A/N: Hey guys. Hope all is going well.

Published a new story called three heads. Be sure to check it out.

Enjoy and comment!

Chapter 18: Castle Black

"Forgive me, Lord Tyrion, but I am being dragged here by my cousin to speak with you." Nymeria Sand looked at him with an annoyed contempt. Tyrion was long used to it - notably with a lot more contempt as to who he was rather than simply his enjoyable gaze upon her beauty. This was far easier to withstand. "I am not keen on being here."

Arianne rolled her eyes. "Come now, Nym, don't be rude. We've been having a good conversation with Lord Tyrion here."

"I have enjoyed speaking with the Princess," he replied, glad that Nym had joined them. Knowing that she would, and that Arianne would wave her over. Now or never… "Princess, would you like a wager?"

"Oh? Do tell." Arianne seemed interested.

"I wager ten gold dragons that I can guess how many you have flirted with upon arriving in King's Landing."

A snort from Nymeria. "Forgive me, but I don't think that amount is capable of being counted." Arianne swatted her shoulder, leading to Nym's chuckle. She had a lovely laugh.

Arianne was a good sport though. "I accept."

Tyrion smirked. "You have flirted with… seven unmarried men and three married ones, as well as two maidens."

"Ah, you have been an observant fellow." Arianne's grin grew wider. "But off… all of those numbers are correct, but you missed the five married women that I have made advances to, two of those that I took to my bed," she boasted, earning a roll of the eye from Nym.

"Impressive." Sighing, Tyrion brought out his coinpurse and counted the gold dragons. "Here, Princess." Arianne snatched them, enjoying the moment. "Lady Nymeria, would you like to wager on a game?"

"Gambling so soon after losing your past wager? You have a death wish, Lord Tyrion," snickered Nymeria, hips tilted as she leaned against the column, arm propped up above her. She looked absolutely breathtaking, a sultry goddess that would've outsold even the most experienced whores had she been in a brothel - or would've been the most sought after maiden for marriage had she been trueborn.

Tyrion smiled sheepishly. "I am a dwarf, so I cannot fight - court is tedious and boring when in peace and civil accord, so I must chase my amusements while I can."

Nymeria took the bait, while Arianne hung back, watching. "Alright, so what do you wish to wager? The game you wish to play?"

There were many games he wished to play with this beauty, but Tyrion could save that for later. "You are a famed warrior with a steel-tipped whip."

"Ah, so you have done your research." Arianne spoke, not Nym, the Sand Snake's eyes narrowing.

"I drink and I know things, Princess," he replied. "But while adept with a whip, I think you must possess secondary weapons."

"You may be correct." A murky answer.

He nodded. "So if I guess how many blades you hold on your person." He gestured to her modestly cut dress by Dornish standards but quite immodest for court, sleeveless but with cleavage exposed and a slit down the leg. It showed off all Nymeria's assets, and Arianne's beside was even skimpier. "Then you must dine with me every night and midday for one week."

She pursed her lips. "And if you can't… you must grant me your signet ring."

Tyrion blinked, unintentionally touching his ring. It was a Lannister heirloom and valued by him, but he needed to trust himself and be confident. "Alright. Deal."

Smiling, Tyrion eyed her over. Not an unpleasant action, allowing him to assess her beauty unabashedly for the first time, all previous attempts having been under the threat of being noticed. Hair pulled into a long, single braid, it was the color of jet and lustrous compared to what he remembered of her sister Obara Mormont. Her skin was flawless apart from a tiny scar above her brow, while her breasts were large and perky - barely being held back by her dress. An hourglass figure spilled down towards long legs. Legs taller than he himself was in height, ironically enough.

"You seem to be enjoying this, Lord Tyrion," he heard Arianne say - her beauty was similar, only more soft than toned, lithe than athletic, with a darker hue of the skin and shorter stature. "Care to hazard a guess?"

"Alright." He licked the side of his lip, eyeing how smug Nym looked. "You have three blades and a stiletto. The former three are just underneath your left shoulderblade, your right outer hip, and left inner thigh, while the latter is hidden in your hairpin at the crown of your braid."

It seemed that several moments needed to pass for all to properly sink in for Nymeria - Tyrion found it blatantly obvious when it did, her smirk fading into a sense of confusion, then surprise with a slack jaw… and finally with reddened cheeks and a near simmering anger. Not at him, but at herself for being so gullible. "Seven fucking hells." How did he…?

Beside Nym, Arianne's attitude traveled in the opposite direction. "Oh, Mother Rhoyne." She slapped her knee, laughing at poor Nymeria's expense. "Quite the expert hustle, Lord Tyrion. Marvelous work."

"I suppose there isn't any way of me getting out of this," Nym grumbled, looking altogether half torn between stabbing Tyrion in the throat or throwing herself off Aegon's High Hill from pure mortification.

Patting her cousin on the shoulder, Arianne clicked her tongue. "You may seek it, but then I would bring audience before uncle Rhaegar and seek a royal decree in enforcement of the contract."

Her eyes widened while Tyrion bit his cheek to stop a giggle. "You wouldn't," gasped Nymeria. "Lord Tywin would never let it be heard."

Arianne grinned. "I am the heir to Dorne. My standing is so high that whatever I seek audience for must be held before his Grace… or perhaps Queen Lyanna who would always love such a jape."

Face burning with both rage and mortification, Nymeria let out a shrill whine. "Alright, fucking fine." She did her best to bury her neck in her shoulders. "You win, I shall allow Lord Tyrion to dine with me this week."

"Splendid, wonderful even." Ari kissed her cheek which was met with obscenities. The delighted smile didn't change as she looked at Tyrion. "Be sure to bring her tulips. She loves them."

"Fuck you." But Arianne was already gone, leaving Nymeria alone with the Imp of Casterly Rock. "So." She looked at him with a glower, crossing her arms. "Is this the point where you tell me the usual shit, that you're the strong highborn ready to make an honest woman out of me?"

Tyrion shrugged, finally feeling able to intrude into the conversation now that they were alone together. "Well, considering my reputation it is I that is the promiscuous whoremonger in need of someone to make me honest, and considering my... physical stature, it is I that am in need of someone strong to protect me." He raised his cup. "Seems our roles are reversed."

Her brow rose. "Hmmm, that is not an answer I would've expected from a man lusting for me."

"Used to that, are you?" Tyrion couldn't help but ask.

"I am no blushing girl with a maidenhead to lose, if that is what you are expecting - and it isn't because I am some Dornish whore as all you cunts think."

"Oh, I am well aware of that. It is what attracted me to you in the first place, Lady Nymeria."

That was surprising. "Truly?" She snorted. "No, I am certain your attraction was rather wanton rather than contemplated."

He covered his chest with his hand. "I will freely admit that my initial attention was of such a nature, given how I am naturally, but what few don't know about me is that I seek to settle down and the type of woman that would enjoy rather than be repulsed or find novelty in a dwarf is… limited."

Slowly, her lips curled ever so upward. "And I fit that description."

"A woman that knows what she wants, doesn't tolerate false games but can be perfectly capable of playing them, and is free as to who she is - aye, you are one of those limited persons."

"My sister Obara is not one to play false games at all… likely why the North suited her. But as you said, Lord Tyrion, I am apparently one well suited for your world." Finally able to relax for the first time since the bet had been consummated, Nym leaned against the wall. "Well, then, I do have one more question." She didn't wait for his assent to speak it. "Why does the notorious whoremonger of House Lannister wish to settle down? I mean, everyone knows your father would rather his Stark grandchildren adopt his name and take his keep than let you have anywhere near it."

Tyrion chuckled. "My father… I know who he is and what he wants, so his machinations no longer concern me." A lie, but not a great one - each of the Lannisters had found their place in the world by some stroke of providence. "I suppose my run has ended. Jaime protected me through most of my life, but now he has a family that needs him more. My uncles are kind but I am not their child so their patience is limited. As for Cersei… we are fairly considered cordial at the best of times." He grinned softly. "So you can see my predicament."

A pause, the response from the beautiful Sand Snake having potential to go a multitude of directions. "Perhaps that's why you noticed my knives, Lord Tyrion," Nym smirked, her eyes twinkling.

Oh, that had gone splendidly. Tyrion raised his goblet of wine in a mock toast. "Well, not the only reason, Lady Nymeria." It felt wonderful to indulge in those other reasons.

There were many contradictions in being Assavi of the Dothraki. Facets about her that contrasted with the class of person she was born to be.

One wasn't her beauty. Great though it was with bronzed skin and a hardy but slender figure that led many a warrior to fight duels over her, there were other Dothraki women that could compare.

Another wasn't her ferocity. In the hard life of the Great Grass Sea, a woman that could shoot a bow or wield a dagger was commonplace.

It wasn't her style of dress. While the usual feminine additions were desired, her preference of leathers with a halter around her neck holding up the tightly bound vest exposing her midriff and generous cleavage was pretty standard fare. Perfect for riding and enticing the opposite sex.

No, what served as the contradiction was that her roughness instead served… not as a mask but as a powerful set of armor for someone whose interests were in the more… cultured arts. She spoke several languages, could read and write better than most lords, and dabbled even in the secrets of mysticism.

Perhaps it prepared her for this day. She couldn't be sure, as Assavi couldn't be sure that those she socialized with - the ones that saved her life - were who as they said they were.

Eddard Snow and his female companions Larra and Alayne Snow. Bastards all, from Westeros - in Larra's case half-Westerosi, half-Lysene - but remarkably cultured themselves. Assavi could tell, for they were kindred spirits in that regard. Watched over by a powerful knight as well… They were hiding something, but she knew not what. A puzzle to be solved.

And that didn't stop her from enjoying her time with those that did save her and her companions from what was likely rape and slavery. And what better way to do that than…

Thwack.

Slamming into the tree, just a few inches away from center, Alayne groaned. "Hasn't gotten better, fuck!"

"Cursing?" Larra remarked, a grin on her lips. "Unbecoming of a lady."

"Shut it."

Shaking her head, Assavi pushed herself in to where Alayne was standing. "Here… it's all about the breathing. You need to control it in the right way." Guiding Alayne with her hands, soon three successive arrows made it to just within an inch of the center. "Perfect."

Hornblows distracted Assavi and drew her attention to several riders. Her eyes widened and she ran towards them - knowing her charges were following. Before too long she was swept up in the tight embrace of the most important man in her life, laughing and crying all the same. "Sister," murmured Drogo, head buried in her shoulder. "By the Great Stallion, I was worried when Irri found us."

Assavi kissed his cheek as he set her down. "Need not worry about me, brother, for I had a surprising guardian." Seeing Eddard Snow and his knightly father approach, she gestured to them. "These two slew the surviving bandits that attacked us."

Watching her brother, it was clear to Assavi that he felt Eddard Snow to be… quite physically uninspiring. "He's young, but his swords are likely taller than he himself. Not a good look, I'm afraid." The words were gruff and accented, but damn anyone that considered him an uncultured savage keen on raping and looting the whole world. "I could crush this one with one fist."

"Brother, enough." There were some Dothraki screamers that matched that description - Great Stallion, Assavi had to admit that most were - but not herself and her brother.

But young Eddard Snow seemed unfazed. "Aye, you look quite strong and your muscles show it." He gestured to Drogo's bare chest, adorned with one concentric spiral in blue paint that served as a display for great accuracy of his blows. Not an achievement to be looked down upon. "Though… no, I shouldn't say. Larra and Alayne told me it was rude to speak it."

Both girls seemed perplexed, though Larra knowingly so. "Say what?" her brother asked.

"It is nothing."

Drogo's eyes narrowed. "Tell me, runt."

Eddard glanced at the silver-haired Lysene. "Alright, he insists." Assavi noticed Larra's eyes twinkling. "Just that you must be overcompensating for something by being so blatant in showing off your muscles." His smirk was quite badly hidden. "Is it a lack of skill in swordplay that you can mask with brute strength, or rather a lack of… other skills?"

The knight's brow rose, while both Larra and Alayne stifled giggles. Irri bit her lip while Assavi, chuckling softly, glanced up at her older brother. Wondering how he'd react with… not a little bit of worry. An insult like that from a rival in the Khalasar could provoke a duel to the death - though he hadn't yet actually fought one, only first blood duels - while from a comrade could lead to a snort, or…

Clutching his belly, Drogo suddenly pitched forward in a pure chortle. He reached for the boy and squeezed his shoulder, slapping his back. "Alright, that is a good one. Truly put me in my fucking place, young one."

"He truly did, brother," giggled Assavi, her throaty chuckles in quite a comparison to the sprites that accompanied the boy. "And I have seen him fight. He'll be a powerful, skilled warrior once he comes of age."

"I will have to see that in a far less fearful circumstance," Drogo replied, switching back to the common tongue. "In any case, the two men that saved my sister." He walked over to Jon and drew him up in a powerful, crushing embrace. "To the both of you, I owe a debt of protection. To repay such risk as you have done for the most important person in my life."

With him clasping the knight's hand, a shake of the head came from Eddard. "Forgive me, but it is not simply I and my father." He pointed to the girls. "Larra and Alayne both supported us, slaying four of the bandits."

Drogo seemed shocked. "Four, you say?"

Alayne shrugged sheepishly. "The direwolves assisted." Both furry bundles simply sat on their haunches, tails swishing.

As for Larra, she brushed her hair over her shoulders and chuckled in a charming flair - had she been Assavi's age, the Dothraki rider was certain the flirtatious charm would've oozed out of her. "She is a modest one, taught that by her father even though her mother is quite the ostentatious braggart." Walking to Drogo, she wrapped her arms around his own muscular forearm. "It isn't bragging though to claim myself as quite the adept swordswoman, and her as an archer of innate talent… though your sister has been giving her some tips."

"Aye, my sister is very much underestimated in that manner." Drogo gave her a warm smile, one Assavi returned. "We are both underestimated in different ways."

"Perhaps even by me, that I didn't expect such a powerful warrior to be cultured in the manner of knowing the Common Tongue of Westeros." Larra's smile was wide and toothy. "But you are cultured, and it impresses me. Just as much as your undoubted battle prowess does for both myself and for Eddard here."

If Drogo was charmed by her… he showed it quite well. "My debt extends to the both of you as well as your men… and it is only too well that you yourself aren't in the Khalasar, for there would be so many young lads that would seek your hand for themselves, sweet one." He took her hand in his and kissed it, such a contrast between his behavior and his appearance.

Assavi knew, being an even more blatant contrast given her slender beauty. "We have waited for Irri to bring you." If she called, Drogo came running - had been the same since they were barely out of swaddling clothes and Assavi loved her brother to death for it. "But now that you are here, dear brother, let us celebrate in what is proper for a Dothraki."

Nodding, Drogo beat his chest. "Aye, let's! First the hunt." He grabbed Eddard, hoisting his hand up. "This one shall have the honor of riding alongside me as we find our meal." His friends all chanted the Dothraki war cries while the ladies all grinned at the mortified Eddard.

"That boy," giggled Larra. "Always getting into trouble."

"You mean you get him into trouble, Larra," Alayne replied with a smirk. "He has not your dreamy smile, at least when men are involved."

"I can't help it that I'm gorgeous," Larra said arrogantly, yet with grace and charm.

"No you don't." Only Assavi heard that, while also noticing the longing looks that the redhead gave the silver-blonde… less obvious than the looks they both gave to Eddard. Interesting. "Lady Assavi."

She blinked. "Yes?"

"Shall we resume where we left off?" Alayne played with her braid. "I assume that I shan't be getting any practice when the celebration starts."

Assavi nodded with a grin. "Believe me, this will be tame compared to one of our weddings." Both girls looked expectantly at her. "Unless three people die, it's considered a dull affair." She rather enjoyed being able to dumbfound them, especially Larra.

The farewell had been as tearful as Aegon expected. His munas filled with tears as they clucked and fawned all over him, kisses all over his face as his cheeks flushed red. A far more circumspect hug from his kepa, then his grandmother, while his siblings each held him tightly and begged him to return - even Alyssa, though hers was proud and without such fluff as his younger sisters.

Asha had seen him off the night before. Her face stoic, but the kiss they shared nothing but.

Just a kiss though, and if Aegon felt disappointed or heartbroken he refused to show it, looking up from the window of the large carrack as it sailed towards Massey's Hook. Key to find its way towards Dorne. Above, Tessarion soared happily through the air. Diving to skim the water for her midday meal. "Enjoy yourself, girl," Egg thought, Smoke sitting on his haunches by his side. Egg ruffled his fur, delighting in the moment.

"You seem happy, nephew." Egg turned to see his uncle approach. "Far better than any sense of despondency in leaving your home and family."

"It is only temporary, and I'll be with family, anyway."

Oberyn ruffled his hair. "Ah, so handsome and yet so innocent. There's a type of man or woman that would eat those kinds alive… myself being one of them." Pouring him a cup of Dornish red, Oberyn gestured to the seat across from him which Aegon took. Accepting the cup. "Tell me, Egg, just between you and I - have you been intimate with a girl?"

Egg blushed. "Um…"

"Trust me, I shan't tell a soul. I am your uncle and chaperone in Sunspear and the Water Gardens." He leaned forward. "I have to know."

A sigh. "One girl, aye. Asha Greyjoy."

Clicking his tongue, Oberyn smirked. "An older woman, and feisty at that. Good show even if she's an Ironborn."

"I said I loved her… that I wished for her to be my wife."

"Turned you down, did she?" Egg nodded. "Ah, that was your first mistake, then. Falling in love with the first woman you slept with - she wasn't your arranged marriage so there is no gain there, nor is there any marriage prospect with the daughter of Balon Greyjoy."

"I've slowly gathered that since, uncle." Aegon hated having to admit, but perhaps Asha did him a favor. "So there, I'm no longer an innocent lad."

His uncle laughed. "Oh, there are many types of innocence that one could lose. Have you slept with multiple women at the same time? Like your kepa?"

Aegon blanched. "That is not an image I wish to conjure up."

"No? Your parents aside, it is a very enjoyable moment, watching two nubile beauties in the throes of passion while prepping to thrust your cock into one's cunt or ass." Oberyn laughed at his nephew's mixture of arousal at the thought and disgust of his parents in that position. "Moving on for your sake, how about this? Have you ever enjoyed the carnal knowledge of another man?"

While he was certain that one of his northern cousins would've spit out the wine they were drinking, Aegon was well-versed enough in the… realities of the world to not be surprised at the question. "I cannot say that I have, though my carnal knowledge of women is very recent as well."

His uncle leaned back, resting his head on his hand. "An erudite manner of putting it, roundabout manner of saying you haven't, but that doesn't reveal whether you wish to or not."

"I haven't given it a thought." Did he? Aegon couldn't be sure, for Asha was the first person, man or woman, that he had looked over with the wanton gaze of lust. "Most men I figure don't."

"You'd be surprised," Oberyn replied, sipping at his goblet. "It is no matter, I can easily have that tested at the Water Gardens. Plenty of lads there seeking pleasure with each other as well as with the pretty maidens, we can figure out whether you take after me or your father." Tapping his chin, his expression grew serious. "As is well, for you will learn how to be a proper Prince and leader of men among the snake pit."

"What do you mean, uncle?"

He sighed. "There are… many in Dorne that are still embittered that you were passed over in favor of your younger brother."

"This again, fuck…" Aegon groaned. "I do not seek to usurp Baelon, nor do I or my full-blooded siblings hold hate or resentment over Baelon becoming the Crown Prince."

"And they see you as weak for that attitude. Much as I myself hate it, Baelon is a usurper in much of Dorne and Lyanna a seductress who has bewitched both King Rhaegar and Queen Elia…"

Aegon rose with a rage. "Anyone that says such will face my sword and the flames off Tessarion."

"Including your uncle, Prince Doran?" Such silenced Egg, the boy feeling as if struck. "The dark secret of House Martell. Loyal your uncle is, always to his blood, but his feelings still run in that direction."

"Truly, he hates my muna?"

"Hate is a strong word… life is not always black and white, nephew - such is why approaches of pure fire and blood cannot work. You cannot be Maegor, but such doesn't mean you must be Aenys. Fire can cause discomfort rather than burn to ash, while blood can be a small gash rather than spurting from decapitation. I learned this long ago, and to best accomplish knowing when to strike and to what degree you should learn how I accomplished this."

"How, uncle?"

Oberyn grinned. "Sleep with many, learn many secrets." A chuckle at Aegon's blink. "You are not the Crown Prince, so you are not limited to finding a quick marriage to a woman or women that can make proper Queens. You may take time and indulge in pleasures that your brother cannot afford to - and don't limit yourselves to the giggling girls. Plenty of young lads with loose lips when around a man they consider their friend and lover."

Biting his tongue, Aegon looked away. "I shall keep that in mind, uncle."

"No shame in enjoying both a wet cunt or hard cock. I find it rather freeing, myself." Burying his lips in his drink, Egg chose not to answer. This would be a long voyage, and perhaps his uncle wasn't the best person to remain the closest to.

Suddenly the prospect of self-discovery didn't seem as wholesome.

Bundled up in thick furs and insulated leathers, the howling winds at such a powerful height affected Rhaenys little. Her nose and face stung from the snow blown into it but her dragonblood compensated, leaving the Targaryen Princess free to enjoy the view.

And what a view it was.

With winter shifting to spring, the snow had begun to melt across most of the North with the coming of longer days and the brighter sun. Had the Kingsroad not been paved thanks to the diligent efforts of her muna, uncle, and aunt, the Stark party would've been halted in the mud for weeks rather than the few days ride while Rhae flew above upon Nymerion. But they were there, the first shoots of green ending abruptly only a mile from something massive that jutted out of the ground.

A massive wall of ice and snow held together undoubtedly by magic, seen from dragonback by only one previous Targaryen. That of the Good Queen Alysanne, centuries before now with the same sight before her as was before Rhaenys. The same tiny keep jutting against the southward base of it.

And beyond… "I can see a little bit of it, girl. The Haunted Forest."

Nymerion, the muted orange of her scales ever blatant against the backdrop of blue sky and white-grey clouds, audibly snorted. Her great body producing sounds loud enough to be heard over the roar of the wind. 'You've seen one forest you've seen them all.'

She chuckled. "I've read all about this, and now I can see it… perhaps there are giants and mammoths in those forests now." Leaning up, she peeked over the Wall with an almost girlish glee. As if she were five namedays rather than five and ten. "Let's fly over it, faster, girl." With a wingbeat, Nymerion lurched forward… only to shriek and bank away. "What?" She was confused. "Fly over the Haunted Forest, girl."

'I can't…' Her growls sounded… pained and scared. Little could scare a massive dragon 'Something… is just wrong there.'

Just as Silverwing many centuries before, it seemed as if Nymerion wouldn't fly north of the Wall. "There's a reason the Night's Watch must guard the realms of men," sighed Rhaenys. "Alright then, land on the top of the Wall." The best she could do, Rhaenys supposed.

'Of course, muna.' The dragon hooted for good measure.

And oh, was the view just as glorious as she imagined it to be.

The timing had been perfect, Rhaenys landing Nymerion in the soft carpet of powdery snow resting upon the ground outside Castle Black just as her uncle's party trotted up the newly paved road. 'Fucking hells… The snow finally melted back at Winterfell and now I'm back in it.'

Climbing down her spines, Rhaenys giggled. "Quit complaining, you have a wondrous life. Pampered even."

Nymerion snorted. 'Could use some excitement. Things are too peaceful.'

She patted his snout, stroking the scales softly. "Be careful what you wish for, my sweet." Boots crunching on the snow, Rhaenys waved to the horsemen trotting up. "Uncle, shall we?"

"I knew better not to try and outrace a dragon here," her uncle commented, those bannermen alongside him laughing politely. A good man though he was, his sense of humor was lacking. Rhae found the sentiment amusing though. "Come, mount up."

But Rhae shook her head. "That's my mount," she pointed to Nymerion. "I'll walk to the gate." Ned shrugged, knowing better than to argue with the Princess.

It had been since Good Queen Alysanne that a royal arrived at Castle Black - there had been two Targaryens previously in the form of Brynden Rivers and her great-uncle Aemon, but they had been assigned to the Night's Watch. All the black brothers present at the keep were gathered to greet her and Lord Stark, assembled in the courtyard in their finery…

Or what could be described as finery for those of the Night's Watch. Objectively, not even a minor lord with debts totalling in the tens of thousands of gold dragons would condone their banners to be so decrepit, even given the conditions of the lands in which they operated in. The keep was a dump, run down to say the least.

No glorious place that guarded the Realms of Men as said in their oaths and the histories. "Your Grace," stated Lord Commander Jeor Mormont, grizzled but gracious. Bowing. They owed no allegiance to any King, so did not bend the knee. "Lord Stark, welcome to Castle Black."

"Lord Commander, we are glad to answer your call for assistance," Rhaenys stated, being gestured to two others.

"These are First Ranger Qhorin Halfhand and First Builder Othell Yarwyck… our Maester… he died the past moon."

"I am sorry to hear that."

"Your uncle, Prince Aemon, he was a magnificent maester. We were sad to let him go, though our loss is the gain of the Red Keep."

"Aye, I am glad that he is back with his family where he belongs." Rhaenys… noticed something. "First Builder, are you bothered by my presence?"

He blinked. "Your Grace… it's just that someone of your standing and beauty isn't fit to be here."

Ned stepped forward. "Watch your words, First Builder."

"Forgive me, Lord Stark, but I cannot fail to account for the presence of many rapists among our ranks. The whores of Mole's Town can take care of themselves and the wildlings captures…" He snorted. "Animals anyway, but yourself, your Grace?"

Rhaenys frowned, not liking his tone. "None will harm me." Do it, girl. The loudest of roars rocked Castle Black, many men cringing or even scrambling for cover on instinct. "And if that isn't enough I have my own form of protection." She gestured to the glaive slung behind her back. "Anything else? For I would like to ask a favor of the Lord Commander."

"Anything, Princess."

"I would like to see the quarters my uncle lived in while he was here."

"Of course. Eddison Tollett will take you. Edd!" A balding man with a bushy beard trotted forward. "See her Grace to the Maester's quarters."

"At once, Lord Commander."

After pushing the door open, Edd was dismissed by Rhae as she walked inside. Looking over the dusty quarters. "Gods," she murmured. It was worse than she expected.

A pair of arms wrapped around her waist, ones Rhaenys recognized - lucky for Torrhen, for otherwise she'd have likely tossed him into the wall in the best possible scenario. The worst… she didn't want to think about, fond of the Karstark heir that she was. "Rhae, love?" He kissed her neck. "Something the matter?"

She shrugged, but nodded right after. "These were the chambers of my great-uncle Aemon."

"Prince Aemon, the maester?" He snickered. "Gods, what a place for the son of a King."

"Aemon was intelligent enough to be the greatest of Grand Maesters… or to lead the Citadel." Rhaenys shook her head, hands resting atop Torrhen's, which caressed her clothed belly as he had a habit of when they were unclothed. She enjoyed a handsy lover. "Instead they exiled him here - he told me he requested it but…" Somehow it seemed all too perfect.

A snort. "Who would volunteer to go here? A dumping ground for murderers and rapists, if you ask me."

The passage of the histories of the North that her muna gave her popped into her mind. "In the beginning, the Night's Watch was a place of honor. Third sons, Lords and knights that had their families and sought to close out their lives by doing their duty, bastards seeking glory, all flocked here to defend the Realms of Men."

"My father says that's why the Lord Commander arrived here, why he left Bear Island to his son and your cousin the bas… Sand Snake." He managed to catch himself, but not before Rhaenys noticed, frowning in distaste. "And yet look at it now… heard they can barely man three castles of theirs, let alone the dozen in total."

"Centuries of neglect, the institution as you said being that of murderers, theives, and rapists…" Pushing herself gently out of Torrhen's embrace, not wishing to make him think she was cross at him even though she slightly was, Rhaenys instead rounded the entire chambers. The worn leather-bound tomes and crackling fire that only barely banished the cold. The dust that permeated everywhere and covered the worn furniture and threadbare cloth… "Aye, there is no honor in this. Whomever in the Citadel that sent uncle Aemon here should've been burned."

"Can't remove the dragon from the House of the Dragon," grinned Torrhen. "Fire and Blood."

She smiled at that. "Worked so far, Torrhen. Worked for us so far." So many defeated Lords and knights ended up within these very walls, condemned to what had to be one of the seven hells.

Their dragons and their draconic natures kept all but two Targaryens from being sentenced here. I'll slaughter anyone that would seek to increase that amount. If any of their family was forced to live in this squalor…

A sudden image of Baelon here, freezing and being abused by the hive of scum and villainy that was the Night's Watch… it burned through Rhaenys' skull like a molten spear. Making her shudder and wince. "Rhae? Something wrong?" Torrhen looked concerned.

Not real. It's not real. Sucking in a breath and standing straight, Rhaenys nodded. "Aye. I'm fine." It truly wasn't real, her brother set to be the King he deserved to be rather than some condemned prisoner at the edge of the world. "Let us find my uncle and fill our stomachs. I am famished. Then… who knows?" She winked to him.

Perhaps that would distract her from her thoughts.

A/N: And so Rhaenys has a moment with the Night's Watch, shuddering at a fate that could've been. Eerie

And so Drogo is getting along with everyone, lol.

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