Xover: Song of A Northern Sorcerer Ch 45, Star Wars & A song of Ice and Fire

Welcome back everyone! I suppose that I'm sounding like a broken record at this point….but sorry for taking so long! All I can say is that…well…life. And my free time has all but disappeared as of late. I doubt that I will be posting again before the New Year…but hey, ya never know right! Just a quick warning before we begin. A few parts of this chapter will be…brutal.

I have gotten a few comments saying that I'm 'bashing' the faith of the Seven just to bash them. I'm not. There will be those who are good amongst the faith, they just haven't been introduced yet. And when I was brainstorming this story, the Exalted March was one of the main points I thought of, and it was based on the Crusades and the Inquisition/Witch Hunts. Neither of which were 'ideal' moments in history no matter how you look at them.

Big thank you to my beta reader and brainstorm partner Tellemicus Sundace, who personally wrote an entire section of this chapter, helping me immensely! Lastly, I do not own Disney, nor am I Lucas or Martin; I have no ownership of A Song of Fire and Ice, Game of Thrones or Star Wars. This is purely for fun with no profit being made. And with that out of the way, let's get to the chapter! Stay safe out there everyone!

Chapter 45

The first thing Ned Stark could feel was warmth. He was warm. Not uncomfortably so. But warm. Soothing. And instead of the cold hard stone of the black cells, he could feel something soft and giving beneath his back. His eyes fluttered, and for the first time in a long time he wasn't met with darkness. But light. Soft light. As his senses slowly started coming back to him, he could feel a slight rocking. A swaying back and forth. A ship? Was…Was he in a ship cabin? No, he couldn't be.

As his eyes opened and his vision focused, he could barely make out the sparsely furnished room he was in. He could hear water crashing against the walls. The groaning of wood. 'I'm on a ship,' he realized. 'Impossible. I – I must've finally gone mad. Or am dreaming. But either way…this is far preferable to the black cells. Even if for a time.'

Hearing a quill scratching across paper, Ned turned his head towards the sound and found a figure sitting near his bedside. He froze. His heart ceased to beat. Then realization set in. "Gods," he murmured lowly, closing his eyes and letting his head settle back against the soft pillow beneath his head. "I am dead…or perhaps gone mad."

He couldn't help the loud yelp that left his mouth as the woman leaned over and stabbed him in the arm with the tip of her quill. "No. You're not dead. Nor are you mad. Though that last statement might be debatable given what I know of you."

Ned's heart started beating faster and faster in his chest as the woman got up from her seat and made her way to the back of the small cabin where a pitcher and cup were sitting on the lone dresser in the room. "…Ash?"

Ashara Dayne, the first woman he had ever loved, the woman he thought long ago dead froze as she was pouring water from the pitcher and into the cup.

"Once upon a time," she muttered, setting the pitcher down and walking back to him and offering him the cup. "For now, I'm simply 'Voice'. Drink. I don't know what those bastards were giving you…but your time in and since the Black Cells were not kind. You need to drink. Slowly."

This…This wasn't possible. Ashara was dead. She'd – She'd been dead for years. Ever since he brought word of her brother's fall…which led to her demise. For years he knew it was his fault. He, the man who took her innocence and intended to wed her…betrayed her by wedding another and then murdering her brother.

Feeling the cup on his lips, his body acted on its own. His lips spreading as the cool water slid past them and down his throat. "Slowly," Ashara chided him when he tried to drink all the water at once. "You've been in bed for days, just barely waking enough to take a sip before slipping back into sleep."

Coughing weakly, Ned wanted to rise, but he found that he had no strength in his body. Even lifting his arms and turning his head was exhausting. "Ashara…you're…how?"

She was just as beautiful as he remembered her. Hells, perhaps even more so. And she was here, standing next to him. Very much alive despite the realm knowing that she had thrown herself from one of the towers in Starfall. Yet despite her beauty, despite her still drawing breath, her face was a blank mask with little warmth. "Tales of my death were spread by the one who…needed my service."

"And who was that?" Ned asked, fighting to stay conscious, to gaze at her face. The fear that as soon as he closed his eyes she would disappear once again was forcing him to stay awake despite every part of his body and mind wanting rest once more.

Ashara hesitated as she sat down on the bed next to him. The soft padding dipped slightly beneath her weight. Yet instead of answering, her soft warm hand came up and touched the side of his face. Immediately he closed his eyes and turned his face into the warmth of her hand. It was still soft. "There will be time for that later, Ned. For now, sleep."

Ned didn't want to sleep. He didn't want her to leave. Yet despite his desire to stay awake, his eyes would not open. Her gentle hand caressing the side of his face lulling him into blissful sleep. "Sleep, my wolf… Sleep."

Pressing her back against the cabin door, Ashara fought to regain her composure. Her heart refused to slow as her breath came and left her in a rush. After all these years she was sure that she had buried the past. But now that she was confronted with it…she knew that she had not. Seeing Ned. Feeling him. Gods, even smelling him… It brought back everything. Everything she'd had. Had hope to have. What she lost…and what she'd had to leave behind. She wanted to hate him. By the gods did she want to. Ned sided with the beasts that killed her dearest friend and did nothing besides walking away instead of pushing for justice. And more. Ned killed her own brother. He left her after they'd sworn their hearts to one another! She wanted to hate him. To despise him. But by the gods…she couldn't. Even after everything…she still loved him.

"How is he?"

Composing herself, she turned towards her approaching companion. Despite his age and not even wearing his armor, Ser Barristan Selmy was still perhaps one of the most intimidating men she had ever met. "Still resting," she said, "he woke briefly enough to speak. But he was quick to fall back asleep. His wounds have all closed. And hopefully whatever it was that those bastards poured down his throat will be out of his body soon."

"That is good to hear," Barristan nodded. "The realm, nay the world, needs more men like him."

'Fuck the world and realm,Ineed him,' she wanted to say, yet she held her tongue.

Seeing that she wasn't about to respond, Barristan pressed on. "I questioned the captain on when we would be arriving in the North. He told me that we were not heading to the North. Yet he would not elaborate on where we are going. Perhaps you would be so good as to enlighten me on to where Nox is sending both of us and the Warden of the North in a time of war when we should be on the frontlines?"

"Not all wars are won on the field of battle, Barristan," Ashara stated plainly, her heart and mind still in the room with Ned. "And right now the North stands almost completely alone. They will need help. And help is what we are going to be gathering."

"And where is that exactly?" Barristan pressed.

"Essos," Ashara answered. "Specifically, Braavos for now. Those that we are seeking should be gathered there last I heard. I just hope that they are still there."

Barristan frowned, but years of serving as a Kingsguard had ingrained in the legendary knight not to question orders. So, he merely nodded, accepting their course. "Very well, Lady Dayne. If I may be so bold, you need rest my lady. I can stand vigil over Lord Stark for a while."

She wanted to say that there was no need, but she didn't. She knew Barristan. Quite simply, he was bored and was desperate for something, anything, to do. And while standing vigil might seem boring to most, it was still something that he could do to occupy his time. "Thank you, Barristan," she nodded, feeling the fatigue of the last few days weighing on her. "If he wakes again, please call upon me."

Making her way back to her cabin, which was honestly just right across from Ned's, Ashara opened her door and stepped in before quickly closing and locking the door behind her. Her cabin was just like Ned's, and just as sparse. The only thing she had was a single chest with a few clothes and coin to pay for what needed to be done. And one other thing as well. Going to the chest, she knelt and opened it. Moving her clothes aside, she opened up a hidden false panel on the bottom, revealing a small jade-colored glass candle within. Taking out the candle, she set it up right before sitting with her legs crossed and letting out a calming breath.

Even with her eyes closed, she could feel the warmth of the candle as a small glow like an ember grew within the depths of the glass. While the Daynes might not have been known to have the overly magical blood of the Valyrians or the Starks, they were still one of the oldest families in Westeros. Many in her line had been blessed with similar powers that could've rivaled the Starks before the coming of the Andals. And those rumors were said to be one of the reasons why Nymeria took Ser Davos Dayne as her third husband despite having struck down the Daynes during Nymeria's War.

Unfortunately for her, whatever power she might've had had withered away. Now all she could do was activate these candles. While it could still be considered an impressive feat, and one that was impossible to most, she couldn't help but feel almost slighted by her lack of power. But she still held out hope that…

'Voice. I take it that you managed to get Ned out of King's Landing?'

The voice of Lord Nox almost rung in her ears like the crashing of waves against stones. Not painful, but loud and clear. "I did," she said, speaking towards the glass candle. "I also managed to secure the loyalty of Ser Barristan Selmy. And we are on route to Braavos as planned."

'Good. The Stark boys will be heartened to hear that their father is alive and well. Though I will need to stress the importance of keeping this information quiet. We don't need our enemies to know that we know of Ned's escape. Do you have what you need to secure their support?'

"I do," she nodded. "The offer should be more than enough. And if not, then the Iron Bank is close enough to collect the extra incentive that might be needed."

'Good. And your past with Ne—?'

"Will not be an issue." Ashara responded quickly, not wanting to dwell on the subject in the least.

The Sorcerer's voice went quiet for some time. 'Take this advice from someone who has lost someone they loved, lost a child and nearly lost their wife. Life is far too short. You know what you want, even if you don't want to admit it. Take it. Enjoy life and all it has to offer and fuck anyone who thinks otherwise. Don't wait until you are reunited in the Force. I will check in with you after you arrive in Braavos.'

The connection with the sorcerer ended as the candle lost the slight glow within and returned to just another ornate piece of glass. The words of the Sorcerer rang in her ears even as she sat in silence. She wanted to take his advice. By the gods she wanted nothing more than to leave her room, return to Ned's and climb in next to him and pretend like the past near two-decades had never happened. But it was not that simple. There was…so much that needed to be discussed before such a thing could even be considered. Old wounds that would need to be reopened. And pain. So much pain. It would be so much easier to just let things continue as they were. But… Is that what she truly wanted? To live the rest of her life as Voice instead of as Ashara?

Unable to truly decide, Ashara crawled into her uncomfortable bed and laid her head down and closed her eyes. But no matter how much she tried not to think of it, she could not remove the sound of Ned's voice from her ears. The warmth of his skin from her hands. Or the taste of him from her lips. Eventually sleep came for her. A slight smile on her face as she sank into her memories of Harrenhal and the time when her beloved wolf was hers and hers alone.

Standing near the window overlooking the courtyard of Dragonstone below him, Ser Davos Seaworth couldn't help the uneasy feeling that was swirling in his gut as he remembered the scene of that foreign sorceress burn the effigies of the Seven while nearly half of Dragonstone stood around her chanting about darkness coming and fighting it back. He was not a religious man by any measure, but even he knew better than to burn the effigies of the gods amongst those who still owe them their allegiance. And had it not been for the fact that Lady Selyse Baratheon was standing amongst those chanting, and the fact that Lord Stannis had given his approval for the ceremony. He was sure that some brave sod with a sharp blade would have tested his luck and tried to end the sorceress.

"Read the letter back to me."

Turning away from the sight of the burning effigies, Davos tried to take his mind off of what was happening down below and focusing on the men assembled in around the Painted Table. Lord Stannis, or rather King Stannis, was sitting at the head of the table as Davos's own son, Matthos, held the letter that King Stannis was preparing to send across Westeros. In truth, Davos couldn't have been prouder than he was of his son. The boy had risen high in becoming King Stannis's personal scribe, a feat that Davos could never hope to replicate as letters still evaded him entirely. Maester Cressen was seated near to the king as well. The older Maester pointedly ignoring the sights and sounds of what was going on outside the walls of Dragonstone. The spot to Stannis's right, a place of honor, was occupied by perhaps the one woman Davos did not want anywhere near his King, the Lady Melisandre. In her short time at Dragonstone, the lady had quickly rose to become King Stannis's chief advisor. And how she had managed to reach such a level was explained by the very pregnant form of Her Grace, Queen Selyse, who was sitting along the back way with a hand on her stomach which held the child growing within her and a smile on her face.

The King had kept Melisandre at arm's length for a long time, allowing her to practice her faith but little more. Queen Selyse however struck up a friendship with the Red Priestess. Almost without notice, the Queen became pregnant after going through some sort of 'ritual' under the eyes of the Red Priestess. After that, his King started listening to her as a new voice on his council. That voice had grown louder and louder as time passed. And now she was His Grace's primary advisor. She'd even managed to convince the King that the Lord Sorcerer was some agent of some 'great other' and that he was corrupting the Princess Shireen. Which was why the poor girl had been stripped of her weapon and put under heavy guard as soon as she stepped foot back on Dragonstone.

Personally, Davos thought that woman mad. The Sorcerer had done better for the people of Westeros, and King Stannis as well, than just about any other man in history. The idea that he was some agent of an unfathomably evil being who wanted to destroy all life was laughable in his opinion. But sadly, her voice and ideas regarding the Sorcerer had found their home within Stannis, and now his King held the same beliefs. The Sorcerer was too powerful and needed to be put down.

Clearing his throat, Matthos moved his hands towards the top of the letter. "I, Stannis of House Baratheon, do hereby declare on the honor of my House that my beloved brother—"

"He wasn't my beloved brother," Stannis interrupted. "I didn't love him. And he did not love me."

Suppressing his wince, Davos spoke up. "It's a harmless courtesy, your grace."

"It's a lie. Take it out."

Dipping his quill in the ink, Matthos made a mark on the letter before continuing. "—that my brother, King Robert Baratheon, left no trueborn heirs. The boys, Joffrey and Tommen, as well as the girl Myrcella, having been born of incest between Cersei Lannister and her brother, Jamie Lannister. By right of—"

"Jamie Lannister the Kingslayer." Stannis interrupted again. "Call him what he is. Though we should add 'Ser' as well. He is a knight of the realm, no matter how dishonorable he is."

Matthos again nodded, making the changes in the letter. "—having been born of incest between Cersei Lannister and her brother, Ser Jamie Lannister the Kingslayer. By right of blood in being my late brother's eldest brother and with him having no legitimate heirs, I do hereby declare myself King of the Seven Kingdoms and call for all Lords of the land to submit. Any who deny my right will be declared traitors to the crown. Signed, King Stannis Baratheon, First of His Name, Rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms."

"Adequate," His Grace nodded. "Make enough copies for every keep from the Arbor to the Wall to receive one. It's time for the truth to come out. Let none claim ignorance as an excuse for denying me my right as King."

Gathering the papers in hand, his son rose and bowed lowly before taking his leave of the council to follow the orders of their king.

"Yer grace," Davos began once his son was out of the room. "Has there been word of your brother? Last we heard he was heading for the Tyrells. Perhaps if we managed to get word to him, he could help convince the other lords of your right to—?"

"We will not go begging to my brother for his support," Stannis cut in, his face hard. "My brother knew the law, yet he fled the moment Robert passed. Had he the same suspicions as I, then he should have come to me and declared his loyalty by now. Yet he instead chose to run. He will either bend the knee and accept my right as King. Or, brother or not, he will face the consequences of his actions. I will not shield him any longer."

"King Stannis has no need to go begging to whatever lords are scattered across the realm," the Red Priestess said, her voice melodic and soothing, like a warm fire on a cold day at sea. "He has the Lord of Light behind him."

Davos wanted to huff in frustration. He'd had only a few dealings with the Red Priests and Priestess in his time. But their fanaticism could put even the most devout Septon or Septa to shame. Which made them irritating and dangerous to deal with. "And how many ships does the Lord of Light command?"

Melissandre's face remained impassive, almost like she was a mother lecturing her child. "The Lord of Light has no need for ships."

"I am sure he doesn't," Davos nodded. "But we do. Clearly, you've never been to war, milady. The fighting is just a small part of it. Supplying our troops with what they need and gettin them where they need to go is the true war. Yer grace, if not your brother… Then perhaps the Starks? Word is Lord Stark is still alive, albeit held prisoner. If we can secure his loyalty, then—"

"The Starks are fully under the thrall of the Servant of the Great Other," Melisandre countered almost viciously. "It is taking almost all I am to keep the young Princess shielded from his corruption. No. The only use the Starks have for His Grace now is to whittle away at the numbers of the false believers and the lions so that the true King may take his proper place."

This time Davos did growl. "Whilst I respect yer opinion, Priestess,sayingsuch things andprovinthem are two separate things. While many in Westeros know and fear the Sorcerer – Servant…even more respect him for his years of service. Hells, it's well known that even Tywin Lannister respects and fears the man. If we try and attack while both are still standin and proclaim the 'Servant' as you call him to the realm, there is a chance that the Old Lion will put aside the desires of the Faith and align with the Sorcerer to keep his blood on the Iron Throne."

He could almost see wisps of flames behind the woman's eyes as she glared at him. "Neither the Great Other or his Servant can stand against the might of those who follow the Lord of Light!"

"Yet the Lord of Light has little presence in Westeros as of now, and my Hand speaks true," the King spoke up, his voice demanding all to listen. "Right now, the Old Lion and the Faith are united against the Wolves. We will demand all bend the knee. But we will not out the Sorcerer for his true nature yet. Not while he is useful in thinning the numbers of the lions and the followers of this 'Exalted March'. After I claim the Iron Throne as is my right, then we will deal with him. Until then, we will remain silent on his nature. And speaking of my daughter, how fares your attempts to remove the Servant's influence from her mind as you did for myself and my queen?"

Melisandre quickly composed herself once more. "The attempts are slow, your grace. While yourself and the good Queen Selyse only had slight contact with the Servant, the Princess Shireen spent years in his presence and his influence on her is great. I have sent word to my brothers and sisters in Asshai, and they are sending more of the faithful to serve Azor Ahai. Once they arrive, and perhaps with more direct methods, we will be able to purge his foul presence from the young Princess."

"See it done," Stannis declared. "Ser Davos. You are correct in that we need more than the royal fleet if we are to hold the Blackwater, protect ourselves from potential attack from the north or the south and to ferry enough men to take King's Landing. Are any of your…friends from your previous occupation willing to sail under my banner?"

Davos had a few in mind that he could reach out too. Most in the Stepstones. "A few, yer grace. However, they will not come cheap."

"Sellsails," one of the many knights around the table spat. "They should be willing to sail beneath the banner of the one true King of Westeros and Azor Ahai without the need for such material things as coin."

"Perhaps," Davos nodded. "But these men are not lords. And most are not even of Westeros. They are under no obligation to swear themselves to the Iron Throne and King Stannis. They sail for coin or not at all."

"Make contact. Go yourself if you must in order to purchase their services," His Grace commanded. "You have leeway to offer them gold. And even perhaps Lordship for those who set themselves apart during the coming war. We will have many traitors to purge and will need new lords to take their place. Maester Cressen. Have we received ravens from Storm's End?"

The aged Maester nodded, his face impassive, but none could deny the anger that was in his eyes whenever he glanced towards the Red Priestess, which was understandable. The Maester's counsel had been slowly ebbed away in favor of the Red Priestess. The older man had cautioned King Stannis multiple times against taking up the faith of R'hllor and about making peace with the North or reaching out with offers to other Kingdoms. Sound advice. But advice that was ignored as their King was adamant that all needed to bend the knee to him or else they were traitors. "A raven arrived in the night. Your brother, Lord Renly, has not made for Storm's End. However, your late brother Robert's baseborn son, Edric Storm, has been confirmed to be within the walls under the guardianship of Ser Cortnay Penrose. He has expressed…concerns given your conversion to the faith of R'hllor as those of Storm's End and Edric Storm remain followers of the Faith of—"

"I don't care," Stannis cut off the aged Maester. "Send another raven. Inform Ser Penrose that he and Edric are to present themselves to me here in Dragonstone within a fortnight or be considered traitors to the crown and will be dealt with accordingly. He, along with the other bastards my brother sired, are the key to removing the Lannisters from what is rightfully mine. Have you managed to find any of the other bastards my brother sired with the information I gave you?"

The Maester swallowed. "I sent a raven to the Eyrie, demanding the surrendering of Mya Stone. However, no response has been given. Gendry and Barra are both in Winterfell. There were tales that Lady Nox identified a young boy to be Robert's son and intended on presenting him to Lord Nox for training. However, after the Starks fled, the boy and his mother were killed by the Inquisitors. I have located a girl named Bella Rivers hailing from the Stoney Sept. Her description matches the Baratheon line, and her birth aligns with the time your brother spent in the Stoney Sept during the Rebellion. I have also found a set of twins, Hans and Gret, in the Crownlands born of a whore who left King's Landing some years ago."

"Good," Stannis nodded, "Melisandre has discovered my brother fathered six-and-ten bastard children. We have identified eight. I want the other eight found and brought here to Dragonstone."

It might have been a trick of the light, but Davos could've sworn he saw Melisandre grin at hearing this. But it vanished so quickly that he was sure it was just his imagination. Rising to his feet, prompting all of them to do as well, Stannis held out his hand to help his queen to her feet. "You all have your duties. See to them. Dismissed."

Waiting until His Grace departed, Davos let out a huff and avoided everyone else as he turned and began ascending the steps up the Stone Drum towards the uppermost room. Arriving at the top of the winding stairs and having to stop a moment to catch his breath, Davos immediately saw his goal. A single room with four men of House Baratheon standing guard outside. The guards all recognized him, and none stopped him as he calmly walked forward and entered the room. Within the room, he was immediately greeted with the sounds of a light song being sung in a child's voice. Sitting in a chair near the window that overlooked the harbor was Shireen Baratheon. However much His Grace and the Red Priestess might diminish or slander the accomplishments of the Sorcerer, Davos could only see the good whenever he looked at the Princess. Her face was almost completely free of any blemishes from her ordeal with greyscale. And more than that, she held herself with a grace and confidence that had certainly not been there before she left to study under the Sorcerer.

"Ser Davos…My only friend."

Davos wanted to sigh and wince. Ever since she'd arrived moons ago, letter in hand from Robert demanding Stannis's immediate return to King's Landing to explain his recent inactions, the Princess had been a captive in all but name. With no one, not even her mother and father coming to her. The Red Priestess had done something to keep her from using her strange powers. And they had even confiscated the Princess's blade, her lightsaber she called it. The blade had been given to the Maesters by Stannis with orders to unravel its secrets. But neither the man, nor even the Red Priestess, could understand just how the blade functioned. And they'd been quite thorough in their…dismantlingof the incredible weapon to find those secrets.

"I am not your only friend, Princess," Ser Davos stated, walking forward towards the small table that had a cyvasse game set up.

Sitting down on one side of the table, he waited for the Princess to join him. "I am not a 'Princess', Ser Davos," Shireen sighed, getting up from where she was gazing out over the harbor to join him.

Sighing, Davos began setting up his side of the board. "Yer father is King. That makes you a Princess, yer grace."

Shireen set up her pieces in less than half the time it took Davos. "And what makes a 'King', Ser Davos?" Shireen asked, raising the partition that separated the two sides of the board.

Frowning, Davos took his time looking over the board before moving his trebuchet. He knew from experience just how good the young princess was at this game. So, if he didn't concentrate, she would obliterate him. Again. For the twentieth time in a row. "King Robert had no true born children, making yer father his heir. Now that King Robert has died, King Stannis is the rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms," Ser Davos responded.

Barely glancing at the board, Shireen moved her light horse in response. "An heir who left his brother alone and ignored his demands to return knowing full well that he was in danger. And now a King who believes that everyone should kneel to him simply because he has a piece of metal on his head and who is actively planning on overthrowing the only Faiths that've been known in the land for millennia in favor of another. And a father who has ignored his daughter simply because he is now expecting the son he always wanted."

Sighing, Davos moved his dragon forward to reinforce some of his other pieces. "Your father is an honorable and just man, Princess."

"Aye he is. But he is those things to a fault." Shireen countered, moving her archers to counter his dragon. "Yet even my 'honorable and just' father is not immune to the draw of power. Make no mistake, Ser Davos. My father is playing the great game. He, and possibly even Jon Arryn, figured out that King Robert's children were not his. Instead of bringing forth the suspicion after Jon Arryn's death, my father hid here on Dragonstone. Leaving my royal uncle to the mercy of Lannisters. He was hoping that Robert would die. Only the momentafterKing Robert breathed his last, my father put forth his suspicions and announced he was the rightful King. Those who hate the Lannisters will believe him. Those who hate my father will call him a liar. Those who favor neither will wait until they can be offered something to sway them to their side. This is why my father will fail to claim the Iron Throne. His honor and just nature makes him believe that all men will abide by the law and that they will thus believe his tale regarding Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen. And because of that, he is unwilling to try and sway those whose loyalty belongs to neither the Lannisters nor the Baratheons. And that is game, Ser Davos."

Blinking, Davos looked down at the board. He'd been so enthralled by her speech that he'd almost fully neglected the game between them. And she had completely outmaneuvered him to the point where he had no choice but to concede. "You speak true, Princess… But it doesn't change the fact that yer father is the rightful King of Westeros by blood."

"The 'rightful' King he may be. But a King who is unwilling or unable to compromise with those who serve him does not remain a King for long." Shireen sighed. "Tell me, Davos. What do you know of the faith of R'hllor?"

Davos blinked at the sudden change from the Princess. "I tend to try and avoid matters of the faith, Princess."

The Princess nodded. "I understand. However, Master Nox ensured that all of us learned about the different faiths across Westeros and even parts of Essos. You can often understand much about a culture by learning about their religion. And the Faith of R'hllor is…brutal, to say it lightly. They believe heavily in purification and sacrifice through fire. Much as how many in the faith of the old gods would hang the entrails from the weirwoods as an offering to the old gods, the faithful of R'hllor will burn their offerings to their god. Items of importance. Animals. Even people. While this isn't unheard of with other religions, just look at the faith of the Drowned God, the Priest and Priestess of the Red God believe that the more 'powerful' and individual is the more their offering will please their god. Those who carry noble blood…or King's blood if you will, when sacrificed will greatly please the Red God and will increase the chance of the god granting your request."

Davos knew that the Princess was speaking the truth. As ugly as it was, it was the truth. "It's a vile practice, Princess."

"Indeed…though not without merits," Shireen muttered quietly. "Master Nox has…informed us of some of the darker aspects of the Force. Sacrifices can…empower certain darker rituals with the Force. I tell you this not to say that I would do this but…but point out that the idea is not without merit. My father is gathering my late uncle's bastard children, is he not?"

Davos didn't like the fact that the Sorcerer had told the princess such things during his teachings. But he supposed it was no different than the Red Priestess preaching. "Aye, he is, Princess. Several have been found and are being brought to Dragonstone to keep em safe from the Lannisters."

"Is that what my father has told you, or what you have assumed?" the Princess asked, which made Davos frown as he tried to recall His Grace's words when he ordered everyone to find and collect the late King Robert's bastard children. But he couldn't recall exactly why his King wanted them. "Melisandre has already convinced my father to sacrifice the effigies of the Seven and other valuables to the flames. And according to the Faith of R'hllor, there is great power in the blood of Kings. Will you still stand by and accept my father's reign when he starts offering up my bastard cousins to the flames in the name of a foreign faith? And if they don't have the desired effect… Will you stand by and do nothing as my father escalates his fanaticism and eventually offers up me to the flames?"

"He would never, Princess," Davos responded immediately. King Stannis might have…changed since the arrival of the Red Priestess. But he knew his King. Stannis was a good man. A just man. He would never allow innocents to be sacrificed, let alone his own daughter!

"With my brother growing in my mother's womb, I am merely a spare. A damaged, defective spare who has been 'corrupted' by the Northern Sorcerer. The only worth I had to my father now was my hand in marriage to form an political alliance. But now with his conversion and the Red Priestess's condemnation, that worth has been reduced to near nothing. No. The only use I would serve to my father now would be as a sacrifice to the Red God he now owes his allegiance to."

"That won't happen, Princess."

"And if it should come to pass, Ser Davos. What will you do? Will you follow my father as you have always done as his most leal bannerman. Or will you stand for what is right?"

Davos didn't answer. By the gods, or the Force…or whoever or whatever was out there, he hoped that such a day would never come to pass.

Standing atop the Gatehouse Tower of Moat Cailin, Jon Stark looked out over the sea of tents laid out north of the Moat. Nearly thirty thousand fighting men and women of the North, another five thousand Free Folk, and two thousand Dornish. Thirty-seven thousand able to fight, with another ten thousand in camp followers. Nearly fifty thousand in all. More men than Jon had ever seen at once. Even his short time north of the Wall when they treated with Mance Rayder couldn't compare. And yet despite the impressive number, they still numbered perhaps half that of the force coming at them. Even less so should the other Kingdoms of the South join in with this farce.

'They won't stop,' Jon thought, resting his forearms against the cold stone of the tower. 'For millennia, the Andals have tried again and again to eradicate the last bastion of the faith of the First Men. The only time they stopped was when the dragons came and united the Seven Kingdoms and put an end to their attempts. But now, that fucking idiot Joffrey has unleashed them. And now with the backing of a 'King' who can call on all the banners of the south. They won't relent until they have what they want. Or they're all dead.'

"You are brooding again, Jon Stark. If you continue to do so, those lines will be etched upon your pretty face far before their time."

Feeling his heart skip a beat, Jon twisted his neck just enough to see Arianne Martell, his betrothed, standing just behind him. For not the first time, he wondered just how he had been so blessed to have somehow gained the affection of not just one, but two beauties that could scarcely be contended with. Ygritte, her beauty and fiery nature as wild as the land from which she hailed. And Arianne, the picture of cool elegance, grace and sophistication. Both beauties were far beyond what he thought he could have. Yet both had not only chosen him but had also decided to have him together. Something he would never,evercomplain about. And if he did…he would want someone to kill him for his stupidity.

"Aye," Jon nodded. "Father often said I brooded too much. And Master Nox has often berated me for brooding too much. The past cannot be changed. We can only focus on the here and now and the future we aim to create."

"Wise words," Arianne nodded, coming up and standing beside him, observing the sea of tents with him. "The council your brother has called for will begin soon. Tormund Giantsbane has been chosen to sit as a representative of the Free Folk during the discussion. And my uncle and I will be there as well to represent Dorne's interests in this war."

"Aye," Jon nodded, a feeling of unease swelling within him. "Something…strange is gonna happen. Something…momentous. But I don't know what."

Arianne scoffed. "Of course, something momentous will. It's a meeting to decide the course we take in this war. Regardless of how many may look at it, this night could very well decide the future of Westeros as a whole."

"Aye," Jon nodded.

He knew that very well. And that was what he feared. The course of the North, and Dorne, would be decided tonight. They would not kneel to the demands of Joffrey. Not now after he called an Exalted March on the faith of the Old Gods and the Force. Which meant they had two paths before them. The North declaring their independence, which would also prompt Dorne to perhaps do the same. Or reaffirm their loyalty to the Iron Throne, without Joffrey sitting upon it. And it was the second option that scared him. There were options for Kings outside of Joffrey. Like Tommen or, hells, even Stannis and Renly. But there was also another option. Him, the son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark. And the prospect that he might be sitting upon the Iron Throne scared him shitless.

Arianne's warm hand slid into his own. "No matter what the future holds Jon. We will face it together."

Gripping her hand tightly, Jon gave her a curt nod before casting one last glance at the sea of tents laid out below before turning and heading back into the tower and towards the main hall.

Entering the hall, Jon realized that they were two of the last to enter. Dozens of Lords of the North were already seated, which included his brother and goodsister who were sitting at the head table. Lord Nox occupied the seat directly to Robb's right. And an empty seat to the left of Talisa, who was currently conversing with Ygritte who was sitting next to the empty seat and looking mightily uncomfortable. As she usually did during formal feasts. Giving his hand one last squeeze for support, Arianne left his side and made her way towards Prince Oberyn, who had been given a place of honor at the high table as well.

Quietly making his way across the hall, Jon took the seat near his brother. Robb gave him a quick nod. 'He's nervous,' Jon realized. Despite his brother appearing completely stoic, Jon knew Robb enough to recognize the signs. 'He held out against Tywin Lannister for days and sent the Old Lion running. And he's nervous?'

Food and drink were set out on the tables, and quickly enough the various lords were feasting and drinking their fill while talk of the war and next steps were thrown out for now. There were no actual plans being made. It was more men trying to prove why they should be entrusted with one role or another over a different lord.

"You want me in the van," Greatjon Umber rumbled, his eyes alight with the possibility of a good fight as he used his still good arm to drink and entire horn of ale in a single go. "I've been making corpses of men since you were still in yer father's balls. I doubt any, besides the Sorcerer and Viper there, can say they've killed more than me."

"We don't even know if there will be a van, Umber," the young Lord Karstark called out. "The Young Wolf of the North sent the Old Lion running with his tail tucked firmly between his legs! We have the Moat and the might of the North supporting her. What need we fear of the South to go chasing after them?"

"Lest you forget, Lord Karstark, but my sisters and Lord Nox's own wife are still in the South," Robb countered, a hard look in his eye. "Aye, the Lannisters and Baratheons may not have their hands on them. But each day they stay in the south is another day the noose around their necks become tighter."

"And yer father, the Ned is still in Kings Landing," Lord Wull called out from near the back of the hall. "We lost old Rickard and young Brandon to that fucking city. We won't lose the Ned to it as well."

"Lord Stark is no longer captive of the Iron Throne," Lord Nox's voice was calm and quiet, but it carried through the hall and silenced all who were talking. "While the Northern retinue was routed giving my wife, Sansa, Arya and Jayne the chance to escape, I was able to divert some of the agents Ned and I had stationed in Pentos to King's Landing. They successfully managed to infiltrate the Red Keep and extract Ned Stark from the city. They are now enroute to Braavos."

"Smart, Sorcerer, like always," Prince Oberyn complemented before the Northern lords could voice their objections to Lord Stark not immediately returning to them.

"Smart?" Lord Umber echoed, his eyes narrowing towards Nox. "I will never doubt ya, Sorcerer. But Ned is Lord Stark. He needs to be with us. Not in Braavos."

"My father is doing what he needs to do," Robb countered, his voice hard. Their father always told him that while the Lords and Ladies of the North were loyal to a fault, you could not be soft with them. "The North stands alone in this fight. Dorne has offered their aid, but they are as far from us as you can be while still being on Westeros. And should all of the South unite as one, which my sisters and Lady Nox are working on trying to prevent, then they will easily outnumber any number we can manage at least six-to-one if not greater. My father intends to enlist the aid of sellswords. While not ideal, their numbers will bolster our own and give us a far better chance against the southerners. And as the Lord of the North, my father's word will carry far more weight with any sellsword company than a messenger ever could. My father will return to our soil once he has secured more men. Until then, I will act in my father's stead just as I already have been."

"Then how shall we proceed, Lord Robb?" Lord Flint asked, leaning forward and steepling his fingers before his face. "I am no craven. But while I agree that we need to secure your sisters and Lady Nox and see them safely returned to the North, I feel that Lord Karstark's suggestion has merit. Would it not be better to send a few leal men to find them and bring them back? Surely it would be easy for a small force to search for them while the remainder of our forces strengthen the Moat to repel this 'Exalted March'."

"Fucking craven, Flint! If you're too scared to fight the southerners, just man up and fucking say it!" Greatjon yelled, all but jumping to his feet. "Six-to-one, ten-to-one, it won't fucking matter what numbers the southerners gather! We will kill them all and throw them back on their asses just as we have done every time the Andals decide to try and fuck over the North!"

Lord Flint immediately jumped to his own defense, with Lord Karstark trying to throw in his own opinion again as Lord Umber, now backed by the Hill Tribes and Mormonts demanded that they head south right now and destroy the retreating lion instead of reinforcing their position at the Moat. The yelling escalated, as it often did when the Lords and Ladies of the North gathered. Soon enough, the entire hall was embroiled almost to the point of launching into a full out brawl.

That was until Robb stood up and raised both hands. Half the heavy tables in the room rose to near chest height before Robb turned his hands, palms facing downwards, and the tables slammed back down to the ground with enough force to crack the wooden legs on most, and outright breaking them on others.

"You will all be silent!" Robb growled, his eyes yellow as all shouting in the hall quieted. "You are acting like a pack ofrabid dogs!Not wolves of the North!"

The Lords and Ladies, properly chastised, return to their seats while Robb remained on his feet. "Karstark and Flint have the right of it. We could have Lord Nox head south with a few leal men and secure my sisters and his wife in little time at all. But then what happens? The south will keep throwing everything they have at us until either us or them are dead to the man. And, lest you all forget, this war is but a prelude to what is to come. You all know full well what is stirring north of the Wall. Say we reinforce Moat Cailin and fight the south to the last man. What happens when the Walkers finally come south? Who will stop them? Without the aid of the North, the Wall will fall. And without the aid of the south, the North will fall. And should the North fall to the cold of the White Walkers, then so too shall the rest of the realm."

The reminder of the war to come was a chilling one that rendered even the boisterous Greatjon silent.

"Then what is your plan, my Lord?" Lord Wylis Manderly questioned.

Robb didn't retake his seat. "This farce of an Exalted March needs to end. And the only way that will happen is if the one who's sitting upon the Iron Throne puts the collar back on the Faith."

"Joffrey is a cruel bastard, Lord Stark," Prince Oberyn said calmly. "I have met many men in my time from all over the realm, Essos, and even the Summer Isles. I know a bloodthirsty fool when I see them. Joffrey is the worst I have ever seen. He is merely using the Faith to satisfy his bloodlust. And now that he's unleashed them, he will not recall them."

"There are more options than just that golden-haired shit," Lord Glover stated. "The second Prince Tommen is young, but there have been younger King's than he. And Stannis and Renly have both fled King's Landing… Perhaps both intend to make a claim for the throne as well? Perhaps we could court one of them and offer our backing in return for annulling the Exalted March?"

Muttering broke out again, and the lump that'd been forming in Jon's chest rose into his throat. He tried meeting his brother's eyes, almost wanting to beg him not to say anything towards him. But Robb wouldn't even look his way. As the bantering continued, the Greatjon once again rose to his feet, his mere size demanding all attention. "Bah, fuck those southern kings! Stannis hid on Dragonstone, leaving Ned and Lady Nox alone with the vipers of King's Landing! Renly ran like a fucking coward with his tail between his legs! And I won't kneel to some greenboy! No, why the fuck should we listen to those southern pricks any longer? It was the dragons we kneeled to. Not the stags or lions! And the dragons are gone! We of the North know only one King! The King whose name is Stark! The Kings of Winter! And only to them will my knee fucking bend! Hail to the King Ed—"

"Hold, Lord Umber!" Robb called out, raising his hand. Jon's heart had been beating wildly. If his father was named King, then Robb would be the heir and there would be no need for Jon's claim to be known. But the moment his brother stopped Lord Umber, the fear and knot in his gut returned full force. Robb spared him a single pitying glance, and Jon wanted to stand up and beg him not to do what he knew was about to happen.

Taking a breath, Robb looked around the room of assembled lords and ladies. "I appreciate the sentiment, Lord Umber, and I know my father would as well. But… Neither I nor my father will take the Iron Throne. Our place is in the North. In Winterfell."

The Greatjon did not look pleased. "Then who would you bend the knee to? The stags that used us and forgot us? Or the lions that want to fuck us over?"

"Neither," Robb's one word answer drew several looks, and Jon fought to sit still and not try and disappear from the hall. "You are right Lord Umber. Since the time before the dragons, the North knew no King but the King whose name was Stark. And it is only to a Stark that I shall bend the knee to. One who has the blood of the North,anda claim on the Iron Throne. My brother…in all but blood, Jaehaerys Stark. The son of Lyanna Stark by way of Rhaegar Targaryen and the second son of Elia Martell. The man you all know as Jon Stark, the White Wolf of the North. It is to him that I would gladly bend the knee."

The hall went so silent that Jon was sure one could hear a piece of straw hit the ground.

"What in the hells are you talking about?" the Greatjon bellowed, the large man thoroughly confused for the first time Jon could ever remember. "The White Wolf of the North is a fucking accursed dragonspawn?"

Jon didn't know why, but the insult struck something deep within him. "A dragonspawn?" he asked. His voice soft yet clearly heard as every eye in the hall went to him as he rose to his feet. "My mother was Lyanna Stark. She was enamored with Elia Martell and because of that she was beguiled by Rhaegar Targaryen who promised her a way out of her engagement to Robert Baratheon. Which any in this hall who knew my mother would know that was something she desired more than anything. But despite being sired by Rhaegar Targaryen, he is not my father. My father is Eddard Stark. The man who shamed his name by claiming me his bastard son to protect me from the likes of Robert Baratheon and Tywin Lannister. I am a son of the North. I know the cold of winter. I have feasted with all of you. Fought and bled with all of you. I went with Lord Nox to the heart of Valyria and buried a lightsaber into the skull of a dragon. Call me what you will, Lord Umber. But do not mistake me for a mere 'dragonspawn'. I am a son of the North."

Lord Umber's face was going back and forth between red and white as Jon spoke. No one else spoke for some time until Lady Mormont laughed out loud. "Fucking hells. Yeah, this boy is Lyanna's alright. I swear I could hear her speaking through his lips just now. Gods be good…Ned fucking fooled us all. Never thought he had it in him. Ha!"

"Aye, Ned pulled the wool over all of our eyes for years," Wylis Manderly nodded, his eyes gazing at Jon appraisingly. "But the lad is right. Rhaegar might have sired him…but it was the Starks who raised him. He's not just a dragon…he's a dragon with the heart of a wolf. And he is a man I would fight to see sitting upon the Iron Throne."

"Aye, the lad has the heart of a Northman and the look of one, but that is also a problem," Lord Glover remark had a small amount of bite as he gazed hard at Jon. "While I trust the word of Lord Stark… How do we know that…Jaehaerys Stark is who you claim him to be?"

Jon was about to reply when he felt a presence just beyond the hall. With a bang, the doors to the hall flung open. Ghost stood there in the doorway, lightly shaking his head after having used it to knock them open. After quickly recomposing himself, his massive direwolf marched into the hall, almost strutting with pride. His passage through the central aisle of the hall brought with it an increasing number of murmurs and curses as men knocked over tables and chairs to get out of his path. Or rather, they were making way for the dog sized creature sitting atop Ghost's back.

Reaching his side, Ghost sat on his hind legs, his tongue hanging out the side of his mouth in amusement as Archon spread his wings and hopped from Ghost's back onto Jon's arm before using its claws to find a perch atop Jon's shoulders. The young dragon's growth had accelerated unbelievably since their return from beyond the Wall. Why, Jon did not know. But where he was once able to fit within the confines of Ygritte's robes. He now sat like a cat across Jon's shoulders with his wings nearly able to touch the floor on either side of him.

Reaching up, Jon gently scratched at the underside of Archon's serpentine head. The young dragon almost purred in response as its eyes closed, enjoying the attention and the fact that he was no longer confined to Jon's room.

"I believe that, Lord Glover, is all the proof that we will need of Jaehaerys's parentage." Lord Reed replied calmly, the Lord of the Crannogmen being one of the few who did not move from his seat even as Ghost and Archon made their entrance.

The Greatjon's chair scraped across the ground as the giant of a man shot to his feet, his eyes alight with rage. "You expect us to bow once again to the dragons?!"

Jon felt anger boil within him. Beside him, Ghost growled and on his shoulders Archon hissed. "I never wanted the Iron Throne, Lord Umber," Jon said calmly, but with as much steel as he could. "Robert Baratheon won the Iron Throne by right of conquest. And had the next generation proven themselves worthy, I would have lived the rest of my life content amongst my brethren in the North or with my love in Dorne. But the fact remains that the Baratheon reign fell to pieces the moment Robert Baratheon's heart stopped beating. Joffrey has proven himself no friend of the North. No, he screamed to all the realm with this Exalted March of his that he is in fact an enemy of the North and the Old Ways. Stannis, instead of helping his brother or my father, hid on Dragonstone. And as for Renly, the moment things were not going his way he fled like a coward with his tail between his legs. None of them are worthy of the Iron Throne. While I may not want the throne, I will take it to bring peace back to the land and to protect those I consider my brethren."

Jon held his breath as he waited for a reaction to his proclamation. Amazingly enough, the first to speak was perhaps the last he expected as Lady Val Norfolk gracefully rose to her feet. "In the Far North, chieftains are not chosen by who fucked their mother. But rather by their own actions. You know the truth of the North. You know the cold. You have fought, bled, bedded, pissed and shat with all of us here. I don't know anything about those Baratheon fucks, and I don't care. However, I do know you, Jon, or Jaehaerys Stark. And you are a chieftain I would kneel to." Walking up next to Robb, Val gave his brother a passing glance before slowly going to a knee before Jon.

The Greatjon scoffed, then laughed. "It is known in the North that we know no King, save the King in the North whose name is Stark. If we can't have a Stark Kinginthe North…then we might as well have aStark Kingfromthe North!" The last of his words echoed like a battle cry as the giant of a man stepped forward and took a knee beside Val.

With those two having opened the gates, the rest of the Lords and Ladies of the North quickly voice their agreement, raising their fists and loudly proclaiming him the King from the North. Then another stepped forward, his head down slightly and with none of the usual confidence Jon was used to seeing from him. Biting his lip, Theon glanced around nervously before locking eyes with Jon. "We, well, we've had our differences, Jo – your grace. I know I've been a right arse to you in the past…but I still thought of you and Robb as my brothers. Am I still your brother?"

Jon kept his eyes on Theon. "Aye, Theon. We've had our differences…but I still think of you as a brother."

Theon's lips twitched as he knelt. "Then I follow you as well, your grace. As a friend and brother."

The next to step forward was Prince Oberyn, with Arianne at his side. Together, the two stood next to Robb, leaving only the three of them still standing. "King Jaehaerys Stark," Oberyn began, a smirk playing on his face. "Do you intend to honor your word to my niece?"

Jon didn't hesitate. "Aye. I am a man of my word. She is mine. And I am hers."

His smirk growing wider, Oberyn nudged Arianne forward. With a smirk and a sway of her hips, Arianne proudly walked forward till she was standing next to Jon. Pausing, Arianne took a moment to pull Ygritte to her feet and place her on Jon's left before she took her place on Jon's right. Then, with a deliberate slowness, Arianne raised her hand and gently scratched at the scale under Archon's jaw. The young dragon's eyes closed and leaned its head further into her warm touch. "Then Dorne will be yours," Oberyn called out loudly, taking a knee. "Dorne stands, unbowed and unbroken with King Jaehaerys Stark and our future Queen, Arianne Martell."

Taking his lightsaber off his hip, Robb ignited his blue blade and raised it high. "ALL HAIL THE KING AND QUEEN! KING JAEHERYS STARK AND QUEEN ARIANNE MARTELL! HAIL THE KING FROM THE NORTH AND THE QUEEN FROM THE SOUTH! CHILDREN OF FIRE AND ICE!"

The roar from the crowd was almost deafening as every voice in the hall echoed Robb's proclamation! Rising to the feet and drawing their blades and holding them high as they did. Swallowing, Jon unconsciously reached out with his hands for both Arianne and Ygritte. Holding their hands gave him the strength to stay standing as Ghost tilted his head back and howled while Archon's snake-like head went up, the dragon giving off a roar of his own.

The only one who was not cheering was Master Nox. Who, while standing, was towards the back of the hall. When the two met eyes, all Master Nox did was give him a nod before raising his glass in a toast to the new King of Westeros.

Walking down the corridors of Highgarden, Margaery couldn't slow her heart from beating away in her chest. Ever since her father had proclaimed that they would join with Joffrey, things around Highgarden had changed. Her father was still the same loving man he always was with his children, but he had grown a hard edge that had never been present before. Not even her grandmother could change her father from this course. Every time the conversation was presented, a dark look crossed over her father's face, and he immediately rejected the idea. Saying that this course they were now on would be the one to lead House Tyrell to a prosperity unlike ever before.

Ever since that day, the men of House Tyrell had been preparing for war. Men drilled in the yard daily. The fires in the forges were lit day and night as the smiths hammered out every piece of steel they could get their hands on into arms and armor. Every crop that could be harvested was so in preparation for the long march ahead.

And while the preparation for war was expected, it was the ever-increasing presence of the Faith that truly put her ill at ease. Where there was once one Septa or Septon, there were now at least half a dozen. Even she was not free from this as she now had a dedicated Septa shadowing her every step. Their increase in number ensured that there was no place in all of Highgarden that was not being flooded with the sounds of Septons and Septas preaching the gospel of the Seven, and the Faith had been growing bolder by the day. Smallfolk who refused service were publicly flogged by the Faith. The brothels were shut down and the women who'd worked there were all branded on their faces to let all know of their past. Refusal to offer tribute or tithe to the Faith and you were put in the stocks and shamed. And despite her families protests to their father, the Lord of Highgarden was doing nothing to discourage these acts. If anything, he seemed to be encouraging them. The only thing that brought her any hope was the fact that she and her brothers managed to get Mira out of Highgarden before things got too bad. And she could only hope that Mira and the few men with her managed to intercept Renly and Loras before they arrived.

'No time to worry about that now,' she thought as she made her way out into the courtyard. 'Father summoned us all to the main yard. No doubt another of our bannermen have arrived to discuss war preparations. And for all of us to be summoned, it must be either Lord Tarly or Lord Hightower.'

Walking out into the yard, she felt her heart drop. A group of a dozen riders were dismounting before her father. All of whom she recognized as men of House Tyrell. Though the two at the front drew her attention the most. For the two leading these men and who were now graciously greeting her father were none other than her brother Loras and Lord Renly Baratheon.

'Oh no…Did Mira and those sent with her get captured? No, I can't think like that. They must have taken another road away from Highgarden. Yes, that must be it. Renly and Loras would have ridden the Rose Road, and Mira would've been wise to avoid the main road.'

Renly met eyes with her and the man smiled warmly as his eyes traveled up and down her person. But the look he was giving her was…different than the ones she was used to. She knew that she was beautiful. And not just because she was of noble birth. Men, and even women, praised her beauty from the northern reaches of Dorne to the farthest reaches of the North. And she was used to the lustful stares of men. Yet with Renly, he did not stare at her with lust. Nor was his gaze one of a man staring at the woman he loved. But rather…he was staring at her as if she were a painting or an expensive piece of jewelry.

"Ah, the Rose of Highgarden," Renly proclaimed loudly, stepping forward and gracefully taking her hand and placing a chaste kiss to the back of it. "Your beauty has grown like a rose in spring, my lady. A true testament to the beauty of both House Tyrell and the Reach. Indeed, the Maiden herself has blessed you in her image. A woman fit to be the true Queen of the Seven Kingdoms."

Margaery wanted to wince. Renly had approached them expecting roses, but instead had walked willingly, if unknowingly, into a thicket of thorns. And there was no backing out for him now without spilling his own blood.

"Indeed she is!" Her father smiled widely, gesturing for her to come forward. "And we are grateful that the King's Uncle decided to personally come to Highgarden to escort the future queen and betroth of King Joffrey Baratheon the Blessed to King's Landing for her wedding and coronation."

Renly's smile fell as he then realized just what was going on, and he wasn't the only one. Loras looked as equally confused as dread slowly crept up his face. "Father…what are yo—?"

"And to show our devotion to the cause of King Joffrey Baratheon the Blessed and our commitment to the Faith of the Seven, I have prepared a demonstration," her father continued joyfully, rather blatantly ignoring his son's question and rising alarm. "Please, this way."

Her father didn't give any of them time to respond before he turned on his heel and quickly walked towards one of the side yards that was sheltered by high walls. Sharing a confused look with her brothers Willas and Garlan, Margaery slowly followed their father with Renly and Loras following them. No doubt more so from the fact that they were both being closely followed by six men of House Tyrell who had their hands resting on their swords.

Entering the yard, the first thing that caught Margaery's eyes was the large pond that'd been dug into the center of the yard. The pond wasn't what was strange though. It'd been in Highgarden since the time of the Gardeners. No. What was strange was the fact that a large wooden pole that was connected to a levering system manned by four men had been constructed near the pond's edge, and one end of the long pole was deeply submerged in the pond. When they were all in the yard, her father motioned towards the men manning the lever system. She wanted to scream when the pole was raised from the water's depths.

A heavy chair had been attached to the end of the pole in the water. And on the chair, held in place with heavy chains, was the heavily beaten and bloodied form of Mira Forrester. Margaery involuntarily took a step forward, but a hand grabbed her wrist and stopped her. Looking down, she saw it was Willas. She made to yell at him, but he subtly shook his head. He was clearly just as confused, concerned, and disturbed. But he at least recognized that there was nothing that they could do. So, she reluctantly held her ground and could only stare in fear and sorrow as her friend vomited a mixture of blood and water.

"This Northern whore wooed her way into our House through my daughter and sought to usurp the Faith of our House," her father explained, waving his hands towards her. "She was imprisoned when the call for the Exalted March reached us. But through a combination of sorcery and a giving of her own body, she beguiled several of our men to help her escape. But the Seven have shown their favor on our course, having given me a vision of her escape. So, I had men ready to capture her again. The men she beguiled were unfortunately too far under her thralldom and thus were put to death after being thoroughly questioned on how many more she might have enthralled."

Her father gave her and her brothers a hard look at this. He knew. He knew that they were the ones who helped her escape. And he had silenced all who knew about it.

"But what to do with this sorceress whore?" her father continued musingly. "The Seven teach that no one is beyond repentance and redemption. But it must be earned. So, with the agreement of the Faith, it was decided that Mira Forrester would endure the Seven Hells for seven days. Which she has done. And now she will be offered repentance and release. Or if she still holds to the heathen belief of the Old Gods and refuses the one true faith…"

Her father left it unsaid, but one of the men came forward and threw a length of rope over one of the thicker tree branches. Working in unison, the men manipulated the pole so that Mira was brought to dry land before setting her down. Removing the chains, the men roughly grabbed her and threw her out of the chair. Mira promptly collapsed, still gasping for breath and shaking almost violently.

"My dear daughter," her father called out for her, beckoning her forward. "I know you have a soft heart of a woman, and, despite her heathen nature, you have some attachment to her. Therefore, I will give you this one chance to redeem this whore and have her repent and recognize the truth of the Faith."

Her shoes felt as if they were weighted with steel. But she forced herself to walk forward towards the still twitching and gasping form of her dearest friend. Reaching Mira, Margaery all but collapsed at her friend's side. Not caring about the blood and water, Margaery grasped her friend and buried her face into Mira's shoulder. She wanted to wail as Mira gasped and screamed in pain at her touch. The marks of her torture had been covered by the white dress she'd been wearing. But now, being so close, Margaery could see that the torturers of Highgarden had spared no expense while working on her.

"Mira," she cried lowly, tears falling down her face as she kept her voice low so only the two could hear her words. "I'm so sorry! I – This was never supposed to happen! Please… Please…say the words. They are only words. The gods of the North will understand. Please…say them. End this. And I will protect you. I swear it!"

Mira's eyes opened or rather…one eye opened. For the other was gone, ripped from her friend's head. "Is…Is this…worth…your…crown…Marge?"

"Only through the admission of heathenistic ways and acceptance of the true Faith of the Seven can you be spared, unfortunate child. Reject the false gods of the North and the First Men. Accept the truth of the Seven-Who-Are-One. And you shall find redemption for your sins and your place within the peaceful realm of the Seven."

Margaery turned a hateful glare at the Septon of Highgarden, a man who she had known her whole life. She wanted to scream at him. To tell him to go fuck himself. But her words stilled as Mira's hand touched her shoulder. Slowly, and in pain, Mira rose to her feet. Her friend clutched at her wounded body, shaking from the cold of the water and the pain of the torture she'd been forced to endure. Raising her head, Mira's one good eye stared the Septon full on. Then with one jerky movement, she spat. A huge wad of spittle mixed with blood flying from her lips and coating the Septon's face. "I…am a woman of the…North.Iron From Ice!For the North…remembers."

Margaery wanted to break down right there as she watched the strength of her friend stare death in the face…and spitting on it. The Septon glared at her before angrily pulling out a cloth and wiping his face. "Then your soul is forever damned. And the past seven days shall be your eternity."

As the Septon moved away, the men of House Tyrell roughly grabbed Mira by the arms and dragged her back towards the tree. Margaery did not have the strength to do anything more than stay on the ground, tears falling down her face as she watched, powerless, as the noose was tightened around her friend's neck. Then, with nary a word of condolence, the men pulled on the other end of the robe. Mira rose into the air, her hands clutching at the rope around her neck as she gasped, slowly, painfully. Her body twitching as she fought for breath that was denied. This wasn't the first execution Margaery had witnessed. But when it came to hanging, it was always with the criminals being dropped from gallows to break their neck. This…This was just killing with the intent to cause as much pain as possible before death.

She wanted to look away. To run and hide. But she could not. She would not. She would not dishonor her friend's death by running away. So, she forced herself to stay. To watch as Mira's face turned blue as her struggles lessened until they stopped completely.

"And thus ends this whore who thought she could beguile House Tyrell," her father proclaimed loudly and proudly, much to the cheers of those around them. Men and women who all knew, who were all friends…or ratherhad beenfriends, with Mira. "Now, Lord Renly. You are here to escort my daughter to King's Landing, are you not? I have heard some…disturbing rumors regarding your intent on coming here. And I do so hope that they are indeed just that…rumors."

Margaery didn't care to hear his response. Her world had gone blank and soundless. She was helpless to do little more than walk through the rest of her day as if she were a puppet on strings. It was only after night had fallen and she was back within her chambers, with her now ever-present Septa standing watch at the door that the strings holding her upright were finally cut. She'd managed to make it to her bedside before it happened. And the cause of her breaking was when she opened the topmost drawer of the bedside table and saw the small dagger that laid within. A dagger forged of that rare Northern steel with a handle engraved with golden roses. A gift from Mira on her last nameday.

Clutching the dagger to her chest, Margaery wailed with grief as the loss of her friend caught up with her. She vaguely heard her door opening, no doubt her Septa coming to check what the commotion was. But she paid the woman no heed as she let her grief over the loss of Mira run its course.

She had no idea how long she laid on her bed crying, but eventually she had no more tears to shed and all she was doing was laying on her side, her pointer finger delicately tracing the patterns on the dagger's grip. Hearing a commotion coming from her balcony, Margaery raised her head. It wasn't just a commotion. She could recognize the voices: her brothers, Willas and Garlan. Both were talking urgently and quietly enough to not be overheard, but loud enough that she could hear them.

Rising from her bed, she slowly made her way to her balcony, staying back just enough not to be seen by her brothers who were standing on the balcony attached to Garlan's room. "—do this, brother! There won't be any going back!" Willas urged, his voice barely above a whisper.

"I don't care, Willas!" Garlan whispered back just as harshly. "You damn well saw just how fucking far father has gone today! Fucking hells…all I can think about is seeing Karsi like that. Or her daughters. Or…Or my son! None of them follow the Seven. I – I can't, Willas. I can't. I won't stand for this farce any longer. I know where I belong…and it's not here. Not anymore."

"Garlan, we must be united! We are the only ones who stand a chance of ending this war peacefully! Once we're in King's Landing and Margaery is Queen, we can convince Joffrey to end this war an—!"

"And what if you can't, Willas?" Garlan asked, which brought both Willas and Margaery up short. She knew the plan was to convince Joffrey to cease this war and make peace with the North. But…But what if they couldn't? "Will you stand idly by and go with grandmother's grand plan as Sansa is tortured for days on end? I know she's still barely a woman, but I know that you care for her, and she is still your betrothed. Will you stand by and do nothing as she screams and begs? What about all the others who will be unjustly brutalized before then? Will you stand for it simply because they are nameless souls you don't know?I can't, brother. I can't do this anymore."

Willas was silent for a long time. "Take only silver, brother. Gold will attract too much attention. You'll have to take just a simple brigandine. Anything 'fancy' will make you stick out as well. And take two of the older horses. Avoid the Rose Road. Stay to the Ocean Road till your further north but avoid following the Gold Road east. And we'll pen a letter to House Stark for you to carry as well. We need to let them know of our plans and the peace we hope to achieve."

"Treachery! Blasphemy!"

Blinking, Margaery turned. Standing just behind her was her Septa. The blasted woman had heard every word Garlan and Willas had spoken! "We must inform your father and the Septon about your brothers' trea—ahh!"

Her words ended in a gurgle of blood. Margaery hadn't even been aware of her actions, but she had drawn the dagger in her hand and moved without thought. The strong northern steel cut through the Septa's throat as if it were warm butter. Margaery was so…shocked by her actions that she could do little more than watch as the Septa clutched at her throat before stumbling forward and falling headfirst off her balcony and down to the hard stone walkway below. Acting fast, Margaery quickly divested herself of her bloodied clothes, hiding them beneath her bed before grabbing a fresh night slip and pulling it on. Opening the drawer to her bedside table, Margaery stared at the dagger in her hand. 'This war will end. One way or another. We will try grandmother's way and try to convince Joffrey to make peace with the North. But if he does not…then I will do what must be done. No matter the consequences.'

Pressing his gauntleted knuckles against the wooden table, Ser Jamie Lannister stared down at the map laid out beneath him. Three others were gathered with him. Ser Addam Marbrand, his childhood friend, confidant and second in command. Lord Edmure Tully, which was understandable considering these were still technically his lands. And the other was the decrepit form of Lord Walder Fray. Though the only reason why the old, shriveled man was with them was because they were currently utilizing the Lord's solar within the Twins. The map before them was a detailed lay of the land of the Neck, showing from the Twins, over to the King's Road and north to the Moat. Surrounding the Moat were dozens of small figurines showing the Northern army, with one large piece standing above the others representing the Northern Sorcerer and his location.

South along the King's Road was his own father's army, the number of figurines just slightly less than those around the Twins. Picking up several of the pieces that were around the Twins, Jamie moved them over to where he knew his father would be setting up his camp. The land was mostly flat, though he knew from his recent venture North with Robert that where his father was heading had a decent hill that he would no doubt be looking to claim and fortify. Forcing any attacking force to attack uphill.

"My father has pulled his force back from the Moat and is heading south along the King's Road to this location. He plans on reinforcing this hill and has called for an additional five-thousand men to reinforce him."

Across from him, Edmure scoffed. "To think, the great Tywin Lannister running from a greenboy like the Stark heir."

"A greenboy that happens to be your nephew, Lord Edmure," Ser Addam reminded the heir to the Riverlands. "A nephew that you have turned your back on. And Lord Tywin did not 'run' from Robb Stark. He made a tactical decision to pull back to a defensible position after the Northern Sorcerer arrived at the Moat with the full strength of the North. Against such odds while holding the Moat, Lord Tywin had little chance of success."

"Then why are you and your men still here?" Lord Walder coughed. "Lord Tywin is gathering his forces to the east. You and your men are eating through our larders faster than we can fill them. And summer is gone."

Jamie wanted to shake his head, "the Twins are being well compensated for housing the army of the King. And we are not combining our forces because with the Sorcerer now taking the field, we have to be cautious and pick our battles wisely."

"Puh, Tywin Lannister will have twice the northern numbers when you join him," Walder shrugged. "Numbers win battles. Combine your forces and crush him. Better than sitting here eating my food and drinking my wine. And besides, why would the North leave the Moat?"

Jamie was truly starting to reach the end of his patience with the man. A lord he may be. But he was a coward and greedy beyond measure. "The Stark girls and Lady Nox are both in the South." Jamie reminded Walder, pressing his knuckles against the table and leaning forward towards the ancient man. "Nox and the Starkswillcome for them. And when they do, they will have to choose. Do they head for my father, or here? Or do they split their forces? If they continue down the King's Road, we will flank them when they reach my father. Should they come here. We will hold the Twins till my father can crush their rear. Should they split their forces, then they will be outnumbered by more than two-to-one. Until they move, however, we make ourselves ready. And while numbers do matter in war, had you left your seat during the Greyjoy Rebellion, you would recognize that numbers do not mean everything when your adversary is the Northern Sorcerer. And that is all I will say on the matter. These are orders given by my father, the Supreme Commander of the Exalted March as decreed by our King. You will do as he says, Lord Walder. Or the King will hear of your disregard and your fate will be up to him to decide."

The Lord of the Twins huffed, but wisely kept his mouth shut.

"Which bannermen shall we send to reinforce your lord father?" Ser Addam asked.

"Mostly men from the Westerlands," Jamie responded, before holding up a hand to forestall any comment from either Edmure or Walder. "The Lords of the Riverlands and their men are needed here. Should the Starks come for the Twins, and on the off chance that they even manage to take this keep, then your men's knowledge of the Riverlands will be essential in a campaign in the Riverlands."

"Then I assume there is nothing further to discuss," Edmure stated, rising to his feet and inclining his head towards him. "Ser Jamie. Ser Marbrand. Lord Frey." And without another word, the future lord of the Riverlands turned his back on the three of them and left the room.

Walder Frey was next, though the 'Late Walder Frey' didn't even bother offering his goodbyes and instead muttered something incoherent before shuffling out of the room, leaving Jamie alone with his longtime friend. Once alone, Jamie let out a long sigh as his shoulders slumped and he fell heavily into the chair behind him.

"The gall of these pompous Riverlords," Addam spat. "To insinuate that Lord Tywin is afraid of a mere greenboy and that was the cause of him temporarily abandoning his siege of Moat Cailin. Ha. As if either of those two know the first thing about war. Lord Edmure is as green as the Stark heir. And the less said about the famed 'Late Walder Frey,' the better. Their arrogance is only a match for their own stupidity."

His friend was right. More so than he probably realized. After spending weeks amongst the Riverlords, 'arrogant' and 'stupid' were perhaps the kindest descriptors he would use for them. Amazingly, both Walder Frey and Edmure Tully stood far and beyond their bannermen regarding both qualities. And the less said about the rabble that made up the army of the faithful, the better. Those fools were no better than common brigands. They were merely smallfolk who decided to join with the faithful on the promise of gold, women, eternal life amongst the Seven and whatever other horseshit promises the Septons were making at the time. Honestly, they were little better than sellswords. But in truth, he would prefer sellswords. At least an even half-decent sellsword company could understand tactics and would know one end of a spear from the other.

"It is as you say, Addam. Yet, for better or worse…probably worse, the Riverlords are our allies against the North."

Addam scoffed. "Allies that we cannot fully trust. The Stark whelps are half trout, after all. I would sooner trust a member of House Martell to serve your father wine than place my trust in the Tullys with the Starks across the field."

"Which is precisely why my father has ordered the Riverlanders to stay here at the Twins under our watchful eyes," Jamie explained. "Should we witness even the slightest hint of treachery by the Tullys, then they will be replaced. And with all the major lords of note from the Riverlands gathered here at the Twins, it will not be difficult to choose a new Lord Paramount. One who will be loyal to our cause and King Joffrey."

Addam didn't give away his thoughts on the matter, but Jamie had known his friend for long enough to know that he would go along with whatever Jamie, or more specifically Tywin, would order. "Do you believe that the North will head for your father? Or for the Twins?"

Resting his elbows on the table, Jamie folded his hands in front of his chin. "Were it just the Stark brat, I would say that he would make for the Twins in some ill-conceived attempt at swaying some of the Riverlords to fight for him. Perhaps he would even send a few thousand out to delay my father. But we are not just dealing with the Starks and the North. But Nox as well. And the Sorcerer has a habit of tossing aside all known conventions of war. I would say that they will divide their forces. But there is one fact that my niece, Joy, was able to glean about the Sorcerer. The man relishes a challenge. Nox will no doubt make for my father as Nox would consider my father the greater threat, or rather the greater challenge."

"So, we will need to make ready to flank the North?"

"No," Jamie shook his head. "While effective, my father's trap is far too obvious. The North will know that whichever force they make for, they will be flanked by the other. No, Nox will no doubt send Robb and the more experienced Lords here to the Twins. Perhaps in the hopes that Robb's ties to the Riverlords and House Tully will cause some dissent in our ranks. But mostly to prevent us from giving aid to my father as Nox makes for him."

"And your Lord Father knows this as well, which is why he has ordered another five thousand to join with him and he is reinforcing his position on the King's Road."

"Indeed," Jamie nodded.

"And if the Sorcerer defies the expectations of your father and instead comes for us here at the Twins?"

Jamie felt a slight wave of fear rise within him at just the mere thought of fighting the Sorcerer within a confined space. He'd walked the halls of Pyke after the Sorcerer's rampage years ago. And it was not a scene he wanted to see repeated. Especially as they were now on opposite sides of the field. Fighting him on the open field would be for the best. But if even half of the tales told of the Battle of Hardhome were true, then they would have to engage him as soon as he appeared on the horizon. Giving the man even half a day to prepare for a battle could spell disaster for them. "Should the worst happen and the Sorcerer himself leads the assault on the Twins, we will pull back our forces to the Riverlands side of the Twins and lure the Sorcerer in. We will then destroy the bridge once Nox reaches the Water Tower, drowning the Sorcerer in the depths of the Green Fork."

Addam's brow furrowed. "Lord Walder will not agree to such a plan."

"Which is why I don't plan on telling him." Jamie responded simply. "Have our best men discreetly placing barrels of oil at whatever weak points can be found around Water Tower and have our men begin assembling our siege engines on the Riverlands side. I want them to be ready to target the Water Tower at a moment's notice. Should the need arise, we will abandon the Twins and sink the bridge, drowning whoever we can and denying the Northerners access to the Riverlands."

Addam nodded, "it will be as you say Jamie. And, if I may, it is a shame that you will not take up your rightful place as your father's heir. Just now, I saw your father in you more so than any other time."

Jamie honestly was not sure to take that as a compliment or not.

Idly flipping through the book on his desk, Petyr Baelish ran through the breakdown of coin that was flowing into his pockets while trying to ignore the sounds coming from the private chamber just off his office. The current brothel he was in was one of his many within the city, but this one had the luxury of being located such on the Street of Silk that it was closest to the Red Keep, and any visiting nobility. As such, it had garnered a reputation of catering exclusively to the high born. Including the royal family. More than one of his whores from this establishment had visited the late King Robert nearly once or twice a sennight. And his 'son' had inherited his father's liking for whores. Though their treatment of them was far different.

Hearing a loud slap, followed by a scream and muffled slapping of flesh, Petyr flared his nostrils while looking over the edge of his ledger towards Ser Mandon Moore and Ser Osmund Kettleblack of the Kingsguard. Neither man looked nonplussed at the sounds emanating from the chamber. And why would they? It wouldn't be the first time either man had been in this same situation. Hearing another vicious slap, followed by a loud degrading slew of words, Petyr frowned as he mentally removed the girl within from his normal rotation. While Robert loved to fuck whores, he at least treated them with a mediocre amount of respect. Joffrey, however…? He got his pleasure from a combination of degradation, violence, and physical pleasure. A true sadist.'A sennight for her to recover. If she doesn't return after, then she will be of no use.'

Hearing the noises cease, Petyr put away his books and got out two cups from under his desk before pouring out two portions of Arbor Gold for him and his guest. No sooner had he finished pouring the two cups than the doors to the private chambers were flung open, allowing the 'King' to enter. The boy was clad in an open coat, exposing his wiry frame that was little more than skin and bones with few muscles. 'At least he remembered to pull his pants up this time,' Petyr frown, glancing over the boy's shoulder towards the still twitching mess of the whore that'd been servicing the King. 'I'll need new sheets for that room as well it seems.'

Without a word, Joffrey picked up the cup and greedily drained the contents in a few gulps. If not for his coloring, this boy was every inch Robert Baratheon come again. "I trust that Shella was to your liking, your grace?"

Coughing at the burn of the wine going down his throat, Joffrey held out his cup again demanding another pour. "She was…satisfactory. Though I think you need to train this whore better. She wasn't nearly as excited as she should have been to receive royal patronage."

'Because word has spread since your first visit when you nearly killed one of my whores. And now I have to threaten to hand them over to the Inquisitors and double their fee to get them to even enter the same room as you.' "I will see that she is re-trained, your grace," Petyr nodded, then frowned as he watched the whore roll from his bed and half-crawl, half-walk out of the private chambers. "Once she is able to work again, of course."

"She served her purpose," Joffrey growled. "Though I may need another of your whores soon."

Setting his cup down, Petyr fixed the King with a neutral look. "Something vexing you, your grace? You seem to be in rare form today."

Joffrey's lips curled into a sneer. "My good-for-nothing-imp of an uncle." Joffrey growled. "My mother always said he was a wretched little creature. And she was right. He struts around my city like he is the ruler. And everyone listens to him! Not me! He talks down to me as if I don't know what I'm doing! Then when I vent my frustrations to my mother, she agrees with the wretched little creature and tells me to listen to him! As if he, a deformed dwarf who's been nothing more than a stain on the Lannister name, knows how to properly rule! And now my Uncle…no…that traitor Stannis sends out that wretched letter claiming I'm a bastard born of my mother and my Uncle Jamie and that I'm not the true King?! I am my father's son! Robert Baratheon's son! Everyone says so! Just because I favor my mother in looks does not change who my father is!"

With a seemingly casual butslightlyquickened upraising of his cup to his lips, Baelish managed to hide his smirk. Anyone who had two eyes could see that Joffrey wasnotRobert's son. Especially when you looked at all the bastards the late fat King had sired. But the boy's temperament was something he hadmost assuredlylearned from Robert. Humming, he set down his cup. "Tell me, your grace. Are you familiar with the tale of Prince Daemon Targaryen?"

"The Rogue Prince?" Joffrey burped, then drained his cup again as if he were drinking cheap ale rather than some of the most expensive wine in Westeros. "What do I care for some damned Prince from a failed dynasty?"

Seeing the opportunity, Baelish leaned back and steepled his fingers. "Before he truly gained his renowned, he was appointed leader of the City Watch. At the time, they weren't the goldcloaks as we know them today. In fact, they were barely above levies that might be raised from the smallfolk. King's Landing was a lawless city. And King Viserys I was a man who preferred peace and hated all conflict. Which of course made him easy prey for Lord Otto Hightower, who quickly became the man's closest confidant and advisor before becoming his Hand. In no time at all, whispers began running through the streets that the Hightowers,notthe Targaryens, were the true rulers of the Seven Kingdoms. So, what did Prince Daemon do? He reformed the city watch into the goldcloaks. And in the dead of night took to the streets with his men. Any who was guilty of a crime was brought before him and he passed judgment on them immediately. The city nearly ran red with all the blood of those who were punished for their crimes. And after that night, crime in the city almost completely disappeared. The Rogue Prince was proclaimed as a bringer of peace and justice. And no one dared question again whether the Targaryens truly ruled the Seven Kingdoms."

The tale was an embellishment with a sprinkling of lies, of course. But that wasn't the point. The point was the fact that his version had clearly caught the attention of Joffrey as a new gleam entered his eyes. "The same is happening now," Joffrey smirked. "Lawlessness is running rampant in my city. Thieves, murderers, heretics, blasphemers. But they don't care about me, nor my Uncle, nor my grandfather, nor the Sorcerer… But I am the King! I should take to the streets just as the Rogue Prince did and bring order back to my city!"

'Almost too easy,' Baelish grinned. "A fine idea, your grace. And as a belated name day gift, I have something that will benefit you."

Picking up a small bell and giving it a ring, the doors to his office immediately opened as two of his sellswords brought in a wooden mannequin. On said mannequin was a suit of armor. Red steel laden over boiled leather with golden accents, snarling lion heads formed on the pauldrons, lion figures inlaid with gold scattered across the chest of the armor, and a long blood red cape running down the back. It had cost him a decent amount of coin. But in truth the armor was merely ceremonial in that it was all look and barely any function. It would survive a few blows, but it would not last a prolonged campaign.

Getting up, Joffrey eagerly approached the armor and smiled widely as he examined every part of it. "You are proving yourself time and time again, Baelish. I will have to find a way to reward you for your service."

Baelish spread his arms, "I am merely serving my King as any good advisor should do, your grace."

Joffrey didn't seem to hear him, or care that he spoke, as he continued his inspection of the armor. "Yes…I will be wearing this when I lead my goldcloaks out to bring justice back to my streets. But… What if the goldcloaks prove themselves incompetent and can't find any lawbreakers to bring to my judgment?"

At this, Baelish chuckled. "Trust me, your grace. You can't swing a dead cat amongst the smallfolk without hitting at least three lawbreakers. And you are the King, your grace. When you give your judgment, your word is final as is the punishment you deemed necessary. Who are the smallfolk to dare question the judgment of their King?"

The courtyard of the Red Keep was lined with over a hundred goldcloaks, each standing straight with their eyes forward as Joffrey made a show of inspecting those who would be following him tonight. He'd seen his father and grandfather do this same routine each time they were about to lead men out. He didn't understand why they had bothered, but now that he was the one doing the inspection, he understood. Despite being half the age of most of the men before him, they all looked at him with respect and fear. It was... exhilarating.

Completing his walk down the line of goldcloaks, Joffrey turned heel and made his way back to the center of the assembled men where Sers Oakheart, Blount, and Mormon waited for him. 'I will have to find another way of rewarding Baelish for not only suggesting this course of action. But for also commissioning such a fine set of armor.'

The armor that Baelish had gifted him fit him perfectly. While he might carry the name 'Baratheon', the red and gold coloring of his cape and along the armor's accents left no room for doubt regarding which of his parents' Houses he favored. And why shouldn't he favor his mother's House? Both his uncles on the Baratheon side had proven themselves greedy traitors. Renly by fleeing before his father passed. And now his Uncle Stannis with that blasphemous letter he'd sent across the realm.

Arriving before his Kingsguard, he was reminded again that he needed to find new members to replace the old fool that allowed his father to die. He'd intended on gifting the position to Sandor Clegane, but his dog had proven himself a traitor as well when he fled with the Stark bitches. Perhaps he could find a replacement tonight? Yes, an offer of elevation to the highest order of knights in the realm would serve as good motivation to find fools for him to judge.

"Goldcloaks!" he called out loudly. "Ever since the passing of my father, many have tried to claim what is rightfully mine! First the Starks tried to supplant me. Then my traitorous Uncle Stannis spreads foul rumors towards the Queen Mother. And now even my own Hand, my Uncle Tyrion, struts around the Red Keep as if he is the true power of the Seven Kingdoms! But tonight, we will show them all who the true king is. Tonight, we bring justice back to the streets of my city! Serve me well tonight, and you will be remembered when the time comes to choose my next Kingsguard! Now go! Find those who think themselves above my laws and bring them to me so that justice can be netted out!"

"For King Joffrey the Blessed!" the goldcloaks cried out before dispersing and charging out of the Red Keep and towards the depths of King's Landing.

Smirking as he watched the goldcloaks run out, Joffrey made his way towards the center of the yard where a small wooden platform had been hastily erected for him just moments before, along with an elegant looking chair that would suffice as a makeshift throne for him. It wasn't as grandiose as he would've preferred, but it would serve its purpose well tonight. Doubly so if any of the goldcloaks managed to find any heretics hiding in his city. Standing at the ready at the base of the platform was the King's Justice, Ser Payne, along with several Inquisitors who were eagerly awaiting their duty to exercise their craft on the lawbreakers of the city.

He was prepared to have to wait for some time for the goldcloaks to return with any lawbreakers. But the city watch pleasantly surprised him with their competence as a dozen goldcloaks made their way back into the yard dragging six criminals back with them.

Smirking Joffrey made his way to the edge of the platform as the first two goldcloaks come forward dragging a decently dressed man between them. "This bard was performing a song that spoke ill of your father, the late King Robert, your grace."

The bard stared up at him in fear. His body twitching and shaking as sweat ran down his face. "Please, your grace, it was just a song! I won't ever perform it again!"

Joffrey smirked, "Indeed you won't. I hereby find you guilty of blasphemy against my late father! Remove his tongue."

The bard pleaded for mercy, but no one paid him any heed as he was dragged towards the waiting inquisitors. A pair of metal tongs in hand and a glowing red knife ready to remove the bard's offending appendage. Next to be brought forward was a struggling woman dressed in only a sleep dress. "This woman broke her marriage vows to my brother, your grace."

The woman, seeing the bard have his tongue ripped out, fell to her knees before him. "Please, mercy, your grace! Me husband beats me and spends all our coin on the street of silk! I only wanted to feel loved and—"

"And you admit your crime," Joffrey retorted seemingly dismissively as he waved her away. "Guilty of adultery. Brand her face."

The woman screamed as she was led over to the Inquisitors. One of the Inquisitors put a cattle brand in a nearby brazier as the goldcloaks forced the woman to her knees and held her face still. Pulling out the brand, a glowing letter 'A', the Inquisitor quickly pressed the white-hot metal against the woman's cheek. The woman's scream was like music to Joffrey's ears as he turned his attention to the next criminal being dragged before him.

"Thievery, your grace."

"Remove his hand."

Then the next. "Rapist."

"Geld him."

"Blasphemy."

"Remove his tongue."

"Horse thief."

"Fifty lashes with a spiked whip."

"Murder, your grace."

This one made Joffrey grin widely, as the man being held before him tried to claim his innocence. "Ser Payne, take his head."

The man tried to struggle, alternating between claiming his innocence and offering to take the Black even as his head was forced onto the block. Ser Payne didn't hesitate as he raised his axe above his head before bringing it down and removing the man's head.

'Baelish was right,' Joffrey smirked as he watched goldcloaks bring more and more lawbreakers forward to face his royal judgment. Thieves lost their hands. Horse thieves were whipped. Blasphemers had their tongues removed. Rapists were gelded. Adulteresses were branded on their faces. Those who had caused issue in the streets while drunk had a funnel forced in their mouths before being forced to drink an entire cask of water drawn from the Blackwater Bay. Merchants who could not provide proof that they were allowed to trade in the city had their gold confiscated before receiving twenty-five strikes with a switch. And those guilty of murder had their heads removed to decorate the walls of the Red Keep.

On and on the night went. Yet Joffrey never once felt even the slightest call of sleep. By the time the sky was starting to lighten with the approaching dawn, a new river of blood was flowing from the site of the punishments and towards the sewers. And nearly three wagon loads of body parts and bodies had to be removed from the yard. Just as he was about to call an end to the night, ten goldcloaks came back into the yard dragging a man, woman and two girls who looked to be of age with his own sister.

The goldcloak leading the small group bowed to him before presenting him with a small, hand sized, wooden medallion. Even from this distance, he could see the weirwood carved onto the medallion. "Heretics," Joffrey smirked. He'd been waiting for this. He wasn't expecting this goldcloak to find a whole family, but he had a perfect punishment for them.

Stepping off the wooden platform, he walked towards the family. The two girls were clutching to their mother while the father was pathetically trying to put himself in front of them to try and protect them. He could practically taste their fear, and he loved it! "Bring them up onto the platform," he called out. "Bind the girls over a pair of barrels and chain the parents between them."

His makeshift throne was quickly removed as he stood to the side, watching the goldcloak and Inquisitors leading the family onto the platform. Joffrey reveled in watching them all struggle in vain as the mother and father were bound together with heavy chains in the center, while the two girls were force over barrels before being tied in place. After they'd finished binding the family, the goldcloaks and the Inquisitors stepped down. Looking at each member one at a time, Joffrey could only smirk at the look of fear in the girls' and woman's eyes, and he wanted to outright laugh as the father continued to struggle in vain. Turning his back on the family, he stood tall before the nearly forty or so goldcloaks before him. "I, King Joffrey Baratheon find these four guilty. Guilty of treason against the crown. Guilty of treason against the Faith. They are heretics and traitors. And the punishment is death. However, even though they are heretics, they can still serve the crown one last time to earn redemption in the eyes of the gods. You men before me now have served the crown and the Faith well tonight. And as such, I gift to you these two girls to sate your lust upon so that they might earn the forgiveness of the gods before they die."

The girls and mother wailed, and the father screamed, threatening death and pain upon any who touched the girls. That was expected. However, what Joffrey didn't expect was for none of the goldcloaks to rush forward and claim their reward. Growling in impatience, he swept his hand over the gathered crowd. "Any man here who does not partake in my generous gift will be considered suspect of sympathy with the heretics and as such will be handed over to the Inquisitors to find out where your loyalties lie. As will your families."

The goldcloaks still hesitated, but Joffrey motioning for the Inquisitors to step forward gave them the encouragement they needed to take their rewards. One by one, the goldcloaks walked up onto the platform and made their way behind one of the now exposed girls to take their pleasure.

Over the course of the entire morning, the girls were taken by one man after another. It took until the sun was near midday before the last man finish taking his reward. By then, the girls were little more than limp pieces of flesh tied to barrels, and both parents had screamed themselves hoarse and their wrists and ankles were covered in blood from pulling against the binds holding them in place. With all of the goldcloaks finished, Joffrey motioned his Inquisitors forward. Each man came forward with a bushel of kindling or a small bucket of oil. After setting the kindling under the platform and coating everything, including the condemned family, in oil. The Inquisitor bowed to him and stepped back as Ser Moore come forward and offered him a lit torch.

Walking forward the family could do little more than plea weakly for mercy. All except the father who was glaring at all of them. "The Gods will remember this, false bastard king born of incest."

Rage coursed through Joffrey, but he held himself in check. His words meant nothing. "The old gods are powerless in the face of the true king of Westeros!"

Tossing the torch onto the kindling, Joffrey stepped back and watched with a wide smile as the flames swallowed the platform and the family. 'I am the king. Evengodsfear me!'

Creeping silently through the confines of the sleeping camp, Isabela clutched her dark cloak tighter around her body as she kept to the shadows of the tents as best she could as she made her way towards the temporary stable that'd been erected in Moat Cailin. For nearly ten years, she had served as a whore in Winter Town, sent on the direction of Lord Tyrion Lannister. She'd learned her letters, and the complex code that Lord Tyrion insisted she use to hide her messages. But she knew that her time amongst the Northerners was running out.

Her beauty was starting to fade, which meant that while she still had regular patrons, most who visited the brothel looked towards the younger girls first and her second, or even third at times. And, worse than that, her sister was becoming of age as well. And she wanted her out of Casterly Rock as soon as she was able to do so.

Arriving at the stables, her heart sped up as she saw no guards in sight and a single mare within, saddled and ready for her to flee. 'It cost me a night for free with the stable boy. But he came through in the end.'

"I must say, Isabela, you decided to flee far sooner than I thought you would.''

Isabela froze as the words entered her ears. Turning slowly, she prayed to the gods, both old and new, that the voice behind her did not belong to who she feared. But the gods tend to laugh at the wants of mortals. For right behind her stood the Northern Sorcerer.

The Sorcerer was standing calmly with his hands behind his back and no guards at his side. But she knew that it didn't matter. The Sorcerer needed no guards. And she had heard of more than a few tales on how the man was able to kill even the mightiest with barely a twitch of his fingers. While she had never seen the feat herself, she did not want to test whether or not he could on her.

"Lord Nox," she curtseyed, hoping beyond all hope that their meeting here and now was mere chance.

The Sorcerer remained silent as he approached the mare that'd been prepared for her. "Guards away from their posts, something to be addressed later. A horse ready to ride with provisions for several days. And now I find you sneaking around the camp."

Isabel tried thinking quickly to find an excuse. If it were any other man, she would show her tits and offer a quick service to get away. But the Sorcerer was not just any other man. He was well known to stay committed to his marital bed with Lady Nox. More than a few noble hunters had tried finding their way into his bed in hopes of him siring a bastard upon themselves, but all had failed. Some dismissed quietly. Others publicly shamed for their actions.

"A mere chance passing, milord," she said, fingers itching towards the small dagger she kept on her body. "I was merely making my way from the main keep after servicing Lord Theon. If you will pardon me, milord, the heir of the Iron Isles wore me out and I wish to rest."

"A good possibility, Theon is well known to favor your services. Yet there is a problem. Namely that your tent lies on the opposite end of the camp. And while normally I would not bother with those of your profession fleeing, I would rather not have Tywin Lannister learn of His Grace nor about Archon just yet."

Without a moment's hesitation and acting on adrenaline-spiked instinct, she drew her dagger and lunged for the Sorcerer, hoping to bury it up to the hilt in his neck. If she could bring word of not only Jaehaerys Stark, but also the fact the famed Sorcerer fell to her dagger? She would be granted her own fiefdom and enough coin to ensure that she would never have to lift a finger or lay with another man for the rest of her life!

But just as these visions of grandeur entered her head, they disappeared as her body froze. It was as if her entire body was suddenly bound in shackles and chains she could not see. She couldn't move. She couldn't speak. All she could do was stare silently in horror as Lord Nox slowly approached her. His face devoid of any emotion.

"It has often been my experience that when a spy is exposed, they react in one of two ways. Fight or flee. I am glad you are of the former. It shows your strength. And I don't have to expend the energy in chasing you down like an errant child."

Isabela ceased her struggles. She knew that this was the end of her life. She knew the danger of being a spy. She knew that if she were captured, a quick death would be the most she could hope for. "How long have you known about me?"

"Since you stepped foot in Winter Town all those years ago," he answered, startling her with his honesty. "But you were useful in relaying information, both true and false, to the South in an efficient manner. Now, though, you are a liability."

'Sister. I am so sorry to be leaving you alone in this cruel and wretched world.' She closed her eyes, resigning herself to her fate. "Sorcerer, if I may make one last request? I did all this for my sister who serves as a maid in Casterly Rock. Please... Spare her when you go south."

The Sorcerer tilted his head slightly. "You may wish to change your last request. Your sister is dead. Raped and murdered at the hands of Gregor Clegane when the Mountain visited Casterly Rock some time ago. Tywin ordered his scribe to continue writing to you as if he were your sister."

Isabela wanted to scream that he was lying. But... she couldn't. The Sorcerer was not one known to tell lies or falsehoods. And besides his words…she'd been having her own suspicions that something wasn't right with her sister for some time now. Her letters came far less frequently than before. And they were…strange. Some of the words used were not her sister's words. And there were a few mistakes towards their past that seemed odd. But she'd long since brushed those fears aside, confident that Lord Tywin would ensure that her sister was safe in the Rock. But, apparently, she had been a fool twice over. Once for thinking she could spy on the North and the Northern Sorcerer. And second, for trusting the Lannisters to protect her sister.

"Then a different request, Sorcerer?" she hiccupped, tears falling freely down her face despite her body being unable to move. "The Lannisters and the Mountain... make them suffer before you kill them."

"Done," Lord Nox replied before holding up his right hand. "Don't worry. In recognition of what you've done over the years, and because you showed strength instead of fleeing, this will be quick."

Shuttering, Isabela squeezed her eyes shut. 'Sister, I am so sorry—' She felt something take hold of her head in an iron grip before her head jerked to the side and she knew no more.

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