Author's Note: If you ever wonder how far in advance I write these chapters, this is being posted on April 11th and was finished on December 29th.

Jon

His mind drifted back to Winterfell and the coming of King Robert.

He had been in the back of the crowd, amongst the servants. Lady Stark hadn't wanted him there at all but Jon's father had argued he needed to be there, just in case King Robert had wanted to see him.

"He was named of Jon Arryn, who was like a father to us both," Jon's father had informed her. "There is a chance the King will want to see him."

"You should never have dishonored Jon Arryn by-"

"Cat, enough," his father had said coldly, cutting her off. "He was pleased I had named the boy after him. He took no offense. He was disappointed I didn't stay longer in the Capital so he could spend time with him. Why do you attempt to be aggravated for a man who didn't care and is now dead?"

"He shouldn't be there to meet the king," Lady Stark had pressed, refusing to answer the question.

'I wonder how she feels, now that I rule in the Name of the King,' Jon thought to himself. 'Probably believes this is still a plot to steal Robb's birthright.' Even though Natasha had been able to learn through her spy network that his family didn't blame him he wasn't for sure if he could believe them; after all, some of them claimed that Robb was able to turn into a giant hulking black monster and enjoyed eating the heads of rapists, so clearly Nat's network needed some work weeding out the muddle-headed ones. So he always wondered what they must think of him.

His mind drifted back to that day in Winterfell. Of him waiting for the King to arrive. And of the mutters the servants had issued under their breaths, forgetting who he was.

"Disrespecting our lord," Dornny, a tall grim-faced Northern woman had declared with a shake of her head. She had learned her letters and numbers all on her own and as such Lady Stark would sometimes use her to help with the budget for Winterfell. While she was stern she had never treated Jon unfairly, even when the other servants had. "The King was supposed to be here a week ago and only now has he shown up."

"Pussycat," Sopha, Dornny's tiny little mother who made her coins watching over the children of the servants, said with a sigh, "could you try not to get yourself thrown in a cell for insulting the King?"

"But I'm right, ma," Dornny complained. "We have been waiting for days for him to show up and he's taken his sweet time."

"I never understood why it was called 'sweet time'," Rosie said with a tilt of her head. She was a kind servant but a bit… simple… in her ways. Everything about her was soft, some said, including her brain. "I mean, its not sweet for us, is it?"

"But it is for them, Rosie," Blonche replied with a smile. Jon had always disliked the woman because she was a terrible flirt, often times trying to encourage him to 'smile more'. It was whispered she was little more than a whore and a slut but because she had come with Lady Stark when she'd arrived in Winterfell little was done with her. It didn't help that she seemed to have the same dreamy view of the world that Sansa did; while she wasn't the one that helped instill those views in her, as that had been the Septa, she hadn't discouraged it either. "When a king travels it is his right to take his time, to see the lands that he rules."

"You mean he whores and drinks," Dornny had snarked.

"And it doesn't help that he has a party nearly as bloated as he is!" Sopha retorted.

"Oh, the king can't be THAT fat," Rosie had replied… just as Robert's poor horse had trotted into Winterfell. Jon knew it was most likely just his overactive imagination but he had thought the poor thing's legs looked ready to give out. "Okay, maybe he is that fat."

It had always stuck with him, that the King had been utterly delayed due to the size of the caravan, and that feeling had only grown when he'd journeyed with Tony back to Iron Pointe. While Tony's party had been a fraction of the size of King Robert's it had still been far too slow for Jon's liking. Often he had been ready to ride in the morning only to be forced to wait while Happy made sure that everyone was in place and the servants hurried about worried they might have forgotten something and then someone needed to take a piss or wanted to check out something…

When he and Nat had gone to King's Landing it had been quicker but Jon hadn't been in as much of a rush because he had known if he was walking towards something vile or pleasant. He was a 'valued guest' even if he was being placed on the Small Council, and that meant that he had been marching to his own prison sentence at best.

'If only I had known,' he thought to himself, shaking his head as he looked down at the pin that signified he was Hand of the King. He was wearing it now but he would remove it when they were out of the city; there would be plenty of the road that would want to kill him purely because he wore it.

"Are you alright?" Natasha asked, sitting next to him on her mare. They were all using some of the finest mares the stables had, Jon not wanting to risk any incidents with a stallion in the mix; even though he was long dead there were still those that told of how Ser. Loras had tricked Ser Gregor with his mare to win the Tourney of the Hand. Jon didn't want to deal with those problems while on the road.

"Just wish we could get going," Jon said as he checked his saddle for the 12th time. About half of their party was currently there. Miles and Petyr had known better than to be late, not they would ever think about it. With Gwen the one they were going after the boys had been ready to ride for hours, since before the sun had come up. Indeed, the boys were looking restless, not at all treating it like some game or adventure as one might have expected. It made Jon both pleased and sad. Pleased that they understood the gravity of the situation… and saddened that they were being forced to grow up so very quickly.

Jiffsun caught his look and must have read his thoughts because the smile he flashed reminded Jon very much of the look he had seen an old man flash his young son when the lad had been selected by Jon's father to ride with him to bring down the Ironborn in their rebellion. Pride… but sadness.

'I wonder if he'll flash the same smile that man did when his son returned, face scarred but body at least whole,' Jon thought to himself. Jiffsun was coming with them, having felt he needed to go to regain his honor after letting Gwen be captured by Doc Ock.

Happy was also there, still muttering to himself about the path they would take to the Vale; while the war was bubbling down there were still areas of fighting in the Riverlands and even a few in the Stormlands, according to Varys. It was why Jon would be leading the party, as he would be able to use his status as both Hand of King Tommen and (as far as the world knew) Bastard Son of the King in the North to see that they were allowed to pass. Happy didn't like it at all but it was what it was.

Natasha's father though was late. Oberyn had easily won a spot as part of their 'hunting party' due to his skills in tracking and fighting on horseback but it seemed that he had decided to wish all the whores in King's Landing goodbye. He knew that Jon wouldn't put up with delays, having been warned that he would be left behind if he wasted time in a brothel. Oberyn had merely laughed and informed him that one didn't fuck before a battle, as it made a man more desperate to win and be back in the arms of their lover. So he was 'draining the serpent', in his own words, to remove the urge.

As if sensing where his thoughts were Natasha said, "Clynt will bring my father soon, I know it. He won't risk angering me."

"Good," Jon said. "I am glad we were able to talk everyone out of some grand send off." There had been some discussion about having a whole host of people see them off but Jon had been against it. The Kingdom needed to be run. "That just leaves Ser Loras and Bronn."

"Try not to sound too pleased about the Knight of the Flowers coming with us." She smirked at him and Jon tried to smile but he just couldn't manage it.

"I don't trust him," Jon said finally. "How can I, after what you told me?" He shook his head; learning that the Tyrells were working with the High Sparrow to hunt down those with gifts like the Spiders had left a foul taste in Jon's mouth and he wanted nothing more than to cast the prancing little knight out of the party. He knew it wasn't kindness that was seeing him join them on the hunt; be it because the Tyrells wanted to spy on him, influence him, or were seeking for some strange reason to cause the entire matter to fail it didn't matter in his mind. The knight was a scoundrel, plain and simple.

He knew it was wrong to paint a son with the brush of his father but he couldn't help it; wasn't like they didn't do things to hurt their reputation. Ser Loras had always been a strange clingy lad from the moment Jon had met him. Wanting to include him in this thing or that thing; it was nearly as bad as it was with Margaery. He understood that she was stuck with a child as a husband but she only needed to wait a few more years and Tommen would be of age. Risking it all to go after him, a married man? And one married to the Black Widow of Dorne? It was foolishness. And there was her brother, attempting at times to engrain himself as well!

"He has to come with us," Natasha argued, once more clearly reading his thoughts. "You are not merely just the Hand of the King. You are the ruling regent of the Seven Kingdoms. You are the king in all but name."

Her voice was utterly low but Jon still felt like she was talking too loud about such things. He knew there were people that looked at him and, even not knowing of his ancestry, longed for him to be king, seeing him as the first kind and just ruler they'd had in a generation. And there were others that looked at him and wanted him dead for that same reason. Jon never wanted the throne, the crown, any of it. Honestly he wasn't for sure if he wanted Iron Pointe. The time he had spent with Natasha in that cabin, living their lives free, able to do as they wished? Spending one day walking about completely naked, doing their chores without any clothing and resisting the urge to attack each other? Or that rainy afternoon they had simply cuddled together as the storm struck the roof? It had been the best time of his entire life and he would give anything to return to it. That time with Natasha was worth more than all the wealth of the Seven Kingdoms.

"You have to be protected," Natasha continued on. "And the Tyrells pushed to be represented. If there were any Lannisters that could go with us they would have selected one of them." She glanced towards the stables and several boys that were dealing with the muck. "We are being watched at all times… we can't let on that we know how untrustworthy the Tyrells are."

"How is it that the Lannisters became easier to deal with?" Jon groused.

That made Natasha smirk. "Cersei is far too obvious in her schemes."

"I hate the idea of leaving them all plotting and planning while we're out," Jon admitted.

"It can't be helped," Natasha said. "And worst case… we use this to our advantage."

"How so?" Jon pressed.

His wife smirked. "We flee to the North with Ser Loras as a prisoner."

Jon merely sighed. "Could you try to avoid stirring up schemes until we are done with this current scheme?"

"A smart and cunning person thinking of different outcomes for everything," she informed him. "I am merely doing my wifely duties."

"I thought your wifely duties were what you did last night," Jon commented.

"That was for me as much as it was for you," the minx dared to retort.

"Jon!" Ser Loras called out and Jon turned to see the admittedly dashing looking knight coming towards them with a striking pale mare. He wasn't wearing full armor, thankfully, but the leathers he wore were of the highest quality, including a warm cloak that had embroidered roses sewn along its entire length so that it look like a bush full of the red flowers.

'I wonder if he'll sob the first time it is caked in mud,' Jon thought to himself. He knew that Ser Loras was a skilled knight… but that was in tourneys and the like. As his father had always said, "Tourneys are fake fighting… it is why I never participate. War isn't something to dishonor." He would have declared Ser Loras a Summer Knight, one who had only known far weather. Jon wondered how he would handle an actual battle. One where the warriors weren't warned that they needed to pull their swings at the last moment. 'According to Varys Ser Loras was terrified when the Mountain came at him… but he was the Mountain. I was in armor that allowed me to fly and I was scared of him!'

"Ser Loras," Jon said with a nod. "We are about to set out."

"Good, because I have ensured we have better luck." That made Jon frown and at once Ser Loras laughed. "Do not worry, you will be very pleased! Our party number was set at a very unlucky number, though I don't fault you for knowing. 11 is the Seven with over a half, meaning you put effort into getting to 14, a doubly lucky number, but stopped. This can be seen as offensive to the gods. But 12 is a much better number, for it breaks down so perfectly. Groups of 3 and Groups of 4 are quite natural and of course Groups of 2 represent the relationship between those in love while Groups of 6 represents a strong family, but only if there is more than one for as I am sure you know 6 can be very unlucky-"

Jon found himself utterly ignoring all that Ser Loras was saying. 'The Seven… it is all so complicated and mad. It is as if the Faith of the Seven wish to do all they can to make things horribly painful just so they can then claim a man is a sinner when they do not move the right way!' He thought of the Old Gods and how much simple their faith was. One did not need to make sure that they prayed to the correct god, while also respecting the other 6 including the one that was feared by all because they were the god of death but that was for some strange reason perfectly fine. No… you prayed and the gods heard. He knew the Southerners believed they prayed to the 'trees' but there was not tree god… a proper Northsman prayed to the world and the gods, who had made the world, would hear.

Natasha had been more… flippant… about it.

"The only time I call out to the gods is if I am frustrated or fucked. I call that the Two Fs. I admit that it would sound better at the Three Fs but the only one I could think of that would work is 'famished' and I don't curse out the gods when I'm hungry."

"-return with Gwen and hopefully Lord Otto, we will number 14! So you see it is in our best interest to have 12 people," Ser Loras said, Jon returning to the conversation with a slight nod. He had long learned how to make it appear like he was listening to people; he did it first with some of the servants who thought they could order him about, knowing that his father would never turn him out for refusing to do their own work for them, and later Tony when he went on a long rant about some hammer he had lost or how annoying his neighbors were or how annoying his hammer was and how he'd lost the neighbors.

"Well, I am afraid it is quite too late for us to find someone to add to the party," Jon replied, "so we'll have to hope the Seven forgive us for not having a perfect number."

"Ah, but you misunderstand! I have already settled the matter for you!"

Jon forced himself not to grind his teeth as Loras gestured to his left and from the stables a rider came out. They were a young lad, he could tell that at once; someone that had only recently hit a growth spurt and were still getting used to their limbs which had yet to fill out with the muscles of manhood. They had the features of the Reach, he could tell that even with the heavy cloak they wore over their head. There was a short sword on their hip and a bow at the ready a quiver of arrows on their back. They were wearing leathers as well but they weren't as finely made as Loras' own.

"This is my new squire, Mars Greenhill."

"My lord," the lad said in a low, soft voice, ducking their head, clearly nervous.

Jon sighed. 'I can't deny him… if I did then he would point out I am bringing Miles and Petyr. Damn it all.' He didn't know what game Loras was playing at but he had a feeling he wouldn't like it. But he was caught so he merely nodded his head to the squire and turned towards Natasha who was smirking. "What?"

"I'll tell you later," she replied. But then her smile fell as she looked over the group. "12? I was under the impression we would be limited to 10. The two of us, Petyr and Miles, Happy, my father and Miles' father, Clynt, Bronn, and Ser Loras. How did we get to 11 so that Mars makes 12?"

"Ser Kevan asked I take on someone. He said that they were rather convincing that they would be of assistance."

That made Natasha frown. "I don't like that. Do we even know their name?"

"Yes. It's-"

"Ah!" Oberyn Martell's voice rang out and Jon twisted to stare at his Goodfather as he rode to them, Bronn and Clynt just behind him. "What a party we make up! We have a hunt on our hands… but I suppose that isn't the right word for it, is it? We are fishing are we not? That is how one catches an octopus?"

Natasha merely smiled at that. "Yes but hunting sounds better, Father." She looked him over. "Did you say goodbye to Ellaria?"

"Oh, you still pucker your lips when you say her name. And here I had thought you two had gotten over your feud." Oberyn smiled at Jon. "They both love to believe they are the great loves of my life. That is the danger with daughters and lovers."

"Especially when they are near the same age," Jon retorted, which caused Oberyn to huff in bemusement and Natasha to glower.

After a moment Oberyn continued on as if nothing else had been said. "Well, we are prepared and the horses should be able to get us to the Vale rather quickly. You are ready for a rough ride?"

"I have crossed the entirety of the Dornish Sands and faced the Garden of Bones," Natasha retorted. "This will be nothing."

"But we don't head towards the burning sands," Jon reminded her. "We are riding towards Winter. And the Mountains are said to get as cold as the North does."

"He has a good point," Oberyn stated, looking about. "I fear if we are not careful Jon will be spending the entire time dragging our frozen corpses behind him horse, trying to get us to warming fires. Did you remember to pack properly?"

Natasha began to tell her father that yes, she had, but Jon once more found himself lost in thought. 'He's right though. He says it brashly but he's right. Neither of them understand the North and understand Winter. Even though it is still the fall and we head to the Vale this will be the coldest they've ever been. For everyone.' He looked at the Summer Knight and his Squire. The boys and the Summer Islander. 'Maybe Clynt and Bronn,' he thought and he knew he'd have to rely upon them. 'Jiffsum probably will be the easiest to deal with when it comes to getting him to admit his limits. Oberyn possibly as well… he's prideful but he isn't ignorant of his faults so he might accept that he can't handle the weather. Natasha… gods, this could be a problem.'

Of course his mind also whispered that he had never encountered a true Winter before. He had only known the Summer, even if a Northern Summer was a harsh Fall in the South. He couldn't risk getting too bold and too brash… that would lead to failure.

Jon sighed as they waited for Ser Kevan to join them with the last of their party, the mysterious man that would be able to help them. He wanted to get MOVING.

He heard the soft sound of hooves and looked over to see Petyr guiding his mare over. The boy grimaced and Jon gave him the slightest of smiles.

"How are you managing?" he asked.

"I wish I could just websling," he commented. "I keep thinking that she's gonna bolt off at a moment's notice, or throw me off the saddle."

"She won't," Jon informed him.

"I read once that horses can sense fear and they don't like it," Petyr said, looking down at the horse. "So I am trying not to let her know I am afraid. But have you ever tried to not do something? You suddenly want to do it. Especially if it's a thought. Like… you say to yourself "don't think about potatoes" and that should be easy, right? I mean, unless it is dinner time how often do potatoes come up in your day to day life? Alright, I guess if you were a potato farmer you might think of them a lot, or if you make potato ales, but someone like you or me? We don't deal with potatoes a lot so it should be real easy not to think about them. But then, you are told not to think about potatoes and you laugh it off only to begin thinking about things you'd never considered before. Like… who was the first person that tried one? Who went, "Huh, this looks like a rock and it comes from the ground and no matter how much you wash it, it always looks dirty. I'm going to eat this!"? And who named it? Why is it a potato, anyway? Was it named after the first person that found it? What happened if multiple people found it and there was a disagreement on what to call it? What if two villages that were close to one another discovered them and one wanted to call them potatoes and the other wanted to call the rock-fruit and there was a lot of fighting because it's a matter of fame now. I mean, you named the potato! Or the rock-fruit! So you want to make sure your name sticks so you are doing all you can to make it stick. You are telling people that come into your village that its called the potato. Stressing how that name sounds better. But the fruit-rock people do the same thing and some traveling candle merchants aren't sure what to pick because honestly both names are decent. Can't go with just the strength of that so now you are trying to make yourself look better. Bribing them with cakes to call them potatoes, telling beaver trappers that sometimes potatoes have coins in them but ONLY if you call them potatoes because if you call them rock-fruit the Potato Fairies will be mad and take the coins away. And that leads you to claim that the Seven WANT them to be called potatoes. And to you it isn't a lie because hey, where did the name potatoes come from anyway? It just popped in your head! Clearly the Seven told you that was their name! And you begin to believe all of this and that makes you realize that if the Seven told you that they are potatoes and the other village isn't agreeing with that then they are against the Seven. They are demon worshippers who are preaching the world of the false gods, the potato hating gods! They must be wiped out! So you went from not thinking about potatoes to think about the Great Potato Wars and what they must have been like! How many people died under the banner of the Potato on a Green field, screaming 'Give me Potatoes Or Give me Death!' and its all you can think about until the blacksmith goes "How the hell did you get in here?" and you realize that while you were thinking about this you wandered into their shop and began eating their lunch."

Jon stared at Petyr.

Petyr stared back.

"…the horse isn't going to throw you off," Jon finally said. "I had them pick one that is trained not to do that. Very steady nerves."

"Oh. Well… thanks for that."

And with that Petyr turned his horse trotted off.

"I only caught… a third of that," Bronn stated, riding up to join Jon, "and I think we found the perfect member of the group to distract any guards we run into." He smirked. "I could loot an entire warehouse while that lad rambled on, getting a soldier distracted trying to think about potatoes."

"I'm just glad we won't be eating any potatoes on the road," Jon muttered. "What do you think we are riding into?"

"Not potatoes," Bronn jested before growing serious. "The ride shouldn't be too horrific… the fighting was more to the west than the East. Stannis didn't have a lot of fights with the Lannisters… he put all his eggs in one floating basket and the Dwarf blew that basket up with that wildfire of his. Might be a few pockets of resistance but we should be able to manage well enough. Need to have strong guards on the camp but we have enough of us that it won't cause problems." He scratched at his chin. "Pair the boys up with someone experienced, so they learn things. Not the fancy fruit though… not till we see if he can actually manage."

Jon nodded in agreement. "And Miles shouldn't be with his father. Too easy for them to slip into habits."

"Right," Bronn at once agreed. "First few nights will tell us a lot." He shook his head, letting out a half bemused scoff. "This is gonna be tricky. Half of us know each other in some way, the other half are strangers, and all the fucking connections are like a fucking spider web. Not the right make up for hunting down a kidnapper."

"Maybe normally," Jon said. "But we are dealing with a man with octopus limbs."

"True… wish I could say this was the weirdest fucking thing I've ever dealt with."

"What was the weirdest?" Jon said.

"Ah, you ain't ready for that," Bronn replied with a smirk.

"Try me."

"Nah. Need to make sure you can handle it. Don't need your brain broken." He paused. "Though maybe first I'll tell you about how I was fucked by some girl raised by squirrel."

Jon went quiet at that. "…Doreen?" he said softly, making Bronn jump a little.

"How'd ya-"

"Bronn!" Clynt called out. "Could you help me out with this?" he gestured to a map he had pulled out; all of them had one, a thing of leather with the important points of Westeros stitched onto it. They had other maps, far more detailed, but the leather ones would last the longest. "I am worried about making it through Lord Rockgull's lands. They say he hasn't taken the death of Robert well at all and might be a bit off the stump."

"Fuck, hadn't considered that," Bronn admitted before nodding to Jon and pulling his horse away. Which was good because at that moment Ser Kevan entered the courtyard. He was dressed smartly but there wasn't all the brash and bravado one would have expected from a Lannister. Ser Kevan was much like Jon himself: he had never wanted to be a leader. Never wanted the burden of authority. He merely wanted to live his life and aid others. Much as Jon had dreamed about doing with Robb Ser Kevan had served as his brother's second and had been content with that. Yes, it wasn't a life that many of the more egotistical and self centered of Westeros would have liked. Yes, it had made him seem like "less of a man". But he had understood all too well the pressures of rule.

'Ser Kevan, save for the issues with his son Lancel, seems to have a good relationship with his wife and his children. Lord Tywin had three children that apparently viewed him as, at best, a figure they were to obey and, at worst, a monster. He died a lonely man who will not have tears shed for him. All he worked for has already been ripped away… the power he had, the standing… its gone to others. But the love Ser Kevan has with his family will continue on.'

It was a reminder for Jon to never lose sight of things as he managed the Kingdom.

Just behind Ser Kevan, guiding a compact and strong looking mare, was a man dressed in dark robes. He constantly twisted his head and Jon fought back the urge to shutter when the light of the sun briefly illuminated his face, revealing blue skin and dark red eyes.

"Jon… I've brought the final member of your party. May I present Qyburn."

"Just Qyburn," the blue skinned man informed him with a slight smile, finally turning to face Jon. He kept his hood up and while that hid much of his skin it actually made him look even worse, for it cast his feature in dark, sinister shadows. His voice though was so calm and gentle that Jon thought perhaps there was someone else speaking for him. "And I hope, Lord Jon, that I can be of service to you in this situation. You are heading into dangerous territory when it comes to this man, the Octopus. He has great power to be able to do what he does. But…" and he flashed a kind, charming smile that reminded Jon so very much of Maester Luwin, "…I have a few ideas."

"He is a maester," Ser Kevan stated.

"Chain taken but I assure you for only the crime of curiosity."

Jon merely nodded; there was no getting out of the man riding with them. And honestly he knew it was probably for the best he took him with them. 'The Tyrells and the High Sparrow… they could be using this absence as a chance to harm others who have gained fantastic abilities. I could return to King's Landing to find the streets awash in blood. I have to hope that Varys and Ser Kevan will stop whatever plans the Tyrells have but… I can't rely upon that. Can I doom this man to such a fate just because his looks disturb me?'

He knew he couldn't.

"Alright then!" Jon called out in a clear voice. At once all the other conversations stopped. "We have spent enough time here! Let's go!"

Without any other fanfare he nudged his horse and sent it into a steady trot. They would move towards the Dragon Gate, and from there the Kingsroad before breaking off and heading to the Vale.

He didn't turn back to look at King's Landing.