All around the camp, the sounds of men japing as they sat by fires or sparring abounded, and Daemon smiled as he looked around it. They had made good progress for their first day, advancing some miles up along the Kingsroad. It was a winding and not entirely pleasant path past Winterfell, but it was still, he imagined, far superior to what had existed before Jaehaerys I began his great roads project and he was happy to have it. The last stretch of their journey, once they passed Long Lake and crossed the Last River would be less pleasant, but he still expected them to reach Last Hearth in good time.

"Like you never left, huh?" Robb asked, smiling widely as he approached him.

"I did miss this place," Daemon admitted freely. "Dorne is wonderful, especially now that it's not as bloody dry as it was, but I'll always remain fond of this rugged land."

"It will always be a home for you," Robb vowed. "Anytime you wish to visit."

"When Maekar and the others sure to follow are old enough to travel," Daemon murmured. "It would be nice to show them Winterfell."

"How many do you expect to have?" Robb asked. Lowering his voice, he added, "Given how many women we're talking about here…"

"I'll probably surpass Aegon the Unlikely and the Conciliator," Daemon chuckled. "It will always amaze me that, for all his whoring, Aegon IV only barely had more children than Jaehaerys and Alysanne."

"It's a wonder they found time for anything else," Robb laughed. "Would you care to spar? I'd like to see how I fare against the mountain slayer."

"I've earned myself a few ridiculous monikers by now," Daemon murmured. "Of course."

The two of them made their way towards one of the larger tents and pulled out a pair of blunted training swords. It was well worth bringing some training weapons along for a journey like this, as the men would want to train, especially the peasant conscripts, and harming each other before battle would be foolish in the extreme. Daemon tested the weight and balance of the bastard sword before turning to Robb and grinning.

"You go first," he said. "We are in your lands, after all."

"If you insist," Robb replied, charging forward and feinting towards Daemon's chest before slashing at his leg.

Daemon moved to block the initial blow and sidestepped the follow-up before thrusting at Robb's head. His cousin parried the blow and stepped back, putting some distance between them. The two of them circled each other, their eyes keen as they observed the other's stance.

"Your footwork has improved," Daemon murmured.

"And you're quicker than you used to be," Robb chuckled. "Is that how you beat Clegane, being faster than him?"

"Gods no," Daemon snorted. "That man was far faster on his feet than you would ever have imagined a man his size would be."

"How did he compare to your other noteworthy opponents?" Robb asked, genuinely curious.

"He was probably the most dangerous man I've ever fought," Daemon replied.

"Not the most dangerous thing, though," a husky, very familiar female voice said, and Daemon couldn't help but smile as he heard her.

"Dacey," he beamed, looking over at his old lover.

She looked just like he remembered, six feet tall and thin but very strong for a woman. Her dark eyes shone with the same easy mirth they always had when he knew her, and though she wore a thick, dark tunic that obscured his vision of her, he knew that beneath it lay a body he could still remember every inch of perfectly.

Of all the women he'd had before he met Arianne, she was the one that he grew closest to; and his darling wife, and he owed her a great deal. After all, it had been following her tight, round arse and absolutely perfect tits to Bear Island that had led him on the adventure that saw him summoned back to court and wed off.

"Daemon," Dacey grinned, stepping closer. "I think you've somehow grown even taller."

"You haven't changed a bit," Daemon murmured, his eyes falling to her lips as he tried not to remember how they used to look wrapped around his cock.

"Should we continue this later?" Robb asked, breaking him out of his reverie.

"I should hope not," Dacey replied. "I was hoping for a show when I saw you two draw your swords."

"We're your entertainment, are we?" Daemon asked in amusement.

"You've always entertained me," Dacey replied as she backed away.

"Do you need a minute?" Robb asked, giving him a knowing look.

"Fuck off," Daemon replied, making him bark a laugh.

He brought his blade down in a wide arc towards Robb, anticipating that he'd step to his right and slashed towards him when he did. His cousin caught his blade on his own weapon and redirected it harmlessly aside. Daemon dodged a responding thrust and aimed to hit Robb's sword arm with the flat of his blade, only to miss when he jumped back. The two of them continued on like that for a couple of minutes, exchanging blows that the other either parried or dodged with seeming ease.

Robb had improved a lot since they last fought and was about as skillful now as some of the most capable knights he'd met in his time, but Daemon had been to war and spent most of his life training with at least one member of the Kingsguard. The past couple moons had given him the opportunity to spar with Ser Arthur as well, and he was just better for it.

"I can see hints of Ser Barristan's fundamentals in your stance," Daemon commented as he ducked under Robb's latest slash and thrust towards his thigh.

Robb parried the blow and moved to thrust his shoulder against Daemon's chest, only to need to hastily reposition and raise his blade again when he deftly avoided him. He was breathing a little more heavily by now and knew he'd tire soon at this rate, and the fact that his cousin didn't seem to be at all weary was annoying.

"I learned much from him," Robb murmured, stepping back and moving his blade down to a low guard as he considered his next move.

Daemon glanced at his feet for a moment before charging forward, slashing at his chest and forcing him to block it. Robb parried the blade aside and blocked his follow-up downward slash as well. The sudden aggression from him caught Robb off guard and he was put on the back foot, forced to move backward and defend himself against the onslaught. He realized too late that he should have given more thought to the glance his cousin had given his feet than he did as he felt his foot brush against a rock that had been just behind him. Taking advantage of his sudden poor footing, Daemon bashed his shoulder into him, knocking him to the ground.

"I yield," Robb muttered as he felt Daemon's training blade rest against his collarbone.

"Always be mindful of your surroundings," Ser Barristan murmured, having joined the crowd that formed to watch them over the course of their spar.

"Well fought," Daemon said earnestly as he helped him up.

"Alas, I'm not the only one who got better," Robb chuckled. Eyeing Dacey coming towards them, he said, "I think I'll let you two catch up. I want a rematch later, though."

"Count on it," Daemon replied warmly.

Robb took both of their training blades as Daemon turned to look at the heiress of Bear Island.

"I meant what I said," Daemon murmured as she drew close. "You haven't changed a bit."

"You certainly have," Dacey breathed, looking him up and down. "Being wedded agrees with you."

"Dac…" Daemon went to say.

"You're a prince, Daemon," Dacey snorted. "I knew you weren't going to spend your life on Bear Island."

"How is it?" Daemon asked.

"Good," Dacey replied. "It's been peaceful ever since you left, with the ironborn crushed and the wildlings too busy with whatever this Mance Rayder's been planning to bother us."

Daemon nodded at that, feeling a sense of pride at having helped the poor island people as he had. They faced three main threats in their otherwise isolated land: ironborn, wildlings, and bears, and only one of those was native to the island. If the Lannisters managed to keep control of the ironborn and the wildlings could be crushed in the battles to come, it could be a generation before they had to worry about outside incursions again.

"Despite everything, I did find it funny that your father's idea of a punishment for what we got up to was wedding a purportedly beautiful woman," Dacey murmured.

"I've never been so happy to draw someone's ire," Daemon chuckled. "You'd like her, you know...Arianne."

"I somehow doubt she'd like me," Dacey winced.

"You'd be surprised," Daemon replied, and she furrowed her brow. Leaning in, he added, "Let's just say she'd find you just as captivating as I always have."

"Oh," Dacey breathed, looking at him in surprise. "You have the gods own luck, don't you?"

"When it comes to women, certainly," Daemon chuckled. "She and I had a son recently, Maekar."

"Um, actually, that…" Dacey went to reply when they were interrupted by his uncle.

"Daemon, Dacey," Ned nodded.

"Uncle," Daemon replied.

"Lord Eddard, is there something you need?" Dacey asked.

"Daemon, we just received another raven from Castle Black," Ned replied.

"What news?" Daemon asked.

"The wildlings are still weeks away from the castle; but their intent seems clear," Ned replied. "I've convened a meeting of the Northern Lords and would like you there. We're a ways off yet, but there won't be any harm in going over our maps and plotting out our most likely moves once we reach Last Hearth now."

"Very well," Daemon nodded. "Dacey…"

"I'll find you later," Dacey murmured. "My Lord."

Ned nodded at her and led Daemon to his tent.


Arya's heart still beat faster than normal as she found a place in the large North camp to rest, but she was fairly sure she'd managed to get away with what she'd done. Alysane had been as weary and impatient as she'd hoped when she delivered her the letter. With her parents so busy, it hadn't been difficult to convince them to say their goodbyes inside her father's solar, where they broke their fast on that final morning. Her not wanting a big deal made of her departure was in character enough to not arouse suspicion, and so it hadn't.

"Thought Alysane was going to say something when she looked over 'father's' letter to her, but she seemed to be in a foul enough mood to not want to bother with anything other than getting back home," she thought to herself, unable to keep the grin off of her face. "I can understand that. Being sent away and kept from fighting to protect your homeland is infuriating, after all."

She'd slipped away as the Mormont party left, taking full advantage of how crowded Winterfell was, and hid away in the crypts until the army was ready to leave, thankful more than anything for how trusting her parents were of the Bear Islanders. Had they sent their own men with her, she'd have had no hope of pulling this off, but, feeling that they needed every available man at the front, and thinking that there were few places in the North safer than Bear Island just then, they'd entrusted her to them.

She rubbed her neck as she fought back a grin, still unused to feeling the wind on it. So long as she avoided the men from Winterfell and especially her father, brother, and cousin, she figured no one would necessarily recognize her, but she'd still decided that she was going to disguise herself as a boy to further avoid detection, and that meant cutting her hair shorter than she could ever remember it being.

"Mother would be horrified by how I look," she thought to herself.

Of course, that wouldn't be her mother's first concern at that moment if she knew where she was.

"Boy," the man ladling out soup called out. "Boy!"

"Hmm?" Arya replied, realizing that he was speaking to her. "Oh, I'm sorry."

"Just get your arse over here," the older man sighed, handing her her bowl.

She took it and left to find a spot near enough to one of the fires to keep warm. Her armor was stored in the small tent she'd been given. Getting in and out of it had proven more challenging than she'd expected, and she wasn't sure that she was putting it on properly, but it fit well enough, and she still had time to work on that.

"You look lost," a nearby boy not much older than her commented.

She looked over and saw him seated with two companions, one of whom looked a little like him. The boy had dark hair and eyes and a rather flat face, something that the man next to him could have shared, but she couldn't tell due to his thick black beard. That one looked old enough to the boy's father, and she figured that he probably was. Their third companion had hair like wheat and a clean-shaven face, with even darker eyes than the other two.

"It's my first time in a camp like this," Arya replied.

"I'd imagine," the boy replied. "You look even younger than I am."

"Aye, you even know how to wield that overgrown knife at your hip?" the bearded man asked.

"Stick 'em with the pointy end," Arya replied, making the both of them and their one other companion laugh.

"The long and the short of it, I guess," the fair-haired man snorted. "Where are you from?"

"Lockton," Arya replied, drawing confused looks from all three of them. "It's in the wolfswood, stuck between two small lakes."

"Never heard of it," the bearded one murmured. "Why aren't you with your fellow villagers?"

"I'm the only one here," Arya replied. "We were hit by a plague a moon back, and though it's passed, we weren't in any shape to send anyone along."

"Except you?" the boy asked.

"I never got it, but my father…" she trailed off, looking away and trying to look sad.

"Fuck, sorry, kid," the eldest of the three winced.

"My mother went when I was young and with him…" Arya trailed off again for a moment. "I'm all alone now, and seeing as I never got sick, I figured I'd come fight when Lord Stark sent out the call."

"Where'd you get that sword?" the blonde asked.

"It belonged to my father," Arya replied. "No idea where he got it; he just always said it was a gift."

"I wonder," the bearded man murmured, scratching at his chin. "What's your name, boy?"

"Artos," Arya replied. "Who's asking?"

"Name's Donnel," the bearded man replied. "This here's Tom, and the runt is my nephew, Hugh."

Hugh grumbled at that, and Arya found the familiar sight of lighthearted teasing between kin relaxing.

"We came with Lord Howland Reed," the boy murmured. "Only arrived mere days before the army set off."

"The North is vast," Arya commented. "It's always taken us forever to get armies together."

"You don't know the half of it if you came from the fucking wolfswood," Hugh groaned, making her snort. He was about to say more when something caught his eye, and he murmured, "Say, aren't those the eunuch soldiers?"

"Aye," Tom replied, "and I think that's the prince's squire with them."

Arya felt her blood freeze, and she hazarded only a momentary glance to confirm her fear. That was Daemon's annoying squire walking with a pair of his unsullied.

"Fuck," she thought to herself, cursing her bad luck.

She had kept to the perimeter of the camp because she expected that her family and the other men of Winterfell who might recognize her wouldn't venture so far. Her backstory seemed solid to her, being simple enough to remember but carefully devised enough that she was unlikely to be tripped up. Lochton's situation sounded awful from what she'd overheard, but it also presented her with an opportunity. They couldn't spare anyone for this fight, so no one from there could possibly say that they'd never seen her before in their life.

All of that would be for nothing, though, if Daemon's squire recognized her.

"They're coming this way," Hugh said, sounding excited, and Arya fought the urge to scream.

"One day, I didn't even last one day with the army," she thought to herself. "Okay, okay, maybe he won't recognize me. I only met him briefly during Daemon's last visit, and that was two years ago, and he hasn't seen me since."

He had presumably attended the feast that her father threw before they all left, but she hadn't seen him, and, more to the point, she didn't think he had seen her. As he passed by them, she looked down, praying to the old gods that he wouldn't look at them at all. Sure enough, he passed by without incident, and she felt herself relax. She knew that she couldn't react like that every time that she laid eyes on someone she didn't want to notice her, or she'd go mad, and, having finished her soup, she decided to take a walk to clear her head.

"I'm going to walk this off," she murmured. "It was nice meeting you all."

"See you around, kid," Donnel nodded.

Arya made her way towards her tent, hoping to sit down and rest for a moment, and as she made a sharp turn around one of the larger tents, she failed to notice someone coming and bumped into them. The man she bumped into stumbled and grabbed onto her for support, and though she tried to steady herself, she tripped over one of the stakes of the tent she'd rushed around, and she fell backward, bringing him with her.

"Watch where you're…" Edric trailed off, staring down at the boy he'd just fallen on.

His large gray eyes widened in shock, and his mouth hung open in obvious terror. Edric would have still told him off for rushing through the camp without paying attention to his surroundings, but he found himself captivated. There was something oddly familiar about the boy, particularly his eyes, which he couldn't look away from for a moment.

"I...I...I…" the boy squeaked, and Edric couldn't help but chuckle.

"It's alright," he laughed, shaking his head as he signaled for his unsullied guards to hold still. He pushed himself up and held out his hand, saying, "Are you old enough to be here?"

"Yes!" the boy snapped. "Er...sorry about that."

An odd look of relief passed over the boy's features as he took his hand, and Edric helped him up, plucking a small twig out of his short brown hair as he did so.

"This is a large and crowded camp," he murmured. "You have to pay attention as you walk about. What's your name?"

"Artos, my lord," the boy replied. "Excuse me, but I really must be off."

He slipped around Edric with surprising grace and tore off towards the woods. Thinking that he must have been going to relieve himself, as Edric just had himself, he shook his head at the strange boy. His eyes followed after Artos almost of their own accord, falling to his arse, the swell of which could be seen even through the boy's breeches and tunic.

"What in the seven hells?" he muttered to himself, closing his eyes and shaking his head.

"Is something wrong, my lord?" Blue Fly asked.

"No," Edric replied, forcing himself to ignore the stirring in his loins and back towards the camp's center. "Nothing's wrong. Come, we should be getting back."

He led the two of them back towards Prince Daemon, trying not to think about his reaction to the peasant boy he'd just encountered.

"I just haven't had a woman in a while," he thought to himself, "that's all."


Daemon sighed as he approached his tent, stretching his neck to the side and feeling a pleasant pop as he did so. As he went inside, he found a pair of women waiting for him, though not the pair he'd been expecting.

"Why in the hells did you even agree to come fight with us?" Dacey asked, sounding utterly flabbergasted.

"I have my reasons, Mormont," Asha replied coldly, wincing as she shifted on her feet.

"I see you two have met," Daemon muttered.

"When I heard you'd brought a couple dozen ironborn with you, I thought I'd gone mad," Dacey replied, "then I started to wonder if you did."

"Asha here was of great help to me back in the capital," Daemon explained. "Have you heard about Varys and the role he played in sparking the rebellion?"

"Mother was furious when word came," Dacey replied. "He played all of us for fools for decades."

"And in the end, he died screaming," Asha shrugged. "I was the one who uncovered his final plan and warned the prince here."

"Out of the kindness of your heart, I'm sure," Dacey snarked.

"Asha's been paid for her services, and she and her men will be paid for assisting us here," Daemon replied before Asha could. "I know our peoples have a difficult history…"

"Difficult?" Dacey asked incredulously. "Her people have been pillaging my home for millennia."

"A fact I know well," Daemon replied, giving her a pointed look, "but that is in the past now."

"Because we utterly crushed them the last time," Dacey snarled, glaring at Asha, who returned the look.

"My people were slaughtered to a man invading your wretched little island," she hissed, "and yet I'm here, preparing to fight against your enemies because of Daemon. Instead of growling at me like one of the bears you fuck, maybe…"

"Wait, wait, wait…'Daemon?'" Dacey asked, looking back and forth between them. Focusing on him, she asked, "Really?"

"Is it so hard to believe?" Asha smirked. "I doubt you came to wait for him in his tent so you two could discuss battle strategies."

"That…" Dacey spluttered. "Does your wife know about this?"

"She does," Daemon replied.

"She's unique, that one," Asha sighed. "A pity I didn't get to taste her before we left."

"You really do have the gods own luck with women," Dacey sighed. "Can't say much for your taste, though."

"Please, we clearly appeal to him for the same reason," Asha scoffed.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Dacey asked, her eyes narrowing.

"I'm sure I'm not the only one who sees the similarities between us," Asha murmured. "Dark hair, dark eyes, probably a fair few battle scars, and a certain willingness to spill blood."

"We are nothing alike," Dacey insisted.

"There are plenty of differences too," Asha allowed. "I'm not nearly as mannish, for instance.

Dacey growled and lunged at Asha, who rolled out of the way, grunting as she did so. Daemon was pleased to see her not go for her dagger but was still annoyed to be in this situation at all and swiftly stepped between them.

"Enough!" he exclaimed, glaring at both of them. "The ironborn are staying with my unsullied and will be easy enough to avoid, Dacey. We're going to be outnumbered as it is, and I won't lose men before we even reach the enemy."

"I still can't believe you have ironborn helping us against the wildlings," Dacey muttered.

"It's hardly the first time, I'm sure," Asha drawled. "House Hoare ruled your island at various points throughout history, and I'm sure they held off the wildlings while they did."

"Not really helping, Asha," Daemon muttered.

"Your wife is actually alright with you fucking other women?" Dacey asked.

"She is," Daemon replied. "That's something I'd prefer you keep to yourself, by the way."

"I thought it was barely a secret at this point," Asha said, confused.

"Even still," Daemon sighed.

"Well, then you hardly need this one," Dacey smirked. "It's been a long time, Daemon, and there are some itches only a man as...impressive as you can scratch."

"Listen to me, you giant cunt," Asha snarled, sounding genuinely angry for the first time since he got there.

"Enough," Daemon sighed, burying his face in his palms. "You two are giving me a headache, and at this point, I'd just as well sleep alone."

"I'm sorry, Daemon," Dacey muttered, glaring at Asha before looking at him contritely. "I did just want to catch up and speak to you about...something."

"There's no need to let this ruin a perfectly good night," Asha murmured, smiling up at him, grasping his cock through his breeches. "I'm sure the she-bear and I can be civil if we need to be."

"An ironborn speaking of civility," Dacey chuckled. "Perhaps I was right all those nights when I swore your cock was actually magical."

Asha's eyes narrowed before she snorted and said, "At least we agree on one point."

"If only the wildlings were being led by a woman," Dacey muttered, and Daemon laughed at the thought.

"I somehow doubt that would work even if they were," he grinned. "Anyway, if you two would excuse me."

"You'd really rather spend your night all alone in this cold tent instead of with me?" Dacey purred, trailing a finger down along her doublet. "Surely you haven't forgotten all those nights we spent in Winterfell and my family's keep."

"I haven't," Daemon replied, feeling his cock stir at the memories she brought up.

"Come now, Daemon," Asha sighed. "I want to feel you spill inside me again. Fill me up, my dragon prince."

"I saw how hobbled you were this morning, Asha," Daemon murmured in her ear. "There's no sense pushing yourself now. We'll be together for quite a while yet, and you will get what you want, I assure you. Wouldn't it be better to rest as Helga has?"

"I'm fi...ugh," Asha grunted, feeling her sore muscles strain as she tried to step forward.

"I remember that ache," Dacey murmured wistfully, wisely deciding not to antagonize the other woman further just then.

"Fine," Asha hissed, looking more annoyed at herself than anything. "Tomorrow, though."

"I promise," Daemon smiled, kissing her softly. "We both know we'll have more fun if I can fuck you as hard as you want me to."

"I'm looking forward to it," Asha sighed.

Giving Dacey one more glare, the shorter woman left then, and Daemon relaxed.

"Your father's punishment for what we got up to in the Iron Islands gets funnier and funnier," Dacey chuckled. "Are you sure you're safe sleeping in the same bed as that one, though?"

"I was wary at first, but I think I can trust her," Daemon murmured. "I'm beginning to suspect that the...thing they worshiped had more of an influence on them than even they realized."

Dacey shuddered at the memory and said, "You think putting it down freed them?"

"I don't know to what extent I did put it down," Daemon replied, "but I'd have expected a lot more hostility from Asha and her men than I've gotten. If the Drowned God truly did put himself in that priest, and I actually did end him when I threw the dagger into his heart…"

"You might actually be the godslayer we hailed you as," Dacey chuckled. "I was so sure we were fucked when that cunt started growing tentacles from his bloody face."

"Robb asked earlier how the Mountain compared to other foes I'd fought, and the truth is, nothing will likely ever compare to that," Daemon shuddered. "Still, we won in the end, and now look at us."

"Aye," Dacey sighed, smiling. "Do you ever think about what might have happened if we had just left it at the battle of Bear Island? If we hadn't invaded them back in turn."

"I can't," Daemon murmured, shaking his head. "Too much has happened since then."

"You'd have been wed off eventually anyway," Dacey shrugged, smiling sadly, "and probably to your princess in any case."

"It did solve a few lingering problems for my father," Daemon agreed. "There was something you wanted to speak to me about earlier, right?"

"I…" Dacey trailed off, looking indecisive. "The princess is really alright with you fucking who you please while you're here?"

"She is," Daemon confirmed again. "If you were to ever visit Dorne, you'd find her most...welcoming."

"I'd sweat my arse off in Dorne," Dacey replied, shaking her head. "You can only take the heat because of that dragon blood in your veins, I'm sure."

"Now that would be terribly tragic," Daemon murmured, looking down at the familiar swell of her hips through her tunic. "Your arse is a gift from the gods, as I recall."

Dacey laughed at that and wrapped her arms around his neck, saying, "You haven't seen it in a couple years. Your memory could be off a bit."

"I remember everything," Daemon whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "It couldn't hurt to check, though."

Dacey kissed him, and he returned it hungrily. At five years his senior, the heiress of Bear Island was already a woman grown when he first laid eyes on her when she accompanied her mother to Winterfell. She was the first woman that ever truly stirred his passions and had ended up being a few other firsts for him as well. When they reunited years later, she hadn't hesitated to go to bed with him, and he found her so fun that he'd followed her back to her home. The rest was history, and he'd never forget just how much of the life he'd built for himself since was owed to that one decision.

"Fucking hells, did you get even bigger?" Dacey asked as she felt his cock through his breeches.

"A touch thicker, perhaps, but that's all," Daemon replied. "Maybe you just forgot it."

"There are some things you don't just forget, Daemon," Dacey chuckled, grabbing his belt.

She undid it and moaned aloud when his breeches fell and his cock sprang out, standing free and proud in the air. Wrapping her hand around it, she stroked it slowly, her eyes locked on the long, thick shaft.

"I couldn't possibly forget this thing," Dacey purred. "I'm still amazed I can take it all."

Daemon grinned and pulled her tunic off. Though Dacey had always been comfortable in dresses and gowns, she was equally comfortable in more masculine clothing. The battlefield was no place for dresses, and she was dressed in a simple gray tunic, black breeches, and black leather boots then. She kissed him passionately again, and the two of them finished undressing each other, feeling their desire grow further the more they unveiled.

Daemon stepped back and let his eyes rove over her form, letting out a low groan of appreciation as he did. She was almost exactly as he remembered, tall and thin, having been outright lanky in her teenage years. Her breasts were a respectable handful, not as large as those of some of her gifted lovers, but very perky with nipples so pale they barely contrasted at all with her porcelain skin. They appeared a little larger than he remembered, and her belly a touch softer, but in all, she looked as strong as she always had. Her body was, much like Asha's, covered in scars from fights she'd been in, and he longed to trace each one with his lips and tongue.

"See something you like?" she purred, resting her hands on her wide hips.

"You know I do," Daemon grinned, reluctantly moving his gaze up away from her tantalizing forest of brown curls and back to her eyes.

"So do I," Dacey smirked, stepping forward. Sinking to her knees, she wrapped her hand around the base of his cock and said, "This brings back memories."

"Yes it does!" Daemon exclaimed as she took him into her sinfully hot mouth.

"You last more than a second now," Dacey teased, winking before wrapping her lips around him again.

"You were the first...fucking hells, you're good...first one who ever touched my cock other than me," Daemon replied defensively, as he always did when she teased him about that.

Dacey giggled, sending vibrations all along his shaft, and he snaked his fingers into her hair, holding onto her. She bobbed her head up and down, taking more and more of him each time until her nose was buried in his pubic hair. She had no gag reflex to speak of and never had, something that he wished he hadn't learned was unique to her the hard way. He'd been terribly apologetic to the poor whore who unwittingly taught him that lesson.

"Gods, no wonder I followed you to Bear Island," Daemon groaned as she did her best to suck his soul out of his cock. "I want to taste you."

Dacey let his cock slip from her lips with an audible pop and grinned up at him, saying, "You know I'll never deny you that."

He kissed her, and the two of them moved towards his bedroll. As he lowered her down to it, he trailed his lips along her jaw and down along her neck. She moaned loudly when he nipped at her pulse point and sighed in pleasure when she felt him cup her breasts in his large hands.

"These are still the palest nipples I've ever seen," he murmured, bathing one of the hard nubs with the flat of his tongue.

"Ah, fuck," Dacey moaned, grabbing his head and holding him to her chest as he switched to the other one and sucked on it. "Lower, please."

"Desperate for my tongue, are you?" Daemon chuckled, kneading and massaging her sensitive mounds and grazing one of her pale peaks with his teeth.

"Yes," Dacey gasped. "I'm sure you can smell me by now."

"You smell as good as I remember," Daemon murmured, reluctantly kissing a trail down along the valley between her breasts and to her abdomen.

Again he noted the slightly increased softness of her belly, but he thought little of it. Bear Island had been allowed to keep a generous share of the loot from the Iron Islands after the invasion, and it was perfectly possible that Lady Maege spent some of it on importing a greater variety of food for her meager court. At any rate, he had never minded softness in his lovers, and as he reached her brown curls and sunk his fingers into her plush thighs, he thought Dacey had never looked better.

"Oh gods!" Dacey cried when he swiped his tongue through her folds.

His dexterous tongue danced along her sensitive flesh, tasting her tangy, slightly salty fluids eagerly. After he spurted instantly into her mouth that first time, feeling embarrassed, he had said that he wanted to do the same for her. She'd agreed without hesitation, and so a lifelong fondness for burying his face between a woman's thighs was born. Her every pleasured moan had erased some of his mortification at cumming in her mouth so quickly, and the moment he saw her arse lift off of his bed as her pleasure crested, he developed an instant fondness for seeing women come undone at his hands.

"Swear you were fucking...ahh...born for this," Dacey moaned, holding his head against her heated flesh and crying out in pleasure as he sucked on her throbbing clit.

"Yes, Daemon Targaryen, son of the king, born to lick cunt," Daemon chuckled, making her laugh.

"Please don't stop," Dacey moaned, tugging him back towards her.

He pushed two of his thick fingers inside her tight, wet heat and swirled his tongue around her taut clit. She let out a warbled cry, her hands flying to her sides and grabbing at the bedroll as he felt her inner walls begin to flutter around him. Knowing that she was close, he curled his fingers upward, stroking a spot he knew would make her scream, and flicked his tongue rapidly against her little pearl.

"Yes, yes, yes!" Dacey cried, her whole body quivering as she soared towards her peak. "Don't stop, don't stop, don't…"

He pulled his fingers out of her and backed off, grinning as she looked like she was going to murder him for a moment. Before she could say anything, though, he slapped her clit with his cock and she shrieked.

"Do it!" Dacey growled. "Fuck me, you equine cunt."

"That's draconic cunt," Daemon chuckled, lining himself up and pushing inside her.

"Yes!" Dacey cried. "Fuck, I missed this...this...gah!"

She screamed as she came, and he captured her lips with his own, muffling the sound. He felt her inner walls spasm around him and groaned in delight, slowly sinking to the hilt inside her quivering cunt in one long, slow thrust. She writhed in pleasure under him, her breasts rolling and jiggling across her chest, and he held her tightly. When he felt her start to relax a little, he pulled most of his cock from her and thrust back inside hard, making her scream.

"Wait...I…" Dacey babbled, staring at him with glassy, unfocused eyes as she panted for breath.

"Don't tell me you're getting tired already," Daemon grinned, and she snarled.

"If I can...feel my legs...in the morning...I'm going to be angry with," she panted, and he laughed. "Pull out for a moment."

"Okay," Daemon murmured, doing as she asked.

She sat up and rolled onto her hands and knees before resting her head on her hands. Her back arched as she stuck her arse in the air, and Daemon took a moment to admire her. Her arse was every bit as round and full as he remembered, the large, pale, tight cheeks just begging to be slapped. He spread them wide, taking in the sight of her drooling slit and winking arsehole, and grinned.

"Fuck me, Daemon," Dacey begged, looking back at him. "Fuck me until I pass out."

"As my lady demands," Daemon murmured, fisting his cock and lining himself up with her.

He buried himself to the hilt, earning a grunt from her, and grabbed her hips as he quickly worked his way up to a steady rhythm. A litany of moans and pleasured cries spilled from her lips, sounding like the sweetest music to his ears, and he sighed in contentment. Soon enough the wildlings would be dealt with, and he'd return to his family in Dorne, something he would do eagerly and without a hint of reluctance, but until then, he was going to enjoy having Dacey back in his bed.

"Gods, I missed your cock," Dacey moaned.

She quickly matched his rhythm perfectly, throwing her arse back against him in time with his thrust, and soon the tent was filled with the sound of his hips slapping against her arse. The every impact made her fleshy cheeks jiggle and ripple hypnotically, and he groaned at the sight. Her sweltering cunt clung to every inch of shaft tightly, and she squeezed him each time he pulled back, milking in a way that felt incredible. He raised his hand and brought it down hard on one of her full, round cheeks, making her shriek.

"Yes!" Dacey cried. "Harder!"

He picked up his pace and spanked the other cheek, making her cry out again. Many a night between them had ended with her round white cheeks spanked red, and he suspected this one would be the same. Though a brash and outspoken woman more likely to respond with her morningstar than meekness to a slight, she had always enjoyed being taken roughly in bed. As he grew older and larger, he suspected that the size of him, not just his cock but in general, was one thing that she liked most. Given her height and general fierceness, it was a rare man who could actually treat her like this, and Daemon was always more than happy to give her what most others couldn't.

"You poor thing," Daemon growled in her ear. "How long has it been since you had a real man?"

"Too long," Dacey moaned. "No one's like you. No one's ever fucked me like you do."

Daemon groaned at her words, fucking her harder and reaching under her. Her copious fluids were running down her thighs, and he took a moment to wet his fingers before bringing them to her clit.

"Oh, fuck!" Dacey screamed, shaking uncontrollably. "Just like that, just like that! Don't stop, don't you fucking...AHH!"

She shrieked as she came, convulsing under him as pleasure thundered through her entire body in waves. Daemon felt her spasming around his length and went still, not because he feared that he was going to cum but to enjoy it. Grasping her neck gently, he pulled her back to him and peppered the slender column of her neck with kisses, chuckling when he caught sight of how unfocused and glassy her eyes looked, her mind lost for the moment to the ecstasy still coursing through her.

"Incred...ible," Dacey panted, falling forward. "Wai...did you...not…"

"You were very clear that you wanted me to fuck you until you passed out, and I said I would," Daemon whispered in her ear, making her shiver. "You know very well that I am a man of my word."

"Fucking hells...I missed you," Dacey panted, laughing lightly.

Daemon just grinned and started fucking her again. The two of them were in for a very long night.


Daemon had missed Dacey more than he realized and eagerly took her again and again over the course of the night. She was just as much fun as he remembered, and as the two of them passed out in each other's arms late that night, slick with sweat and utterly sated, he recalled why he'd followed her to Bear Island years ago. As he awoke the next morning, he could see that the sun had just started to rise and knew that this was his best opportunity to get a better look at the wildlings' forces.

Slipping into Brynden's mind, he took a look at his surroundings and smiled mentally when he saw that the eagle hadn't traveled far from where he'd left him in his absence. He had flown across the wall after that first night, looking at the other empty castles as he went until he reached Castle Black.

He had to admit that, as much as he thought leaving the rest of the wall undefended was stupid, what Commander Estermont had done with the central castle was impressive. They would give the coming Wildling horde quite the fight when they arrived, and with the scorpions he'd had built and stationed on the wall itself, they'd be able to cause grave damage to even the largest of foes, but whether or not it would be enough, he had yet to determine.

Brynden had hunted and roosted a ways north of the Wall, settling in a massive weirwood tree for the night. Daemon looked around, as awed by the beautiful landscape as ever, and flew north. With the sun just starting to rise, it would have been easy to orient himself under any circumstances, but having the wall behind him made it even easier, and soon enough he was soaring through the air farther north than he'd ever been.

His uncle had told him stories of the far north a time or two during his rare visits to Winterfell. But nothing could have prepared him for actually seeing it. There was, fittingly enough, a wildness to the land that he'd never known. There were no roads, no inns, no settlements of any kind, just an endless expanse of untamed wilderness. It was like gazing into another world, completely unlike his own. This was probably what the average man from the Reach thought of when they imagined the North itself, he thought with some amusement.

"If the Wildlings were less...wild, they could probably make something of this place," Daemon thought to himself.

The land was similar in many ways to Bear Island, trees as far as the eye could see, and he doubted that it would be a terribly wealthy region if it was developed, but even then, he had no way of knowing for sure. There were mountains to the west that he could see, and it was theoretically possible that they could contain precious metals.

"It would be genuinely hilarious if we had walled off a second Casterly Rock up here," he thought to himself, snorting at the thought.

He didn't think that that was terribly likely, and at any rate, it was irrelevant just then. The raven they'd gotten from Castle Black the day before had said that the wildling camp was estimated to be a few weeks march north of their position. He expected to reach it relatively quickly, flying as he was, but not as quickly as he did. What constituted a week's march was quite different north of the Wall, apparently, a fact that he'd have considered for just a moment before deciding that it made perfect sense, given the lack of roads there, but just then there was only one thought that occurred to him.

"Fuck," he thought to himself as he landed on a nearby tree and surveyed the sprawling camp.

He had hoped that the fifty-thousand figure that they'd been given was a gross exaggeration, and while, from what he could see, he figured it was, it wasn't as exaggerated as he'd hoped.

"Rayder must have gathered every living cunt in these lands to his banner," he sighed, realizing that the North truly was in as much trouble as they'd thought.

It wasn't so dire that he was going to suggest pulling back and waiting for further reinforcements, but this was a large army, larger than the final khalasar, and he was going to need to figure out some way to neutralize their numbers. It was early yet, and most of them seemed to be sleeping, so he decided it was safe enough to venture down and take a closer look. Landing on top of a hastily raised tent and immediately drawing the attention of a pair of wildlings.

"Is that Orell's eagle?" he heard one of them ask.

"No, Orell's bird is an ornery cunt, but he's not that big," another one replied.

"I don't like his eyes," the first one muttered, picking up his spear and drawing back. "They look like the other does when Orell's in him."

He reared back and threw his spear hard, hoping to skewer the large bird. Daemon, seeing it coming, beat his mighty wings against the air just in time and rose above the flying projectile, which went over the tent and into another one.

"What the fuck?!" came a furious roar, and Daemon laughed as he flew off, leaving the wildlings to fight in his wake.

One of the tents was larger than the rest, and he landed on that one next. It had been raised in the shadow of a large rock, and as Daemon drew in his wings and hunched down against the pelt draped over what looked like a wooden frame, hiding himself from view. As he lowered his head down, he heard the sound of a man humming softly, as if in thought.

"We draw close," a woman murmured.

"We do," the man replied. "Soon enough we'll be upon them, and then we'll get to see if they can listen to reason."

"When have the bloody crows ever been reasonable?" another woman spat. "Make no mistake, Mance, this ends in blood, one way or another."

"So this is their 'king's' tent," Daemon thought to himself.

"You're very likely right, Val," Mance sighed, "but given how many we've already lost, if this new commander of theirs deigns to listen, I'll try to speak first."

"Come, sister," the first woman said softly. "I need to stretch my legs before they freeze up on me."

"Go with her," Mance murmured.

The tent opened a moment later, and two surprisingly beautiful women emerged. The taller of the two had hair like spun gold that fell to her arse. She was tall and draped in white fur that only enhanced her almost ethereal look. Her sister was similarly dressed and shorter, with slightly darker hair, the color of honey. Poking his head up, Daemon caught sight of their eyes, noting that they both had the same sky blue orbs, though the shorter one's eyes looked darker as though she was weighed down by something terrible. Neither noticed him and continued on, leaving their king alone, though he was soon joined by a tall, older man with a great red beard that fell past his neck.

"Val's right, you know," the man muttered.

"Listening in, were you, Tormund?" Mance asked, not sounding particularly angry.

"Had to take a piss, and Val's never been quiet," Tormund replied. "This new commander seems like a bigger cunt than the last. He won't listen."

"He will listen or die," Mance replied simply. "They can't hope to stand against us, and we can't stay here. If our people are to live, it will need to be south of that wall."

"Aye," Tormund muttered, "and if all else fails, we have the horn. Imagine the look on their faces if their big wall came crashing down."

"Joramun's horn is our last resort, Tormund," Mance said sharply.

"Is that Orell's eagle?" a wildling behind him asked, and Daemon didn't wait to fly away that time.

He crossed their camp, his mind racing with what he'd heard, and he almost crashed into a tree when he saw what was resting at the northernmost edge of it. Giants, dozens of them, camping together with massive hairy elephants larger than the ones he'd seen with the Golden Company. It was the most dangerous sight he'd come across yet, and in a panic, he rose high into the air, wanting to put as much distance between himself and his foes as he could.

"Wargs, giants, elephants, and a horn they think can destroy the wall?" he thought to himself. "This just keeps getting better. If they really do think that the horn can do that, though, I don't understand why they wouldn't jump at the opportunity to use it unless they truly do believe that they're fleeing from something that they'll need the wall to hold back."

It was a bigger crisis than he anticipated and would require careful planning to deal with, but between the army he was traveling with and the weapons at his disposal, he was confident that they'd be able to deal with them. The giants would be the greatest threat, but he doubted that they'd fare well against the dragonpowder bombs, and the scorpions that Estermont had stationed on the wall would be useful too.

He continued flying northward, lost in thought as he went over the armies he'd seen and the maps he'd already poured over in his mind. After dealing with Varys' multifaceted plots and being limited in how he could deal with him for fear of causing greater problems for his family, he almost welcomed the straightforwardness of the coming battles. There were no foes he couldn't slay openly or political ramifications to worry about. Men were invading his lands and needed to die for it.

"This is why I wouldn't make a good king," he thought to himself. "I'd rather join a thousand battles than sit through one droning council meeting."

As he chuckled mentally at himself, something occurred to him that he hadn't noticed yet. The world around him was deathly quiet. Part of that was that the winds had stilled, but there were no birds chirping, no animals scurrying around or fighting; there was nothing at all. Filled with a sudden sense of foreboding, Daemon looked around and wondered where all the animals had gone. Rising higher into the air, he soared further northward, keeping his eyes peeled for the slightest movement, and eventually he found it, but not the sort that he expected.

"What the fuck?" he asked himself, wondering if the eagle's eyes were playing tricks on him.

There were men down there, or what remained of them, moving about in ways that they absolutely shouldn't have been able to. They looked dead and rotten, their flesh hanging from their bones as though it had been in the process of falling off of them when something stopped it. The two corpses were joined by others, these ones in less revolting shape, and yet their sickly paleness belied their dead state. All of them had blue eyes that glowed in a way that couldn't possibly be natural, and Daemon shivered when those eyes fell on him.

There was a rustling down there, as though something was rushing towards him, and as he circled around the area to get a better look at what he was seeing, an even more unnatural sight emerged from the thick forest. Tall and thin, with skin like milk and hair to match, the distinctly humanoid creature looked at him, and Daemon shivered at the sight of its eyes. Like glowing blue stars, they radiated almost palpable malice mixed with a touch of curiosity. Reaching behind him, the creature pulled out a javelin made of ice and reared back, preparing to throw it.

"Fuck!" Daemon hissed mentally, diving towards the ground to get out of the way of the icy spear.

The creature's aim was good and his arm strong. The spear flew faster than the one the prince had almost lazily dodged back in the wildling camp, and he knew that if he'd been just slightly slower in evading it, Brynden would have died. Righting himself as he descended quickly, he flew as quickly as his wings could take him, rushing back south. He strafed back and forth, anticipating another spear, but none came, and soon enough, he was far away from whatever he had just encountered.

He stayed in Brynden's mind all the way back to the Wall, not wanting to take a chance that his eagle could run into any other danger along the way, and, once he was secure within one of the abandoned castles along the icy expanse, he returned to himself, sitting up with a gasp.

"What's wrong?" Dacey asked blearily, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

Daemon just looked at her silently, unsure where to even begin.