clutched at his chest-where the brutal scar lingered. The bastard sat up and removed his light brown vest over his head, and the gruesome mark still haunts his body. That particular scar loomed out from the rest. The large scab covered where the vicious wound used to blister, but it tracked from his nipple to his waist and it dulled to a dark brown color from time.

One day, Jon was arranging to leave the services of the company when he caught the mention of a lost Valyrian sword that hasn't been seen in centuries. The sword was Blackfyre. James was boasting to a lower rank officer that the sword was hidden somewhere in the headquarters and had seen it up-close. Of course, Jon pretended to be civil with the arrogant warrior and offered the Strickland a free wine to loosen his tongue. Afterwards, Jon personally handpicked his most loyal combatants and planned to infiltrate the base to claim the sword. It didn't work out all. Obviously, someone from the group blabbed their treachery to the commanders to increase their ranks in the mercenaries. They were suddenly attacked at the hour of the wolf. Every participant in Jon's plan was killed. Jon barely escaped with his life, but not before a nasty axe glanced his chest. And to this day, Jon didn't know who spilled the beans. Since then, a bounty of 100 thousand dragons was on his head. Someone after time tried to accomplish the deed, but they are all dead. Jon thought grimly.

Jon slowly caressed his scar that hung around his sharpened muscular abs from the years wasted fighting in multiple wars-short wars, but still battles among the free cities. Each one washed his innocence away down the drain. Rather than feeling impulse at the view, he felt glad. It constantly reminded him of his past failures and his weaknesses. It taught Jon the importance of overcoming those mistakes and to guarantee it won't happen again. Jon touched the scar by his eye that he received from Khal Drogo. Not again.

A knock came from behind the door. "Come in," Jon called, not caring about his exposed chest. Ghost lifted his head but did not utter a sound. His intelligent eyes were peeled on the door with intentness in case of danger. A young man around Jon's age entered. The man halted as he stared at Jon's chest that was coated with numerous scars.

Jon waited patiently through the staring. There was a time when he did care what people thought about him, but he did not care any longer. That boat had long since sailed.

The man realized he was being rude and shook his head. "Tyrion wishes to speak with you in his chamber." After Jon nodded, the man backed out of the room and closed the door.

…

Jon walked beside Ghost as they strolled to Tyrion's chamber on the ship. The men that agreed to join the dwarf's expedition to explore the old city of Valyria stepped back in fear of the huge wolf that prowled alongside the bastard. The men Tyrion recruited were all hardened men who seen battle, but all the same, they cowered before the direwolf with panic.

Jon barged in the imp's room without bothering to knock. Tyrion only raised his eyebrows, well used to the behavior of the brooding man. "Take a seat," Tyrion proposed with a wave of his hand over the chairs in front of his study table. Jon sat down while inspecting the chamber. Bunch of thick old books that Tyrion brought with him from Casterly Rock rested in the corners of the room, and flagons of wine varying in taste crowded on the desk. Ghost marked his territory in the corner of Jon's left and curled up in a ball. His red eyes were flickering with weariness.

Jon's lips tug up in amusement. Ghost is going to bite my ass off if this bouncing ship to ship continues. He thought fondly.

"Wine?" Tyrion Asked loudly as he interrupted Jon's train of thought. Jon looked at him disappointingly and Tyrion chuckled as he poured a cupful of wine into a goblet. Jon grabbed the goblet and let the delicious liquid slide down his unbearably dry throat. He gasped as his mouth left the rim. That was good!

"What is this?" Jon said to himself as he looked amazed at the golden beverage in his tight grasp. I never tasted something like this before. "I know this is not from Westeros." He glanced at Tyrion.

"It's not." Tyrion nodded. "A dear friend of mine had shipped me a supply of vintage from across the Jade Sea," He said.

"I had half the mind to go there." Jon then looked at Tyrion suspiciously. "You wished to see me?" he asked.

"Yes," Tyrion confirmed, not answering any further.

"Why?" Jon asked, slightly annoyed at his short response.

Tyrion placed a hand over his heart as he looked crestfallen. "I just wanted to get to know you better, Snow." He rubbed his chest soothingly. "We are going to in each other's company for a while," He explained.

Jon scowled. "No thanks to you." He shook his head "I don't know what possessed me to agree to this suicidal attempt."

"Why did you then?" The short man asked curiously.

"Because I thought it was a good thing to do to help you find your beloved uncle," Jon replied.

Tyrion frowned and sipped his wine. "When we port in Volantis, you can leave anytime you want."

Jon shook his head, his dark curls dancing in front of his eyes. "No."

Tyrion frowned even more. "Didn't you just say that this was a bad idea?" He said confused.

"I'm not that person who goes back on their words," Jon responded.

Putting his goblet on the desk, Tyrion smiled as he clapped his hands. "You impress me, Jon Snow. Entirely different with what the lords of Westeros think of you."

Jon grew rigid and rested his cheek on his fist. "What do they say of me?" He asked, puzzled. Why would the lords pay attention to me? A bastard of Winterfell of all people.

Tyrion chuckled and wiggled his index finger at Jon. "Don't give me that look, Snow. You're a former commander of the Golden Company. You killed a thousand men in battle, and people of Essos consider you one of the best swordsmen in the land. And remember, you are only 16. You are talked about in Westeros as you are in Essos."

Tyrion paused as he regarded him. His mismatch pupils eyeing him with an intensity that made Jon uncomfortable. "Everyone has different opinions of you, Snow. My father thinks you are a child playing at war. My dear sister thinks you're a barbarian. My brother said your reputation is overrated. The royal family thinks you're mad. Even the king has said you're a mass murder."

Tyrion continued to eye him. "All these rumors flying back in forth about you is large. Some are probably wrong, some are probably right. I guess I will never know. Part of me wants to hire you as my shield if you wanted to go back to Westeros to prove them all wrong." Tyrion dipped his head back and gulped his wine.

…

The air was hot and humid. the roads occupied with slaves and elephants were used as transportation. Many supported tattoos on their bodies or on the cheek to show if they were freemen or slaves who tired themselves to the point of death as they rushed to carry out their master's commands. Jon spied the large outlines of the Elephants being struck with long whips to navigate which way to head. The large mammals didn't roar in anger like what Jon is used to. The mighty animals were brought down to mighty slaves as they lifted people off their feet to relive them.

They should not be used like this! They belong on the field charging into battle, not to carry the masters because they were too lazy to walk!"

This painted the image of Volantis in a bad light to Jon's eyes, but he was wise enough to not share his thoughts out loud. He didn't want to be executed just because he was incapable of keeping his mouth shut. Nonetheless, he can open his mind to the person next to him.

"I don't want to be here Tyrion," He whispered so nobody can hear them. Just in case, he leaned his head down to match the dwarf's height.

Tyrion, instead of answering, looked at the biggest bridge Jon ever seen. Hands and heads hung upon them. It was a very clear warning, no crime. Jon's stomach dropped in unease. The bounty on him was well known. For certain, if the Triarches of this city caught him, they were going to turn him into the hands of the company. Jon has no wish to lose his head just yet.

"Hmm," Tyrion hummed in response.

Anger steamed in Jon's purple eyes. "Seeing these slaves moping about doesn't bother you Lannister, but I actually give a damn," Jon hissed.

Tyrion looked up calmly in the face of Jon's fury. "We need the fresh air and to stretch our legs, as well as our cocks. The crew is restless after all the weeks on that damned ship. They need this, in spite of all these 'slaves moping about'. Afterward, we can move on," Tyrion explained.

Damn him. He has a point. That blasted dwarf. Jon thought with a flicker of annoyance. And the smell…

Tyrion sniffed the air and grimaced. "It smells like a dead whore."

Jon tried but failed to hide the grin on his face. The Lannister nodded at him. "Let's go find a brothel." Jon's grin couldn't be bigger.

…

Jon peeped a glance where Tyrion was eagerly sucking the face of a blonde on a chair. Jon could detect a little bulge in the middle of the dwarf's trousers as he slapped her ass. The prostitute squealed with glee in Tyrion's mouth. Horny lion. Jon snorted in his mug.

The brothel was alive with men and women displaying the show of emotion as they grasped and grappled with one another. Hands, without shame, declined to where hidden body parts lay. Prostitutes sent Jon a few suggestive hints, and it promised heat and desire without any pay. Jon paid no mind to the stares. He was not in the mood. His nerves were bad.

Everything seems to be in part, but Jon is not a fool. Four men in the back glanced at him every five seconds. It appeared that they were just casually resting their hands on the hilt of their swords. Jon saw through the act. Random twitches would disturb the hands. They were anxious.

Jon sat stiffly in his seat as the group of four marched to him. Tyrion extracted his attention from the prostitute and narrowed his eyes. The tallest and biggest of the men spoke, "Well well, if it isn't Jon snow!" he announced loudly. Eyes turned to the scene, curious to how this would play out.

Jon didn't look at the man. He fixed his eyes forward."That's me."

Tyrion spoke up, "Do we have a problem gentleman?" With a touch of a warning in his voice.

Jon answered, "Yes…we do," He said quietly. He quickly drew his sword from his scabbard and slashed across the throat of the man who was speaking a moment ago. He can't talk any more.

By the time the first of the men had the sense to draw a sword, Jon had already turned to the second man nearest to him. Jon slapped his sword on the man's head, and he crumbled to the floor with his blood leaking out. The two men then managed to bring their swords and double-teamed Jon whilst screaming a war cry. Jon met the two's blows with ease. He dispatched one with a swipe to his private section and he was done. Jon knee went up and connected with the last man standing. While the man was recovering, Jon placed the tip of his long sword into the top of his head. The man gargled as Jon removed the weapon out of his head. Blood and brain covered the sword's length. Jon grunted and wiped the sword clean on the dead man's clothing.

The east door slammed open. Patrollers with mismatch armor plates looked around rapidly into the brothel before meeting Jon's gaze. Jon panicked, looked at Tyrion. "We have to leave…now." Tyrion nodded with speed and the two ran out the back exit.

…

The ship sailed away slowly. Jon and Tyrion, with the rest of the crew, watched in relief as the wall of Volantis decrease in size. Unfortunately, the crew that was in the city had to be left behind. Jon and Tyrion didn't have the patience or time to inform them they were leaving the ancient city earlier than expected. Now, only five people remained on the ship, as the majority of inhabits were still in Volantis, unaware of their departure.

Tyrion breathing hard looked up at Jon. "Remind me to never go in a brothel with you again, I swear, you are a beacon for trouble snow," The Lannister said hoarsely.

Jon nodded, still trying to catch his breath. The splashing waters never seemed so cold until now, and the looming presence of Old Valyria in the back of Jon's mind threatened to drown him in a storm cloud that was full of burning flames and the ominous flap of beating wings.

Let me know what you think! Good day!