Chapter 3:

Lion to the Wolf Den

Negan, still masquerading as Joffrey, paced his chambers, his mind racing with plans. The little Stark girl, Arya, was a loose end he couldn't afford to ignore. He knew she was headed for Braavos, and the potential threat she posed was too great to dismiss.

"Time to nip this problem in the bud," he muttered, reaching for his new war hammer.

Within hours, he was on his way to Saltpans with a small contingent of guards and spies. As they approached the port town, Negan spotted a small, scrappy figure trying to blend in with the crowd.

"Well, well, well," he drawled, dismounting his horse. "What do we have here?"

Arya's eyes widened in recognition and fear, her hand instinctively going to Needle at her side.

Negan raised his hands in a placating gesture. "Now, now, little wolf. Let's not do anything hasty. I'm not here to hurt you."

"You killed my father," Arya spat, her voice filled with venom.

Negan's mind raced. He knew he needed to tread carefully. "Look, kid, I know you've got no reason to trust me. But things have changed. I'm not the same person who made that decision."

He took a step closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "I know about the list, Arya. I know about the Faceless Men. But let me tell you something – there's a bigger threat coming. One that'll make all our petty squabbles look like a game of pattycake."

Arya's grip on Needle loosened slightly, curiosity warring with her anger.

"How about we make a deal?" Negan proposed. "Come back to King's Landing with me. I'll give you full access to the castle, to me. You can watch, wait, plan – hell, you can even try to kill me if you want. But first, hear me out about what's coming."

After a tense moment, Arya nodded reluctantly. Negan grinned, clapping her on the shoulder. "Atta girl. Now, let's get you something to eat. I bet you're hungrier than a bear after hibernation."

Back at the Red Keep, Negan found himself cornered by Cersei in his private chambers. Her eyes glittered dangerously as she sauntered towards him.

"Joffrey, darling," she purred, "we need to talk about your... recent behavior."

Negan raised an eyebrow, maintaining his distance. At the moment, swift, short, strokes, as you can tell, he was very busy with the rear end view of a courtesan. "Oh? And what behavior would that be, dear mother?"

Cersei's lips curved into a predatory smile. "Your newfound... confidence. It's quite... intriguing."

Negan chuckled, shaking his head. "Sorry, sweetheart, but that's a line we're not crossing. Not yet, anyway. How about we focus on more pressing matters? Like, say, the fact that I just brought Arya Stark back to the castle?"

Cersei's seductive demeanor vanished instantly, replaced by shock and anger. "You did what?"

At her chilling yelled the courtesan got up from the bed and left the room.

"Relax," Negan said, waving a hand dismissively. "It's all part of the plan. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got a chat scheduled with Uncle Dad."

Leaving a fuming Cersei behind, Negan made his way to Jaime's office. The Kingslayer looked up as he entered, his face a mask of wariness.

"Your Grace," Jaime said cautiously. "To what do I owe this... pleasure?"

Negan flopped into a chair, propping his feet up on Jaime's desk. "Cut the formalities, Uncle Dad. We need to have a little heart-to-heart about the future of this family."

For the next hour, Negan laid out his plans – the need to prepare for the White Walkers, the potential alliance with Daenerys, and the importance of presenting a united front.

"And one more thing," Negan added as he stood to leave. "Whatever's going on between you and my dear mother? It ends now. We've got bigger fish to fry than your twisted little love story."

As dawn broke the next day, Negan found himself on the road to the Wall, a small retinue in tow. He knew the conversation with Jon Snow would be crucial – and potentially explosive.

Days later, as Castle Black came into view, Negan felt a mix of excitement and trepidation. He dismounted, striding confidently towards the gates.

Jon Snow emerged, his face a mask of barely contained hostility. "Your Grace," he said, his voice cold as the Wall itself. "To what do we owe this... honor?"

Negan grinned, spreading his arms wide. "Jon Snow! Just the man I wanted to see. We've got a lot to talk about, you and I. Starting with those ice zombies you've been worry about."

Jon's eyes widened in surprise, but his stance remained defensive. "How do you know about the White Walkers?"

"Oh, I know a lot of things, Jon Snow," Negan replied, his voice dropping to a serious tone. "I know about the threat beyond the Wall. I know about the wildlings. And I know we're all royally fucked if we don't work together."

He stepped closer, locking eyes with Jon. "I also know I've done some pretty shitty things. Killing your father? That's on me. But right now, we've got bigger problems than our family feud. So what do you say, Jon Snow? Ready to save the world?"

As Jon's hand moved to the hilt of Longclaw, Negan knew the real challenge. The game had changed, and he was determined to rewrite the rules – one shocking move at a time.

The tension at Castle Black was thick enough to cut with a knife as Negan, still in the guise of Joffrey, stood face to face with Jon Snow. The hand of the Lord Commander remained firmly on the hilt of Longclaw, his dark eyes never leaving Negan's face.

"You've got a lot of nerve coming here," Jon growled, his voice low and dangerous. "After what you did to my father, to my family—"

Negan raised his hands in a placating gesture, though his trademark smirk never left his face. "Now, now, Jon Snow. I get it. You want to run me through with that pretty sword of yours. Hell, I might even deserve it. But let's take a step back and look at the bigger picture here."

He gestured towards the Wall looming behind them. "You've seen what's out there. The dead walking, ice spiders big as hounds, all that fun stuff. Now, I'm offering you something you never thought you'd get – the full backing of the crown."

Jon's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "And why should I believe anything you say?"

Negan's smirk widened into a full grin. "Because, my brooding friend, I'm not the same idiot king who lopped off your daddy's head. I've had a... let's call it an epiphany. And I'm here to make sure we all don't end up as zombie popsicles."

"What is a zombie popsicles?" Jon asked.

He stepped closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "I know things, Jon Snow. Things I shouldn't know. Like how you've got a bunch of wildlings south of the Wall right now, trying to figure out how not to get slaughtered by my army or the dead army."

Jon's grip on Longclaw tightened, but Negan pressed on. "I'm not here to fight them. Hell, I'm here to offer them sanctuary. Every man, woman, and child. We need all the warm bodies we can get for the shit that's coming."

For a long moment, Jon said nothing, his eyes searching Negan's face for any sign of deception. Finally, he spoke. "If what you're saying is true... why? Why the sudden change of heart?"

Negan's face grew serious, all traces of humor gone. "Let's just say I've seen what happens when the dead overrun the living. It ain't pretty, and I'm not about to let it happen here. So, what do you say? Ready to let bygones be bygones and focus on not becoming walker chow?"

After what felt like an eternity, Jon's hand slowly moved away from Longclaw. "I don't trust you," he said bluntly. "But if you're truly here to help... we need all the help we can get."

Negan clapped his hands together, his grin returning. "That's the spirit! Now, how about you introduce me to your wildling friends? I've got a feeling they're going to love me."

The next few hours were a whirlwind of introductions, explanations, and no small amount of threats from various wildlings. Tormund Giantsbane, in particular, seemed torn between wanting to kill Negan and being oddly impressed by his audacity.

As night fell, Negan found himself standing atop the Wall, looking out over the vast expanse of the haunted forest. Jon Snow joined him, his face grim in the fading light.

"If you're playing some kind of game," Jon said quietly, "know that it won't end well for you."

Negan chuckled, shaking his head. "Oh, I'm playing a game alright. But it's not the one you think. This is about survival, pure and simple. And trust me, you're going to want me on your team when the shit really hits the fan."

He turned to face Jon fully, his expression uncharacteristically serious. "I know you've got no reason to trust me. Hell, if I were you, I'd probably have tried to push me off this Wall by now. But I'm asking you to take a leap of faith here. Because what's coming? It's going to make everything we've been through look like a walk in the park."

Jon was silent for a long moment, his eyes searching Negan's face. Finally, he gave a small nod. "I'll work with you. For now. But know this – if you betray us, if this is some kind of trick, I'll kill you myself."

Negan's grin returned full force. "I wouldn't have it any other way, Jon Snow. Now, let's go see about arming your wildling friends with some dragonglass. I hear it does wonders for those pesky White Walkers."

As they descended from the Wall, Negan's mind was already racing with plans. He had the Night's Watch and the wildlings on board, but that was just the beginning. There was still a Dragon Queen to woo, a kingdom to fortify, and oh so many dead men to kill.

"Eeny, meeny, miny, moe," he muttered under his breath as he followed Jon back to the keep. "Catch a White Walker by the toe. If he hollers, burn the fucker. Eeny, meeny, miny... moe."

The game was changing, the pieces were moving, and Negan was determined to be the last man standing when the dust settled and the snow melted. Let the others play checkers – he was playing three-dimensional chess in a world of ice and fire, and he intended to win.