The Last Wolf and the Northern Dragon

by Alperez16

Two lives are taken and two not, changing the game forever. Jon Snow is raised by his uncle Benjen to be Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North while Rhaella Targaryen escapes to Essos to raise her children and plot her revenge.

24. Squid Game

The Velvet Hills 296 AC,

Viserys Targaryen.

They'd attacked thrice under the cover of night and each time they'd been repelled. Untrained, ill-disciplined, and uncouth they may be, but Viserys would have no man speak ill of their enemies' courage. Not that it would stop him putting them to the sword when he eventually found their camp, they deserved that and more for all they'd done. The Northern Shipments may have seemed like fair game to these bandits, but that did not mean that they truly were. Besides, Viserys had enjoyed riding with men of the Company of the Rose once more. With Asher Forrester especially.

They'd left Pentos more than a moon ago. Two hundred men of the Company of the Rose and a hundred of the Windblown under Viserys' command. Good men, hard men, men that he'd come to respect as much as he believed they respected him. True friends now too as Viserys truly believed that the men you bled with on a battlefield were some of the few you could name as such. Each of them was now his brothers in arms as he was theirs and he'd kill or die for them as he knew they would for him.

True, the Company of the Rose men were different from his own. They held to different oaths than he did, yet they too were being paid from the same purse as he was. His mother's purse or so he believed. His own men had proved their mettle both in the nighttime battles they'd fought and in weeding out the information they needed to put these bandits down once and for all. Torture may never work when it comes to getting people to give up their secrets, the threat of it very much did. Viserys was happy to have learned that lesson from the Tattered Prince long ago.

"You look like a man with far too much on his mind." Asher Forrester called out as he moved toward him. Viserys was relieved to see the pouch he carried in his hands and even happier to find it was wine and not ale that the pouch was filled in as he swallowed a large mouthful.

"I think about the morrow," Viserys replied once he had quenched his thirst.

"Thanks to you, more men will see it than not."

"We all played our part."

"You led us. Take pride in that and in how even mine own men look to you now."

Viserys very much did take pride in his achievements. He'd led men into battle against forces larger than his own. Had infiltrated manses and camps, even those of the Dothraki on some task or another. While he cared not for assassinations, he had seen his share of those carried out and done some himself. Far better that he too had stained his cloak with the blood of some poor unfortunate soul that had crossed the wrong man or woman, than ask his men to do so when he would not.

'I may be in command, but all are equal, even me.'

The words were as true as he could make them. As commander of his own forces and now third in the Windblown, Viserys knew full well that he was different than most. Given who he truly was, he knew that even more so. He was a prince of House Targaryen. A Dragon whose family's legacy was writ in the pages of history. He may not wish to play a full part in the so-called Game of Thrones, but he knew that he too had a part to play. So, while he tried to be just one of the men, he was fully aware that it could never be so.

"Is it a family thing, the brooding." Asher chuckled.

"My brother was oft called melancholy from what I've heard," Viserys replied.

"Then thank fuck your own is only seen but rarely."

"Aye, thank fuck for that." he laughed, earning himself a frown from Asher for stealing some of his Northern brogue. Though soon enough it was a question that came from his friend's lips.

"How many do you reckon are left?"

"Four hundred, five if we're unlucky."

"They'll be expecting us."

"They'll be expecting someone. No one will be expecting us."

Together they walked back to the camp and Viserys readied for the night to come. They would eat early and launch the first of their attacks by dusk. Fewer men than needed to take the camp would be used and there was much risk involved for those who would take part in that attack. Hence why Viserys himself would lead it. As for the true attack, that would come when the first faltered or was seen to falter. A mummery within a mummery, he prayed the gods remained on his side and kept faith with him as they had thus far.

"Eat," Doraria said, handing him the bowl of stew.

"Hrakkar again?" he asked to a nod of the older woman's head.

"Just how you like it."

Viserys took the bowl and quickly took a spoonful of the broth, vegetables, and meat that constituted the Hrakkar Stew. It was a tradition of his. To dine on Lion before fighting in a battle for true. At one point he'd thought to hunt the beast himself. Thankfully he'd been talked out of that by the Tattered Prince and by others among the Windblown that he trusted. The time and distance it would take him to travel and cover to find a Hrakkar was worrisome enough. To defeat the beast by himself, was something that would end badly for him, or so he'd been told.

'One day.' he'd promised himself. Though it may be a different lion he'd feast upon.

So he'd instead purchased a Hrakkar carcass in the markets in Pentos. Had seen the meat salted and cured and now carried some with him whenever he traveled about the Windblown's business. At first, he'd eat it simply roasted over a fire. Ever since meeting Doraria and taking her into his employ, Viserys ate it as it was now, in a stew. It was far more palatable and the woman was an excellent cook, seamstress, and even healer when the need arose. Whatever his fate and where he ended up, Viserys promised himself he'd see her, and the other members of his entourage were well looked after. He had the coin to do so after all. Even without his mother's help.

Offering Doraria a warm smile and trying not to think too much about his mother, Viserys took his place by the fire and ate his meal in solitude. It was not for a lack of company that he did so. More, he prepared for battle the same way every time, and far better he did so once more, than not. It may be his skills, good fortune, or the favor of the gods that had seen him survive so long against his enemies, it may be how he prepared. Viserys felt it was better not to leave it to chance and so he'd do as he'd always done and hopefully, he and those who relied on him would see the morrow because of it.

Eating his meal, his mind refused to let go of thoughts of his family. He'd exchanged letters with Dany and Maekar. Told them he was well and that he missed them. With his mother, they were more curt than anything else, yet he missed her too and would deny her not that small bit of comfort. As always, however, it was his nephew that he wrote to mostly. He and Aemon shared many words and he hoped that his own brought his nephew some comfort. Aemon's always did for him and so it was the least he could do in return.

'At least until the day comes when I stand with you, my king.'

Later that night.

One hundred men and the poorest horses they had. Weapons that looked the worst for wear and armor that seemed to have seen better days. To look at Viserys and the men with him, you'd name them poor warriors indeed, which was the point. The mummery needed to work, both this one and the one that came after. Should it fail, then while they'd still earn their victory and see the Northern Convoys avenged, it would come at too high a price.

"I'll speak no flowery words," Viserys said as he turned to the men. "No long speech for which I know you'll all be grateful," he added to laughs. "You know your task and with the gods' good graces, on the morrow, we'll laugh and jape about this night."

"You forgot drink, Aldon."

"That I did and as always, the first one's on me," he said to even louder laughter from the men. "I bid you all good fortune in the wars to come."

"For the Windblown!"

"For the Company of the Rose."

"For the North!"

"For Aldon."

As always upon hearing them cheer his name, Viserys felt a tingle of pride. He'd earned their respect and done so with naught but his own skills. Few things meant more to him than that.

"WE RIDE!" he shouted and the horses began to do just that.

A mile, two, first a trot and then a gallop when they saw the camp ahead of them. Viserys had no need to look to the cliff tops to see the archers that stood as sentinels for this camp. Nor to the men who now formed up ahead of them. Other than to see that as he'd planned, some were moving to the horses. His men now shouted out a battle cry so as to keep up the mummery of them being poorly trained, while Viserys cringed when the arrows began to fly.

He'd chosen dusk because there was still enough light to allow the archers to pick and choose their targets. Had it been a little later in the night, then it would be their horses rather than their men that the arrows would have been aimed at. Now, thanks to his planning, it was the men who were struck by the arrows. Five, ten, twenty, by the time they were truly in sight of the camp, almost half had been struck and Viserys gave the order for retreat.

A part of him wished he could be elsewhere overlooking this part of the battle. To look down upon it and bear witness to how well or poorly his mummery had held. Being atop a horse that was riding away from a large number of horsemen in pursuit, allowed him only to turn his head and look behind him. The smile he wore as he did so was as true as any he'd have worn from a different vantage point, however. As it was when he looked to his men and saw that those slumped over the front of their horses still held the reins tightly in their hands.

"Don't skimp on the padding lads."

"Make sure you cover everywhere you can and that the mail is worn underneath it all."

They had been simple orders. Tried and tested based on the weapons that those who'd attacked them at night had used. The bandits were truly the ones poorly armed and armored and so Viserys now used that against them. Of the fifty men that had been struck with arrows, few if any bore any serious wounds. Archers fired not again when they believed they'd taken down their targets and so Viserys had allowed that to be what they saw. Men chased after a broken enemy to rout that enemy and steal what little they had, and so Viserys' men had to appear broken. All of it had worked far better than he hoped.

Of the five hundred men that he wagered were still alive in the bandit's ranks, more than half now rode after them. Passing the first tree, Viserys smiled even more broadly. Yet it was not until they passed the second that the trap was truly sprung.

From the left, Asher led one-third of their men and they slammed into the bandits almost unseen. On the right, it was one of the other Company of the Rose men who led, Vargo Snow, a wild Essosi sellsword who was good company as long as you were on the same side. The last third would be led by Viserys himself and seeing them ride towards him, he gave the order for his men to right themselves and turn. An order they answered most happily.

Drawing his sword, Viserys readied for the bloodletting that he was now about to be a part of. He offered prayers for the lives he would take this night and then even more for those he hoped were not lost. Then bidding his mare to quicken her pace and thankful that she did so quickly, Viserys Targaryen rode into the midst of the battle like the Warrior Reborn.

His sword cut down five men in what felt like no time at all. The speed of his horse and the quality of the steel seeing that was true.

'It's edge is as deadly as ever.' Viserys thought as he took yet another man from this world and sent him to the next.

With night now having fallen for true, the battle drew to an end. Though to name it as such was a mockery of what a true battle entailed. Still, as he looked to the dead, the injured, and the living, Viserys did so with the same loathing that he always did. As much as battles were necessary, he had come to believe that there was no more pointless endeavor than something that came with such a loss of life. His only comfort was that the lives that had been lost were those he wished and not those he did not.

"How many?" he asked Lazeo Maerris, the first of his men who rode his way.

"Of ours, five or six. Of the Roses, no more than twenty I wager."

"And theirs?"

"All."

"Have the men strip them and round up their horses, the night is only half over and we still have much work to do.

Less than an hour later they rode into the bandit's camp as conquering heroes. The moon had disappeared behind some clouds meaning they were even more in shadow than he'd hoped. So it was not until they had begun firing their crossbows and had brought their spears, swords, maces, and halberds to bear that their mummery was revealed.

Viserys killed no man in the slaughter that followed. Only two moved his way and they were taken from this world long before they had a chance to reach him. No arrows flew in his direction and not a single one of the men he'd rode into the camp perished that night. Other than two minor injuries, and one of those due to the man falling from his horse, their attack went as well as could be.

The next morning, it was Viserys and Asher who swung the swords and killed the remainder of the bandits. Others then placed those heads on pikes along with the rest of them so the warning would ring out loud and true. Their spoils were returned to the North as it was their coin that these men had stolen. Letters to inform of their victory were written and sent on ahead to the Commander of the Company of the Rose and the Tattered Prince. After it was done, Viserys took to his bed and hoped for sleep to come.

"I'm sorry." A voice rang out and woke him from his slumber. Viserys opened his eyes to see Horo Ormin standing over him with a knife in his hand.

"Horo?"

Before he got a chance to answer, a young boy, an older girl, and an older woman began attacking the much older man. Viserys found himself immobile and without comprehension as next to his bed, Vogan, Tirala and Doraria came to his aid. He'd taken them all into his service in the past year. Vogan was a boy of but nine and somewhat served as his squire. Tirala was a young maiden of five and ten and she had been set for a life in a brothel before he'd rescued her. Viserys had given her a job alongside Doraria and while the young girl was a terrible cook, she was a somewhat accomplished seamstress. Horo, before now, had looked after his horses and kept his weapons sharp. Yet, as he finally began to move to the now panic-stricken older man, Viserys realized that was not his true task.

"Leave him be." He called out to the others. His sword now pointed at the old man's chest.

"He tried to kill you."

"We saw him watching you, and…."

"He needs to die."

Vogan, Tirala, and Doraria, each of them had helped save his life and because of it he now owed them as much as they ever believed they owed him.

"His death is assured. The manner of it is yet to be decided, however." Viserys said chillingly. His words had the effect he wished them to.

Offering each of the other three his thanks and grateful that as they moved to the front of the tent, Asher Forrester entered along with some of his men, Viserys turned his attention to Horo.

"You're a Sorrowful Man," he asked to no reply. "I'll have the name of the man who wishes me dead, Horo. You'll speak his name and I'll end you quickly, otherwise…..You'll face a Dothraki traitor's death." Viserys said and Horo paled considerably.

"Tywin Lannister," Horo said, and Viserys almost smiled.

"You'll meet the man soon enough. Mayhap then he'll pay you the debt owed. Or mayhap by then, I'll be the last debt he ever pays." Viserys pushed his sword down into Horo's heart and looked not as he then died almost instantly.

Whether or not Horo truly knew who had paid him, mattered not. Other than Tywin Lannister and Robert Baratheon, there were few if any who wished Viserys dead. How they knew where he was, was a much more troubling question and later that day, he cursed himself for not asking that instead of a name.

Viserys later thanked the others more truly for coming to his aid. He knew too that he would have been dead had they not done so. So lost was he at why Horo was doing as he was, that it would have cost him his life. He now vowed to never be as lost or as trusting as he had been. Close, but not too close he'd hold people from now on.

'Other than mine family or those who've fought and bled with me.'

A moon later.

He sat at his desk writing out his letters. The first two which were for Dany and Maekar were done and he'd just finished the one for Aemon. This last one was to his mother and Viserys found himself unsure of the words even as he wrote them. All he knew was that he'd come closer to death than he'd been comfortable with and he now needed to fix things between him and his mother in case he ever came closer still.

So he wrote, discarded, and tore up one letter before rewriting another. In the end, he still wasn't quite satisfied with the one he ended up sending, yet send it he did.

It was as he was readying for his bed that the Tattered Prince entered his room. The man at times looked older than he should and yet at others, he looked much younger. This was one of those times and his kinsman had words of import he wished to share with him. At least that's what Viserys surmised given he had brought wine and cheese with him.

"You wrote her?" Maegor asked.

"I did."

"Good, she misses you terribly."

"I miss her too."

"Mayhap it's time…."

"I'm not ready yet." Viserys interrupted.

"I say you are, but I'll not fight you on this, lad."

Viserys sighed. He had learned almost all he'd ever wished to and he missed his family terribly and yet for some reason he felt the time was not right for him to return. If anything, it was Westeros that he dreamed of going to. Thoughts of dyeing his hair and donning a disguise. Taking a ship and sailing to White Harbor with Asher and some of the men of the Company of the Rose. He'd even thought of sailing to Starfall as some of his nephew's letters had come from there. Yet, one thing stayed his hand and kept him from doing so. As he took a swallow of the wine that the Tattered Prince had brought with him, it was that one thing he now spoke on.

"They're never going to stop are they?"

"Oh, they'll stop one day."

"When they're both dead."

"As is oft the way of the world, nephew."

"Is it better that I'm here?" he asked softly.

"Only you can answer that."

"I think it is."

"Then you need not me or anyone else to confirm it, do you?"

"For now, no," he said to a nod of his kinsman's head.

"Then for now I'll hold my tongue." he watched as his uncle rose to his feet and made for the door, Viserys speaking once he reached it.

"Thanks. For the wine" he said and he heard the laughter long after the door was closed and he was left alone with his thoughts.

That night he dreamt of dragons. Of his mother, sister, and brother. He dreamt of his nephew and of the wars to come. Through them all he wore a white cloak and stood by his nephew's side. His sword tasted the blood of all who sought to tear down their House and Viserys mourned not a single life that he took in his dreams. That he left to his waking hours.

Highgarden 296 AC,

Lady Allyria Dayne.

Never in a million years had she thought she would grow to love a place other than her home or Dorne. Highgarden, however, had been so different from what she'd imagined. From the lush lands where almost everything seemed to grow, compared to her homeland, to the surprisingly warm welcome she had received when she arrived at the keep. Not that she had thought she would have been badly treated, given who her nephew was and how they had valued a fruitful relationship between the Tyrells and the Daynes. Yet Allyria hadn't counted on the straightforwardness of her future betrothed. Something that she much appreciated and welcomed.

She had been hesitant at first, only wanting to travel to Highgarden to get the measure of Willas Tyrell before agreeing to anything. Allyria had heard good things about him, that he was caring and fiercely protective of his family, probably as much as his family was of him. That was at least what she deduced when she had her first discussion with the Queen of Thorns.

Olenna Tyrell was someone who, according to Ashara and Vorian, you would do right to confront head-on. Allyria was not one to back out from a challenge, so when her encounters with Willas went well, she braced herself for the homecoming with his grandmother.

"We didn't think you would agree to a betrothal to a man of the Reach." the Queen of Thorns started the hostilities.

"Yet you hoped I would, given the status of my House and my ties to the Warden of the North," Allyria answered, sipping her cup of tea to hide her smirk.

"Indeed."

"I must admit I was not sure to accept the betrothal either," she stated, nonchalantly picking at some grapes to keep herself occupied and not look at the old woman in the eye.

"Then why -"

"My nephew was against it, to be honest. His betrothal doesn't seem to be accepted by your granddaughter, last I heard." Allyria replied, knowing she had hit a sore subject when she saw Olenna tense. "And frankly, we have more to gain by this alliance between Willas and me than you do. You get nothing apart from a stronger tie with Jon."

"Fortifying the bonds between our family would not be a terrible thing." Olenna shrugged.

"You have the right of it, Lady Olenna. Especially with war brewing on the horizon."

"Yet you seem to wish for the betrothal to take place. Why is that?"

"Because I am tired of being the laughingstock of Dorne. Being the next Lady of Highgarden not only elevates my status but that of my supposedly disgraced family as well. We will get to increase our trade with the Reach, and our foothold in Dorne gives us a chance to rise to be a Great House once again."

"I've seen you've been taught well, young lady."

"My kin hasn't been remiss in teaching me about politics, though it took me long to realize how useful it would be," Allyria admitted jokingly. "But that is not the only reason why I seek to accept the betrothal."

"Oh, really?" Olenna somehow both raised her eyebrow and yet did not and had Allyria not been forewarned about her, she may not have understood how she was able to control such a thing.

"As much as I want my kin to grow strong as you do your own, I have grown to care for and admire your grandson's good character in the few days I've spent with him. Finding a good husband is… Let's say… Rare, nowadays? And I believe Willas will be a good one." Allyria answered truthfully.

"How about you? Will you be a good wife to him?" Olenna's voice turned harsh.

"That is for me to know and for him to find out, Lady Olenna."

"As witty as a Dornishwoman, I see. Let us hope my grandson will find this trait to his liking."

"He will have no choice but to, my lady if you truly want this union to happen."

"We will see."

"Does Willas know about my nephew? Who he truly is?" Allyria asked suddenly.

"I told him, yes. Is that a problem?"

"Not at all. I'd rather have no secrets between me and my betrothed."

"He has truly piqued your interest, hasn't he?" Olenna asked, seemingly pleased by the idea.

"Again, my lady, this is for me to know and for him to find out," Allyria answered, popping a grape into her mouth while the old lady stifled a chuckle.

They'd talked more than once, the Queen of Thorns making sure to let her know she was pleased with the match and she had even tried to help Allryia in preparing her to face Willas' father. That the Lord of Highgarden would only be notified of the betrothal upon his return and would have no say in its acceptance was strange to her. So much so that she needed to speak to Willas to understand the Tyrell family's inner workings a little better.

"Do you not trust your father to see how favorable of a match it is?" she had asked Willas.

"I do. Grandmother, however…"

"Is this because of what happened during the Rebellion? Your father's decision to siege Storm's End instead of going to the Trident?" she asked and was perplexed when she saw Willas tense.

"There's much you don't know… Much a lot of people don't know about my family's dynamics. My father was not of age when my grandfather passed, and my grandmother ruled in his stead as Regent."

"And she never truly stopped ruling, even when he came of age." she deduced.

"Father is… As he is. Grandmother mistrusts him because she still sees him as the young boy she had to protect when she lost her husband. I suppose everyone sees my father as a weak and extravagant man. Sometimes I believe he does too much to make himself seen as such. But he loves his children and his wife dearly and I believe none would sacrifice everything for his family as he would, should the need arise." Willas said, and she could feel the conviction in his voice.

"I think I know someone who would do the same." she countered.

"Forgive me, I didn't mean to… I know what your sister did and –"

"I was talking about you, Willas." she stopped him, gently caressing his cheek. "I can see how much you care about them and how torn you are that they don't get along. But thank you for thinking of Ashara. She did sacrifice a lot and I hope she'll be justly rewarded for this."

The day of the Tyrell retinue's arrival back to Highgarden had been tense and Allyria had done her best not to mess things up with Mace Tyrell when she had been summoned in his solar. Something in the way he'd behaved alone with Willas and herself had piqued her curiosity, for she could understand Willas' words about the man, though there was something else she could not place.

"Willas told me of his intention of marrying you, Lady Allyria. Not that I would have a say in any decision regarding my children, apparently."

"I apologize again, Father." Willas chimed in. "I didn't want to raise your hopes of finding a suitable bride if –"

"I would have appreciated a word by raven, but now is not the time for recriminations. Not in front of you betrothed."

"My Lord, I –"

"I welcome you in our family, Lady Allyria." Mace cut her off. "Your House is an old and noble one and I will be honored to have grandchildren tied to the Sword of the Morning's family," Mace spoke her brother's name with reverence and it almost brought a smile to Allyria's face.

"Our family is already tied together, Father, through Jon Stark and Margaery." Willas reminded his father.

"Oh? Right! You're right! Of course, we are… Hopefully…"

"Hopefully, my Lord?" Allyria said, frowning.

"Do not mind my rambling, my Lady. Have you already discussed a date for the wedding? I'm certain your grandmother will make sure it'll be even more grand than Garlan's." Mace said, looking to his son. "Oh! We will need a tourney to celebrate it. Lady Ashara said you were followers of the Seven, right, Lady Allyria?"

"We are, Lord Mace."

"Good. I want no one but the High Septon to bless the union of my heir. My Willas deserves as much."

"Father…" Willas sighed, blushing from embarrassment while Allyria chuckled.

"You are the future of my House. Would that I could do the same for your sister, but I doubt they will allow it in the North… We should however hasten your wedding before certain events tarnish it."

"Father?"

News of Theon Greyjoy's fate and what it could imply for the Ironborn had plagued Allyria's mind afterward. She tried to distract herself with talks of the upcoming nuptials once they received news from Vorian, and she was pleased to see a little sentence weakly written by the boy she now truly considered her nephew.

Is it truly your wish? You have but one word to say, Aunt, and we will find a way.

Still, send my regards to the Tyrells.

With love.

Jon.

"Will your family attend the wedding, my Lady?" Mira Forrester asked during their embroidery session.

"I'm certain they will. Vorian is the head of my House and Ashara will not want to miss her little sister's wedding. She already told me she would stay with me should I wish it. As for Edric, knowing him, he will be excited to see the lands outside of Dorne. He and Jon talk a lot about traveling North together."

"Will Jon come too? He is visiting Starfall, isn't he?" Margaery piped in, suddenly looking even more interested in their conversation.

"I'm not certain about Jon, to be honest. He was not supposed to stay there for as long as he has. Had it not been for the tourney –"

"But it's your wedding! You're his aunt!" Margaery insisted.

"And he had already forsworn his duty to the North for our family enough," Allyria replied.

"This is an important occasion, though. More than a tourney where he attended and got hurt." Margaery sounded almost panicked.

"On this, we agree, and believe me when I say I would be more than happy should he come to see me wed, but duty is important to the Starks and even more so for Jon. 'Tis but a miracle that Benjen Stark has not already come to drag him back to the North by his hide."

"Lord Benjen would never –"

"From what I've seen, Lady Barbrey is more dangerous than Lord Benjen." Willas' mother cut her daughter, politely but firmly, thus plunging Margaery back to her previous almost despondent state.

Allyria had tried to understand her future Goodniece's attitude by speaking to the girl's ladies-in-waiting. It seemed that her relationship with Jon had soured during the tourney, notably because of Margaery's apparent closeness to Joffrey Baratheon. Allyria tried to behave as her sister would in this case, not wanting her newfound respect for Jon to cloud her judgment when Willas' sister came to her and asked for her counsel.

"I fear my betrothed may be wroth with me." Margaery started.

"I heard tell that you didn't like the idea of a betrothal with Jon in the first place."

"Did he tell you that?" Margaery gasped and sighed when Allyria nodded. "I… Wasn't thinking clearly when I talked to him after our betrothal."

"Weren't you?" Allyria quipped, arching a brow to Margaery's offended stance. "I wouldn't blame you. Jon does this to people."

"This?"

"He makes them face their truth. He did that to me too, when he arrived at Starfall, I must admit we were not seeing eye to eye."

"You weren't?"

"I blamed him for… A lot of things outside of his control, and he resented me for keeping his mother away from him."

"Oh…" Margaery whispered, to which Allyria was thankful because she still felt ashamed of her actions.

"Yet he helped me see the error of my ways and forgave me for my denied there was any too, mind." Allyria smiled fondly.

"I don't think what I did to him would be that easily forgiven." Margaery sighed, looking as if she was about to cry

"Is it about the rumors? Are they only rumors?" Allyria blurted out before containing herself.

"I… I would never…"

"So why wouldn't he forgive you?"

For the first time since she had arrived back in Highgarden, Margaery Tyrell truly spoke more than a small polite sentence to Allyria, and the lady of Starfall could feel the regret in the girl's voice. She knew too well how bad being jealous of someone could make someone behave, for she also was jealous of Jon for similar reasons as Margaery. While the Rose of Highgarden had felt Allyria's nephew had stolen her brother from her and refused to acknowledge anything coming from him and from the North because of it, the older lady bore the same sentiment because of his secret.

"May I be blunt with you, Margaery?"

"Of course."

"You've made a huge mess of things, not only with Jon but with young Loras too. I understand your point, you missed your brother, but in treating what he grew to care about with disdain, you've slowly put his trust in you into question and hurt people who had nothing to do with what happened."

"I know, but I don't know how to fix things. I'm afraid it's already too late for that."

"It's only too late if you let things fester."

"Jon will not want to hear me out, not after the tourney."

"Mayhaps not now, but he will someday, and I believe he would appreciate your effort to mend things with him, your brother, and the rest of the people you offended."

"I need to know more about him, about his family, his people. Mira taught me things about the North already, but she hasn't been North for a long time. If I am to become the Warden of the North's wife, I have to learn more than surface things."

"Then start with Loras."

"Will he help me?" Margaery wondered.

"He's your brother and you said he tried to warn you about what would happen. 'Tis means he still cares."

"If not for me, then for Jon…" Margary added, nodding absentmindedly.

"I've been observing you all, to see how I can fit into your family."

"Oh, you will fit very nicely, Allyria. I've never seen Willas smiling as much as since you've been betrothed. And everyone rejoices to have you as part of the family."

"I thank you for your kind words, but that was not my point." Allyria smiled as Margaery frowned. "Loras cares a lot about you, even if he doesn't show it. The worried looks he throws your way, the way he instinctively comes to you when he sees you but keeps himself from doing so… I knew something was amiss but I didn't know what until we talked. Do not underestimate his love for you."

"I… I wish this bond to be healed more than anything."

"Then work on it, my dear. And in the meantime, learn as much as you can for your next move."

"You mean becoming a true lady of the North?"

"I'm sure my sister would help out when she comes for the wedding."

"She must hate me for hurting Jon," Margaery said worriedly.

"She might, but she too knows the way of the world. You are the one Jon chose to be his bride, whatever his reasons. Ashara wishes someone to share the burden of Jon's heavy duty, someone who will help him navigate his role and make it easier for him. Most of all, she wants her son to find happiness through his duty. If you show her that what you want aligns with her wishes, you may find a good ally in her."

"Will you help me talk to her?" Margaery asked shyly.

"If that's your wish, aye, I would."

Allyria watched as Margaery's whole demeanor changed from doubtful to resolute. The girl's back straightened and her eyes hardened.

"I will fix this, I will. I will try my best to be someone he will never be shamed to have by his side," she said, and Allyria made the vow to help her succeed in her task.

For her good family. For Jon.

And for Margaery's heart.

The Dreadfort 296 AC,

Lord Domeric Bolton.

Nothing had changed since the last time he'd visited and Domeric hated the place as much as he had when he first left. The Dreadfort still bore the heirlooms of his ancestors, showing their viciousness and reminding everyone that House Bolton was not to be trifled with. While Domeric understood the sentiment, he was not fond of seeing skeletons of their past enemies displayed in such a way. Not only because they may never rest peacefully and still haunt the place, as he'd believed when he was younger, but because of who he knew had been desecrated and showed off for good measure.

"That is a Stark hand holding the candle right here. This one as well. Our forefathers took great care in preserving them." his father once explained. "The North remembers, but none so much as the Boltons, son."

The enmity between the Kings of Winter and the Red kings of old had withstood the test of time. Had it not been for his Aunt Barbrey and his kin in Winterfell, Domeric would not be certain he would have been as welcome as he was in the Starks' household. His father meanwhile had always looked down on Benjen Stark and his family. Roose felt no kinship whatsoever toward Bethany, Brandon, or Little Ben, much to Domeric's annoyance.

"They are your cousins, my deceased wife's nephews and niece. I have no blood ties with them, and if I had, they would probably never consider you a potential suitor for their daughter."

This, more than anything, was Roose Bolton's primary goal. Something which made Domeric hesitate to tell him of Beth and his agreement. Knowing his father, he would rush to Winterfell and ask for the wedding to take place by the end of the moon's turn. He'd care not about Beth's age and would seek Domeric to put a Bolton in her belly before the year's end. No matter the risk to his cousin or his inclinations, that would be all his father would care about. Furthering his line and gaining some measure of a claim on Winterfell should the Starks ever fall from grace.

Though his uncle Benjen had reluctantly agreed to Beth's request for their betrothal, he had made it clear to Domeric that he did not wish to officialize it before Jon's return. Domeric thought Benjen secretly hoped Jon would oppose the match, but he knew the young lord would not do so. Not when knowing the hidden reasons behind their choice to wed. 'Less so when he was faced with Beth's determination for the match to happen.' Domeric thought fondly.

"My daughter is young still and she can still change her mind."

"I know, Uncle."

"Would you accept breaking the betrothal should she do so?"

"'Tis not me you should fear, Uncle. I would do anything for Beth should she but ask it of me."

"But your father –"

"Aye. I fear he would perceive it as a slight." Domeric nodded, shuddering at the thought.

"Which is why I appreciate you keeping this to yourself when you return to the Dreadfort."

"I promised you I would not say anything until Jon gives his assent."

"I would prefer you extend your silence until you come of age. So as not to put any more pressure on Beth."

"I understand and will do whatever you say, Uncle."

"Aye, you're a good lad." Benjen smiled sadly, petting his shoulder as he used to show him his affection.

His relationship with Benjen had always been strange and felt more distant than it truly was. Domeric always felt on the edge with his uncle by marriage. Not fully accepted in their midst because of who he was, but still cared for and loved for the same reason. Benjen was fond of him, of that he had no doubt, yet there was a barrier between them Domeric had never been able to get past.

Still, Benjen Stark had shown him more affection in his life than his own father ever did.

Roose barely acknowledged his return to their keep when Domeric arrived with his Hornwood foster friends. They did not feast that night, nor any other night that followed, and Domeric knew that his father was still cross with him for not finding a bride. Something that the conversation his father called him to have proved.

"You summoned me, Father?" he asked as he entered Roose's solar, the latter answering only by handing him a letter, his piercing gaze chilling Domeric's spine as he read what was written. "What shall we do?"

"What do you think we should do?"

"I… I would inform the castellan and the master at arms that we should prepare to raise our banners and intensify the training of our men. Other than this, until we learn more about Balon Greyjoy's intentions, I would stay put."

"Good. I feared Winterfell's education would soften you. That you would run to them every time they'd call."

"Uncle Benjen only warned us, Had he called the banners –"

"Then I would have sent some men, but not you. I just got my heir back. I won't send him because the Warden's Regent fears some Ironborn. They are weakened and not a threat to the North given our resources."

"But the king may call for the Starks to take Asha's head –"

"And? She's a prisoner. Balon knows full well that she is worth naught compared to the son he's lost to the Wall. Though she could have been of use had Balon died before threatening the Seven Kingdoms again."

"She would have been his heir, but the Iron Islands wouldn't have followed her."

"But they would her husband," Roose said, making Domeric tense.

"She's a prisoner, she cannot wed."

"A chance for us, else our Warden would have probably wedded her, given the peculiar status she has in Winterfell and his love for Southerners."

"Jon is of the North. He would never marry an Ironborn –"

"Yet Jon Stark is bringing a Southern lady to rule over us, as his uncles were supposed to before him. The only thing Benjen Stark ever did worthy of merit was to marry Barbrey."

"A union with the Tyrells –"

"I care not about the fruitful opportunities the Warden of the North thinks he brings to us with his union," Roose said dismissively. His father's pale eyes now took on an even more determined look. "Have they agreed to betroth you to young Bethany or not?"

"Father…"

"The only reason I let you stay longer in Winterfell was for you to secure an alliance, any alliance with a major house from the North. You let your friend Daryn get the Karstark girl before you, which leaves only the Manderlys to treat with. Then instead of fostering your bonds with Wylla Manderly, you go on a tourney and let Cley Cerwyn of all people ask for her hand in marriage." Roose spat, making Domeric tense. "'Tis a good thing Lord Wyman is a man who takes as much time in answering as he takes little to eat his lamprey pies."

"Most of the Northern Houses were invited in Highgarden, Father." Domeric protested.

"Yet you did not wait for my agreement to travel to your flowery friend's keep. I heard he's been knighted. At least his sojourn to Winterfell hasn't been for nothing. See that our guests are informed of the situation." Roose said dismissively and Domeric sighed as his father's cold stare moved from him and now wandered through the papers lying on his desk.

He knew his father thought of him as a failure and part of Domeric wanted to make Roose eat his own words, but he couldn't. His father was already disappointed in him, he'd rather not give the rest of his family the same feeling by going back on his word.

Before going to Daryn and Larence's shared rooms, Domeric ventured to the kitchen and grabbed a remnant jug of ale from their previous supper. He felt the thrill of stealing something so inconsequential, but still accounted for by his father, to chase away his despondency, which was very much needed if he wanted to survive another day in this keep.

"I see it didn't go well." Daryn pointed out, smirking as he took the jug from Domeric's hand. "Thanks for the ale, by the way."

"I was going to drink it." Domeric groaned.

"You never do, my friend. You're always too scared of being found out to do so." Daryn teased. "Was it that bad?"

Domeric recounted what he had learned in the missive he read in his father's solar. Theon Greyjoy's sentencing to the Wall and what it might imply for Asha.

"Let us pray Balon Greyjoy will not act stupidly." Larence declared.

"Since when does an Ironborn not act stupidly?" Daryn retorted, finishing the ale.

"For Jon's sake, I hope he won't. He would have to take Asha's head and we all know what it will do to him."

"That's what Father always said. She should have stayed a prisoner and not Beth's nursemaid. The Starks have given her too many liberties."

"But Asha is not a bad person!" Larence retorted, sighing as his half-brother arched an eyebrow to prove his point.

"As much as it pains me, I think Daryn is right. We've become too accustomed to her. Some of us even developed friendships with her. Now we'll have to deal with the consequences, and we may have to pay for the Stark's act of kindness." Domeric admitted.

"Jon won't have the heart to kill her. But mayhaps Lord Benjen will." Daryn said.

"Either way should push come to shove, Beth won't take it well." Domeric lamented. "It will be a dark day for House Stark as a whole. I'm not sure how they'll be able to recover from that."

It was to these thoughts that he fell to sleep that night. His worries over how Beth would take Asha Greyjoy's fate preyed on his mind and filled his dreams with images he'd rather forget. His cousin had a heart as big as the North and once she offered you a place within it, she'd fight any battle for you. Unfortunately, this was a battle that Beth wouldn't be able to fight, and Domeric, when he woke up, promised himself that he'd be there for her in its aftermath.

Eventually, the time came for his foster friends to leave, Domeric was sad to see them go and even more so that he wouldn't be leaving with them. After saying his goodbyes, Domeric spent as much time in and around the keep as possible. He looked over their stores, their weapons and armor supplies, and wrote out lists that he passed onto his father to see both were brought up to where they should be. A simple nod of his father's head was the only acknowledgment that his actions had found any favor at all from the Lord of the Dreadfort. When not acting as the heir his father wished him to be, Domeric spent much time in the yard and with the men. His eyes were ever watchful on some of the worst of his father's retainers as he supervised their training with Steelshanks Walton.

Should it come to a war against the Ironborn, Domeric would do all in his power to fight in any battle his father would allow him to participate in. He knew his father's thoughts and wishes when it came to joining their banners with House Stark and yet Domeric cared not. His friends would fight alongside their fathers and they'd earn glory and renown in doing so. Some simple words to his father about how it would be shameful for him not to do likewise should prove enough to loosen Roose's shackles somewhat. Or so Domeric hoped. For he truly would be shamed if he was the only fosterling at Winterfell who bore arms not when the Ironborn were dealt with.

"You've come along well, milord," Steelshanks said to him after they'd fought each other to a standstill. Domeric forgoing the chances to win their match as it was the workout more than anything he'd sought.

"Ser Rodrik is a most capable teacher, as are Ser Symon and Syrio Forel," Domeric replied before filling a mug with water and drinking it down slowly.

"You've trained under the Essosi?"

"No, but I've seen him train Jon Stark and there is no better sword in Winterfell than he or its future Lord."

"For true?" Steelshanks asked both surprised and curious.

"Mine own lessons, the lessons that Brandon Stark and Daryn Hornwood or Larence Snow have taken, all pale into comparison with the lessons that Syrio Forel teaches Jon Stark. I'd not wish to cross blades with either of them in a true fight." Domeric said purposefully. His words would be echoed back to his father at some point and it would be good for Roose to understand the true talent the future Warden possessed. It would stop his father from commenting about how wrong it was that a foreigner taught the Lord of Winterfell too.

Finished with his workout for the day, it was to the stables that he went to next. Domeric spent much time brushing down his horse and speaking softly to the stallion. From there it was to the keep, or so was his intent. The foul odor he encountered on the way stopped him in his tracks and sent him off in a much different direction. Only one thing in the world produced such a terrible stench and Domeric had believed that the man had long been sent from his father's service. To find out he had not, troubled him greatly and he now sought to get to the bottom of Reek's visit to the Dreadfort.

Thrice he had to duck and hide as he followed the trail left by Reek's scent. Once from one of his father's guards who seemed to have been placed along the path to dissuade anyone from following it. Another time by what Domeric believed to be his father himself. Though he couldn't be certain as they had entered the older part of the Dreadfort now and few torches were lit to illuminate the way. On and on, the smell never faded and Domeric worried he'd never get rid of it from his clothing. Eventually, the sound of voices along with the smell growing ever stronger, was enough to stop him in his tracks. Domeric looked for and was happy to find a decent hiding place and one that offered him a clear vantage point.

"I comes for the payment, milord," Reek said and Domeric saw his father's disdain and disgust, his anger too which Reek missed.

"You dare come here now," Roose replied, his tone as soft and quiet as it ever was. "When I send for you and never when my son is here, you know the rules. Or do I need to teach them to you once more?"

"No, Milord. Please. I's…I's only doing what the wench bid me."

"And what of last year's coin?"

"Spent, milord. The young master fell ill and…."

"Does the boy live still?" Roose interrupted.

"He does, milord. As healthy as a horse the young master is….but coin, milord. We spent all the coin to make it so."

There was a brief moment when Domeric worried he'd been seen. His father's pale eyes looked directly at where he was hiding and Domeric shivered under the intensity of their gaze. A backhanded slap from his father to Reek and the jangling of coins as a purse landed on the prone man was followed by words that, while spoken as softly as ever, carried the threat just as truly as if they'd been shouted or screamed at someone.

"You take that back to them and let them know, not even if one of them is laying on their deathbed, are they to send you here before I will it. And should you ever come when my son is in residence, then I'll be flaying your skin and feeding you to the pigs."

The smell, if anything, got worse. Domeric was as relieved as his father was when Reek moved and made his way out of the keep. Torn between following one or the other, in the end, he stayed where he was. When he did leave it was to head to the Weeping Water where he washed himself and his clothing. Domeric now wearing some rough clothing he'd taken from the pile of laundry he'd passed on his way out of the keep.

Sitting by the fire, Domeric pondered on all he'd seen. Reek worked for his father still, that much was clear and yet he worked for another too, or so it seemed. There had been mention of a woman and a young master and whoever they were, his father was providing for them. Closing his eyes and letting the fire both warm him and dry his clothing, Domeric found no answers to the questions he asked himself.

Later as he lay in his bed, he vowed he soon would.

Highgarden 296 AC,

Mace Tyrell.

He and Alerie had argued over what to tell Margaery. Mace had come around to the idea that she needed to be told some of the truth, though as of yet he could not accept his wife's assertion that it should be all of it. Why that was, he couldn't truly say. Had it been but a moon ago, he'd have said it was because he worried what Margaery may do with that truth. Now, he worried not on that account at least. Something inside of him just begged him not to speak the full truth about Jon Stark and so, it was some half-truths that were told instead.

It was the same voice that had bid him to play the game of thrones with his mother. The one that told him that he needed to play up the role of fool that she had decided was to be his. Mace found he much looked forward to the day when he could reveal he was no fool at all, even if that day was still some moons or even years away. He found too that he enjoyed pulling the wool over his mother's eyes. It had turned out that he was a decent mummer and so was able to play from a position of strength.

'Even if at times I must look weak when doing so.'

There were times that he worried he'd shown too much of the truth of who he really was. Moments where he caught his mother looking far too keenly at him and so was forced to once again act the loveable oaf she named him as. Never was this truer than when it came to the three matches that would define the future not just of his House, but Westeros itself. Margaery's, Willas' and his niece Desmera's. The latter of those the one that caused his mother to turn her gaze upon him. Even though, unlike with the former two, it had not yet been one that was agreed to by any of the parties involved.

"Robar Royce, Mace."

"Mother?"

"Why is Yohn Royce's second son here in Highgarden? For what reason did he return with you from Storm's End."

"He is a good and true knight, mother. Talented with both sword and lance."

"And what know you of such things?"

"I have eyes, do I not." Mace laughed his silly laugh. His truer one was only heard by him in his head as he did so.

"So you bid him join you, for why?"

"We'll be hosting a tourney soon enough will we not? Given that Willas' betrothed is visiting, 'tis the least we can do. Our Bannermen should look and gaze in awe at mine son's match and how better for them to see the lady up close than at feasts and tourneys."

"And that is your only reason for bringing a Vale knight back from the Stormlands?"

"What other reason could there be, Mother." he smiled. "What better reason." he laughed again as he strolled from the room and once he was outside, his expression changed completely.

Gone was the oafishness that many in the Reach believed he had inherited from his father. Even his mother named this so as she sought to rule where she had no true right to. Now, once more, Mace Tyrell was his true self. A man who'd learned much from his mother and even mastered a lesson that she had not.

To err is human, to forgive is divine. And there was nothing in this world that Mace wished for more than forgiveness.

With his mother's suspicions put at rest, for now, Mace turned his attention to the other two matches that meant so much to him. In truth, there was little he could do when it came to Desmera and Robar, not yet. Other than hosting a tourney, holding a feast, and allowing nature to take its course, Mace was left to wait until Paxter and Mina arrived. Once they did, he'd work on the one while Alerie would use her magic on the other. None were more able or suitable to convince her sister of the upsides of a match with House Royce.

While Mace may wish he could turn his attention to his daughter's betrothal, and better yet, her betrothed, for now, he could not. So he instead looked to his firstborn and the woman who would one day serve as the Lady of Highgarden. There was much to admire in both, Mace was pleased to say. Willas was a son and heir any father could be proud of and not even his limp was enough to not name that so.

'Another of mother's mistakes that need to be reckoned with.' Though Mace had his own guilt when it came to Willas' injury too. So wrapped up in his mummery had he been that he'd not considered the dangers his son was facing.

"And yet it was ill fortune and naught else that caused his accident." Mace sighed regretfully.

To all and sundry it appeared that Mace blamed the Red Viper for what had happened to Willas. He'd played up on the resentments that his Bannermen felt for Dorne and their princes to make it truly seem so. Mace however only ever had one true target for any ill feeling when it came to what had happened on that fateful day. His mother and the need to appease and allow her to believe she got her way had cost his son some of his future. Mace would not allow her to cost any of his children any more of theirs.

It was he and not his mother who had set things in motion with Garlan and Leonette Fossoway. His maneuvering behind the scenes had brought the lady into his son's field of vision and then his heart. While his mother may believe that it was her moves that led to Margaery's betrothal, in truth they were those orchestrated by Rhaella Targaryen and Ashara Dayne that had done so. Those were the only reasons why Mace had argued not initially and no matter that he had other reasons why he'd not now, he named it still as true.

'Had it been my mother alone then I'd have been right there with Margaery in trying to force another betrothal to take place.'

"Not that I'd ever have allowed it to be Joffrey Baratheon she wed, mind." he sneered.

His mother may believe that she was the reason Willas was to marry the sister of the Sword of the Morning, but she very much was not. Again, Mace was certain that it was Rhaella and Ashara who somewhat laid the groundwork for this match. Just as he was, should Jon Stark not approve of it, then it would likely never take place. As for his approval, the lady had earned that already. So, over the next few days, Mace readied to make the last betrothal something that not even his mother could deny. He spoke to his wife and listened as Alerie told him the words she'd use to bring Mina's thinking around. To his niece too, as he found that Desmera was almost begging to be swept off her feet by a chivalrous and handsome knight. Mace then did all he could to ensure it was the right knight who caught his niece's eye.

Lastly, it was Paxter and Mace began by asking his Goodbrother if he had anyone in mind for his daughter. The Lord of the Arbor brought up some interesting names and a few that Mace liked not. Dickon Tarly could never be accepted and so Mace spoke up against the boy's father and was soon happy with how Paxter responded. Edmure Tully and even Brandon Stark were next mentioned and so Mace spoke of the age of the one and the nature of the other. Benjen Stark's son and heir would rule Winterfell and the North one day and there was a lot to be said about his niece being wed to such a man. Yet, it benefited the cause of the Dragon's not.

"You'd seek a second son?" Paxter asked curiously and not angrily much to Mace's relief.

"The right second son, Paxter."

"What benefit would it bring us? Either mine House or the Reach itself?"

"Mayhap none right now, but who knows what the future may bring."

"You know something you old dog, what is it?" Paxter asked. His voice and expression were full of the intrigue that Mace's suggestion had brought to the fore.

"I know House Royce is an old and true House, Goodbrother. As I know that House Arryn are naught but old."

Once more Paxter looked at him and Mace worried he'd given away too much of his true self in their conversation. He almost smiled when Paxter asked him how his mother was and Mace knew then that he'd almost succeeded in his task. Words would eventually be spoken and yet none for quite some time. To his Goodbrother, Mace was about his mother's work. So a simple nod of his head was enough for now. In time, the truth would come out and it would change how everyone in the Reach, and even those amongst his kin, thought of now, let them think him a mere puppet on a string who danced to his mother's tune.

As he walked away from his Goodbrother and looked to where Desmera stood staring down at the impressive figure that Robar Royce cut atop his horse, Mace almost laughed loudly. When he was away from prying eyes and with no ears turned his way, Mace began to sing. His voice was decent if underused.

"I had strings but now I'm free, there are no strings on me."

The Narrow Sea/King's Landing 296 AC,

Jon Stark.

It had been hard saying goodbye to his mother, uncle, and his cousin. Jon had not truly been ready to leave and yet, he knew he had no other choice. Asha's future, her very life depended on him speaking to Robert Baratheon and hoping that he still held some affection for the boy he thought was his brother by choice's son. No matter if his mother and uncle were right and it was but a forlorn hope that he held, he needed to try at least.

Jon knew full well where it was he'd be heading to after King's Landing too and that preyed on his mind almost as much as his concerns for his friend did. He was not yet ready to face his uncle and aunt, nor to speak on things that he must. True, he wished the rift between him and Benjen to be healed and he'd much missed Beth, Brandon, and Ben while he was in Starfall, it did not mean that he was not extremely apprehensive about returning to the North, however.

As resolved as he wished he could be, Jon was far from where he had hoped he was when it came to matters of the heart and soul. On his family in Essos, he had finally reached the place he truly longed for. His grandmother had now joined Viserys, Daenerys, and Maekar in Jon's heart. Though in truth, Jon knew that his grandmother's place had ever been there and he'd just pretended that it was not. Anger had clouded his true feelings which now gave him much pause when it came to the other members of his family. And even more when it came to his betrothed.

"You'll see them again soon, Jon." Ser Symon said, taking Jon from his thoughts.

"Aye, I know," Jon replied, happy enough for now to let the knight think it was Starfall or Winterfell that he was concerning himself with. Comfortable in the knowledge that this was only partly true.

"I'll not lie and say I think this is folly, Jon." Symon began and Jon turned to glare at the knight. "Nor that they'd be proud of you for trying at least."

The words made his anger subside and Jon allowed his own to put Symon and Syrio who'd joined them, somewhat at peace.

"It's simply words I seek to speak. A plea to a king that I pray he listens to."

"And should he not?" Symon asked.

"Then I'll have done all I can."

Neither Syrio nor Ser Symon believed him and Jon cared not. They both knew him far too well to think he'd simply accept that Asha's fate was already decided. Or that he'd not try and do all in his power to change whatever it was that Robert Baratheon wished to do to her.

Little did any of them know that it wasn't simply Robert Baratheon who wished to see Asha Greyjoy suffer.

They arrived to no welcome. Jon then had to stop Ghost from leaving the ship when he, Symon, and Syrio did so. He even had to send the ship to dock further from the city once they'd disembarked for it. Tales of the white wolf's encounter with Prince Joffrey were not far from Jon's mind and he'd not give the cruel boy a chance to take some dastardly vengeance out on Ghost.

"Bad enough that I'll need to watch the fucker as it is."

His whispered words went unheard. The sound of the city drowning them out and looking around at the docks was a most impressive sight. What was far less impressive was the smell. Although at the docks themselves it was somewhat covered by the seafood that was being unloaded, cooked, and sold all around them.

As they walked, Jon caught sight of the Gold Cloaks and he wagered they were a far less impressive order than when Daemon Targaryen was their commander. Soon it was Flea Bottom that caught his eye and the smell now truly overpowered his senses. Jon was more than happy he'd not brought Ghost with him for another reason now. A wolf's sense of smell made a man's seem inadequate and the white wolf needed not to smell this shit-covered city.

"Does no one stop them from doing that?" Jon asked as a bucket full of, what he imagined was as foul smelling as it was looking, waste, was thrown from an open window.

"No one cares what they do in Flea Bottom, Jon." Symon sighed.

"They should," he replied determinedly.

Long after they left the dirt-filled streets of King's Landing's poorest maintained area behind, Jon could still smell the shit they'd walked through. To one side of him was the famed Street of Steel and some distance away, the infamous Street of Silks. Not even the perfume the whores wore was enough to drive the smell away and Jon would wager the smoke from the bellows fared little better.

Soon enough it was the three hills the city was built upon that took Jon's attention. Aegon and his sister-wives, the Conqueror and his Queens, these hills had been named after and each of them grabbed his attention equally. Visenya's with the Great Sept of Baelor atop it. Rhaenys' where the Dragonpit was located and finally Aegon's where the Red Keep sat and which was Jon's destination.

'Would I had the time to visit the others too.' Jon thought as he added those to other places he longed to travel to should he ever get the chance. Summerhall. Dragonstone. Braavos. All of them shared one thing in common be that from their past or in their present.

"Dragons."

Upon reaching the Red Keep, Jon was taken by just how many Lannister sigils adorned the outside of the Royal Palace. His eyes soon found themselves drawn to the Tower of the Hand and White Sword Tower, the latter bringing a smile to his face.

As a boy, he'd read tales of the Kingsguard. The knights that had served in it had been heroes of his, or they had until he'd been told of how the man he'd thought was his father had died. That along with tales of how his aunt was held prisoner by men in White Cloaks had stolen his boyish enthusiasm about them away. His mother's word on his uncle and on the men he'd fought side by side with at the Tower of Joy, had allowed him to regain some of it.

Now, Jon could more easily admire the men who truly stood out while serving in that noble order. Two of whom served his family still and stood with his grandmother, uncles, and aunt. One he named an uncle even if he shared no blood with the Sword of the Morning. His mother would have it no other way and Jon thought of Ashara as that and only that. The time he spent in Starfall had reinforced that even more so.

"Come, we had best go greet a man who names himself king." Symon chuckled.

"Aye, we had best do so." Jon laughed not.

The walk through the Red Keep itself was much more disappointing than Jon had expected it to be. There were no signs of the House that had built this keep. No tapestries or paintings depicted any of his ancestors and while Jon had expected as much, it didn't stop him from being upset all the same. Seeing the banners of House Baratheon where House Targaryen's should stand made Jon turn to ask Ser Symon if he expected Dragonstone to be much the same. Jon got the answer he expected and he now resolved to not visit the island until it was back to what it once was.

They'd been stopped but briefly at the main doors of the Red Keep, now as they moved toward the two large wooden doors that led into the Throne Room itself, they were stopped for far longer. The guards would let them no further without them giving up their weapons and Jon almost refused to do so. Had it not been for Ser Symon's hand touching his shoulder, then who knows how long the standoff between him and the guards would have gone on. As it was, Jon eventually complied and the large double doors were finally opened to him and his companions.

He felt it as he walked into the Throne Room, a weight suddenly seeming to fall upon his chest as he realized that he'd lost two grandfathers and an uncle in this very room. For now, the fact that it had been one of his grandfathers who'd taken his other and his uncle from the world was put aside. Instead, it was looking to the Iron Throne and the steps that led up to it and knowing that Aerys Targaryen had died by those very steps. It was turning to see what to Jon looked like a freshly burned scorch mark, yet was both aged and somewhat cleaned up. It was knowing that just mere feet from that scorch mark, his uncle Brandon had choked to death as he'd tried to reach Jon's grandfather.

"Jon, are you well?" Ser Symon asked, seeing Jon's distress.

"Aye…aye, I am." Jon lied.

Turning his attention to the Iron Throne, Jon found himself relieved it was empty. The image of a silver-haired king briefly filled Jon's mind and though he could not be certain, Jon named that king as his father. A glimpse at a life that could never be was all he was awarded as with one blink of his eyes, the silver-haired king was gone. Now looking to see the chair itself in all its gruesome glory was a far less welcome sight. He needed a moment to compose himself and yet all too soon, Jon's name was being called and he, Ser Symon and Syrio all moved forward to be greeted by the old man who sat in a large chair beside the Iron Throne.

"Lord Jon Stark, future Warden of the North and Lord of Winterfell." The herald called out loudly. Ser Symon and Syrio not being announced for some reason that Jon knew not.

"Be welcome, Lord Stark." the old man said in a friendly enough manner. His blue eyes stared at Jon for quite some time before they found whatever it was they were looking for. Jon did likewise as he tried to put a name to the man and he was thankful then to see the White Falcon sigil.

"Lord Hand, it is a true pleasure to finally meet the man who fostered my father. Long have I wished to do so." Jon's words earned him an almost toothless smile.

"As have I, Lord Jon." Jon Arryn replied before schooling his features and bidding Jon to tell him the nature of his visit.

"Events have occurred which concern the North, Lord Hand. Troubling reports and as I was nearer here than there, I felt it behooves me to come speak to them with those more learned than I."

"A wise choice, Lord Jon, and on his grace's behalf, I again welcome you to King's Landing. You have found accommodation?"

"Not as of yet, Lord Hand."

"Then let me offer you some in mine own Tower."

"I would be most grateful for it, Lord Hand." Jon offered a small bow of his head.

As encounters go it was a most friendly one. Once Lord Arryn knew that Jon wasn't going to blurt out why he was there and that his words had been enough to speak the truth of his visit, he was welcomed as Ned Stark's son more than anything else. He'd accepted the offer of accommodation because it was better to stay with the Hand than the King. Jon knew that he could not refuse the latter should the offer be made. As he did that the last thing he wished for was to be anywhere near the Royal Chambers during his, hopefully, short visit to the Red Keep.

What he could not avoid was the feast that was held that night, Jon was happy at least it was not one in his honor and simply how Robert Baratheon preferred to dine. Jon was placed at the High Table and he sat close enough to the king to be forced to bear witness to all his squalid behavior. Disgust was his most prevalent emotion as he watched the King of the Seven Kingdoms behave like a drunkard in a tavern instead of the man who wore the crown. Not even his wife's presence two seats down for him or her father's one seat further was enough to stop Robert from being his boorish self.

Through it all, Robert tried to converse with Jon about every other matter but the one that had brought him to King's Landing. Jon was forced to make conversation and to try and keep his eyes off the bosom that Robert was trying to nuzzle into as he spoke. It was not only Robert who wished to converse with him either. Jon Arryn, the Queen, her father and of course, Prince Joffrey all too wished to either belittle or put Jon in his place with their oft snide comments. The Old Lion the only one of them whose words truly carried the threat they were spoken with.

"Is it true that you were knighted, Jon?" Jon Arryn asked and his words turned Joffrey's attention even more fully on Jon now.

"My uncle surprised me, Lord Arryn. I had not expected such, but apparently, my victory in Highgarden was enough to see it so."

"Knighted by one's uncle, hah." Joffrey snorted and Jon let him have his moment. As he did when the prince spoke of how since he'd beaten him in Storm's End, that made him the winner of the tourney at Highgarden too. Flawed and stupid logic though it was, Jon corrected him not.

"I heard tell of a wolf, yet you seem to have none with you, Ser Jon?" Tywin Lannister said and Jon could resist it not.

"All Starks are wolves, Lord Lannister." he smiled. For he was a dragon too.

When it came time for dancing, it was the prince that all the younger ladies wished to take to the floor with. One or two came his way and Jon politely declined their offer due to his betrothal. Or so he told them. In truth, the very last thing he wished to do was dance with any of them. He trusted not their intent and believed at least one or two had been sent his way by Joffrey or those who served him.

He was much relieved when the time came to take to his bed and yet it was not a walk he was allowed to make in peace. Joffrey called out loudly that he'd accompany Jon on his walk to his chambers and Jon needed not to look at Robert to see the smile on the king's face. No doubt he saw them as he and Ned Stark come again, but they would never be so. Jon would see Joffrey in the ground rather than name him a friend of his. As for Joffrey, his words spoken as they walked would say the same of his own feelings when it came to them being friends.

"Your betrothed not with you, Stark?"

"No, my prince, Lady Margaery returned to Highgarden."

"A pity, though mayhap it's for the best."

"Mayhap," Jon said noncommittally.

"I had expected to hear news of the betrothal being broken. After how she behaved, what she was willing to do. Why, if I was not the man I am, I'd mayhap have taken her up on her many offers. She is a pretty little flower after all." Joffrey chuckled.

Jon ground his teeth and looked not to the prince or his Kingsguard. Ser Mandon Moore was a decent sword, but no match for Ser Symon and certainly not one for Syrio. With his injured arm, Jon could mayhap not beat Joffrey in a fair fight. He could, however, leave the boy prince with scars or even take his life before either Joffrey or his Kingsguard could stop him.

Instead, he let the prince drone on and on about how willing Margaery was to lift her skirts for him. How she had all but thrown herself at him and only the fact that he was a prince of the realm and not a common lord or warden had stopped Joffrey from taking her maiden's gift. Jon let Joffrey run down his knighting by his uncle and saying how a true knight would not accept such an honor from family. Corrected him not over the fact that his own knighting had come at his father's hands.

"Mayhap I should visit Highgarden when they next host a tourney. One never knows when you are ready to sample some new delight, is that not so, Stark."

"I am certain you'll sample something new to you in the future, my prince." My blade in your condescending green eyes, mayhap.

"Until the morrow, Stark. Should you seek me out, you'll find me in Myrcella's Gardens, there's a rose there I feel is ripe for the plucking."

Jon said his goodbyes and looked to his hands where his nails had broken the skin so hard had he pressed down on them.

"For your hands, Jon," Symon said and Jon welcomed the handkerchief and the water.

"The only thing we say to that boy is not today, Jon," Syrio said, earning him one of Jon's truest smiles.

"Aye, not today."

It was in the Small Council chambers that Jon held his meeting with Robert Baratheon. The Lord Hand, The Master of Coin, The Old Lion, the Blackfish, and The Master of Whisperers all too were present much to his chagrin. It was the latter of those who looked at Jon most intently. The Blackfish barely paid him any attention and while the Master of Coin looked intrigued to see him there, he looked bored too. As for the Lord Hand and the King, Jon's first words brought much different reactions.

"I've come to plead Asha's Greyjoy's case, your grace."

"She's a fucking hostage. She has no case to plead."

"His grace speaks true, Lord Jon, Balon Greyjoy is well aware of what his actions will reap and yet he chooses to ignore the consequences and seeks to disturb the king's peace."

"It's the King's Peace I mean to see kept, Lord Hand," Jon replied to the older man.

"Lord Jon?" Jon Arryn asked curiously.

"Balon Greyjoy is not beloved, your grace, as well all of us here know. The folly of his last rebellion has not been forgotten and only a fool would think that this one could be any more successful."

"All Ironborn are fucking fools, lad." Robert laughed.

"Not all, your grace." Jon began before the Old Lion interrupted.

"You dare correct your king." Tywin Lannister spoke firmly yet not loudly.

"I would dare do no such thing, Lord Lannister. Yet, I am aware of some things that I dare say the king, yourself, and not even the Master of Whisperers are. Which is why I can make that statement and name it true."

"You have a source on the Iron Islands?" Lord Varys asked curiously.

"Never underestimate a mother's love for her children, Lord Varys," Jon said to a nod of the Eunuch's head. "For her daughter's life, Lady Alannys can ensure that the Iron Islands never rises, your grace."

"She dares negotiate! With her king, she dares such a thing!"

"No, your grace, I dare." Jon interrupted Robert's rant. "Asha is not as those before her. Under my aunt and uncle's guidance, she's been made to see the error in the Ironborn's ways. She understands better than most what her father's actions have wrought down upon her House and their people."

"Then she will understand it all the better when she loses her fucking head, boy!" Robert shouted.

"Why are you being so obtuse, your grace? Why ignore the chance for peace and set forth on a course that can only lead to war?"

"Obtuse! Obtuse! You dare name me as such! You overstep yourself, even for a Stark."

"I meant no offense, your grace. Truly I did not." Jon said meekly. His words made him seem cowed when he was very much not. Both Tywin Lannister and Petyr Baelish seemed happy with this turn of affairs. Jon Arryn seemed to be a little upset, though whether it was at him or Robert, Jon knew not. Lord Varys, Jon wagered, bought his little act not, yet he spoke not a word.

There was silence for a moment, Jon waiting with bated breath for some sense that his words had taken hold and been listened to, only to find that they had very much not.

"The girl loses her head, Lord Stark. Now do I need to have her brought here so Ser Ilyn can take it or will my Warden of the North do so?" Robert asked.

"Surely not, your grace. Lord Jon is much too young for such."

"Hah, piss on that, Jon. The boy has hairs on his balls and is an anointed knight now. Other than the injury to his arm, he should be able to wield a sword well enough, is that not right, Stark?"

"I can do what needs to be done, your grace."

"There, you heard it from his own lips, Jon."

"Your grace, Lord Benjen mayhap…"

"Your grace, I have a solution that may offer everyone what they wish for." Tywin Lannister began and Robert bid him continue. "Peace is oft preferable to war, your grace, and yet a message must be sent loud and clear to House Greyjoy, no matter what they may be offering."

"Continue, Lord Lannister." Jon Arryn said wearily when Robert spoke not.

"A wedding, your grace. Have the girl wedded to the son of a Leal House and let that be the price of her keeping her head. That and Balon Greyjoy's in return for her own." Tywin said to loud laughter from Robert Baratheon.

Jon felt his stomach tighten. His uncle Benjen and Lord Reed had told him of what Tywin Lannister had wished for after Pyke had fallen. Only Benjen's interference had stopped it from being Casterly Rock and a wedding with the Imp that had been Asha's fate. Now, given the look on both the King's and the Hand's faces, the Lord of Casterly Rock was about to get his wish. It was not something that Jon could allow to occur. To have the Lions that close to the North would be to court disaster. While Asha would be little more than a broodmare who'd be discarded once she'd given birth to a lion cub.

"I'll not be a part of such a thing, your grace. To force a woman to do something against her will, no, I'll not allow such to occur."

His words caused outrage. The Blackfish glared at him and called him out for daring to deny a king, even if Robert hadn't yet agreed to Tywin's offer. Lord Baelish named him a pup who knew not his arse from his elbow and had no right to tell a king what he could or couldn't do. Tywin Lannister glared at him and tried to intimidate him with how he did so, only to find that Jon could glare too and that he feared the Old Lion not. Jon Arryn looked at him with disappointment and regret, and yet with some fondness too Jon believed. Robert looked fit to burst and yet when Lord Varys spoke, all ears turned his way.

"Lady Asha is not your aunt, Lord Stark." Lord Varys said and Jon felt a burning rage within him. 'How dare this bald balless fuck name what happened between his mother and father as anything other than consensual.'

Yet the Eunuch's words were not aimed at Jon, not that he knew it at the time. They had but one target in mind and this, Varys had aimed as true as any master bowman. Robert, got such a look of regret and sadness on his face that for the briefest moment, Jon felt some sympathy for the man. The king spoke but one word and did so, so softly, that Jon reckoned he was the only one who heard it.

"Lyanna."

Robert held his hand up and even though the room was mainly quiet, a hush came over it that rendered it to complete silence.

"Lord Stark speaks his mind and is much like his father in that regard," Robert said warmly. "Yet a message needs to be sent and so one will be. Wed or Dead, Lord Stark. I'll give her but that choice and she can think herself lucky that I'm not forcing her one way or the other. Wed or Dead and should it be the latter, then no other blade than your own or hand that wields the sword is to take that head from her shoulders. You came here and spoke as a man grown, and your father would have been proud to see you do so. Now go home and prove him prouder still."

"Your grace, my lords." Jon held his tongue and spoke no more. No words of his would achieve anything and so he had no other choice but to leave.

He should have known Joffrey would be back to taunt him before his departure. He was not in the mood to withstand another word about Margaery, yet he was stuck in what was now enemy territory. Somewhere that was supposed to be a safe place for him and his family, yet at times had proved very much not, and Jon could not deny the prince's visit.

"I heard what you did. Father was deeply offended that you came all the way to plead for the Ironborn whore."

"Asha Greyjoy is not responsible for her family's bad behavior," Jon stated placidly.

"Did you fuck her?"

"What?" Jon turned his head, staring incredulously at the smirking prince.

"It would explain a lot of things. Why you did not react when your betrothed humiliates you. You're an Ironborn lover, are you not?"

"I am not involved in any unbecoming way with Asha Greyjoy." Jon retorted, feeling his rage bubbling over the surface.

'You're a dragon, Jon, impetuous, fierce, and prone to anger. You're wolfblooded too, as your Uncles used to say, but wolves tend to wait for the ideal moment to strike with their pack. We are your pack, Jon. All of us, from Winterfell to Starfall. It is not your time yet to be a dragon. Not when faced with the king and the Lannisters. Let the Ice in your blood be what leads you, and wait for your pack to strike when the time is right.'

His mother's words rang through his head as he stood there taking Joffrey's taunts. Jon kept repeating the same thing, that he was betrothed and would never dishonor his future wife in any way. Denying he ever went to a brothel, for he didn't, contrary to Brandon and some of his foster brothers. Refuting any infatuation with Asha until something the prince said to him made him tense.

"What did you say?"

"I asked you if you were the traitor who gave the letter to the Ironborn scum. I wondered so many nights how he could have received it. I know my Uncle would never and Cassana confirmed it. It had to be someone from outside the keep. Someone who loves the Ironborn so much that he would be willing to act treasonously."

"'Tis not treason to give a man news from his family." Jon retorted, unconsciously admitting to the fact.

"It is when he rebels and attacks the Prince and his cousin because of it." Joffrey smirks, Jon not buying his nonchalant act.

"He attacked you because of the letter?" He asked, clenching his fist as he realized now the extent of the boy's words. "What did you do?"

"Do not worry. Your secret's safe with me. I do not want my father to be more cross with his friend's son than he already is." Joffrey chuckled.

"What did you do?" Jon repeated.

"What you should have done the minute you had the letter of a traitor in your hands. I destroyed it." Joffrey sneered, making Jon even more furious. "What is it that I see in your eyes now? Anger? Guilt? So you truly are an Ironborn lover!"

"Do you realize what you've done? You've condemned an innocent man to the Wall because of a letter?" Jon growled.

"He struck my cousin! Almost struck me! He was anything but innocent. He was a nuisance, someone who didn't hesitate to try and strike the future king. He should feel grateful that he didn't lose his life over it because of my uncle's intervention."

"Because, not thanks to. You wanted him dead. You lied about what happened so he would be. Made your cousin lie by omitting the fact that you goaded Theon by destroying his letter." Jon growled menacingly.

"Are you truly still defending that scum? Go ahead, tell my father about the real circumstances of his demise. When he asks you how Greyjoy got a letter, see for yourself how your luck turns. As for your protegee, well… Wed or Dead is what my Father said, right? Do you think she would get a choice after he hears about her treacherous act? I trust you to be a good boy and keep your mouth shut, else you will end up as Greyjoy did." Joffrey spat before leaving.

Later as he stood on the deck of the ship and they sailed North to White Harbor, Jon felt ever more resolved in his course of action. The guilt he felt over the whole ordeal and Joffrey's taunts made things even more clear. He needed to become what his grandmother wished him to be. What his father and mother had believed him to be. Jon needed to be king and to do that, he needed a queen. In time he'd resolve things with Margaery Tyrell or do so enough that they could be wed and the Reach brought into the fold. Now, he needed to make one more move in the Great Game and so when Symon asked him what he was thinking, Jon told him straight.

"Asha cannot be wed to the Old Lion's son, Ser Symon. She simply cannot. No matter what she decides."

"You know what you'll have to do if she agrees, Jon."

"Kings face hard choices all the time, Ser Symon. If I wish to wear the crown one day, I had better start making mine own from here on."

'Wed or Dead. There wasn't really a choice after all.'

King's Landing 296 AC,

Tywin Lannister.

Before Jon's arrival.

Tywin hated visiting this city. Every time he did it reminded him of what had been denied to him. One glance at the Tower of the Hand was enough to stir up his anger and discontent that another now named it as their home. A man who was lesser than him in every way now practically ran the Seven Kingdoms for yet another king who cared not for ruling. So Tywin rarely visited and would not have come now, were it not for the importance of his task.

"Would I could leave it to my daughter to see it done." he sighed.

Cersei was beyond useless when it came to any of Tywin's true plans. Give her an inconsequential task and you'd need good fortune to see it realized. To dare give her an important one was guaranteed to snatch failure from the jaws of success. Hence why his son and heir was still little more than a glorified bodyguard and Tommen was not currently fostering in Casterly Rock. Even in seeing Joffrey trained as he should be, Tywin had to directly intervene. Left to his daughter it would only have been Jaime who trained the future king. As talented with a sword in his hand, as Tywin's Golden Heir was, he was not who Joffrey needed to be squired to.

So, Tywin had sent the Mountain and it had paid great dividends. Joffrey had not only won the Tourney of Storm's End, but he'd potentially crippled Jon Stark in doing so. He'd been knighted, justly, and had earned himself a name and a reputation in the process. True, some would take issue with the fact that he'd beaten an injured man, but that too would serve his grandson well in the years to come. Men needed to fear you before they ever truly respected you. Tywin knew that better than most and it was a lesson he was happy his grandson had learned too.

As he sat at his table, reading his many missives, one caught his attention. It had been sent from one of his Dornish spies. A man who'd been dispatched to the village near Starfall and told to keep his eyes on the Daynes and Jon Stark most particularly. Tywin had almost forgotten about the spy in truth. He'd learned little from the missives that had been sent from him that he knew not. House Dayne and House Martell were somewhat at odds. Jon Stark was a beloved son of their lady and treated with all the courtesy and respect his station demanded. The Daynes had much dealing with Essos, and Braavos most especially, which while it may come in useful later, really did little for Tywin now. This one, however, did raise Tywin's interest.

My Lord,

Lord Stark has bid his farewells to his mother, uncle, and cousin and has taken ship not to the North, but to King's Landing. I've heard tell that he means to plead for leniency for House Stark's Ironborn hostage and wishes to request that the king take no further action when it comes to Asha Greyjoy.

How he believes his words would be able to manage this, I know not. Yet I believe that is his intent and he should be arriving in King's Landing by week's end.

Your ever faithful servant.

If there was one thing in this world that Tywin was disgusted by, it was weakness. Jon Stark may very well prove in his actions that he was little more than a weak child and that brought Tywin some satisfaction. The few interactions he'd had with the boy, or had heard the boy have with the king, had led him to believe the boy had ice in his veins. Now, he almost smiled to himself as the missive suggested that just like on a warm sunny day, ice can do little more than melt when faced with the right conditions.

Later that day, he pondered on the fact that Jon Stark had shown some of the same understanding as Tywin had. He too had taken what had happened with Theon Greyjoy and had worked out what sending Balon Greyjoy's son to the Wall would do. Unlike Tywin, however, he sought to save Asha Greyjoy because he cared for the Ironborn hostage. Tywin simply sought to see her live for the advantage it would bring him. Thoughts of a grandson of his ruling over the Iron Islands and the fleet that would be his one day had brought him back to this shit-smelling city.

Thoughts of finally ridding himself of his monster of a son had actually brought a true smile to Tywin's face. He'd even allowed himself the pleasure of imagining the Ironborn taking Tyrion's life and sealing their fate that way. As long as the girl had a lion in her belly or had birthed a healthy cub, they could do what they wished with Tyrion. Tywin would make them pay for it, of course. His son may be an ill-made spiteful creature, but he bore the Lannister name regardless and the Lannister name should always be feared and respected.

No matter what happened to Tyrion, live or die, it mattered not. His blood would rule over the Iron Islands and the North would pay a heavy cost to sail those waters. They had dared to show him up. To outshine him and earn favor that was rightfully his. The North owed him a debt because of it and while a Lannister may always pay their debts, they never let any go uncollected either.

"Or this Lannister does not."

After Jon Stark's departure.

He was furious. Angered beyond measure and his children knew him well enough to know better than to annoy him further. The sheer gall of the boy to dare look at him that way. To dare intervene in his plans as if he had a right to do such a thing. Tywin would see Jon Stark bleed because of it, he promised himself. He would see both him and the North suffer for their arrogance and entitlement. As soon as Joffrey sat the Iron Throne and Tywin was once again Hand of the King, the North would face tariffs and restrictions the likes of which no region had known before.

"Your children, my lord." his steward said and Tywin barely heard him, his mind lost to plots and thoughts of vengeance. "Should I send them in, my lord?"

He moved his hand, not trusting himself to speak. Rarely had someone angered him enough to cause Tywin to almost lose his composure. He'd held it in while in the Small Council Chambers. Had let some of it loose upon reaching his own. Yet he'd been alone when he'd done so and so, taking a breath and moving to his chair, Tywin readied himself for his three children and for once was happy enough that the Imp was here and not locked away in Casterly Rock where he ought to be.

"Father?" Cersei said worriedly. His daughter could be oblivious to things she cared not for, but his mood would never be one of those things. Lest she was as angered as he now was, that was.

"Sit, all of you. You too, Tyrion," he said to his children, the last of them needing to call for someone to move a chair to Tywin's table as he'd only laid out two.

"Jon Stark seeks to save the Greyjoys from Robert's Wrath."

"Then the boy is truly a fool." Jaime chuckled while Cersei seemed ready to launch into a tirade that she never got to start.

"He has a way to stop Balon rebelling, does he not?" Tyrion asked and for the briefest of moments, Tywin felt proud of his second son. Only for the realization that it was Tyrion who'd understood what was to happen to force that pride away and to allow his resentment at the monster who'd killed his wife to return.

"Through her mother," Tywin said and again it was Tyrion who figured out Jon Stark's plan or course of action before Jaime or Cersei ever would. "Yet it will stop mine own plans not," Tywin added determinedly.

"Your plans, father?" Cersei asked.

"You will marry Asha Greyjoy and put a Lannister babe in her belly." Tywin looked at Tyrion. "While the Royal Fleet and the entire might of the Realm will sail to the Iron Islands and remove Balon Greyjoy's head from his body and his arse from the Seastone Chair."

Cersei smiled a true and wicked smile. His daughter was probably even happier than Tywin was to be rid of Tyrion. Politics, practical matters, how wars worked and realms were ruled over, all were beyond her mind to comprehend. That Tywin planned to have Tyrion rule the Iron Islands in his name and to have his son rule after him, was very much not. Jaime on the other hand took some time to reach the same conclusion that his sister had and it irked Tywin greatly.

'A glorified bodyguard' that's what his son was and had trained himself to be and all those years that Tywin had lost while Jaime was prancing about with a white cloak were now truly revealed to be folly once more.

Tyrion said nothing, at first. His son, was it not for his mismatched eyes and oddly shaped head, would be the very image of Tywin as he considered things of great import. Even with the obvious physical differences, Tywin could see enough in Tyrion's expression to easily name what it was his son was doing. As he could when the moment arrived where Tyrion's thoughts had reached their logical conclusion.

"Jon Stark sought the girl to have a choice in her fate, did he not?"

"Eventually," Tywin answered Tyrion's question.

"And should she choose death over the marriage bed?"

Tywin snorted. For all his angered words and shows of defiance, Jon Stark had finally revealed the truth of who he was. The boy was weak and he cared too much so he'd not even offer Asha Greyjoy the choice. Nor would he have the mettle to take her head or even see it done in his name. Jon Stark had come pleading for her life and believed that Robert Baratheon would listen to him. There may even have been a time when that would have held to be true, but that time was long since passed. Robert had been refused what he wished for too many times. He now no longer sought it for himself and instead it would be through Joffrey that he'd seek Eddard Stark's son brought closer.

'Not that my grandson would ever wish to name Jon Stark as his brother by choice.' Tywin thought amusedly.

Joffrey saw Jon Stark as little more than a rival and would do all he could to put him in the shade where he belonged. His grandson had sought to shame the future Warden of the North and to sully his betrothed's name. Something that Tywin would now seek Joffrey to do even more, for the Tyrells too needed to learn their place.

No, Jon Stark would return to the North and carry Robert's demand of a betrothal and nothing else.

"The boy is weak and cares too much for someone he should not. Asha Greyjoy will be your wife and you." Tywin glared at his son. "Will finally do something that helps rather than hinders your family."

"As you command, father." Tyrion sighed before rising to his feet. Tywin almost laughed aloud as unlike when a normal-sized man did so, Tyrion was still no taller than when he'd been sitting on the chair. "Yet you should not underestimate Jon Stark, father. The boy has more steel in him than you give him credit for."

"The boy is weak." Tywin retorted.

That night, Tywin spoke to his grandson and let him know that were he to either create a situation that truly called into question Margaery Tyrell's virtue, or better yet, take her Maiden's Gift from her, he'd be most pleased. He tried too, to once again get Robert to consider allowing Tommen to come to foster, with no success.

Before heading to his bed, Tywin sent word to Casterly Rock and bid Genna to begin the preparations for a wedding. He informed his sister of who it was that Tyrion was to wed and once Pycelle had sent the raven, only then did Tywin take to his bed.

He did so with the thoughts that the North was a far lesser threat than he'd believed them to be. Tywin was more relaxed over the fact that when their new Warden took over, he'd be easy to manage. There were thoughts too of Balon Greyjoy finally getting to pay for what he'd taken from him seven years earlier. Yet, one thought above all filled his mind and was reflected in his dreams. For they and they alone were the true threat to the dynasty that Tywin Lannister would see realized before he met his gods.

'The Dragons in the East.'

White Harbor 296 AC,

Asha Greyjoy.

Asha had gotten too comfortable with the Starks, and her family was going to suffer because of it. She had heard that Stannis Baratheon was a man as honorable as Benjen Stark was and she had let her guard down, hoping he would allow Theon the same liberties she was given. In the end, The Lord of Storm's End was like the other Greenlanders and had now sent her brother to the Wall.

The first time she was called to the Lord's solar, she had been anxious. When she had received word of what had happened, Asha could not believe it. Barbrey Stark had looked apologetic as she gave her Jon's letter to read. The words in that letter explained very clearly why that was.

As much as she wanted to blame Jon for not intervening on her brother's behalf, she couldn't. Asha knew him well enough to know that he would have acted had he not been hurt. The only comfort she had was the knowledge that her letter had safely arrived in Theon's possession. When she'd been offered the chance to write to him, Asha had seized the opportunity given to her by one of the Crannogmen. The small man had even promised they'd ensure it would be handled to Theon through Jon during the tourney.

Asha just wished that her mother had had the same possibility. That she too had offered Theon the comfort that only words from family could do.

'Now she will never see her son again. And Asha will not either'

The second time she got called to the Lord's solar, the anxiety she felt had grown tenfold. This time, it had been Benjen Stark who summoned her, and his harsh gaze on her made her look away.

"We received news from your Mother, Asha." he started, startling her. "Things in the Iron Islands are not going well. Your Father is enraged that they sent his heir to the Wall and is planning an attack against the North."

"He… He's going to attack? All of our ships have been destroyed."

"Some of them have been repaired, but that is not the thing worrying us right now," Benjen said, his gaze softening as she realized what her father's attack would mean to her.

"Oh. So… I'm losing my head, am I?" she whispered, feeling her throat close with fear and her eyes filling with tears.

"Jon would never do that."

"But you would."

"No, I would not either. The man passing the sentence should swing the sword. If Robert wants to behead you, he will have to do it himself."

"So you're handing me to Baratheon?" she challenged.

"I never said that either," Benjen growled. "Not only would Jon have my hide if I did this, but your mother's warning was made with an appeal for your life to the King. She has betrayed her husband's plan so you could live, and I will not go against her gesture."

"What does that mean?"

"I'll send word to Jon to petition for you directly to the King. Your Mother assured me she was ready to depose your Father with your Uncle Rodrik, and should she need help in doing so, the North stands ready."

"Truly?" she mumbled, flabbergasted.

"Aye. Pray to your Drowned God that your mother's plan and my nephew's intercession are enough to save your life."

Beth and Brandon had been hopeful, as well as some of the fosterlings who cared about her fate. As days went by with no news from the South, the hope Asha tried to stifle blossomed in her heart.

Until she got summoned a third time to the Lord's solar.

Beth insisted on coming with her and Asha was grateful for the girl's support. She didn't mind her holding her hand and rather appreciated the gesture, as it gave her a little composure. Something that she needed badly as from the moment she'd woken that day she'd felt foreboding.

Everything within her crumbled as soon as her gaze caught Benjen Stark's sad one.

"Let me guess. He said no, did he?"

"By order of King Robert Baratheon, the matter regarding the fate of Lady Asha Greyjoy will be resolved as follows.

Should she consent to a marriage with Lord Tyrion Lannister of Casterly Rock, she will be given her freedom and will be sent to live with her husband in the West." Benjen read out loud

"A wedding?" she gasped, not expecting this offer. "They want me to wed the Imp?"

"Aye. Seems like Tywin Lannister finally got his wish." Benjen said sombrely.

"What if I refuse?"

"Should she refuse to wed Lord Lannister, then the sentence agreed upon her conservatorship will be carried by the Warden of the North."

"In other words, you take my head."

"Indeed."

"Father, you can't!" Beth yelled.

"Jon sent us a letter, too. He asked us all to join him in White Harbor. Including you, Asha." Benjen informed

"Why?" Asha frowned.

"I believe he will wait for your answer there. He said it will be his first act as Lord of Winterfell." Benjen said, Asha noticed the stare he gave his wife.

"So should I choose not to wed the Imp…"

"He will swing the sword, aye."

Again she saw the husband and wife look at each other, but Beth's protests combined with her shock prevented her from commenting on their strange behavior.

It didn't take long for them to take to the road, for once almost all the Starks were going on the journey, except for Little Benjen, as both Beth and Barbrey refused to stay behind and the youngest now stood as the Stark of Winterfell.

Asha thought that the choice would be easy and that she was ready to wed a stranger all so that she would see another sunrise. She would not break her mother's heart by choosing the easy way out, as she felt Alannys would die if she had to mourn the last of her children, and Asha still felt guilty for what had happened to Theon.

Yet something was troubling her, and the way Benjen Stark looked at her with sadness only made Asha's worries grow.

'' Missing me already, Lord Benjen?'' She japed once they stopped for the night.

''You would be the one missing us.'' He clapped back.

'' What's with the long face, then?''

''Old memories. Don't mind my old self. You're the one whose life is on the line.''

''You tried your best.'' She said, not knowing why she felt inclined to comfort him. ''You and Jon, you did more for me than I deserved.''

''Don't say that. You're a good lass, Asha. You've been a good influence on my Beth, one I hope my sister would have been to my children.''

"Your sister?" Asha repeated, frowning.

"Aye, you remind me a lot of Lyanna. Fiery temper, full of sarcasm and wits, not willing to show their soft side and pushed to their limits because of other's decisions," he said sadly. "I wish I could help you, Asha. I mean truly help you. I wish you weren't forced into choosing this life."

"Women are forced to wed all the time." she shrugged.

"Yet if you're anything like my sister like I believe you are, I'm sure you've considered death more than once."

She was startled, surprised that he could see right through her. What he said about Lyanna Stark was different from what she'd learned about her when she was young. Asha had heard that the girl got herself kidnapped by the Dragon Prince, yet if she was truly like her, then she'd have fought her way to get back to her family.

"Don't think too much of it, Asha. Just… Do what you have to."

"You're really not helping," she mumbled.

He laughed and shook his head, not adding anything else as they sat in silence until the rest of the Starks joined them.

She watched the family together and tried to picture herself in Barbrey Stark's stead. With a husband and children of her own. It was not how she saw herself.

What kind of husband would the Imp be?

Would she be forced to consummate the marriage?

Did she want to know all this?

Did it truly matter in the end?

Asha knew why Tywin Lannister had insisted on having her as his Gooddaughter. He wanted a hold on the Iron Islands and to make sure she would pop out a serious amount of claimants for the Seastone chair. None of them would pay the iron price for it, but with someone who'd have a whole song about his deeds backing them, and the King further behind, nobody in the Iron Islands would contest their right. Or be strong enough to do so.

Apart from Euron. Euron would surely have a problem with her or her children.

Would the Lion of Casterly Rock have a use for her after she gave him grandchildren?

Would he let her leave for the Iron Islands?

Or would he kill her?

The more she thought about it, the more sinister the questions became, pushing her to choose the darker fate. The only thing preventing her from doing so is her mother. Asha could not break her heart any more than life already had.

Jon was waiting for them in the New Castle when they arrived in White Harbor. Asha couldn't help but marvel at the difference between the city and Winterfell. While the latter had an imposing and mysterious aura about it, the New Castle was booming with never-ending activity. The port's affluence rippled to the Castle, and there were more stands on the roads than in the entire markets of Wintertown.

"Lady Greyjoy." She was surprisingly greeted warmly by the Walrus Lord, who before had always shown disdain for her whenever he came to Winterfell to see his granddaughter.

"Call me Asha, Lord Manderly. I'm still a prisoner for a while, at least. Your keep is impressive."

"Thank you, Lady Asha. I hope your stay in my home will be to your liking."

"Is he… Being nice to you?" Brandon whispered with disbelief, and she was relieved not to be the one realizing the change.

"He might be scared you chose to marry a Lannister. You would be higher in status than him and he needs to treat you with respect" Beth added.

"Asha." Jon stopped their musing by standing in front of her. "I know you must have a lot of questions, and all of them will be answered in time."

"What I don't understand is why you sent for me here when you could have been waiting to come to Winterfell to hear my answer." Asha retorted.

"Because I did not want any people in Winterfell to see me carry your sentence."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm sorry, Asha, but for your own good and the good of the realm, I cannot let Tywin Lannister get his hands on you. I know my family will hate me for this, and you'll probably hate me too, but I have no choice. I'm truly sorry."

"You bastard!" she yelled, slapping him hard on the cheek as the feeling of betrayal overwhelmed her. "I thought you were my friend! I trusted you, I trusted all of you!"

She looked around while a guard restrained her movements and saw that both Beth and Brandon were being held, though none of their direwolves came to their aid as they usually would.

"You knew!'' she spat toward Benjen.

"I had an inkling, aye. But Jon told us that he and only he would have a say in this. The children didn't know, though."

"As if it fucking matters! You're going to kill me!"

"Bring her to the port," Jon ordered. "We will do it there."

The Manderly guard complied, holding her to the point of hurting as she struggled to get away. She pleaded, begged, and sobbed until they arrived in said port.

"I damn you to the Seven Hells, Jon Stark. I damn you for making me believe you had my best interests at heart."

"I think I will be damned already for doing what I will. Know that all of this that will be done, is done for you. What do you say to the God of Death, Asha Greyjoy?"

As she saw her life running through her mind, the last thing she felt before succumbing to the darkness was deep hatred.

A/N: Still catching up with stories, and I've been ill for a little while, so please forgive me. This story will be up to date by tomorrow, I hope.