A/N: I know I said there will be a few interludes, but I decided to compress it into one single chapter, featuring a brief overview for most notable regions.

Thanks to FieryMatter, Wobb Nox, filipinosberman and Ascalon on SB for beta-ing.

Interlude: Crumbling Order

37 AC
Tenth Moon
The Reach

With a heavy sigh, Brandyll Tarly set down the latest report in his hand.

"That damned Black Fox, managing to not only defeat the Targaryens but even cost them so many full-grown dragons…"

The shocking news of House Rada's unlikely triumph against such bleak odds defied all expectations, and it sent shockwaves that permanently altered perceptions of Dorne. Where once they saw only a kingdom of raiders and barbarians dressed in dirty silks, they saw a rising military power who amply demonstrated its newfound military prestige to the world.

Granted, the Reach did not deploy its full military might like before, their sole purpose to disrupt Arin's plans and weaken Dorne even further to ensure their noninterference. To that end, they focused on creating as much damage and distraction as possible without directly engaging the Dornish for long.

Brandyll would not go so far as to say their plans backfired, but looking back, he could not help but wonder if their actions ended up galvanizing the Dornish even further against their enemies.

"Brandyll."

He turned to face Edmund Gardener III, the newly-crowned King, who somehow looked even more tired than Brandyll himself.

"I heard the news. Do the Dornish still stand?" The king asked.

A grim nod was all Brandyll could muster in response, and Edmund exhaled softly through his nose.

"Perhaps the only comfort we can take is that they won't come after us so quickly, thanks to our work," King Edmund remarked.

"Do not forget they have Elaegelle and Castenkair on their side, Your Grace," Brandyll sourly remarked, and Edmund's face fell.

"Yes, I suppose," Said Edmund, "But if they think we'll surrender the Reach without a fight, they have another thing coming."

"What is to be our next course of action, Your Grace?" Asked Brandyll.

"We double down on our efforts against the Conservatives and bring them to heel once and for all, and then prepare for the inevitable conflict," Edmund ordered, "How goes the Lannister branch families' efforts in securing the Westerlands?"

"Swimmingly smooth, almost too smooth for my liking, Your Grace," Brandyll answered, "Then again, Casten Reyne was no real leader, and him being permitted to live is perhaps expected."

"He was never properly educated by his father to be a real player, was he? Nor did he ever have help to overcome his crippling anxiety," Edmund said, "Every Small Council meeting we had at King's Landing simply reinforced this fact. I pity him, to be honest, game or no."

"Truer words have never been spoken, Your Grace," Brandyll nodded.

"Be that as it may, will the Westerlands pose a threat to our northern flank?" Asked Edmund.

Brandyll shook his head, "We both know they will need a few years to secure their rule first, and my spies say recent troubles in the Iron Islands will keep them occupied for a long time.

"The Iron Islands?" Edmund seemed surprised at the news. "Is there something happening that I should know?"

"...Reports have been sparse with patchwork information, but my sources say dark magics are at work in the isles," Brandyll reported, and Edmund felt tense as old war scars surfaced in his mind, "From what I could piece together, the Drowned Priests under Lodos the Twice-Drowned wield dark, terrible powers, necromancy of some sorts; dead corpses rise again with the heads of ocean creatures, crab claws for hands and krakens for heads. These monsters do not die easily, and countless Reavers have already fallen to their hands."

Edmund groaned in exasperation and disbelief, "I thought we were already done with that sort of thing in Essos."

"I wish the same, Your Grace, and truthfully I do not know how much of it is true myself," Brandyll admitted, "Perhaps it is for the best, given the current circumstances."

"...And what of the Stormlands?"

"Argella Baratheon has left with her daughters for Essos once the male heirs were dead, but not before declaring that House Baratheon would not continue to rule Storm's End," Brandyll reported, "Meanwhile the Stormlords are fighting for the throne. Houses Bolling and Wensington are among the primary contenders, although I gather that none but those tied to them by marriage are supporting them properly."

Eckard suspected that after suffering a betrayal by her own vassals during the Siege of Storm's End following her father Argilac's death, she did not want to deal with such misogyny ever again, and chose to cut her family loose from this silly Game of Thrones.

"And there will be no end to the fighting there for many years," Edmund concluded.

"No. There will not," Brandyll affirmed.

"...Have the troops rest and resupply, and continue to stockpile more rations; we do not have long before the ceasefire ends," Edmund ordered.

"Aye, Your Grace," Brandyll bowed.

IIOII

Moat Cailin
Eckard Blodfeld

Being the North's bulwark against the south, Moat Cailin was a once-valuable castle that sat on the boundary between the warmer Neck and the colder northern regions. If one controlled the castle, they held control of the Fever River extending to Blazewater Bay and the western seas, and forces could quickly march to White Harbour to the East, a defensible forward point for extending control of the White Knife.

Within its boughs the men and women of Gosmerch welcomed back the returning armies, triumphant from recent clashes with House Frey to the south.

Eckard watched from his balcony at the Tower of Eckard - embarrassingly named after him - with satisfaction, smirking at the progress his new armies have made against their enemies.

"My Lord, our latest reports from spies in the Vale and the True North."

Oberyn Taegorad, Eckard's second-in-command, handed Eckard a sealed envelope which he quickly opened. Scanning its contents, his smile grew wider.

"So Jonos Arryn the Kinslayer paid the price. House Arryn is extinct," He muttered.

In all honesty, Eckard never cared all that much about the Vale, being a highly mountainous region with little to offer, but it always paid to be kept abreast of current affairs in the continent. In this regard, he was very much unlike his northern peers who preferred blissful isolation.

And with House Arryn extinct, House Royce would undoubtedly move to declare themselves the new Kings of the Vale and the Gulltown Arryns would no doubt kick up a stink about it, while Mountain Clans would reignite their wars of independence in an attempt to reclaim their ancestral lands.

"And the next report?" Asked Eckard.

"Yes, My Lord. As we know, the Twins were put to the torch and promptly abandoned; any who wish to control the Green Fork would find it difficult without a base of operations," Oberyn reported, "With this, we are able to send troops southwards by the Green Fork on boat with impunity."

"Good. Once Arin Rada finishes his war and they expand their territory, the time will come for us to play our part, and allowing House Frey control over the Green Fork is like nesting in a den of Dire Wolves," Eckard said, "What news from the rest of the Riverlands?"

"In a complete and total state of chaos," Oberyn shrugged dismissively, "Without a unifying government to impose order, the old houses have gone back to feuding with each other as they have for centuries."

"Completely expected," Eckard nodded, "Houses Stark and Bolton?"

"Due to the recent defeats we've dealt them, House Stark is licking its wounds, and House Bolton, as we predicted, is swaying some less loyal vassals to their side," Oberyn reported, "The additional funding we discreetly sent them has enabled them to bolster their military power, too."

Eckard nodded, "Make sure that both sides are frequently informed of each other's movements; this war must last as long as possible while we continue to accumulate strength and focus on matters down south."

"Aye, My Lord," Said Oberyn.

"And make preparations for a journey to Dorne. We shall pledge our fealty to the new king of Westeros," Eckard ordered.

"Of course, My Lord," Oberyn smiled, "Arin Rada… he truly continues to defy all our expectations, doesn't he?"

"He is chosen by the Gods," Shrugged Eckard, "Of course he will live until the end."

IIOII

King's Landing

The young Targaryen children huddled fearfully in one corner of Red Keep's solar, hugging each other tightly for comfort. Infants and toddlers were cuddled by their mothers, wet nurses and nannies who patted them and soothed them with calming whispers and songs, though they too trembled from a chill in the air.

Pacing around nervously in the solar, Ser Bennar Brune, acting Hand of the King in Maegor's absence, bit his lip as he awaited news from his agents.

"Ser Brune, what do we do now?" Asked Maekar's wife Aerea, a woman of pure Valyrian stock from Essos.

"We can do naught but tighten security in the Red Keep and restore order in the Crownlands," Bennar reluctantly answered, a sympathetic expression on his face, "A good portion of our vassals are in rebellion, however, citing the murder of King Aenys Targaryen and many of his loyal subjects during His Grace Maegor's rebellion. Worse still, our allies throughout Westeros are either dead or have fled. We are alone."

Aerea wordlessly nodded, swallowing subconsciously.

"For what it's worth, My Lady, we still have loyal troops willing to fight for House Targaryen; more troops survived the war in Dorne than expected, and while it will take several years to fully replenish our strength, it will be just enough to pacify the Crownlords," Bennar reassured, "Furthermore, I've received word from King Edmund Gardener III that the Reach is amenable to providing us food and money in exchange for a peace treaty."

"King Gardener? He should be Lord Paramount! He has no right to claim the title of king," Aerea exclaimed, causing some of the infants to wake and cry and making her regret her loss of temper.

"My Lady, please be c-think of this from another perspective," Bennar pleaded, "We've lost all our grown dragons in the war for Dorne, and far too many veteran generals, officers and troops. What's worse, our treasury is close to being depleted, and if we do not practice austerity right now, we will be unable to recover our losses. It will be years before we are in a position of power once again."

Aerea forced herself to calm down, biting her lip so hard she drew blood. She did not want to admit it, to admit that the house she married into - the rulers of Westeros - had fallen so low at the hands of the Black Fox.

And yet what choice did she have but to accept reality? Circumstances were as Ser Brune described, and with the next generation of House Targaryen too young to take the reins of government, the vultures were circling, trying to pick their share of puppets.

Only Ser Bennar's political savviness managed to avert total disaster, and even then, House Targaryen's authority and legitimacy were much diminished from their recent losses. To think one war would cost them so much…

"...How are the troops returning from Dorne?" Asked Aerea.

"Regretfully, they will need several months to recover," Bennar admitted, "From injuries both physical and mental."

"Then… for now… we focus on the defensive," Said Aerea, "Focus on pacification and defense of the Crownlands. Do whatever you think is necessary to pull us through these dark times, Ser Brune."

"As Her Ladyship commands," Bennar bowed.

As Maegor took no wife and had no children, the next in command was Maekar's wife, Aerea Targaryen nee Laexarys, and as temporary regent, she was expected to hold the fort.

Pressure was immense, and one could only hope she did not crumble under the weight of heavy expectations.