A/N: EDIT: Hardly any feedback for this chapter...can anyone even see it due to the glitches? They're really breaking my spirit...T_T

Wrote this while sick, but here we go. Looking forward to your feedback.

Can anyone see this? Do let me know, I'm still wary after all those site crashes and glitches.

As ever and always, every review truly does help, large or small, any feedback is better than nothing at all.

Many thanks to newboy (a reviewer) for offering a great many ideas regarding the Iron Islands! As always, I wanted this chapter to feel like a proper Game of Thrones episode!

Hopefully I succeeded~!

Once more, I own no references, quotes, memes or themes. Not a wit or a one. Nope. They're simply tributes to legends far greater than I. Lastly, a reminder to one and all. Naruto's Westerosi name remains Nathaniel. Joanna -and now Rhaella!- prefer to call him Naruto, yet they're the only ones who truly do.

Timeline is obviously a little skewed here, but hey, that makes things...fun.

References and verbatim from Game of Thrones below. Hope you enjoy all this hard work.

Now we finally see it; just how terrifying our brash blond boy can be.

Away we go~!

"And so it was, and so it was, that the Lion came to call...

...but now the cowardly Kraken hid in his halls...

...and watched...

...his towers...

...FALL...

~A New Legend.

Come to Call

The prince had arrived.

Rhaegar Targaryen. Here. At Casterly Rock.

Alone, with no guards to speak of, no escort whatsoever, requesting an audience with him.

Tywin Lannister was not one to shout and rage at the unfairness of the world, but he felt an exception ought to be made given the...situation. If he could strangle the little twat, toss him into the sea, let the tides takes his body and get away with it, he most certainly would. Hells, he'd actually considered throwing the Mountain at the princeling just to be done with it. Gregor Clegane had never been quite the same since Nathaniel brutalized him, but he still had his uses; he could pop the brat's skull like a grape and save them a great deal of misfortune.

Yet he couldn't. Or rather, he could, but he mustn't. No matter how gratifying it might feel.

Make no mistake, Tywin was tempted to grant Rhaegar the same courtesy Aerys had Jaime -or barring that, arrange an accident for him. A son for a son. The so-called king was practically holding Jaime hostage after all, and while he had gone willingly for the sake of the family, the fact remained that he held him still.

Perhaps he ought to take Rhaegar captive. See how his old "friend" enjoyed losing a son. Make him feel that sting.

But he didn't dare. He absolutely did not dare. Any harm that befell the Prince here would instantly cast suspicion upon not only him, but his family as well and his every other relative beside.

The entire Lannister name would be to blame; and Aerys would descend upon them like his namesake.

He'd already sent a runner back to the keep to warn Cersei and the other maidens of the danger and hopefully have the dragons hidden, but he couldn't afford to leave his post at the gate. Rhaegar may not be his father-thank the gods for small mercies-but he would notice if no one was there to greet his arrival.

The girls and the dragons. Rhaegar must not see either. So here he stood, wife at his side, bracing himself for the worst.

The preening ponce of a prince had always been difficult for his spies to track. His movements were erratic at best, downright reckless at worst. Wherever he went, he brought disaster in his wake. The young man was absolutely obsessed with the power prophecy; that and finding himself a wife, the better to continue his bloodline. Tywin disdained the former, but he could understand the latter. Sympathize with them, even. After all, Rhaegar only had a sickly brother to succeed him in case of disaster and all knew little Viserys was in decidedly poor health, unlikely to survive to adulthood.

With the rest of the realm teetering toward war, the royal succession was more important than ever.

It spoke well of Rhaegar that he should look after such things, but it also presented something of a problem.

Because now he had to come here. To the heart of his power. For purposes unknown.

Of all the times for him to arrive!

He could not be seen to refuse him either, because the prince would wonder why. And doubtlessly return to his father to complain besides.

What in the seven Hills did the boy want anyway? Was he still trying to find himself a wife? Lyanna had evaded him, the Martell girl had refused him-he found that grimly humorous-which left few noble ladies of the realm available. There were the Tully girls, which would invite the ire of Brandon Stark and Hoster Tully alike, but there was also...

.

..

...oh, dear.

So that was his game, then.

It was a good gambit he must admit; his timing couldn't be better. With Nathaniel and most of the Lannister and Stark forces at sea besides, Casterly Rock would've been ripe for conquest...had Rhaegar brought an army.

But he hadn't brought an army now, had he?

Instead he brought himself.

He wanted Cersei.

It would've been an honor once, before all this, to bind his blood with the royal line. The opportunity of a lifetime. The chance to seat a grandchild on the Iron Throne, and through them, control the realm for ages to come, creating a dynasty without end.

Now? It was akin to a death sentence.

None of these damnable dragons -save perhaps Rhaella- could be trusted. Not a one. He had seen what madness did to the mind of a man; how it turned the once affably eccentric Aerys into a cruel, craven creature who burned others for pleasure and jumped at the sight of his own shadow.

Joanna must've already figured it out, too; because his wife looked fit to spit; her once serene countenance was now dark and stormy as the legendary squalls of Storms End themselves. As a matter of fact, she rather resembled a tempest herself right now...

Ah, but here came the Prince now, and he must attend.

If he failed today, if Cersei were taken or worse, the Dragons discovered, the whole of House Lannister would burn. Nathaniel and Nymeria were days away at best, a week at the worst; should things go south, they would return to find Casterly Rock under siege, or worse, burned to the ground.

Nathaniel would be wroth; he had no illusions about what his son would do...and what would follow.

He mustn't fail; the very fate of the Seven Kingdoms depended upon him.

...was it too late to kill the Prince?

Clad in a red doublet with matching black trousers, Rhaegar was the very epitome of a Targaryen, all pale hair and bright, violet eyes, wearing an easy smile besides. Tywin knew such smiles all too well; they seemed kind and genial on the surface, but they often hid madness beneath. As he looked on, the prince dismounted his dark steed and alighted nimbly before them, grinning from ear to ear.

"Good morrow to you my Lord, my lady~!" he sketched a bow to them despite his status. "I wish I could've brought Ser Jaime with me; but father refuses to let him leave the keep these days.

"You honor us," Joanna smiled demurely, but it didn't reach her eyes. "But his a Kingsguard, my prince."

"Ah, but I am the prince." he winked their way. "If I say he can bend his vows a little, he should be allowed to visit his family."

Joanna tensed beside Tywin, gripping his hand tight.

Was that a threat? Or was the boy simply daft? Likely the latter. Rhaegar was not vicious like his father, but he wasn't...right in the head. All the more reason not to let this insipid twit ascend the Iron Throne. Westeros was barely surviving the reign of the mad king. It would not endure that of a stupid son and his equally idiotic descendants.

No, he didn't trust him for a moment not with his daughter, not with anyone

He did not hate this silly fool. Fools like him we're often what made the realm go round. But neither could he allow him to have his way.

To business, then.

Tywin hid his grimace behind an impassive mask and forced himself to begin. "...My prince. We weren't expecting you. To what do we owe the visit?"

Rhaegar didn't realize the danger, his smile was jovial, almost merry even. "I had hoped to pay call upon your daughter."

Joanna inhaled reflexively, her suspicions confirmed.

And so it began.


(.0.0.0.)


"You must hide!"

Lyanna nearly fell out of bed as Elia Martell came crashing into her room in a swirl of golden silk; the act of which startled her poor pup; little Shadow had never been one for loud noises; he was a Direwolf at heart and he barked loudly as the Dornishwoman gathered her up and dragged her across the room. He didn't cease until Lyanna swept him up into her arms, and even then he kept whining until she stroked his ears. Whispering sweet nothings seemed to calm him somewhat, but only just.

It did nothing at all for her own racing heart.

"Hide!" Ellia bunded her into an empty wardrobe. "We cannot be seen here!"

She tried to resist only to find herself overpowered. "Why?!"

Oberyn's sister rounded on her, eyes wild and teeh bared. "Rhaegar Targaryen has come!"

Four little words, and yet they turned her very blood to ice.

Her blood ran cold. "The Prince?! Here?! Has he-

"Come for us, no?" her sister in arms shook her head and began tapping at the back of the wardrobe for reasons she didn't understand. "I do not believe so; else he would've brought an army. He is here to court Cersei, I suspect. We should've anticipated this...

Lyanna scarcely heard the words. Her ears were ringing. The world was swimming around her.

Nathaniel had promised to protect her from Rhaegar.

But her love wasn't here, he was a world away.

Fear kicked furiously at her breast.

If it came to that, then...

She gripped the knife she kept at her belt.

"No dragon shall grow in my belly."

"Nor mine." Elia pried her hands away from the dagger, held them, and kissed her knuckles for good measure. "I have seen where that future leads and want no part of it."

Lyanna paused, briefly baffled. Seen the future? But that implied-

"Aha!"

Crowing in triumph, the Martell finally found what she was looking for and pressed something within the wardrobe' almost immediately, the the back of it slid away, revealing a dark passage therein. Lyanna hesitated at the sight of it, clutching little Shadow close to her chest. The direwolf puppy whined, sensing her distress. Ellia cared for none of it and shoved them both forward with a snarl.

"Move!"

Lyanna did so, albeit reluctantly, glancing about herself with mild trepidation. "What is this place...?"

"A secret passage." Elia lifted her skirts and stepped in after her, painstakingly sealing the passage behind her as she went. Nathaniel told me of it. We shall be safe in here. Oberyn awaits us on the other side."

"But what of Cersei...?"

The princess grimaced and pushed her along. "She must find a way to deny Rhaegar without rousing his wrath."

Easier said than done where princes were concerned. "And if she doesn't?"

The silence was her answer; in it, another awful thought occurred.

"What about the dragons?!"

"They are clever creatures. They must fend for themselves!


(.0.0.0.)


Cersei raced down the steps to the stone garden, taking them two at a time in her haste.

Tyrion stumbled after her, tripping over himself as he tried to follow.

"Sister!" he called out after her! "Wait!"

She couldn't; she didn't have time to coddle him right now.. If they were found out now everything would be undone. She had mere moments, minutes at best; even than it might not be enough.

Someone must warn them.

Now!

By luck or chance, the dragons weren't hard to find.

She found them lounging in the Weirwood, red one was sunning himself against the rocks, the brown beast was playing in the sandy dirt, while the blue one -hers!- had perched herself in the Weirwood tree and reclined there like some sort of queen. Dragons really were remarkable creatures; but whereas once their majesty might've slowed her, now she hadn't the time for it. Panic gave her legs wings of their own and lifting her skirts, she hastened their way.

Each of them heard her coming, for they looked up as one.

Cersei flailed her arms at the lot of them; no time for pleasantries here.

"Hide yourselves!" She hoped they understood her. "Someone is coming to take you away!"

The red dragon -Kurama- drew himself up with a sonorous hiss, nine scaled tales lashing at the ground. He was the largest by far, and his crimson slits regarded her with eerie intelligence. A plume of smoke escaped his nostrils as he snorted once, perhaps in amusement, and lumbered towards her. She almost shrank back at the sight of him

The brown dragon -Shukaku- scoffed and ignored her outright, content to frolic as it pleased until Kurama lashed it with his tails. The smaller dragon flopped on its back with an outraged squawk, but it was ultimately the blue dragon -Matatabi- raised her long neck to regard her imperiously.

"Oho?" her voice was rich like the purest of honey, mismatching eyes burning like the sun and moon alike "Much has changed since we last met, little lion. T'would seem congratulations are in order."

Gods be good but she understood her.

Cersei nearly fainted dead away from sheer shock; Nathaniel must've done something to her during their last dream together; because she found she could understand her perfectly. Not so the other two, not yet, but she'd take what she could get. Under any other circumstance, she would've marveled at it. But she hadn't the time.

She explained herself quickly, hurriedly, as best she could.

The dragons listened intently; once her tale was done, Kurama inhaled sharply, the sound akin to fire crackling over paper.

Matatabi echoed it, albeit far more quietly.

"Rest assured, the pretender will not touch us. Go, little lion, and gird yourself well against this so-called prince. We shall hide ourselves away from him."

"How?!"

They couldn't fly out the cavern; they'd be seen by the people of Casterly Rock and Lannisport besides. To say nothing of the Prince himself, if he was still without rather than within the castle proper. Clinging to the ceiling might be an option for Shukaku and Matatabi...until someone looked up, and besides, Kurama was much too large for that.

Yet the blue dragon granted Shukaku a most intent glower, smug like a cat. "We have our ways."

Remarkably, the little bastard drew chirped twice and himself upright on all fours, preening.

Matatabi rolled her eyes. "He says witness me...and tell Naruto of his greatness."

Cersei felt her brow furrow. "What does he mean by that-

THWOOM!

She didn't have time to ask; because the soil suddenly erupted into sand.


(.0.0.0.)


At long last, it was his time to shine.

Shukaku looked to the sandy floor of the cavern, considering it with a gimlet eye.

Tapping it with a claw, he considered the soil's composition; it wasn't the best, but he'd been working at it for some time now.

It would do.

An idea dawned; it wasn't a good one, was far from his best, really, yet it was all he had. Besides, this was a chance to show off before the female. Who would then tell Naruto of his noble deeds here today, thereby elevating him much further in his eyes than these two lackwits. Ergo, wealth! Fame! Power! GLORY!

Not wasting that!

His wings might be small and stunted still, but his claws were long and sharp. He still held command of the sands, weakened though he was.

So he did what he did best.

He started digging.

It took time; longer than he would've liked given his size, but even in this reduced form he was still Shukaku. The One-Tailed Raccoon. Lord of the Sands. The sandy soil was his domain and it bent to his will now just as it had in the days of old.

In less than three minutes, he'd made a burrow.

He ushered his larger sibling into his crudely crafted hole in the earth, paused just long enough to form a pocket to breathe with an air bullet, and forced the sandy soil to swirl upward, concealing his work.

Crowing proudly at Cersei, he dove in after them with a triumphant cry and sealed it behind him. "Witness me~!"

It wouldn't last forever. Dragons they might now be, but they still had to breathe.

He slammed the crude lid shut behind them.

And prayed for a miracle.


(.0.0.0.)


Just like that, Cersei found herself alone.

She took a deep breath to fortify herself, spun on her heel, and marched back up the steps by which she'd come. From there she found poor Tyrian sitting where she'd left him, still somewhat stunned from his fall. Taking pity upon her baby brother, she promptly swept the not-dwarf up into her arms and continued her ascent.

From there, she stalked up the steps to meet Rhaegar, knowing full well what he intended for her.

He wanted to spirit her away from here; take her and break her and make her his queen.

A lifetime ago, she would've jumped at such an opportunity. No longer.

This was not her destiny. If fate said otherwise...

...she would break its jaw.


(.0.0.0.)


The Iron Islands heaved with chaos.

Under normal circumstances, Balon Greyjoy rather enjoyed chaos; chaos was opportunity; some might even call it a ladder. He had used it to climb quite high these past few months, moving from the Firstborn son of Quellon Greyjoy to the Lord Reaper of Pyke itself. He had paid the Iron Price and used it to elevate himself well beyond his station in record time.

He had the tacit -if silent- support of the Crown. He was to take the West and ravage all in his path.

Ruin the Lannisters. Plunder them dry. The Dragon would not interfere.

So had been the plan...

.

..

...until the storm came.

It swept up out of the West without warning, bringing doom in its wake.

Now his men were deserting in droves, fleeing in the face of this unnatural weather, this terrible fog that clung to everyone and everything. A man could scarcely see a foot before his face, let alone sail.

One by one the isles had gone quiet these last few days, until only the seat of his power remained. Ravens were sent, but did not return.

This was not what he'd been promised; there was no sign of the grand victory he had been assured. With Father out the way, it should've been easy.

Why, then? Why wasn't it easy?

Ironborn did not sow.

We do not sow.

That was a lie. They had sown the wind and now reaped the whirlwind.

But it was not over while he yet drew breath. He would not surrender the Seastone Chair to these usurpers any more than he would Lordsport nor the rest of the isle. If they wished to take it from him they must pay the iron price, and he was determined to reap a grim toll.

Yet despite the fog, there there were no ships on the horizon. Only a storm. The Drowned God favored him still, it seemed.

What manner of Ironborn loses his wits in a storm? Not him. He was no fool like Euron. He would endure this storm, outlast the Lion and the Dragon both, and then, oh yes, then. He would take what he was owed. Balon had grand ambitions. The realm was fractured, distracted. War was coming. The Ironborn thrived in war. And he would have it ALL-

A sudden peal of thunder drew his attention, forcing him away from his glorious grandeur.

Without warning, the fog lifted and the sea shifted around the Iron Islands.

He heard them, then. Drums in the deep. Across the water. Saw the ships, so very many, many with sails he recognized -traitors!- each belting out a singular cadence with their instruments of war.

Be they drums? Or something else? Something far worse?

Regardless, he heard it all the same.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Men were chanting alongside that noise; a bonechilling cadence that only grew louder with each passing moment.

That terrible stomping rhythm beckoned something from the deep.

And then...quite suddenly.

Splash.

The sea split and Balon Greyjoy looked up as a mighty serpentine shadow fell over him.

Someone screamed down below the towers; he was never sure who, but he suddenly rather felt like joining them; because there, on the horizon, he saw something before the shils. And there rising from the deep like the drowned god himself...

.

..

...was death from the depths.

Not just his death. The death of all Ironborn upon Pyke and the Iron Islands as a whole. Doom brought by the waves.

A titanic sea serpent rose from the depths, long as his many towers were tall; it wasn't even the full bulk of the beast; he could glimpse still more lurking under the water. It was the biggest creature he'd ever seen, its lone eye larger than a man was tall.

And there, sitting atop its head, riding the creature...was a man. No. Not merely a man. Blond hair! Bright eyes!

He screamed at him, nearly incoherent with rage. "Lannister!"

Impossibly, he was heard.

"GREYJOY!" Nathaniel's voice boomed like thunder, rattling the very heavens. "YOUR END HAS COME! WE BRING THE DESTRUCTION OF PYKE!"

At his command, the savage sea serpent looked to the skies and roared. It was an awful sound, just the sort a beast from the deep might make; so sonorous that Balon found himself momentarily deafened by it, left clutching at his bloody ears. High above, the heavens darkened yet further. An already overcast sky became darker still as rain began to fall with renewed ferocity; slowly at first, then with gusto as the wind picked up.

Lightning lanced out at the top of a tower, obliterating it with an almighty crack. One of his sons died in that instant.

And in that instant, Balon finally understood.

This Beast had summoned the storm!

In an instant, the very sea turned against the isle of Pyke; spawning cyclones and waterspouts, maelstroms, every horror imaginable, all brought to bear upon the land. The very sight of it stole the strength from his veins. The Iron Islands had weathered many a storm before, and hopefully would since, but none like this; it was as though the very wrath of the drowned god made manifest.

And he was mightily displeased with them for their many failures.

Or perhaps there had never been a drowned god at all.

Perhaps he was the fool.

The sea dragon reared back and spat; with it, a spout of water burst forth from the beast's maw to barrel towards the seat of Balon's power. No, he realized, not quite a spout. Westeros lacked the word for it. The Elemental Nations did not. T'was not an arrow of water, but something far worse.

A water bullet.

The blast knew no mercy.

It struck the base of the tower he occupied.

Balon's world teetered as everything went sideways.

His head struck something; darkness obliterated his vision.

A/N: Scene~!

Kratos moment is obvious~!

Battle next chapter and The Iron Islands begin to fall...!

Plots within plots, plans within plans.

Looking forward to any and all feedback!

So...in the immortal words of Atlas...

...Review...Would Ya Kindly?

Only a few previews this time.

(Previews)

Victarion slammed on his helmet.

This would be a good death.

He lunged forward.

x

Three days.

Three days, and the bastard was still here!

Didn't he realize he was wearing out his welcome! Leave already!

Cersei forced the words out, hating how they sounded. "I shall...entertain your offer. I need time to think. Alone."

He pouted a little at that. "But I've only just arrived...might I have proof of your intentions?"

He seemed kind enough, but she'd known kind men before.

He was a prince. THE prince. And he was not at all accustomed to being told no.

x

Someone was going to die.

Naruto felt it in his bones; he wasn't sure who, only that someone would.

He craned his neck back, watching Isobu frolic int he shallows.

Nymeria absolutely adored Isobu. She and lavished attention upon him.

The Sea Serpent noticed her delight, naturally.

Good. He could use a friend.

The other sailors were scared of him, and rightfully so;, he could gobble them up, easily, snap their ships in half with a single bite.

He truly was a Leviathan

"May I ride him?"

"That depends."

"On?"

"How long you can hold your breath?"

EDIT: Hey, you made it! I do hope this chapter lived up to your expectations. By all means, feel free to let me know what you think!

Looking forward to your feedback/chatting with you when I get back from work!

Hope you have a great day filled with lots of luck,

~Nz.

R ~!

=D