Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/14008461.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Major_Character_Death, Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      A_Song_of_Ice_and_Fire_-_George_R._R._Martin, A_Song_of_Ice_and_Fire_&
      Related_Fandoms, Game_of_Thrones_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Allyria_Dayne/Robb_Stark, Daenerys_Targaryen/Viserys_Targaryen, Aegon_VI
      Targaryen/Daenerys_Targaryen, Elia_Martell/Rhaegar_Targaryen, Rhaegar/?,
      Ashara_Dayne/?, Brynden_Rivers/Shiera_Seastar
  Character:
      Allyria_Dayne, Robb_Stark, Aegon_VI_Targaryen, Viserys_Targaryen,
      Daenerys_Targaryen, Harry_Strickland, Jon_Connington, Catelyn_Tully
      Stark, Jon_Snow, Arya_Stark, Rhaegar_Targaryen, Ned_Stark, Lyanna_Stark,
      Ashara_Dayne, Theon_Greyjoy, Aerion_Targaryen, Three-Eyed_Raven, Brynden
      "Bloodraven"_Rivers, Edric_"Ned"_Dayne, Beric_Dondarrion
  Additional Tags:
      Dragon_dreams, Alternate_Universe, Viserys_goes_to_the_Golden_Company,
      Incest, Canon-Typical_Violence, canon-typical_incest, Period-Typical
      Underage, Stark!Allyria_Dayne, the_dragon_has_three_heads, Possibly_fake
      Aegon, Possibly_Real_Aegon, Greenseeing, Unreliable_Narrator, wheels
      within_wheels, plots_within_plots
  Stats:
      Published: 2018-03-18 Updated: 2018-03-29 Chapters: 10/? Words: 21364
****** She-Wolves and Golden Dragons ******
by TheBlackDragon01
Summary
     Ned Stark returned with a boy and a girl, twins. Allyria and Jon
     Snow. Jon is sent to the Night’s Watch, but Allyria grew into a
     cunning she-wolf, fiercely protective of her siblings, and Lady
     Catelyn’s worst annoyance. The Young Wolf has a different advisor
     when the war comes, but will things turn out differently?
     Meanwhile, across the Narrow Sea, Viserys Targaryen makes a gamble,
     joining the ranks of the Golden Company… and a Blue-Haired Boy grows
     close with the Princess Daenerys.
     The Dragon has three heads, and if they do not come together as one,
     the dawn is lost, for Winter is Coming.
Notes
     If it wasn't obvious enough, I don't claim to own any part of
     Westeros, big or small. It's George's world, living and breathing
     with creativity that few people have.
***** Autumn *****
Allyria
 
She and Jon were five all those years ago,-‘Nine years, now?’She didn’t know-
when she first took a liking to battlefield tactics. Reading the stories of the
Rebellion enticed her. Jon and Robb would pretend to be ancient heroes and
fight battles, as she planned others out. Luckily Lady Catelyn didn’t punish
her as much as she did Arya when she found her among the godswood and
exploring. Unless she had the desire to do so. Though, as she grew older, she
enjoyed the intrigues of the castle, using her figure to trick the dullard men
of the court, inspired by Shiera Seastar. She never lost touch with the
Godswood though.
Out there, there weren’t any guards to protect her from Lady Catelyn’s biting
words, but Allyria still preferred to be there than anywhere else. Out there
she could hide somewhere only the people she trusted could find her… and Robb
always could.
They were riding back from one of father’s executions, snow fell heavily on the
North, the icy winds crept through the wolfswood, wild and unpredictable. As
she rode, her mind began to wander. ‘Have I ever been this far away from
Winterfell…? Maybe once…’
 
After one particularly humiliating shouting match with Lady Tully, in which she
likened her to a whore, and Arianne Martell, Allyria had ran as far away from
home as she had gone on her own. Somewhere in the wolfswood she had fallen,
unable to stand. She had pulled herself into the hollow under a pine tree, snow
began to fall, harder than she’d ever seen before. She thought she would die
there. She wasn’t sure she cared.
As her eyes began to slid shut, the Old Gods must have taken pity on her, for
Robb found her then. Robb had tried his best to play the part of an honorable
lord, of course, but he was only ten, and he could scarcely even ride his horse
in the snowfall. He had put on his bravest face and hid his worry for her, only
saying, “The Queen cannot leave her pack so easily.” His face was bright red
though, just as red as his hair, she couldn’t help but laugh.
Thinking back on it, even though that moment was so small, so foolish to her
now, it was worth all the pain she could ever undergo.
 
So, whenever Greyjoy mocked her or Lady Catelyn declared her a stain on House
Stark, she held her head high, proud. It was all she could do. ‘A Bastard needs
to have thick skin, after all.’ She had grew to enjoy the intrigues of the
court eventually as her figure began filling out. She began wearing her hair
down proudly, practicing her skills in strategy. After seeing so much of her
father’s “justice”, she had never expected to cry again… but…
 
Two direwolves lay side by side in the snowbank, both white, both with red
eyes. One’s eyes were vibrant, the other’s malformed and clouded… dead… Allyria
couldn’t explain it… but it was… it was like she lost something, some part of
her.
Jon glanced at her, worried. “Ally-”
“Ah, a couple of runts. I suppose the living one’s yours then, Jon?” Greyjoy
spoke in a casually optimistic tone. “Guess the girl wasn’t meant for this
world.”
“I...” Allyria stammered, turning to leave.
Jon turned, clenching his fist, but Robb struck first. “Mind your tongue,
Greyjoy. Or you’ll lose it.” Theon stared, stunned, face bruised by “Robb the
Lord”. Robb handed her the grey pup he had chosen. “Here, Allyria. You can help
me take care of this one then.”
She blushed, glancing around nervously and taking Robb’s gift. “Thank you…” The
pup nuzzled against her furs, content.
 
She barely touched her food for the rest of the day, Robb tried his best to
help her, but there was a hole inside of her, something wrong… “I don’t want to
lose anything else…” She spoke to herself, huddled underneath the solemn face
of the weirwood, knees to her chest, alone.
 
She was alone, red fire was in the sky, and a red dragon flew from the east,
its wings causing great gales to sweep across the world. The Black Dragon flew
in its shadow, scheming to tear it down. Wolves hunted in the godswood, howling
wildly. Yet she was not a beast, just a girl, bloodied and bare before the gaze
of the lion. The wolves died just like the pup on the snowbank, and she was the
last of her kind. The Lion and the Dragon clashed, tearing at each other in
unparalleled savagery.
 
When she awoke, blood was slick between her thighs, pains shot through her
body. Dread began to creep up inside of her. ‘Gods… I’ve flowered…’





Viserys
 
He was only eight when they placed that golden crown on his head, a crown that
meant nothing, for a Kingdom that was taken from him.
When the last of his retainers was gone, and it was only he and his sister, he
had went to the Golden Company. Myles Toyne, the Blackheart, had let both he
and his sister in, provided Viserys was his personal squire. ‘He was an odd
man, full of life, yet so dedicated to his duty. I’d like to think that he let
me in because it was my right, because I was the true King. But I know that’s
not why…’ When he had joined the Golden Company, he had an assumption that the
others would respect him because of his bloodline,’ I am their rightful King,
of course.’
When he had given Daenerys to Toyne, he did so in good faith, trusting only him
with her while he went to work with the other squires of the Company.
 
The squire’s pavilion was bare, with only the necessities for each boy, a
lockbox, the key, and a cot as hard as stone. ‘This…? This is what they give
the rightful King of the Westeros?!’ He grimaced, he was angry about the
lodgings but… beyond that… there was something else… Daenerys… she’s not here
with me… The Dragon in him told him it was foolish to grow attached to his
weakling sister, but everyone else in the camp was foreign to him… and Daenerys
was the most valuable thing that remained to him after he had pawned his crown
to the Blackheart in exchange for the possibility of commanding the Golden
Company. ‘Ten thousand swords for the true King in exchange for a crown…’
Maar, the Master Of Whispers had told him that he would rally the men around
him… that they would truly be loyal only to their King. The man may have looked
like a mummer, but he had a… comforting manner about him. ‘Looks almost as if
he has Targaryen blood…’ There had been another Targaryen who was quite…
flamboyant. ‘Brightflame…’ They said he was mad, that he drank the foul green
pyromancer’s piss to become a dragon, ‘What a fool. You have to be born a
Dragon. Like I was.’
 
“Who’s the white-haired brat?” A Squire who looked three or four years older
than him spoke, poison in his words. His hair was tawny, curled, unkempt.
“The King of the Seven Kingdoms, half-wit.” Viserys put a hand on the gilded
hilt of his sword. “Learn some respect for those of purer blood.”
“Blood don’t count for much around here, ‘My Lord.’ Might be it does for the
officers, but here, you earn your place.” The larger boy grinned, “And princes
like you ought to learn quick…”  Viserys was able to get the sword around
halfway out of his scabbard before they had reached him, fists slamming into
him, his sword stolen.
‘How…? I…  I am blood of the dragon…’
 
The Blue-Haired Boy
 
Young Griff had squired for his uncle for nearly four years. He was four-and-
ten now, quite a deal of months older than the first of the Usurper’s
offspring. He had to keep his identity a secret, of course. Viserys was a vain,
selfish, greedy man that Aegon knew would kill him as soon as he discovered his
claim, and Robert Baratheon would lead an army East personally to slaughter
them all should Viserys’ name be made public, so they gave him the title “King
of Steel”, ceremonial entirely, intended only to keep their secret, to make the
Usurper unsure.
Viserys had broken from the stress of fending off his fellows in the younger
ranks of the Company, Aegon would not. He made sure to listen to every man’s
story, learning every odd skill he could. He enjoyed that learning, but he
wanted to be truly a part of the battle, rather than wield a bow or be the
furthest back from the conflict. Viserys was still coddled by the Master of
Whispers, though, as long as they had stroked his ego, he would be right where
they wanted him. Aegon disliked lying, but he disliked the thought of being
murdered in his sleep even more, to be quite honest. If Lysono could keep ‘the
Dragon’ from waking, he wasn’t one to stop him.
As the Company marched east from the Lyseni-owned Disputed Lands into Volantis
to put an end to one of the many embargo wars they had been hired to deal with,
a girl came up to him, around his age, hair a beautiful silver-gold, eyes of
violet, and a slender frame, Daenerys. Aegon’s mind went blank, but he had
practiced courtesy enough to know how to respond. “Good day, my lady.” He
bowed, smiling.
She grinned back at him happily, if not a little nervous. Viserys did not
approve of her visiting with the lesser Sellswords. “Good day, Griff. Where is
your father?”
“He’s off talking with Homeless Harry.” He glanced over to her. Her face was
downcast, Toyne was the man who had raised her and her brother, and Harry
Strickland was a sorry replacement. ‘Lord Connington deems him a coward, and it
is hard not to agree.’ Strickland had not taken any major contract outside of
the standard trade-wars between the southern Free Cities.. He realized he was
ignoring the princess, so, he spoke up once more. “What are your thoughts on
the state of the Golden Company now?”
“It’s… not home.”
“No, it’s not.” Aegon sighed. The River-crossing into Volantis was growing on
the horizon, “But, perhaps it will get you home.”
“Perhaps.” She smiled bashfully, riding on beside him in silence.
 
Eventually, after they crossed the ford, Ser Rolly rode closer to them. “We’ve
entered Volantis, my Princess. Captain-General Strickland wants both of you
back from the combat among the supply train.”
Aegon rolled his eyes, “It’s high time I tasted some real battle, Rolly.”
Daenerys spoke up, straightening in her saddle. “And I can ride wherever I
chose, Ser Duckfield.”
Aegon glanced at Daenerys, laughing, a bemused grin coming to his face. “Well,
Dany, I cannot assure your safety if you wish to ride next to me in a battle.
Though I’d assume your deeds in battle would be the stuff of legend.”
Daenerys giggled timidly, “And who are you to doubt your Princess’ exploits?”
“Just a simple sellsword, my lady, pardon my treasonous words.”
Rolly cleared his throat, “With all due respect, Princess, you really should be
getting back.”
She rolled her eyes, “Very well, Ser Duckfield.” She rode her mare back down
the supply train.
 
Rolly turned to him as the silver-haired girl left, “Are you sure you want to
anger General Strickland and Lord Connington?”
“Strickland won’t risk punishing me, and Jon won’t question my leadership.” He
spurred his gelding forwards as the march continued. “When do you suppose
they’ll meet us on the field, Duck?”
“They may intend to wait until we besiege the city itself to draw out the war…”
“I suppose it’s possible… They fear to face our Elephants on the plains, but
the minor merchant-lords would fear us torching their holdings. The Triarchs
would not have much support if they did not protect their vassals, especially
Malaquo Maegyr. He’s a toothless tiger, but a tiger nonetheless.” Aegon sighed,
“Perhaps we could convince the Followers of R’hllor to rebel?”
“Perhaps so… Maegyr has little love for them, neither do the rest of the Old
Blood scions.” Even Duck, a relatively dull fellow, had received enough
education to know of the tension between the religions of the Volantene Slave-
folk and the Old Bloods.
“If Benerro has half the foresight he is rumored to have, he would already know
our plans…”
“Aye, I suppose he would.” Rolly looked down, thinking.
“It doesn’t matter though, the nobles in the plains will back us if we are not
resisted during our march. Surely they’ll see which side will come out as the
victor.”
“I wouldn’t bet on it, my lord… We’re foreigners in their territory.”
“Suppose so. Prepare for the worst and hope for the best, I’d say.” He put his
hand on Duck’s shoulder. “What could go wrong?”
“I… I can think of a great many things, my lord.”
“Of course you could, Duck. That’s your job as my retainer.” They shared a
smile for a moment, before turning to the horizon. “We’d best hurry, or we’ll
lag behind.” He spurred his horse forward, with Duck following close behind
him.



Allyria
 
She had gone to the kitchen-maids rather than share news of her flowering with
Lady Tully or the Septa who was at her beck and call. Eventually, her bleeding
stopped, much to her relief, as they were to have visitors, and she intended to
make an impression.
The Royals were arriving that day, and Allyria resolved to be present in the
courtyard when they arrived despite whatever Lady Tully’s orders were. Custom
decreed she hide herself away in her room like her brother Jon, but she was
never one for custom.
She was standing on the opposite side of the courtyard of the rest of her
family. ‘I intend to have fun with our visitors.’ When the royal caravan swept
into the center of the castle, she recognized nearly every face from the
rumors. ‘King Robert, Prince Joffrey, The Imp, The Kingslayer, The Hound,
Cersei Lannister…’ The list went on and on. ‘Robert is not one to lack company,
it seems.’
Cersei picked her out of the crowd instantly. She was much more observant than
her royal Husband. Her eyes were quite cold, suspicious. Fortunately, she had
to be introduced to Ned and Lady Tully by Robert, so Allyria did not need to
confront those eyes in that moment.
The next guest to notice her was Prince Joffrey. He was tall, taller than Robb,
despite him being a year or so younger. “You there.” He spoke questioningly.
“Girl. Are you a commoner?”
She smirked, “Of course, my prince. Welcome to Winterfell.” She bowed low, her
furs opening slowly.
The Prince stared, stunned.
“I hope you enjoy your visit, my Prince.” She grinned as she stood up tall,
proud. “The North has much to offer.”
The boy found his words eventually. “Yes, and I intend to partake in it all.”
The Imp chuckled, calling to his nephew. “I do say the little Prince is in love
already. Look at those plump red cheeks.”
“Watch your tongue, uncle, or I will have my dog take it.” Joffrey called back
under his breath as to not show his true nature to the public, but Allyria was
quite perceptive, and she had heard rumors… rumors involving dead kittens…
“I’d much like to see that, my King.” She grinned.
“Ah… a girl who knows her courtesies.” The Prince grinned, a devious, self-
satisfied grin. Allyria giggled, ‘This is too easy…’
 
Later on, she had been seated among the servants with Jon in the feast hall.
Just prior to the feast’s beginning, Lady Tully came to her while Jon was off
talking with Greyjoy outside of the Great Hall. “Bastard. I hope you know that
you will not ruin Sansa’s aspirations, especially not her marriage to the crown
prince.”
“Lady Tully, I assure you I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t play coy with me, whore. I saw your… display, before the prince. I will
assure victory for my children, no matter the cost.” Tully spoke.
“Says the whore who’s had three men in the span of a year. How did it feel,
Littlefinger, Brandon, then Father all bowed before you?”  Catelyn stared,
stunned by her accusation.
“I suppose you felt strong, powerful. Well, Lady Tully, unlike you, I do not
enjoy betraying my words. And I would never hurt Sansa, nor any other of your
children.” Allyria finished. “Now, fuck off. In the North, little trout aren’t
very welcome by wolves.” She smirked savagely, anger in her eyes.
The Tully bitch walked off like the coward she was. ‘She’ll likely complain to
father… And the grey rat of a maester will support her.’
 
Jon returned to her after a few minutes, and the King entered the hall, walking
to the dias with the other royals for the commencing of the feast. Jon stared,
Lady Catelyn looked like she saw a ghost. “What did you do, Allyria…?”
“Only what was needed.” She smiled teasingly at Jon. “I suppose Aunt Lyanna
hated Catelyn too.
Jon was significantly less amused. “By the gods, Allyria… You really enjoy
picking fights with Lady Catelyn, don’t you…?”
“Of course I do. She deserves it.”
“It doesn’t matter though, I’m going to the Watch and you’re going to be sent
to be a septa-”
“Fuck Septas, and fuck Septons too, Jon. I don’t intend to be anywhere but by
my siblings’ sides.”
“You can’t go to the Wall with me, and Lady Stark won’t want you in Winterfell,
don’t even get me started on a bastard going to court...”
“I’m staying here then, with Robb.”
Jon looked down, sighing. “If you’re so resolved, nothing I could say would
stop you.” He sat down, looking around the room.
“No, afraid not.”
 
She ate her meal in silence while Jon lost himself in his cups. She watched
protectively, but she couldn’t interfere. Making a scene would draw Joffrey’s
attention to her, and she did not want Sansa to see that.
 
Viserys
 
The knives were always after him, even while he slept. When he closed his eyes,
fists pummeled him. He had learned skills in the blade, but still, it only took
one knife in the back… When they weren’t hurting him with fists, they hurt him
with words. And he still was not strong enough. ‘I don't understand, I’ve done
all I can. I’m the blood of the dragon, I deserve to be better than they are!
They did not have everything they cared for taken, they did not pawn off their
last heirloom for food…’
“Viserys.” The blue-haired boy spoke to him. “Are you well?”
He turned, shaking. ‘The knave forgot his courtesies…’ “Y… Yes, quite well,
thank you.” He steadied himself with his hand on the gilded hilt of his
borrowed blade.
“My King, I want you to know that should you join the battle, I will be by you
or your sister’s side.”
“My thanks… Its rare, hearing a man know his task.” He sighed. “Even though I
have seven years of service to the company behind me, no one respects me… they
will once I am the Captain General, though, I’m sure… Sure of it.”
“I will defend your interests until then, my King. You have my word.”
“Good… good… perhaps I will name you Lord of Summerhall once I’ve rebuilt it in
my image.” ‘One day, I will find the secret behind Summerhall, behind
everything. I will be the greatest King the Seven Kingdoms has ever known.’
“We’ve nearly reached the Rhoyne, my King. After we arrive we’ll be going south
to besiege the poorer Western district of Volantis, and hopefully receive some
assistance from the followers of the Red God.”
“I see… And Strickland ordered this…?”
“Aye… He said we’d move quicker with a source of water to sustain the beasts of
burden.”
“Smart… yes… Has Maar thought of any way to quicken the siege…?”
“He has conscripted one of the hidden pyromancer covens to produce Wildfyre to
throw over the Black Walls, should the Triarchs not surrender…”
“Good… We’ll win the war for Lys in a way they won’t soon forget…”
“Aye, my King. We will.”
 
The King’s Confidant
 
The Company was camped, night was falling on the plains, and Aegon had been
playing at cyvasse with a fellow mercenary, Daemon. His hair was silver-blonde,
eyes the traditional valyrian purple. He was lanky, taller than Aegon was, and
around seven-and-ten. If my hair wasn’t dyed, we’d look quite similar.
“So, Griff-”
“My father’s name is Griff.”
“Griff, Young Griff, Aegon the Third, doesn’t matter. How’d you join the
company?” He leaned forward, smiling.
“My father’s served for nearly ten years. King Viserys needed a loyal squire,
so he chose me.”
“What makes you special? Why you?” His opponent tilted his head, looking at him
quizzically.
“My Father is the greatest commander since The Rogue Prince, obviously. Viserys
kn-”
“If that were true, Griff, you’d be paying more attention to his suggestions.
You prefer gossiping with the Princess over following orders.” Daemon grinned.
“Though… I suppose our great King would be easily convinced to take you on by
Lysono Maar, aye…?”
“Perhaps.” Aegon shrugged, moving his dragon forwards. “But enough talking
about our just King. Why’d you join the Golden Company?”
“My father was a Lyseni, if my master was being honest. Or a Westerosi living
in Lys. He’s where I got my looks, supposedly. I got sold into the Meereenese
Fighting Pits in exchange for his freedom. They like young blood, easier to
train them, bigger return on their investments, y’know… And after a few years
training, I got into the fight. First opponent was a Mantaryan, black hair, but
eyes like lilacs. I wasn’t very attached to him… but when I killed him, he
begged… begged to be spared. But, my master wished to please the crowd. When I
killed him, I felt horror… and something else… A lust for more. War became my
home, and I rose to the top of the fighting pits. Eventually, no one would
fight me, they called me the champion, and they let me go. My master had enough
money to train ten more replacements for me, and when I left, I knew there was
only one place for me. So I went there, and here we are.”
Aegon raised an eyebrow, “Quite a straightforward story, isn’t it?”
“Aye. It is.”
“So then, you’re a good swordsman then?”
“I’d say so.”
“We’ll have to put that to the test in the morning, won’t we?”
“Aye. We will. But until then-”
“Checkmate.” Aegon grinned, “You should use your Dragon while you have it,
Daemon.”
Daemon stared, incredulous. “That’s a very risky strategy…”
“But it won.”
“That it did.”
Ser Rolly strode up to them slowly, his large form coming out of the dim
nightfall. “Griff, your father requests your presence.”
Aegon sighed, “Of course he does…”
Daemon’s face was full of mirth. “Griff here would prefer to be among the camp
followers, I’d imagine.”
Aegon’s face turned red, “Fuck you.”
“Gladly.” His friend responded as Aegon stood.
 
As they walked off, Duck turned to him, “The Princess told me to be secret
about it, she wants to talk to you before we enter battle.”
“Why…?”
“She’s worried. About her brother.”
Aegon sighed, “Remember to keep it quiet. I shiver to think of what the King
would do should I be caught with the Princess.”
“Aye, and Septa Lemore would give you an earful of complaining as well.” Duck
chuckled, grinning.
Aegon sighed, “Aye, she would.”
 
After a few minutes, Duck led him to the Princess’ tent. “I’ll guard the
entrance for you… try not to be too loud.” He spoke quite innocently.
Aegon stared, before laughing as hard as he ever had. “Duck, you’ll need to pay
more attention to your words.”
“What… What do you mean?”
He patted his friend upon the shoulder, “Nothing, Duck. Nothing.”
 
Daenerys sat alone upon her bed, face downcast. Her hair was glistening with
dampness. She must have had a bath. She wore an illustrious silken dress in the
style of Westeros. Aegon stepped into the tent, kneeling, “My Princess.”
He saw a red blush spread on her face, “T-There’s no need to kneel.”
Aegon looked up, smiling sheepishly, before standing. “Very well.” He sat
beside her slowly, putting on a teasing voice. “So, Ser Duck tells me you’re in
need of my talents?”
“Y-Yes. I’ve asked Ser Jorah to protect Viserys during the battle… but…”
“But you know he’s much too reckless for one man to protect.”
“Perhaps… but I trust Ser Jorah… I’m unsure of his--”
“If you are sure of his intentions, there’s no need to doubt your judgement
then. Second-guessing yourself is a dangerous thing, Princess. Have a little
faith, stop worrying. Viserys has the entire Golden Company at his back.”
“V-Very well… but…”
He sighed, “If you’d prefer, I could suggest to my father to place Duck as his
sworn shield for the battle ahead.”
“But… you’d be defenseless.” She looked at him, disbelief in her eyes.
“I’ve more defenders than you know, Princess.” He put a hand on the Princess’
shoulder. “There’s no need to worry.”
She smiled, her body untensing. “Thank you, Griff.”
“If I may be so bold, it’s good that you realize Viserys cannot stand on his
own.”
“What do you mean…?”
“Viserys is no King, perhaps he learned to fight in the Company, but he is not
a leader. You know that. He appreciates nothing he has.”
Dany looked down again, downcast. Her favorite expression, I see. “Least of all
his family…” She whispered.
“You’re not strong now, Dany. but you could be.” He smiled, “Viserys can’t
marry you off if you don’t let him, you know. Make your voice heard and people
will follow you, should you lead them wisely.””
“Alright…” She smiled a little. “Thank you for your service, Griff.”
“It’s what I’m paid for, after all.” He smiled. “Now will you go to sleep?
There’s another battle ahead, and you’ll need to be ready should the worst come
to pass.”
 
As he walked out, Duck turned to him, “My lord… why would you assign me to
protect Viserys…?”
“For the princess, of course.” He shrugged, heading to his tent.
“Wouldn’t it be advantageous to kill Viserys before he brings ruin to your
supporters?” Duck tilted his head as he followed along.
“We can’t reveal ourselves yet, and he may give us an advantage, for all his
faults. The name he presents makes him a target, and powerful. Should he
endanger the Company, we can kill him, but until then, Strickland is in
command.”
“Very well, my lord. In the morning, Strickland believes we will meet with the
enemy. You should be prepared.”
“I will be, Duck. Don’t worry.”
 
Allyria
 
Robert and Father had left on a boar-hunt with most of the castle’s occupants,
leaving only the maester, a few men-at-arms, commoners, and noble ladies in the
castle. She decided to wander around the castle, going wherever her whim took
her…
 
She was the first one to find Bran after he fell...his legs were twisted and
broken, his face pale as curdled milk, his eyes clouded as they stared at the
sky, and his little pup howled a noise more mournful than she had ever heard.
She picked him up, a bundle of broken bone and bruised flesh, in shock. I
screamed… I don’t remember if I said any words… but I think the maester was the
first one to see us… to be by Bran’s side with me.
The next thing she remembered, she had been taken to her room. The maids washed
the blood off of her, and she sat alone, furs wrapped tight around her.
 
Jon found her in her apartment, walking in cautiously. “Allyria…?”
She looked over, “Yes…?” She shivered, even in the heated rooms of Winterfell.
Jon stepped forward slowly.
“Your hair.” He put his hand to her cheek, taking a strand of her raven-black
locks… only… when she looked, it was white, pale as fresh snow in the godswood.
“What… what’s happening…?”
“Your blood. It’s awakening.” And then, Jon’s eyes were red, his hair as white
as hers, soon, one of his eyes vacated its socket. He was old… and tree roots
grew from his flesh. “We are one in the same…” He stepped closer, she felt his
breath on her neck, and the taste of blood clung to her tongue, sickening, like
a disease…
 
When she awoke, her hair was black once more, Jon’s eyes were grey, his face
solemn, etched with worry, like a true Stark. His hands were on her shoulders,
his face pale with concern. “Ally, are you alright?”
She grimaced, “N-Nothing but a fever dream, Jon… my apologies.” She ran her
hand through her furs, trying to wipe off some sort of filth, but it remained
cold, and the unclean feeling remained.
“Bran’s been stabilized… Lady Catelyn however, is anything but stable… She sits
at his side day and night shouting that we intend to steal from her children.
She still claims she’s somehow an ‘asset to the north…’ even though she refuses
to leave Bran’s bedchamber.”
Allyria stood slowly from her bed, “How long have I slept…?”
“A few days...Father was afraid you might not wake up… but Catelyn was quite
enthused.”
“What about Robb…? Or Rickon?”
“Robb’s been assisting Father day and night… Rickon… he’s been trailing around
father just as much as Robb has.”
“And Sansa… or Arya?”
“Sansa’s been with her sothron Prince, and Arya’s been with her butcher’s boy,
though I‘ve tried to help her as much as I can.”
“I’m sorry for… for being asleep so long.”
“It’s fine, Sister. You were worried for Bran, there’s no need to apologize.”
Allyria remained silent, hesitating. “...Do you still intend to go to the Wall,
Jon…?”
“I do… There’s no other place for me.” He spoke full of conviction to his duty.
Allyria sighed, glancing out the window..
“And… Allyria… We’ll be leaving on the morrow… Father for King’s Landing, and
The Imp and I for the Wall.”
“Of course you are…”
“Ally…”
She stood slowly, her furs falling, discarded. She went to her wardrobe, taking
out her riding leathers. I need to keep my mind off things...
“Where are you going to go?”
“Somewhere, I’m not sure.”
“I don’t trust you going out alone with Lannister men in the godswood.” Jon’s
face was red, he looked away from her.”
“You think they would be able to harm me, Jon?” She giggled, planting a teasing
kiss on his cheek. “I only let the people I love get close.”
Jon stared, “By the gods, Ally… Seems you’re part dornish…”
She smiled, pulling her leathers on, letting her hair spill down her back.
“Don’t you mean we must be?”
“We-” He began, but he was cut off a kiss upon his lips.
“Shut up, Jon.” She grinned, darting into the hallway, leaving her brother
stunned behind her.
 
She rode as far into the godswood as she could, before dismounting and sighing,
sitting down against the weirwood, trying to calm herself, closing her eyes to
pray to her nameless gods…
 
But he was there still. The man who had replaced Jon in her dream before… red
eyes and skin as pale as his snow-white hair. And then, a raven was in his
place, with three eyes... “A different breed, yet still a wolf, it seems.” The
raven cackled, “I’ll send another beast your way, girl… You may be useful yet.”
The bird crept up to her forehead, “Like your little brother… I will show you
the path you must take...Now…Spread your wings.” The raven began to peck at her
forehead, searing pain sprouting between her eyes where the crow shaped her
flesh in the most vicious of ways… She couldn’t move… Couldn’t breath…
 
She strode through the forest of the gods , she was only a pup, but her claws
were sharp and she could fight for herself. She always had…
The one she had been born to protect laid against the weirwood. Weak, frail, as
all of man was.
 
Allyria awoke to the direwolf pup curled up in her lap, asleep. She was a tiny
thing, skin and bones, but a direwolf nonetheless. Her fur was a mix of black
that looked blue under the right light, and red like the dull shine of copper.
Like fire and smoke… She smiled, knowing exactly what she’d name her wolf.
“Rhaenyra.” The pup nuzzled itself into her furs gently. She seems to find it
agreeable.
She held the pup gently against her, heading back to Winterfell, less forlorn
than she was before.
 
When the time came to give farewells to those leaving, she did so with a smile
to her face, a promise that one day, they would all meet once more.
Saying farewell to Jon was hardest of all. He wore that damned solemn face he
inherited from Father. “Get a job as a recruiter or something, at least.” She
sighed.
“As my lady commands.” He put his arms around her gently, and after a moment,
he went off with Uncle Benjen and the Imp.
Then, it was father’s turn, with much the same expression as Jon’s. “Allyria…
If you insist on staying in Winterfell… please, try to avoid--”
“I intend to, father. I’ll look after Robb and Bran and Rickon instead of
bickering with the Lady Catelyn…”
“Good, I hope you can keep to those words.”
“Have you ever known me to be dishonest, Father?” She smiled as reassuring as
she could be.
Father looked as if he’d seen a ghost. “Just like your mother.” He pulled her
hair from her eyes. “I’ll miss you, Allyria.”
“Our family is horrible with goodbyes, it seems.”
“Aye, seems it is.” Father smiled, before going to talk with Robert, who had
been watching her closely…
Apparently, the King did not recognize her. “Should have spent some time with
that lass, it seems…”
Ned tilted his head, “That’s my daughter, Robert…”
The King laughed it off, “By the gods, Ned, that’s quite a good jest! Let us be
off.”  He spared her one last glance before turning away. What an odd man…
Sansa walked by her without a second glance, proud and elegant. Arya proved to
be the opposite. “Allyria!” She said, jumping up to wrap her arms around her
neck. “Jon got me a present!”
Allyria couldn’t help but smile in response. “Of course he did, Arya. You are
our favorite sibling after all.”
Nymeria and Rhaenyra nuzzled at each other’s necks as well. Arya looked over,
“You got your own Direwolf? How?”
“A secret not meant for children’s ears. I’ll tell you when you’re older.” She
mussed up her little sister’s hair gently. “I’ll visit you as much as I can,
alright?”
Arya nodded, “That’s a promise?”
“Of course it is. Now, you must be off.” Allyria let her down gently and
watched as she strode off to join the caravan. All that was left was to watch
as the others past her by. No time to act childish now… I have a part to play
for Robb.
 
Aegon
 
A week on the plains, and still, no Volantene forces had come. They had nearly
reached the Rhoyne, the vassal-cities of Volantis offering their assistance.
Viserys was not one to deny offers that appealed to him, but Strickland was
much more cautious, ordering they camped in the plains one more night before
using sellsails to take the Rhoyne south and subsequently besiege Volantis.
 
Aegon sat with his friend Daemon afront a mummer who was reciting tales of the
monstrosity of Aerion Brightflame. The Campfires were burning low and it was
late into the evening. “Our last night before the battle, it seems.” Daemon
poked at the flames absentmindedly as he spoke.
“That it is.” Aegon replied. The mummer, playing Brightflame, had a blade to a
cloth dragon’s groin, speaking of ‘cutting off the unneeded bits to make
himself a sister.’
Daemon grimaced, looking away. “So, your father’s assigned your Duck to defend
the King, aye?”
“That he has.” Aegon sighed, “Seems we’ll have to look out for ourselves in the
coming battle.”
“Aye. We’ll need to be careful, it’s not a good-natured spar in any case.”
Daemon managed out a laugh with some effort.
“We should probably get some rest.” He turned, looking around for the direction
of his tent.
“The show’s not ended yet though, Griff. Thought you’d be more interested in
hearing about Brightflame.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, he was technically the eldest of the Targaryen line, and they passed
over his son Maegor’s claim just to give it to Aegon the Fifth. Some good that
did the realm.”
“Would you have preferred an earlier Mad-King?”
“Things may have gone differently, that’s all I’ll say about it.” Daemon
shrugged. Aegon had no great want to continue the debate.
 
As he rubbed sleep from his eyes, he looked up around the camp… The rumble of
many hoofbeats could be heard from the gloom of the plains… “Dothraki…?”
“No… We’re too far down the Rhoyne for that,” Daemon stood upon a barrel to
oversee what he could by the camp’s light.
“Cavalry then… Volantene.”
“I’d say so…”
War horns blared throughout the camp, and an alert was raised. “They think they
can creep upon the Golden Company and slit our throats while we sleep?” Aegon
stood slowly, drawing his blade.
The officer’s orders were very precise, and the footsoldiers formed into tight
lines, resolute. Next came the War Elephants, and then the archers, then their
own mounted troops. It was a familiar formation they had exercised many times
before.
“Beneath the gold?!” The Infantry Commander roared.
“The Bitter Steel!” Came the reply, every man where he was needed.
The Volantene’s made their desperate charge into their ranks, meeting with the
spears of the front-line men. The crashing of horses and riders echoed through
the gloom, and though there was little light, the sight of blood was apparent.
Aegon stood back, his steel longsword at the ready, nearly four feet long, not
so bulky as a greatsword but with much more reach than an arming sword, the
hilt structured in the style of hand-and-a-half swords. In his off hand he held
a kite shield.
 
Unfortunately for them, their great King had little common sense. Diving into
the fray from the front lines, he wildly butchered his opponents, a savage fury
taking place of the broken Dragon. Rolly could barely keep up, and Ser Jorah
was just as overexerted.
Daemon glanced at him, concerned. “Don’t break file, Griff…”
“But Viserys-”
“Your man and the Princess’ can handle this.” He replied, readying his javelin
and shortsword.
The others kept form as Viserys grew further and further away from the ranks,
hammering into the Volantene infantry. He was thrown backwards by a rather
large slave, who had a ponderously large warhammer in his hands.
And then, Aegon was running. His legs carried him desperately forwards, blade
readied. As he leapt forward, he plunged his blade in between the slave’s
ramshackle plated armor and helm. “Viserys, you need to-” He began, before the
King pushed him out of the way and continued on his path of bloodshed, his face
a mixture of horror and ecstasy, odd…
Pulling the King backwards, Young Griff took his place, using the sword stances
he had been taught by Daemon and Ser Duckfield. He was surrounded though… his
arm tired, weak. An axe hewed his kite shield to bits, along with his plated
armor on his off-hand… He stumbled backwards, blood coursing out of him, Rolly
barely keeping the slave-soldiers at bay. The Company repositioned, trying to
cut through the resistance to shield the King.
Strickland led the damned elephants he had sheltered so much out into battle,
and they did nothing if not what was expected. Their massive hoofs broke steel
and bone, tusks mounted with all manner of weaponry cleaving through the great
quantity of the Volantene forces. An arrow took the Captain-General in the
shoulder, causing him to pivot atop his beast, and begin screaming… Truly an
odd sort of coward…
As Aegon put both hands to his longsword, he struck aside blows with ease with
the added balance of the steel, and brought the false edge down hard upon his
opponent’s exposed neck.
A stray arrow struck him in the shoulder, yet he kept fighting, sowing death at
the King’s side, though taking far less pleasure in the fact…
Connington sent out the cavalry on the opposite flank of the one the War-
Elephants had hit, and the crash of horse-flesh upon steel was heard yet again,
the battle turned, retreating back to the main city…
 
As Aegon surveyed the carnage, he felt sick… This… This is war… but… so many
innocent lives lost… He spent the morning among those who tended to the dead,
great pyres were erected, speeches told, but he knew very well that it was for
nothing… It seems to hope to make it through the wars to come, we will need to
be stronger… and the King cannot make that a reality…
Duck was there before him, his arm had a very heavy gash in it’s wrist. Aegon
went over to him, concerned. “Duck, give me your arm.” The knight gladly did
so, and Aegon knelt to wrap the cloth around the wound gently, applying one of
the Half-maester’s many herbal poultices to it, before binding it firmly.
“That was only a skirmish, but Viserys nearly killed himself…” Rolly sighed.
“He’ll probably get hit by an arrow from the walls during the siege, or fall
into the Rhoyne, he has no awareness, just anger.”  He responded to his
retainer, glancing around the battlefield.
“There’s an uncertainty now… Strickland’s injured, aside from the arrow, he
fell from his elephant and broke quite a few ribs. Griff says he intends to be
elected the next Captain General.”
“That’s not what Varys told us to---”
“The Spider doesn’t need to control us, you know. Once we take Volantis we can
launch an invasion anywhere regardless of the Spider’s intentions.”
“Again, we need Viserys to act as our figurehead, Duck, we cannot just expect
to take Westeros right out of the Usurper’s hands. Westeros must be made weak
first… and for it to be made weak, the Usurper has to be dead.”
“It just feels… wrong, Egg, can’t you see that?”
“I know it feels wrong, Duck, but it's the only way Westeros can be made to
withstand the Winter. The only way to place the Targaryens on the throne.”
Duck sighed, “You put too much faith in those dragon-dreams and the Red
Priests’ visions…”
“I don’t see any other option, do you?”
“No… Suppose I don’t. Whatever happens, Egg, I’ll be behind you.”
“I hope I can earn that loyalty, Rolly.” Aegon offered a hand and pulled his
friend from the dirt. “Now, I suppose Lord Connington will want to talk to us.”
“Probably so… We need to regroup before we embark on the Rhoyne.”
“Our losses couldn’t have been that bad… aside from the front-liners who had to
assist our ‘King.’”
“We’ll be finding out soon, it seems.”
 
As they approached the cloth-of-gold general’s pavillion,  a sense of dread
enclosed upon Aegon’s heart. I hope Strickland’s alright…
 
The tent smelt of sickness, sickly and sweet. All the major officers were
there, Black Balaq, quiet in spite of his vibrant summer-islander garb, Lord
Connington, weary and alert, Dany, mournful yet quite beautiful in a dress of
pure white silk, and Viserys, eyes full of paranoia and fear. Beyond the maps
upon the Council table, there he sat. Arm in a sling, a bandage wrapped tight
around his diseased shoulder, and a sad smile to his weary greyed face,
Strickland was feverish, clammy. He always was weak, not trained in leading
men...
The cowardly man spoke slowly, “Thank you for coming, Young Griff, Ser
Duckfield… I assume you know what happened to me…?”
“Yes, we do, General.” Griff replied.
“Do away with damned titles… Let a dying man feel like he’s in good company.”
He laughed pitifully, before taking a deep breath. “Volantenes must have
targeted me... coated the arrow in some new form of venom… Halfmaester can’t
even find what it is… I can last a few more days, I’m sure… At least until we
have the city…” The poor man’s coughing made Aegon sick to his stomach…even Jon
was quite sympathetic to the man he had spoken ill of so many times before.
“But…” Strickland continued, “You’ll need to select a new Captain-General for
when I’m gone…”
“An election? At this time? That would be a disaster.” Jon spoke grimly.
“We should inform the men... and then candidates can be put forward.” Harry
spoke, weak and feeble.
“Very well… Let us do so quickly…” Viserys scratched his cheek, eyes desperate.
“Aye… we can do so when the bodies are taken care of.” Balaq spoke simply.
 
As the Company met up with the sellsail fleet, Strickland stood upon one of the
supply wagons among all the ranks of the survivors. “Men… I… It seems I cannot
bring you back to Westeros. That job, it seems, will be passed on… If there are
any officers whose names you wish to put forward, speak them now.”
Viserys stepped forward without any wait, casting off his anonymity. “I,
Viserys Targaryen, put my name forward for the title of Captain-General.”
Aegon nodded, though the crowd was not as supportive of their King, no cheer
was given, only silence met the King’s declaration.
Duck stepped forward, speaking loud and clear. “I, Ser Rolly Duckfield, put
Young Griff’s name forward for the title of Captain-General!”
Lord Connington was infuriated behind a cool mask of apathy, Aegon could tell…
Duck was smiling as the younger ranks cheered for his choice of candidate.
Viserys looked at him with scorn and fury… Duck… you fool…
Jon stepped forward, “I, Griff, put my name forward for the title of Captain-
General.” The older members, with many arm-rings to them, threw up a cheer much
louder than any other.
 
Aegon stepped forward, standing tall, in an attempt to salvage the situation.
“Brothers, though I appreciate your support for my father and I, there is but
one man I will kneel to. Viserys Targaryen is untested, but he is strong,
proud, and worthy of leadership. He is of the same bloodline of Bittersteel,
and he can take us home. Let him know that we vest our faith in him, for he is
the blood of the dragon, born to rule the true scions of Westeros and Valyria.
If we allow him, he will be the greatest of all our number. I give you all my
word, now give Viserys your support.”
An uncertainty grew upon the crowd, but soon, the men began their cheer anew
for the blood of the dragon.
Viserys grinned, stepping forward. “I will gladly take the mantle of Captain-
General after your votes are counted. With Young Griff at my side, both East
and West will fall before the might of the Dragon!”
Aegon unsheathed his blade, holding it high above his head. “Fire and Blood!”
Kneeling before his King, soon, the rest of the Golden Company followed suit, a
savage chant thrown up, in all the tongues of the East, the same words
repeated. Fire and Blood.
***** The Old Gods and the New *****
Chapter Summary
     Allyria cares for Lady Catelyn following the failed assassination of
     Bran, while Aegon's ears are filled with the poisoned words of a
     former friend.
Allyria


It was hard to stay behind after everyone had left, the castle was empty… there
was a lot of work to be done. She was by Robb’s side at every council meeting,
at every time he held court to hear the smallfolk complaints.
Around eight days after everyone had departed, she awoke from her sleep to the
sound of wolves howling… the smell of smoke assailed her… A fire had broken
out, across the bailey from Bran’s room… The Library Tower, seldom heavily
occupied, fortunately.
Changing into her leathers once more, she ran out to assist in stopping the
flames. As she stepped out into the hall, a man pushed past her, going the
opposite direction. Is he one of Robb’s new guardsmen…? I haven’t recruited any
new--
“Lady Snow!” A voice from the other direction, the Nephew of Father’s Steward
called. Weyland? Set to inherit the estate of House Poole? The boy was young,
about the age of three-and-ten, a recent addition to the castle guard. “Are you
unharmed? Robb sent me to ensure your safety.
“I’m fine, but… What about Bran? Robb? Rickon?”
“They’re safe, my lady, gods be good. Robb was visiting with Bran and Lady
Tully, and Rickon was asleep in his own room, under guard.”
“Very well…  Then take me to Bran, he will need protect.”
“A-As you wish, my lady.” Weyland put his hand to the hilt of his blade, taking
her to the sick room… where Bran and his mother lay, blood spilt across the
timbers and a wolf’s jaws around a dead man’s neck. Catelyn’s hands were slit
and scarred, deep cuts given to her in a mad struggle for her son’s life. Gods…
look at all the blood… Allyria took the bloodied dagger, Weyland ran out to
call for a maester… Allyria ripped linens from Catelyn’s robes for a temporary
binding for her fingers, wrapping them quickly, as Catelyn was in no place to
protest. Soon after, the Maester had arrived, followed closely by Robb…
Two days later, Catelyn was still asleep, recovering from the attack. Allyria
stayed by Robb’s side as often as she could, though he didn’t enjoy showing his
doubts, she could feel his uncertainty in the way he stood, the way he talked
about possible recruits to the household guard.

They were in Father’s solar, alone, looking over the castle’s state. She spoke
up, uncertain. “We need to ask our bannermen to send more guards… We barely
have any household that remains here with us...”
“I cannot call upon the bannermen without reason, sister… but, we can conscript
from the smallfolk… Rodrik will need to train them though.”
Allyria sighed, “I’m sure I can secure funding for it, but…”
Robb glanced down, his mask of lordship slipping from his face. “I wish Father
were here…”
She didn’t know what to say, just putting her hand to his, her head to his
shoulder.
 
Eventually, she spoke up. “We should give ourselves time. Take our wolves into
the godswood, calm down… We don’t need to spend every waking moment committed
to the task at hand.”
Robb looked at her, “If you think it would help…” He made his best smile for
her sake, like he had all those years ago. “Don’t run away this time though.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it, my lord.” She smiled teasingly, happy once more.


Rhaenyra and Grey Wind were hunting off ahead of them, Rhaenyra was half the
size of Grey Wind but just as vicious. They seemed quite protective of one
another. Summer and Shaggydog were off elsewhere, most likely with their
owners.
As Robb grew up, he spent much more time with Father than in the godswood. He
looked as if he was rediscovering an old passion as he walked through the
godswood. Perhaps our wolves are leaving their marks on us. “Been too long
since I’ve been out here, aye?”
Allyria nodded, “Last time you were out here together was, what? Two years ago?
You just… stopped.”
“Father needed me.” Robb looked away. “I had to learn how to rule.”
“Of course… but…”
“It doesn’t matter, I suppose. We’re out here now, let’s not bicker over the
past.” Robb smiled. “Its odd… the castle’s quieter than ever, and everyone’s
left us behind.”
“Aye. They have.”
“It is an odd sort of peace we have here now, though. Calm before the storm,
perhaps?”
“You don’t have to be so melodramatic, Robb.” She smiled, sitting against the
weirwood in the spot she always went to. Robb sat next to her, listening to the
winds rustling the leaves. Their wolves weaved between the trees together,
playful. A serene feeling laid over the godswood, calming and protective.
He sighed, untensing slowly, though still uncertain. “Theon offered to be the
Captain of the Guard…”
“He’s as close as a brother to us, there’s no reason to not do so.”
“I know… but…”
“Robb. We’re not here to ponder over Theon Greyjoy’s devotion to our
wellbeing.” She put on her best smile, putting her hand upon his. “We’re here
to rest.”
Robb held her hand tightly, his face filled with worry. As he began talking,
tears crept into his eyes. “I… I can’t do this anymore, Allyria. My mother’s
hurt… she wouldn’t even leave Bran’s side she was so worried… now she’s
sleeping and I don’t know if she’ll wake up... Rickon follows me around
constantly asking about for Father and Mother, I can’t--”
“Robb, calm down.” She put her hand to her brother’s cheek. “Lady Catelyn is
strong, she can take care of herself, and she’ll wake up… and… I’m here, with
you. And I always will be.” She held him close, letting him vent his
frustrations into her shoulder, and soon, his cries ended, and he fell asleep,
not needing to be a lord any longer… Allyria moved her hands through his long
auburn hair gently, letting him rest upon her lap, before her eyes went shut as
well.


She saw her packmates divided, her sisters going south, a brother at a wall of
ice, and soon, she knew, she and her mate would leave their two brothers
behind. Uncertainty chilled her to the bone, something no amount of fur could
protect her from.
Her mate chased a deer, winds surging past his grey fur. She was charged with
flanking their prey as it bounded across the stream. As she heard her mate’s
howl, she leapt forward, jaws clasping around the antler-thing’s neck, fangs
cutting through the soft flesh. It kicked and struggled, but eventually its
strength faded, and it was done. Her mate loped up beside her and nuzzling her
ear, moving for his take of the kill. As they shared the deer-meat, the taste
of blood lingered in her mouth…

Allyria awoke slowly… the taste of iron in her mouth. Robb stared at her, “Did
you just… have a dream…?”
She nodded in response, “A dream like… like I was a wolf…”
When they looked, their pups’ muzzles were stained red with blood…
 
Robb looked down the stream… a fresh carcass lay where it had in their dream.
Allyria saw her brother’s face drawn in horror, trying to rationalize what had
happened. “Then… We’re skinchangers?”
Allyria bit her lip, “I-It must be a coincidence… There hasn’t been a
skinchanger since the Conquest, has there…?”
“None, if the rumors about Bloodraven were false…” Robb glanced about
suspiciously, vigilant.
Bloodraven… Allyria stood hesitantly, a chill to the air and the solemn face of
the weirwood looming over her no matter how tall she stood.“Well… we should be
getting back…”
“Aye… We should be.” Robb stood slowly. “We’ve spent too much time for
ourselves… We’ve things to prepare for, and the woods don’t want us to dither
about here.” He began to walk off towards the looming castle walls, shaking his
head as if it would help clear it of bad thoughts.
She was too discomforted to respond, quietly following him back home. The winds
howled through the trees, the wood much less welcoming than before… Their
wolves followed them closely, eyes scanning for threats. Even still, Allyria
did not feel safe there… not anymore.


Aegon

It was decided they would hold the official vote and following election after
they took Volantis. Egg was sitting upon the head of the flagship of the
sellsail fleet, the bribed Red Lake pirates were quite rowdy, but at least they
weren’t bothering the Company’s men.
 
Daemon sat beside him, looking at the Rhoyne’s mighty currents as they carried
the ships downstream. “You have odd retainers, Griff…”
“What do you mean?” Griff raised an eyebrow, confused.
“I’ve been trying to place where I’ve seen your Half-maester before. I believe
I’ve found it.”
“Where’s that…?”
“Winterfell. His name was Walys… a maester. The bastard of a arch-maester and a
Hightower maid… Half-maester seems an apt name…”
“How do you know that? How--”
“My father brought me to Winterfell during the later months of the rebellion… I
could barely walk, but I recognize that man’s face.”
“How could you…? Your hair was white…”
“Oh, my father was quite clever. Came from mummers, he dyed my hair black like
the Starks.”
“Even if you were there, why would you be?’
“That, I cannot say. It was my father’s idea.”
Aegon bit his lip, He has no reason to tell the truth… though, I cannot think
of why he would lie. “Why would a presumed dead Stark Maester be here? Why
would he disappear in the first place?”
“I’m not sure, Griff.  All I know is that the Tully Maester that delivered Lady
Catelyn’s son came north with her. Man by the name of Luwin, was it?”
Aegon’s head hurt, and devious thoughts grew in his head.
“Furthermore, Griff. I know your… ‘Father’... Is Jon Connington.”
 
Aegon stared at his companion… What could Varys be planning…? Is Daemon one of
his-
“There’s no need to fear me though… Aegon Targaryen… The Spider has me in his
web, and I have been sent by him to guide you.”
“If that were true, why would you tell me all this…?”
“For the good of the realm. And, after all, it’s better to be feared than to be
loved by the people you are charged to protect. Now listen to what I have to
say. It may be your last chance to swing those black banners of yours over the
Red Keep…”
Aegon stood slowly, glancing back, seeing the deck was cleared for their
conversation… “Fine then, speak. Seems I’ve no choice but to listen.”
“Viserys will lead this company to its doom, that is quite obvious. You need to
kill him once you take Volantis.”
“No man is as accursed as a kinslayer. I will not kill my uncle.”
“He is no uncle of yours, no. The Red Dragon is weak. It always has been. You
are different. You are a dragon of black and white. And something is trying to
besmirch your grandfather’s name. A Crow impersonating a Raven. Will you take
up the mantle of your birth, Aegon, son of Illyrio, son of Bloodraven? Grasp
the hilt to the blade of  the Red God?”
“Illyrio is not my father… And Bloodraven had no recorded children… I am the
child of Rhaegar… but...If what you are speaking of is true, Daemon… Who are
you? Why are you working with Varys? What is the blade of the Red God you’re
speaking of?”
“My mother was born among sands, and my father was the Dragon Prince. I am who
you believe you are. Aegon Targaryen. The rest, I cannot speak of here. Know,
however, the wars to come will not take your life, only that of those you love…
And you will lay in ecstasy and despair as you sacrifice everything for your
cause. A fate worse than death awaits you.”
“I have no interest in your prophecies. I will not give anything to you, not my
life nor my name nor my blade.”
“You will, one day…. Appreciate what you have, ‘Aegon’, before it is all taken
away.” Daemon stepped down below decks, and the other men took his place,
watching him…
Lies and deceit… I am the son of Rhaegar, no other. Dragons are not caught in
spiderwebs… “Gods… I sound like Viserys…” His stomach lurched, not from sea-
sickness… but something far worse…the knowledge that every move he made was
being watched. I need to inform Jon...
***** Young Griff I *****
Chapter Summary
     Aegon goes to his 'father' to discuss the Spider's web.
Chapter Notes
     Bit shorter chapter but I felt it needed to get explained who
     Bloodraven was to the uninitiated. Sorry if my storytelling was a bit
     confusing last chapter, this is my first real try at making a big
     plot and I may have been sipping too much of the Order of the Green
     Hand juice.
 
Aegon


As he went to Lord Connington, Daemon’s poison ran through his head. As he
opened the door, Jon was sat upon his bed, reading over the company’s finances,
his duty, after all. “Lord Connington.” Aegon closed the door behind himself.
“Daemon… He’s been telling me that the Spider’s been lying to us.”
“What do you mean…?”
“He told me he’s the true Aegon Targaryen… That I’m of some offshoot branch…
and he knows the identity of my retainers.”
Jon looked up with fury on his face. “If he knows who we are, we need him
dead.”
“I’m not sure, Lord Connington…. We’ve no time to waste, but I don’t think he
intends to harm us… only to throw us off the trail of the truth.”
“It would not surprise me if it the boy was lying to you. Commoners do so quite
often.”
“But if he’s telling the truth-”
“It doesn’t matter. Varys chose you, truly Aegon or not, he chose you to lead
Westeros for its own good. Who are we to say the Spider chose wrong? And who is
that boy to say you are not Aegon Targaryen? This may be one of the Spider’s
tests of your determination.”
“I suppose so… but… why put on such an elaborate story if it is but a ruse?”
“What story did he put together?”
“That Westeros has been… watched, by Bloodraven since his disappearance, that
Varys is his child, and that he will pass his burdens on to me… At least, I
think that was what he was saying… He spoke as if he were possessed.”
“Bloodraven was a master of whispers fifty years disappeared beyond the wall.
He had no children, not with Shiera Seastar, his paramour, nor with anyone
else… Its a lie, or the product of an overactive imagination. Stare into the
fire long enough, you go blind. Or you see things that aren’t there. Don’t put
too much faith in a spiderlings words, Aegon. You can’t afford to.” Jon’s face
was of a concern that betrayed his words...
“I suppose not…”
“We’ve a battle to prepare for, after all. That is the matter at hand. Don’t
try to puzzle out the Spider’s plots all at once, or you will be lost.”
Aegon nodded, “Fine, but following the battle, I intend to find out what the
spider knows.”
“Doesn’t seem like I can stop you from trying… at least try to be careful,
boy.”
“I will, Lord Connington." Aegon smiled as brightly as he could, and the older
man's face seemed lightened of a great burden.
"A true Dragon Prince. There can be no doubt." An odd tenderness came from
Aegon's guardian then, as he put a hand to his shoulder. "Now, you've a battle
to prepare for."
 
***** The Half-Lion *****
Chapter Summary
     Tywin enlists the help of his youngest brother's pet to keep close
     watch on the Northmen as they approach Kings Landing.
The Half-Lion
 
Tytos was a bastard, plain and simple. Born two or three years before the
rebellion to a Lannister who was handmaiden to Lady Joanna, but who stayed in
the capital during the rebellion, or so they said. His earliest memories were
of his ‘uncle’ Gerion, who always had a smile on his face or a joke at the
ready. He told him that he found him beneath a bed of blood during the sacking
of the city, where his mother was tortured and killed… and if it were anyone
else that found him beneath the bloody bed of his mother, he’d not be there
today, as his golden -near silvery, at the time- hair marked him, as fair-hair
was no blessing during the sack of the capital.
Fortunately Gerion had heard of his mother’s woes and was well aware that he
was not of Targaryen blood. Gerion raised him as if he was a Lannister of the
Rock, allowing him on as a page, then a squire… but his uncle wouldn’t take him
on the search for Brightroar, the Lannister Valyrian Steel blade, in Old
Valyria, so he was left by the wayside with his sister Joy, a fellow Hill, who
was around three at the time. His cousin, Jaime took after Gerion quite a lot,
and Tytos strove to be just as he was, though of course a bastard, even one
adopted by Lord Tywin’s brother, could not hope to squire for a Knight of the
Kingsguard. So he made due earning his Knightship from uncle Kevan in the days
following his adopted father’s death. Until one day, Tywin came for him.
 
“You have my father’s name, bastard… You are aware of that, yes?”
“I am, Uncle.” Tytos tried to keep the contempt from his face… his grandfather
nearly wiped out the Lannister family name.
“Hm. Your… ‘father’ may have adopted you, but you are still a Hill, not a
Lannister. You’re aware of that as well, correct?”
“That I am. I intend to earn legitimization from the King though, I don’t
believe in getting things halfway done...”
Uncle seemed quite amused at that, though his lips remained in that tight,
unmoving frown, his eyes betrayed his interest.I’d never say that to his face
though. “I already see you’ve quite a deal more teeth than my father had, it
seems…”
“If one intends to be a lion, one must first have the jaws, teeth and all.”
“You show promise… Do well as a Lannister and I will put a word in for you with
the King.”
“That is my intention, Uncle.” Tytos kept his face much the same as Tywin’s,
all emotion hidden.
“If you cannot manage to get people to love you entirely…” Tywin poured two
glasses of arbor red. “At least get them to fear you entirely.” Tytos took the
glass that was offered, nodding as his uncle continued “No one is remembered
for ‘almost’.”
“No, they aren’t…” I wonder if Gerion would think the same…?
Tywin cleared his throat. “King’s Landing is a haven for immoral people who
serve no one but their own pockets. Even Pycelle, my most loyal servant there,
sits on the King’s Council and supports our interests only because he knows he
benefits from his position. Who do you serve, boy?”
“The Crown, and it’s most esteemed backer Lord Tywin Lannister of Casterly
Rock.” Tytos replied, trying his best to keep his voice steady.
“Well, then, I’ve a task for you.” Uncle stood up tall, looking out the window
to the rolling hills of the West. “Recently, Robert went North to procure the
aid of Ned Stark as Hand of the King… Your task is to observe him, with the
help of one of his young daughters. Varys and Baelish have their little birds,
and you will be mine.”
“You mean to have me in a Stark maid’s bed...?” Tytos tilted his head, puzzling
over the task he was to be given.
“If that is needed, though I’m sure the red-haired girl, Sansa, will be quite
open to sharing without the need of manipulation… You will need a new persona,
one that cannot be traced back to the family… It is not a glamorous job, nor a
popular one, but get it done discreetly, inform me of Lord Stark’s movements,
and you will be granted a great reward, I assure you.”
Tytos knew his uncle was many things, but dishonest to his servants was not one
of them. “I will gladly take up the mantle of your agent, uncle.” He would not
kneel, but his words had pleased Tywin well enough. “But why? Pycelle can
inform you well enough.”
“Lord Stark will not trust his innermost secrets with an old, mind-addled
maester with clear ties to House Lannister. Your deception will be much
cleaner, easier to redirect blame should need arise...”
Tytos nodded, speaking cautiously. “That is only if Stark has half a brain upon
his warrior’s shoulders… But regardless, Uncle. My determination is unwavering.
Whatever task you assign me, I will complete it.”
“Good. You will be saddled, armed, and armored by nightfall. I give you the
authority to take any measure needed to keep the stability of the Westerlands.
Within reason, of course…” His unfinished statement was a veiled threat, Tytos
knew. “You will need to be noticed by Lord Stark… And my coin lines the pockets
of many fine knights in the capital. I’m certain Robert will be throwing one of
his tourneys for Lord Stark’s coming… I will send a Raven ahead of you to
Pycelle. You will have a clear victory in the lists when it comes to the
Mountain or my other vassals, but no such easy victory will come to you at the
hands of Loras Tyrell.” Lord Tywin paused, glancing back at him. “I have
planned quite a long time for what happens next, boy. Keep that in mind.”
“I understand quite clearly, my lord.”
“Then you are dismissed.”  Tywin spoke with total finality, and Tytos went to
leave, and prepare for his task.
 
Four hours later, the promised Raven had flown, and Tytos was armed with a
hedge knight’s garb. Greyed steel plate, and a greatsword across his back.
Seems its time to go…
As he rode off, hair dyed the unassuming brown of a commoner, he felt the eyes
of his uncle behind him from one of the many windows of the foreboding, massive
castle that so eloquently mimicked its owner. Out of the Lion's jaws and into
the Wolf's. He had freedom to laugh away from Tywin's gaze, at least, something
to be thankful for after all.
***** Ill Tidings *****
Chapter Summary
     Allyria and Catelyn realize that they have the same goal in mind. The
     Golden Company's war comes to a close.
Allyria


Lady Catelyn had awoke after quite some time, and the entire castle was quite
overjoyed by that fact.  Allyria, on the other hand, was quite nervous, as she
had not the courage to truly attempt a conversation with Lady Stark without
hiding behind some jape or arrogant remark…  Knights have their armor… and I
have mine…
As she stepped into the small room, Bran was still fast asleep, and Catelyn had
just barely awoken, still weakened by the attack, but still very much alert.
“Snow…” She said simply, looking at her mournfully.
“My Lady Stark…” Allyria stepped forwards slowly. “You’re hands… Are they…?”
“They are scarred, but they will heal, girl. Don’t fret over them…” She smiled
with a warmth Allyria had not seen before. “Bran is alive, unharmed…”
“I… What you did was very brave, Lady Catelyn. I am thankful for your… your
role in protecting Bran.” Allyria grew uncertain.  Perhaps she’s still weak
from blood loss… perhaps she’ll go cold again. Like a stone.
“I’ve made mistakes, girl. We all have. Even Ned.” Her gaze dropped to the
fire… Allyria knew that there was but one thing she could be thinking about…
She continued speaking as if that moment never happened. “But at least we can
agree on one thing we’ve done right…” She glanced at Bran. “Protecting those we
care about.”
Allyria nodded, “Aye…”
“I believe I understand you now, somewhat… You had no mother, so you act as if
you can style yourself after your Aunt.”
“What if I do…?” Allyria fired back, her usual venom in her voice once more.
“Then it’s not a good omen for Robb… Lyanna was willful, of course… not wanting
to marry Robert because he had a bastard in the Vale... but she was selfish,
even your father could see. Her rumored love outside her betrothal, or bravery,
or perhaps purely her foolish run off into the woods to be captured by the
Prince, cost her family dearly. I hope yours will not. I hope you will--”
Allyria felt her cheeks redden, her fury ebbed away. “I… I’m not…”
Catelyn shook her head, sighing, her smile returned momentarily. “I see the way
you look at him. Truth be told I was afraid of it… but… I know you have no
intend to harm Robb from what I can see. Not with intent…You have no army to
lead, but you do have advice to give.. So I will entrust him to you while I go
South.” She chuckled to herself, “And here I thought your interest was in
denying Sansa her prince…”
Allyria’s eyes widened, unsure, “Lady Stark-”
“Ned is in danger, girl. I must deliver the message, no one else.”
“But Bran… Rickon… Robb…”
“They will endure. Their father always has.” The Lady Catelyn’s eyes were
clouded, filled with days long past… just like how Old Nan’s would sometimes
get. Where she would be lost in a world all her own.  Did she see something
while she slept…? Or is she testing me…?
“...As you wish, my lady. I will call the others and inform them of your
decision.”
“Thank you, Snow.” The coldness was back in her voice, the vigilance. But
Allyria knew now, despite her trepidation, Catelyn was above all devoted to her
family. The scars on her fingers proved it.  And I cannot hate that, at least.
She turned to exit, sparing one last glance back at the woman she had gone out
of her way to spite for so long…
“I’m sorry.” Allyria spoke quietly to herself, before walking off, hoping to
avoid a response.




Aegon



Balaq’s archers had killed every messenger the Volantenes tried to send out.
They had docked their ships slightly upstream from the Long Bridge, surrounding
the city and preparing the siege weapons for war, their spymaster, Maar, and
the alleged pyromancers he had promised came through, albeit not with as much
success as the guild in King’s Landing would have had. They had exactly five
massive pots of the vile green liquid, as the making and secure packaging of
Wildfyre was very tedious, but it would work wonders should the city not
surrender, as it would spread and grow for every wood plank it consumed. The
four great mouths of the Rhoyne lay before them, upon the Easternmost bank sat
the Black Walls, seamless, obsidian tinted, and eternally looming over the
outer city, where slaves toiled ceaselessly without so much as a glimpse into
the innermost sanctum of their masters.
“Five slaves to every freeman.” Lord Jon spoke grimly as the War Council stood
upon the western shore of the city. Jon put his hand on Aegon’s shoulder
protectively, as if to steady him… or himself.
“Yes. It is time for their toiling to come to an end.” Daenerys’s soft voice
carried on the wind from behind them
Aegon turned around, nodding, “That it is.”
“Five certainly is greater than one. Will the Red Priests support you when you
cut off their supply of new recruits?” Jon continued, glancing at Viserys.
“I suppose they might. But a slave will choose their freedom over their god, I
have no doubt.” The King responded, his eyes hungered for battle. “I only need
them freed to win the city for me, after that I care not for their well-being.”
“Then they will never support you, your grace. Harsh words, but true.” Aegon
stepped forward. “Let me garner their support for you should the priests come
to parlay.”
Viserys considered it for a moment, turning to Dany. “Should I, sweet sister?”
Dany was unsure how to respond, “...I suppose that depends on whether or not
you wish to win, Brother.”
“Hm… I suppose they would appreciate discussing with a base-born over a King.
Very well, Young Griff. Put your low birth to use for me.”
Jon grimaced, “Half-maester won’t like allying with men of Benerro’s sort.”
“He’s not here though, is he? He’s below decks on the ship, learning from the
Pyromancers.” Viserys rebuked.
“Strickland’s orders--” Aegon began.
“Stricklands choking on his own blood, he cannot stop me.. I care not for the
orders of a dead man.” Viserys drew himself up tall. “You’ve been given orders
of your own, Young Griff. Now carry them out.
“As you wish…” Aegon bit his lip, turning away.
“Wear your helm. A stray arrow may be awaiting you.” Jon spoke in a stark
mannerism. “Wouldn’t want the King’s chief diplomat injured on his first
outing.”
Aegon smiled, “I’ll keep that in mind, Father.”


As he rode from the hills to the western city’s gate beside the roaring waters
of the Rhoyne, he was wearing the helm as he was advised, a banner of gold
streaming behind his horse to let them know his status. The High Priest was
already at the wall. Pale, tall, and thin. His face was marred by countless red
tattoos, fires, all of them. His voice carried unnaturally on the wind. “A
Dragon’s General at our gates? What an honor.”
“The honor is mine. I hear you are quite revered among the people here,
Benerro… even by the Tiger Guard… Do you intend to support the the Golden
Company or not?”
“Hm… I have seen her face in the fires. She is who will bring the dawn… but
while she is eclipsed by her brother’s madness, she will never flourish… And
the Lord of Light tells me of you, mummer. His word is clouded though…”
“Whatever your Lord tells you, I know that Viserys will be merciful if you
assist in in casting off the yoke of the Old-Bloods.”
“I thought Lys sent you here simply to end a Trade War…? Was conquest their
true goal?”
“Conquest is Viserys’ true goal. I will see it done with the least amount of
death possible.”
“So honorable… so loyal to a man not worthy of your service… but why?”
“He is my King. I was born to serve him.”
Benerro’s laugh boomed over the plains, “Ah… that is not your part. A Man came
before you with thoughts of that nature. The Sword of the Morning. Some good
his loyalty did him. Are you wiser than that man, I wonder?”
“What do you mean…?”
“The Old-Bloods may have their faults, but Daenerys will be the one to break
our chains, not Viserys, nor you, ‘son of Griff.’ R’hllor will stand with
Volantis until our queen arrives ready for her task.”
“Then you will die, Benerro. Viserys will not hesitate to use all his-” The
rancid laugh from the mad priest rang out once more…
“You believe that those fires will ever reach inside our walls…?” Aegon stared
up, dumbfounded.  He knows about the Wildfyre…?
  The priest continued, “Look upon your Pirate’s fleet, see what your
aspirations come to, boy. Nothing but ash. For the night is dark… and full of
terrors…” As soon as the priest’s words rung forth… Aegon saw the Fire
Worshippers in Viserys’ retinue raise their torches… and the priest’s word’s
were repeated.
“The Night is Dark and full of terrors.”
 
“You think your affirmations of ‘Fire and Blood’ could change what Viserys is,
boy? You are a fool. Your words are sweet, but the truth of them is hollow. And
flames burn away all deception…”
He saw Jon riding as fast as he could towards him, “Aeg--!”
The fire from the explosion was blinding, the noise just as horrible… His horse
bucked him off into the river. The waters boiled, alight with green flame.
Beneath the surface, a Red Priest leapt to take his life, the fires did not
touch either of them. A knife flashed towards the joint of his armor above his
neck. He put a hand clawing to the priest’s wrist, a savage punch landing into
his own stomach. Water filled his lungs, darkness filled his eyes. Turning the
man’s blade in some feat of pure desperation, he plunged the shiv back into its
wielder, but it did him no good, his greatsword drug him further and further
down… his fingers scrambling to undo the sheath upon his back.
A pocket of wildfyre began sinking, its green flame not even put out by the
roaring currents of the Rhoyne. Aegon clawed his way towards it, his final
hope, as the sheath would not give way.  I am the blood of the dragon… I will
not burn… they will see…  The fires unburdened him of his armor, scorching the
hair from his skull, and the sword off his back. He desperately sucked in air
but felt only the bitterness of flame inside of him…  I’m going to die… just
like Aerion Brightflame…  His eyes closed, he was not aware of anything after
that, be it death or life that awaited him.
***** The Half-Lion II *****
Chapter Summary
     Tytos arrives in King's Landing some time following the 'Battle' for
     Volantis.
The Half-Lion



It had been quite some time since he had set out from the West. He rode hard,
giving himself little sleep, a full coinpurse was not safe in the Riverlands,
where brigands were very common, even in peacetime. As soon as he could, he
took the headwaters of the Blackwater from the aptly titled castle of
Riverspring, and the current carried him much faster, much more consistently
than a horse’s legs could. He kept his gold close at hand, not revealing any
detail more than being a simple hedge knight.  After all, people are much more
interested in themselves than they are others…  For good measure, he had
stopped shaving his beard, even he could barely recognize himself with all that
black hair on his chin and atop his head.
Even the Red Keep and it’s rising, wretched, pink stone towers were a welcome
sight after weeks of travel. As he rode through the Mud Gate into the Flea
Bottom. The poor and misfortunate clogged the muddy streets, girls offered
themselves to passersby, the more expensive ones did it from brothel doors. One
man, at least, he could point out at a glance, Petyr Baelish.  Suppose he had
to start somewhere… Flea Bottom brothels have the most business, evidently.
Baelish was short, his hair greying, but Tytos knew he was not a man to be
underestimated, if half the rumors were true… and he knew they were.
Littlefinger glanced at him passingly, Tytos took it as a good sign that he did
not take special note of him, from his reaction.   Just another hedge knight...
Eventually, Pycelle found him as he strode through the Street of Steel to
admire the craftsmanship of the smiths there. “Ah, you there, boy. What is your
name?” The older man moved slowly, his great white beard hung low over his
maester’s robes.
“Name’s Arthur, m’lord…” He walked to the old man, offering a ring with the
Lannister seal, turned away from the rest of the crowd, using the most common
accent he had.
“Ah… follow me then.” He took the seal, hobbling along back towards his
chambers in the Red Keep. As they walked, he spoke in low tones. “The Starks
haven’t arrived yet… though, my contacts in White Harbor saw a certain peculiar
couple heading south… a woman with red hair, and an elderly retainer of hers…”
They walked past the threshold of the gates and into the Red Keep, the pinkish
stone walls rising up tall before them.
“You think it’s Lady Stark…?”
The older man cleared his throat, “We can discuss it when I have the reports
afore me, I’m sure, Arthur… An odd name… Why did your father chose it…?”
“He said my hair was the same color of blonde as the Sword of the Morning…
Unfortunately, I did not keep that shade. No doubt a Dayne would claim me as
their own then.” He chuckled.
Pycelle raised an eyebrow, “Oh…? Yes, Gerion truly had an odd sense of humor…”
He spoke softly, his breathing labored as he arrived at his chambers. The desk
was cluttered with papers, and atop them all sat two raven scrolls. “Here…” The
Maester closed the door, opening the one upon the left with the Lion’s sigil.
“Arthur, hm…? Lord Tywin told me to be on the watch for a man of your
description… You’re to be his… more hands-on presence in the city, correct?”
“That I will be. Though I cannot expose my motives to the court… If that were
to happen, Tywin would ensure heads will roll…” He offered a veiled threat to
gauge the older man's response.
The words flew right over the daft old man’s head. He cleared his throat
absentmindedly, nodding. “Yes, yes… The...arrival, of Lady Catelyn, could
provide us a more… subtle way to gain Lord Stark’s trust. Rather than winning
one of Robert’s tourneys… you could instead offer your services to Lady
Catelyn…”
“Baelish will have been informed of her arrival as well… and Catelyn will be
predisposed to trusting him…”
“I am sure I could dither him while you meet with the Lady Catelyn…” Pycelle’s
head bowed as he thought, his hands interlocked as he sat at his desk. “But I
doubt he will… his motives are completely unknown, his movements unpredictable…
Except in relation to Catelyn. I suggest--”
“Men like Baelish don’t have such petty goals, Pycelle… or he would not have
neglected his supposed love for nigh upon fifteen years.”
“What... ? What do you mean?”
“Baelish’s obsession with Catelyn was a thing of the past, I think. He’s one of
the richest men in the realm and did nothing to be with her at all…”
“Why… what other motive would Littlefinger have?”
“When men are that driven, that ruthless in climbing atop their beloved
ladders, their motives are much more than claiming a petty crown or a woman’s
hand…”
“You sound as if you know Lord Baelish…?”
“We have been… introduced… A long time ago.”  And a foul taste still rests in
my mouth from those meetings…
“Hmph… I will have you know that honesty is the only way our partnership can be
fruitful... “
“I have been nothing but honest, Pycelle. And I do not intend to tell you more
than is necessary. My duties are to Lord Tywin, not to you.” Tytos drew himself
up, glaring down at the maester.
The old man was intimidated, as he had intended.”Y-Yes, yes… of course… pardon
me, my lord Lannister.”
“I am no Lannister, Pycelle.” He sighed.  I am alone in this city… and there
are no friends by my side.  Just then, Tytos felt a sudden pang of sorrow in
his gut…   Why am I truly doing this…? To tell myself that I’m a lion when the
task is done…?  Pushing those thoughts from his head, he seized the second
raven scroll.
“Of course, of course…” Pycelle seemed disheartened that his groveling fell
upon deaf ears. “The King and Lord Stark arrive in two days, and Lady Catelyn
will arrive in the city sooner than that… We will need to move quickly if we
would keep the wolf’s ears away from the Mockingbird’s control.”
“Very well… Tell me where to go. I trust you can do that well enough.”
“Y-Yes, my lord.” He spoke hurriedly. “I will guide you…”
 
The old man seemed to know the city well enough, as they found Lady Catelyn in
a shady tavern establishment…  So predictable… Not even trying to hide the fact
of her high-born appearance, just her lodgings.  He knocked hurriedly on her
door, the door the innkeeper said belonged to a woman with copper-red hair
“Who is it…?” She responded, the rasp of leather on metal muted behind the
wooden door.
“A Friend to House Tully.” He responded, “A rare sight in the capital these
days…”
She opened the door with deep suspicion. “No one was to know I was here…” She
glanced about with no undue amount of concern. “Who sent you…?”
“I’m just a simple Hedge Knight in service to the King, and I needed to find
you, Lady Stark, to warn you of Lord Baelish… He is a boy no longer… Nor is he
so naive as he was when he fought for your hand.”
“So Petyr knew as well…?”
“Taking a path down through White Harbor was quite noticeable, my lady…
Especially by people like the Spider and Lord Littlefinger.”
“And why am I supposed to trust you…? My visitation was supposed to be known
only by Stark men.”
“People like Littlefinger stand only to benefit by setting wolves against
lions. I only wish to be of service to you and yours, Lady Stark.” He knelt,
speaking with lies smooth as silk coming from his mouth.  Wars are coming,
honesty is a detriment when speaking to possible enemies...
“So you mean to tell me you have somewhere for me to stay away from the common
eye?”
“Quite possibly…”
“I will not go off into the night with some sellsword boy and abandon Ser
Rodrik.”
“My lady, please--”
“Petyr has shown no ill will to me and my family before. I am sure that has not
changed.” She spoke confidently.  Family, Duty, Honor…  What a shitshow…
“Then at least let me be of service to you when the Gold Cloaks come calling to
take you to him…”
“The Gold Cloaks…?”
“Aye, they’ve been paid off by him… Whatever half-truths he feeds you, I have
seen some of the scope of Littlefinger’s plots…” Tytos nearly shivered at his
own words. “He  is not a man to be trusted.”
“I appreciate your concern, ser…?”
“Ser Arthur, my lady.”
“Ser Arthur, you seem like an alright sort… that being said, I have known Petyr
far longer than I have known you… so forgive me should I not deem you
trustworthy.”
“Lady Cat--”
The tread of boots on hardwood rang out behind him. “Is this man bothering you,
my Lady Catelyn…? Lord Baelish sent us to care for you during your time here.”
Catelyn stared as she realized her first visitor’s words rang true. “No… In
fact, I would like to take him with me.” Tytos stared, his eyes meeting
Catelyn’s.  A sharper woman than I believed…  Her eyes were vigilant, showing
she had at least some stock in his words.
“Very well… He will be cared for while you meet with Lord Baelish. Come with us
then.” The Gold Cloaks led them out of the tavern, heads held high.  A Brothel
then. That is where all of Baelish’s private doings occur…



As soon as they arrived he was separated from the Lady Catelyn, Baelish spoke
with him in private first, it seemed.
“Ah, the Half-Lion. Already back in the city. I do so appreciate your visits.
You look so different… First a Volantene with hair of silver, then a Tyroshi
with hair the color of sapphire… You do so enjoy your pointless little
costumes, don’t you…? Though I must admit, you did get me off guard this time…”
“Seems I did…”
“A boy so young, yet with so many different lies… What does your Lord Tywin
believe…? That it’s your first time in King’s Landing…?”
“That’s unimportant, Baelish. I don’t intend to let you fill Lady Stark’s, or
her husband’s, ears with your poison.”
“Easy now, ‘Tytos’... I recall you filled my ears with all manner of poisons
the last time you were here. I find dealing in poison much less profitable than
dealing in flesh.” He glanced about the empty whorehouse room. “As you can see
by our present surroundings.”
He felt his fists clench at his sides…
“But let's not think of hostilities that are long since past… I’m sure you can
find another girl to get your manhood into and you’ll forget all about-”
“I’m not here to suffer through your insults to the woman I loved, Baelish… You
may as well leave.”
“How very droll. A mummer who is not found of japes… Rest assured, Lady Catelyn
will hear my thoughts on you. You won’t beg, I know you… but I hope you have
the sense to know that no Stark will trust you so long as my word is taken as
truth by Cat and her Lord Husband… Now, you work under me from now on… As, I’m
sure, your task involves garnering the Stark’s support… I will gladly aid you,
should you complete the tasks I give you…”
“Always fucking tasks with you people…” Tytos glared, hiding his
uncomfortableness with the way that wretched man looked at him….
“Oh, you’ll come when you’re called like all the others, Tytos… You’re no lion.
You know that… Now, I’ve a reunion with an old friend to attend to…” As the man
strode off out of the room, Tytos felt sick, watched, even in that small room.
***** Edric Dayne I *****
Chapter Summary
     Edric rides with Beric, doubting the loyalty of his guardian, and
     thinking back on Starfall.
Edric


He had squired for Lord Beric for around a year or so, and he had told him he
would inherit the great duty of his uncle when he came to age... Edric was
ready to take on the role, but...
“The Sword of the Morning is an office, not merely a title. With all the duties
that it could bring.” The Lightning Lord had told him once, as they rode. He
was not a very humble man, the red-gold of his hair and the confident smirk to
his face showing his pride quite clearly. “But don’t worry, Edric. I will show
you how to carry yourself.”
He hadn’t liked Ser Beric very much, he seemed quite immature, inexperienced,
to be such a famous knight. But he set aside impressions and endeavored to be
as great a squire as he could be. It’s not my place to talk bad about people.
Edric was only eleven, born three years after the Sack of King’s Landing, but
even he could feel a certain sense of foreboding about the trip to the capital.
I wonder if I’ll ever see Blackhaven, or even Starfall, ever again…? He did not
enjoy the prospect of going North to King’s Landing. Beric had told them to
leave early, as they wanted to arrive for the tourney in time, but Edric felt
as if it would have been better to wait, just one or two more days in the
castle he had called home for three years.
Whenever someone asked his opinion on the trip he responded with as good a
smile as he could muster, polite as he could be. His mind was always on
something else. Things like the odd star he dreamed about, the star they called
the Sword of the Morning, theorized to be the sibling to the star that had
landed on the spot his family’s castle now stood, or, instead of those dreams,
he thought of how he wished he was just a little bit older so he could fight in
the real tourney instead of riding against the other squires. Edric had trained
very hard since he could walk, to fight like Arthur, his uncle, had. I don’t
think I could ever be as renowned as he was… that won’t stop me from trying
though.

Sometimes he’d have dreams, sometimes he’d have nightmares. The nightmares came
more often. When the ghosts of his family descended upon him in his featherbed
in Starfall, mocking him for a weakling, and a coward who could never claim
Dawn. He didn’t enjoy talking to new people after dreams like that. Beric could
tell, every time it happened he could tell… but Edric didn’t tell him the whole
truth of his dreams. No one puts stock in dreams, I suppose I shouldn’t either…
Edric put his spurs in the horse, sighing. I wish I was back home…  I never had
dreams about odd places back home, just the Morning Crypts… where Dawn still
sits. The dreams were happy then, with my ancestors beckoning for me to become
great like them… now they wish to beckon me into my own grave… And sometimes
they sword doesn’t choose me… And then, there’s another crypt,  laid before the
shadow of a wall of ice… a boy’s solemn face of duty.
“Edric… What did you see this time…?” Beric tilted his head as he rode beside
his squire, his words taking him away from his thoughts.
“Another dream of the stars.” Edric spoke quietly, not wanting to talk at that
moment.
“Of course. That was not what I was asking.”
“I… the boy at the wall again… and the crypts with the wolf-kings.”
“Hm… Perhaps it’s a sign.”
“I don’t know of what…”
“Perhaps it’s your uncle, showing you how to inherit Dawn.” Beric offered,
slowing his horse down gradually.
“I’m not sure it’s like that… Why… or… how would my uncle be showing all this
to me…?”
“Who knows? How did the first Dayne follow a falling star through mountain
passes, swim across a boiling river, and build a castle on an island after
forging a sword from the star that became said island…? It’s not for us to
puzzle out, Edric.” The Lightning Lord shrugged, his wavy red-gold hair flowing
freely behind him as he increased his steed’s pace again, leaving him behind...
Edric grimaced, sighing. “Some knight you turned out to be…” He felt guilt coil
around him. I guess it’s not his fault… I shouldn’t get angry about this… but I
am… He sighed, following the man he had been squiring for.I don’t even know why
he took me on… maybe he wants a marriage with one of Darkstar’s family…? Edric
didn’t really know anything about the Lightning Lord aside from his honor, his
inexperience, and his strength of arms. Why is he taking care of me…? What’s
does he gain…?
Beric called back, “Come on, Edric, we’re nearly there, stay on the path.”
“Very well, my lord.” He smiled, and beneath it, he hid his trepidation, his
suspicion of his caretaker.
***** The Half-Lion III *****
Chapter Summary
     Tytos is introduced to Lord Stark and his household.
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Tytos



A tense night went by, Tytos was kept in his room. He barely slept, on account
of the noise, and the fact that at any moment Baelish could decide to get rid
of him once he convinced Lady Catelyn he was lying. However, his eyes demanded
to close, and they did.
 
He awoke the next morning with Eddard Stark’s face before him, all solemn, dark
hair, set jaw. A true Stark. “You’re the boy?”  The Hand of the King spoke
doubtfully.
He sat up slowly, glancing away under Stark’s gaze. “I… My name is Arthur.”
“Seems you intended to warn Cat of Littlefinger…”
“That I did, my lord… He is not to be trusted.”
Ned looked around with suspicion. “She says that Petyr would never hurt her
though…” Lord Stark put a hand to his chin, thinking.
“My Lord… She has not seen him for fifteen years. She doesn’t truly know him.
Please, Lord Stark, I-”
“Calm down, boy.” Ned sighed, with a mournful smile. “I suppose we can’t truly
know who has the right of it… but… I will give you a chance.”  So Baelish does
intend for me to be in his household… and he got that idea in Stark’s head… I
suppose he always was good at suggestion… but why? What is he planning?
“What do you mean, Lord Stark…?”
“I’ve need of men who are skilled in sothron politics… and you’re of a
different sort from people like Littlefinger…”  Stark… you fool…  “You are a
hedge knight, correct? No allegiances of your own?”
“None, my lord… but I’ve seen the disaster that comes when Starks come south
without proper advisors… and I don’t enjoy the thought of seeing events like
that again…”  There’s some truth in that…  His mind kept creeping back to
thinking about his mother, the blood that seeped beneath the bed sheets onto
him as he hid…
After a long pause, Eddard came to a decision. “Come with me, boy… You’ll need
to be fitted to the equipment.” Stark offered him a hand, and he took it.
“Thank you, my lord.” Tytos sighed in relief, his first obstacle overcome.
“I hope you prove my choice the correct one.” Ned grimaced, his face unsure.
“I’ll not have many friends in the capital, I’m sure.”  He certainly is quite
trusting…. Much more than his wife…  “But,” the Hand continued. “I hope you
know that I will take counsel from both you and Littlefinger.”
“As would be expected, milord.” He bowed low. “I only hope you can feel safe
with trusting me.”
He nodded, “As do I.” He turned towards the door. “We’ve better places to be
than brothels… and I’ve already said farewell to my wife. Do you keep the
seven, or the Old Gods?”
“The Seven, Lord Stark.” Saying he followed the Old Gods would be quite too
suspicion arousing, considering he was Knighted. “I will swear my oaths of
fealty now, should you wish.”
“Very well, swear it before whatever gods you want to, you are your own man.”
He had a rueful smile as he turned around for him to take his vows.
“I will defend you and your kin until my death, Lord Stark. My sword is yours,
my shield is yours, my life is yours. I am yours. I swear it by the Warrior,
the Father, the Smith, and the Stranger. I swear it by the Maiden, the Mother,
and the Crone. I swear it by the old gods and the new.” He knelt, his eyes
downward.
“Stand, Ser Arthur. You’re the peer of any man from House Stark.” Stark offered
another hand to pull him to his feet. He felt… sick.  If I do this, I earn
Tywin’s favor… That’s all that matters.  The Lion was a great many leagues
away, but he felt his eyes watching him even then.



As he was introduced to the Stark household, several things were quite obvious
to him.  They’re all more or less the same… more or less honorable, just like
Lord Stark… How foolish, to have the same man for every job required…. He’s
pitiful, in a way, I suppose… he doesn’t belong down here.  After he was
introduced to the guards, Fat Tom, Jory Cassel, and more, he also met the two
daughters of the Quiet Wolf.
 The elder had the fiery auburn hair of her mother, and her vividly blue eyes.
She gave a curt greeting and introduction, before exiting the room as if she
had some prince to run off to.  Which I suppose she does…
The younger had the dark hair, of her father, though it was closer to brown
than his black, and her eyes were grey, full of mischief, yet tainted by
sadness. She was around nine, but already, she matched what he imagined Lord
Stark’s sister, the wolf-maid, to have looked like. The Household Guard had
told him of her escapades on the Kingsroad in no small measure, and of her
butcher’s boy, who the Hound had cut nearly in two.  Poor girl…  He didn’t know
why, but the Starks didn’t seem like a bad sort- besides Sansa, that was- even
though Tywin told him the exact opposite…  Their father wants to protect them…
but he doesn’t know how the south works… It’s not my job to protect them,
though… it’s my job to inform on them.  Arya exchanged her courtesies more
hurriedly, before running off like Tytos had come to expect from young girls.
I wonder how Joy is doing…  He sighed, a pang of guilt in his chest.  She’ll be
lonely…
Drawn out of his musings by the clash of steel on steel, apparently the
Northmen were training in the Godswood, just outside the tower. He smiled,
reminded of the Greyjoy Rebellion, where he had watched Lyle Crakehall, the
Strongboar, truly unleash his full strength in battle, on par with the
Kingslayer.  It should be amusing to see if the northerners are as fierce.



Striding out into the Godswood to observe the duels, beneath the massive oak
that was the heart-tree, he saw Jory Cassel and Alyn sparring. Tytos noticed
almost immediately that the Northerners viewed fighting much like the King did,
savage bouts of hacking and hammering at an opponent until they tired, unlike
the Westerlanders, like Ser Jaime, who’s dancing, effortless sword strokes were
the stuff of legends.  Not everybody can squire under Ser Arthur Dayne though…
Jory’s ruthless sword strikes put the less-experienced Alyn on the defence, his
shield almost constantly raised to block. Jory had the common sense to swipe
towards his opponent’s legs, but Alyn turned the blade with his own, squatting
low, but throwing himself off balance. He stumbled, and fell back into the mud,
rather like a novice.
“You can’t hide behind your shield, Alyn. You’re a warrior, not a tree.” Jory
chuckled as he lifted his friend to his feet.
Odd… quite odd.
 Jory turned, smirking “Ah, the Hedge Knight. Evidently Lord Stark wants your
counsel, but can you wield a blade well enough?”
Tytos smirked, “Of course I can. Dulled steel, or wood?”
Jory shrugged, “Your choice.”
“Steel then.”
One of the other men at arms offered him a few choices, an arming sword with a
shield, a longsword, or a greatsword.  Lyle always said should you have a
choice, take the bigger one.  The steel felt familiar in his hands, it was well
balanced, he felt years of practice, years of work, rush back to him. He heard
the steel whistle through the air, an old familiar ache in his hands as he
hefted the blade.
Jory looked quite unsettled…  Wonder why…?  He took the arming sword and wooden
shield he preferred to spar with an arming sword and a shield, “Quite
experienced for a Hedge Knight.”
“The Riverlands is full of experiences, Jory.” He smiled, taking up a stance,
his feet planted just outside his shoulders, and both hands on the greatsword
he had chosen. Jory sprang forward, a blow coming down upon Tytos’ right
shoulder, caught by the crossguard of the greatsword. Tytos moved a hand to
Jory’s shoulder, ramming a knee up into his cut before disentangling himself
from him. The Northman was quite frustrated, fuming with anger, his breath
catching from the blow. He rushed forward once again, slashing ruthlessly at
the left of his chest, Tytos turned the blade again, before ducking down and
slamming the flat of his blade against the back of Jory’s knees. Jory’s chest
heaved, and he stood up slowly, ponderously, their bout over before it even
seemed to begin.
Tytos bit back a taunt.  No need to make enemies out of my comrades.  Cassel
spoke with anger. “You fight as if you were born with that bloody thing.” The
Northman spat, face contorted in a grimace.
“I could teach you all how to wield it, if you’d like. Though I’m just one
man.”  And I’ve had many teachers.  “The southerners don’t fight like you do.
That’s why you’ll all end up dying if you don’t learn.”
They all shook their heads, Jory speaking for all of them. “You have our way,
Arthur, and we have ours.”
“Very well, I--”
“Teach me, then!” A voice came from behind him, the willful Wolf-girl stood
there, mud on her dress from where she hid by the oak tree, her hair all a
tangle. She stood with her arms crossed, a smile on her face.
Tytos couldn’t hold back his laugh, he found it very amusing. “You want to use
a greatsword?”
Arya’s face was bright red, “Why shouldn’t I?”
“Don’t get me wrong, Arya. I know you can fight from your reputation, but… do
you really think you could hold a greatsword?”
“Jon and Allyria said that I can learn to wield a longsword, because it’s
better balanced and you can use both hands for leverage. It’s a better weapon
than Ne-- than most, for a woman.” She spoke with confidence.
“Very well, then. I can teach you, if you’re determined enough.”
Jory butted in, “Hasn’t your father scheduled you dancing lessons though,
Arya?”
Arya blushed, “Dancing lessons don’t teach you how to fight like  him.”  She
pointed at Tytos, her finger touching his chest.
“Fine, fine, I’ll teach you.” Tytos smiled.
“How’d you learn to fight like that, though?” Arya tilted her head, just like
his half-sister would have.
“Years of work, can you commit to that?” Tytos realized he sounded exactly like
his father.
“Of course I can! It’s not like there’s anything else to do here than
‘dancing’.”
Jory sighed, “You might enjoy dancing, my lady.”
“Fine, I can do both, can’t I?”
“If you so wish…” The man-at-arms responded  Young and willful…  Tytos thought
mournfully, before pushing those thoughts aside.
He gave his best grin he could manage. “Alright, if your Lord Father allows it,
Arya, I will teach you as a southerner knight should learn.” Her smile was as
confident as his was.  Half my age, but twice as fierce.
Chapter End Notes
     Getting some baaaaaaaad writer's block. May end up scrapping this
     idea for something further on in the timeline of the War of the Five
     Kings. Not sure.
***** Kill the Boy *****
Chapter Summary
     Viserys leads the ragged survivors of the Golden Company to Pentos.
     Tytos starts having trouble keeping his distance from the Starks as
     time goes on. Bran adjusts to life as a cripple.
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Viserys

His entire fleet was destroyed, along with quite a fair bit of his company.
Griff marshalled the survivors and fled back west, away from the Slave
Soldiers. Griff and Dany were quite downcast, but he couldn’t fathom why.
Sellswords die quite often. It’s not as if he was a nobleman, or anything
important.
He had only felt true sorrow when he heard his brother, the brother who he had
strived to emulate, died on the Trident. A usurper laying him low, before
ordering his pets to tear apart the capital… I am the Last Dragon. They should
be grateful I did not die in the fires, not mournful of some base-born boy who
did nothing to help the cause. I marshalled the men, I led them West. Why are
they not---
“Viserys.” The Half-maester spoke, his hands wrapped in loose wool following
the burning of the fleet. Burns that were just as bad as the ones Viserys felt
on his own arms, he knew.
“Mind your tongue, grey rat… I am your King.”
“We’ve almost arrived back in Pentos.” The Half-maester spoke in an odd blunt
manner, as if he was hurried.
“Pentos… yes… Mopatis will be pleased with our safe return.” Half-maester
looked at him as if he was a fool, as if he were forgetting something. “What is
it?”
“Kings lack the caution of other men…”

When he was led into Illyrio’s manse once again, he noted the increased amount
of Unsullied. That’s… odd… but the Usurper’s knives may be here, so it is
required, I suppose.
The city was filled with parades for the return of the true King, and the
children of the city looked at him with wonder. As they should…
Striding through the city, he left the Golden Company retinue outside of the
gates of Illyrio’s manse, the massive statue of the man himself standing tall
and proud. Where is the Merchant? He had stayed with Illyrio for nearly a year
before he had joined the Golden Company. He will want to welcome his King.And
so he did. Viserys saw the man striding through the gates with pride
“Your grace.” The large man strode forward, fat rolling underneath the silks
and perfumes that clung to him as he walked down the cobblestone path. His
pointed beard was dyed, shining like gold. “It has been too long.”
“Save the pleasantries, Illyrio. By now word has reached the Usurper… We need
to head West while we still can.” He glanced around, smiling as he saw the red
and black banners, the smoke and fire of his House.
“With the Pentoshi navy? And half the Golden Company? For you? No, no, Viserys…
You assume quite too much/”
“I am the rightful King, Illyrio… remember the weight of my friendship…”
“The Rightful King…? Ah, Viserys... The Rightful King is kind, caring for his
commonfolk… The Rightful King is unburnt, the Rightful King is a man that all
honorable men can marshal behind. And that man, is not you, Viserys. The Lord
of Light has shown me the way in the flames... and neither you nor some fool in
Volantis will change my mind...” Mopatis chuckled, grinning. "The Martells with
their trade alliances with the free cities were quite useful... and Prince
Doran is oh so supportive of his nephew's claim..."
All around him he saw them… The Little Birds that terrified him as a child,
that stalked through the passages of the Red Keep, knives in hand, no words
passing through their lips… There were more of them now… even there in
Illyrio’s manse… his hand found the hilt of his steel. “Get back! I am your
King! Do not wake the Dragon!”
“Fire and Blood, they say… and you are neither fire, nor the blood of Old
Valyria.”
 
Viserys slammed his blade towards the neck of one of the children. “Do not wake
the dragon!”
The child ducked beneath the strike, a knife impacting between his ribs, a
second in his leg, a third in his neck… He tried as hard as he could to
struggle, to make some noise, to not die alone… among the silent faces that
looked at him with such disgust… that held him with cold hands as his body was
wracked with pain... Do not… wake the dragon…




Arthur


Pycelle had paid the other riders in the Lists well, as he had unseated quite a
few of the southerner knights, only to be dismounted by his uncle, the
Kingslayer. His breath went out of him all at once, when his uncle rode over
and lifted him to his feet, he smiled, evidently he had recognized him, as he
spoke in whispered tones. “Arthur, is it…? Hm… Well, if you intend to lie,
you’d best make it easy to swallow.” He smirked, with those eyes that saw
through ever little detail before them. “I suppose my father will be
disappointed you didn’t ride to the championship, but you should be thankful, I
kept your head on your shoulders.”
Arthur stared, his uncle looking at him as if he were some especially hilarious
jest. “As you say, Ser Jaime.” He offered a hand, steeling himself.
“I should like to see how you fair with a sword in that hand, little knight. I
wonder if you could ever live up to your… ‘namesake’.” Jaime turned and mounted
again, riding off, and Arthur went to the Starks’ side.
Sansa smiled at him, like a maiden from the tales. “You had a good showing, Ser
Arthur.”
Arthur smiled, “You would have gotten the crown had I won, my lady.” He bowed
humbly. Sansa was rather flustered, murmuring out her thanks. Littlefinger’s
gaze was rather suspicious, watching him closely.
“Unseated by the Kingslayer?” The King chuckled at him. “And here I thought you
were some master of war, boy. At least from how Ned’s man Jory tells it.”
“Jory told you no lies, my King.” He smirked, confident.
“Ah… confidence, I see. Hope you never have to lose that…” The King looked at
him mournfully as he drank down more and more ale. A true King… Arthur bit back
a scoff.
“I don’t intend to.” Arthur grinned, sitting down beside the other servants of
the Hand.
Lord Stark’s watchful eyes, tinted like dark stone on account of his mood,
looked over them all. “Where is Arya?”
Arthur looked through the crowd, seeing a shock of blonde hair just above one
of the wooden fences among the squires… and the odd eyes of a Valyrian peaking
out just above the wood. Lord Edric Dayne… Beside him, he recognized another
figure, hair brown, her face long and solemn, Arthur decided it better than to
tell Stark of Arya’s little excursion. “I will find her, my Lord.” He stood
slowly, to deal with the issue himself.
 
Arthur placed the blonde-haired boy’s age at around eleven, two years Arya’s
elder. Dayne’s face was red, he spoke with the utmost respect to Arya.  “--my
father told me that he called me Ned after your father. He greatly appreciated
his friendship--”
“You two having fun?” Arthur leaned over the wooden fence they attempted hiding
behind.
Ned’s face was a polite smile, “I was telling Arya about my uncle, my
apologies.” His cheeks were even more red though, nervousness toyed within his
eyes.
Arya tilted her head, “Father and Lady Ashara fell in love in Harrenhal? Did
you know that, Arthur?”
Arthur shrugged, “I wouldn’t ask your father about that. He’s quite sensitive
about his past, that’s evident after just a few days in his service.”
Arya pouted, “But Edric says the Daynes all treat the Starks like our families
are great friends. Why…? Didn’t my father kill-”
“That’s enough rumor-mongering, Arya.” Arthur sighed, putting his hand on her
arm gently, “Come on, your father will be worried.”
“Were you named after my uncle, my lord?” Lord Dayne spoke with the same
politeness that seemed inherent to how he spoke with others.
“I’m no Lord, Ned. And I suppose I could be, I didn’t know my parents for very
long.” He shrugged.
“Oh… I’m sorry.” Ned stood up slowly, his kind valyrian eyes alight with
mischief. “I suppose I need to get going to attend to Lord Beric. It was a
pleasure to meet you both.” His smile seemed quite genuine, even if he did not
particularly trust the Dornish, this one was not too bad.
“Likewise.” Arthur replied, putting his hand to Arya’s shoulder. “We should be
off now.”
“As you wish, my lord.” She spoke in a voice dripping with sarcasm.
 
As soon as Dayne was out of earshot he turned to her. “Lord Stark will be glad
you found a friend in the city.”
“Funny you say that, I didn’t think you would know what any concept of
'friends' was.” She spoke tauntingly. "You don't have any do you...?"
He smirked at her teasings. “None with pretty purple eyes and such regal blonde
hair. I wonder if all Stark maids like boys like that.” She shot him a nasty
glare, but he got the last word, as Lord Stark was right there, with an earful
of complaints on her behavior. I'll have to pay for that remark later, it
seems.

Bran


He had awaken only a week or so prior, and Allyria had insisted on throwing a
feast in celebration of that fact. The Imp had returned from Castle Black and
gone already... leaving behind a gift in the form of his queer little writings
of a saddle... 
His legs were deadened, he was a cripple… no hope of rising to the Kingsguard,
nor even leading Robb’s armies. All he did was sit in his bed and listen to Old
Nan’s stories… The same ones he had listened to for years already. A Bard had
visited Winterfell for the feast though, as he sat by Robb on the Lord’s dais,
he saw Allyria was among the crowd in the feast hall, enchanted by the Bard.
His brown hair was greying, but his face was nothing if not regal, handsome,
and his name had spread through the castle rapidly. Bael He thought he knew the
name from somewhere, though he could not place it. In any case, Bael knew quite
a few songs, some Bran had heard before, but different, some he did not
recognize at all. The castle was empty, everyone had left him behind… Father,
Sansa, Arya… even Mother. And now, Robb has to be the Lord, and Allyria’s
either advising him or off spending time with commoners...
Bran sighed, toying with a knife, watching the people at the feast, listening
as best he could. Summer padded between the tables, almost as big as the hounds
that had previous held dominion over the table scraps. He began to think of the
dreams he had while he was asleep… Of the Weirwoods calling to him… of the Crow
forcing him to fly… Who could the crow be…? Beyond that… does anyone else have
wolf dreams? Jon had heard his wolf in the snow bank even though it had never
made a sound since… Is it possible Jon is a greenseer too…?
He sighed, shaking his head, Jon’s at the wall… it doesn’t matter what he could
hear or not. Still, it made him wonder… But should I trust the three-eyed
crow…? Old Nan says crows are all liars… Should I listen to the Weirwood
instead…? The dreams made his head hurt when he thought about them too long, so
he tried focusing on the present. Allyria had retired from the feast, as she
had gotten quite drunk, Robb had escorted her to her chambers… Bran brushed the
auburn hair from his eyes, realizing he hadn’t much touched his food. He ate it
down hurriedly, realizing he was the only one still on the dais. The Bard
strode up to him with a smile after his last rendition of The Dornishman’s
Wife. “Ah, Lord Brandon. I hear the feast is in your honor.”
Bran’s smile was artificial. “Yes, it is. I just woke up from after my fall.”
“I am glad you are recovering. The North will need all her sons for the wars to
come…”
Bran tilted his head, “What do you mean…?”
“Nothing at all, lad.” The Bard grinned. “I will be needing to talk with your
brother after he assists the Lady Allyria to her bedchamber.”
Bran looked at the bard with no small amount of suspicion. “I am sure he will
pay you greatly for your work.”
“That he will, I hope…” The man’s eyes looked sorrowful, as if he had suddenly
remembered something long forgotten. “It seems I’ve more work to do until Lord
Robb returns.”
Robb did, in fact, return, red-faced and nervous. He moved to the dais, sitting
down beside Bran. “What happened?” Bran tilted his head.
“Allyria… she got a bit to invested in the drink. As we all do…” Robb’s tone
betrayed some deeper, graver meaning behind his words.
“What do you mean…?”
“She said she dreamed of stars last night, and she could see them… that they’d
take her far away from here.” Robb seemed genuinely concerned…
Bran shrugged, “People see things in their cups quite often. Jon did it, so did
Robert.” Bran remembered the King and his… boisterous habits. Our king acted
more like a stallion than a stag, in a hurry to mount a mare. Though, I
suppose, its only natural… His face grew warm when he thought of things like
that. I wonder what girl would ever bother wedding a cripple like me... The
feast hall was filled with faces new and old, but just then, Bran felt as if he
was the only one in that entire castle…
 

Arthur


Over the weeks he had spent in their household, he had begun to doubt if he
truly wished to harm the Starks… They were kind, warm, welcoming even…but he
knew Tywin Lannister was not a man to anger… and for years he had aspired to be
useful to his uncle… For the first time… what I want feels different from what
Uncle wants… Arthur dismissed it as pure folly… he was either a bastard or a
baseborn hedge knight… and if the Starks found out his true allegiance, they
would kill him… The North Remembers… He imagined somewhere, father was laughing
at him for being such a fool. He laughed at everything… Another voice whispered
inside of him. You most of all… The Westerlands gave you nothing, nothing but
scars on your back and the knowledge that no man is free from Tywin Lannister’s
sight.
What he feared the most was Lord Stark’s investigation into the murder of Jon
Arryn… From Pycelle’s incessant whisperings, and the former Hand’s final words
being “The Seed is Strong” it was quite clear that the Queen herself had killed
him, and, of course, Arthur thought it was also quite clear why… Cersei and
Jaime had kept their little love affair quite secret… except when they were in
Casterly Rock, where the servants had been quite aware of it since their mother
Joanna caught them at it as children. No one dared tell Tywin though, or if
they did, they had been silenced and Tywin had ignored it. He remembered one
particularly noise-filled night where the royals had visited the castle... and
not a fortnight later the Queen had been with child, the youngest boy. Of
course Robert was blackout drunk during the visit, and he didn’t notice a
thing, when Cersei left his bed to climb into her brother’s. Back then I was
better at observing than at talking…
Arya came to him, as he paced afore the heartwood. “What are you doing…?”
He tilted his head, “Shouldn’t you be off with your Dayne boy?” He smirked
tauntingly.
“You seem quite interested in him…” She shared his smirk. “You must like
hearing of little boys. Do you take after that Corbray--”
“Aye. That’s why I asked Lord Stark to be your personal guard.” She stared, her
face reddening by the second. “Then again, you’re quite prettier than a boy.
Not my type, should your theory hold true.” I do so love to trick this little
wolf….
As the Stark girl tried to wrap her head around his words, she seemed quite
unsure if she should feel insulted or complimented. “I--”
“You remind me of my little sister, Joy.” He looked over the mouth of the
Blackwater, sighing. “She was just as slow-witted. Proud though, strong… not in
the way you’d think though, not in the way you need to be strong in a battle.”
He smiled, sitting back and watching the clouds pass.
She ignored the last bit. “I’ve gotten better at dancing, you know.” She sat
down beside him, smiling proudly. “Syrio says a Water-Dancer can stand on one
toe for an entire day.”
“Better at dancing yet still the same proud little wolf-girl.” He mussed up her
hair. She had a look as if that reminded her of something. Best not to bring it
up. “My my my, if your face was redder you’d look just like your sister’s
hair.”
Arya laughed a little, smiling up at him just like Joy would. Tywin’s favor has
its advantages… but is it too much to ask for quiet moments like this…? He
wasn’t so sure anymore.
Chapter End Notes
     Found some inspiration overnight :D The next few chapters will be
     focused on Tytos and Edric, within King's Landing and without,
     because the other storylines need some time to flourish. May sprinkle
     in some more Bran depression chapters too.
***** The Half-Lion IV *****
Chapter Summary
     Tytos sends a Raven to Catelyn in hopes of stopping events already in
     motion
Chapter Notes
     Sorry for the wait and the shortness of the chapter, didn't have lots
     of time this week to write. Wanted to put something out though, at
     least. Hope you enjoy.
Arthur



The Dayne boy couldn’t resist slipping into the Red Keep somehow and stalking
into the tower of the hand to talk with Arya. Arthur had tried quite a few
times to keep him away but no method ever worked.  Lords should be more
responsible…  Arthur sighed as he strode through the Red Keep. Ned Dayne was
the least of his worries. His namesake, however…
 
Lord Stark had not tired in his search… in fact he seemed only reinvigorated,
put on the trail by the Master of Coin…  I need to warn him… To convince him to
stop looking in to it…  Another voice, much more sly, spoke up within him.
Tywin will be much more grateful if you let him follow his treason only for you
to stop him when he attempts his coup… The Starks will all die either way… it
makes no matter if you are a corpse with them.  The Hand had become more and
more alert since the Kingslayer had cornered him in the streets in response to
his wife’s actions at the Crossroads… Ser Beric Dondarrion and his Red-Priest
had been sent off to deal with Clegane, with much of the Stark Household Guard…
Jory was dead, and twenty of the Stark men would be gone…
Arthur stood through it all, patient, yet nervous for the day that the time
would come where he would either earn Tywin’s favor, or side with the Starks…
even now he had not the slightest inkling of a plan...
 
He sighed, staring out over the city.  Different hair and a different name, but
nonetheless a Lannister.   He set his quill to paper, forlorn.  Lady Catelyn
can put an end to this… all she has to do is bring Tyrion back before Robert
needs to choose a side in the matter… It need not come to war…
Not even the rush of Arya running amok through the corridors and passages of
the Red Keep could lighten his spirits.  I have no choice… let us hope the
Raven has favorable winds…
As he sent the bird on its way, Arthur felt a tension in the air… an
uncertainty.  The King will be on his way out to hunt with the Lannisters at
court again…  He felt the other raven’s eyes on him…  Eyes as cold as Tywin’s…
Hurrying off to be away from the Rookery, Arthur prayed to whatever gods could
hear him that he would not be too late… and that Lady Catelyn would be able to
heed his warning.
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