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Chapter Text

Standard Disclaimer: I own nothing in regards to Game of Thrones. All properties therein are those of their creator. I am only a simple writer working on my skills with worlds and characters that I love. 

Note : One of the biggest gripes I had about how the show ended was that we never got any explanation or resolution for the Red God R'hllor, the prince that was promised, or even the powers and position of the Red Church in the GOT world. This is even more egregious because the visions the Red Priests receive as well as the literal abilities to come back from death and manipulate fire implies that their god is perhaps the only real one on that world and he has an active hand in it. The show-runners seemed to just throw them in there with no thought to how their plot would end. This annoys the hell out of me because they are one of the most fascinating subplots in the entire franchise! So I decided to do something about that. 

Note : This show will feature a heavy influence from the Church of the Red God. No, Melisandre is not going to be an aging hag hidden behind a glamor. That twist made no sense in the context given and it was never explained in any agreeable way so as far as I am concerned it is not in fact canon. I more like the idea that her necklace is an artifact of the Red Church and that it merely halts her aging process in place. Should she remove it she would then start to age normally again. 

Note : Furthermore, Jon Snow is perhaps the character with the greatest story potential in the franchise and he was wasted. He will be the main character in this work. He will be OC for soon to be obvious reasons. He will be completing a story arc that actually makes sense!

Note : If you are looking for a GOT story that purely follows the plot line of the books and/or show, look elsewhere. I’ll hit those in broad points, but Jon isn’t gonna be in Westeros for a bit in this tale. 

Note : In case you think Catelyn turns on her plan too quickly I’d direct you to her speech in season three to Robb’s wife. She wished Jon Snow dead, prayed for it for years, and when he fell desperately ill she took it all back in an instant. She is a horrible person, but definitely not evil when faced with the direct impact of her wishes. 

Note : I’m not sure how long this story is going to go, but I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s a bit shorter than my other works tend to be. I’m modeling Jon after Aegon the Conqueror, and he’s going to act as a conqueror. One given the tools and followers to get the job done. 

Chapter One - The Journey Of A Thousand Miles Begins With A Betrayal  

The moon was high in the sky and only the flickering light of the wall ensconced torches lit the path along the outer wall of Winterfell. Fresh snow crunched beneath the feet of the two travelers but the woman in the lead had timed the departure perfectly. The next guard rotation wouldn’t be coming anywhere near soon enough to hear or see anything until her task was long completed. 

And what a task it was. Catelyn Stark, the Lady of Winterfell, reached the agreed upon meeting place in front of the eastern sallyport of the wall and grimaced with distaste as her much smaller companion trudged up beside her, the fur hood of his cloak mercifully hiding his features from view. His painfully northern features; the same ones absent her own son who had inherited his southern looks primarily from her. For a moment she entertained the idea that this was all a big mistake. That perhaps she should quit this horrible task now before it was too late.

But then he looked up at her with a face full of childlike trust and she turned her head aside to hide her growl. Even as a six year old Jon Snow looked more like his father than the man’s own trueborn son. What right did her husband’s bastard have to his looks? To his eyes or face? None! He was a blight on her honor, her marriage, her family, and the Stark name as a whole. Someone needed to end the humiliation the boy represented and after all this time it was now clear that only she had the nerve to do so. 

She’d waited and hoped for her beloved Ned to come to his senses and send the child away from their home. To foster him somewhere else far from them or send him to that miserable wall he was so fond of, but to no avail. Whenever she herself raised the subject he only looked at her as if she were being utterly unreasonable and insisted she needed to try and be fair to him. Fair! Her! To a bastard that signified the truth of the fact her husband and lord had lain with another woman! It could not stand any longer. She could not stand for it. 

Finally an opportunity had presented itself. Ned had received an urgent missive from the Wall. Apparently a large group of Wildlings were preparing to storm three of their gates at once and without aid of numbers they would surely make it through at least one of them. Her husband had ridden off at once with the majority of the castle guard to offer aid and defend their vulnerable lands from the savages, thus leaving a mere skeleton force behind to watch over the family… and the bastard. Her son and daughter were asleep, the guards were stretched too thin to keep eyes on her, her husband wouldn’t be home for at least a month at the earliest, and the ravens were unattended. She took her chance. 

After sending a raven with a brief note promising payment to a particular merchant vessel she’d used in the past (there weren’t a lot of comfort items in the north and she’d had to request and order many over the years) she sent her personal maid off to retrieve her commoner husband from the town with orders to meet by the sallyport at midnight. The next part had been surprisingly difficult for her. She’d thought when she finally had the chance to get rid of the little monster she’d be a jittering bundle of happiness, but to get him this far she’d needed to look him in the eyes and lie. That hadn’t been the hard part though. No, that was how easily he’d believed her. 

Catelyn had stolen to Jon Snow’s room, (the gall of her husband to place him in the one neighboring her beloved Robb’s) woken him from a deep sleep and dressed him, then she’d explained that his lord father wanted her to take him outside to meet a friend of his. Jon had just nodded and smiled as he said, “Right away, Lady Stark.” As if there was no possibility in his mind that the lady of the castle would lead him astray. Foolish boy. 

That same look of trust was there now, even as the cold nipped his nose red, even as the stranger in black shuffled up to them from the trees, even when she passed him over and the same man latched a large hand over his shoulder. 

Catelyn looked to Jonas Tunt, her maid's husband (an experienced hunter and woodsman), and said, “You know what you are to do?” 

“Yes, my lady.”

“And you know what shall happen if you tell anyone of this night?” 

“You need not worry. I can keep a secret.” 

“See that you do.” Catelyn looked for the final time on the face of the child she was making disappear and the trust had not waned in his gaze. It caused a twisting feeling to develop in her gut, one that angered her more than anything else had that night. Why should she feel bad about this? What cause did she have? She was not the one that created this insult. She was not the one that dishonored her and her entire house with his presence. All at once she knew, in some dark corner of her mind, that if she could just wipe that trusting smile off of the boy’s face, if she could make him despair and cry as she had in the past because of his very existence, then this feeling would disappear and all would be right with the world once more. 

Kneeling in the snow to look Jon directly in the eyes she asked, “Do you know why you are out here, bastard? Why you are to leave with this man?” 

Frowning slightly at the use of the derogatory term he’d only heard from others when his father was not present, Jon mumbled, “Because he’s a friend of my father. That’s what you said.” 

“Yes, he is. And you are here because your father asked him to come here and take you away from us, forever.” 

The boy blinked, confusion clear on his features. “Why?” 

“Isn’t it obvious, boy? He doesn’t want you here. He doesn’t love you. You are an insult and an embarrassment to him and he’s finally lost all patience for you as well as any desire to keep you in his sight.” 

“No.” tears began to fall down the little boy’s face, dripping down to fall and freeze on the ground below his tiny feet. “He wouldn’t do that. Father loves me, he said so.” 

“He lied. Your lord father doesn’t love you. Nobody does. You’re a bastard, boy. Worth less than the dirt beneath his or my feet. You never should have been born, let alone brought here in the first place, a mistake that is now being rectified.”

“C-Can I see him? Or Robb? To say goodbye?” he begged.

“Of course not, you idiot. Eddard doesn’t want to see you off. Why do you think he left before tonight in the first place?” Of course Jon would have no idea of the issues at the Wall so why shouldn’t she use it as an excuse? “As for Robb, well, my true-born son has no need of a tearful farewell from one such as yourself.” 

Those words finally broke the damn, and as the small child began to break down in sobs she waved her hand in a gesture of finality and Jonas took the cue instantly, turning the boy around and frog-marching him off into the dense foliage of the woods. 

Alone at last, with only the twisting shadows of the torches for company, Catelyn blinked and froze. For ten straight minutes she stood alone with herself and her thoughts, thinking about what she had said and done. The in-the-moment decisions, the planning, and the execution. The pit that had been growing in her stomach since she began and only grew further during the completion of her dark task. She had been so sure of herself so right in her fury, but those eyes, those trusting eyes so similar to Ned's… it was supposed to work. Tearing him down was supposed to make her feel better, getting rid of him was supposed to heal the tear in her heart from her husband’s dishonor…. It hadn’t worked. 

An instant after that revelation entered her mind horror at her own actions filled her entire being and she took off running into the woods after the vanished hunter. What had she done? What had she set in motion? Those eyes, those eyes! She needed to get him back, she needed to stop this!

Many were the days Catelyn Stark had spent wandering the woods of the nearby forest with her husband in tow, but that same place at night was very, very, different. She could find no familiar markers, no trails, and even the tracks of those she pursued were lost the moment she left the range of the torchlight. Precious time was lost as she ran back to the wall to remove a torch of her own to come back. 

For the next hour she ran in what seemed to be circles, muddying the tracks with her own, and always inevitably ending up back where she had begun. Finally she could keep it up no longer and fell to her knees, weeping. It was all over. By now an experienced woodsman like Jonas would have the boy long gone. By morning they would have reached the harbor and per her instructions the ship would depart the moment Jon was on board. With the papers she’d provided there was no chance the vessel would be stopped or searched. 

For a brief moment she considered rousing the remaining castle guards to take off after them, but two factors stopped her. First, she doubted they’d have any better chance of finding the travelers in the dark than she did. Second, she would have to explain how she knew what would happen. Her husband could forgive much, she knew, but actively planning to get rid of Jon… he would cast her out. Send her away. He would not seek a divorce as such an action would shame him as much as her, but she had no doubt he’d take her son away from her. 

Knees shaking beneath her she slowly stumbled her way back to the castle. There was nothing to be done. Ned would need to be lied to, told his bastard had simply run away, and she would have to live with the pain she’d caused him, along with the innocent child she’d just destroyed. Alone in the dark she prayed to the seven for guidance and forgiveness; all she received was silence. 

Some Time Later

It had taken a week of travel by sea, most of which Jon had spent sobbing on his little hammock below deck, but when they finally breached the storms and great waves of the open water and sallied forth beneath the massive legs of the guardian statue of Braavos, the captain came to retrieve him.

In spite of his circumstances and the horrible words Lady Stark had said to him, the boy found himself gaping with awe at the city displayed before him. Having only seen Winterfell in his six short years of life, the humid and hot atmosphere, bustling city, huge population, and strange outfits displayed in the distance seemed to create an entirely different world. 

Beside him, the captain took note of the look of wonder and something inside of him broke. He was a good man, an honest and loyal one too, and the orders he’d received had not stood well with him from the start. That being said, they were orders, and from a noble lady no less, so he could not disobey them. There was nothing about what he could do after finishing them however. He was to drop the boy in the Braavos harbor and leave him, but perhaps he could leave him with a set of instructions to give the lad at least the shadow of a chance in this place. 

Reaching into his pocket his hand closed around a very particular coin. “Boy.” Jon turned to look up at the bearded man, who flinched at how red his eyes were from crying. He grabbed his unwilling passenger’s hand and placed the coin inside it. “Valar Morghulis. Can you say that back to me?”

Clearly confused by the situation, Jon said, “Valar Morghulis.” 

“Good. Good. It means all men must die. When you say it you are going to hear back, valar dohaeris, which means all men must serve.” 

“Why?” 

“It’s a saying.” 

“Why is it a saying?” 

The captain groaned, having forgotten how inquisitive young children could be. “It just is. Now listen, when we get to the docks you are going to be on your own. But if you give that coin to a passing litter driver and say Valar Morghulis they will take you to the House of Black and White.”

“Why should I go there?” 

“I can’t say, kid. Chances are you shouldn’t, but to my eyes they’re the best chance you have for surviving here. You have no family, no connections, no money or ways to make any. You could try begging, but that’s no life for anyone, least of all a child like yourself. Just trust me, go to the house of black and white, and ask for aid. At the very least they might let you stay in the servant’s quarters. But whatever you do, don’t ask for the gift.” 

“The gift?”

“They’ll explain it.”

Unwilling to explain anything more of the Faceless Men the captain went back to his duties, and the child that was Jon Snow simply moved to sit on a loose pile of netting as he watched the crew prepare to dock. It was fascinating to him. Everyone was in a set place doing a set task to reach a common goal, and everyone was so practiced that they were docked and unloading cargo in a matter of minutes. Even as heartbroken as he was over his recent circumstances, the child could appreciate the sight. 

In short order he too was offloaded with the cargo, and making his way to the street. The humidity was sweltering against his heavy northern cloak, but it was the last thing he had of his home and he refused to be parted from it, even to save himself from potential heatstroke. A short time later he waved down a rolling litter, mumbled out, “Valar morghulis” and found himself being whisked rapidly from street to street before the driver literally dumped him in front of a massive building with giant black doors and sped away. 

For a while, Jon just stared at those doors. They were absolutely covered in intricately detailed carvings, and every time he looked away he could swear they changed just a little bit. One couldn’t wait in the streets forever though, and eventually he could do nothing else but walk up to the doors and pull on the handles. He expected such large obstacles to be heavy, or require the least amount of effort to move them, but the doors slid easily open without a sound and Jon shuffled his way inside. 

The interior was dark, shadowed light being the only guide from windows recessed high in the walls, and it was cool enough that he found himself once more reassured by the heavy cloak he wore. For some time, he knew not how long, he walked alone further and further into the building until finally he came upon a pond masoned into the floor. It was an odd sight to be sure as the floor surrounding it was black as night, yet the pond itself was lined and filled with stone of alabaster white. Beside it lay an old man that seemed to be sleeping. Perhaps he could tell him where to find an adult? That captain had said he’d find help here. The boy approached the sleeping man and reached down to shake him awake…

“A boy should stop this act.” The voice was flat, emotionless, and came from right behind him. Jon spun around, and there stood a gaunt, red haired, man in gray robes.

Getting a hold of himself, and remembering the manners his tutor had tried to instill in him, Jon quickly bowed and said, “I’m sorry, sir. Is it rude to wake someone sleeping here?” He didn’t know what traditions a place like this held. The port had been strange enough as it was. 

Somehow giving off an aura of amusement without twitching a single facial muscle, the stranger answered, “Perhaps. Would you find it rude to be shaken in your final sleep?” 

“Final?” Jon looked at the sleeping man once more and only then noticed that his chest was not moving. Taking a step back he bumped into the stranger and stuttered out, “I-I didn’t know he was dead.”

“This one understands. He accepted the gift of the many faced god peacefully and thus his end is peaceful. It is as he wished.”

“The gift?” Jon remembered the merchant captain saying something about that.” 

“The gift.” The stranger gestured to the pool. “One sip of the water and the gift of death is granted to those that seek it.” 

Jon blinked. “People poison themselves here?” The man nodded. “My father said those that end their own lives are cowards.”

“There are many that sadly feel this way. We of the Faceless do not judge those that choose their own time however. We give the gift to those that need it, welcome those that choose it, and accept that the many faced god will choose everyone in due course, in his own time. Here we care for the dead, give them a place to be at the end, and honor any last wishes they leave behind.” So saying the tall man stepped forward and retrieved a previously unseen scrap of parchment from the floor beside the body. “Hm. A simple enough request to grant. He wishes the debt he brought upon his family to be repaid.”

Jon was shocked. One of the earliest lessons his father had taught both him and Robb was to never go into debt if it could be avoided. He stressed the evils it could bring quite emphatically. “You would just pay off a stranger’s debt?”

“Of course.” The stranger nodded as if it were nothing. “The House of Black and White exists to serve the will of our god, and this man came here to beseech his aid. Who are we to deny such need?” The man pocketed the note and approached the boy once more. “A man is no one but the will of his god, but to you he is called Jaqen H’ghar.”

It took a moment for Jon to piece together what he had heard, and he had to ask for clarification just to make sure he understood the stranger’s strange way of speaking. “Your name is Jaqen H’ghar?”

“A boy is quick it seems. What has brought you through these doors, child? The many faced god tells me it is not yet your time.” 

“I-I lost my home. I was sent away because I was a burden. A nice man told me I could find a place to stay here.” When Jaqen said nothing he hastened to add, “I can work. I can clean, and write messages, and-”

“A boy has said enough.” The red haired man raised a hand to stop the child from rambling. “As I said, this house aids those that need it. You can stay, though a man feels it will not be for long. In the morning I will show you to your duties.”

One Year Later

Melisandre cut an imposing figure as she strolled down the streets of Braavos. Her striking beauty, finely crafted red dress, and giant ruby necklace drew many an eye, but the rippling flames stitched into the hems of her sleeves stopped any untoward citizens from approaching her. Even this far from Volantis very few were willing to risk angering a priestess of the Red Church. Braavos may be a melting pot of trade and foreign activity, but that lesson had been learned the hard way enough times over the centuries to drive the point home.

As she carried on down the side streets of the trade center Melisandre ruminated briefly on her life and what it meant to be a high priestess of the Red Church. The highest rank attainable in her order. Her authority was only matched in the end by others of a similar rank, but never overpowered.  

Such a rank meant a few very important things. First, and most well known, she was trained extensively in the shadow arts of Asshai, politics, negotiation, and the advanced magics of the church. Second, she was free to go where she wished and enter any city that housed a chapter of the church without question or inspection of her person or belongings. Third, and most important, she had dedicated her life to a singular goal. Every high priest or priestess, upon their ascension, chose an act or mission to devote themselves to that would further the will of the great god R’hllor. Hers was a bit of an oddity. 

In a time long past, when she was still but a young initiate, Melisandre had stared into the flames and been gifted a vision from god. She saw a field ablaze, the sea of flames separating two forces. The first was hidden mostly in a great shadow that revealed naught but a sea of twisting, gnarled, limbs. The unholy screeching of their numbers carrying across the space to impact the lines of the second. 

Oh those amazing lines. To a young Melisandre it had seemed that all the armed forces of the world stood behind the small group facing off against the flames and the darkness Amongst them were standards of every kind. The Direwolf of Winterfell, the Lion of Casterly Rock, the Titan of Braavos, the Harpy of Mereen, and so many more that were foreign to her young mind. She’d seen a group of women, none she had yet to recognize, but each standing resolute and ready. Four men, only one of which she’d tracked down in the years since. Finally, she’d seen herself, older, as she was now, standing right beside a tall, bearded man as she looked upon his visage with pride. His bearing was strong and noble, eyes gray as steel, and above his head floated a crown of living flame. 

Before her gaze the heavens above opened up, the stars bled crimson, and the bearded man began to shrink, aging down in reverse until her younger self knelt before the childlike form of the man she had just seen. One of her hands was holding his own, and the other was presenting him with a weapon the likes of which she’d never before seen. The last thing she recalled before the darkness took her was the voice of her god declaring, “IT IS TIME!”

The first thing she’d done upon waking the next morning was write down everything she’d seen, everything she’d been able to recall. And for the next several years she had pored over it, memorized it, relived it, and marveled at the fact that the face of the young boy had never faded from her mind. She knew it now as well as she had known it then. 

But it wasn’t until she was sitting her final trial to become a high priestess that she’d learned the truth. Her final vision had been of a clash of earth and sky. The earth aflame and the sky coated in darkness and ice. She knew then what the final words of her first vision had meant. ‘It was time’ , the prophecy was being fulfilled at last. The Long Night was coming and Azor Ahai, the Warrior of Light, the champion of R’hllor, had finally been born again to combat it. The face that never left her mind had to be him, the weapon she offered him was Lightbringer, and from that knowledge the mission she would swear herself to mind, body, and soul, became clear. She was to find this child, teach him the ways of R’hllor, care for him, guide him, love him if need be, and finally stand beside him at the final great battle. She would dedicate herself to his success and eventual triumph. The fate of the world relied on her ability to do so. 

The mission had continued for decades, and taken her to all corners of the world, but finally, she was close. She knew it. Just last night she had gazed into the hearth of the inn she was spending the night and been granted a vision of the House of Black and White. How else to explain such a thing but the will of her god? She had only come to Braavos on a whim after all. 

Her musings were interrupted then as the great black doors loomed before her. Most priests of the Red Church would be intimidated by the sight, or perhaps frightened at the prospect of entering another deities' domain, but Melisandre simply bowed her head in respect and made her way inside. She had no issues with the god of death. Experience had taught her that he did just as much for humanity as R’hllor did. In his own way. Unlike those hypocrites in the 

Seven. 

The fabled pool of the gift arose before her and an aged woman stood ahead of it waiting for her in a standard gray cloak of the Faceless. “Red priestess.” The woman bowed. 

“Faceless priestess.” Melisandre bowed back to show she came in peace. 

“Why have you come? I do not sense a desire in you for our gift.” 

“You are wise. I come seeking a savior.” 

A secretive smile crossed the gray clad woman’s face as she turned and gestured for her guest to follow. “Then you have come to the right place. Our lord granted the one known as Jaqen a vision some time back that one of your Order would someday come for him.” 

Melisandre’s heart began pounding rapidly in her chest. “Then he is here? The prince that was promised?” 

“Come and see, young one.” From anyone else that statement would have been laughable, but something in the older woman’s voice screamed of vast age and wisdom. 

Down, down, and down further still the red haired priestess was led. Through hallways, stairs, and ladders until finally she found herself in a wide open space bathed in darkness. light from the sky above cut through grates in the streets above to illuminate small, sand covered, dueling rings by the dawn, and in each one people were fighting. 

She saw faceless men and women trading blows with knives, swords, chains, even a morning star or two. But it was to a particular ring in the back that her guide directed her, and inside its self-contained light she saw a man with red and white hair leading a child of perhaps seven name days through a series of stances and strikes, quarterstaves held in each of their hands. For a moment she said nothing, just watching as the boy moved with the fluidity and grace of a dancer, no doubt a skill learned in this hall under expressionless teachers. Then he turned and the light caught his face. 

Melisandre gasped under her breath, though in this quiet space beneath the earth it carried to every corner, stopping all motion in its tracks. That boy, that face, it was the same one from her vision, down to the very last detail. As the other combatants, including the object of her attention, turned to stare at the newcomer, Melisandre glided her way across the dueling sands and knelt before the dark haired youth, clutching his small hands inside her own as his eyes stared widely up at her. 

“My lord Azor Ahai, my name is Melisandre of the Great Temple of Volantis. Long have I searched for you in hopes of this very moment. I pledge to you here and now that from this day forth I am yours. Your teacher, guide, mother, friend, confidante, and general.” 

“I-I’m sorry, my lady, but I think you have the wrong person. My name is Jon.” The boy was quick to get out, but his hands didn’t even attempt to leave her own when he spoke. Something about her was just warm, calming, soothing, right.

Melisandre chuckled and pulled the child into her arms. He struggled for a moment or two before sinking deep into her embrace, the inner heat of R’hllor easing his tired muscles and mind until he was nearly dozing in her lap.

Watching as the boy’s eyes drifted shut, Melisandre gently brushed his hair away from his face. The subject of her vision, the one she had searched for all of her life in the flesh… he was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen. “Jon… a good name, though not your true one I think. Do not worry, my lord, we will discover who you really are.”

The soft crunching of sand alerted her to the fact that the red haired trainer was now standing beside her. “A man is named Jaqen H’ghar, a woman is Melisandre?” 

“She is.” 

“A woman wishes to take a man’s student with her?” 

The red priestess nodded. “He has a great destiny. My god desires I help him reach it.” 

Jaqen nodded his understanding. “A man’s god too has gifted him with a vision of a time to come. A struggle beyond borders or faiths.” Looking down on the boy he’d trained in the martial arts for the last two years, Jaqen H’ghar proclaimed, “A man believes the many faced god desires him to teach this child more. I will travel with you, and teach Young Jon Snow what more I can.” 

For a moment Melisandre considered the prospect of forbidding this stranger to accompany them, but even she wasn’t sure she could take on a Faceless Man. Also, her lord would need to be the greatest warrior in the land, and there were few better fighters than those currently surrounding her. Who was she to look a gift trainer in the mouth. “He will be of R’hllor.” She clarified. 

The man shrugged without a care. “Our god cares not who the boy serves. Merely that he succeeds.” 

“You know of the prophecy?”

“I know of the future.” 

Melisandre stood, cradling her lord in her arms. “Then come, Jaqen H’ghar. There is a red temple on the north side of the harbor, and it is time Jon learns of the mysteries of his faith and who he truly is.”

Chapter Text

Standard Disclaimer: I own nothing in regards to Game of Thrones. All properties therein are those of their creator. I am just a simple writer working on my skills with worlds and characters that I love. 

Note : The response for this new story has been pretty positive so far and I appreciate all the feedback I have received up to this point. 

Note : In case it wasn’t clear in the description, this is going to be a Jon x multi story. This is due to my own preferences, and due to the fact that Targaryens have historically taken multiple spouses so it isn’t exactly unheard of in this world. Also, political marriages are a fact of life in this world so who knows what could happen. 

Note : There is going to be a bit of a time-skip in the next chapter, but don’t worry there will be flashbacks. This is mainly due to the recurring fact that I am not great at writing children. Apologies. 

Note : I realize it can seem that Jon is just accepting this red woman too easily, but I have reasons for this. First, Melisandre is endlessly charismatic. Second, Jon has wanted a kind, motherly, figure his entire life, especially one that actually wanted him, and thanks to Catelyn’s actions he desperately wants one more than ever. Third, as a bastard he could only ever dream of being important enough to be wanted for anything. For someone like him being told he’s a chosen one is very appealing. 

Chapter Two: The Truth Revealed

There were many temples of the red god in Braavos, but the particular chapter house of the Red Church that Melisandre chose to reside in was a quaint two story manse with a basement and a circular wall keeping out watchful eyes. It also sported a team of initiates, servants, and guards. The last were a little wary of the tall red haired man carrying a child through the door, but one stern look from Melisandre curbed any challenges they might raise. 

Together they made their way through the manse, down a set of stairs to the basement, and beheld the central brazier. A fire in the heart of the home, always maintained, always lit, with a freshly built chimney above releasing the smoke directly into the sky.

Currently tending to it was someone that Melisandre had refused to let leave her sight since the moment she had found him ten years prior. Imagine her surprise when one of her lord’s prophesied retainers from her vision turned out to be a priest of her own faith. 

“Thoros of Myr.” She greeted him. The man was perhaps thirty, with a neatly trimmed beard off his chin and a receding hairline that only barely kept his hair managed behind his head. 

“High Priestess Melisandre.” He bowed back to her before facing the guests. “Who has been brought before the holy flame?” 

Answering for himself, the faceless man handed his charge over to the arms of the red woman and stepped forward so that the firelight could illuminate his expressionless features. “A man is named Jaqen. An emissary of the many faced god.” 

Thoros looked to his high priestess for guidance and she responded, “He is welcome.” 

When Jaqen placed the boy on the floor before the flame she knelt and caressed his young face. “I have found him, Thoros. The prince that was promised.”

The red priest gasped, “Truly, my lady? This is the boy from your vision?”

“Down to the very last detail. It is finally time.” So saying she moved her hand from his face to his forehead and a moment later his eyes shot open. 

“What happened?!” He tried to rise up but found himself embraced once more by the red haired woman. 

“Be calm, my lord, everything is fine. I have you now and you are somewhere safe.”

Jon wanted to struggle, he felt like he should be trying to escape, but the hug was so warm, this woman (he thought she said her name was Melisandre) was being so kind, and his teacher Jaqen was watching them both and he wasn’t interfering. It had been so long since he’d last experienced a hug full of warmth, over a year, so just this once he decided to be greedy and he burrowed into it, letting the comfort seep into his very being. 

All good things had to come to an end however and eventually the arms around him loosened, though they didn’t release entirely. “Do you remember me, my lord?” 

“Yes. You said your name was Melisandre. But why am I here? And why do you keep calling me a lord? I’m just a bastard from the North of Westeros.”

“You are no such thing!” Melisandre stated firmly. She needed to nip this self deprecation in the bud. “You are the prophesied Warrior of Light, not a bastard.” She cupped his face in both of her hands, “Long ago I received a vision from god, and that vision was of you. Jon, hear these words and know they are true. There will come a day after a long summer when the stars bleed and the cold breath of darkness falls heavy on the world. In this dread hour a warrior shall draw from the fire a burning sword. And that sword shall be Lightbringer, the Red Sword of Heroes, and he who clasps it shall be Azor Ahai come again, and the darkness shall flee before him. Azor Ahai, beloved of R'hllor! The Warrior of Light, the Son of Fire!”

“Y-You think that’s me?” Jon wasn’t sure what to think about this entire situation, but the woman staring into his eyes definitely believed what she was saying… and she was being so kind to him. No one had ever been this kind, even his father had never held him this warmly.

“I don’t think it, Jon. I know it.” Still cupping his face she turned her hands so that he was looking into the central fire, her eyes joining his as her cheek pressed into his own. “Stare into the fire and see what I see. The Lord of Light will reveal to us what we must know.” 

Jon didn’t really know what all this was about Warriors of Light, Gods, or whatever, but looking into a fire was simple enough so he did it. A few seconds later he was… somewhere else. An empty space of shadow and torchlight and Melisandre was there as well holding his hand. 

“What is this?” Jon shakily whispered. 

Looking around Melisandre replied, "I'm not quite sure. This has never happened to me before.” As she spoke the torches moved, floating through space to form a lit corridor ahead of them. “Though I suspect we are supposed to go that way.” She squeezed the smaller hand she held gently to offer comfort. “Come along, let us see what there is for us.”

They walked together in the barely lit darkness for some time before they came upon a shimmering surface floating in the air. It reflected their faces back at them like a mirror. Jon was about to ask about this oddity as well before the torches suddenly extinguished their lights and the ‘mirror’ grew bright. An instant later their visages disappeared to be replaced with a sight Melisandre remembered well. Her first vision. She watched as young Jon’s eyes grew wide and his awe expanded at the massive force arrayed behind him and the strangers next to him. What’s more, when he saw Melisandre kneeling before his childlike body he turned to her and asked, “What is this?” 

“That, my lord, has been my calling for longer than you, or your father, or even your father’s father have even been alive. Long ago the Lord of Light, R'hllor, gave me this vision of foresight that I might seek out his champion to battle the coming of the long night. As you have seen, you are that champion.”

“B-But, I’m no one.” His eyes were growing wet as recollections of his time in Winterfell came back to him. All the snide comments and derision from the keep’s staff, guards, and Lady Catelyn herself. “Just a bastard without a name or family. Least not one that wanted me.” 

“Here now,” Melisandre drew the boy into her arms once more, holding him as he tried to stop the tears from coming. “Let it out, I’m here, and I want you. I will never abandon you. You are someone to me, Jon, and I will guide you to your destiny if you will let me.” 

Not willing to give up this point so easily Jon said, “But why would your god choose me for this? My own family threw me away so why would he want me? Why not choose someone with a name or title?” 

As he spoke, the shimmering mirror changed once more, and the two interlopers found themselves gazing upon a solitary tower in the middle of a barren wasteland. 

“That’s the Tower of Joy.” Jon said, “I recognize it from the drawings in the maester’s history book during our lessons.” 

Melisandre raised an eyebrow, “You claim to be no one yet you had a maester to give you lessons?” 

Jon blushed, “My father was the Lord of Winterfell. He thought it shameful for a man not to learn.” 

“Ah.” Turning back to the view, she along with her young ward watched as a group of men, one of whom Jon proclaimed to be his father, approached a trio of armored defenders. From them it became clear that his sister was inside, and that the defenders were keeping her there under the orders of Prince Rhaegar. Then an all out fight began, a wild melee of steel that left the young Eddard Stark and his friend Howland Reed as the only survivors. 

The mirror followed the Northern lord up the stairs of the tall tower to a royal chamber at the top where an ashen faced beautiful woman lay surrounded by her two maids and a midwife. In her arms was a wriggling bundle that could only be a recently birthed babe, and spreading out from between her legs was an ever increasing pool of blood. As she weakly handed the baby to Lord Stark both spectral witnesses heard her say, “His name… is Daemon. Daemon Targaryen. Rhaegar and I… wed lawfully, before a maester, Arthur Dayne, and the gods, Ned. You know what that means. You have to protect him.”

“Lyanna… Sister… Robert is king now, I-” 

“Promise me, Ned!” Desperation was clear on her face as she began to hyperventilate. “Robert would kill him. Promise me!” Her body began to seize, and her brother screamed at the midwives to do something, to no avail. All anyone could do was watch as Lyanna Stark, the uncelebrated queen of the realm, died in the same bed she had just given birth in. 

For a while Ned just sat there, staring at the fallen form of his sister, the woman that he had risked so much to save, and that in the end had not even needed saving. Then a short cry caught his attention and his gaze turned once more to the wriggling bundle in his arms. He took a moment to rock the baby back to ease before turning to the three women present. 

“You all saw nothing here, am I clear?” His voice was as cold as winter, and all knew the exact cost that would be paid for speaking of this day, even if such was not voiced. They all nodded their heads in affirmation. “Good. Now leave.” 

As the women scurried away, Ned brushed a hand over the child’s sleeping head and said, “Your name is Daemon, little one, but that name is not safe. From this day on you shall be Jon. And I am sorry that it must be so. So very, very, sorry.” 

The mirror clouded over once more and Jon and Melisandre found themselves alone again. 

“T-T-That makes no sense.” Jon whimpered. “My father… wasn’t my father?” 

“Jon-“

“Then why did he say he was? Why was I treated so horribly by his lady wife? Why did he send me away if he was supposed to protect me?” 

The red priestess reached forward and wiped the tears now openly falling from his face. “I cannot say, my lord, but now you have the answer as to why the Lord of Light chose you. You are not some no-name bastard. You are Daemon Targaryen, the true-born son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark, and the legitimate heir to the Iron Throne of Westeros. It seems R’hllor desires you to retake your throne and march your forces to battle against the Long Night.”

Not really considering why this was so easy for him to believe, Jon stated, “but Westeros wasn’t the only place fighting in the first vision. There were flags and sigils from a lot of other places too.” 

“Yes, there were.” Melisandre thought on that fact for a few moments before realization dawned on her. “Yes there were. Westeros alone might not be enough to win this fight, so it is only natural that you would come to rule other kingdoms as well and match their strength to your own.”

“What are you saying, Melisandre?” 

“What I am saying, my lord, is that you will not become a king. No, you will become the master of the known world. You will become an emperor.”  

As if the Lord of Light were agreeing with her assessment, the shadows and darkness fell away around them and the duo found themselves once more amongst the closed space of the manse’s basement, with Thoros of Myr standing worriedly over them and Jaqen positioned at the ready behind him. 

Melisandre checked on her charge and made sure the shared experience hadn’t had any untoward effects. Then without another word she knelt before him, an act that was quickly followed by the two other adults present. “The Lord of Light has shown us the truth. Hail, Daemon Targaryen, first of his name. Emperor of all.”

“Hail!” Thoros followed without hesitation. 

“Hail.” Jaqen finished more sedately. 

Melisandre finished by proclaiming, “We live to serve you, my lord.”

For a moment Jon clearly didn’t know what to do, but then he remembered Seeing a pair of lords reaffirm their pledges of fealty to his lord father back in the North and decided it was a decent way to go. “I-I thank you and accept your pledges in the spirit they are given. I will welcome you into my service and never ask of you something I would not do myself.”

“Very good, Daemon.” The red priestess got back to her feet and led the child over to a set of chairs waiting by the far wall. 

“Daemon?”

“That is your name, child.” 

Jon, no, Daemon’s nose scrunched up a bit at that. “That’s right. Sorry, it’s going to take a bit of getting used to.”

“Do not worry, you will have time. We have a bit of a journey ahead of us.” 

“We do?” 

“Yes. I know you are our lord’s chosen. You know you are our lord’s chosen. However, the rest of the church does not yet have the benefit of that same knowledge.” 

“Oh.” Daemon had been raised in the North where the faith of the Old Gods held sway still, and he knew in the south the Seven held superiority, but he found it hard to deny the existence of R’hllor when he had just had the experiences of the past few minutes. What was more, that same god had apparently brought Melisandre to him, while the others had let Lady Stark mistreat him without apparent consequence. In the end he knew who he would rather give his faith to. The red priestess had earned his trust in spades. “How will we tell them then?”

Melisandre smiled. “We will show them. At the great temple of Volantis there is a great pyre that never dies. Inside is the holiest relic of our order. Lightbringer, the sword of the Warrior of Light. Long has it been foretold that only he can enter the blaze to retrieve it, and I know that you will. Once that sword is in your hands, the church will fall to their knees before you, and the world will eventually follow.”

Forty-Five Days Later

The gates of Volantis came into focus slowly to the small group in the boat. The coastal port city had been blocked to them by a river so they’d been forced to leave their horses behind and pay a ferryman to take them inside. It didn't matter really. By that point most of the supplies they’d packed for the journey had been consumed and they only had to lug around their traveling clothes, unmentionables, and sleeping mats. 

The adults had been there before, and thus were unmoved by the sights that came into being as their temporary vessel docked inside the massive outer wall, but Daemon… had absolute stars in his eyes. He remembered thinking Braavos was alien, but this place was a whole other world. 

Melisandre must have been correct when she called this the most populous city in the world, because everywhere he looked there were people. People walking, rowing boats through canals, or even stranger still, riding all manner of beasts through the streets. From the picture books in his old maester’s quarters and Melisandre's detailed descriptions he recognized mounts of elephants, tigers, bears, even a couple of lions. It made sense he supposed, after all one of the many lessons his red teacher had taught him on their journey was that men and women of means in Volantis did not let their feet touch the ground in public. 

That probably explained why that same woman was throwing coins at a palanquin troop and ordering them over. Once done she lifted him inside before hopping in herself and moving aside for Thoros. Jaqen however stayed on the ferry. 

“A man has something he must investigate. He will meet you at the great temple.”

Melisandre nodded. “See that you do. Our lord will have need of you after his ascension.”

As the faceless man moved off, Daemon couldn’t help thinking about that word. Ascension. Over the course of their journey Melisandre had schooled him deeply in the faith of the one true god, R’hllor, and the duties he would gain once the Lightbringer was in his hands. Retrieving it would effectively make him the head of the church, and then his true work could begin. 

As the palanquin carted them through the bustling metropolis Daemon took in the vastly tall buildings of smooth stone and the deep canals that almost seemed to work as a second freeway for trade goods and travel. “You said this place is as old as Old Valyria, yes?” He asked Melisandre.

She smiled and replied { Yes, my prince, and the upper class of this city judge their worth by being able to trace their ancestry back to that country. Once you take Lightbringer and reveal yourself as a true Targaryen, you will stand above them in more ways than most. } 

Daemon responded in kind, (quite by accident they had found he had an inborn understanding of the Old Valyrian language. Melisandre hypothesized that it was both born and learned). { Will we be able to keep the news from leaving the city? I don’t want the Western king to know of me until I have begun my crusade. } The red priestess had made sure to warn her child (and she did see him as her child at this point) of the dangers King Robert represented to him personally. 

{ The Fiery Hand can handle the gates, and the temple has agents in all the rookeries. No news will leave unless we want it to .}

They were getting closer now, Daemon could see the bulk of the grand temple coming into view, the smoke from its ever burning flame darkening the sky above it. That was not all he could see however. The further into the interior the palanquin traveled the more people he saw with iron collars locked around their necks. 

“Slaves.” He muttered darkly. “There are slaves here?” 

Melisandre sighed deeply. The moment she’d learned her ward was from the North she knew this would happen. “Yes, my lord. It is a sad fact of life but Volantis is a city with slaves, as are many in this part of the world. It is the way of things.” 

“No.” 

“I’m sorry?” 

“No.” Daemon repeated. “It is the way things were. You say I’m to become an emperor. That it is my destiny to rule this world. Then when I have Lightbringer I will start here and change what needs changing for the good of all by breaking the chains that hold up the old ways. Slavery will be the first chain I crush.”

For a moment the high priestess considered trying to change her boy’s mind, but then decided against it. This was the first time he had made a true decision for himself about anything since their journey began, and she honestly abhorred slavery. She herself had been sold to the temple that was their destination when she was but five name days old. She’d earned her freedom by rising through the ranks of the Order, as most members did in this city, but it still grated on her every time she saw a collar around someone’s neck. The only reason she hadn’t tried to change things herself was that she lacked the power, means, and she was focused on her mission for R’hllor. Now though… all of those things were about to be made ready. 

They passed through the wide entrance to the temple, and the passengers quickly exited their method of transport and made their way inside. None were surprised to see every surface available covered in red carpet and crimson silk hangings. Everything from the floor, to the windows, to the stairs leading up and down to different levels of the vast structure carried the same aesthetic. 

It only took but a moment for a passing initiate to see them, and only a few more for Melisandre to pass on an announcement for her to carry that all available persons in the facility were to meet in front of the great pyre. As a high priestess there was not a soul in attendance that could dismiss her order.  

Soon the entirety of the temple, hundreds of men, women, and children, were gathered and knelt before the massive conflagration at the heart of the structure, with the exception of the two that Melisandre had been hoping most to see. The high priest Bennero and priestess Allisyne. She did not need them for what was to come, but it was only right that the three current heads of the church be present for the ascension of their lord and master. Alas, they were apparently each off on church business in Myr and Westeros. 

Well, time to get started. Mounting the steps to the dais that held the pyre, she addressed her audience. “My brothers and sisters in faith. Today is a date that shall live in history as the day Azor Ahai came back to us!” Immediately a sea of whispers sprang into being, but a swiftly raised hand from the red woman stopped them all in their tracks.   “Yes, the Warrior of Light is here.” She gestured to young Daemon who stood beside her. “Here and now he shall enter the pyre, and when he returns, you will see the truth with your own eyes!” The whispers came again but this time she did nothing to stop them, turning instead to kneel before her charge. 

“Are you ready, Daemon?” 

“Yes, Melisandre.”

“Good. Now remember, the fire holds no pain for you, no terror. You are R’hllor’s chosen, and as long as you keep faith with him the fire will not burn.”

For a moment Daemon shook in place. “I have faith, but I’m still scared.” The fire was high and the heat practically consumed the vast chamber. 

Melisandre cupped his chin lightly so she could stare into his eyes. “Daemon, courage is not a lack of fear. It is having the will to carry on when you are fearful. Remember, even if your faith in our god should waiver, I believe in you. So believe in the version of yourself that I see.” She could see by the straightening of the little boy’s posture that her words had had the desired effect. 

Daemon turned fully to face the inferno, feeling the eyes of the entire hall upon him, though it was only one set that he truly cared about. Melisandre, a woman that had come for him, claimed him, wanted him, when none others had; including his own supposed family. If she believed he could do this then he believed it too.

He took one step forward, then another, and on he went until he could wait no more and leapt face first into the great conflagration. He expected heat, discomfort, or at least some measure of orange and yellow light. What he received instead was a black expanse, similar to the one that had provided him his visions before. 

“Azor Ahai.” Above him a face of living flame came into being. “Your time has come again.”

Remembering Melisandre’s lessons he quickly knelt before the being that could only be his god. 

Though the introductions were not yet finished as beside that face a skull bathed in ever changing colors, hoods, and faces also came into being. “Child of ice and fire,” Where R’hllor’s voice was powerful, deep, and commanded respect, this one was soft, sweet, and brought to mind thoughts of endless calm. “The Long Night comes again, and the natural cycle of life is threatened.”

This whole thing was beyond confusing, but something about the skull reminded the boy of his martial teacher, Jaqen. “Are you the many faced god?” 

“I am Death, as he is Fire and Shadow. We both have need of you, as does this world.”

A bit overwhelmed at facing the full presence of two deities, Daemon could only stutter out, “W-W-What must I do?” 

R’hllor spoke once more, “Rule. Learn from my priestess, train with Death’s arm, and make this world your own. Use it to combat the Others when they come.” 

Death spoke again, “You are our champion. The Prince That Was Promised. Your path will be long, the road perilous, and you will need to make choices that may haunt you forever. You must be strong, hard, and willing to do whatever is necessary to secure your victory. The Others cannot be allowed to end the cycle of life and death.”

“I-I’m just one boy.” Daemon nearly whimpered, but forced the urge down at the last second.

“You are more than you know.” R’hllor’s massive face flickered in place and appeared mere inches from Daemon’s own. “And we are benevolent gods. We give you the gifts to do what is necessary.”

The boy suddenly felt an intense heat in his hands and a deep, deep, cold in his back. He looked down and saw intricate black flames burned into the backs of his hands. He wasn’t sure what had been done to his back, but he made a note to ask Melisandre when he returned. 

Death joined his associate in his personal space then, and Daemon only barely avoided flinching. “Melisandre and Jaqen can teach you of these gifts. Heed their teachings and go.”

“Why me though?” 

“There are laws of gods and men, and we can only interact with the world so much. Your coming was foretold, your purpose set. We cannot save this world, so you must.” 

R’Hllor continued, “When in doubt, look to the flames for guidance. We will not speak like this again, but what visions can be offered shall be yours.” 

With that, the faces disappeared, and the shadow world faded away to be replaced with a field of orange and crimson light. It was with a start that he realized he was back in the temple, and he was standing in the middle of the great flame. He was also holding something very heavy.

Looking down he beheld the object in his hands. At first he thought it to be a sword, but further inspection showed it to be something else entirely. Near as the boy could tell, it was some sort of cross between a staff and a sword. The bottom third was all blade, and the rest was a stave made of some kind of light, yet incredibly hard wood. An oddly colored metal snaked all around the wood in a criss-crossing pattern and down into the tang of the blade, and with a gasp of surprise, Daemon realized what it was. Valerian steel. He had seen it in his father’s… no, his uncle’s, great-sword Ice. Lightbringer was made of the most sought after metal on the planet. That wasn’t the end however. The butt of the staff was capped with a beautiful, round, orange stone that seemed to pulse with life in the heart of this inferno. 

It was almost laughable to hold such a big weapon in his hands, yet… it felt right. As if it belonged in his grip and was never meant to leave it. He ran his fingers along the blade and shivered with delight. Yes, Lightbringer was his alright. 

After a bit of struggle he levered the weapon onto his shoulders and started walking out of the blaze as he had entered it. One step at a time. When he reappeared beside Melisandre it was to shocked gasps followed immediately by loud exclamations of joy and exuberance. 

“Azor Ahai!” One woman shouted.

“The savior has come!” A man in the back cheered. 

“Praise R’hllor!” This one was picked up by almost everyone else until the high priestess raised her hands for silence. 

She looked to her young charge and the smile she gave him filled his heart with warmth and pride. “You have done so well, little one.” She gently pushed a few loose strands of hair back behind his ear. “Now raise your blade high so everyone can see it. This is the start of your journey and it needs to begin the right way.”

Daemon did as directed, grabbing the staff portion with both hands and raising the sword-staff over his head, much to the appreciation of all present. And as the cheers began anew, the boy prince could not help agreeing with Melisandre. This was the beginning of something great. Whether it was good or bad remained to be seen, but the crowd of red clad men and women screaming his name awoke something inside him. They were his. The blade was his. And for the first time in his life he wanted more. He wanted… everything. 

Chapter Text

Standard Disclaimer: I own nothing in regards to Game of Thrones. All properties therein are those of their creator. I am only a writer working on my skills with worlds and characters that I love. 

Note : I can foresee some readers thinking the level of preparedness for this crusade is off the chain. Allow me to head that off. First, Daemon has had literal years to plan this all out and he’s prepared the crap out of his military. Second, he has the full backing of a major religious power in the region and all of its followers. To put it in perspective the Catholic church did something very similar in history, sending missionaries into countries ruled by their dissenters to preach to their faithful to convince them to work to subjugate and disparage the will and laws of sitting monarchs. This is not a new thing. Third, the rulers of Slaver’s Bay and thereabouts are not exactly known for apt battle sense and smarts. Fourth, Volantis is canonically the most populous of the free cities with the largest standing army.

Chapter Three - The First To Fall

Eleven Years Later

Melisandre waltzed down the stairway of the great temple of Volantis. She was ecstatic. Yes she knew that one such as her should be calm and reserved at all times, but the day had finally arrived. The day when her son would begin his conquest of the world. Her little boy, no, her grown man, Daemon Targaryen. She’d offered to adopt him officially in a church ceremony after his ascension in the great pyre and he’d been ecstatic in accepting. The boy had always craved someone to love him after all, and what priestess of R’hllor wouldn’t love Azor Ahai come again. The fact that he’d been the sweetest child imaginable had helped a great deal. 

When she’d sworn her life to his in Braavos she’d meant it, and she’d spent every day since preparing the way for him and his goals. And what goals they were. Ever since he’d drawn Lightbringer something had changed within him. Daemon had emerged from the flames covered in strange tattoos, only half of which she herself had recognized. And that was only due to the fact that as a high priestess she was permitted access to the most ancient texts and lore of her faith. Truly R’Hllor had blessed her child with his own hand. 

It had taken years but agents of the faith were placed in every major city from Volantis to Braavos, just waiting on the right signal to begin their work of sabotage and subjugation. It all simply relied on Daemon’s go ahead and he’d been waiting only for his eighteenth birthday. It gave her time to get plans ready, him to train and mature, and allowed for him to gain mastery of his godly gifts. Oh the things he could do… 

Thus her waltz continued on to the chamber of the great pyre, where a massive throne of marble had been erected to seat their lord during his invocations and meetings. Sure he had not officially taken over Volantis yet, but its ruling council were followers of the true faith and knew to whom their homage and loyalty was truly owed. They’d all come forth to bend the knee and hold court before him on many an occasion. 

This suited her son well, as he’d developed a fascination with Aegon the Conqueror and worked to model himself and his ruling style after him when applicable. He believed in taking an active hand with government and the people in equal measure. 

Oddly enough, Daemon was not present in the chamber however. This made three of his usual haunts vacant. His rooms were empty, the training hall unused, and now the seat of his power in Volantis. Where else could he be? It came to her in a flash and heartbeats later Melisandre found herself outside the temple and waving down a palanquin. As the mother of the Lord’s Chosen it was not right for her to walk the streets of Volantis herself when she could instead be carried by man or beast. It was not a practice she loved per say, but the view from higher off the ground was always nice. 

And what a view it was. Under Daemon’s direction Volantis had seen a rebirth of culture and study. The library had been heavily funded for new research, the universities expanded to allow entrance by the common folk, and a substantially heavier military presence in the streets mitigated nearly all of the crime in the massive city. That last one was particularly interesting as he had paired it seamlessly with his desire to end slavery in Volantis. He’d issued a proclamation that all slaves willing to serve in the military or perform public works such as repairing bridges and streets could earn their freedom in return for five years service. The masters had not been pleased at first, but the Red Church was immensely wealthy and from their stockpile cache of gold and silver the slaveholders had been paid the amount they were losing from the lack of service. The grumbling had died down considerably after that and now the only collared individuals were those new slaves bought after the edict had been enforced. And even then the odds were strong that they would only be joining the force already created. What was even better however, was that since it had been Daemon that had made it possible for their freedom to be attained, the former slaves had voluntarily stayed in his service, swearing lifelong devotion to him.

In the course of only a few years the army of Volantis had risen to become a major power in the world, and the information blackout enforced by the agents of the church ensured that no one else outside the walls even knew it. What a shock it would be to the rulers of Slaver’s Bay and beyond when they met an army of former slaves ready, willing, and eager to tear the foundations out from under the slave trade. Yes, her son had certainly found the means to enact his dream of a world without that particular vice. 

Down the streets her palanquin went, edging ever farther from opulent upper tiers of the city into the lower dregs where the less affluent made their living. To be sure, its quality had seen an uptick over the past few years but that did not take away from the danger these streets represented. What was Daemon thinking going out alone in this part of the town? Even as her palanquin set down outside a particular five story building her question was self explanatory. The orphanage. The unofficial ruler of Volantis had been its patron since the first day he took power and not a week had gone by where he didn’t spend at least an hour there amongst the forgotten, showing them that their lives mattered to at least one man. 

When she entered through the front doors she found her hunch correct. There Daemon sat on a chair before the central hearth reading to a crowd of children, none greater than nine name days old, and standing at attention beside him as always with a look of adoration on her face was his shadow, Missandei. Dark of skin, bright of eyes, and blessed of body, she had come into his service when both she and her prince were but thirteen years old. At the time, she’d been a slave, a gift from one of the Masters of Volantis who thought Daemon should be taught the ways of manhood with a personal bed slave. That man had promptly been removed from power (by then almost everyone knew of the lad’s disdain for all things slave related so it was really his own fault) and the girl had been freed. Surprising everyone, the moment those words had been uttered and her collar removed she swore her life to the teenager who had given her that freedom, the same one she was meant for. Not a day had passed since when she was not by his side. 

Honestly if the red priestess had not known what slavers did to keep pregnancies away from their stock she’d have been surprised that the girl was not yet with child after the first year. Especially considering the number of times she’d caught the two of them together. It warmed her heart to see the genuine affection that had formed between them.

Missandei saw her of course, but she made no sound or move, and the priestess did the same. Neither wished to interrupt the prince before he’d finished his tale. Though Daemon had not a musical note in his body, he was a masterful storyteller. Capable of all manner of accents and voices to give the old tales new life before any audience that would hear him. 

Of course he was reading the tale of Aegon’s conquest. It was his favorite, so it made sense he’d share it with those he cared for. For the next hour all sat enthralled as the tale spread out in luster. How Aegon Targaryen and his two sister-wives flew their dragons into the lands of Westeros and over the course of scant years bent it to their will and command. It was a grand tale of victory, loss, and creation. As out of dozens of scattered lords and kings, a great realm rose from the ashes. 

When Daemon finished the tale a great tumult of clapping and questions followed, but eventually things began to settle down and the mistress of the establishment scurried the children into the large kitchens for lunch, leaving the three adults alone. 

Daemon turned to her then, handing the leather bound book to Missandei so she could place it on a nearby shelf. “What is it mother?”

Melisandre crossed the room and took a seat in one of the vacated chairs. “It is finally time.” She said, “The letters have all borne the same news. Our spies are in place, the saboteurs ready, and the slaves converted and waiting.”

“Our missionaries did a good job.” Daemon noted. 

“Indeed.” The Red Priestess could barely contain her glee. “Slaver’s bay is ripe for the taking.”

“And our standing forces?” 

“We were at thirty thousand men and one hundred and twenty five warships before your emancipation edicts.”

“And now?” 

“Between enlistment of former slaves and the public works program that trained more carpenters…” Melisandre ran over the figures in her head. “Another thirty thousand soldiers at least and fifty more war ships.”

“So sixty thousand men and one hundred and seventy-five ships.” The prince steepled his fingers beneath his chin and began tapping them together in a staccato rhythm the way he always did when deep in thought. “Perfect. My research shows Mereen, Yunkai, and Astapor have no current standing forces exceeding ten thousand men and they have not penned any recent contracts with any notable sellsword companies. Jaqen!”

  Out of the darkest corner of the room the red haired faceless man walked forth to kneel before Daemon and await instructions. Though she’d never admit it, it bothered Melisandre that she could never quite sense where he was at a given time. Not even R’Hllor’s divine blessing in her choker aided in that regard. “Yes, Prince Daemon?”

“I would like you to go and find Thoros at the training grounds. Tell him he is to leave a force of five thousand to supplement the city guard and defend Volantis. Once those soldiers are put aside he is to take twenty-five thousand and march over land to Slaver's Bay. By the time he arrives I will expect him to have taken Mantarys, Elyria, and Tolos.”

“It will be done, my lord.” 

“After Thoros' instructions are given I want you to inform the master of the docks to get the ships loaded and ready for departure. We’ll have thirty thousand men to transport along with the supplies to feed and maintain them. I want my army loaded and the sails unfurled before the end of this week. It’s time to begin the crusade.”

“You are not ordering a man away with Thoros?”

“I am not a fool, Jaqen. I know that you are only here because your god wants me alive. You stay to guard my life, no one else’s. Should I tell you to go with the marching force I’ve no doubt you’d just disregard my orders and follow me from a distance. Probably with a face I’d never recognize in a million years.”

The faceless man smiled wanly at that. “You have grown wise, young prince. A man will carry out your will.” 

“I know you will, and I am grateful.”

Jaqen bowed one last time and took his leave. 

Melisandre frowned, “You rely too much on that… man.”  

“I rely on his devotion to the Many Faced God. It is no less than our own to R’Hllor.”

“Yet you refuse to let us forcibly convert the conquered.”

Daemon sighed with the strength of one that has had to make the same argument many, many, times before. “Missandei, will you take this one please?”

The former slave nervously met the eyes of the powerful redhead and said, “Forcibly removing the gods of a conquered people has only historically led to unrest and eventual uprisings against the conquerors. We will be changing enough already by forcing the people to give up slavery, adding too much more right away would only cause us unnecessary problems.”

Daemon smiled at the girl with praise, causing her to blush rather fiercely as he finished for her, “Exactly. Conversions will come with time. Under our leadership the people will eventually see the greatness of R’Hllor and seek to emulate him. However, even if that is not the case, the number of those that follow him amongst us is momentous compared to those that do not. Given a few generations we will eventually breed conversions through marriage if all else fails. We do not need to force it.”

Their conversation was interrupted by the opening of a door behind them and a chuffing sound that brought a new smile to the prince’s face, followed by the steady thump of something heavy moving toward them. 

Melisandre started laughing, suddenly realizing that she hadn’t seen the large creature outside as its big head rounded the corner of a nearby hallway. “Wherever were you hiding Edan, Daemon?” She asked as the Great Tiger loped over to her and presented its head for ear scratches that she happily applied. Edan had been presented to her son as a cub the day after his ascension to head of the Red Church. He was a man beyond men as far as they were concerned and such a man needed a fine mount to keep his feet from touching the ground on the streets (as was the custom). Of course he’d needed to use a horse until it grew big enough to support him, but that hadn’t stopped a true bond from forming between man and beast. Now Edan was Daemon’s second greatest defender. Only behind Jaqen by merit of his power. 

“I wasn’t hiding him, mother. The children wanted to feed him meat from the kitchen and the furball went off without a thought.”

Said furball huffed at that and moved away from the red woman to nuzzle its big head against his master’s shoulder. Melisandre was never quite sure what techniques had gone into the creature’s breeding to make it so large and intelligent, but she was pretty sure it wasn’t natural for its kind. Edan was absolutely massive. Standing of a height with her boy’s head when standing and absolutely covered in sleek muscle. Lightbringer was strapped lengthwise across his body. 

  “Yes, yes, you big kitten, I know they were pushy. Now sit.” The tiger did as ordered and was rewarded by Missandei stroking his muzzle. “Typical, though I can’t blame you for liking her more, she is far prettier.”

“Prince Daemon!” Missandei blushed, only to be cut off by Melisandre. 

“It’s Emperor Daemon now.” She turned to look her son in the eyes, “Today your campaign begins so it is only proper that you use the title of your ascension.”

Daemon was quiet for a moment as he absorbed that, he was always quiet it seemed to her, so deep in thought. Finally he said, “You are right.” He stood up and Edan jumped at once to his side, ready at any point to perform his duty for his master. “Let us see to the final preparations at the Great Temple. The faithful deserve one last benediction before we plunge this continent into war.”

“Of course, Daemon.” 

“And prepare a messenger for a long journey. Someone you can trust.”

Melisandre was confused. “A messenger? Whatever for?”

He stopped at the door, not yet moving to open it back to the street. “Last night I looked into the flames. I saw a city unlike any other I could begin to describe. Towers as tall as any mountain. Sweeping forests full of beasts that seemed to be amalgamations of animals we only barely know here. And I saw a man on top of a throne of green stone. Floating over his head was a roaring fire and a gaping abyss.”

“What do you think it means?” The red priestess marveled at the words. Her son’s vision had surpassed even her own in many regards. 

Gently he began scratching Edan’s chin, “I believe R’Hllor and Death are sending me a message in the only way they can to let me know this man will be important somehow. Or perhaps he is someone that I do not want to anger. This man, this king, his land matches legends I have heard of Yi Ti. If even half the stories are true then that was one of the only lands that Old Valyria itself could not conquer. I want a messenger to travel to those famed lands and treat with their ruler. He will carry my words to let him know that I do not seek war with him, only the lands beyond his range. Furthermore I will entreat him to add his arms to my own when the final war of the Long Night begins. He may not answer me, but I need to try.”

Missendai crossed the room to rub her hands along the back of his shoulders in a soothing fashion. “You are doing everything you can, Daemon. The gods know this. When the Long Night comes I believe that we will be ready to face it, and that will be because of you.” 

He didn’t look back, merely moved to mount Edan as she opened the door for him, and exited into the throngs of people. They cheered at the sight of him, no doubt having heard of the mobilization order. It had been a long time since Volantis was a city of conquerors and the people were ready. 

Melisandre came to stand beside the younger woman. “You have been good for Daemon, Missendai.” She said, gazing imperiously down at the girl that had managed to ensnare her son.

“I-I have done my best to be worthy of him. Though I often feel he needs someone more than me at his side. Someone that can give him more than just their love.” She self-consciously rubbed her forcibly barren womb and the red woman felt a pang of sympathy for the girl. If things had turned out only a little bit differently in her own life she could have ended up like that. 

Gently taking her hand she said, “Your love is exactly what he needs at the moment. It keeps him grounded. Though he will eventually need an heir. Ideally more than one. That means other wives. Can you bear that?”

“Yes. Daemon gave me freedom, he gave me purpose, and then he gave me himself. Everything that I have and am is because of him. I would never begrudge him performing his duties for his realm.” 

“Good girl.” Melisandre smiled and wrapped her arm around her compatriots own. “Now, come. Let us be off to the temple. I have a feeling our boy’s last benediction will be quite grand.”

Some Time Later

The Red Keep

Ned Stark groaned as he sat behind his seat in the Small Council chambers of King’s Landing. The golden hand pinned to his chest seemed heavier every day. It had been only a couple of months since Robert had come to his keep to ask him to replace Jon Arryn as his hand, and the lord could still remember the look of shock on his friend’s face as he’d beheld his new visage. 

“By the gods, Ned, all the weight I gained it seems you’ve lost!” 

He almost seemed right. Ned, once broad and powerful in build had become whip thin and sallow of cheek. To be sure he’d not lost his strength or speed. No, those things he refused to lose, spending hours at a time in the training yard, but food and comfort had held little interest for him in quite some time, and small wonder. 

As he waited for the other council members to arrive, Ned thought back to that horrible night so many years ago. The night that had started as one of the most happy, and ended as the worst of his very existence. 

Flashback :

At the break of day his wife had gone into labor, and now, well into the evening his maester had just informed him that she had gifted him with another beautiful baby girl. One with a tuft of hair identical to his lost sister Lyanna. He’d cried tears of joy and meant to run straight to the room, only to be brought up short by Luwin’s gnarled hand upon his arm. 

“There is something else, my lord. A man has come to see you, one of your hunters.”

“It can wait, maester.” He tried to pull free, but the old man’s grip was surprisingly strong.

“No it can’t, Ned.” 

That stopped him right short. Luwin hadn’t called him that since he was a boy, just off to foster with Jon Arryn. He stilled, “Whatever could be so important as to see me stopped from seeing to my newest daughter?” 

“I left the man in your solar, Ned. Go and speak to him, hear his tale, and then you will understand. It…. it is not my place to tell this. I am so haunted by the telling that I do not think I could bear to repeat it.” 

Eddard, seeing clearly the despair on his trusted mentor’s face, slowly nodded. “Very well, I will see to this man. My solar you said?” 

“Yes sir. I… I will be in the kitchens, getting a drink.”

Shocked, the warden of the North blurted out, “You’ve not touched a drop of alcohol in decades!” 

“Well I need it now. You will understand soon.” The old man moved off, his long chain clanking with every step as his lord carried off in the direction indicated. 

It only took a few minutes for his well practiced feet to reach his personal solar, and when he did he found a man in the trappings of a woodsman standing nervously in front of his desk. “You asked to see me?” Ned asked gruffly, not trying to hide how much this disruption was annoying him. 

“Ah, yes, Lord Stark. My name be Tunt, Jonas Tunt, and I been serving your family since I was but a wee little lad.”

“Yes, yes, I don’t mean to rush you but I do have a newborn to meet.” Eddard pressed. 

“Aye, that’s why I’m here. You see, I also was blessed with a little one earlier in the year.” 

Now that he thought about it, Ned did recall one of his wife’s maids taking an absence a while back to birth a child. Finding a replacement that met Catelyn’s stringent southern requirements had been quite the task. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you, my lord. But that’s the thing. Having a child of your own makes you think on things in your life. Things you said, things you did… things you didn’t stop.”

“I know that mentality quite well.” He couldn’t help thinking of Lyanna in her tower. 

“I imagine so, Lord Stark. But well…”

“Out with it man!” 

“Right. My lord, many years ago I was called out of bed by my wife in the dead of night. She said she had a job for me to complete by word of your lady wife, and well, I’m only a woodsman and hunter Lord Stark, it’s not my place to question the orders of those of such high standing. So I got up, dressed, and went to the meeting place.” He stopped, and Ned started to develop a sinking feeling in his gut. 

“What happened there?” 

“I’d been given instructions to take someone to a trading vessel in the bay and see them off. I thought it would just be a merchant, or perhaps a guard that got too handsy with a serving maid and needed to disappear before being forced to take responsibility and embarrass the house. Instead… she had a little boy with her.” 

Ned felt like he’d been slapped in the face with those words, and he needed to brace himself against his desk or risk falling over. “Be very clear here.” He managed to get out as instances from his past started to fall into a sick sort of sense. 

Catelyn’s excuse that Jon had run away during his mission further North. In spite of everything he’d believed it. For all the love he’d tried to show his nephew, the stigma of being a bastard had weighed upon him, even as young as he was, and though it shamed him he’d never been able to curb Cat’s clear hatred of the lad. Children pick up on things like that and he’d believed the boy had just had enough without him there to defend the lad readily enough. However, that did nothing to explain why they never found him alive or dead in the surrounding area. Jon was small, and the forest was large and dark. They should have been able to discover some sign of his travel, or at the worst his frozen remains. 

Then there was the haunted way Catelyn would sometimes stare into the distance of the woods. He’d hoped it was a sign that she regretted her previous behavior towards his assumed bastard, a sign that she was truly the kind woman he’d married deep down inside. Now, with this new information… could it have been regret?

The hunter was speaking again. “Aye, my lord, I’ll be as clear as I can. You see, it happened like this. I was waiting at the assigned place and Lady Stark came out of the side of the castle with a little boy clutched to her hand. I’d seen the lad before of course when I came to Winterfell to drop off my pelts and I know him to have been your bastard. She told me to take him away to the ship that was waiting, but first…. she said some things to the boy.”

Eddard’s eyes flashed at those words, “What things?”

A Short Time Later

Ned entered his chambers, now cleaned completely from the birthing to find his lady wife nursing his new daughter. “Arya.” He muttered. “Her name is Arya.” He gestured to one of the maids and told her to take the little one to the nursery. Catelyn tried to object, but one stern look from him and the maid decided whose words carried more weight in the moment. A second later the man and wife were alone in the room again. 

She glared right at him, “What is the meaning of taking Arya from me now? Our first moments are crucial.”

“All the moments I had with Jon were crucial too.” 

Her mood disappeared at once. “W-Why would you bring that bastard up now?” 

It was in her eyes, Eddard could see it now that he was looking for it. Guilt. “I just had a visit from a huntsman of your acquaintance, Jonas Tunt.” Catelyn’s eyes turned down to her blankets. “Do you want to guess what he told me?” 

“Ned, you don’t understand-”

“You told him I didn’t love him!” Eddard roared, shocking his wife even further. Not once during their marriage had he ever raised his voice to her.

“You shouldn’t have loved him!” Catelyn hissed, forcing her anger to the surface. The red hot outrage her guilt had buried since her horrible act all those years ago. And rage in her opinion was infinitely better than guilt. “You should have done the right thing and cast him aside. Instead you shamed me, shamed our family, and shamed our son by having him raised beside your bastard. What is worse, you had them trained and educated together! We know what such things breed in the South. Bastards with such circumstances always grow to desire what their trueborn siblings have. You were raising the greatest threat to Robb under the same roof and you did not care. I did what was necessary to get rid of it and make sure it never came back!” 

“Y-You….” Ned could not believe what he was hearing. Some small part of him had been hoping she would deny it. “You’re a monster. How are you the same woman I married?” 

“I am that woman. I’m the woman that is defending her children from the threat her husband created and refused to deal with. You brought this on yourself.” 

“Perhaps I did.” Ned said quietly before squaring his shoulders. He’d decided what to do about this, what punishment to levy, almost immediately after hearing the tale, but he’d been waiting to hear Cat’s side. The fact she kept justifying her actions left no choice in the matter now. “Jon was not my bastard, Cat.” 

The red haired woman, previously full of spite and rage, slowly began to deflate at those words. “W-What?” 

“He was Lyanna’s son by Rhaegar Targaryan. I found her just after she gave birth to him and she lived only long enough to beg me to protect him. I knew how Robert would react to a trueborn child of Rhaegar and Lyanna. His refusal to punish Tywin Lannister’s men for their actions against Rhaenys and Aegon showed me that. So I brought him here and called him my bastard to protect him. He looked northern enough, with Lyanna’s features, that no one questioned it.”

“You didn’t tell me.” Cat whispered, horror growing clear across her features. “Why wouldn’t you tell me?” 

“Because when only one person knows the secret then only one needs to suffer its weight.  You’ve effectively killed my nephew, Cat, and there will be consequences for it.”

“Ned-”

“It’s Lord Stark now!” He roared, quieting her instantly. “Here is my judgment. As soon as you are able to travel you will be returned to Riverrun. You will take Sansa and officially you will be going to educate her in the ways of a Southern lady, but when she comes of age she will be sent back here and you will not. You will find yourself too enamored with your homeland to leave a second time and I, as your husband, will allow you to stay. As for Robb and Arya, you will never see them again. I trusted you with a child that for all you knew was my son, and you actively sent him away to what was probably his death. I am sending men to Braavos to look for him but after all this time I think we both know they will find no trace. This is your banishment, know that you earned it with your own dark deeds.”

Without another word he turned and left the chamber to the accompaniment of his wife’s screams. 

Flashback End

He was brought roughly back to the present as the chairs all around the table scraped against the rough stone beneath their feet, announcing the arrival of the other members of the Small Council. Lord Renly, the master of laws. Lord Stannis, present as the master of ships. Grand Maester Pycelle, representing the Citadel. Petyr Baelish as the master of coin. Finally, Varys, as the master of whispers. 

Eddard moved to start the meeting, but Varys raised a hand to halt him. “Apologies, Lord Hand, but I do believe the king will be joining us soon. We should wait on his presence.”

The Hand raised a brow, “Truly? He has not seen fit to join any previous meetings. Perhaps we’ll be able to convince him to halt this damned tournament idea of his.” Indeed they’d all been trying to talk him out of his outrageously expensive tournament to celebrate his friend’s ascension as hand of the king, but he had thus far proven to be uncooperative at the least. 

Varys looked uncharacteristically serious as he replied, “I imagine with the news we will be discussing today that the tournament will be the last thing on his mind. Indeed we can probably put it off indefinitely.”

Ned blinked with surprise at that statement, “What could possibly be so important as to take his mind off of such entertainment?” 

“Dragons, Ned.” Robert’s deep voice intoned from the doorway to the hall, causing all present to shoot to their feet and bow. “None of that now, we have things to discuss.” The voice carried with each step, and as the king came into focus the Hand almost gaped at the change in him. For the first time since he’d come North to recruit him Robert looked like an actual king. Sure he was still quite fat, but his tunic and breeches were clean, pressed, tailored, and accented well to match the crown atop his head. His eyes were clear of all redness associated with alcohol induced cloudiness and his great beard was cleaned, straightened, and pulled into a neat braid. 

As the big man took a seat at the head of the table Eddard was gratified to see that he was not the only one shocked by this sudden change. When the king waved his hand everyone took their own seats in turn. 

“Tell them what you told me, Varys.” He ordered, causing all eyes to turn at once to the eunuch. Who seemed to be gathering himself for a great announcement.   

“My lords, many years ago all of my little birds in the great city of Volantis went quiet. Since then I have tried many methods to get further voices to whisper where the former failed, and have come up dry. For all intents and purposes, the city had gone completely dark to us.”

“What does this matter to us, Varys?” Renly’s bored voice spoke up. 

“I was getting to that.” The bald man nodded to the speaker. “Just last night I received an urgent raven from one of my sources at the port. It was a message he in turn had received from my sources in Slaver’s bay. The army of Volantis has marched beyond its walls and taken Mantarys, Elyria, and Tolos. What is more, a great fleet has left its harbors and… sacked Astapor.”

“This… is certainly worrying news.” Eddard commented. “Such a change in the power structure in that part of the world could have vast repercussions. Especially should the Volantine army take Meereen and Yunkai. The Iron Bank would see its investments in the slave trade fail and would no doubt call in all of their outstanding debts to make up for the loss. With how much we owe them such an action could bankrupt the Seven Kingdoms.”

“That’s not the worst of it, Ned.” Robert rumbled while staring at his master of whispers, “Finish it, Varys.” 

“Yes, your grace. My agents that managed to flee from the carnage claim that the army was flying a variation of the three headed dragon banner, and that the man leading the naval force went under the name and title, Emperor Daemon Targaryen.”

Chapter Text

Standard Disclaimer: I own nothing in regards to Game of Thrones. All properties therein are those of their creators. I am only a writer working on my skills with worlds and characters that I love. 

Note : There seems to be some confusion about Lightbringer. The closest approximation is the weapon used in the cinematic Dragon Age 2 trailer, but the Knight King’s weapon from season eight is pretty close too. 

Chapter Four - The Emperor Is Known

Now it made sense, Robert’s new appearance and the return of his stately bearing. He had another Targaryen to focus on. This fact worried Eddard, as he was more than aware how far his former friend would go to put them all down. What terrified him more, however, was the name he had just heard. 

“Daemon Targaryen? Are you certain?” He asked the eunuch. It couldn’t be. It wasn’t possible. Lyanna had chosen that name for her son, but he’d never used it in the boy’s presence. At least… he didn’t think he had. 

“I am very sure, Lord Hand.” Varys answered. “That was the name provided.”

Taking control of the conversation, Renly said, “This is preposterous. There are no Targaryens left. This man is clearly a pretender using a famous name for his own ends.” 

Varys shook his head in the negative. “That may or may not be the case. However, he has the full backing of the Red Church and a massive army. In the end he is what he says he is. And to hear it told by my sources, he walks as if he were Aegon the Conqueror reborn.” 

Always the pragmatist, Stannis asked, “Why do you say the Red Church is backing him? They’ve not stepped into politics before like the priests of the Seven. Do you know his numbers or what his future plans are? Is he a threat to us at the moment?”

“You are straining the limited information that I have at this time, but I will say what I can and speculate where I must. The Red church was mentioned in the missive I received. In it they mentioned a red priest who referred to Daemon as Azor Ahai. To my own knowledge, that is the name of their prophesied chosen one. A man who would supposedly save the world from darkness. It seems they think this Daemon Targaryen is him. His exact number was not stated, but an estimate of tens of thousands was given. As to if he is a threat to us… I cannot say. I do not have enough information. Yet if I had to guess, I’d say he’ll be busy on the other side of the Narrow Sea for a while yet. He’s expanding his territory, but where that will end, who can say?”

Stannis muttered, “With a title of Emperor I’d say that expansion is planned for a large expanse at the least. We should alert our trading partners in Braavos.”

“Agreed.” Littlfinger stroked his mustache, “I’ll pull our investments on that side of the world as well.”

Ned stared at the weasely little man, “You invested the crown’s money in Slaver’s Bay?”

“Of course not. I invested it in the caravan’s that trade with and from Slaver’s Bay. Much safer.”

Robert’s fist on the table quieted them all. “We’re not talking about the most important thing here. There is a living, breathing, Targaryen with an army. We need to put him down before he does the same to us. I want the lords sent ravens to raise their banners. Stannis, we’ll need the fleet ready to mobilize them across the Narrow Sea.” 

None present would meet their liege’s eyes at those words, or confirm his orders, so it fell to Ned as the hand to explain why that wouldn’t be possible. “Robert, that can’t happen.”

Face turning red at that, Robert exclaimed, “I’m giving you an order-”

“An order that is impossible to carry out. Your lords are going to have no wish to send all of their forces to a distant land beyond the sea. Forcing them to do so will breed extreme discontent throughout your realm at a time when you cannot afford it. Furthermore, the Crown does not have the coin to pay to arm their forces, feed them, and transport them where you wish. Finally, we do not have the ships to move that many men, and landing them on foreign shores at all would be an act of war against any nation we enter, further depleting our numbers before even meeting the true enemy.”

“Grr.” The king growled as he bunched his hands into fists on the table. “Can we not borrow more coin from the Iron Bank?”

“No. They’ve made it clear we won’t be able to draw more before paying off what has already been leant. The alternative is borrowing from Tywin Lannister, but you’ve already taken enough to sell him a quarter of the realm!” By the end Ned was nearly yelling, he was so pissed by the state of the kingdom he’d fought for.

His friend only stared at him for a while before whispering, “Have things truly gotten that bad?”

Speaking up again, Littlefinger said, “Bad is merely a matter of perspective, King Robert. Tywin is a very forgiving and lenient lender.”

Robert stared the smaller man down and waved to a pair of guards at the door, “Remove him at once.” The guards came to grab the shocked looking man as the king added, “And make sure he presents an audit to me by the end of the day. If he can not account for every bit of the crown’s gold he has spent during his tenure as the Master of Coin he is to have his right hand removed.” 

Petyr Baelish squealed and protested his treatment all the way to the door before its closing cut out all noise. 

“Ned, I’ll need a new Master of Coin. Any man that trusts Tywin with anything cannot be allowed near our currency. On that note, Pycelle, leave now before I put my boot up your wrinkly old arse. And I do mean ‘leave’. Come nightfall if you’re still in my city I’ll have your head.” His words lit a fire under the supposedly feeble old man, as Grand Maester Pycelle practically shot out of the chamber after having seen how Baelish was handled. “By the fucking Seven, I spend a few years in my cups to deal with my grief and everything goes to hell. Well no longer.” 

The king rapped his knuckles hard on the wood of the table. “Varys, have all of your little birds focusing exclusively on the new dragon from now on. I want to know everything they can tell me.”

Bowing slightly, the eunuch said, “It will be done, my liege.”

“Renly, put a fire under the arses of the lords of the realm. I want all of their fighting men at their castles and training at least twice a month. Our forces need to be ready to fight at a moment’s notice. I don’t care if it takes men away from the fields for a few days at a time.”

“Of course, brother.”

“Stannis, I want the Royal Fleet to head to the Iron Islands and absorb every ship they have into our number.”

A hungry look entered the eldest Baratheon’s eyes as he asked, “Truly?”

“Yes. They’ve only kept their oaths of fealty to the letter, not the spirit, and I know they still raid our lands when they think no one is watching. We’ll use their vessels better. Once you have them, cripple their ability to ever raise up arms again, and then put the vessels to work. I’ll have greater naval patrols as well as an increase in trade to Braavos. If we cannot send forces to crush this Daemon bastard, then we can work to strengthen relations with our closest ally on his side of the sea. If we’re lucky, they’ll be able to tell us something useful soon.”

“Yes, brother.”

“I’ll be taking a firm hand in things from now on, can’t let them fall to ruin all over again. Ned, remove all the wine from the keep. I won’t be sleeping through another crisis.”

Suddenly hopeful that his friend was actually coming to his senses, Ned promised it would be done. The rest of the meeting carried on in the same vein with Robert getting back to grips with the country. Throughout though one thought kept going through Eddard’s mind: Daemon. Could it be?

When the meeting came to an end, he called Varys to hold up. When they were alone in the room, he said, “Any reports on Daemon Targaryen come to me first.”

With an expressionless look, the bald man asked, “Whyever for, Lord Stark?” 

“As the King’s Hand it is my job to verify these reports are actually worthy of his time. He’s so Targaryen obsessed that he’ll abandon the management of the kingdom again if given even the barest hint of a lead. Even if they are useless.”

The eunuch nodded, folded his hands into his sleeves, and bowed. “It will be done.”

“See to it.” The Lord of the North left the chamber, and Varys was left alone to consider this new turn of events. Stepping out onto the balcony he stared down at the city below and thought on how things had progressed. Unlike the Small Council, he knew for a fact that this Daemon character truly was a Targaryen in name and blood. And how did he know that? Because he’d had a spy in Winterfell from the moment Lord Stark had first acknowledged his ‘bastard’. The man had thought himself so clever, and to be fair he’d managed to fool Robert, but he couldn't do the same for everyone. 

Yes, Varys knew the honorable Ned Stark would never dishonor his wife by laying with another woman, ergo he physically could not have created a bastard. A healthy amount of digging provided him with the answer of where he’d gone when he’d procured him, and the fight he’d gotten into with the Sword of the Morning and his fellow kingsguard members. It hadn’t been too far of a leap to guess what they had been protecting in the Tower. 

Especially when he’d tracked down the Targaryen nursemaid that had helped deliver little Daemon. Stark had made a mistake in letting her live to tell the tale. A mistake he’d corrected after learning everything she knew. 

It was sheer dumb luck that that same agent had taken the initiative to follow Catelyn Stark into the woods that dark night so many years ago, and then boarded the same ship to Braavos. He’d seen no harm in the boy staying in the House of Black and White (and even he wasn’t foolish enough to try taking him away from there by force) so he’d left him to their wise care. Admittedly he’d not factored in the possibility of a Red Priestess doing what he could not, and for a long time he’d despaired after that bitch Melisandre had absconded with the future of the Seven Kingdoms. That idiot Viserys wasn’t worth the name he so often flouted, let alone the chance to rule. He much preferred a child with the values of Eddard Stark to take over. But now the young man had resurfaced, had a massive military force backing him, and by all accounts was hardline against slavery. Yes, he would do just fine. 

But that raised the question of how to prepare the way for him. Though he seemed to be doing better with a foe to focus on, Robert was wholly unsuited to keep leading the realm. Of course if he fell his monster of a son would be next in line and he made Maegor the Cruel look tame. So, how to remove that little monster and destabilize the current regime enough for young Daemon to have a fighting chance of reclaiming his homeland? Hm, perhaps it was time for the Queen’s infidelities and her children’s true parentage to come to light?

It would be unfortunate, as Robert was sure to fly into a rage and kill them all, which would no doubt cause Tywin to raise up arms against the Crown in retaliation, leading to the deaths of no doubt thousands of innocents, but it was all for the good of the realm. With a plan in place, he took his leave, already plotting the best way to spread the rumors about the ‘Royal Bastards’ that would eventually lead the king to the truth. 

Daemon

It had been a long road, Daemon thought, as he watched the supply carts moving away from Yunkai. His fleet had already sailed up the bay to block off Mereen from all naval trade and escape, leaving his ground forces to encircle the slaving city. Unsurprisingly, with the only avenue of help, Dothraki Khals and mercenaries, more likely to support Mereen instead of them, the ruling class had agreed to terms.

Unlike in the other cities, no slaves had been converted here to act for them on the inside, so the gates had remained closed. Now, Daemon could have taken the place regardless, but it would have been a timely effort of besieging them, and that would put more risk on his navy without him at Mereen. They could hold on their own indefinitely against their resistance, but if enough Dothraki were allowed to show up who knew what could happen? All the same, he couldn’t just leave them alone, or remain independent of his rule. It would send the wrong message. 

Sadly, during his daily meditation staring into the flames the answer had come to him. The gods had told him long ago that he would need to do great and terrible things to reach his destiny, and in this case it meant forcing this city to submit. No matter what. So when the ambassador’s of the ruling class came to him to ask what he wanted to leave (they were used to bribing attackers) he replied that he wanted every carrier pigeon and raven within their walls. 

When all the cages were all lined up before him, Missandei could only stare on in confusion. “Why did you ask for these of all things?”

“Interesting fact,” he answered, “it takes time for carrier birds to adjust to a new location to come back to. Right now, they’re all still tied to Yunkai.”

“What does that mean?”

For a moment, Daemon was silent. And then he asked, “Do you think me a monstrous person?”

The dark skinned girl was aghast at the very idea. “I could never think that of you!” 

“Even if I’m about to do something horrible?”

“No matter what!” She insisted. “Everything you do is for the greater good of this world. I know it as well as the rest of your followers.” 

“Hm. I hope so. What I’m about to do gives me no joy, but we can’t leave this city here, and a message needs to be sent to those that would defy the coming world order. I only regret those unfortunates inside the walls who did not ask for any of this, yet now must suffer for the mistakes of those above them.” All down the line, soldiers opened the cage doors and began tying strings to the birds’ legs.

“What is this, Daemon?”

“Watch and wait, it will all become clear soon.” As he spoke, Melisandre approached them on the hill and beheld the action of her son’s men. “An inspired idea, my son.” 

“We will see. Have the priests ready to bless the ground and the souls of the fallen. We at least will see them to a better afterlife for failing to grant them freedom in this one.”

“It will be done.” 

For a while nothing more was said as they watched the men work, until finally they stepped away from the carts, signifying their task was complete. 

“Send them home.” Harry ordered, and as one the men kicked the cages, sending the captured birds flying out into the night with a flurry of feathers trailing behind their path back to Yunkai. “May R’hllor bless and understand this necessity.” Daemon whispered. 

“He does, Daemon.” Melisandre placed a comforting hand on his shoulder before stepping back. The position and demands of command were high, and the young man she’d raised was more than enough to meet them. 

The birds were more than halfway back to the city by now, and Daemon raised his hand toward them as if in farewell. Then the flamelike markings extending to the back of his hands began to glow with crimson intensity, and the night did the same as the strings on all of those birds’ claws suddenly ignited. 

As they sped ever further back to the city of their origin, Missandei finally understood. Her savior could not take the city without incurring losses with his other forces, nor could he let a single bastion of slavery remain in the path of his army, so instead, he was going to destroy it. When the flock settled back into their homes, the strings caught on every surface they encountered, spreading the fire, destruction, and death everywhere in their wake. Within a matter of minutes the whole place seemed to be burning from a distance and shortly after the gates opened as the people began to flee. They were cut down at once by the Volantin cavalry; the former slave had not even noticed their absence from the camp. In short order the black work was done, and the former city of Yunkai was gone, destroyed down to the last life. 

Speaking up from his new place beside her, Daemon said, “A message needed to be sent. I will not negotiate, and I will not suffer resistance.”

“That message will be heard loud and clear.” She answered back, melding into his side. She was horrified by what she’d seen, but she did understand it, and she knew her man was going to need her tonight. As well as he pretended to be taking his decision, she knew him well enough to know how badly it had hurt to make it. 

“Come with me.” She took his hand and pulled him towards their tent.

He tried to resist, “I need to see to the handling of the bodies.”

“Your mother and her priests are already doing it. You must rest after today. It is a long march to Mereen and it wouldn’t do for the men to see you drooping in your saddle. Besides, could you really say no to a night with me?”

“Never.” He answered at once, following her with a lot more ease than before. 

Chapter Text

Standard Disclaimer : I own nothing in regards to Game of Thrones. All properties therein are those of their creators. I am only a writer working on my skills with worlds and characters that I love. 

Chapter Five - How The East Was Won

Braavos

Illyrio Mopatis ignored the strangled cries and choked gurgles coming from the other room and stared serenely down at the document in his hand. So, that was Varys' game then? Well, he was getting paid either way, and this way he wouldn’t have to watch the sweet girl carted off to a raging barbarian. 

Of course these thoughts were interrupted by the renewed gurgling and he just couldn’t take it anymore. “For the love of the gods, Friedman, just finish the bastard.” 

“Sorry sir,” a wizened voice called back from the other room, “He had a bit more strength than I gave him credit for, but he’s about tuckered out now, and…. There!” There was a sharp cracking sound and then silence. “Got him, sir. What do you want done with the body?” 

“The usual, Friedman, take it out at nightfall and toss it into the sewers. The rats will have done away with all traces of him by morning.”

“Will do, sir. Oh, pardon, I forgot to close the door.” The wood slammed closed, and the fat Braavosi picked the letter back up again. 

“So, Varys wants me to make an introduction for the girl. I can do that easily.” The addition about silencing her bratty braggart of a brother had been a surprise after how long he’d been asked to keep him alive, but he wasn’t complaining. Viscerys had been an entitled lout who never seemed to grasp the true circumstances of his exiled state, and he had made the serving staff miserable in the manse. What was worse, he’d made his sister miserable as well. 

Daenarys was a bright light in Illyrio’s home, and though he’d sell her without a second thought, that didn’t mean he disliked her. To see the boy constantly torment her for his own enjoyment had brought more than one scowl to his face over the years. The necessity of his existence had made them all look the other way though. 

However, now a new Targaryan had entered the field, and from what the letter dictated, he sounded quite fascinating and, at the very least, better than the pig fucker currently sitting the Iron Throne. It seemed his little cabal leader had elected for them to toss their eggs into the new basket. 

Standing up, the merchant wiped his robes clean of wrinkles and made his way to the residential area of his manse. A pair of girls from his staff were currently leaving the best rooms with a set of dirtied towels in their arms. “Is she inside?”

“Yes, Master Mopatis.” The one in the lead answered with a bow. “Mistress Daenerys has just finished her bath and is currently being dressed.”

“Then I will wait. Carry on with your duties.” The girls hurried off and ten minutes or so later the dressers left and he entered to find Danaerys Targaryen dressed in a simple blue gown as a final girl braided her hair. That was another difference between her and her brother. She never desired to dress as ostentatiously (and expensively) as he had.

“Mr. Mopatis.” The girl greeted him warmly. “Can I help you with something? Are you looking for my brother?” 

“No, dear girl. I come with important news. May I sit?”

“It is your home, do as you like.” 

Chuckling at the politeness displayed, Illyrio sat before her and explained, “I have found a perfect match for you.”

“Really? Did Viserys agree?”

“Viserys… has left.”

“I’m sorry?” The silver haired girl blinked at that statement. 

“I should clarify. ‘Left’ is the wrong word.” Forcing as much false compassion as he could into his voice to hide the delight he felt at the fucker’s death, Illyrio explained his cover story. “Daenerys you are going to want to brace yourself. Last night your brother disappeared from the manse. I learned the result just moments ago from the city guard. It seems he took your weekly stipend and went to the most prestigious brothel in Braavos. Sadly, it was not enough to pay for the services rendered. When the proprietor demanded he pay his due or send for someone who could, Viserys simply declared he was the ‘Blood of the Dragon’ and spit in the madam’s face. Sadly her guards took issue with that and removed his head. Braavos, as you know, takes a very dim view of those who do not pay their debts.”

Tears began to fall steadily from Daenerys face at this revelation, though to her credit, she maintained her queenly bearing with as much dignity and grace as she had been taught. Her face looked as still as stone. “I-I wish I could say that did not sound like my brother, yet it does. W-What has become of his body?”

“Burned to avoid disease.”

“He would have preferred that.” The princess smiled weakly. “So this match of yours?”

“Yes, it was agreed with your brother before his… incident. And now that he is gone it is even more imperative that we make it happen. You need the protection of a husband, and a Targaryen wife would secure him in more ways than even he knows. We will be leaving to go to him within the week.”

“What is his name?”

“Be at peace, young one, for we have learned you are not truly alone in this world. The husband we seek for you is also named Targaryen. Daemon Targaryen. 

Kings Landing

“Is this accurate?” Ned’s hands were shaking as he held the document that Lord Varys had procured for him. 

“Yes, my Lord Hand, I’ve had it verified.”

“Has anyone else seen it yet?”

“No, you instructed me to bring all further information on Daemon Targaryen’s actions to you first.” And how annoying that was. The eunuch had so many plans to keep track of and spending half of his day reporting to the Hand was not making them easier. 

Ned read over the information twice more before asking, “How old is it?”

“Given the travel time required to get here and safe travel from the event itself, it’s likely safe to assume two months.”

“Two months?” The Lord of the North slid back exhaustedly into his chair and dropped the paper on his table. Held within it was all the information Vary’s source in the East had managed to turn up about the burning of Yunkai. So many souls lost to the blaze. Could Jon truly have done this? Ned hoped not, but the greater part of him desired nothing more than for it to be true, for that would mean that the boy he had raised and loved as a son was still alive, and somewhere that he knew. 

Running his hands over his face he said, “Then it is likely by now that he has also conquered Mereen or is about to, meaning the entirety of Slaver’s Bay is now under his control.”

Varys agreed. “Until told otherwise it does seem safe to assume based on the large size of the host reported under Daemon’s command. He seems to have taken remarkably miniscule losses since beginning his campaign. Should I take this information to the king?”

“No, no, I’ll do it.” Ned waved off the bald man. “It’ll be better coming from me. Did your source give any indication where Daemon would go next or what he would do?”

“No, though if I had to guess, I’d assume he’d make his way North into the Dothraki Sea. He’s in the perfect place to launch an invasion, and if he could get the Dothraki on his side he’d have access to the best cavalry in the world.”

“How likely is that?”

“I’m honestly not sure. I’ve no contacts among the Khals.”

Standing from his seat, the Hand buckled on his swordbelt and said, “That is all, Varys.”

“Of course, Lord Stark.” and with that the eunuch bustled out of the room. He’d been releasing snippets of rumor regarding the king’s children in key places since his last piece of news and now that he had some time at last he could turn up the heat once more. It was impossible to know when the king would hear these rumors or if he already had, so it was important that he kept them coming until new events were set in motion. 

For his part, Ned went looking for the king, and found him in the training yard. It seemed that’s where he always was, swinging that massive hammer of his. It was all, in his words, to get in fighting shape for the new dragon bastard. The last couple months of intense training and lack of drink had done wonders for the ruler it seemed. To Ned’s practiced eye he had lost much of his fat and turned it into bulky muscle. He was still large, and slow, but deadly in the extreme. 

As a ruler he’d done more in that same time than in all the years prior of his reign. Under his orders Stannis had broken the Iron Fleet while many ships were still in the harbor and added their number to the royal forces. As a sign of thanks he had been granted the new title of grand admiral of the fleet, and the remains of the Iron Islands had been granted as a new domain of the North due to its proximity to the Stark lands. The Capes had received a vast influx of trade that had buffered the Northern coffers quite well. 

What’s more, the influence of Tywin Lannister had been near nullified within Kings Landing. Robert had personally challenged the lord commander of the city watch and all of his officers and when each had proved inadequate in his estimation they had been fired and replaced with those of his choice. It was a surprise to no one when the Red Keep had received several letters of complaint from the Old Lion of Casterly Rock. All of the officers fired had been lesser members of his own house. That, paired with the cleansing of the Small Council, meant the only Lannister influence left was the Crown’s debt to them, and that was swiftly being dealt with by the new merits of sea trade to Braavos. There was even talk of marrying the king’s son to the Sea Lord’s first daughter. 

The practice lasted for another twenty minutes, and knowing how angry his friend would be if he interrupted, Ned waited. When it was all over Robert waved him down and began wiping the sweat from his face and chest. 

“Ned! Perfect timing, I was planning on sending for you myself.”

“Really?” the Hand raised a brow. “Whatever for? I have news of my own but you’re the king so you go first.”

All pleasure and joviality faded from Robert’s face and he donned a fresh shirt before drawing his closest friend out of the training yard, through several hallways, and into the open space of the garden. Eddard couldn’t have failed to note the way his king searched in every direction of the clear space for listeners if he’d tried. 

“What’s this about, Robert?”

“I’ve heard some things recently, Ned. Vile, disgusting, things.”

“Then they probably aren’t worth listening to.”

The big man chuckled mirthlessly. “That was my thought as well, at first. But you see I kept hearing them, and then I started thinking about them, and then I started looking into them, and my mind is now in a frenzy. You’ve always been smarter than myself, Ned. I need to know I am not going insane here.”

Eddard looked his friend in the eye, “You are many things, Robert, but insane is not one of them. Still a little fat, maybe. Needlessly cruel in regards to the remaining Targaryens? I’ve made my feelings on that clear. But insane? No.”

“Hmph. Well say that again when I’m done explaining what I’ve figured out.” And so the king began his tale. He told of the whisperings in town on a walk about how the royal children seemed to look nothing like the king. How the Lannister blood must truly be stronger than the Baratheon after all. That alone might not have meant anything, but then had begun the rumors that the queen enjoyed far too much time alone with her brother to be proper. 

Now, he’d not taken that at face value. It would be foolish to do so, but he’d thought maybe the first option would explain it so he’d gone to check on a few of his bastards throughout the city. Philanderer he may be, but he watched where his spawn ended up. That had been where things had really started to get murky. 

“I saw one of my oldest in a blacksmith’s shop. Gendry was his name, tall, strong lad, Ned, just as I was at his age, and he had my face, eyes, and hair. In fact all of the children I visited had my face, eyes, and hair. But at that shop, the master smith told me that Jon Arryn had also been in to ask about Gendry. So I checked with his chamberlain, old fellow, knew him for years. He seemed surprised that anyone had even remembered his name.”

Coming up with the answer, Ned offered, “If I recall, Jon never officially made him his chamberlain. He was simply a friend and confident that he paid to keep around.”

“Aye that might be it. Regardless, he told me that Jon had been feverishly tracking down my bastards en masse those last months before he died, and that he had obsessed over the genealogical records of house Baratheon. He even gave me the sections that were most read.” Robert clapped his hands over his Hand’s shoulders and stared into his eyes to impart how serious he was. “Ned, the section he obsessed over was the physical descriptions of every Baratheon heir for the last three hundred years. Each one had the same features as me and my bastards. Joffrey, Tommen, and Myrcella do not match.”

Eddard’s hands were shaking and his eyes were huge as the implications of what he was hearing crashed through his mind. If this was true, and the king had no true heirs… but more importantly, if the queen was allowed to get away with this and something happened to Robert… His own news was far less dangerous than what he faced here and now. “Robert, you aren’t crazy. Everything you say lines up, but are you sure about this? Do you have the book? Are your bastards safe and able to be brought in as physical evidence?”

“Yes, yes, and better, I have servants of the castle willing to testify to all the strange times my wife and her brother were locked up in her room with no other witnesses or chaperones. They were only too happy to tell me about it when I asked, and seemed surprised that I never had before. By the Seven, Ned, I’ve missed so much in my grief.”

“Not anymore. Come on, we must assemble the Small Council, present the evidence, and summon the queen to trial and judgment before she catches wind of our investigation.”

“I already sent word before we came out out here. I figured if you called me crazy we could just call it an update meeting. Now though, well, it’s a good thing Stannis is back from his latest inspection of the fleet.

The Next Day

Cersei was having a lovely dream of the last time she’d had Jaime between her legs when she found herself roughly pulled out of bed by the bastle guard, forced into a rather drab dress artlessly pulled from her closet, and marched into the throne room where her husband sat on the Iron Throne with his warhammer over his knees. The members of the small council stood resolute before him, facing her.

“What is this about, husband?” She demanded to know, not liking at all that everyone gathered was no friend of hers. “I’ll have you know that I was dragged from my bed with a distinct lack of care for my wellbeing. I demand that the guards responsible be flogged.” When in doubt, attack. It seemed not to work however, as the king merely glared into her face with hate, and the Hand took a step forward to begin whatever nonsense this was. 

“Queen Cersei Baratheon, you are hereby charged with high treason, infidelity, and fraud in regards to the royal line.” 

The queen grew immensely pale at those words and her throat constricted so that only the barest hint of air could escape. It was impossible, no one could know. Jon Arryn had only suspected before his untimely end, and she was sure he’d not imparted his suspicions to anyone. This had to be a trick. Robert was trying to get rid of his debt to her father by disgracing her and forcing him to drop his owed dues in return for clearing this mess up. Yes! That was it! Facing her husband the queen proclaimed, “I take extreme umbridge at such a blatantly false allegation. I demand you have the Lord Hand’s tongue ripped out at the roots for uttering it before sending him back to the north as an example.”

For his part, Eddard was bracing himself. He knew this would be difficult, and it had taken every bit of persuasion he and the others on the council possessed to keep Robert from ordering the deaths of his Lannister bastards in his rage when they’d also corroborated his findings, but they’d been unable to make him promise the same for his wife. Cersei was not making it easy with this attitude.

Clearing his throat, the Hand said, “Your Grace, please be civil within this chamber. Your very life depends on this moment.” Pulling a satchel from the base of the throne, he retrieved the tome that had birthed Robert’s ire and opened it to the portion detailing Baratheon ancestral traits and those of their heirs. “We have here a historical record attesting to the fact that Baratheon features have never been beaten by those of families marrying into their line. Male or female, the results are always the same.”

Cersei scoffed, “A silly book? You cannot expect me to-”

Renly was apparently bored as he interrupted with, “Come off it, Lannister. We have all seen over a dozen of Robert's bastards retrieved from throughout the city. Do you want to know what they all looked like? Him. In every single case not a one looked like their mother. And you expect us to believe that your brood is the exception? And three times in a row? Hah!”

The queen was doing everything in her power not to shudder under so much scrutiny and hate. She knew she should have ordered the king’s bastards murdered in their cribs, but Jaime had talked her out of it. Mustering her courage she inquired, “And who, might I ask, am I expected to have sired my children with if not the king? I can attest easily that I have never left the Red Keep without an escort two score strong to witness where I go and who I am with.”

Now it was Stannis’ turn to speak. “Aye, that is true. However, that was no barrier for you when your paramour was within the castle walls the entire time.” The grand admiral of the royal fleet waved to the door guards across the floor and as one they rapped their steel gauntlets against the massive portal. A second later the doors swung open to reveal Ser Barristan Selmy and another member of the Kingsguard dragging a severely beaten Jaime Lannister between them with disgusted looks on their faces. It didn’t take long before they reached the base of the throne and dropped him like a sack of garbage.

“It does not escape our notice that the only features present on your children are those of your own family.” Stannis continued, noting as he did the way the queen’s left eye was beginning to twitch, “Furthermore, we have testimony from several servants about all the time the two of you spend in your quarters… alone. When confronted with these facts your brother refused to offer an adequate defense. Instead he drew his blade in the presence of the king, and his brothers of the Kingsguard reacted accordingly.” 

Eddard allowed the silence to build for several moments, hoping against hope that the Lannister Lady would fall to her knees, confess, and beg for forgiveness. Sadly, she did none of those things, and simply stared at her brother’s broken body with tears beginning to fall from her face. The sheer love and devotion was plain to see for all present. “My Lady, do you have anything to say in your own defense?”

Cersei visibly struggled with herself before seeming to regain some measure of control, pride, and condescension. Then she purposely strode forth and mounted the steps of the throne until she was but a body length away from the king. Had she gotten any closer, all gathered would have stepped in to restrain her. She had the look of one facing the inevitable, yet face it she did.

The golden woman glared through her tears at the dark eyed king and declared, “Near eighteen years. We’ve been married for near eighteen years, and believe it or not I actually did love you once. How could I not? You were the conquering hero. The king who grabbed a kingdom with the strength of his arm and hammer, and back then you were gallant, strong, and glorious. I actually thought you’d make a better husband than Rhaegar might have. All through our wedding I smiled ear to ear, I was queen and my king was everything I’d hoped for, but then we went to our marriage bed and you climbed on top of me, drunk, rutting, and you called me by ‘her’ name. You called me Lyanna .” 

Robert’s face grew even more stormy at these words, but still Cersei carried on. “Even then, I forced myself to keep loving you. It was a fluke I said, old wounds, I convinced myself. Everyone knew you’d gone to war to get her back, and it was only right that you’d mourn her still with how soon we’d been wed after you were crowned. With time you’d heal and realize that I was alive and ready for you, while she was dead and forever out of your reach. Except you never realized that, did you? I waited, all through the first years of our marriage I waited; all the way unto the death of our first child.” The king flinched at that reminder. “When we stood for his funeral I saw it in your eyes and truly understood. You mourned the loss of our son, but the only love present was for him. You cared not for my pain, or what it meant to have carried a life only to see it snuffed out mere moments after it took its first breaths. Your focus was well and truly only on the dead, and there it has forever stayed. So yes, I found another. I found someone truly worthy of my love, and who would return it in kind. Unlike you he was a real man of worth, honor, goodness, and our children have more right to this throne than yours ever will!” 

“Ragh!” Cersei’s words were cut off by the thump of a hammer strike that sent her body falling through the air before falling with the squelch of pierced skin. She’d landed atop a section of protruding blades that followed the throne to the floor. 

All of the gathered lords could only stare. None had expected the queen to push Robert so far. Yet in the end, it was his right as king to pass judgment, and the penalty for treason of this nature was death. 

Jaime moaned anew at the sight of his sister’s death, and Robert waved to Selmy. “Him next.”

“With pleasure, sir.” Barristan had many regrets in his life, but staining the honor of his cloak was not one of them. The idea of one of his sworn brothers dishonoring his own to such an extent…. He’d never told anyone, but he’d understood why the Kingslayer had murdered his former ruler, but to lay with one's own sister, and pass off his children as the royal heirs… there was no justification for that. In a single swipe the graying man drew his blade and sliced it clean through the golden haired man’s neck. He bled out on the floor within seconds. 

For a while all was silent before Ned rubbed his face tiredly and addressed his king once more. “Well, that is done, and the children will be dealt with as we agreed.”

“Will they?” Robert too was feeling the emotional drain of the day’s events and had reclaimed his seat on the throne, leaning his hammer against the arm. “It would be better for all if they were disposed of.”

“They are bastards, Robert, they cannot inherit.” Ned reasoned, hoping that his friend would not change his mind.

“They are bastards that the entirety of the realm has associated with royalty since their birth. We can disinherit them, but they are still dangerous.” He ran his hand over the arm of the throne and groaned, “Though I cannot say I am not fond of Tommen and Myrcella. Joffrey was always a sadistic little shit and I’m certainly glad the realm is free of him. You all still agree to their placement?”

The gathered lords of the Small Council offered their reaffirmed agreements. 

“Then so will it be. Joffrey will be made to forswear all rights and inheritance in public before being sent North to take the Black. Tommen will be disinherited of all lands, rights, and titles, but shall be moved to Braavos to apprentice to a teller at the Iron Bank. Myrcella will be married to a minor lordling in the North.” A small smile graced the king’s lips at that last. “She always did want a quiet life with a good man. Can you promise me that the man you choose will be a good one, Ned?”

“Aye, he will be. And sending her north in such a way will give us something to hold over Tywin. I can’t say if it will work, but if he cares about his granddaughter at all, he will not bring violence against us for our justice here this day.”

Stannis huffed at that statement. “You do not truly believe that, do you?”

“No, sadly. But no matter what happens, it is not the child’s fault. She at least deserves happiness. For his part, I am sure Tommen will be happy enough in Braavos as well. It was only Joffrey that could not be made to see reason.”

“That does sound like him.” Renly agreed. “So what’s next?”

Robert slammed his hammer head against the ground, “I’ll tell you. First things first. Stannis, you are my heir until such a time as I remarry and create a new one.”

“Understood, brother.” 

“Ned, I’m going to need another wife. I leave it to you to find a beneficial one. See to it she won’t be as duplicitous as the last.”

“You have my word.” 

“And send someone in to pull Cersei off my throne. She’s a bit unsightly at the moment.” 

Chapter Text

Standard Disclaimer: I own nothing in regards to Game of Thrones. All properties therein are those of their creators. I am only a writer working on my skills with worlds and characters that I love. 

Chapter Six - The Campaign Continues

Daemon smiled at the sight that greeted him on the harbor grounds of Mereen. He’d come running to the final slave city as soon as his last target had finished smoldering, but it seemed the rush had been unnecessary. His scouts confirmed there were no Dothraki warbands within several days ride, and thus the only thing the city had to defend itself had been the ten thousand Unsullied being maintained for sale inside and the thousand or so city watchmen. 

That had been the main reason that the embarrassment of a city had yet to fall. Those slaves were manning the walls and Thoros was not in a huge hurry to massacre their numbers without his emperor present. Thus it was that when the man himself had sailed into the harbor with his own branch of the army to join the others he knew exactly what to do. 

Mounting Edan and waiting patiently for Jaqen and his honor guard to arrive he drew Lightbringer from his saddle sheath and rested it easily over his knees. Once the others were gathered they rode out and around the inlet the city made its base and stopped before the main gate. It was easy to see the gathering of Unsullied positioned above the portcullis as well as those others spaced at even intervals around the walls. 

“A man wonders how an emperor will solve this problem.” Jaqen mused from his position on a very nondescript gray gelding. “These walls are thick, these soldiers strong and disciplined, and these slave masters clearly unwilling to negotiate.” It was true that not one message of parlay had been sent to Thoros since the siege had begun. “A man supposes he could enter inside and kill the leaders in their beds. Yet a man also knows his student could do this thing as well.” He leveled expectant eyes on the young emperor, and the man in kind smiled right back. 

“Perhaps. That would not have worked in Yunkai as there were too many noble merchant houses that made their living from slaves. They’d never have surrendered and I’d never be able to trust the city to do as they were told. Here though, well, I have something else in mind.” 

So saying, he took a firm grasp on the haft of his spear and raised it high, channeling his will from the scarred tattoos once more into the weapon he held, the only one in creation capable of withstanding such heat without melting, and a moment later it erupted in crimson light, illuminating the darkness and bathing the gathered defenders in the might of his brilliance. Then the screaming started. 

Daemon set the weapon back on the saddle before him and nudged Edan forward towards the gate with his defenders following warily to flank and surround him to block off any direct assaults to their ruler. 

“What was that?” Jaqen asked easily from beside him. 

“A simple solution to a big problem, old friend.” Daemon answered in the same level tone. “The Unsullied are some of the best soldiers in the world; a fact that is known far and wide. So how does one fight them without decimating their own forces in the process.”

“A man guesses you would buy them yourself?”

“Or convert them, and help them to realize that freedom is theirs to take with R’Hllor’s love and might in their hearts.”

“Ah, and as head of R’Hllor’s church, your will is his.”

“Exactly. My missionaries have been hard at work for years converting their commanders and squad leaders. The rest go where they tell them, but it is my hope they will come to understand their new freedom in time.” As he spoke they reached the portcullis gate, but instead of blocking their way the obstruction rose with the sound of creaking chains and the great doors soon followed, allowing their grand entrance to a street flanked on both sides by an honor guard of Unsullied warriors slamming their spears to their shields with respect. 

At their head was a bald young man, perhaps Daemon’s age, knelt in the middle of the street with his helm removed. He stood once more when the emperor stopped before him. “You lead these men, sir?”

The former slave nodded. “This one is named Gray Worm, Your Holiness. As your missionaries suggested, one leader was selected amongst the officers of the Unsullied to represent us in your glorious presence. This one was the chosen.”

For a moment the term of address surprised him, but Daemon supposed he didn’t mind it. He was the head of his church after all. “Excellent. What is the situation, Gray Worm?”

“The city watch has been most defeated but a select few are currently defending the Masters in the Great Pyramid.” The soldier reported as he redonned his helmet and turned so that the newcomers might walk with him as he talked, his soldiers falling in around them as a second line of defense for the group. “At your signal all of the wall defenders left their posts and opened the gates for your own forces to invade, and the Unsullied moved to cut off all other avenues of escape from the pyramid, sealing the Masters inside. They will face us at a severe numerical disadvantage, or they will starve behind the fortifications.”

“And the civilians?”

“As you ordered they have been untouched, and their doors have been barred to prevent looting and rape.”

“You have done well, Gray Worm.”

“This one lives to serve R’Hllor’s glory. As do my brothers.” As he spoke, the man slid a band of leather onto his right vambrace an action repeated by each of his men. The new articles each displayed an image of a living flame. “The Unsullied are yours now.”

“No, Gray Worm. The Unsullied were enslaved, brutalized, mutilated, and abused for the wealth and merit of others. That is no longer what you are. I proclaim you now to be the Army of Light. R’Hllor’s chosen warriors.” He knew his words had taken heart when he saw the way the former slaves’ backs straightened just that slight bit more, and how their pace seemed to resound with faith and pride. 

Things had proceeded quickly from there. The citywide siege had constricted itself to just the pyramid, and within two days the masters were sending out representatives to beg for terms and mercy. The fools had chosen their hiding place because it was the most structurally secure and defensible position in the city, however they’d not seriously considered how long they might be forced to reside inside and their supplies were quickly running out. Feasting despite one's circumstance is never a good way to make food last for any length of time. 

The Masters clearly thought even with the sacking of their city the situation would turn out much like their other ransom attacks and they could just pay the enemy force to leave. They’d been mistaken, and the moment the doors had opened to allow their messengers to exit, the Unsullied had charged in and taken control of the situation. The masters had still held an advantageous position inside however with narrow walls and their guards ahead of them. That was until the men they’d hired began to turn on each other, slicing throats and limbs respectively until a total of eight men and women remained, holding the slavers at sword point for the newly christened Army of Light to take into custody. 

When those eight had been brought to Daemon’s presence their helms were removed and they dropped to their knees. The one at their head was a dark blond haired man with a clean cut beard and green eyes. At his side was a very tall and muscular woman with dusky hued eyes and jaggedly cut hair. 

The emperor took one look at the man before dismounting and pulling him into a manly hug. “Ah, bless R'Hllor, I am glad you are alive, Asher.”

“As am I my friend.” Asher Forrestor laughed as he returned the embrace. “Those masters got very paranoid toward the end, but their own greed and desire for swords at their backs prevailed over common sense and caution.” 

Several years prior the man’s mercenary company had swung by Volantis looking for work. Daemon had been curious about the newcomers and quickly recognized a fellow Westerosi amongst their ranks. He’d offered to buy the man a drink, heard his tale of woe, and offered a shoulder to cry on when he’d gotten overly emotional after one too many ales. The next day when he was sober the head of the Red Church had offered him a position in his personal guard, promising him a chance to eventually return home and see his beloved Gwyn again. Needless to say, Asher had agreed and it wasn’t long before he started working in different cities as his employer and friend’s embedded agent. Of course Beskha had insisted on accompanying him and he’d been glad for the help. 

Melisandre had been happy to see the additions as the moment their faces were revealed to her she’d recognized them from her vision. They’d been standing with her son at the end.

Back in the present, Daemon watched as the Masters were beheaded on the beach of the harbor. He’d given the slaves of the city the right to do the deed and it was always a joy to him to see people take their first steps toward true freedom and the breaking of their chains. 

The crunching of sand announced a newcomer to the show and when he turned in his saddle he saw his mother walking up to his side. “Where is Jaqen?”

“Hunting down any Masters that escaped the city before the siege closed them in.”

“Thoros?” 

“Making sure the soldiers aren’t getting too rowdy and preparing them to keep marching.”

The woman nodded. “Slaver’s Bay has been your goal for many years, but you haven’t said what will be next?”

Daemon smiled conspiratorially at the red haired woman and answered, “That should be obvious, mother. I currently wield what stands to be the best, and largest, army in the world. My navy is top tier as well. What does that leave me to find?” The woman’s gasp told him she’d figured it out. “That’s right. I believe the emperor of the world deserves the greatest cavalry force in the world as well.” 

Kings Landing

Small Council Chambers

“Alright then.” Robert boomed from his seat at the head of the table. “How are things progressing?” 

Stannis shuffled a few papers and read off the numbers listed before saying, “The Iron Fleet has been successfully incorporated into the Royal Navy, and with them we have started to increase trade accordingly and make some general progress on actually paying off our massive debt to the Iron Bank.”

“And are they ready for a war footing?”

Stannis huffed out a noise of annoyance and responded, “Yes and no. Yes, the sailors are gaining great experience working on the sea so if they had to fight they very well could, however our activity is focused primarily on shipping of goods at the moment. It is not as if the men are taking on pirates on a daily basis, and we cannot afford to keep ships locked into port for training exercises and drills. Our economy would not allow it.”

“So a mixed bag of experience.” Robert nodded. “Keep doing what you can in the meantime. Perhaps rotate the sailing crews and train those that remain on smaller skiffs in the bays as a coastal defense force. That way at any time we have crews learning any and all required skills to fall back on.”

“It will be done.” 

“Perfect. Renly, how is Tywin handling the loss of his daughter and any chance of his family getting near the throne?”

The youngest Baratheon scowled at the thought of the old war horse. “He has turned away all of our messengers and ignored every raven demanding he disarm his men. What is more, our spies show he has called the banners of his lands into readiness and begun gathering forces around his keep in Lannisport. I think we can expect a call in of our debts to him soon followed by a declaration of rebellion and war afterward using our refusal to pay as justification.”

“He cannot possibly expect us to pay him anything before such a conflict?” Robert thundered. “I don’t doubt for a second he plans to attack no matter what we do. We’d be funding our own rebellion!”

From his position at his own seat Eddard ran a hand through the long length of his beard. He’d begun growing it out since the death of Cersei, the stress of his job negating his need to stay well trimmed. “We might not have a choice, Robert. Every lord in the realm knows that the crown owes gold to Tywin. If you refuse to pay the amount he is legally owed when he calls it in and we are not currently in a state of open war, which is his right, then both your honor and willingness to honor your word, will come into question. You will need to weigh your options here and decide which is worse. Funding a coming conflict, or losing all respect amongst your remaining lords.”

The king stewed on this information for a while before turning to his new master of coin. “If we lose their respect then we won’t be able to count on their support if war actually starts. Fuck. Lord Tarly, could we survive a bulk payment to that cowardly lion?”

The balding, stocky, lord of Horn Hill had been chosen personally by Robert to take up the position of the Master of Coin for three reasons. First, he was staunchly against the idea of Targaryen rule. Second, he was a career soldier with decades of military experience, and with the prospect of war with the growing power of a Targaryen emperor on the horizon his experience would be invaluable. Third, he was a notoriously thrifty spender whose house finances were beyond reproach. This combination would make him the perfect man to curb his king’s self admitted indulgences. 

“With the new income from our trading agreements with Braavos we could pay the bulk sum, however it would severely restrict our ready cash after the fact considering our current need to pay the interest on the Iron Bank’s loans. We’d not be able to offer collateral to borrow anything else for quite some time.”

“Could you pay for a military force of our own with what is left?”

“...Technically yes.” Tarly looked severely uncomfortable for a moment before explaining, “My liege, payment is not as big a problem as feeding the men we gather. I think we all know that armed conflict is unavoidable now with the Lannisters, but the question becomes who will stand with the old lion? Highgarden is the biggest supplier of fruits and grain in Westeros, and they have never been silent in regard to how much they supported the Targaryens, nor how much they hate you personally for usurping their throne. Aye they bent the knee to you, but they are not content there. There is every possibility of Tywin gaining their military, agricultural, and economic support if he promises them your head and a position closer to the throne than what they currently possess.”

“You think they’d back placing him on the throne? The entire realm knows my children are illegitimate so he can’t back Joffrey, even if he could take him off the bloody wall. Yes he’ll claim vengeance for his daughter, but all know his true desire for personal power.”

Tarly tapped his fingers on the desk, a habit they’d all seen him adopt more than once when he was choosing his words carefully. “I do not believe they will support him personally as king. Rather, I believe they would support him to dethrone you, then turn on him and take control of the throne to give it to this new Targaryen across the sea. They have always supported that family’s rule and been well rewarded for their loyalty. Why should they expect anything less now?”

“You do not think they would try to put Loras on the throne?” Renly asked in a tone that had Eddard frowning.

“Not at all.” The Lord of Horn Hill shook his head in the negative. “They’ve had these years of relative peace to see how hard it is for a ruler with no clear connection to the legal bloodline to rule the masses and would no doubt realize it’ll be harder with a second usurper to the crown. No, they’ll want to offer the throne and their daughter to Daemon Targaryen and rule beside or through him.” 

That statement earned a great deal of disquiet from all gathered. Each could see the logic brought forth for that argument. 

“What can be done?” Robert finally asked, twisting his braided beard through restless fingers. “Could I offer my own hand to their daughter? I am in need of a new queen and such a match could secure the Tyrells while also earning a fine dowry to add to the treasury.”

Clearing his throat and drawing attention to himself for the first time, Varys added his own two sense. (He needed to dissuade them from such a match right away). “I am afraid my little birds have mentioned the Tyrells' particular hatred for you personally, my liege, on many an occasion. Your personage is far too despicable for them to ever subject the Flower of Highgarden to. Yes, I have it on good authority how well loved by her family Margaery is, and they’ll not give her to someone who she will not want.” 

“Shit.” The king’s declaration was a sentiment shared by all.

“What if I were to marry the girl?” Renly offered with a shifty look in his eyes. “Brother, you currently have no heir, so if you were to proclaim me in that role to the kingdom and I took her as my wife that would put their family in direct succession, and with you already having sat the throne for so long, the eventual transfer of power would be easy.”

Stannis’ fist slamming onto the table put an immediate halt to that idea. “Do you forget, Renly, that I am already next in line, and that I have a perfectly healthy daughter. Why not marry her to Loras if you wish to pair off an heir?”

The looks of pure hatred being shared between his brothers had Robert more than a little unnerved. Had things really gotten that bad between them all? How had he missed it all this time? Not for the first time he cursed the weakness within himself that sent him spiraling into such a deep hole of grief. “Silence, both of you. Renly, Loras’ proclivities as well as your own are well known. Furthermore, so is your… relationship.” At his youngest brother’s shocked look he explained, “The two of you have hardly ever been discreet, no matter what you think. Even I picked up on it. Honestly you are too close to the Tyrells to offer an unbiased opinion so shut up.”

Turning to Stannis he added, “Your idea has merit and we will consider it.” The admiral nodded, only the slight uncrinkling of his brow showing that he was pleased by the result. 

Addressing the council at large again the king asked, “What else could we do?”

“Aside from a direct line to the throne, practically nothing.” Stannis growled. “Those cunts wouldn’t join us willingly if we gave them a mountain of gold otherwise.”

“Then perhaps we should think about giving them something to stay neutral instead.” Eddard mused, earning silence once more. “If they will not support us, then we make sure they will not support Tywin. We need something of value to offer to keep them out of the war entirely. Something they cannot resist. Are there any ideas in that regard? Lands, titles, shipping rights?” 

Varys felt his fingers begin to twitch in anticipation. This was perfect, it was just the opening he’d been hoping for. For a while now he’d been trying to figure out the best way to get Stark out of his current position so that he could use him to his own ends and now the opportunity was nigh. Sure Daemon Targaryen was actively conquering the East, and they could assume he would make his way here eventually, but so far that had not been proven as fact. No open declarations had been heard about what his end goals actually were after all.

He easily sidled up to the table, and with a bit of sleight of hand slid a simple note under the fist Stark held clenched on its top. Then as the man curiously moved said hand to examine what was written on the top, the eunuch cleared his throat to gather the other’s attention. “If there is one thing I know about Mace Tyrell, it is his near legendary belief in his own worth. He thinks his lands are the best in the world and if he wants more he won’t consider the cost of buying them a great issue. As far as titles go, he’s already a Warden of the realm so he currently holds one of the highest offices available. As for shipping rights, well, the man already has the greatest supply of food in our realm and trades to all of its corners. We cannot offer any better terms without making him eight times richer than Tywin and just as deadly as a result. But there is one thing I know for a fact he has desired for many years. An appointment he’s felt himself, in his bloated opinion of his value, deserving of since the fall of the Targaryen dynasty.” The Master of Whispers looked both Eddard and Robert dead in the eyes before announcing, “The position of Hand of the King.”

Varys waited for the expected roars of indignation and denial to wain before explaining, “It’s the most ideal circumstance and it is the one thing that could tempt Mace that he would accept no matter what his mother would counsel him against. His own greed for once would trump her caution. His presence on the Small Council would morally obligate himself to support our side with food since he’d have an avid interest in keeping his seat, something only possible if we win. Furthermore, this would free up Lord Stark to travel back North, mustering the Riverlands and his own troops as he does. No one here can deny his abilities as a field general and it would benefit us all to have him ready to lead those men in the immediate future rather than languishing here.” 

No one spoke for a long time as they considered those words. Then Lord Stark surprised them all by commenting, “The eunuch is right.”

“Ned,” Robert tried to stop him, “I need you here and-”

“You can always reappoint me later, Robert, but right now we need to look at the big picture. We cannot just assume that a marriage to Stannis’ daughter will be agreed to. If we can be sure that Mace will accept my position then that is a far better choice. Things aren’t like before, my friend. You are in control of yourself, you have good and trustworthy advisors around you, you do not need me here as badly as you did before. You need me out there far more. As your Hand I fully endorse this option.”

Robert seemed about to argue further, but then he took a deep breath and let it out slowly before addressing the others once more. “What do you all think about this?” The others voiced their avid agreement while also reassuring him that they were capable of keeping control of Mace while he was in King’s Landing. “Fine then. Ned, you will continue as my Hand for now, but if Mace Tyrell accepts the position you will vacate the tower and make your way back to the north, readying the banners of the Riverlands and the North as you do. Do you accept these orders?”

“I do.”

“Then so shall it be.” The big man stood up slowly from his table. “If that is everything, then-”

Randall Tarly raised a hand to interrupt his king, “Apologies, your majesty, but there is one more item of business. The Sealord of Braavos has become very concerned that the Targaryen Emperor might set his sights on his lands and has sent me a message… an offer, to add another layer of defense for his people and ours.”

“What sort of offer?”

“Marriage, my liege. He wishes to marry to you his eldest daughter.”

Robert blinked, “He can’t seriously think that is a good deal. The office of the Sealord is not hereditary, my family would not gain his chair or even a chance of acquiring it.”

Tarly smiled, “No, but they would gain his wealth upon his death since he has no other children. I have it on good terms that the Sealord is the richest man in Braavos and the girl’s dowry is… impressive.”

Now it was Robert’s turn to smile. “Tell me more.”

An hour later the Council ended for the day and Varys found himself bodily shoved into an empty hall by the soon to be former Lord Hand. “What is this!?!” Eddard hissed as he shoved the note that he had been slid into the eunuch's hands. 

Varys only barely held his smirk at bay. The missive had worked just as expected. “It is exactly what it says. I have learned where Daemon Targaryen is and where he is going. Or would you prefer I called him Jon Snow?”

Stark grew incredibly pale at those words. “What in the seven hells are you-”

“Lord Stark, please do not treat me like a fool.” the bald man interrupted, “We both know that I am the farthest thing from one. Did you think you could keep Lyanna’s child in your home without me finding out about it? Of course I knew about him, and yes I can confirm that he is in fact Daemon Targaryen. I’ve tracked his progress more than enough to be sure.” 

Ned’s hand slowly wrapped around the handle of the knife at his waist. “No, you are not a fool. Which makes me very confused here, because killing you now seems the only way to protect my nephew.”

Vary’s nodded, “Indeed, that would silence the secret as I am most likely the only man alive in Westeros other than yourself who has figured it out, but killing me would also remove his biggest supporter in the realm.”

“What?”

“Don’t be the fool you insinuated I was before, Lord Stark. Everything I have ever done has been for the good of the realm and the people in it. Aegon was mad and would have seen this entire city burn, Robert is a drunken whoremonger more concerned with his bloodfeud than those who rely on him for safety and strong leadership. But Daemon, now he is a man that could actually lead the smallfolk as they deserve. I have learned a great deal more than I’ve revealed, and everything that comes to me speaks of a man of great conviction, compassion, and honor. What is more, he has the army and means to make a serious attempt at reclaiming his family’s throne. Especially if the Lannisters cause enough destabilization to clear the way for him.”

“Are you saying you put these events into motion?” Ned’s eyes grew wide, “You caused those rumors to reach Robert’s ears about Cersei!” 

“I admit nothing, Lord Stark, but wouldn’t you have wanted him to know the truth, regardless of the circumstances of how he found out? And wasn’t Tywin’s response inevitable once the truth came out?”

“Yes.” Ned finally hissed out, forcing his fingers to loosen. “But that doesn’t explain why you would give me this note.”

“It’s quite simple really.” Varys smiled serenely, as if he had not a care in the world. “After you gather the Riverlands and the North together you will have one of the largest standing forces in the realm under your command. The choices you make will have a great impact on the people who live here, so you should have all the facts at your disposal. Honestly when the boy comes back to these shores I’m curious if you will support him as your family, or Robert as the brother of you heart.”

Finally Eddard lost his control and slid the knife free, pressing it flush to the spy master’s throat. “Just fucking tell me.”

“Easy now, I planned to do so from the start. Currently your nephew is securing Mereen with his own leaders and getting ready to enter the Dohraki Sea. My sources say he plans to bring the Khals under his banner. Afterward he’s likely to march on Qohor before moving north to Braavos. I imagine any agents of yours starting in Braavos would find him if they backtracked the path he would most likely take. Now, what you do with that information is entirely up to you.” When the knife didn’t move he added, “you haven’t made up your mind who to support yet, I can see that, and you know that if Daemon crosses the Narrow Sea he is going to need me. So either let me go or make your choice and kill me now. Decide.” The knife fell away. “Perfect. Have a good day, Lord Stark.” And so saying, the Master of Whispers took his leave.

Chapter Text

Standard Disclaimer : I own nothing in regards to Game of Thrones. All properties therein are those of their creators. I am only a writer working on my skills with worlds and characters that I love. 

Chapter Seven - The Cavalry

Lannisport

Tyrion watched the citizens below buzzing around outside his inn window and sighed. His home had been in a constant flurry of activity ever since his father had called the banners together, and true enough he’d sent him where he could not be seen by the gathered nobles, out of Casterly Rock and down into the dredges of the town below. It just wouldn’t do to have his generals suffer the sight of a dwarf after all. They might start getting radical ideas, like laughing in the Old Lion’s presence. 

That aside, his… distance away from the center of Lannister / Westerland patriotism had given the dwarf a sense of perspective and a chance to view things from another angle. A wiser angle. One that his father would never dream of. Yes, he knew of what had become of his sister and his brother, which meant that he could not in good conscience continue to serve the crown. However, did that mean he could serve whatever puppet his father would put on the throne after the Stag was deposed instead? Absolutely not. Luckily there was always the third option; finding a new ruler to offer his considerable mind to. One that would actually appreciate the great mind and skill he could bring to bear for them. 

The Spider and Littlefinger were not the only ones to wield a considerable spy network out in the world and his own sources had passed along much fascinating information about the new Dragon in the East; and the more he heard the more fascinated he became. Perhaps it was time for the Lion to serve the Dragon once more? It was with those thoughts that he finished counting off the coinage in his forty-fifth leather sack before tossing it into the chest with the others and slamming the lid closed with a satisfying clunk. Inside was all the gold he’d managed to siphon from his father over the years to use for his own gain. The fool had fallen into the trap of believing he used it all for tens of whores every day. Ha! He only needed one at a time, thank you very much. He was a gentleman after all and preferred to take his time with the pleasures of the flesh. The excess gold had gone on to fund his own endeavors including this one. 

Yes, he would cross the Narrow Sea. In fact he already had a boat waiting for him in the harbor. He would find Daemon Targaryen; after all, a King needed a clever Hand at his side. And from that position he would bring ruin to both his bastard of a father, and the monster that had ordered the death of his siblings. Oh yes, revenge would indeed be sweet. His ship left within the hour. 

Riverrun  

Ned met the Blackfish at the gates to the Riverland’s capitol keep and gave the order to muster his men and call in all the banners. The older man had gone more than a bit gray since he had last seen him, and he was understandably stiff with him, but Bryndon Tully had more years as a soldier than even himself and showed it in his professionalism as he guided the Warden of the North inside the fortress and then left to relay the orders to others. 

Meanwhile, the Lord of the North made his way inside the keep proper. He had an even more troublesome meeting to attend and it wouldn’t do to put it off any longer. As Septa Mordane used to tell him as a boy: it was better to remove a scabbed bandage quickly than let it fester. 

Catelyn was exactly where he expected her to be, perched in a chair on a balcony overlooking the town down below. There was a book on the table beside her and a set of needles in her fingers delving into the needlework creation in her hands. Her formerly red hair had more gray than he expected but her face was still as deeply beautiful as he remembered. In spite of everything that had happened between them, the sight of her called to a hole inside of him on a deep and personal level. It made him sick that he hadn’t divested his heart yet of the hold she had on it. 

“Catelyn Tully.” His words broke her from whatever musings were on her mind and he stated firmly before she could get a word in, “I have come for my daughter. Please bring her to me in the solar so that I might lead her to the North. It’s time she began to understand her duties there.”

“N-Ned-”

“You no longer have the right to make use of that name. I am Lord Stark to you. Remember that. Now, I have granted you several years to train my daughter in the ways of a lady and I would have her returned now that tensions are indeed rising.” He turned to leave but Cat’s voice stopped him short at the door.

“Is that it, then? After all these years those are the only words you hold for your wife? Have I not suffered enough? Have I not yet paid enough for my mistakes?”

Not turning back he answered, “There are many more words I could utter here, but they would only be full of barbs. Barbs you yourself have cultivated and caused to wrap around my heart. You have broken me, Cat. The Mad King killing my father and brother couldn’t stop me, whole fields of enemy soldiers barely slowed me down, but you managed to do what all of them couldn’t. Shattered me into pieces. And only the duty I hold to the North, my children, and the realm keep me moving forward now.”

“And you cannot do that still and forgive me at the same time? I have endured enough already by staying this far removed from my sons and Arya all this time!”

“You have not suffered nearly enough.” He snarled right back at her. “Even now you don’t seem to understand what you have taken from me, and that is the true crux of the matter. There is no true guilt inside you, only the loss you feel for losing your own chance to raise your children. This is a just punishment and one that will continue. Someday I am sure you will finally understand that it is one you brought on yourself.” 

Not waiting to hear anymore, the Warden of the North made his way to the solar of Edmure Tully and a short time later the door opened to admit a young red haired girl in a green dress. She stood demurely with head bowed before kneeling into a curtsy and greeting him with a, “Lord Father.” 

“Rise, Sansa. Tell me, how have your lessons progressed?”

“Mother says I have been an ideal student.”

“That is good to hear. I have a task for you to undertake soon and to complete it we will be leaving within the hour. Have your bags packed with only what you can carry. The rest will be sent for later.”

“Where are we going, Father?”

“Not we. There are other requirements on my time and presence and I have a task that I can only entrust to family. Your brother cannot leave Winterfell when he might someday need to rule it. Your sister is yet too young, no matter how much she would argue otherwise. You, however, have been trained in diplomacy. I have it on good terms from Edmure that you have picked up on his lessons in spades.”

Sansa blushed at both the praise and the fact of having been found out. Her mother had been dead set against her learning anything other than how to run a home or be a perfect Southern Lady, and to be honest she enjoyed those things a great deal. However, her grandfather had wanted his granddaughter to know how to ‘survive’ in the South, and had thus informed her of the true nature of the Game of Thrones and how to thrive within it. “I am… passable in it.”

“That is good enough.” Eddard grinned. “You will be going to visit family, in a sense, but your mission will not be without peril, so I am sending a personal guard with you led by my master at arms.”

“What will be my task?”

“Well, we can discuss it on the road.” Eddard decided. “Less ears that way.” 

Highgarden

Olenna read through the missive once more before slamming it on the table in her office with enough force to make her son jump in his chair. Beside him his wife merely stared on curiously and Margaery gave off a knowing look. She of course had also read the missive. “This reeks of the Spider’s influence. There is no way the King thought to appoint Mace as his Hand on his own.”

“Uh, mother, perhaps the King has merely come to his senses at last as to the quality of my person?” When faced with the knowledge filled glare of his mother, the rotund Lord sitting on the other side of her desk visibly shrank back into his chair and spoke no more. 

“Now that we remember who is who here, let us look back into this.” The matriarch of the family declared officiously. “An offer to become Hand just before war inevitably comes about? This is a perfect political move.” By the end of the statement she was nearly growling. Then her eyes shot to those of her granddaughter. “This does however free us up to accelerate plans in the East.” 

The girl’s eyes grew wide. “Truly, grandmother?”

“Yes. We will leverage this offer to stay neutral in the war, saving our soldiers and resources for the future. A future that you will bring us.” The old woman unrolled a map across her desk and pointed to a specific place between Braavos and the Dothraki sea. “Those fools in King’s Landing no doubt think the young Targaryen will push straight through to Braavos in a mad dash for immediate conquest, but I do not think he is that dumb. No, he will not waste the chance to make use of his current position and gain Dothraki cavalry while he’s so close to their hub city of Vaes Dothrak. So that gives us some time to work with in transit.” She tapped the place she’d indicated for emphasis, “This will be the best location to meet him by my estimations.”

“And then I will make him mine.” Margaery was almost giggling at the thought. All her life she’d dreamed of being queen and now it was looking like it would actually happen. And what was better, the man her grandmother intended for her to woo was already an accomplished ruler and general whose very name was already starting to make the realm tremble. It was enough to make her tremble along with them, if for altogether different reasons. 

“Aye, to do so would make you queen when he eventually conquers this land as well as put our family at the pinnacle of the new political order that is sure to follow. I will travel with you to handle any negotiations. Alerie, you have a decent enough head on your shoulders so I trust you to look after Highgarden itself while your husband takes over his new position as the Hand. If all goes well the Lion and Stag will wipe each other out just in time for the Dragon and the Rose to sweep in to take over what remains.”

King’s Landing

Robert sat alone in his solar and chuckled happily to himself as he read over the unrolled scroll in his hand for the third time. The fastest ravens in the castle had carried missives to his fastest sea vessels, and as such correspondence had been transferred between his keep and Braavos in record time. Thus it was that the offers and preparations had been established well beyond the estimates of his immediate advisors and now a final decision had been made. 

Soon enough he’d be able to announce to his Small Council that he was indeed soon to be married, and married to a woman with a dowry large enough to pay off all of the throne's debt to the Iron Bank in one fell swoop. That knowledge almost made the King eager for Tywin to finally declare war. He couldn’t wait to see how the Old Lion liked waging a war against a foe on equal terms for once. 

The Dothraki Sea

Some Time Later

It had been a slow march through the endless tall grass of the Dothraki Sea, but the army was steadily making its way forth.  The navy, after leaving a force to guard the waters around Slaver’s Bay, had returned to Volantis to resupply and was going to meet them back in Myr before the next great push forward. It made no sense to keep that many men in the field when they weren’t immediately necessary. They only served as more mouths to feed in the meanwhile. 

The exact location of Vaes Dothrak was open to interpretation as no two maps placed it in the same spot. Likely that had to do with roving Khalasars cutting the cartographers down before they could get close enough to verify their guesses. So it was that Daemon’s plan was to carry on into the Grass Sea until they found one such warband and then make them take his forces all to their home. 

Of course his mother had thought it a rather short sighted idea, and that it would be better to send out a series of scouts to search on his behalf while he stayed back at a safer distance, but low and behold they could see a massive shadow cresting a hill in the distance. A shadow that soon cleared up to their sight as they grew close enough to clearly show thousands of men on horseback. A khalasar had indeed found them. 

“What are your orders, Emperor?” Asher asked. He stood beside his friend who was currently saddled above him on Edan. As the head of Daemon’s personal guard it was Asher’s duty to relay immediate orders from him to the captains. 

“Spread out the lines.” He answered after some thought. “Show off just how big our numbers are.”

“You want to try and scare them off?” The blonde questioned. 

“That won’t work.” Daemon cut that thought off easily. “Khals don’t flee. Their leadership can’t survive perceived cowardice. No, I want to make them hesitate. To think before charging us.”

“And then what?”

“And then I’m going to pick a fight.” 

A Short Time Later

True to Daemon’s prediction, the khalasar had indeed pulled up short ahead of his force and the ten thousand strong, at least, force was staring down his own with clear mixtures of confusion, anticipation, anger, and interest on all of their faces. A single field separated them and as the wind tasseled the tall grass before them Daemon set off on Edan with his bodyguard and Melisandre at his side and back. On the part of the horsemen, a tall man with an enormous braid swinging from his back set off to meet him with four bloodriders riding in his wake. Though when they got closer both groups pulled back a bit, leaving their leaders to move alone to meet each other in the middle, only stopping when the stallion and tiger were nearly nose to nose, and the two men could clearly see the light in each other's eyes. 

Thanking his mother, not for the first time, for making sure he knew as many languages as possible, he asked in Dothraki, “Is this your khalasar?” 

The horseman huffed and simply said, “They follow in my wake.”

“Would they follow in mine?” 

The man seemed about to offer insult to such a possibility but was distracted by a menacing growl from Edan. “You have a magnificent mount.”

Now Daemon was the one huffing. “Edan is not my mount. He is my constant companion. The one being in creation that is my equal in ferocity.” 

“You speak well. This is rare.” The stranger’s horse hopped lightly from hoof to hoof for a few moments before he continued. “I am called Drogo, he who would be Khal above all Khals.”

“And I am Daemon Targaryen, he who would be Emperor of the world.”

“Emperor? I do not know this word.” 

“I should think not.” Daemon grinned, “I’d be the first in this part of the world. You would know it as a Khal of Khals. He who stands above all.” 

Drogo grinned at the audacity of the one in front of him. “Then we have a problem. We both wish for the same fate. Yet only one of us can achieve it.”

“Are you sure? I am but one man and I would rule many nations. I need strong men to stand at their heads in my name. You could be one such man.”

“I do not serve men weaker than myself.” 

“But you could ride beside someone that is stronger.” Daemon insisted. “I know your ways. To lead one must be undefeated. I am undefeated, and from the length of your braid I can see that you are as well. Meet me now in this grass before all of our men and let us see whose fate is changed this day.”

Drogo curled his reins around his fists and considered that offer for a moment. He wasn’t used to nobles and commanders being willing to face him one on one. They always insisted on standing at the rears of their armies or just cowering behind large walls and paying him to leave. “You would meet me alone and with honor?”

“Yes.” Daemon agreed, reaching up to scratch Edan’s ears to settle the massive beast. The tiger clearly did not like the Dothraki’s horse if his constant growls were anything to go by. “If you win then my army will leave your lands forever, but if I win then you and those who ‘follow in your wake’ will join your strength to mine.”

Drogo seemed rather interested by this, but he had to ask, “You say you would stand at the top of the world… we have a legend of such a man. I would be him if I can, but if you prove stronger than me then it must be you. This I know. Yet what would you do with my khalasar if you had it?” 

Daemon gestured to the expanse of greenery around them. “This, Drogo, all of this, is but a small piece of a whole that I wish to bind together, and I must do it soon. The more men I have to fight with me the sooner I do so. It is imperative that the world of the living is one as the long night is coming for us all; and the night is dark and full of terrors. I would take your khalasar with me to fight in the last great battle for mankind’s survival.”

“As it was foretold.” Drogo muttered in a voice so low the Emperor had to strain to hear it. Then he straightened up in his saddle and nodded. “Very well.” Turning his horse around he bellowed to his bloodriders, “Challenge has been made! Khal to Khal!” 

The warriors screamed out their joy for such a momentous match while the bloodriders seemed less than thrilled, but they still moved back into the line as was expected. They understood their duty and expectations were equally as strong as the blood oath they’d sworn to their leader. As Daemon rode back and freed Lightbringer to rest it in a ready position at his side, he took note of the setup of his foe. Unlike himself, Drogo was not armored, but he was pulling twin curved swords free and seeming to steer his horse with his knees alone. This was a trick that the would-be Emperor had only seen a few riders skilled enough to pull off. Clearly the Khal favored dexterity and swiftness to overall power. 

The last thing he saw in full before donning his helm and reducing his vision to the thin slits of his eye holes was Drogo beating his hilts into his chest and chanting a rhythmic battle cry to drive himself into a frenzy. Then the two warriors saluted each other with raised weapons and charged. The world reduced to the rapidly dwindling space between them both and then the two beasts they rode crashed together with wildly swinging claws, hooves, and teeth and the men were swinging their weapons for all they were worth in equal measure. 

The clash only lasted a few seconds and then they were riding away in twin arcs to circle back and smash together once more. Thrice after this pattern repeated itself before Daemon came back around and saw the horselord riding his wildly neighing mount into the grass. He rolled free at the last moment to save face and reclaimed his feet before swiping both swords down to put the poor beast out of its misery. And no wonder why, its flanks were liberally coated in flesh shredded to bits from Edan’s claws. The tiger’s own pelt was already sporting more than a few bruises from hoof kicks as well. The beast had been a mighty foe indeed. 

Drogo snarled from his place on the ground, but grew silent as he saw Daemon dismount from his tiger and send the dual colored beast running back to his own line of men. “You fight me on foot?”

“You are on foot.”

“You held advantage and you deny it now?”

“I do not seek advantage. I seek an equal to stand at my side.” Daemon readied himself and grinned with wild expectation as the Dothraki did the same. “What kind of man would I be if I didn’t fight you fairly?” 

“One far less worthy.” Drogo noted as he settled into a low stance. He leveled one of his araks to the side as he watched his foe enter a high guard in response and charged. The horselord swung one blade up and was unsurprised to have it riposted to the side as he brought the other in a searing arc that the armor clad man ducked as if it were nothing before rocking back up like a spring to slam the orange pommel of his strangely shaped weapon into his chin, sending him rolling back across the grass from the force. 

Drogo reclaimed his feet in time to see his adversary twirling his weapon easily back into a reverse grip, ready for action, and he did not disappoint. The warrior who waited in stagnation was the first to die in his experience, and he was anything but stagnant. 

This time their clash was more drawn out, with far more flurried interactions of blade and steel. Daemon wielded his weapon as he would a quarterstaff, leveraging its greater weight and reach for more arcing blows to parry and offer distance and reach, while also making use of its longer than normal blade to offer some quick slashes and jabs that kept the Dothraki on his toes, dancing away and eating up his cardio in the process in a very infuriating manner. 

For his part, Drogo relied on his tried and true methods of quickness and accuracy. He flowed around the strikes aimed against him like water, baiting moves like a grand chessmaster and punishing his foe for accepting the challenge with all the fury of his heart. He slashed, he stabbed, he chopped, but every blow proved useless in the end. The armor deflected every body shot and Daemon was clearly more skilled than Drogo had initially believed at using his great weapon as he always seemed able to intercept with its haft against the shots he took at the weak points of elbows, knees, and neck. 

After five minutes of nonstop activity it finally came to an end. Drogo, exhausted mentally and physically, made a crucial error. In a fit of sudden rage he abandoned his ambidextrous fighting style for one last massive blow, sending both araks screaming down toward the break he saw in the shoulder pauldrons at once in an attempt to literally disarm the knight. He shouldn’t have been so bold. Between one moment and the next Daemon’s sword-staff was raised above his head to meet the weapons, halting their momentum at once, and then he was rotating the haft up, over, and around Drogo’s wrists, yanking out at the last second to tear both grips from his fingers as the flat blade snapped back to rest against the side of his neck. All grew quiet in the field as two armies waited with baited breath for the coming seconds to decide their futures. 

Refusing to acknowledge the blade, or take his eyes away from the cool gray pair he could see through the visor slit ahead of him, Drogo said, “It is over then. Finish it.”

“You don’t seem concerned at your imminent demise?” Daemon was far from hurried. His curiosity was what mattered more to him at the moment. 

Drogo shrugged. “The life of a Khal is often brutal and short, this is known. And you have proven to be the stronger this day. There is honor in meeting your end at the hands of a greater warrior. It proves that the man who succeeds you is actually worthy to do so.” 

“Then we have a problem.” Daemon lowered his blade to the other man’s confusion. “For you see, I do not seek to lead your men. I would have you lead them, as I said at our meeting. I would have you beside me as I go to conquer this world. You are a great warrior, and a greater man, this ‘I’ know. And I would not deprive your people of your strength.” Burying his sword-staff’s tip in the earth he extended one gauntleted hand. “Our deal was that if I won then ‘ you and ’ your khalasar would follow in ‘my’ wake. So how about it? Will you honor me with your presence on this road we both seek to travel?”

Drogo continued staring at him for a few moments more before drawing a knife from his belt, reaching behind his neck to cut his braid free, and setting it tinkling with its entwined bells into Daemon’s hand. “My answer is yes. On this day let it be known that Khal Drogo is proud to ride beside the Stallion Who Mounts The World!” 

Upon hearing his screamed last words, Drogo's Bloodriders began to whoop ecstatically with delightful expectation, an action soon taken up by every warrior mounted behind them until the air became filled with their song. 

Meanwhile Daemon was looping the braid into his belt and embracing Drogo as he would a brother. Much had been accomplished this day, and much more was soon to come.”

Chapter Text

Standard Disclaimer : I own nothing in regards to Game of Thrones. All properties herein belong to their creator. I am only a writer working on my skills with worlds and characters that I love. 

Note : Sorry for the wait on this one. The muse went in a different direction for a while. 

Chapter Eight - Crossroads

Tyrion Lannister groaned with soul-searing queasiness as he woke from the drunken stupor that had been his existence for the last several days. Sea travel did not really agree with a dwarf of his limited constitution so of course his bright idea had been to become so drunk that he forgot the time of his journey entirely and stayed locked out of consciousness so often that seasickness wouldn’t have time to affect him. However, all good plans had to end eventually and the Lannister soon found, to his imminent dissatisfaction, that he’d managed to consume ‘all’ of the wine on board the large shipping vessel. In the end it had only taken him two weeks. 

Now, after four days and nights of detoxing, Tyrion finally felt semi-human enough to stand up and try to get some air. So it was that the dwarf emptied his dragon snout into a copper chamberpot, stitched up his britches, and proceeded to stumble his way up the wooden steps to the deck proper, shielding his eyes from the harsh glare of the sun as he did. Why could no one ever make stairs sized for a person of his stature? Bloody inconsiderate when one thought about it.

As he reached the surface in a manner that no doubt resembled a bear cub escaping his cave after a lengthy hibernation, Tyrion finally had the chance to take a good long look at the other passengers gathered around the railing in chairs, occupying themselves with mundane tasks such as reading, stitching, and other similar tasks to pass the time in the fresh air while the crew meandered around them to carry out their duties. 

Tyrion had planned his travel to coincide with at least three berthings along the Westerosi coast before setting out across the sea, so as better to camouflage his travel from his father’s spies, and it made sense that others might have a similar destination in mind, but the keen eyes of the dwarf were utterly delighted by the sight of two women and an old crone sitting at a table ahead of the prow sipping from mugs of spice wine. One was a young beauty with red hair, pale northern features of all sharp angles through the cheeks, lips, and forehead. The second was a girl that defied all common phrases of perfection by exceeding them in every way. The crone… was someone that he’d met before. 

Tyrion crossed the deck unhurriedly, grabbed a mug of something hot from a nearby table, and stopped in front of the trio. “Olenna Tyrell? What the fuck are you doing here?” 

The old woman stared down at a young man she’d met once in the capitol. She’d never expected to find him here of all places, but Olenna could not say she was too unhappy about facing that prospect now. It was often dull to be the smartest person in the room, and Tyrion Lannister was perhaps the only person she knew with a wit nearly as great as her own. It also helped that her silver-swift mind had easily pieced together the only possible reason for him, of all people, to be on this ship with her. Likely the same reason a mysterious Northern Girl that looked so much like Rickard Stark was also aboard. 

With a smirk-filled grin she said, “I believe for the same reason as yourself.” The gray haired woman waved a hand and a serving boy ran up with a spare chair in his arms for the little Lannister to hop into with his usual energetic motion. “Would you like to talk about it?”

“I’d honestly rather get drunk.”

“That makes two of us.” 

“Did you bring some Hightower Reds with you by any chance?” 

The old woman winked at her verbal sparring partner and withdrew a slim flask from the many folds of her dress. “I never leave home without it. I might consider giving you a taste for a bit of info about the Lannister troop movements.” 

“Oh, Olenna, you truly are the devil.” The dwarf chuckled with equal mirth and quick as a flash snatched the item from the old woman’s hand, took a swift sip, and tossed it back to her. “But I need to keep at least some information to myself so that I’ll have something to trade later. Feel free to keep trying though, I could always use more wine.” 

As the dwarf and the crone continued bantering/bickering back and forth, Sansa Stark, who found herself at a loss for how to handle being shanghaied into a group with Westerosi noblewomen that were somehow traveling to the far East the same as her, leaned over to whisper in Margaery Tyrell’s ear, “Should we perhaps break them up?” She’d been having tea with the bodyguard her Lord Father had sent her to sea with when this beautiful noblewoman had seen her, locked arms with her, and dragged her over to her table for some friendly conversation. The heiress of Hightower, Sansa was beginning to learn, was something of a force of nature. 

For her part, Margaery merely smiled wryly into the rim of her goblet. “Of course not. Granny hasn’t had this much fun in ages.”

“That is good to hear, I suppose.” Sansa supplied. Then her meek countenance disappeared entirely, replaced by the keen eyed stare of a Southern Lady trained in politics by her grandfather. “Though I’d be interested to know the reason for your journey myself, in your own words of course. I’d hate to think we were all going to the same place and wasting time, money, and effort apart when we might travel as one. That way none of us could get… lost, along the way. Did you say you were traveling to meet a man? Perhaps I know him.” 

The Northern girl’s final statement was laced with enough innuendo and hidden meaning to make Margaery tip a metaphorical hat to her. It seemed her Northern doll wasn’t as soft as she’d first thought. “Perhaps we might speak more on the subject over fresh tea. These glasses appear to have gone cold….” 

The Dothraki Grass Sea

“There it is, Daemon.” Drogo, refusing as always to provide any honorific for the man he saw as his equal rather than his master, swept an expansive arm down at the view that graced the plain below, a large and sprawling city-scape of tents leading up to a cavernous opening at the base of a mountain. “Vaes Dothrak. The heart of the Dothraki Sea and the meeting place of the Elders and Khalassar Khals.” 

Daemon grinned and clapped his new friend hard on the shoulder. “You’ve been good as your word, Drogo.” 

“But of course.” The Horse-Lord scoffed, wheeling his mount back around to start the return trek to the army’s camp. “My word is my law. Only foolish Westerners have a word for mistruths. I personally castrated eight men who tried to explain the meaning of ‘lying’ to me several years ago because I believed they were trying to play a sick trick.” 

“I bring you here now for one truth that I know. To have defeated me you must be the Stallion Who Mounts The World. And what is known to my people is that the Stallion must be brought to Vaes Dothrak to be blessed by the Elders. Once that is done, you will have cause to challenge every other Khal gathered for command of their khalassar’s.” 

“How soon will the other Khal’s arrive?” 

“Very soon.” Drogo grinned darkly and explained, “I sent riders out in every direction the same day you defeated me.” 

Daemon raised a brow and ruffled Edan’s ears as the great cat loped along to catch up to the Dothraki’s mount. “That was quite proactive, my friend.” His fingers lightly traced the braid of hair that he’d looped around Edan’s neck like a collar. “How should we approach now?” 

Drogo considered the question for a while before announcing, “Games.”

“Eh?” 

Steering the stallion with his knees, the big man raised his hands before him and spread them wide as if he were a conquering champion. “We Dothraki are renowned for our games.” 

Daemon snickered lightly at the thought. “I think you are renowned more for your martial prowess, but please continue.” 

“Yes,” Carrying on as if he hadn’t just been interrupted, Drogo explained, “The spear throw, the foot race, the blindfolded beast mounting, the test of the nipple, wrestling, maiden capture, all of these games my people love. It is tradition that when a new Khalasar is formed, they come to Vaes Dothrak and initiate the games. Such events take many moons to complete, but long are they spoken of. Every Khalassar may participate.” 

“What is at stake?”

“A man’s braid and his honor.” 

“Ah,” Daemon understood at last what his friend was insinuating. “If I beat another Khal in the games, it would be the same as defeating him in combat? Both are tests of manhood and honor. I would get their braids regardless.” 

Drogo finally lowered his arms and beamed over at the younger man. “This is a right way of thinking. Khals become Khals for a reason, Young Dragon. There are no weak or useless Khals amongst our people. Better to defeat a champion in a game and keep his experiences to strengthen those you lack than to waste him in the field before his time of use is at hand. The games would give you the perfect opportunity.” 

Daemon was finding more and more that Drogo was rather verbose in his own tongue, and it was a delight to hear the inner machinations that worked their way through his mind. A Khal for a reason indeed. “Well, we might as well get the camp moving then. We can set up our next location just outside of Vaes Dothrak and begin the games before the khalassars already present down there have time to think of us as a threat.”

“This is a wise move. One I would expect from the Stallion.” Drogo agreed as he wheeled his mount around to wave his Bloodriders forward. “My men will ride ahead.” 

“For what purpose?” 

“To announce to all that may listen that the Stallion Who Mounts The World has finally come. The time of prophecy is at hand.” 

Riverlands

Ned’s party was camped five miles outside the Riverrun gates when the Blackfish finally arrived to answer the emergency summons the former Hand had sent a runner with. The older man’s face was clouded, but not black with rage as the runner had feared it would be for being rousted out of bed before daylight could rise, and he looked upon the armed encampment with fascination as he was led alone into the Northman’s tent. 

“Eddard.” 

“Bryndon.” 

“If you’ve come to ask after your wife-” 

“I’ve come for something else.” Ned hadn’t looked up from the fire burning in a brazier in the center of the space since the other man had entered, but he did gesture to the chair next to his own in a clear offer of invitation. 

It was only as he sat that Bryndon Tully noticed the things his former hesitance had hidden. The tent was lined on the inside with heavy fabric, no one was present inside besides the two of them, and no guards were present outside the entrance. On top of that, the fire was loaded with far more logs than were necessary and the resultant pops of charring wood were loud enough to drown out most ambient sound. Whatever the reason for this call, Eddard did not want their conversation to be overheard or carry past the two of them. Interesting. 

As he took a seat and poured himself a glass of watered wine from a nearby table, Bryndon asked, “My back doesn’t take much for being ousted from my bed so early, but if you’ve got something to say then I’m all ears. Old joints must bow to necessity, as I know.” 

Ned took a moment to collect himself, his neck flexing with the force of his clenching jaw as he prepared for the words that were about to leave his mouth. Words that he’d sworn to himself he would never utter in his lifetime, were events of the world not drawing forth the necessity from him. “Years ago I passed a judgement. Do you remember?” 

Bryndon took a swallow of the rather robust wine and stared down at the form of the other man. Eddard was not smaller than him; far from it. The northman was a good six feet tall, and his frame looked a lot healthier than the last time he’d seen him, but the way he was hunched in front of the fire, running his hands over the sheathed form of the greatsword in his lap (how had he only noticed that now? Must be getting old at last.) it was as if he was contracting in on himself trying to figure something out. Something momentous that required nearly all of the energy and thought he possessed. 

“Aye, I remember.” He answered slowly. “My niece did something to you. Something she refused to reveal to me or her father, and something you have kept equally close to your chest. You banished her from her home in the North, and from the presence of two of her children. You exiled her from hearth and family. A harsher punishment I have never heard for a woman of the Riverlands.” 

“I suppose that gave you pause? Made you question her?” 

“More than you can know. I would swear on my honor that I’d not had a hand in raising a niece capable of anything that would warrant such a measure. Though I’d also make the same vow on my respect for your father and your morals, so I can’t imagine you’d do it for something small.” 

Ned nodded slowly, still not taking his eyes off the dancing flames. “I would guess, then, that if you’ve had those thoughts, then others might have as well. Your brother, for example? His son? Your Maester? The local Lords?” 

“All of the above. It has been a stain on our House’s honor that has proven impossible to remove. You’d need to forgive her, or she’d have to perform penance for the Sister’s of the Seven, but she can’t do that without admitting her sins, and she won’t do that to anyone, not even the Faith.” 

“So I had guessed. Cat always was too stubborn for her own good; and too proud to see the pain she caused for those she called family.” 

The Blackfish continued to study the man opposite him’s face, and for the life of him couldn’t make anything of it out in the flickering glow of the fire. “Eddard… Ned, I don’t believe you’d send a runner with an urgent summons for me at three in the morning, to an armed camp that you’ve brought onto my family lands without notice or warning, just to discuss my familial woes.” 

“No, I suppose I would not normally do that.” Ned agreed, eyes still locked forward. 

Deciding he’d left the topic off too long already, Bryndon asked, “What… what are you looking for in that fire, son?” 

At last, Ned pulled back and leaned fully into the cushion on his chair back, though his fingers continued moving over the hard leather of his sheathed blade. “Answers, I suppose. I had heard tales that the high ranking members of the Red Church can see portents of the present and future if they stare into a fire long enough. Now, more than ever in my life perhaps, I find myself needing every bit of knowledge and guidance I can grasp. Where the hell is Thoros of Myr when I finally need him?” 

“The Red Church? Why the bloody hell would you be thinking about those crazy sods?” 

“Not up to date with the news of the world, are you, Blackfish?” 

“Answer the question.” 

Ned sighed anew, and at last his wandering fingers stilled. “I am about to do something that I promised my sister I never would. For the sake of your trust, I’m going to tell the truth.” 

Bryndon blinked with surprise. “The truth? Ned, we’ve had our problems and disagreements over the years, it is true, but the validity of your word has never once been in doubt. And what does this supposed falsehood have to do with my niece’s shame?” 

“I will get to that.” The Warden of the North slid the great blade over his knee so that it’s leather-clad tip rested down on the ground with his palm resting warily on the pommel, his heat-reddened eyes finally moving away from the fire to look directly into those of one of the men he respected most in all of the Seven Kingdoms. “But first let me tell you a story. A story of a foolish girl blinded by love, a prince who tried to shape a prophecy to meet his needs no matter the cost to those around them, and a tower of misery and joy…” 

And so Ned recounted the tale of his assault on his sister’s supposed prison, his discovery of her legally begotten heir, and the measures he had taken to protect the child within the safety of the stone walls of Winterfell, far from the demented gaze of the tyrant that had come to revel in the slaughter of all who held even a modicum of the blood that flowed through his veins. 

He told of the trials brought to his marital life as a result of his falsehood to Cat on the boy’s origins. He told of the joys of teaching the boy to ride, hunt, and learn the basics of swordsmanship and manners. Finally, he told of the tragic disappearance of a child he’d loved as his own, and the subsequent revelations of the horrendous fate his wife had forced upon him. 

When all was said and done, the Blackfish was utterly speechless. “Catelyn… truly abandoned the child to a fate of begging in a foreign land?” 

“Honestly I think she would have been fine if he’d died in those woods as well. It was her worry that I’d stumble upon his corpse someday that led her to sending him across the Narrow Sea.” 

Bryndon struggled with those words, but as he’d noted earlier, Ned was the most honest man he’d ever known. And the lessons all nobles were taught in the South about bastards from their parents and the Faith of the Seven… yes, it was utterly possible she could have done this thing. As much as it pained him to acknowledge that fact. 

With a disgusted look painting itself upon his face, the younger brother to the Lord of Riverrun commented, “You are a better man than me, Ned. That is for damned sure. I’d have killed her the moment I learned the truth.” 

“The thought had crossed my mind.” Ned agreed, his fingers ghosting over the grip of Ice as he contemplated the potential fallout and ramifications of what he might say next. “But I decided that living in the hell of her own creation was a more fitting punishment.” 

Bryndon eyed the other man shrewdly, years of battle experience at once latching onto the absent moves of his hand. Whatever Ned had come to discuss, whatever the need for secrecy, this wasn’t even the most damning thing the man had yet said. That would likely be followed by the sudden drawing of steel if he made the wrong move after hearing it. Oh yes, of that he was certain. “You did not come here just to expose the dark deeds of your wife.” 

“Then why did I come?” 

“You want something of me and my brother. Something dire. Something so dire that you’ve resulted to now providing me the truth of the shame that our family has wrought onto yours on more levels than one in advance of it. A shame that I, on my honor, would not be capable of living with without either providing you service or evicting Catelyn from the halls of Riverrun entirely. So what is it? And what solution are you no doubt considering?” 

Ned smiled softly. “I have missed having conversations with those that know me well. Long speeches and intricate innuendos are not my style. Having exposed your family shame, I am willing to remove the cause, and forgive the debt.” 

“Oh really? You’d take your wife back into your Hall after such a revelation? Now I’m really worried about the cost. I ask again, what do you want?” 

“A new country, born from the ashes of the old.” Ned breathed the words with enough grit and gravity to make them seem to float upon the air like smoke. “Your news of the world is even more limited than what we learn in the North, so you cannot yet know of the upheaval that will be facing Westeros in the months to come. My nephew did not die in the squalored streets of Braavos as I had feared and my wife had hoped. Somehow a representative of the Red Church found him, trained him, and sat him at the head of an army that is currently laying waste to Slaver’s Bay and conquering every bit of ground they pass. It is only a matter of time before their forces turn their attention here… to the land that is his natural birthright.” 

“You wish to usurp Robert?” Bryndon could hardly believe what he was hearing. He and Ned had fought shoulder to shoulder to unseat the Targaryans and put the man on the throne in the first place!

Eddard nodded slowly, his eyes now locked onto every crease and line of his old friend’s face, searching for any sign of action that might imply a need to end their conversation swiftly and decisively. Things were now in too great a motion to be stopped by a traitorous tongue or mind, and he’d already committed too much effort and too dark of thoughts and words to let his already shattered honor stop him.

“I have thought long and hard on this; believe me. More than any other moment in my life. And in the end, it comes down to one simple fact. Robert is my friend… and Jon, no, Daemon, is my family. He is the last spark of Lyanna that still exists in this world, and I cannot let him disappear, lest everything that she was, and everything she loved fall with him. If that means I must betray the brother of my heart, then I will. If it means I must tear the realm asunder so that Daemon might put it back together again, stronger than before, then I will. If it means that I must give false promises to the throne while setting the stage for a final confrontation… then I am already well on that road.” 

Finally putting the pieces together for this clandestine meeting… and well understanding the precarious standing he was now in having at last learned the truth, seated well within the drawing range of the great blade as he was with no armor to block its razor edge, Bryndon stated, “You want Rivverrun’s help in this.” 

“I want to call in the debt you did not yet know you owed. Robert believes I am readying the banner lords to be called to arms should war break out, and I am. But he thinks I’m getting them ready to fight Tywin should the Old Lion finally extend his claws.” 

The Blackfish frowned. “But what will you really be doing?” 

Eddard pointed with his chin to the land outside his tent. “Preparing the North and, if you’ll help me, the Riverlands to stay out of their spat, and reserve our strength and supplies to support my nephew when he comes. It will be a process that will require much effort, subterfuge, and bloodshed.” 

“Bloodshed?” 

“There will be houses that cannot be trusted to stand on the right side when the fighting starts. They’ll need to be dealt with decisively and… quietly.” 

“You’re thinking of the Freys?” 

“Amongst others.” 

“And my family?” 

“I have enough respect for you, and the vows I made to Catelyn all those years ago, to make this offer in person.” 

“And with your blade sheathed?” 

“Depends on what your answer is. I’ll need that now.” 

Bryndon considered all that he’d heard, and it didn’t take much to make a decision when all the options were weighed. “My family honor must be reclaimed, and I never much liked Robert anyway. What’s your plan?” 

Braavosi Port

“Wow!” Margaery and Sansa had stars in their eyes as they watched the sea of diverse people running to and fro on the docks and alleyways as they awaited the unloading of their baggage from the ship. Everything was so loud, so crazy, so new. It boggled their minds! 

Meanwhile Olenna and Tyrion were simply sipping from wine skins and grumbling about the heat. 

“Have you thought any more about the path we should take going forward?” The old crone asked after swallowing her latest sip. She hadn’t used to be a day drinker, but Tyrion was just too fun to ignore once he got going. 

For his part, the dwarf gave her a critical look over the rim of his own glass. “I might have.” 

“You might have also spoken to that northern girl when you thought Margaery couldn’t hear you. She said that you too made a deal to travel together after our lost Dragon.” 

Tyrion huffed lightly and answered, “Girl drove a hard bargain to give me that information too. Made me promise to pay for top class travel accommodations along the road.” 

Olenna nodded. “So now only you two know where to start the search. My family had a good idea where to go, but a more definitive location would be of great use. Perhaps we might travel together, eh?” 

“What would be your part?” 

“We’d pay for guards, horses, and camels.”

“The trip would be long and dangerous without all of those.” 

“I concur.” 

“And that leaves my funds to procure the best wine possible to last us through the journey.”

“We think alike, it seems.” 

“Then I suppose we are in agreement.”

Olenna nodded. “So where are we headed?” 

“Oh no, old friend.” Tyrion smirked with a knowing look in his eyes. “If I tell you that before we are under way then I’ll wake in the morning to find you and your granddaughter having traveled through the night to get the best headstart on me possible. No, I’ll only reveal that secret to you once our caravan is well and truly underway.” As he watched his aged mental sparring partner come to terms with his offer, Tyrion couldn’t help wondering what Qohor would look like in person. He’d read about it of course, but reading and experiencing were two very different things….