Wild Wolf

*Chapter 1*: Chapter 1

I don't own ASoIaF or Ranma 1/2. If I did the first would have come out much more quickly and the second would have much less Akane.

This is the intro/chapter 1 of my Ranma/A Song of Ice and Fire crossover. It is in both that crossover section and the A Game of Thrones section for now. The section that gets the most views will be the one I continue to use going forward, if I do. The pairing is as it says in the summary, and I will give more information about that in my ending author notes as well as explaining more about the 'if I do' part, but for now…

This version has been given the Jessolt touch, and is so much better it isn't even funny. Please reread it, with the amount of changes he made it really reads so much better.

Wild Wolf:

Prologue: New Life, New Family, New World

If there was ever another straw that broke someone else's back that had the weight of that damned wedding behind it for anyone else, Ranma never wanted to hear about it. Not only had everyone attacked and turned the entire thing into a battle royal, but Akane had once again proven that she didn't really care for Ranma so much as winning the competition for him.

At first Ranma had thought that Akane was marrying him to help Ranma get the cask of Water of Drowned Man from Jusenkyou, which would've been okay. Not the greatest thing, but okay. Ranma had hoped that by this point that she might have had actual feelings for him, but that didn't seem to be the case.

No, she cared about the winning as she had told Ranma after the wedding when she blamed him for everything that had happened She hadn't even listened to his apology (When had she ever?) before attacking him, causing even more damage to the Tendo house when she smashed him through the wall across from her room.

But that would've been par for the course, and he would possibly have been able to deal with that with only a bit of anger, if not for his parents and the other Tendos. Nabiki of course blamed him for everything, despite the fact that Ranma knew she was the one who had sent out the invitations to all of his other so-called fiancées and rivals, hoping to milk some money from them. What money she made however was probably going to be taken away to go to the repairs of the house and dojo, which was probably the real reason Nabiki was angry at him. Of course, Genma and Soun both agreed about how it had all been his fault, which was again situation normal.

No, it had been his mother and Kasumi that were the final blows. Kasumi was for the first time ever angry and sad about the damage their house had taken. The damage to the dojo and to her mother's shrine got through her aura of imperturbability and peacefulness. She didn't blame Ranma, hell that would have been easier for Ranma to bear, he was used to that. No, it had been Kasumi's sighing look of utter defeat and sadness that had gotten to him. Kasumi should never have worn that expression, she was the only one in the entire house who he felt was a good person, and she put up with too much as it was.

His mother was in a way, even worse. Ranma used to have dreams about what his mother would be like; a kind, gentle woman who would talk to him, tend his wounds, hold him when he had nightmares, or talk to him gently and ruffle his hair. He thought his mother would be someone who would be proud of him, who would encourage Ranma and help him along in life. Sort of like a father was supposed to be, only good with mushy stuff and better smelling.

Nodoka was anything but. Ever since she had learned of the curse, she had been almost as bad as Genma. Always judgmental, always pushing him to be more manly (her definition seemed to change daily), and always dragging the family blade around as if to remind him what could happen to him if Ranma didn't live up to her standards. When she agreed with Genma about the fact that Ranma would have to do something about his rivals and other fiancées (including Ukyo who was completely Genma's fault) and did not even hint at helping Ranma in any way, that was it for him.

So Ranma ran. It wasn't the most honorable thing to, but at this point it was about the only thing he could do without utterly snapping and killing someone. Better to run away than have that on his conscience. He couldn't stay in that house anymore, not with people he was slowly coming to truly hate, save for Kasumi, and he couldn't look Kasumi in the eye anymore, not with that look she had after seeing her mother's shrine destroyed.

He left, leaving behind a note saying he was leaving and why, as well as leaving all the money he had saved up, which wasn't much, about ¥20,000, on Kasumi's desk in her room. He sure as hell was not going to leave it anywhere else with Nabiki in the house.

Since this wasn't the first time Ranma had run off, he knew he would be pursued and not only by his family and the Tendos. Their coming after would probably take a while once it became clear he wasn't coming back. After all they had been the ones to tell him to handle all of his different engagements before continuing with another attempt to marry Akane.

Ukyo seemed a little guilty about her part in the fiasco once it was all over, so maybe it would take a while for her to realize he was gone, and the Kunos were a nonentity as far as he was concerned, neither of them had enough intelligence to trail him or skill to bother him. Now if Ukyo was smart enough to send Kotatsu after him that could be pretty bad. Surprisingly, it was the quiet, unassuming male kunoichi who was the closest to Ranma's level among Ranma's rivals/acquaintances that lived in the district.

The Amazons however were the most dangerous and they were the ones who would be after him the quickest, and Ranma knew it. Cologne was an old crone, but despite her age there was nothing wrong with her mind. She was easily one of the most dangerous individuals in the district and one of the most capable as well. She, Shampoo, and Mousse would be after him probably within a day, and Ranma knew that his skills were not going to be enough to throw them off. All I can do is keep going, maybe head to Europe someplace. I doubt that the Europeans would be very welcoming of the Amazons and their belief their own laws are the only ones that matter. Or maybe America, yeah that's probably the better bet since I can already speak English. (Ranma could indeed speak English, with a horrible southern accent but still…) Heh, they all have guns don't they, maybe Shampoo would get her ass shot and beaten by a random American with a gun. That'd be hilarious, probably wouldn't happen, but still, heh.

Ranma traveled for several weeks, backtracking, looping around, and doing everything he could to throw off anyone on his trail. He did not stop, save to take very quick naps a time or two to keep his energy up until he was in Hokkaido, and there he finally allowed himself a full nights rest before trying to find a ship heading to America.

OOOOOOO

Ranma had neglected to think of Happosai. After all Happosai wouldn't normally care if Ranma ran off. The pigtailed marital artist had, after all, destroyed the old man's silky darlings several times before and had kicked his butt a time or two dozen as well. Happosai would get angry, come back, fight, and then leave.

Happosai, however, did know how to keep a grudge. This time on top destroying his silky darlings, Ranma had run, something that in the school of Anything Goes was the act of a true coward. The moment the old man had sensed his chosen punching bag er apprentice running, he had gone after him swiftly, using all his skills to track the boy.

"Hehhehe, Ranma," Happosai cackled to himself as he watched the young man rent a room in a cheap hotel for the evening. "You were good, but not good enough. But I'll just stay here for a bit, no need to wake you up for this after all."

He cackled again, looking down at a scroll that he had forgotten he even had. He had found it in some old temple in the UK when he was there very briefly a century or so ago, and while he didn't understand everything about it, the monk or whoever it had been that he stole it from, had sobbed about how it was a scroll of spell of absolute binding or something, which seemed perfect to his purposes.

Happosai wasn't certain about that, since the writing on the scroll wasn't in a language he knew and he could read and speak fluent English, even old English. Still, it could've been a Celtic place, that was a language as well as a religion wasn't it? They were the ones who had to do with trees and stuff right? That was what most of the church or whatever it had been was, just trees, with one huge central tree that had some kind of face carved on it.

Ranma fell asleep quickly, exhausted by his run over the last few days, and Happosai nodded. Stealthily, he slipped inside Ranma's room, lit a bit of incense then wafted the smoke over to Ranma for a few minutes, which would keep the boy asleep.

For a moment, watching Ranma continue to sleep, his body sprawled out on top of the bed, not even covered with a blanket and wearing just boxers and a tee-shirt, Happosai was tempted to just splash the boy to get a good grope in. But he had learned that Ranma's sleep-fu was a fantastic defense because, while asleep, the boy didn't hold back. Happosai had attacked him once before while he was sleeping, and a single punch from Ranma left Happosai feeling like he had been hit by a thousand Amiguriken speed punches. Besides, why try to get in a grope now, when I can put a spell on him that will have him follow my every whim! Hah, at least four hours a day in female form, all of it wearing some of my silky darlings! Heehehehe!

So instead, Happosai simply stood at the foot of the bed, and began to declaim aloud, trying to get his mouth to work on the odd words on the scroll, which was written with English letters at least. Yet after a second, he didn't have any further trouble. It was almost as if the words were helping him say them correctly. Happosai didn't question this, simply moving on, and finished the spell quickly.

For a moment nothing happened. Then a deep heavy thrum began to build in the air. A bright speck of light appeared right above Ranma, a globe of multicolored varied light made of colors Happosai had never seen in nature before. He jumped back quickly, moving towards the window again just in case, but he kept watching.

The pulse began to put out even more light, the light flashing and waving over Ranma's still form. Then suddenly, it descended to right above his chest, enveloping him in its aura before disappearing into his body. The light now came from Ranma's body and it continued to pulse for a few more seconds, putting out even more light. Then suddenly, Ranma was gone. One moment his body was there enveloped by the odd light, the next, he was simply gone without a trace.

Happosai's eyes widened in shock. That wasn't supposed to happen! He quickly opened his notebook, a notebook that none of his students would ever see, filled with notes in his own made-up language. Swiftly he began to look through the notes on that scroll. "Here it is, the Spell of Absolute Binding. What happened?" he muttered. "That wasn't supposed to…"

"What 'wasn't supposed to', Happy?" asked an old and very angry voice behind him.

OOOOOOO

Ranma had been correct in that the Amazons would be after him, but he had been incorrect about how quickly. Within four hours of his leaving Nerima, they were on the trail, unable to keep up with him but not exactly falling behind either.

Cologne had long felt that Ranma was the best martial artist/warrior of his generation, possibly by a very wide margin and that made him an almost perfect husband for Shampoo. When he defeated Saffron however, that rocketed the young Saotome's importance to a whole new level. The blood of the God-Slayer would make the tribe strong again, strong enough to crush their enemies, and dominate the entire region, possibly enough to stand against the growing strength and technology of the lowlanders.

When Ranma had run she had been ecstatic. A late-night trip like this, coupled with the length of the trip, his attempts to throw them off his trail, and the fact that he kept on going for so long? That meant he was leaving behind his family, everything that had happened in Nerima, and all the people there, which meant that only the Amazons would be in the game from now on.

Oh, she knew it would be tough for love to blossom between Ranma and Shampoo at this late juncture, but the offer of training and the idea of traveling with them without pressure, going for a soft sell rather than forcing them together right away? That would probably have worked very well on the lonely, rather bitter young man. Ranma was very good at hiding it, but ever since Nodoka had found out about his curse, Ranma's mask had slipped occasionally when he thought he was alone and Cologne could see the feelings going through the young man.

So it was with quite a lot of righteous anger that Cologne stared down at Happosai. "What the hell did you do, Happy?"

For once Happosai didn't run, hide, or anything like that, he didn't even try to fight. He simply flipped open his notebook and pointed inside, staring at the scroll that he had dropped at the foot of the bed. "Scroll of Absolute Binding!" he exclaimed shaking his notebook angrily. "That's what it was supposed to be! I double checked it!"

"And what was the scroll supposed to do?" asked Cologne, scornfully opening the window and heading inside quickly. Shampoo crowded in behind her while Mousse stayed outside looking around and making certain they weren't being observed. This wasn't Nerima after all, maybe the local police force was brave/naive enough to try and stop them.

The master of the hidden weapons technique shook his head however, knowing somehow that Ranma was gone for good. Magic was finicky at best, old magic even worse, and Ranma always seemed to have this Murphy's Law aura going on at the best of times. Mousse lowered his head, muttering a brief Buddhist prayer for his frenemy.

"It was supposed to bind him to my orders so that he couldn't disobey me, what the hell do you think 'absolute binding' means, after all?" Happosai whispered angrily, reentering the room with great reluctance.

"Stay there girl!" said Cologne sharply and Shampoo backed away back out of the window while Cologne and Happosai made their way towards the scroll. "Well obviously it didn't work that way, Happy." She muttered, then hissed, still several feet away from the scroll.

She backed away quickly, motioning Happosai to do the same as she stared at it. "Mousse, quickly get me a blunt pole-arm, something long." she ordered then turned back to stare at the scroll. "You've never developed mage sight have you, Happy?"

Happosai shrugged. "Never found someone to teach me, and I didn't pick it up anywhere either. I can tell the difference between magic and ki, obviously, but actually seeing magic itself? No, I'm not that much of a magic user."

"Well I have." She muttered, cursing all dabblers under her breath. There were very few among the Amazon elders that could use magic without the aid of items, scrolls or anything else, but all of them could use mage sight and anyone who wanted to dabble in magic had to have it. "And what my mage sight is telling me is that I have never seen anything this powerful before. Whatever you called up, Happy, is beyond anything that should ever have been stored in a simple scroll."

"I didn't call anything up!" Happosai insisted, thrusting his precious notebook into her face though keeping a hold of it so she couldn't steal it away. "See, Scroll of Absolute Binding, that's what the man said!"

Cologne looked at the chicken scratching Happosai called writing, something she had learned to decipher in their youth. She read quickly through the description and then she frowned angrily. "Did you even ask anyone what it was, or did you just simply assume it was, because I know for one thing that these words, the original words you've copied out, it isn't Celtic! Celts didn't use English lettering, you ass!"

"Well what else could they be? That was the only religion that deals with trees wasn't it?"

Cologne groaned and palmed her face angrily. "No, that would be druids you stupid old man!" She was so angry that she couldn't even think up a good curse. "Now, tell me everything you can remember about wherever you found this scroll."

Happosai did so and Cologne frowned faintly. The description of the woods did sound like a druid temple of some kind, but she didn't know enough about that religion to be certain. She was also wondering why an ancient scroll of a dead religion would have writing on it that used English lettering.

They waited for over an hour until she felt that the magic had faded enough to be safe, and then used the pole-arm Mousse handed Cologne to turn the scroll over to see the other side. It was utterly blank when they turned it over. For a moment, Cologne simply stood staring at the blank parchment, then jumped back again as it crumbled into dust, blowing away on a wind that came through the window behind her.

"Aiyahh, what this mean, grandmother?" asked Shampoo in that cutesy version of Japanese she used for some reason. She claimed it made her sound cute. Cologne felt it made her sound like a bimbo, but she didn't care enough to make her granddaughter change it.

The two ancient martial artists exchanged a glance then backed away. "It means, granddaughter, that whatever happened was possibly the will of a god somewhere and I'm afraid your would-be husband is gone. I'll try some things when we get back to the village to see if I can retrieve him but I'm not holding out much hope."

"Aiyahh!" Shampoo exclaimed one hand rising to her mouth. "But Ranma always survive, yes?"

"Survive maybe," said Happosai grimly shaking his head at his monumental fuck up, "return to this plan of existence, I don't think so."

The two martial artists exchanged another glance, then Cologne shook her head. "I don't think so either."

Without another word Happosai left quickly, followed by the others who split off and went their own way.

Not one of them even thought about telling the people back in Nerima what happened. It would be many months before the Tendos and Saotomes would find out how thoroughly Ranma had disappeared. And when they did, it would be from an off chance comment from Happosai telling Genma that he was once again Happosai's heir, and he was going to train him into the ground. When the fat man, as per normal, tried to defend himself by saying Happosai should hunt down Ranma and train him, the fact that Ranma was no longer on this plane of existence came out, and reactions were varied.

Nabiki was happy that the (literal) home-wrecker wasn't going to be around but also sad because that meant her business took a hit since she couldn't sell photos of him in his different bodies anymore. Akane was angry because this meant she had lost a contest that she saw as a way of bolstering her personal ego and she didn't have her resident punching bag anymore.

Soun and Genma were angry, wondering what they were going to do now that they wouldn't have Ranma around to carry on the schools and live off when they grew old. Nodoka was angry at Rama's running away, calling it a dishonorable act, and disowning him.

Only Kasumi was sad to hear the news and she somehow knew that she had been partly to blame for him running away, at last, and deeply regretted it. She sent a prayer his way, praying for his safety and happiness wherever he wound up. Then, appalled by the way her family responded to this tragedy, Kasumi began to slowly but surely take control of her own life. Even then, she would never return to the dojo, allowing those who remained there to wallow in their willful stupidity and blindness.

Soon, she moved out on her own, cutting all ties with her family. Kasumi went to college, paying her way through by working as a chef. She would graduate at the top of her class and go on to become one of Japan's best doctors, regardless of gender. And every Saturday without fail she would say a prayer for the soul of the young man who she dearly wished she had the courage to get to know, whose passing had given her the courage to at last grasp her dreams.

OOOOOOO

In a place that was so far beyond what mortals could discern as to not really feel the passage of time or be bound by the concept of place, several beings waited. They waited for a champion that could change the fate of the world they were tied to.

The one the humans that worshiped it called The Seven, had found its champions and they had turned into part of the problem, indeed their whole religion had become corrupt, becoming less than useless. R'hllor had found its champion for the crucial time frame and he too had turned into part of the problem. The drowned God did not take part in the discussion, uncaring of the future and unwilling to take champions, so long as its worshipers fed it the souls and blood it demanded. None of the other gods were strong enough to matter in the nation where the crucial battle occurred. Finally, the champion of the old gods had fallen, unable to withstand betrayal or the calls of his human heart.

This all occurred in the future of course, but to gods the future, past, and present were all like beads on a string, easily discernible in their separate natures. Humans could change the present yet those effects could be predicted after a certain time. Now the future was a blank wall, a wall of cold and ice as the forces of the Others, lords of death and cold conquered all.

This could not be allowed. The Others did not believe in the balance, did not believe in the surety of nature, or the cycle of life. All they cared about was expanding the reach of the cold, the cold of the grave and un-life, to wipe out the realm of men. Westeros would fall first but soon the whole world would be engulfed in ice and snow.

Of course this would take millennia to the humans, but to gods that was a very short time indeed. All their calculations told them this, yet with the pieces on the board they could not change it. They could not change human nature. That was the one factor that made the humans fight one another rather than prepare for the coming of winter and the forces of the Others. But if they could not change the future with the pieces on the board, then they needed to introduce a new one.

So it was agreed between them, discussed in a way that no human could follow, that they would send out bits and pieces of themselves to search for new pieces to add to the game. There were strict rules involved, of course. They all already had their chosen champions for the most important time period, after all, and no god could have more than one true champion at a time. If they found a piece, they would have to replace their champion. And of course, only one such replacement could be allowed. More than one would change too much, possibly being even worse than doing nothing. This was a new thing they were attempting and all of them were leery about what could happen.

So they all sent out bits and pieces of themselves, melding into religions of other worlds, and adding on a bit of their own power to them. Whoever found a champion first would be the one to be able to take the soul of the new champion into their own world and thereby, hopefully, change the fate of the world. For millennia uncounted this effort failed and the cleft point, the time where the world would teeter on the balance of Cold or life, came closer on the world they were all bound to with the slow yet certain pace of a glacier.

Then came the call, one of their scrolls had been used at last!

In Ranma, the old gods, for it was their scroll and their religion that Happosai had stolen from, found a champion. This drew the attention of the other gods and as the old gods examined Ranma's soul, the others watched as well. There was strength there, massive power and indomitable will yet a mind that was almost unformed outside the realm of combat. There was a kindness there and a strange amount of gentleness for one who had been through so much. Plus, there was an ability to change fate, even in his old universe, that drew their attention like a lodestone. Eventually, it was agreed that this one would be the new piece added to the game. As such, he would retain much of his skills and knowledge, the better to change the fate of the world, although much of what he could do would be lost from one world to another as what Ranma called ki acted differently in the world of Essos than it did on Earth.

Because it was the old god's scroll Happosai had found, it was the old god's champion who would be replaced.

As a baby was born to a mother of the Riverlands in the land of the North where the old gods still held sway, a mother whose new husband was not the one she had been prepared to marry. The old gods gently reached out and they took the soul of the baby, returning it to where souls dwelled, awaiting their chance to live. It would return at a later time, hopefully when the world was a better place and its trusting, loving nature would be able to bloom without the threat of betrayal or the unyielding laws of duty.

That done the old gods gently stripped Ranma's body of his soul, the body swiftly dissolving into the ethereal nothingness, and gently placed Ranma's soul into the body of the baby. Their task accomplished, the old gods receded, returning to the ethereal plane, watching and waiting, yet already they could see the future was changing…

OOOOOOO

Catelyn Stark stared out the window at the snowfall. It snowed often here in Winterfell, despite it still being summer, or at least in comparison to her former home in Riverrun. She stared down at her baby, lost in joy once again at the fact that she had brought a life into this world. Even if her husband wasn't the man she had long thought she would be marrying, even if it was not a love marriage, right now holding her baby, she was content.

The view could've been better though and she felt her lips quirk a little at the thought, but then those lips turned down into a frown. She was not at home in Winterfell, and every time she saw one of the locals she was reminded of it. They saw her as a newcomer, not quite an interloper but certainly new, unusual, and not quite fitting in. And of course, her husband wasn't here to help her settle in.

She had known that he wouldn't be even before their marriage. They barely had a few days together before Eddard Stark had to ride off to join his friend, Robert Baratheon, in his attempt to overthrow the Targaryen dynasty and its allies. The Targaryens, descendants of the dragon riders of Valyria, had ruled for years. However, with no dragons to their name any longer, the awe men felt for the Targaryens had faded and the world had moved on.

Yet for all the madness of the King, for all the people he has put to death by fire, it is the love of a woman that is at the core of this rebellion. Catelyn often wondered how many other people knew that, knew that it was because of Rhaegar Targaryen's kidnapping of Lyanna Stark that the war truly began.

Or at least her kidnapping was the catalyst. Then Bran, the man Catelyn was set to marry and heir of Winterfell, had gone to the Kings Landing to demand her return and been thrown into the dungeons awaiting torture and death. Then his father Rickard had gone south to plea with the king for his son's life only for both to die horribly. Rickard was burned alive in his armor, while Bran was placed in a device that choked him if he moved. Forced to watch his father die horribly Bran choked himself to death trying to break free and save him. Those unjust deaths, along with the deaths of the other highborn men who had traveled with the two Starks, was the spark to the tinder.

That was a little over ten months ago and since then the rebellion had begun, led by Robert Baratheon. It had been bloody and brutal from the outset. Through it all, Eddard had been beside his friend, helping, leading, and often times in the thick of the fight. She had heard the war was all but over now, yet still Eddard had not returned home.

Catelyn wondered what sort of man he would be when he did, changed by war and strife. She wondered if she would ever come to love him as she had started to love Bran, and dismissed it from her mind. In the long scheme of things, this was a political marriage. All that really mattered was that it bound their families together and that she would get him children to continue his line. Love might blossom between them but in the end wasn't really important in comparison to her duty. That was part of her family's motto after all: 'Family, Duty, Honor'.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the baby in her arms opening his eyes and looking around, beginning to wail. Catelyn took a moment to look into his eyes, eyes of a slightly deeper, darker blue than was normal for her family's eyes yet closer to that than her husband's dark brown eyes, despite the black hair that was a Stark trait. The baby started to move his arms, flailing around and she shushed him gently. "There, there baby, momma's here."

Catelyn had decided not to name the boy until her Lord husband came home, so simply had to call him 'baby'. "Is baby hungry, hold on a moment..." With that she began to unbutton her blouse.

OOOOOOO

Ranma woke up, and immediately knew that something was wrong. His thoughts were jumbled in a way that he had never run into before. He couldn't, he couldn't think, couldn't understand, hunger was dominating his thoughts in a way that had never occurred before, even in times vaguely remembered now, his mind couldn't quite grasp the memories, when he went hungry due to his old man's gluttony. He forced a thought through that something was odd physically as well, his hands and feet were not moving as they should.

He opened his eyes and found even that hard. He stared up at a face that he had never seen before. The face was beautiful, with dark red hair, blue eyes, and striking features. The woman was smiling down at him in a way that made his insides go gooey in a way that he had never experienced, save for those few times when he was playing the part of Ranko-chan and Nodoka smiled approvingly at him. Those smiles had gone away the moment she found out about the curse and the way Genma and he had been tricking her.

The woman opened her mouth and spoke. Ranma tried to think, tried to understand the words. Baby, wha?

But thinking was so hard, he couldn't quite form the thoughts, he was hungry, so hungry, and his thoughts were everywhere at once, unable to form. He felt the woman move him around for a second, then watched, the corner of his mind appalled and embarrassed beyond belief when she opened her blouse to reveal a large (at least to his perspective) breast. That little part of his mind, the part that had been able to think despite the fact that a baby's mind was simply not developed enough to take the mind of a 19-year-old man began to think. Wait, wait, I'm hungry, but wait, I'm a baby, wha.. but…

The woman brought him closer and the body's instincts took over. His mouth began searching, latching on to a nipple even as that bit of Ranma he had barely began to construct died of embarrassment. It was so bad, he nearly lost concentration, almost letting his thoughts be washed away again by his baby body's instincts and lack of development.

The hunger began to recede, however, and his thoughts became slightly easier to grab onto. The phrase 'What the hell happened?' ran through his mind but he had no answers and no way to even ask them aloud. Almost as soon as his hunger faded, a tremendous exhaustion came to him. It was all he could do to stare up at the woman whose eyes were bright blue for a few more moments before succumbing once more to sleep.

OOOOOOO

Eddard Stark, new Lord of Winterfell, shook the reins of his horse, slowing it down slightly to let him stare at the town and castle that was his home. It had been his home for his entire life of course, but this was the first view of it that he had had since becoming its lord.

He had never anticipated he would become Lord of Winterfell. He was the second son, a full three years younger than Bran. Now because of Aerys, the mad king, and Bran's own impetuous nature both he and their father were dead, leaving him the Lord of Winterfell with his younger sister Lyanna having passed as well. His younger brother Benjen had been ruling here in his stead up till now but Eddard well knew he wanted to take the black and join the Night-Watch. In fact, he would probably leave soon after Eddard entered the castle, so great was his desire. It would be hard to see the last member of his family leave home, but at least he would be relatively close as well as alive. As a Stark, Eddard knew the importance of the Wall and maintaining a strong presence there.

It had had been as Lord Stark that he had married Catelyn, his older brother's fiancée. Eddard wondered what the woman thought of him now, having left her here for over a year as he campaigned in the south against the Targaryen forces alongside his friend Robert.

He also wondered what she would think of the little bundle that a young maid following behind them carried, and hoped that she would not press him too hard on it. Regardless, Eddard had a duty, and if they did not come to love one another or if she took it badly Eddard was prepared to deal with the consequences. He might not have wanted any of this thrust on him, but he was a Stark, and he would do what was right.

After passing through the town of smallfolk around Winterfell, Eddard passed underneath the portcullis of the main castle into the clear area beyond it and saw the castles servants, his wife, and brother waiting for him.

The lady Catelyn is indeed most beautiful he thought, and he hoped once again that the two of them would come to love one another. This thought was reinforced as he saw the little bundle she held.

Wordlessly, Eddard swung off his horse and walked forward, his face, which had been carved from granite for so long, cracking at last. He reached them and pressed a gentle kiss on Catelyn's forehead, not commenting on the slight flinch at his cold lips or possibly something else this inspired in her.

"My lord, welcome home. May I present our son?" Catelyn said her formal words and tone belying her happiness at the bundle in her arms, and her lord's return.

Eddard peeled back the bundle of blankets to look at the baby and smiled, a small but infinitely warm smile that stilled Catelyn's heart for a moment. Seeing that smile, her worries about how the youngest Stark was all about ice and duty receded greatly. She thought to herself that maybe, just maybe love could be possible between them.

The baby's eyes opened, showing eyes the color of the bright blue sky, and the baby began to move around his arms waving around. The eyes looked like Tully eyes, but the rest looked pure Stark and the baby already had a head of black hair. The sight caused Eddard's smile to widen slightly. "He's so full of life and energy, a perfect mix of our families my lady. Does he have a name?"

"I thought to wait until you were home to name him, my lord." Catelyn smiled down at the bundle in her arms and the baby wordlessly giggled at the sight, causing her smile to become a grin.

Benjen chuckled, reaching forward to grasp his older brother's forearm. "He's already crawling all over the place, a right terror he'll be when he grows up." His smile faded as he caught sight of a single small wagon carrying a closed casket at the back of the procession of soldiers with Eddard. "Is that Lyanna?"

Eddard nodded, broken out of his happiness for a moment. "Yes, I brought her home as she would have wanted. She'll go down in the crypts and join the rest of the family." He looked over at Benjen. "I know you want to leave for the Wall as soon as possible to join the Night-Watch, but you'll stay for the service at least? And I would like the chance to exchange news with you."

Benjen nodded, his eyes still on the casket, his face now lined with suppressed grief. "I'll stay for another few days, Ned, then I'll head north to the Wall. Now if you'll excuse me…" With that he walked off towards the casket, intending to pay his respects to his dead sister.

Eddard, or Ned to his friends sighed sadly, then very visibly turned back to the much happier subject of picking his firstborn son's name. "Now, where were we?" He thought for a moment. He was tempted to name him Robb, a strong, good family name, but at the last moment was reminded of a name from the language of the First Men he was descended from. In their language, names often had special meanings, and looking at the vitality and life in the young baby he knew the name to use. "Ranma."

Catelyn looked up at him quizzically and he elaborated. "It is a name from the First Men, it means Wild Storm. With his eyes and energy I think it fits."

His wife looked down at their baby and nodded. "It does indeed my lord. Especially," she rolled her eyes as the newly named Ranma began to move in her grip. "Since as your brother said, he's already taken to crawling around. A little bundle of energy this one, he seems to never be still."

Eddard chuckled lightly, then sobered. "I have something to show you milady." At a nod from him the maid holding the baby he'd brought back with him, a girl he had hired to care for the baby on his northern trek, came forward.

OOOOOOO

As Catelyn began to freeze at the sight of her new husband's bastard child, Ranma's eyes locked onto the other baby. It had been a few days, and he had started to think slightly clearer, not a lot, most of his previous life was still a dream to him. But he knew his name and could understand some of what was said. He wondered if it was fate or something that he was given the same name in this new life. That didn't matter now, and he stared at the other little baby, whose eyes opened to show brown eyes in a rather serious face.

Above him he could hear the man's voice, the man who was apparently his father in this world, say in a calm but caring way, "This is your brother Ranma, his name is Jon. I hope you two get along."

Ranma felt a rush of feeling through him, this time coming entirely from his old life, just like every time Catelyn smiled at him. 'Brother', that word, much like the word 'mother', meant a lot to him signifying things he had never had before all tied into another word that he had never truly had either. Ranma looked up giggling happily in the manner of all babies as he stared at his parents waving his hands wildly. Brother, mother, father, family. I have a real family!

OOOOOOO

The years passed, and as they passed Ranma began to be able to think more clearly with each passing month. Motor control came back to Ranma first of course, which would have surprised no one who had known him in his previous life. By the time he was eight months old, he was walking easily under his own power. By the time he was two, he was running. By the time he was four, he had the speed and dexterity (body not finger dexterity) of a ten-year-old, as well as the strength and durability, although no one was aware of those last two.

Ranma also started to train himself in secret in his room at night (jumping up to the handle of his door was irritating but doable) and during the mornings when he could get away from his watchers. He was so good at getting away from his minders that they had nicknamed him the 'Wild Wolf' for his ability to run away and get into trouble.

As he grew, he determined a few things about his new life. First, he was definitely not in the world he had been born into in his previous life or whatever you wanted to call it. He had seen a map in his father's room one time. They had been playing together in one of his father's few free moments, and Ranma had been looking around avidly at this room he had never been in before. The map had been up on a wall and not a bit of it could he recognize. The continent of Westeros had a look to it a little like the United Kingdom all mashed together into one with more bits added on, but that was all. Ranma determined from that that he was not in his old reality, that he had been sent here somehow and he wondered why.

For the most part, however, Ranma was content to simply be a little boy again, having fun running around and of course having a loving family. His mother, the Lady Catelyn was an utter joy to him, for he had no memories of Nodoka from this time of his previous life, having been taken away on the training trip at two. A part of him loved her all the more because he knew what it was like to not have a mother or one who didn't care for you. He wasn't certain why she was so nasty to Jon sometimes, so aloof and uncaring when Jon was around, or why he lived in a separate part of the castle, but he hoped to find out the reason one day when he was older.

His father too, was fantastic. Ned was a stern man yet warm despite that, and he always made time for his sons, playing with them and simply spending time with them in a way that wasn't martial arts related. Genma had never been one to bestow hugs, kisses, or pick him up and simply carry him around laughing in the safety (and isolation) of his bedroom or office. His earliest memory of Genma was of being taught the martial arts, almost literally before he could walk.

Jon too, was great. It was fun having another kid around. Even if they couldn't do much yet, their playtime was fun, even to someone who had a 19-year-old mind inside him. Especially to a 19-year-old who couldn't remember ever having played around like a normal child.

Then when he was four, his mother suddenly began to balloon. The 19-year-old in him knew that this was meant he had a little sibling was on the way and he looked on proudly as his parents announced it to the family and to the retainers. Months passed, which Ranma spent getting stronger and training himself even harder, pushing his little body to the limit in a way that even his self in his previous life would've been surprised by.

After all, the younger Ranma back then had never really realized why he was doing this, only that his father was telling him to. This Ranma was getting stronger to get stronger for a reason. Ranma felt he had to be here for a reason, to do something. Some kind of quest, some kind of enemy, he didn't know yet what, but he would be ready for it.

Soon Sansa arrived, and he looked down at the little pink baby that was his sister and he looked up at his mother with wide eyes. "Was I that small?" he asked in a loud voice, a question fueled by both his lives, having never been around babies when he was back in his old body.

Catelyn laughed. "All babies are that small, my dear." She said leaning down to kiss him gently, being careful not to dislodge Sansa in her blanket.

"Indeed," said his father pulling Catelyn into a hug from around the waist from one side of the bed. "You and Jon were both that small. I could pick either one of you up in one hand."

Ranma pouted and they chuckled, then Jon and Ranma, who Ranma had insisted come in with him looked down at the baby and up at his parents.

It doesn't matter, he realized suddenly. The reasons I'm here do not matter a damn. I have a new life, a new family: a brother, a sister, a new mother and father. I will, by all that is holy, do all I can to protect them and make them proud of me as a brother, as an heir, and as a son.

Chapter 1 Normalcy and Ranma are a Contradiction in Terms

"Ranma! Get back here!" shouted a voice from down in the courtyard and Ned looked up from where he was working with his chief seneschal. The two men chuckled and moved over to the window to stare out into the courtyard below.

Sure enough there was Ranma, once more running away from his lessons, showing far more dexterity and energy than a five-year-old boy should have. His hair, which was rather long for a boy at present, whipped behind him as he dodged the grabbing motion of Maester Luwin. "I don't want to!" he exclaimed, "It's a lovely day, why do I have to spend it inside!?"

With that he ducked under the man's reaching hand and ran far faster than a five-year-old should be able to move, dodging around some of the guards who were there practicing in the courtyard.

The seneschal chuckled. He was an older man, who had served Eddard's father before him and his grandfather before that. His rheumy eyes were staring at a memory as much as the world around him. "He reminds me so much of your older brother, my Lord, a wild little thing Bran was, always running around getting into trouble."

"Yes," said Ned, though his own voice was more thoughtful as he watched Ranma dodge a wild swing from a swordsman who hadn't heard Ranma coming, ducking underneath the blow with a dexterity, speed, and body control well beyond his years. "In many ways he is, in many ways, not."

He excused himself, and he went downstairs to corral his wayward son. Almost as soon as he stepped out into the courtyard, Ranma ran up to him smiling happily. "Hi dad!" He didn't even look behind him as he dodged another last gasping grab from the maester. "Have you come out to have fun, too?"

Eddard smiled faintly but went to his knees and said seriously as he pulled his son to him, "What have I told you about running away from your lessons? You need to learn how to read and write and you need to learn our history. The subjects you learn now will stand you in good stead later on. You are my heir Ranma, you need to know these things to be a lord worthy of our house."

Ranma looked down, kicking the ground. "I know, it's just a such a nice day out I wanted to get out and have fun."

"I know," Ned said, smiling his small smile that he only showed to his family. "Perhaps you could take your lessons outside? Do you promise to try and concentrate if Luwin does that?"

Ranma nodded eagerly. "I promise."

Behind him he heard a giggle, and he turned to see his wife leading their daughter out by the hand. Sansa was now two years old and thought that her big brother was very funny. Maybe that was just because he would make faces at her in an attempt to get her to laugh, yet even when he wasn't trying to be funny she would giggle at him.

"You spoil him so." Catelyn said a little disapprovingly. "He can't always have his lessons outside, after all, and he does need to learn how to pay attention to Maester Luwin and sit still."

Ned shrugged unrepentantly. "He is a five-year-old boy who has more energy than any grown man. It's a wonder that he can sit still at all."

Catelyn was about to respond rather sharply, saying that he needed to learn now or else he would never learn later on, but the maester spoke up quickly. "If, if I may?" he said gasping a little still. He was a middle-aged man, but he was never very athletic, and keeping up with Ranma was enough to drive even a trained soldier into the ground. "I think, I think I have a suggestion. If I can start giving him things to do with his body while he listens to me it may help. You're right, Lord Stark, it's obvious he has too much energy to sit still for very long. That's not an unheard of occurrence after all."

"Hi mom!" said Ranma looking around his father and dancing to one side before rushing forward to envelop her legs in a hug.

Catelyn looked down at him smiling, her former irritation disappearing. Her son was a sweet boy, always happy and handing out hugs to his family like this. And it never failed to calm her down or make her irritation fade.

Her face stilled the moment Jon came out, moving quickly to join Ranma at his side. The two were constant companions, though Ranma had much more energy and dexterity then Jon. Still, Jon was trying to keep up with him and it was fun to watch despite her dislike for the young bastard, the constant sign of her husband's infidelity.

"Still, I'm afraid your mother is correct" said Eddard, "You need to learn how to pay attention now, so I'm afraid no lessons outside for you. Maester Luwin, if you can put his body to work at the same time that will probably help." He looked at his son. "Keep up with your lessons in the mornings and you will have the afternoons free."

Ranma thought about it with a thoughtful frown on his face as if he was trying to copy Eddard and both his parents chuckled. "Fine," he said, "I'll go back in, so long as I can do something while I'm listening to the lessons."

"Then we have an accord," said Ned gravely then spoiled it by smiling that small, warm smile of his before reaching forward to rub Ranma's hair affectionately, nodding at Jon next to him.

OOOOOOO

Ranma grinned to himself as he snuck back to his room with his burden. They aren't that heavy, but I can start training with them anyway, and replace the bits later on.

"What are you doing?" said a soft voice, a whisper on the wind as he snuck down the hallway towards his room. Ranma turned swiftly, staring at the doorway where Jon stood, having opened the door of his own room to peer out sleepily.

"Are you doing something you shouldn't?" said Jon, a serious little boy who Ranma had taken to making certain lightened up. It was having quite a bit of success, but when he was startled or tired Jon reverted to his serious nature. Ranma still wasn't certain why his mother didn't like Jon, why he was his father's son but not hers, or why he had quarters away from the rest of the family. But that didn't really matter. To Ranma, he was simply his brother, something he would've cheerfully killed for in his old life.

Ranma raised a finger to his lips for quiet, then motioned Jon to follow. They moved up several stairs from where Jon had a room, surrounded by a few of the servant's families, and up to the private quarters of the lord's family. They moved through the darkened castle quietly, even past a few guards who patrolled the keep at night. Soon enough they arrived at their destination. Ranma silently opened the door to his room, motioning Jon inside.

Once inside his room, Ranma opened the bag he had been carrying, which held several leather armguards that he had taken from a guardsmen's supply room. They were ones the guardsmen had several on hand at all times, so they weren't going to be missed. "We can cut these down to fit us and use them to carry these."

The other things he carried were four iron bars the length of his forearm. Ranma gestured at them. "Weight training." he said simply. "You get stronger if you lift weights a lot, I think a few exercises at night wearing these and maybe wearing them underneath our clothing at times would be good." Ranma had intended to wear them on his arms and legs, but was willing to share his leg weights with Jon.

"Training." said Jon thoughtfully, then his eyes lit up. "You mean like sword training!?" And he made gestures with his arms as if he was holding a sword. "Chop, chop, chop!"

The 19-year-old mind that was in Ranma six-year-old head shook his head, but physically Ranma simply chuckled. "Yep, this will help you when we start learning how to use swords."

"Can I do it too?" said Jon pointing at himself.

Ranma nodded and the two conspirators began to talk about what they would be doing with them. Jon couldn't really follow everything Ranma said, but Ranma didn't try to explain everything either, simply stating that working with weights would make them stronger later on and moving with them would make them faster when they took them off, which was enough for Jon.

About three months later, Catelyn was once again pregnant. A month after that, Ned was called away to war. The Greyjoys, Lords of the Iron islands, had rebelled against the king, taking to raiding the coastline up and down all Westeros.

OOOOOOO

With Eddard gone, Ranma stepped up his training times even more, not noticing that he was now being watched by several people of the castle, maids, soldiers, and workers. They saw him training to build up his strength by carrying around rocks and building up speed by racing the dogs or catching the chickens in their coop. They all whispered that it was because Ranma felt he was the man of the Castle and had to protect everyone. To the maids, it was sweet. To the soldiers and the other men, it was amusing, but they only saw the tip of the iceberg. None of them realized how much other training Ranma was putting himself through.

With Catelyn busy with her duties as lady of the castle, Jon, Ranma, and Sansa spent more time together although the girl was not really old enough yet to run around with the boys. She didn't seem as interested in outdoor excursions, either. Seeing as Ranma couldn't remember a time of his life where he spent any time at all around little girls, he didn't know if that was just the difference between boys and girls or what. It was also at this point that Ranma found the godswood.

Maester Luwin and Catelyn both worshiped the Seven, but the predominant religion in the North, by a wide margin, was the worship of the old ones. This wasn't an organized religion like worship of the Seven was, with a set hierarchy and priests. It was a very personal religion, passed down from father to son. Rather than worshiping in a sept with seven statues, it was based on worship of nature spirits represented by the godswood, ancient woods that were built around ancient trees that had been here long before the First Men. One tree in particular was larger and older by far. It was a different kind of wood called weirwood and in its solid trunk was carved the face of an old man.

Ranma moved around the woods, looking around in awe at the amount of energy he felt. It was old and it was, like the energy of a tree itself only everywhere, in the air, slow, ponderous but alive and strong flowing all around him like a solid fog of power. The peace of this place was something that he had never felt before and he sighed as he let it fill him.

As he moved in deeper, he felt a sense of welcome fill him and Ranma smiled. Not the wide, friendly, and oftentimes mischievous smile of his current age, but a smile of peace and serenity that would have looked at home on his old body, if he had ever felt those feelings in his old life.

Soon Ranma found himself standing in front of the weirwood tree, or heart tree as it was called, its wood smooth and bone white. Its leaves, which grew from every branch of the massive tree, were five-pointed leaves and blood-red, which, according to what he had heard, was also the case of the sap. The face of the old man, carved there by the children of the forest long before Winterfell was even built, looked down at him. Near its base was a small, dark pool of water around seven feet across.

Ranma stared up at the heart tree, then knelt down, getting into the lotus position, looking back up at it silently. All around him he felt that wave of welcome intensify for a moment and he smiled, then spoke. "You were the ones who brought me here, weren't you?" The feeling of welcome intensified again at his words and he nodded. "I have to thank you then. I, I never knew what a real family was like until I came here. My old man, Genma, he wasn't a real father to me, just a trainer. And the less said about Nodoka, the better. Even with how serious dad is, he's better than Genma ever was. I can tell he loves me and my siblings. He's a fantastic role model and my mom is great. But I have to ask, why? I don't think there was anyone who worshiped you in my world. I certainly didn't so it couldn't be because of what I did in my old life. So why am I here?"

The feeling of welcome faded as if it had never been and then images came to him: Images of war, of strife, of blood, betrayal, treachery, and death. The images were nothing permanent, flashes of emotions of a bleak future, nothing concrete until right at the end, when two eyes of pitiless ice looked back at him, accompanied by a cold so intense Ranma gasped.

Then it was gone and Ranma shook his head, gasping again, and trying to regain control of himself. After a moment he stood up and nodded, his five year old face firm. "I see. My family's motto is 'Winter is Coming', I didn't realize how true those words could be. But it isn't just the winter we need to fear, but other men, huh? I was brought here to change that fate?" A warm feeling filled him and he nodded again. "I will be ready."

OOOOOOO

"Why do I have to learn this stuff?" Ranma complained while continuing to perform jumping jacks in place. "It's boring and it's not as important as reading and writing, is it?"

Maester Luwin rubbed his forehead, knowing this was level one of his charge's progression toward running off. Luwin had become quite adept at seeing the signals in Ranma. The question would come first, then would come even faster exercises, and then, suddenly, he would bolt for the door. And as fast as Ranma was, despite being only five years old, there was no way that Maester Luwin was going to catch them. Despite the fact that chasing after Ranma had forced Luwin to get some exercise, he was not anywhere near what anyone would call fast. And of course even grown soldiers had trouble catching Ranma these days.

So he needed to figure out a way to convince Ranma that learning about the history of all of the different houses and the differences between them was important. Luckily, however, Maester Luwin knew exactly what would get his charge's attention, the same thing that got his attention talking about mathematics, geography, and everything else: war and combat.

He looked over at Jon and winked at the other boy, who grinned back at him. Jon too knew the signs and had become somewhat of a co-conspirator with Maester Luwin in trying to keep Ranma from bolting during his classes. Not so much because Jon didn't understand why Ranma was doing so, but because he didn't like the way that the Lady Catelyn looked at him when he joined Ranma in his escapades. Ranma would get blamed a little, but the look in Catelyn's eyes made it clear that she would dearly like to blame Jon, for some reason.

"Now Ranma," Maester Luwin began, "while you may not think this is important, manners and how you carry yourself can be very important when meeting other people. It could mean the difference between insulting someone and having a fight to the death or making new friends." That didn't seem to interest Ranma but Luwin went on quickly. "And learning all of the different major houses can tell you a lot about how the kingdom is run and everything else, including how the house might pursue personal combat or a war."

Ranma frowned a little seeing this as a rather blatant attempt to convince him that this stuff was interesting, but he sighed and nodded. "I guess I can see that, still seems boring to me though."

"But useful. Now, let's start with something simple, house Tully. What is their motto, and what do you think it means for the people themselves, both in relation to how they rule and how they would fight?"

Ranma frowned, then replied "It's 'family, honor, duty', I think, or 'family, duty, honor'."

"Jon which one is it, do you think?"

"The second one, Sir." Jon was always courteous.

"That is correct, now what do you think that means in terms of leadership?"

An hour later the boys vacated the premises quickly and Maester Luwin leaned back with a sigh, massaging his forehead again. Once you got Ranma interested in something, he would bring a focus to it that was that was beyond surprising in a barely five-year-old boy. Ranma was incredibly intelligent for his age, but his attention span worked against him. Yet, since he had promised his father he would concentrate more on his lessons Ranma's abilities had gone up by leaps and bounds in every test Luwin gave him. It was almost bizarre how much focus he could bring to learning.

"You just have to know how to get his attention.", he muttered to himself, chuckling a little. For Ranma, he obviously wanted to make his parents proud of him. He was eager to please, and once he truly realized that he needed to learn to read and write to become a better leader and lord, and thus make his father happy, he took to it quickly. Math had been harder of course, until Luwin connected it to logistics.

Luwin was not the only one astonished by Ranma. Ser Rodrick, the castle's master at arms and leader of the guard while Eddard was away, was as well. He stood outside now watching Ranma and Jon play a game that looked silly on the face of it, a slap game based on trying to catch one another's hands with a slap. However, Ser Rodrick had been around for a long time and knew what it really was; a game to teach hand-eye coordination and speed.

Ranma was simply fast! Rodrick had known that the boy was fast on his feet but this was the first time he had seen him practicing something like this. Jon was nowhere near as fast as Ranma but he was quite a bit faster than normal and had better hand-eye coordination than a boy twice his age. "I think I need to talk to Lord Stark when he gets back." he muttered. "We might want to put these two into real sword training earlier than normal."

OOOOOOO

Later that evening Ranma stole up to the maester's room in the tower where the ravens that were used as messenger birds stayed, knocking on the door gently. Ranma had just spent dinner with his mother, younger sister, and Jon, and had finally decided that enough was enough. Throughout the dinner his mother had ignored Jon, who just seemed resigned to it. When he asked Jon what was up, Jon didn't answer.

The maester opened his door and looked at Ranma in surprise. "Ranma, what can I do for you? Shouldn't you be preparing for bed?"

"Maester Luwin, why is Jon named Jon Snow if he's my brother and why does my mother hate him?"

Maester Luwin winced a little at the innocent questions. Everyone had basically hoped that Ranma would figure out the answer to those questions by simply observing everyone around him, but it looked as if he hadn't or maybe wanted clarification to the point. "Come inside, Ranma. I could wish you had waited to ask your father this question, but I understand that he would probably not be as happy about that." He chuckled a little sadly.

When the explanation was over, Ranma was a little angry at his father, at first, for betraying his mom like that. But it isn't as if they had been married for all that long and maybe he had had a lover before they were married. But Jon's a little younger than me isn't he? So that means he was born after me, which means dad was with this other woman after marrying mom. But that goes against everything he's taught us about keeping your word and honoring your vows. So instead Ranma asked a simple question to himself: would a man like Eddard, who preached about honor and dignity and duty, go behind his mother's back, even if he wasn't in love with her at the time, to have another baby with another woman?

The answer to that, he knew almost immediately, was no. So, he thought to himself, looking around at Jon at the next day as they sat in their lessons, there's something else going on here. He looks like dad, but that doesn't mean much does it? I mean, surely dad had some siblings or something.

The questions festered for a few days, then when they were discussing the history of the great families, Ranma asked, "Maester Luwin, did my father have any siblings? I've heard people comparing me to someone named Bran?"

Maester Luwin chuckled a little. "Yes indeed, I never knew Bran Stark. I wasn't assigned here at the time, but he was supposed to be a little wild creature when he was younger, much like you today. But he wasn't their only sibling, there was Lyanna as well, your father's slightly older sister, and, of course, Benjen, who is now commander of the Night Watch."

He briefly detailed the revolution of Robert the Usurper against the Targaryen dynasty and then said briskly, "But we will cover that in more detail in later lessons, now let us return to the First Men and discuss how they were able to push the children of the woods out of most of Westeros, and why the First Men took up their religion."

Ranma nodded and went along with it, but inside his mind was already racing ahead. He made certain not to look at Jon as he kept thinking, while a wild surmise came to him.

OOOOOOO

Catelyn looked out of her window, patting her now bulging stomach, sighing a little sadly as the sun went down. Eddard had not returned, though the news they were getting said Stannis Baratheon had crushed the Iron Born fleet. They had been pushed off of most of their islands and back to Pyke, where they were now besieged. Hopefully, that meant that he would be coming home soon. But that wasn't all that was bothering her and she knew it.

Why has Ranma been so cold to me? Catelyn thought disconsolately. Her son was affectionate, warm, and loving to his family, despite being almost entirely Stark in his body he had a Tully soul or, at least, that was how she thought of it. But for the past few days he had been distant with her during the few times she could spend with him and Sansa. Where before she would always exchange hugs with him before sending him off to bed or even going up to read to him before he fell asleep, now Ranma didn't even try to kiss her or come close to her, and when she went up to read to him, Ranma was already asleep with his lights out.

She wanted to put it down to worry for Ned or one of those odd humors that children go through at times Maybe something he had heard in their history lessons had bothered him and he was trying to think through it alone. But somehow she knew that wasn't it. Her musings were interrupted by a knock on the door, well below the height a grown man would knock on, and a young voice saying, "Mama, can I talk to you?"

Catelyn smiled happily, hoping that this meant that whatever had bothered her son he had thought through it or come to her for advice at least. She responded instantly. "Of course Ranma, come in."

Ranma came in, moving to her swiftly and hugging her around the waist before leaning back and sitting down the footrest opposite her. "Mama," he said slowly, "I… I found out why Jon isn't really my brother."

Catelyn tried to stop it but she could feel her face closing down. Despite the fact that they had not been in love when they married, despite her love for her family and her husband, the fact that Ned insisted on keeping the visible sign of his infidelity around almost like he was a regular family member stuck in her craw and was just the one wound that would never heal. It had been over five years now and she still couldn't get over it. What woman could? Now her own son was asking and his father was nowhere in sight to explain it to him!

Ranma went on before she could say anything. "I asked Maester Luwin, and he explained things, but I don't think he's right!"

Catelyn frowned, trying to keep her expression and voice calm as she asked softly "What do you mean, you don't think he's right?"

"Well, dad always told us about holding to honor and duty, and how important family is right? Sort of like your family's motto? He's…" Ranma paused before going on, laying it on a bit thick for now. "He's kind of hard at times I guess, is that a right way to put it?"

Catelyn found herself smiling slightly and she nodded. "That is exactly the correct way to put it yes. Your father can be a hard, harsh man."

"Yeah, but what I mean is, he's not the kind to… you know to just do that…" he stammered, blushing hotly, "with someone when he's already married to you."

Catelyn's small smile disappeared and she said, "Yes, it's not an act you would normally ascribe to a man like Ned, but sometimes a man's desires catch them in a weak moment. Your father has never explained to me what happened, but I can imagine and it isn't exactly unusual for Lords to have…"

"But it is for dad isn't it?! I mean it's so weird coming from him."

"The phrase is 'out of character' and yes it is. But sometimes people act like that when they are in a war or having just finished a war. Their emotions run high and override their sense of honor."

"Maybe," Ranma frowned, but then said excitedly, now sharing his own idea about what happened, though he was still acting like a child. "I had a better idea, what if Jon isn't dad's son, but someone else's in his family?"

Catelyn had never thought about it, simply taking Eddard's word at face value but now she frowned, wondering why it hadn't occurred to her before.

She frowned further, thinking it through. If it was his father's son gotten on some whore or other in Kings Landing thanks to a final night of pleasure before his murder at the Aery's hand that could explain it, but then Rickard's wife had passed well before then. So why wouldn't he just tell me that? Why does he insist on telling me that Jon is his bastard? Though he could be covering for Bran, but that makes no sense. And of course Benjen never went south.

"It's a nice theory," she said, still calm, "but I don't think it holds much weight, Ranma. I'm afraid you're just going to have to accept that there was one moment in his life were your father wasn't the perfectly honorable man. If it had been his brother's or his father's after all then he would have been within his rights to legitimize Jon, though he would never be in line for the succession."

"But there was another older sibling, wasn't there? That's what Maester Luwin told us when I asked. Lyanna was her name right, the one that was supposed to marry Robert Baratheon before the rebellion?"

That thought struck like a lightning bolt, and Catelyn reared back nearly pushing her chair off the ground as if the thought had hit her with physical force. Lyanna Stark had been betrothed to Robert Baratheon but she had been instead stolen away by Rhaegar Targaryen. That marked the start of the downward spiral that eventually led to the death of so many people in Kings Landing, including Rickard and Bran Stark. If Rhaegar had put a child in Lyanna, then what would Robert do?

She knew the answer to that, the news of the sack and massacre of the Targaryen dynasty, their children hacked to pieces by Lannister men had spread throughout the nations of Westeros. And Ned would never have killed a child, or blame the child for the sins of the father even if he was a child of rape. Though if Jon is a child of rape from Lyanna, Ned's a better person than I am, Catelyn thought guiltily, recalling all the times she had been cold or stiff or simply dismissive of Jon.

Calm down, she thought to herself, calm down, we don't know if that is the case. And Jon has nothing of the Targaryen features about him, he's pure Stark, more so even than Ranma! Still, the idea refused to leave her, as well as the fact that the consequences if it ever came out that he shared blood with the Targaryen dynasty. Robert, close friend and boyhood companion of Eddard, would turn on him the moment it came out to so as to slake his thirst for Targaryen blood.

Catelyn leaned forward earnestly grabbing Ranma by his shoulders, a little surprised at how firm they felt under her hands. Her young son was a wiry little thing and surprisingly strong for his size. "Ranma," Catelyn said earnestly, "you must not share this wild theory of yours with anyone else, do you understand?"

Ranma shook his head, this time not acting at all. "No mama, I don't."

"You'll understand when you're older, but right now it is important for you to promise me, promise me, Ranma, that you won't share this idea with anyone, not even Jon himself!" She frowned a little then pulled him into a hug. "I'll try to act better toward Jon, but you have to promise not to share this theory with anyone."

"If you promise to treat him good then I'll promise to keep quiet about it," said Ranma resolutely. "I won't even ask dad when he comes back, if it's that important."

"Good," said Catelyn sighing in relief and kissing his forehead. "Very good, my little man," she said ruffling his hair fondly. "Now, do you want me to read to you before you go to bed?"

Ranma grinned impishly and pulled her to her feet "I think Sansa's still awake, let's read to her instead."

Catelyn chuckled and let Ranma pull her along putting the entire conversation to the back of her mind for now.

OOOOOOO

Two months passed since that conversation. Jon was ecstatic that the distance between him and Catelyn seems to have shrunk dramatically. She still wasn't as kind to him as she was to her own children, but it was much better.

It was at this point that Ser Rodrick began to train both boys, trying to build up their muscles and reaction times in anticipation of sword training, something that would normally start at age eight and go on for two years. As he had expected, their reaction times and strength were twice that what it should have been for boys of five, not just Ranma, but Jon too. He was a little leery of starting them on practice swords without talking to lord Stark in person, first, but bows and arrows at least were safe enough.

After a single day, he could tell that neither Jon nor Ranma had a true archer's eye, but they were fast, strong, and could handle the pull of the practice bows without any strain. Afterwards, Rodrick called them over to him and he shook his head, looking down at the two. "I don't understand, it's as if you've both been training for years, but I've never seen any sign of you taking the weapons or sneaking away somewhere. Care to share why that is?"

The two young boys shared a conspiratorial grin but didn't reply and he laughed. "Away with you then, I can hear Maester Luwin calling you in for extra lessons." Rodrick watched as they both ran off, shaking his head. He had heard of natural talents before, Jaime Lannister was supposed to have been one such, the youngest person to ever be elected to the Kingsguard, who had killed four men in the kingswood. And Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning was another, one of the trio that had fallen against Lord Stark and his companions at the Tower of Joy taking all but Lord stark and Lord Reed into death with them when Eddard went there to retrieve Lyanna's body. Yet even so… I have to speak to Lord Stark when he returns, there's just something strange about how good Ranma is at anything to do with fighting.

OOOOOOO

Three weeks later, Ranma was in the godswood. He normally came here to practice early in the mornings before anyone else was up as well as deep into the night after everyone else had gone to sleep. Today however, he hadn't done much more than his starting routine of upside down sit-ups (dangling from a tree limb) when he heard a voice shouting for him near the edge of the woods.

He flipped out of the tree, landing lightly and racing towards the voice to find one of the servants looking for them. "There you are, young master." The maid said, looking relieved. "Your father has returned from the war. He is within an hour's ride from here, already. Your lady mother wants you and your siblings to bath and prepare for him."

Ranma nodded with a smile on his face, then shot off like a arrow from a bow. The maid stared after the small child racing faster than a grown man through the trees, maybe even faster than a horse, and she chuckled. "Little wild wolf," she said affectionately following after him at a much more sedate pace.

OOOOOOO

Ranma soon found himself standing with his mother beside him, one hand on his shoulder while Catelyn's other hand held Sansa's little one. Sansa was dressed in a very good dress and looked the perfect image of a pretty little lady. Jon stood to one side, dressed in some clothing cut to his size that had been Ranma's. Both his and Ranma's hair was combed and they both stood to attention as their father cantered into the castle's courtyard.

Ned Stark was bone weary, but the sight of his family waiting for him made Ned raise his head and smile faintly before dismounting easily and moving forward. He looked at his pregnant wife, his dark eyes warm as he kissed her forehead with his arms going around her gently. "My lady, I hope you are well?"

"I am very well, my lord husband. Your castle has had no problems while you were gone, though I hope that it will be a long time before we need to supervise it without your presence again."

"You and I both, my love." Ned's arms tightened for a moment before he turned to Sansa, kneeling down to her level. "Hello my daughter, how are you?"

Sansa smiled tremulously, then wrapped her arms around his neck, hugging him fiercely. "Missed you daddy!"

Ned smiled his faint, warm smile then stood up, lifting Sansa in his arms. He looked over at Ranma and Jon, who both smiled up at him, happy to have him back home where he belonged.

Ranma however, had also noticed that among the returning soldiers with his father was a small, wiry boy who was now scowling around at Winterfell.

Eddard noticed where his son was looking and waved his hand at the boy. He came forward, rather sullenly Ranma thought, and Eddard nodded his head gravely. "This is Theon Greyjoy of house Greyjoy…."

OOOOOOO

Catelyn waited, wrapping herself in calm until late that evening when the servants and everyone else were all-a-bed save for the guards on the walls and roaming the castle, a constant here in Winterfell. She waited, still calm as her husband joined her in bed before beginning. "While you were gone Ranma came up with a very shocking idea one I am astonished never occurred to me," she murmured, snuggling into his side and holding him tightly.

"And what is that?" he murmured.

"He wondered whether or not Jon isn't your son, but your sister's." She said looking at his face, waiting for his reaction.

Eddard turned to her sharply, his eyes wide and he made to stand up but her grip on him kept him where he was in their bed. "It is the truth?"

"I…" he shook his head, looking a little pole-axed at the suddenness of the questioning. "That is, I made a promise. I cannot …"

"So Jon is Lyanna's," Catelyn said slowly, "I understand, though you are a far better man even than I thought, Ned Stark. I'll keep your secret and I'm sorry for doubting you for so long." She leaned in and kissed him gently on the lips. She was much too far along in her pregnancy to let them do anything serious, but cuddling was safe enough.

She doesn't know the full truth, Ned thought to himself after Catelyn fell asleep, sighing almost sadly. Robert and all the other who had suffered under the edicts of the Mad King would try to put Jon to the death again if they knew even that much. It would be nice to share his burden with someone else, someone else who had heard his sister's final confession, but that could not be allowed. If Robert found out that Lyanna ran away willingly with Rhaegar, then his hatred would possibly be turned to all of the Starks, his friendship with Ned would not be enough to stay his wrath.

Ned all too easily remembered those dark days right after the sacking of the Red Keep and Kings Landing. When Tywin and the other Lannisters were so proud of themselves for their bloody work, for the way they slaughtered children and the way Robert agreed with them, saying that the only good Targaryen was a dead one. How enraged Robert was by the fact that even two young children had escaped.

No, Eddard thought as he snuggled down next to his wife, kissing her neck gently,there were some secrets that he would take to the grave, even if both Ranma and Catelyn already knew that Jon was not his own.

OOOOOOO

Theon, Ranma decided, was a bit of an enigma. He seemed courteous enough, if a little sullen, which was to be expected given the reasons behind his wardship in Winterfell. In the week since his arrival he had also proven quick to anger, quick to insult, and quick to fire back at any perceived insult directed at him.

Still, Ranma at last got him to play some games with him and Jon. Theon came upon them in the courtyard one day, standing up and trying to slap one another's hands. Jon was quick and had an excellent eye, but Ranma was simply faster and better. He still let Jon win sometimes of course, he didn't want to crush his brother's enthusiasm for training.

Theon looked on for a moment and then sneered. "Don't you know any better games? That's kids stuff."

"Well, that would make sense, wouldn't it," Jon replied drolly, sounding far older than his years would suggest. "We are kids, after all."

"Speak for yourself, I'm an Ironborn warrior!" Theon replied. "If I was still among my people, I'd already be training with knives."

"Yeah, but you're not." Ranma broke in, slapping Jon's hands at the same time, then trying to slap his face but Jon ducked aside. "And besides, what if you were playing this game and your hands were holding those knives of yours?"

Theon paused thoughtfully for a moment then asked hesitantly "Er, I don't suppose I could play?"

Thus began the tentative friendship between the three boys.

Above them Ser Rodrick and Ned stood in his office, looking down on them, speculatively.

OOOOOOO

Soon enough the Stark family had a new addition and to Ned looking at his second daughter it was like Lyanna had come back to life.

Ranma was a mix between the Stark and Tully blood. He was stern at times, forthright and blunt spoken, yet warm and friendly with the Stark features of dark hair and high cheekbones, yet he had eyes of Tully blue. Sansa was a near perfect copy of her mother. Tully auburn hair and blue eyes coupled with the building mannerisms and attitude of a proper little lady, all quiet and earnest. Arya however was all Stark in her features, with the same gray eyes of his line and dark brown hair.

Catelyn smiled down at her new daughter, her little face scrunched up in sleep, then up at the rest of the family crowding around her bed. Ranma, for one, was smiling brightly, his arms holding Sansa back from climbing onto the bed to see the little baby, while Jon and Ned stood behind them. "My dears, this is your new sister. Her name is Arya."

OOOOOOO

The next five years passed peacefully, with little of the rest of the world making itself known in Winterfell and several more additions coming along.

Ranma, Jon and Theon began to learn swordplay, which Ranma took to like a duck to water. At least that was the way it appeared to Ser Rodrick, who had talked Lord Stark into testing the boys. Ned had been astonished by how strong and coordinated they both were already, and reluctantly agreed to let them start actual sword training. The sooner you started, after all, the better your instincts would become.

Theon was stuck still doing exercises to bring his strength and coordination up, although he had already learned how to use a bow. He was a better marksman than either Jon or Ranma, though nowhere near as good as he thought he was.

Wrestling, fisticuffs, sword work, all these Ranma dominated easily. Sword work seemed to come less easily to him, as if he was fighting himself, but still he took to it far faster than any youth Ser Rodrick had ever trained before. Despite his skills, there was no arrogance in him. He simply kept on pushing himself even more and always encouraged Jon and Theon to become better, pushing them ever on. Jon responded positively to this, while Theon seemed to resent the way Ranma outclassed him. Nor was that the only thing that put a strain on their relationship.

One day, Ranma bested both Theon and Jon in a mock wrestling match, controlling the match so they got in one another's way, then rushing forward to push them both down in a heap, with him sitting on top of them. "I think that's my victory!"

Jon grumbled good-naturedly before pushing Theon off him, poking what he thought was gentle fun at the Iron Born boy. "It would seem that working together is something they don't teach on those ships of yours."

The other boy, however, responded with a surprising amount of vitriol. "I don't need to hear that from you Snow! It was your own clumsiness that cost us the match. Are all bastards this clumsy or is it just you?"

Theon had learned of Jon's status early on, but hadn't really understood it until he had overheard Septa Mordane, who had taken over Sansa's lessons in embroidery and etiquette from Catelyn, telling the girl how she shouldn't be so friendly with the bastard born boy. Once he had figured it out, the fact that Jon was welcomed into house Stark despite his status rankled on Theon. Despite having lived here for years, he was still seen as an outsider by most of the staff, as well as Lady Catelyn, who never quite seemed to warm to him. That and the fact that Ranma and Jon were so close rankled. He wanted to be Ranma's best friend, not this bastard born. He wanted to be getting the sword lessons and the attention that Jon got just from hanging out with Ranma.

Jon flushed angrily, never liking having his dubious birth rubbed in his face. He stood up angrily, about to take a swing at Theon which was what the other boy wanted. Ranma stepped in quickly however, pushing them both back and standing between them. "Hey, that's enough you guys. If you can't work together that's fine, but I don't want any of this stupid name-calling or anything else!"

The other two boys glared at one another angrily, but subsided. Ranma sighed, knowing this was probably not the last time the two would clash. He was proven right the very next day. Over the next few years Ranma would find himself in the very odd position of peace maker countless times.

Nor was the fact that Jon had already claimed the place of Ranma's best friend the only thing that stood between them. Several months after that first incident, Jon and Ranma were training again with their swords, this time under Ser Rodrick's watchful eyes. They wore heavy padding on practically every part of their body and the swords were training blades, slightly heavier than normal ones and with no edge. Yet for all that, the two were still able to move around easily enough and the clangor of their blades slamming against one another was loud in the training ground. To one side, Theon waited for his turn, having at last proven that he was strong and dexterous enough to start training under Ser Rodrick.

Ranma's sword swept up and the two blades locked above the boys' heads for just a moment before Ranma twisting his blade, catching his opponent's and pulling it out of his hand.

Before the blade could fall to the ground, however, Jon's other hand shot out catching it in midair and bringing it back into play swiftly, forcing Ranma to guard himself. He slashed at Ranma several times and Ranma's eyebrows rose as Jon made no move to switch hands. He also didn't seem to have lost any of his dexterity or strength, which was astonishing, and he was pushing Ranma.

"Hold!" Ser Rodrick bellowed, and immediately the two boys stopped and stood back. Rodrick strode across the training ground until he stood before them, looking down at Jon. "Why didn't you switch back to your other hand, boy?"

"I felt no need sir, and I thought that maybe using my other hand would throw Ranma of his stride." Jon replied, wondering if he had done the wrong thing

"It did, I was so surprised you were able to take the initiative from me." Ranma laughed, slapping his brother's shoulder. "If the bout had continued who knows, you might have won." Of course I was holding back a heck of a lot, but still…

Ser Rodrick stroked his beard thoughtfully. "It seems that you might have been born with the gift to have two dominant hands instead of one, Jon. I'll need to think of some training exercises for you to take advantage of that." He stood there for a moment thinking then shook his head and moved away. "You have another ten minutes, then its Theon's turn." The two boys nodded, put on their protective helmets again and waited until the master at arms exited the training area, never noticing how Theon was scowling jealously.

Despite this and other moments, the three boys continued to learn together, both in the training ground and in the classroom. Ranma spent far more time in the classroom than the other two now, learning about statecraft, tactics, strategy and law, all things he needed to learn as his father's heir. The lessons right now were easy ones, but with each year they became more in depth and much harder. One such lesson was history, and Ranma learning about the rebellion, began to have a good idea why Jon's birth was kept such a secret.

"Wait!", Ranma interrupted that lesson, staring hard at Maester Luwin. "The Lannisters betrayed the king? And then massacred his family? That's not right!"

"Many things happen in wars that aren't right, Ranma," Luwin replied sadly. "Although the deeds on that day were particularly bloody, they are not an exception, but merely an example of a general rule of warfare."

"Not that, I understood that part." Ranma scoffed, though he had some ideas of his own about what was right in warfare, what wasn't, and ways to enforce those rules, as well. But that wasn't what he concentrated on. "But isn't Queen Cersei a Lannister?"

"Yes she is. Besides being one of the most beautiful women in the kingdom, she is also the daughter of Tywin Lannister who is the lord of Casterly Rock, as well as Warden of the West."

"But isn't that like he rewarded them for their butchery? That's just wrong!" Besides, Ranma thought, remembering that day several years back in the godswood. That puts way too much power into one family's hands.

"Perhaps it does sound that way," Luwin replied diplomatically. He knew Lord Stark had his own misgivings in that area, and had argued vociferously with his friend about it. "But at the time, the Lannister forces were rested, and they had control of the city. Robert had to do something to appease them, and to connect them to his reign in as strong a manner as he could."

Ranma's eyes narrowed angrily. "That doesn't make it the right thing to do. At least he should've demanded this Gregor Clegane's head, the children at least were utterly innocent!"

"Robert didn't think that way and he is the king," Luwin reminded Ranma. "He was there and you were not. Any child of the Targaryen line would have served as a rallying point for those still loyal to them, and the war may well have continued for years. As vile as the way of their deaths were, they were necessary."

"Using the word necessary like this is the way people try to explain away actions they know are wrong! It doesn't mean it was the right or honorable thing to do." Ranma replied fervently, with all the experience of a life lived in another time, another place, where he lived his life by the martial artists code. It was a code remarkably similar to that a knight was supposed to hold to, but if this Ser Clegane was a knight, then Ranma wanted nothing to do with the title.

"Enough!" Luwin barked. "You were not there, you did not live through the war, and Robert is the king. That is the end of it."

Ranma subsided, but his eyes told Luwin he didn't agree. Thankfully however, the rest of the lesson passed without further incident.

Ranma and Jon also did their best to stray friends with Sansa, yet this was made much harder by their great enemy: Septa Mordane. She was an elderly woman who had very certain and hard rules about propriety and the way a woman of standing should act. She had arrived a few months after Arya was born to take over teaching the womanly skills to Sansa, who had taken to them like a duck to water, almost like Ranma had to combat but not nearly at as high a level.

The Septa also had views about bastard born children thinking above their place and made no bones about it. That had caused her to have words with Catelyn, who had eventually ordered her to keep her opinions to herself.

She also felt that all boys, even brothers couldn't be trusted. After one incident involving Sansa sleeping in Ranma's bed with him during a thunderstorm, she refused to let Sansa spend anymore time then she possibly had to with the two boys.

To Jon and Ranma this just wouldn't do and a sort of low key war began. They did everything in their power to get Sansa away from her lessons or time with the Septa, making significant headway in some way, not so much in others. Sansa's opinion on her big brother was unchanged, he was still the best and funniest boy she knew, but in other ways Sansa was moving in a different direction.

The boys routinely convinced Sansa to come out and play with them during their free time, which was something Septa Mordane hated. She wanted to keep her charge inside learning how to sew, paint, or other things, not running around like a wild thing like the two boys did. It took Catelyn putting her foot down and Sansa actually telling them that she enjoyed sewing and other 'girly things' to stop the duo. She promised she would remain friends with them, but this was something she wanted to do.

So the two boys reluctantly stopped trying to convince Sansa to join them for their games, but they realized soon enough that not all girls were created the same.

OOOOOOO

Eddard shook his head, looking down from a second story window at his youngest playing with his oldest, the same type of slap game he had taught Jon and Theon, which seemed to be building up Arya's hand-eye coordination very quickly. The two had been playing tag for a while. Now they were sitting there simply playing with their hands and Arya's bright merry giggle rose to the window.

"I don't like it," Catelyn said, looking down at them as well from next to him, her belly now visibly pregnant again. Next to her a maid played with young Bran, now four years old. Normally he would be trying to keep up with his older siblings, but he had caught a cold the morning before, so Catelyn decided to keep him close for a few days until he was better.

"I don't like it one bit! I think it's wrong to fill her mind with such nonsense." Arya was absolutely nothing like Sansa. At eight Sansa was a proper little lady, always willing to listen to others, always wearing a dress, perfectly willing to stay inside and learn to sew, paint, or other things all day; the epitome of what a highborn girl should be.

Arya on the other hand… At six years old Arya was a right little hellion. She was completely uninterested in sitting down for long and loved running and playing outdoors with her older brothers, even Theon when he made time for her. "He shouldn't be encouraging her like that. Septa Mordane and I have enough trouble keeping her in her lessons without Ranma encouraging her in this wild idea of being able to learn how to fight eventually."

"And Jon," said Eddard looking at over where Septa Mordane had just come out of the keep, having been led a wild goose chase through the castle by Jon trying to keep her from finding out where Arya was. Jon had actually volunteered for this duty, saying the Septa already hated him, so she couldn't hate him more regardless. "I'll talk to them, though I don't think he'll agree."

"We can but try," his wife said sighing a little sadly. While Ranma was mostly a biddable young boy and eager to make his parents proud, when he got his teeth in the bit he tended to pull you along rather than the other way around.

In many ways, they were both extremely proud of their oldest son, not only because his moment of insight sealed a rift that had infested the bedrock of their family in healing the distance between Catelyn and Jon (who despite this they couldn't' formerly recognize for safety's sake). Ranma was a very intelligent young boy. Once Maester Luwin got into his head a little, figured out what interested him, and how to make their lessons interesting, the maester hadn't had a word to say against him. Septa Mordane was another matter entirely of course, but thankfully Ranma didn't actually have lessons with her. Jon, too, was extremely intelligent, but it was pretty obvious which of them was the leader and which of them the follower.

Such was the way it should be of course, though without Ranma around Jon would probably have taken the leadership role himself. They occasionally fought, but their friendship was deep and the brotherhood strong, and they had extended that to Theon (to a lesser extent admittedly), Sansa, now Arya, and even Bran, young as he was. Despite the fact that Sansa didn't enjoy their games or do a lot of the activities they found so fascinating such as exploring the woods, climbing trees, or swimming; they still took time out of their day to hang out with her and she had fallen in love with Ranma's ability to spin tales for her.

As they watched the Septa tried to drag Arya back inside, but Ranma wouldn't let his sister go, holding her around the middle and then racing off with her in his arms faster than even a grown man could run despite the weight of his sister. Arya in turn was screaming out gleefully, "Faster, faster!"

Later that night Eddard did call Ranma into his office and set him down for a talk. He tried to explain Catelyn's position; that young women of their station needed to act in a certain way, that acting otherwise would cause them to have a reputation, or not to be able to be married off to good families.

Ranma stared up at him with that serious expression he sometimes had as if he was a much older boy and shook his head. "I understand that marriages are important father and that as your heir, even I will have to marry someone of a certain station. But Arya will do what Arya will want to do, the more you try to change her the more she'll fight back. Why not try to control what she's becoming rather than trying to change her?"

Eddard sat back, wondering about another young woman, and wondered if Lyanna would've run off if their family had been able to bend enough to let her be who she wanted to be. "I, I'll talk to your mother about it, though I can't agree right away. Possibly she can start having some exercises with you during the afternoons if she promises to pay attention to her lessons in the mornings." That would switch out the lessons that Arya hated most (decorum at the moment) with something that she would enjoyand hopefully she would also learn in a controlled environment. Who knows, maybe after she realized how serious she had to be to be any good at it, she would lose interest. It could happen right?

Catelyn was not happy with this decision, and they argued about it for days, but in the end Arya was allowed to learn from Ranma in their spare time and under the supervision of Ser Rodrick so long as she didn't make a fuss during her lessons with Septa Mordane. To Catelyn's shock Arya continued to take to her training with Ranma very well, and actually concentrated on her lesson with the Septa as well. She was nowhere near good, and you could always tell there was something she'd rather be doing, but with the carrot in front of her, she was able to concentrate well enough. And to further her shock, this seemed to help Sansa and Arya's relationship somehow. They still didn't understand one another very well, but they got along much more peaceably now that Arya wasn't trying to always act up in Sansa's favorite lessons.

OOOOOOO

A year and a bit past that conversation, and this idyllic time was broken. Nearly a month after Catelyn had given birth to another little boy they named Ricon, word had come that one of Eddard's vassal lords had been caught engaging in slavery. Slavery was something that had been outlawed in Westeros for centuries, one of the most heinous crimes ever: a crime against the laws of the old gods, the Seven and man, in the opinion of those in Westeros at least. In Essos, slavery was very well known and, in fact, was a core of the continent's economy, but not in Westeros.

"I must go, Catelyn," he said, kissing his wife on the cheek. "I am the one who passed the sentence, I will be the man to wield the sword. That is the way of the North, the way of my family.

"I understand," she said sadly. "I just wish you didn't have to go. But I well understand duty."

"Can I come with you father?" said Ranma waving his hand in the air.

Eddard and Catelyn shared a glance and Eddard nodded faintly. "It will be good to get him out of the castle, see a bit of the Northern lands beyond what he can in a single days trip. He'll be perfectly safe with my guards and me."

"He's an 11-year-old boy, he shouldn't have to see what you're going to do."

"I was younger when I first saw my father carry out a sentence," Eddard replied grimly. "Now is as good a time as any. I won't force any of the others to come along though, but Ranma and Jon yes." After a moment's thought, he added, "And Theon." Despite being with them for over six years, Theon was still a sort of outsider. Ranma and Jon had warmed to him at first but his own attitude and his continued needling of Jon had driven a wedge between them, cooling their budding friendship. Now they were close, but not that close, and it was obvious that Ranma and Jon were simply brothers and that was all there was to it to them. Many of the guards and servants (and Septa Mordane) saw it differently, but made little headway in changing Ranma's mind seeing as the rest of the family was happy treating him so.

Not ten minutes later, the trio joined a group of sixteen guardsmen, Eddard's personal guard as well as ten more men added to help guard the boys. Eddard leaned down briefly to kiss his wife again on the forehead and then said softly "We'll be back."

She nodded, and stood there watching the trio as they rode out of the castle's portcullis.

The ride continued for several hours and soon Ranma was getting bored. With a grin, he pulled his legs out of the stirrups on both sides of the horse and then pulled his legs underneath his body until he was actually standing on the horse's back. Then he pushed off quickly, leaping over the horse's head to land in the road a full five paces in front of it.

The guards all around him goggled, but he kept on running, now pulling the horse along easily. Eddard stared down at him in astonishment, so astonished he didn't even think of pulling up and asking his son what the hell Ranma thought he was doing or where he had learned had to do that.

Ranma grinned up cheekily at his father and said, "I was bored."

Theon and Jon broke out into laughter and Eddard shook his head. "If you want to tire yourself out trying to keep up with us on foot that is fine, my son. It'll simply mean you'll sleep better when you stop at night."

All around him his guards laughed as well. One of them asked, "Where'd you learn to leap like that, boy?"

Ranma chuckled. "Taught myself," he said, racing along easily.

The men looked at one another and shrugged then continued on their way at a canter. The hours passed but Ranma didn't seem to feel them, simply running on with a wide grin on his face as he looked around, seeing more land and areas that he had never seen before. He wished they could stop and explore, but for now simply running along was good enough.

Eddard looked down at his son from time to time, more and more astonished at his endurance and speed as the hours dropped away.

The master-at-arms who had come with them pulled his horse up and alongside his lord's muttering, "You see what I mean, my liege? Physically he is simply beyond anything I've ever seen before. And I've spotted him training in the early mornings and deep at night in the godswood."

"In the godswood?" Eddard said sharply, turning his head to stare at Ser Rodrick.

"Yes, Lord, he always hides in there."

"Interesting," said Eddard, looking down at his son who smiled up at him. Eddard smiled faintly then shook his head before leaning over to talk to whisper to Ser Rodrick. "I'll talk to him about it, there is something special about Ranma, not only his physical skills but everything else."

The ride continued. They exchanged horses twice along the way to keep going at a high speed. They stopped that night, camping out under the stars, before starting out early the next day. While Jon and Theon were weary and rather sore in their saddles, Ranma again seemed to be almost chipper. Jon wasn't nearly in as much pain as Theon was, which made sense given that Theon had spent his early years on an island and boats, so had never ridden a horse before he came to live as a ward of the Starks.

Ned noticed this, watching Jon pull himself up into the saddle easily despite his small size and the soreness from the day before, then looked over at Ser Rodrick.

The man shrugged. "He's trained with Ranma several times that I know of and I think they've been doing some kind of weight training as well. They're both past ready to switch to real blades in terms of strength, skill not so much just yet."

Eddard shook his head. "Well, if Ranma can teach someone else to be that much better than a normal boy his age, then it's obviously not some kind of magic or anything like that," he said just loud enough for the man behind him to hear and pass on. That would stop any rumors that his son was abnormal, though gods-touched, that would be harder to combat. It would also be nowhere near as easy for others to spin tales about and be believed however. Even if it might be the truth…

As fast as they went however, moving from Winterfell to the Mormont clan's island in three weeks (a very fast time considering the terrain of this area of the North was even worse than elsewhere in the hard land), they arrived too late. Ser Jorah of house Mormont had already left, running away with his wife to the free cities of Essos.

While his father was dealing with this, Ranma went around exploring. Jon and Theon, with nothing better to do, followed him. Theon looked around, snorting in contempt. "This place is supposed to be a noble house? HAH!"

"There is more to nobility than the castle they live in or the clothes on their back." Jon retorted, though even he was surprised at house Mormont's seat. It wasn't a castle or anything like that; it was simply a massive longhouse made of timber and rock.

Yet despite that Ranma, with the mind of a 19 year old who had absorbed every lesson he could about tactics and defense, could tell this place would be incredibly difficult for any normal force to take. It was deep in woods that were rife with rocks and scrub trees, providing little cover for attackers while breaking up any kind of cavalry charge or infantry formation. The hall itself was on a hill that allowed archers stationed on it's roof to shoot down with deadly accuracy. Of course, to get here the Mormonts and the smallfolk they ruled would have to be pushed back from the rest of the island, a tall order considering what Ranma knew about the house, which was surprisingly little considering Maester Luwin's lectures. He knew they routinely battled pirates and always answered the call to arms from the Lord Paramount of the North readily enough, but that was all.

"Hah, what would you know about nobility, Snow?" Theon sneered.

"Enough," Ranma said, not loudly, but definitely, looking ahead of them. After a moment, both of the other boys looked that way as well. Around the back of the hill the longhouse stood on was a large cleared area and there were several people working out there. What surprised Ranma however, was that some of them were women. That didn't match with what he had learned about warfare in this dimension. Although the carving of a woman in a bearskin with a child in one arm suckling at her breast and a battleaxe in the other on the entrance to the longhouse should've told me that this clan is different.

"What're you doing?" Ranma asked, looking at the young woman, who looked about 20 years old and who was practicing alone with a sword at the moment.

She was a stern looking woman, whose features were more striking than pretty. She had curves denoting largish breasts, but her overall body was toned and trimmed for war. She was also taller than most women, with broader shoulders to boot. "Practicing, what does it look like boy?" She said not even looking up.

"Can I join?"

The woman looked up at him, finally registering that voice as one she hadn't heard before. She stared at the little boy who had come with Lord Stark. "I don't think you're allowed, young master. Besides it wouldn't be a fair contest." she said smiling faintly.

"You want to bet?" Ranma asked, leaping easily from a standing position over the fence and into the training area. Jon and Theon immediately raced to the fence, smiling. This looked like it would be interesting. "What's your name by the way, I'm Ranma Stark." His smile widened as it always did when he said his name like that.

The woman sighed and put her sword down. "I am Dacey Mormont, heir to the clan after this business with my uncle, I'm afraid. And I suppose I can show you why no one dares to wrestle with the bear clan."

Ranma smirked. "Yeah well, there's a first time for everything."

The woman smiled a little wider at his confidence then charged forward, intending to give this boy a richly deserved thumping.

Ranma dodged to one side, tucking one foot between hers as he did tripping her to land in the grass. But Dacey rolled with this, coming up to her feet and turning swiftly, jumping forward to try and catch him.

But Ranma dodged to one side, grabbing her arm and pulling her forward off balance, then flipping her to land in the dirt.

Dacey's eyes narrowed then her free hand reached forward as fast as she could move while the hand he still held twisted, grabbing his wrist. Ranma moved with her, grabbing her other hand and, as she tried to get to her feet, flipped her a second time.

She kicked out but he broke her grips on his arms and dodged back, still smirking. With a growl Dacey turned, pushing herself up. This time she moved forward more cautiously, then backpedaled as Ranma went on the attack.

In the background, Theon and Jon began to hoot and holler, cheering their friend on. Several clansmen and women appeared at this point, drawn by the noise.

Five minutes later, Dacey was down on the ground with Ranma behind her holding her arms behind her with one knee on her back, pushing her down into the ground with all his weight behind it. "Give up?" he asked, grinning.

"Yes, now get off me," she muttered, embarrassed beyond belief that this young pup had beaten her like this. Yet, she was also in awe of the boy's strength, speed and skill. Dacey had rarely been beaten in wrestling since she was but a child and this young pup had beaten her soundly. A stirring of interest rose in her as Ranma let go and stepped back sharply, and she resolved to keep an eye on Ranma Stark from now on.

Maege Mormont, new lady of house Mormont, and Ned had finished their meeting quickly, thanks to there being little to do about Jorah now that he was gone. The fact he had fled with his wife had proven his guilt and he was banished from the clan. Maege was his older aunt and had never wanted to be the lady of the clan, but with her brother, Jorah's father, a commander in the Nights-watch, there was no other choice.

Drawn by the commotion, they had both come out of the longhouse in time to see the final few minutes of the match. Maege shook her head, never having expected her daughter to lose, and rather decisively too. "What have you been feeding that boy, Eddard?" House Mormont was notorious even among Northmen for their contempt for titles, even those of men they respected.

Eddard chuckled a little, though inside he was rather astonished. Despite his physical skills, he had not expected Ranma to be skilled enough to take on a trained warrior like Dacey, even weaponless. Despite her young age, she was a blooded warrior, and had seen some action against pirates and a few wandering bandit groups, even a boarding action against a rogue Greyjoy ship. Yet in hand-to-hand at least, Ranma had handed Dacey her head, not something most men could say considering the fact she was larger and stronger than most men, let alone other women even in her clan. I will have to talk to him soon won't I? There is something very odd about my son.

OOOOOOO

That night, Ranma was surprised when his father told him to follow him after dinner. Normally he, Jon and Theon would be chased up to bed swiftly, especially on this trip. Still, Ranma wordlessly followed his father through the longhouse then out into the wildness of the land around it, and soon enough the two were passing from the normal woods into the local godswood. Like most Northerners, the Mormonts believed in the old gods, which was good since Ranma didn't think much of the Seven. A schizophrenic God, I don't think so was the way he thought of it, and of course, in his past life he was a follower of Confucianism if anything, so the idea of an organized religion was rather bizarre to him.

The two walked on in silence, the silence of the night and the peace of the godswood enfolding them until they stood in front of the weirwood tree at its center. Once they reached the massive white tree, Eddard sat down in front of his son, somehow solemn despite the fact that no adult could ever look natural sitting on the ground with their knees up like that. Ranma sat down at his father's gesture, sinking into a lotus position easily, which made Eddard's eyebrow rise again at the odd seating arrangement, but it looked comfortable enough if you were limber.

They sat for a few moments of silence, then Eddard spoke. "I saw your fight with Dacey earlier. And I've been told by Ser Rodrick, you have taken to lessons about arms-training like a duck to water, sometimes so well it's almost as if you already knew the movements. I've also been told that you sneak out of your room at night to go training in the godswood alone, and that you and Jon get up every morning to exercise together."

"Yet most of the exercises you do and many of the moves I saw you use against Dacey earlier are not taught locally. A few of them look as if they come from Braavosi water dancers, but there has never been one of them in Winterfell as far as I know. Moreover, you're stronger and faster than anyone your age should be and have enough endurance for ten grown men. Do you understand what I'm saying?" Ranma nodded a little worried.

Eddard kept his voice level and firm, making certain that nothing he said came out angrily or with even a hint of condemnation. "So I have to ask, how did you learn to fight the way you do?"

Ranma paused for a moment wondering how to answer then he said "I know it isn't part of our religion, father," he said gesturing at the weirwood tree, "but do you know about reincarnation?"

Eddard nodded slowly, making a gesture for Ranma to continue. With a sigh Ranma said slowly, "I, I dream of another life." It wasn't so much that he dreamed about it obviously. Ranma knew this was a second chance and remembered practically everything that happened to him in his previous life. But he wasn't about to tell his father that he had gone to sleep as a 19-year-old on the run from his family only to wake up in the body of a baby with an entirely new family on an entirely new world. The reincarnation story at least would be enough especially since in a way, it was true.

"And what do you see in this life?" Eddard asked, keeping his tone neutral.

"In that life I wasn't a lord or anything, I was what was called a martial artist. Someone devoted to training in hand-to-hand combat." Eddard nodded, that made sense at least.

"I wasn't happy," Ranma went on. "I mean I was and I wasn't. I was good, really good at the martial arts, possibly the best of my generation, but my home life was…" He shook his head. "My father wasn't really my father. He…."

Ranma paused, "he wasn't very nice or kind or anything. And I don't think he was very honorable either, I have memories of him grabbing me and running away, being chased after we didn't pay for things. And another memory," he shivered a little, completely unfeigned. Since this was a mental issue rather than physical this too had carried over to his new body. "There's a pit, I'm young, I think I was six maybe a little younger, and he fills this pit with something, something I can't see in my dreams, and then he tosses me in."

"There are other dreams that stick out, most of them have to do with, well with pain," Ranma said looking down. "My mother was even worse, though I can't tell why, she just didn't like me. Most of my dreams though, concentrate on the martial arts."

"And is that why you have to push yourself so hard in learning how to fight?"

Ranma nodded trying to keep his apprehension off his face.

Eddard leaned back, gently reaching out and touching the weirwood tree for a moment. A sense of serenity and purpose filled him and he knew that whatever this previous life was, Ranma had his skills for a reason, and it was one the gods of old agreed with. That was enough for Ned. More, Ranma was his son.

With that in mind Ned reached out with gentle arms pulling Ranma into a hug. "Whatever you were in this old life of yours, in this one you are my son, and nothing you learn from your past life will change that."

Ranma sniffled a little, but pulled back and nodded fiercely smiling up at him. Eddard chuckled and stood up. "Now, I believe it's past your bedtime."

OOOOOOO

A few days later they returned to Winterfell and life continued apace. Ranma began to learn more and more about the duties as his father's heir while devoting as much time as he could getting into what he thought of as fighting trim. At last he was able to begin to control his ki, the life energy of his body, although there were severe differences from how it reacted now to what he remembered he could do with it in his last life. Of course when he was eleven going on twelve in his last life he couldn't consciously use ki at all but still, the differences were very odd indeed.

For one thing, projecting ki, even a little bit, was impossible. Even when Ranma tried using emotion based ki he couldn't do it, not even a little bit. Ranma wasn't certain if that was because he didn't have enough (unlikely, given the fact he knew his current reservoir was about the size it had been when he first learned the Moko Takabashi), there was some mental wall he had unconsciously broken through in his last life that he didn't remember, or that ki just didn't work that way on this world for some reason. Ranma didn't know the answer to that one.

For another, healing his body went slightly slower than it should have been, though that might be because this body didn't have the experience his old one had built up of letting him control its healing via ki. His strength and speed enhancements however, were coming back much faster and he had found that he could channel ki into a weapon for a short amount of time.

At this point, that was as much as he was willing to test out in terms of ki. Ranma wanted to get his base stats, as it were, up much further before he tried anything more.

In terms of Ranma's relationship with other people during this time, the relationship between him, Theon and Jon remained much the same. Jon and Ranma were close like true brothers, while Theon was Ranma's friend but not Jon's, and the tension there was made worse because Ranma made no secret as to who he would back. Jon and Ranma came even closer one day, after Jon had realized his brother was holding back.

That day Jon had just scored a touch on Ranma in the training area, and the two were putting their gear away when Jon stopped and looked at his brother. "You're holding back," he said bluntly, "how much?"

Ranma grimaced, looking around to make certain no-one else was within hearing range. "A lot," he admitted. "Not as much against you as you might think, but I'm not showing all I can do to anyone."

"I can understand that, I guess," Jon admitted, then went on more grimly, "What I don't understand is where your skills are coming from. I know you exercise alone at night and in the mornings, but that alone wouldn't account for it. And where in the world did you learn about using weight training from so young an age or all the odd exercises you've come up with. And don't say you just heard about all of them somewhere. That didn't make sense when I was five. It doesn't make sense now."

Ranma frowned a little then nodded, again looking around. "Meet me in the godswood after everyone else has gone to bed, we'll talk there."

Jon nodded, and that ended the conversation for the moment. Later that evening Jon exited the keep easily enough, then made his way to the godswood, finding Ranma waiting for him near the edge, up in a tree of course. Not saying anything, Ranma motioned Jon to follow him deeper into the woods and the two boys silently made their way through the woods without speaking. It should have been terrifying, all alone in the woods at night, but for some reason Jon merely felt welcome somehow, as if there was nothing here that would harm him.

He had always felt that way about the godswood, it was simply more welcoming, more personal and somehow more elemental than the sept where Lady Catelyn worshiped the Seven. There was something strangely ostentatious about the whole process there when compared to the simple and natural edifice of the godswood.

Soon enough the two boys had made it through the woods and stopped in front of the heart tree. The two sat facing one another directly before it and after waiting a few minutes, Ranma hesitantly began. He told Jon the same story/half-truth he had told Eddard.

After however, Jon didn't immediately rush to reassure Ranma that he still thought of him as a brother. Instead he said, "Why though? Why are you here then? Why do you have these memories? What purpose were you allowed to keep them to fulfill, what enemy were you brought here to fight?" At Ranma's expression he laughed. "Oh, don't get me wrong, I think its amazing and all, but there must be some purpose behind you being here."

"I don't know.", Ranma admitted. "I tried to ask the heart tree, but all the old gods would send me was a very jumbled, distorted vision of what might have been or what might be coming or something like that, I'm not certain. Men are a part of it, that much I'm certain of, but who and how, no idea." He glanced at his brother sharply, looking over to the North and the months-distant Wall. "But the other thing, is something cold, something that's hates all warm things."

Jon looked in the same direction and shivered. He thought for a minute then clasped Ranma's forearm in a warriors grip. "I'm with you." He snorted a laugh at Ranma's face. "Did you think I'd respond any differently? You're my brother Ranma, regardless of this past life of yours. I'll admit it makes me happy to know you're so much better than me because you cheated from the very beginning but…"

"HEY, I didn't cheat!" Ranma exclaimed.

"Of course you did. What would you call having an entire other life to call upon when outperforming someone? In fact, the fact I can keep up with you anyway probably means I'm better than you were at my age, doesn't it?"

Ranma tackled him to the ground and the two wrestled around laughing for a time, ending the serious discussion.

Ranma's relationship with Sansa also remained close despite how different they were, as well as with his other siblings. Ranma made certain to spend time with her, regaling her with 'made-up' stories, tales he had taken from his past life. Ranma was a very good story-teller, and all his younger siblings and even other children in the castle (and some of their parents) loved to hear them, even if they were all very silly. Arya, Sansa and her friend of course liked them the most, though Arya liked the combat while Sansa and Jeyne Poole liked the 'romance' in them, the brave pigtailed warrior fighting to protect the one he cared about from his enemies and their weird, bizarre magics and plots.

Ranma's relationship with Arya, however, became even closer because, despite their mother's disapproval the young girl loved to learn about how to fight, and she saw herself more as one of the boys than anything else. Ranma had a few clashes with his mother about that but with Arya reminding Eddard of his sister so much, their father always took Ranma's side. "And besides," Ranma was fond of saying, "since she's the second daughter, Arya might be able to marry for love rather than for politics, and if that's the case, whoever she marries will love her the way she is, rather than some kind of perfect little girl image of her."

Arya's relationship with her sister faded slightly as they grew up to be two very different people, and oftentimes when they were in the same room they would have issues, but neither of them sought out conflict with the other, and Ranma made certain to not pick sides. Arya also became close to Jon, who encouraged her just as much as Ranma did.

Bran was young of course, but Ranma made time to play with him as he had all his other siblings, though Bran didn't show the aptitude to any of the more martial games that Ranma taught him like Arya had. Of course, Rickon was still very young at this point but still, Jon and Ranma made sure to spend time watching and playing with him.

As part of his ongoing training in lordship, Ranma spent three hours every day with his father on top of his lesson with Maester Luwin. From his father, Ranma began to learn more about the personalities of the Northern houses, as well as the importance of land and estate management, and of course the history of their family, some of which he had already begun to learn from Maester Luwin. Ned, however, covered the family history more than Westeros history, making it come alive in a way the Maester could not.

Ned also started to take Ranma out alone to survey the North and meet the vassal lords that all owed him fealty as Lord Paramount of the North, and it was on one of these, two years after their journey to Bear island, that Ranma's next adventure took place.

OOOOOOO

"I know you're trying to show Ranma as much of the North as you can, but must you always ride out to arbitrate these disputes? Frankly I think it makes you look more like a supplicant than their lord." Catelyn grumbled.

Eddard looked down at his wife, smiling faintly. "Possibly it might," he allowed, "but that's why I switch it up of course." She opened her mouth and he shook his head. "I know you think I shouldn't, but this is the North, the nobles here are much more independent minded than in the South and very few of them have as capable a lady as I do." He went on much more grimly after that bit of flattery, "Besides it's not as if I'm bothered by small disputes, am I?"

Catelyn frowned irritably. The current issue that they were talking about was a dispute between the Lord of Dread Fort Roose Bolton and one of his neighbors, Lord Hornwood. It was a land dispute naturally. Both Lords claimed a plot of land that was actually one of the better farming areas in the north. It was technically part of Lord Hornwood's territory, but he had let it fall fallow, and several farmers under Roose's allegiance had moved in, then been kicked out, come back again, been kicked out, etc. for several weeks now. It was getting to the point where the local lords were threatening to call up their men, in order to go out and enforce their ownership.

Eddard did not like Roose Bolton. This was putting it mildly, frankly. He could never truly like or even trust a lord whose ancestors warred with your own for ownership of the North and who enjoyed flaying people alive and hanging their skins up. Especially those of your ancestors. There were still tales of Starks being flayed alive and hung up to dry in the halls of the Dread Fort. Yet for all of that, the man had served him well and loyally during the Greyjoy rebellion.

And in this case, at least, Roose was in the right. Farmland was a scarce resource here in the North and any along the edge of one noble's territory with another's could be taken and put under plow, if it was not already in use. In fact, that was one of the issues of the case. According to Lord Hornwood, his people had been using the land and had been ejected by Bolton's. But that didn't match with reports he had gotten from some of his factors in the area and Roose was far too clever to simply try to oust his neighbor's people from their land like that.

This issue was made worse by a report from Roose saying that his heir Domenic had disappeared while on an inspection of that portion of his territory. Roose was loudly declaring that if Domenic was not found soon, he would have no choice but to assume it was Lord Hornwood's men who had killed him, something that if proven correct (or if simply not disproven) would spark conflict between the two, an armed conflict that could spiral out to include the rest of the North.

This was why he and Ranma were leaving Winterfell again. He would've brought Jon and Theon as well, but they were grounded this week for fighting. No outdoor time at all until they could learn to get along. Eddard had not been told what had started the fight but he could guess. The fight had been broken up by Ranma smashing their heads together. When he heard that, Ned had actually laughed aloud in public for the first time in years, because he could picture that moment in his head, and it was hilarious. While he would've preferred Ranma to think more with his mind and use his voice to stop conflicts like that, there was something to be said for a direct application of violence at times.

Ned looked down at his son, who was once again on his feet alongside a horse rather than on top of it. Over the past few years since that first trip everyone had gotten used to the fact that he could run any horse into the ground. Catelyn had been appalled at first, but even she had learned to accept it, though she still thought it most unbecoming. People called him the Young Wolf in truth, since it was well known that wolves could run down horses over a long period of time and house Stark's totem animal was a direwolf.

He smiled up at his father and Eddard's turned his small warm smile down to his son. "Ready to go?"

Ranma nodded resolutely, and the group turned and set off with a final wave of farewell to Catelyn.

OOOOOOO

After a week's swift travel, the group had reached Hornwood land. They passed through it and arrived at the disputed land in another three days. Despite the distance being almost similar to that between the Glover's clan's castle and Winterfell, it was much easier territory to traverse, being rocky windswept plains and scattered forests rather than near constant forests.

They were soon met on the trail by Lord Halys Hornwood, who spoke quietly for several hours with Eddard, while the group watered their horses.

During this time Ranma wandered off. It should surprise no one who knew his personality, but surprisingly the young armsman who had been assigned to watch him during this break, had gone off. The Lord had brought his lady and one of her retainers along, who was a very comely wench. After several days of hard riding with only men around, she was a bit of fresh air to this group especially, the younger set.

Ranma looked around at the farmland that was stretching everywhere in this small little dale around a single river, surrounded on all sides by rocky hills, the vegetation fading into heavy scrubland in places and heavy, untouched forests in others. He counted at least six large farms in the area, with large two story houses made of stone, most of them looking like they had taken some damage in the past few days. He kept wandering, moving out and away from his father and their men as well as the Lord Hornwood's, until he was well out of sight. Not a one of the armsmen noticed him leave.

About twenty minutes later, Ranma had passed another ten large farms and had just crested a small hill when he suddenly heard a noise in the near distance, a whimper of pain from something nearby. It sounded almost feminine but he couldn't tell.

Ranma rushed toward the sound, speeding down the small hill and finding another separate house set a little ways away from the farmstead. Two men were holding down a woman, while the third was trying to rip off her dress while going down to his knees between her legs. It did not take a rocket scientist to figure out what was going on and Ranma saw red.

Without any warning, he rushed forward and before the three even knew he was there a kick to the kneeling man's crotch sent him catapulting over the heads of his two fellows. The yowl of the man whose crotch he had just shattered resounded in the air and Ranma rushed the other two before they could recover. One man crumbled under a small fist that slammed into his diaphragm with all the force of a drop hammer, gasping out blood as his insides were smashed.

Ranma then whipped out his small knife (he wasn't allowed a real sword yet, not until he was fourteen by motherly decree), blocking the blow from the other man who had recovered enough to bring out a huge axe from behind him. The man grunted in shock as Ranma blocked his huge axe with a small knife and forced him backwards away from the woman who scrambled away, rushing into the house with a cry of "Sylvia!" on her lips.

Ranma couldn't pay her any attention however, because two men had come out of the woods behind the farm and were rushing to help their fellow. He disengaged from his locked block with the man's battleaxe, ducking away and trying to get in with a stab. The man jumped backwards leaving his axe in the ground to avoid Ranma's knife to his guts. By this time, his two friends had come up and now were ranged against Ranma.

Despite all of his training Ranma had still not regained the situational awareness that he had developed in his old body, which was why he was almost hit from behind by a blow from a mace that would've smashed in the back of his head. He dodged at the last minute, rolling and ducking again as another man came at him with a sword.

He suddenly jumped up, surprising them all with his speed and landing a kick to one man's face sending the brigand flying backwards his nose and jaw broken.

"The little brat has fangs," said the survivor of the first three Ranma had attacked, reaching forward to grab the battle ax from where he had dropped it. "Watch out."

"Don't matter," said another man, as two more men came out of the woods, allowing the group to completely encircle Ranma.

"Idiots!" said another voice coming out of the farmhouse. Ranma turned swiftly, trying to keep them all in sight and saw another man, holding the woman he had just saved. He was an ugly fucker, with sloped shoulders, pink and blotchy skin, a broad nose, a small mouth with wide lips, and small, close set, nearly white, dead looking eyes. "We can't stay here that long."

Another shorter man with the look of a rat about him, who even from where he stood Ranma could smell for some reason, held a younger girl by an arm around her throat. Her clothing was ripped off and even though she was sobbing brokenly, her eyes were wide and unseeing, as if she couldn't quite comprehend the horror that had happened to her.

The man, who was obviously the leader, pressed his blade against the woman's throat snarling at Ranma. "Drop the blade little hero, or the pretty girl gets it."

Ranma snarled, but despite his training, he knew he wouldn't be able to cross the ground before the man could slit the woman's throat. The man was also holding the woman directly in front of him. That left no place for Ranma to throw his knife that wouldn't hit her instead. "Damnit!" he muttered and dropped his knife.

The man with the mace came forward and cracked him a good one across the back of the head. Ranma fell to his knees, shaking his head groggily, but that was all. While he wasn't up to the durability he had achieved in his last life, Ranma was still tougher by far than any normal man in Essos.

The man looked at his mace quizzically wondering what the hell happened there. The leader shook his head. "You hit like a woman, Gorka." He smiled evilly. "Get a rope around him, bind him tight."

The men did so, while Ranma continued to shake his head, trying to clear it. The rope tightened around his neck, and he pulled forward, pulling the man off his feet and throwing him over his head to the ground. A scream from the woman, however, made him stop struggling. He ground his teeth, yet docilely waited while the men bound him. "When my father hears about this," he muttered almost in a conversational tone, "he's going to put you all to death so fast it will make your heads spin."

"Oh, the little hero thinks he's a Lord too," the leader cackled, not having seen that the Lord of Winterfell had arrived in the area. On top of that, while the news of Ranma's endurance and physical abilities had spread throughout the North, they hadn't included a description besides looking like a Stark with blue eyes, which wasn't exactly a good description.

Ranma grinned up at him fiercely. "Winter is coming, bastard." Another blow from the mace to the back of his head sent him down to the ground, but even then he was pushing off his feet before the other men finished tying them up.

"Don't hurt him too much, I think I just found a new favorite little toy," the leader said, smiling sadistically, despite the anger he felt at Ranma's chosen insult. He waited until Ranma was completely tied up, his hands behind his back, his legs tied together, and was being pulled to his feet by the men around him before looking down at the woman he was holding.

"Pity," he muttered, "I would've liked to take my time with you and your daughter, but needs must." In front of Ranma's horrified eyes, the man slit the woman's throat quickly and efficiently, letting her fall to the ground, her hands going to her throat in an automatic and vain attempt to stop the bleeding. The young girl next to her began to scream, but her voice was muffled by the smelly man's hand. At a nod from the leader, the smelly man snapped her neck quickly before letting the body flop to the ground.

Ranma had never felt as much anger or rage ever before as he did at that moment. He realized then that despite everything they had done to him, despite the fact that they were his rivals or his enemies, Ranma had never met someone in his previous life who was truly evil. This man and his followers were evil, vile, and disgusting; dishonorable and cruel in a way that he had never encountered in his past life. And the sight of that woman's body falling to the ground, falling to the ground dead after Ranma couldn't protect her, shattered his self-control.

He surged to his feet, head slamming back with enough force to shatter bone against one of his captors then rushed the leader, snarling. But he was held fast by the men behind them, six of them now holding the ropes trying to control him while a seventh raced up and slammed two more hard blows to the back of his head with the mace.

A third blow landed and Ranma finally lost the battle with his pain, falling forward, his eyes closing as he succumbed to unconsciousness. His last image was of the leader cackling happily, saying, "Oh, my new toy has such fight in him! I hope he can keep it up. My present toy doesn't have much fight in him at all."

OOOOOOO

It was only after he was finished talking with Halys Hornwood that Eddard noticed his son wasn't around. He looked over at the guard who had been assigned 'Ranma watch' as it was called due to his inability to stand still for very long and was displeased to see that the man was trying to flirt with Lady Donella's maid.

He marched up, waiting until the man noticed him and the man paled visibly. "Where is my son?" said Eddard coldly.

"I, um, he was just here, my l-lord," the man stammered.

Eddard nodded over to Sir Jory, who was the head of his personal bodyguards. "Find him." Jory nodded, quickly moving off in the direction that he had last seen Ranma, cursing himself for not noticing that the boy's minder had decided not to mind him.

"We will speak of this later," Lord Stark said rather coldly to his man. The man gulped but realized that he had screwed up badly. Yet who would've thought the idiot boy would've just wandered off? He thought about that for a moment then groaned. "Anyone who knew him you idiot," the man muttered to himself, and then joined the search.

They spread out and eventually found the homestead where Ranma had been captured. The two dead women and the three dead men scattered around told what had happened here and Eddard cursed Inside the house were another two bodies, both of them very dead as well, an older man and a boy of fourteen or so.

The dead men outside had all been stripped of their clothing and anything that could have identified them, and he frowned angrily. That alone was not something bandits would normally do and he wondered if Bolton might be behind this in some way, despite his earlier dismissal of that idea, but dismissed it again after a moment's thought. There was no way that the Lord of Dread Fort would be stupid enough to continue to push things here with Eddard arriving and there was no chance of him being idiotic enough to take Eddard's son.

He turned swiftly to the Lord Hornwood and ordered, "Get your best trackers here, now. They have my son and I will not rest until I find them." Ned just hoped his son was still alive when he did.

Not five hours later, the men arrived, having used several remounts to keep moving at a gallop. They spread out searching for a trail. These were men who were very good at their job. Some of them had even hunted deserters from the Nights-Watch, who were all cunning and desperate men. They soon found the barest hint of a trail and one of them raced backward to tell Lord Stark and Lord Hornwood the news.

Finding the trail led directly deeper into Bolton lands, Ned grimaced but decided to plan for the worst. "Send ravens to Lord Umber and Lord Manderly as well as Winterfell. I want your and Lord Manderly's ready men-at-arms here within a week, all on horse. I'll… I'll write the message to Winterfell myself. We march on the Dread Fort directly."

The one hundred men from Hornwood arrived within three days with the men of Winterfell on their heels. With scouts around in the nearby woods, their movement was kept a secret, but once they started to ride into Bolton land they would lose that advantage swiftly.

OOOOOOO

Ned stared down at Jon, who had somehow managed to talk his way into the troop of four hundred men from Winterfell. Winterfell could have called up more men if given time, but the lands of his house could only afford six-hundred permanent men-at-arms and of course some had to be left behind. That wasn't what Ned was thinking about now, however. "Jon…."

"I know what you are going to say, sir," Jon said. He always called Ned sir or Lord Stark in public, knowing that he shouldn't wave his bastard's status in front of other people. "But Ranma's my friend, sir." The word meant more here outside of Winterfell where he couldn't call Ranma the brother he was in truth. "I need to be here, whatever happens. I should have been with you all anyway; it's my own fault I fought with Theon." Theon had tried to come along as well, but he had been caught by Maester Luwin. Jon hadn't been caught until the troop was three days out and had talked Ser Rodrick, who was leading them, into letting him come. "I promised him that I would stand with him and I wasn't! I, I need to be here, sir, please."

Ned frowned but nodded. "Very well, but if there is any fighting, I will want you at the back of the army. Do you understand?" Jon nodded, but Ned somehow knew his orders were in vain. Yet at the moment, he was simply happy that his lady wife had not tried to come along to be too angry about Jon being there.

A day later, the two hundred men-at-arms of Lord Manderly arrived, each with three remounts, led by Ser Wylis, Wyman's firstborn son, a rather obese man in his thirties with a large walrus mustache and bald head. Despite their following the Seven rather than the old gods, House Manderly was among the most loyal vassals of house Stark. They were also among the most powerful in terms of men and riches, controlling many silver mines and the city of White Harbor, the only true city the North boasted. They practiced a cavalry tradition, unlike most of the North, and their stables were among the largest as well.

Ned smiled, seeing that his orders had been obeyed. Wyman may be obese, but there is nothing wrong with that man's mind. He thought almost cheerfully, despite the circumstances. The old Pufferfish probably knew what I had planned the moment he read my missive. I must invite him to Winterfell when this is all over, I haven't introduced Ranma to him yet, and I think he could learn a lot from another example of good governance, and how not to judge a book by its cover.

That thought, however, turned his thoughts to his missing son and he turned to Lord Hornwood, a tall fit man with wide shoulders and a luxuriant brown beard despite being completely grey up top. "Let us ride."

Within minutes, the small army, only about seven hundred strong yet all on horseback despite mostly being trained as infantry, set off into Bolton territory. A raven winged its way to the other side of the flayed man's land and another force of three hundred began their own trek from the other side, Lord Umber at their head personally. The Lord of the Last Hearth had never gotten on well with his southern neighbor and if there was a chance to end the Bolton line, he would grab it with both his massive hands.

Around Lord Stark's army was a massive screen of two hundred scouts/rangers loaned to them from Lord Hornwood, who searched out any spies and scouts, bows at the ready to shoot down any ravens on the wing. Lord Umber's force was mainly infantry and was making no attempt to hide their coming in the hopes of pulling Bolton's attention that way just in case.

OOOOOOO

Ranma was barely aware of his surroundings for a time as his ki healing began to work on the damage his head had taken. His endurance and durability was nowhere near where it had been when he died or whatever in his old world, although it was actually slightly higher than it had been when he had been his current age there He had practiced over the last two years to get his healing back to the level it was when he ran away from Nerima. It wasn't anywhere close yet, unfortunately.

"I tell you, Ramsay," said one of the men around him, also on horse, "I hit him with all the strength of my arm. I don't what that boy is made of, but it isn't normal flesh and blood. Besides, have you ever heard of a a boy his age able to kill three grown men with nothing but his fists and a belt knife?"

"That just makes it all the more amusing," said the leader, who Ranma took to be Ramsay, in a psychotic tone. "Besides, if his flesh is that strong, then wearing it will empower me as well."

Ranma manfully suppressed a shudder at that as well as vowing that the first chance he got, that man was going to die. The memory of what Ramsay did to the girl and her daughter would stay with Ranma for the rest of his life. He kept his eyes closed, however, keeping his body loose and acting as if he was still unconscious, trying to figure out everything he could about his captors.

The group made great time, using the horses of their dead fellows as well as several remounts they had prepared. Ranma was constantly shifted from one horse to another, though there was always a rider with him as well. The one called Reek also used some kind of chloroform equivalent or something on him every few hours and after every stop.

They needn't have bothered though. While Ranma was strong for even a full grown man at this point, he wasn't strong enough to break the chains that now bound him without leverage and he was completely covered with chains, both his arms and his legs. I'll have to bide my time, he thought, these bastards are taking me somewhere, maybe when we get there I'll be able to break out.

Despite making great time, the group swung wide of their true destination, trying to throw off anyone trailing them, taking a week and a half what would have taken three days otherwise. Of course for some, this had a major upside to it.

Every time they stopped for the evening or to change horses Ramsay would make time to play with his new toy. This time ranged from taunting, punching, and kicking to, one time, running a knife from Ranma's shoulder down to his crotch, pressing it into him at times through his clothing, which had of course become rumpled, dirty, and marked with blood stains and cuts. Ranma however refused to cry out or give him any satisfaction and the man went away displeased only to come back the next time and try again, with each time doing more to Ranma in an effort to get a scream out of him.

All Ramsay got however, was twin blue eyes of chipped sapphire looking back at him, promising death. It was a look that Ramsay despised and it didn't go away whatever he did. He even broke Ranma's fingers on one hand, nothing. He snarled, but refrained from doing anything more as they were on the move. "Don't worry little toy, soon we'll reach home, then we can see what noises you can make when I have the time and tools to make you sing properly." His response was nothing, simply those sapphire eyes staring at him, and Ramsay finally nodded convulsively at Reek, who once more used whatever concoction he had created that was like chloroform to put Ranma out again.

Worse than Reek's concoction or Ramsay's torture was the fact they starved Ranma, giving him only water to drink and a meager bite or two of gruel every other day. Ranma could feel himself weakening and he was forced to shut his body down, falling into a deep trance as often as he could to conserve energy on the trek.

Ranma was startled out of one such trance two days after Ramsay had broken his fingers (which had already healed, though his captors hadn't noticed) when the sound of the horses' hoofs on the ground changed from hitting grass and dirt to hitting cobblestone. He didn't chance looking around, simply keeping his ruse going. The chloroform had worked well, at first, but like everything else he ran into, Ranma's body built up a defense against it. Now it barely worked for five minutes but he wanted to make damn certain he kept that a secret, as he had all along. It would make his eventual escape that much easier.

He felt himself carried inside by two men holding his shoulders but the chains they had put around him were still there, giving him no chance to escape. The sound of the chains around his legs rattling against the stone of the floor was loud in his ears but he strained himself to hear any hint of where the hell he could be or who his captors were.

OOOOOOO

Roose Bolton, a thin middle aged man with lank black hair and white, almost bloodless skin and white eyes, looked up from some paperwork he was working on at his desk when his bastard son Ramsay came in. The man was smiling that evil smile of his and Roose sighed. His so-called heir, Dominic, had been a massive disappointment, far too kind to be a proper lord, and despite skill with sword and lance not having anywhere near the amount ruthlessness or guile that the Lord of Dread Fort required. His bastard son was much stronger, had a very quick and nasty mind, and a flair for the traditional tools of the Bolton house. Despite this, however, he was also a little too uncontrolled, too sadistic, and far too easy to read. He could not hide his sadism, but that at least could be taught, unlike guile or cunning.

He had given the task of riling up Lord Hornwood to Ramsay a in an attempt to see if the boy could control himself. It was obvious he had failed however, and Roose was wondering if he should cut his losses and offer up the bastard's little group to Halys as recompense, dead of course so as to reveal nothing to him. But then he had heard that Eddard was actually coming here to arbitrate the dispute, and he decided against showing weakness in front of Stark. Reek, his son's putrid second-in-command would probably be sacrificed at the least, though the fact that his own son Dominic had 'disappeared' during this crisis gave him quite a bit of leverage.

"Why are you disturbing me?" he said in his soft, cold voice, which nonetheless carried very well. When the Lord of Dread Fort spoke people listened.

"I found a new toy, father," Ramsay said cackling a little. He moved to one side and two of his playmates as he called them, trooped in carrying a young boy of around twelve with black hair and wearing very good clothing of black leather lined with black and white fur on his shoulders.

Roose frowned then looked at the boys belt buckle, on which was a rampant wolf with a small ruby eye. His eyes widened slightly before he turned to Ramsay. "You fool! This is Eddard Stark's firstborn son! Do you have any idea what could happen now?"

Ramsay looked down at his new toy in delight. "One of those weakling Starks is it?! That makes it even better, father."

"You fool…"said Roose again, slowly walking towards his son, smashing a hand across his face sending the boy to the ground. Not for the first time he thought about simply killing the younger man and somehow finding a way to convince Dominic that Roose had nothing to do with his captivity. That was a dream of course, but Roose had wished almost from the moment he backed Ramsay against his trueborn son that he hadn't. Still that was the past and Roose couldn't afford to look back now.

"This could ruin us. It turns a relatively minor act of brigandry, the sort of testing that noble houses can get away with between ourselves, to an act of war against the Lord Paramount of the North!" He turned to the two men who had dragged the boy in, one of whom he knew has one of the most levelheaded of Ramsay's little group. "Did you leave any evidence, could this be traced back to us in any way?"

The man actually thought for a moment, which was good. Roose would not have been pleased with a quick and simple answer. "I… do not think so my Lord, we covered our trail well, and we stripped the bodies of our dead of anything that could identify them. I have no doubt we could eventually be followed into your lands, but that is all, our destination would be impossible to find, I think. We may…" he paused looking at his Lord levelly, "have to cut a few of the men loose so to speak sir, but that should be enough."

Roose wondered about the dead men part, but figured that the little boy probably had a bodyguard with him when he ran into Ramsay. Ramsay was still on the floor, sniffling a little as he wiped at the blood coming from his nose, but he wasn't really hurt. Roose stared down at him coldly. "Get up, take the boy down to the dungeons." He stared down at the little Stark, and couldn't help himself, smiling a little at the idea of his family once again being able to skin a Stark like his ancestors had. "Do it quickly," he said, not mentioning what it was as Ramsay well knew. "This time tomorrow I don't want him to be recognizable even by his closest friends."

Ramsay nodded but was a little sad that he wouldn't have more time to play with his new toy. Still, he would obey his father for now. Ramsay knew he wasn't strong enough to challenge the old man yet but his time would come.

The Lord of Dread Fort stared at his son, once again lamenting the fact that his trueborn heir hadn't had any of the mental or emotional strength necessary to take over for him. The way he had searched out Ramsay in an effort to befriend him and then been fooled by the bastard of the woman Roose had raped nineteen years ago proved that much. Roose had consigned the fool boy to Ramsay's tender mercies at the time, yet ever since then… Roose shook those thoughts off again, ignoring the small pang of guilt he felt.

Ramsay was closer to Roose's ideal, but in comparison to a true heir it wasn't even a contest. Still, he would put up with the boy for now until he could find another wife for himself and get a child on her. There always had to be a Bolton in Dread Fort and Roose knew that chance and luck could take him at any time, despite his best laid plans.

The two guards followed Ramsay down the hallway, then down several flights of stairs deep into Dread Forts dungeons. Once there they moved towards the back of said dungeons to what Ramsay affectionately called his 'play area'.

OOOOOOO

Ranma had been awake throughout this entire ordeal. He had heard the name Lord Bolton with some trepidation and then a lot of anger. Whatever game Lord Bolton was playing here, he was part of what had happened to those girls, what had doubtless happened to other people since this conflict between him and Hornwood began, and Ranma's own kidnapping, which meant he was going to die too when Ranma got loose.

Once inside the torture chamber, Ranma's chains were swiftly undone but before he could move, he was as swiftly chained to the wall. His arms were chained at an angle above his head and his legs were chained straight down. However, there was enough give in his chains, and he slumped forward still feigning unconsciousness, while his heart began to beat faster and readied his body for action.

He heard the door close, and then someone smashed him in the face with a hand and he jerked back, his blue eyes opening as a growl rumbled deep in his throat, his teeth bared like fangs.

"Snarl all you want, little Stark, little doggy.", said Ramsay, cackling now. He moved over to some of his instruments of torture, 'toys' as he called them, and pulled out a long skinning knife. "You know what men do to wolves? They skin them."

Ranma coughed a little, leaning forward letting his body slump as if overcome at last at the idea of what was going to happen to him.

The man started forward, ripping open Ranma's shirt and lovingly drawing the knife down one side, giggling as Ranma's blood appeared. "Nothing to say little doggy?" He stopped at his shoulder, and began to cut a slither of skin off there, reveling in the bright blood that began to stream down his toy's side.

Ranma grimaced, coughed again and muttered something under his breath. "What was that? I want to hear you scream little Wolf, not mumble." and he dug the knife deeper into Ranma's chest, but Ranma didn't even flinch, only muttering again under his breath. "That's no fun, I want to hear you scream!" As he had hoped Ramsay leaned forward.

"I said," said Ranma suddenly in a clear voice while his head rocketed forward from where it'd lolled back, smashing into the man's face causing him to reel back a few steps, "you hadn't come close enough!" With a single heave he ripped out the chain binding one of his legs to the wall, kicking up and catching Ramsay in the throat crushing his larynx. He let his leg fall back and he lolled there for a moment, gathering himself and healing what damage the knife had done to his body as well as he could.

Ramsay went to his knees, both hands going to his throat and his small close set eyes opened comically wide, gasping for air through his small fat lips. Ranma stared down at him coldly, and the last thing Ramsay saw was Ranma pulling his arm free from one of side of the change that held him. "It's all about leverage, asshole. You should have let me tied up the way you did on our trip here."

After Ramsay's eyes clouded over in death, Ranma turned back and pulled his other arm free as well. The chains fell to the ground making a clanking noise, having been pulled out from their places on the walls rather than Ranma breaking the cuffs around his wrists. He let them fall for a moment, then played with them in his hands for a bit, getting the feel of their weight. "These'll do."

The ones on his legs though, had to go. Ranma reached forward quickly grabbing Ramsay's head and snapping his neck just to be certain. "That was for that woman you killed," he muttered, "The kick to the throat, that was for me." Then Ranma began to search the body for the keys to his chains. He found them of course. Ramsay always kept the keys to his toy's chains on him so that he could rearrange them to his liking. With them, Ranma unlocked the chains around his ankles and his wrists, but kept his hold on the chains in his hands. They would make good weapons until he got something better. He wasn't about to touch any of the tools in here.

He walked over to the door, peering out of the small opening at head height. He smelt that foul man who had been Ramsay second-in-command coming closer before he saw him. He backed away quickly, waiting.

Reek had to stable the horses first before joining his master to have some fun with the young Stark boy. Now he made his way alone through the dungeons, thinking sadly of the fun he could have had with the pretty little boy's body if they had time, but with lord Bolton's orders that wasn't going to happen. He would have to take his fun now and be happy with it.

He was about to open the door to the torture chamber, finding it odd that he couldn't hear any screams when Ranma kicked open the door with such force that its hinges came out and the entire door slammed into Reek, throwing him with an echoing 'Crash!' against the far wall. Before Reek could recover or try to push the heavy oak door off him, Ranma leaped forward, landing on top of it, one chain whirling down to crush Reek's skull.

With that, Ranma stepped off the door, pulling it up with one hand, while using the other to grab the putrid man and toss him into the torture chamber to join his master's body. With that done Ranma put the door back gingerly.

Ranma then made his way down the dank and dark dungeon corridor. About halfway down the deserted corridor, he heard a cough from one of the dungeon cells and he looked inside. All the others had been empty as he passed them, but this one had a young man who had obviously been very badly tortured. One arm was bent at an angle that was completely unnatural, each portion of it bent in a different direction including his fingers, and that hand was wrapped in gauze up to its elbow. The gauze, from the faint light of the torches outside the dungeon cell, Ranma could tell was soaked through with blood and the man looked emaciated.

Ranma looked around, making certain there was no one to hear, and then reached forward, wrenching the door's lock off before opening it quickly. He raced forward to release the man, using the same keys he had had taken from Ramsay to unlock his chains. The man stared at him woozily, seeing bright blue eyes under black hair, not the lanky, unclean black hair or light gray, almost dead eyes that he was used to seeing, and he wondered if he was dreaming.

He actually spoke that part aloud, and Ranma answered him quickly. "No you're not dreaming and if this is the kind of thing you dream about, I don't want to see your nightmares."

That line actually caused the man to chuckle a little. "A nightmare, yes, that's what my life has been. Possibly for far longer than I knew. I am Dominic Bolton stranger, and you are?" He paused fuzzily, looking down at Ranma. "Aren't you a little short for a rescuer?"

Ranma chuckled, remembering a line like that from a movie he saw once back in his old life, but didn't dwell on it now. "Not so much a rescuer as a fellow escaped prisoner. Ranma Stark, at your service."

Dominick's eyes widened. "Stark? My father has gotten bold indeed, or possibly lost his wits."

"If by father you mean Roose Bolton, I think that's his first name, can't quite remember from my lessons about northern lords anyway, then no. He was very angry when Ramsay brought me in."

That name caused a shudder of fear and revulsion to go up Dominick's back. "And where is the bastard?" He said looking around fearfully. He had been down here for three weeks, and for much of that time every time Ramsay was not out doing his father's dirty work he was down here 'playing' with Dominic. Some scars would never heal, and not all of them were physical, not even most of them in fact.

"Dead," answered Ranma, and Dominick's eyes widened in shocked joy. "I killed him when he came too close as he was trying to torture me." Ranma touched the scar on his side, and then the bit of scar tissue that covered the sliver of flesh Ramsay had removed from his shoulder. While his ki healing was able to heal the damage, at Ranma's current level with that particular skill, it wouldn't get rid of all the superficial scarring. Ranma would have a scar there for the rest of his life and that was the way it should be in his opinion. It would give him something to remember the day he finally saw an example of true evil.

"Anyway, I think we need ta get out of here. I'll clear a path, follow behind when you can, but grab yourself a sword as soon as you're able. There's one down the hall with that smelly guy, I'll just keep using these," he said holding up his chains.

Dominic looked askance at the heavy chains, which Ranma was holding as if they weighed little to nothing. "You're not exactly a normal young boy, are you?"

"What was your first clue?" asked Ranma, chuckling a little. Then he became much more serious. "Seriously, we need to get out of here. If we're lucky, we can get out of here before they sound the alarm, but the longer we stand here the worse our chances get." Dominick nodded fervently and got to his feet unsteadily, moving towards the doorway after Ranma.

OOOOOOO

"Alright, we've come this far without being spotted and it is only by the luck of the forest folk that we have. But for this last stretch, we will be in the open almost immediately." Eddard Stark stared around at his officers, Lord Hornwood, Ser Wylis, and Jon, who stood next to him protectively. All of them nodded grimly and he went on. "Jory, you take your men and break off now. Remember to loop wide around the Dread Fort. The rest of us will try to keep the defender's attention on us, but your attack is the key. We can't afford to let this turn into a formal siege, we don't have the supplies, men or time. Hopefully, Roose will simply tell us he knows nothing and open his gates, allowing us to use Dread Fort as a position to search his land for the brigands that took my son. But if he's in anyway involved, he'll try to play for time. If anyone else answers anything from the wall but Bolton, that will be your signal to go in. I know you've heard him speak before, you'll be able to recognize if it isn't him."

Jory nodded grimly, one hand on his sword hilt. Beyond it being their duty, Ranma was well liked by every guard in Winterfell and the hazing the brat who hadn't watched him was going to go through when they got back to the barracks didn't bear thinking about. If it meant getting Ranma back, Jory and the rest of his lord's bodyguards would do their part.

"If it does come to a fight, and at this point my gut feeling is it will, stay out of my way, all of you." Ned went on even more grimly, his hands crossed on the pommel of his greatsword Ice as it stood point first in the ground. It was a Valaryian blade, its features smoky, a mix of shades of grey, and its edge was preternaturally sharp to go with the strength of its steel. It had been the Stark family blade for uncounted generations and this would not be the first time it tasted Bolton blood. If my son is in that fort however, I mean for it to be the last, Ned thought grimly.

"You all have a description of my son, when it comes to a fight watch out for him in there." He breathed in deeply, then nodded. "Let's get this done."

OOOOOOO

The first two guards died before they even realize their prisoners were escaping. Ranma was on them like a whirling dervish, his chains flashing out smashing into their faces and throwing them back.

Despite the fact that he could've stopped and taken their weapons, Ranma decided not to, the chains were good enough for now. That and the fact that neither of them actually carried swords, they both had knives on their belts but they carried spears. A spear inside the enclosed space of a castle was a rather stupid weapon in his opinion, but then again he was all about mobility and he brought his own stopping power to the game rather than relying on a weapon to keep his enemies at a distance.

Unfortunately this assault was seen by a few of the guards down the hallway, and one of them rushed off to sound the alarm while the other made his way forward confidently. That confidence died as he did, his spear smashed to the side by one swing of Ranma's left chain while the other swung in and took him in the chin with such force it snapped his neck and threw him backwards.

Four more guards stormed down, but Ranma ran to meet them before they could get set. Their spears thrust forward, but he jumped above them.

"By the Gods old and new!" One of them exclaimed before Ranma's chains slammed down with lethal force on the top of two of their heads crushing their skulls and their helmets in one blow. Then he was in among them pushing the dead bodies to one side as his fists, now empty of chains flashed out catching both of the survivors of his first attack in the crotches bringing them down to where his elbows could slam into their faces shattering their skulls.

These two had both swords and shields, and Ranma smiled grimly, picking one sword up and testing its balance for a moment before grabbing a shield. The shield was actually a little over a third his own height and he decided against it, letting it fall. The sword was enough for now.

He chuckled quietly wondering what Genma (he never called the fat man his father anymore even in his own mind, not after so many years having a real father in Ned) would say if he saw his son wielding a blade. Not even a katana, the swords in this world were all styles more closely resembling European blades. This one was a common one-handed longsword. For a normal thirteen-year-old it would be too heavy to really use, but to Ranma it was actually a little light.

With Dominic following in Ranma's wake, the older man's face showing shock and a sort of slowly rising fear as Ranma continued his rampage, Ranma made his way up the stairs.

He ran into guards in several places, and the news of his escape and rampage spread before him as he forged up to the first floor of the keep.

OOOOOOO

"Damn it, why did they attack him!", said Roose angrily. "If the Stark boy had just broken out and you had surrendered or called out for him to halt this could possibly have been kept quiet." Now, however, with Ranma having killed some guards that were wearing Bolton livery there was no way he would be able to sweep it under the rug except by killing the boy. He might have even been able to wring some concessions for saving the boy from his captors, possibly storming down with a group of his own guards and killing a few of the other guards in front of him, then delivering him to his father personally?

But now the only way forward was to kill him. And that wasn't going to be very easy, apparently. Roose wondered what kind of training the young boy had to get this good, that he was mowing through his men like this.

"B-but sir, the other prisoner, the one who we weren't supposed to name anymore, he's following the Stark boy," stammered the sergeant in charge of the prison guards.

Roose's eyes widened, his heir was still alive down there after so long under his bastard's tender mercies? Perhaps the boy had some steel in him after all, he thought,sadly. Other than the lack of a spine and his kind nature, Dominic could have been a better lord than Ramsay any day, but then he stupidly tried to befriend Ramsay. I thought... And now it's going to bite me in the ass just like letting Ramsay take control of poking Halys about those farms.

Roose's day was about to become even worse because just then a runner came in from the walls of his fortress. "Sir, Lord Hornwood and Lord Stark are coming down the road, they're bringing at least 600 men maybe more."

Bolton cursed. "Alright, I want two thirds of the ready guard to the wall, the rest are to head down to the dungeons and kill that boy. Make certain his body is utterly unrecognizable, then when you're done take all the bodies and stow them down there, wall them in someplace. There must be no hint of what happened here."

He turned to his seneschal and nodded his head toward the door. "Eddard won't attack quickly, he'll try to get us to open the doors. Stall him as much as you can but order the men on the walls to prepare to defend the castle." The man, a small weaselly sort who was utterly terrified yet utterly devoted to Roose at the same time, nodded and rushed out.

For the fifth time that day alone, Roose lamented once again not having killed his bastard-born son when his mother turned up at the gates to his castle. Still, he hoped that this could still be gamed and he turned pulling out his own sword from where it was over his hearth in his office, then moving over to don his armor. The armor was dark grey plate armor over a quilted tunic of blood-red leather with rondels shaped like human heads, their mouths open in agony. Bolton and his house knew the value of fear. His armor was an extension of that belief. There was a reason, after all, why his banner was still that of a flayed man decades after flaying had been outlawed.

OOOOOOO

Ranma battled his way through the guards, tirelessly dodging this way and that, always attacking pushing his captors back, leaving a trail of dying and broken men in his wake. In an open battle, this number of men would have been able to kill or at least overcome him, but in an enclosed space, with only four of them able to come at him at a time and with the ones behind them pushing them ahead and getting in their way? In a way, his smaller body actually helped, letting Ranma be more maneuverable and have enough room to swing his blade in much more cramped locations than the men in front of him while at the same time making him far harder to hit.

A time or two, he was almost taken by surprise from behind as he passed doors leading into cells and storage areas, but Dominic had taken a spear from a dead armsman and guarded his back well enough. Despite the fact that his one ruined hand didn't really lend any strength, Dominic still had one good hand and the bleeding and flayed hand was enough to help him at least direct his spear to stab his enemies. "If we get out of this, the bards will write a song of your heroism!" he shouted over the clangor of battle.

"Why the hell would I want that!?", asked Ranma, cutting one man from one side to the other as his fist smashed into another soldier's kneecap from the side sending him screaming to the floor. A kick to that man's face finished him off and Ranma brought his sword up and around flashing it out to catch another blade as it slashed forward pushing it to the side then shoulder ramming that man back into two of his fellows before bringing his sword around to rip into the man's chainmail slicing his chest open.

"What, why wouldn't you want to be remembered in song and story for all time?" Dominick asked almost whimsically. So far the battle had been relatively easy for him, and that was all to the good since he wasn't really up for much activity given his stay in the dungeons and his bastard brother's 'care'. Still even with that he could feel his body giving out around him, and it made his attitude very odd. "I wanted to be a bard you know, I never really wanted to be my father's heir, that was part of the reason why I sought out my half-brother."

"That's nice," Ranma said, not really having the attention to spare to hear the young man's sorry tale, "but if you make a song out of me you better be accurate, no flowing blonde locks or anything like the bits that are so popular in the songs and stories my little sister likes."

"Would you mind howling a bit then?" Dominic joked. "The 'Wolves of Winter' I feel would be a magnificent name for the tale."

Ranma laughed, and then began to howl "AWOOO! Winter's coming for you! AWOOO!" The phrase and the howling was enough to scare the guards in front of him even more then their normal (and very understandable) fear of their lord and they began to give ground.

Soon Ranma came to the stairs leading up to the first floor. Dominic slumped against the wall, weakly pointing upwards. "Up, up there it's going to be much harder. They won't be able to attack us from just one direction or hide in the cells and wait, they'll be, be able to, to attack us from every direction at once."

The dimensionally displaced martial artist nodded, looking at him closely. "Alright, you don't look like you're going to be good for much more. Find a room, barricade yourself in, and see if you can stop your bleeding." Above them he could hear shouts and curses as more men tried to psyche themselves up to come down and face the wild beast they had let into their castle, and he smirked. "I can watch my own back well enough, get yourself hidden and safe."

Dominic nodded weakly, his every movement taking far too much energy from him, and he turned back, entering the nearby guardroom, which only had one entrance, and whose door was heavier than the doors of the cells. He could see there was also a bit of food left on the table, and he fell on it ravenously.

Now alone, Ranma stormed up the stairs, his eyes alight with battle fever and a new longsword in his hand, the first having shattered moments before. "WINTER IS COMING! AWOOOOOOO!"

OOOOOOO

Normally, Roose would've been correct that Eddard would have tried to talk his way into the fort of one of the lords owing him fealty rather than simply bully his way in, but he was a worried father now not just a lord. He and twenty men raced ahead of the rest of the force, which was coming on at a canter toward the closed portcullis of the door. "Open in the name of Lord Stark, Lord Paramount of the North!" one of his men bellowed.

The seneschal had reached the wall above the gate, and he shouted down "What is the meaning of this? Even the Lord Paramount must send word ahead to his vassals if he expects to be welcomed."

"Open," said Eddard in his booming voice, staring up at the man with hard brown eyes. "I have business with lord Bolton."

While Eddard kept the attention of the men of Dread Fort himself and his forces, Jory led fifteen handpicked men around the back of the Dread Fort, having split off before they were in sight of the fort and moving through the forest and scrub brush to the back of it. Now that all of the attention was on his Lord at the front, they began to repel up the wall of the fort at the back, moving swiftly.

Only three guards had not abandoned their post at the back to join their fellows at the front of the castle. Jory swiftly subdued all three one after another. He was one of the better blades of his lord's retinue, though he secretly wondered if Ranma was already his better in that area. Jory took a moment to stare down into the fort towards the main castle, a four story squat stone edifice that did not have anything in the way of grandeur or accoutrements to it. Instead it squatted here and the entire castle gave of the air of a man hunched against his surroundings, teeth bared in a snarl, an impression enhanced by the triangle shaped balustrades along the outer wall.

Behind him his men came up and Jory nodded. "Follow me, we'll open the door for our lord, and then he and the others can finish this." The men around Jory all grinned back at him fiercely and he nodded.

They raced down and around the wall to the gatehouse, barging in and swiftly subduing the men stationed there. They were under orders not to kill anyone, but their lord was too worried for his son to even try to tell the men to obey that one. If his son wasn't here he would probably have to pay Roose quite a bit of money for the dishonor and the probable loss of life his assault caused, but that was for later.

Even as Jory and a few of his men began to raise the portcullis to shouts of alarm from above them, a some of the rest began to barricade the door while two more looked out the window facing the entrance to the inner castle. Several dozen men had been in the courtyard but rather than racing towards the wall they had all been racing into the Castle. "I wonder what's going on?" one of them muttered.

Another, one of the ones who had recently taken to sparring with Ranma shook his head smiling faintly. "I think the Young Wolf is causing issues with for them."

At that moment Jory finally finished opening the portcullis, and the 700 men with Eddard stormed in.

Roose usually had about 400 men under arms at any given time in his fortress, a very large amount and the upper limit of what he could support without disrupting the economy of his territory. By the time the news had reached him of Ranma's attack, Ranma had killed about 80 men moving up from the dungeons. By the time Eddard arrived, that number had rocketed up to a little under 150, and more and more men were being thrown down into the dungeon to stop his advance.

That left a little over two-hundred or so to stop Eddard and the 700 men he led into battle today. Without Roose to command the defense and keep all the men at their posts, it had been easy for Jory to sneak in. Once the portcullis was opened the battle was, like many of the defenders already knew, practically over.

Among the shouts of 'Our Blades are Sharp', 'Winter is Coming', 'Stark!", and other shouts, Ned and a cadre of his best stormed through the battle towards the entrance to the keep. One of them dragged along the seneschal, who was still protesting this unilateral assault on his Lord's dignity, but Eddard was past hearing. The moment they entered the keep they could hear the howling and roaring of battle. Ned drew Ice with one hand, his other carrying a shield and he roared, charging toward it. Next to him, Jon raced along, his face pale but determined to help save his brother.

OOOOOOO

Ranma had just broken out from the dungeon area up to the first floor, which contained kitchens, pantries, and other things of that nature, fighting his way through them. Here he got bogged down however, because many of these rooms connected to one another allowing the men to circle around behind him, much like Dominic had predicted.

He grunted taking a blow to the side as he twisted out of a doorway, pulling the man who had struck him with a mace forward by grabbing his hand, and bringing his sword around to cut the soldier's head off. He kicked the headless corpse back out of the doorway, dropping the now somewhat mangled sword and grabbing up the mace, slamming it into the chest of a man who had just tried to jump over the dead body, throwing him back.

Two more men came out from the kitchen behind him, but Ranma turned, leaping into the air over their questing blades, slamming a kick into one soldier's face, then bringing the mace down on the other. Both fell dead and he used the momentum of those blows to flip through the doorway slamming bodily into two more. His mace rose and fell swiftly, but then he had to roll to the side to dodge a sword thrust.

Another soldier came at his back, and even though Ranma dodged, the man's sword caught him along the back, slicing a narrow cut down his side before Ranma's mace came back in a massive blow, caving in the man's head. A kick sent the man in front of him reeling backwards, his chest open for the returning swing of Ranma's stolen mace.

Ranma cocked his head, jumping up at the same time when someone tried to stab his legs from below bringing down his mace on the man's head almost absentmindedly as he heard the sounds of battle coming closer. "I think Bolton has other issues now!" He shouted, "Winter is coming, winter is coming!"

He was answered by a shout of someone else saying the same thing followed by "Hang on my son, we're coming!"

Another lighter voice shouted out, "Ranma, brother, we're here, stay strong!"

The men between Ranma and the attacking forces of his father melted away, trying desperately to regroup and get to a higher level of the keep, but most of them were too slow. Many of them were surrounded and ordered to surrender. If they did not obey that first shouted order, they were cut down without mercy and Eddard's men stormed forward. He was slowly losing control since half these men were from Lord Manderly and Lord Hornwood rather than Winterfell. They had long hated Bolton and wanted to put an end to the entire family, but Eddard was not a man anyone in the North would disobey lightly and he was able to keep the reins well enough to keep the servants at least, from being killed along the way.

Jon had trained with Ranma for practically his entire life. He was faster and far stronger than his age or size would suggest, by far, which stood him in good stead in this battle. He ducked under the sword of the first man who attacked him, burying his own blade into the man's chest, before kicking the new corpse in the chest, sending him back against one of his fellows, who lost a limb in a small economic blow before his sword returned to defend him from another soldier's blade, which he turned before shoulder charging the man, opening him up for a stab from the knife in his other hand.

Like Ser Rodrick had thought, Jon was truly ambidextrous and had learned to fight with both sword and knife. This wasn't unheard of in the North, but it was unusual in one so young. His speed with both blades coupled with his strength proved enough to see him through.

Yet even as he fought, he had to push back a feeling of awe as he watched his father cut his way through Bolton's men.

Eddard Stark had not survived against three of the best blades of Aery's Kingsguard by chance alone. He wasn't one of the best blades in Westeros, but the difference was very narrow indeed, and he was both quick and strong for his size and in the prime of his life. Ice was a two handed weapon for most, but he wielded it with ease in one, taking three men in quick succession, using his shield to block blow after blow from others, though it began to falter under the continued pummeling.

He ducked under one slash, bringing Ice up to block another, ramming his shield forward throwing the man off his feet and bringing Ice around in a blow that took the man in the chest, throwing him backwards in a splash of blood. His shield intercepted another blow, finally cut through, but it was enough and Ice returned swiftly, taking the man in the head with a blow that clove his helmet open, spilling half his head onto the castle's stone floor.

Ned used his sword two-handed now, throwing off the battered remains of his shield, hacking and slicing his way forward, his face covered with the gore of his victims as he stalked forward. "I'm coming my son!"

He suddenly stopped however, seeing a group of nine men breaking from the doorway up to the higher levels of the keep, heading straight for the doors, cutting down the men in front of them. One of them was Roose Bolton. He could tell from the plate armor he wore, as well as his dead eyes. "Roose!" he yelled angrily, "To me! Face me traitor!"

Roose turned, and for a moment, Eddard could almost see the thoughts flashing over his face. He had been close to breaking out, if he could break out, he may rally the men of his land to him, possibly even force Eddard to back off, now that he had his son. Perhaps even be able to blame the whole thing on the fact that his bastard son had been acting out, but then he saw Ranma burst out from another doorway following three of the Stark men, including Ser Jory, who cut down two men as they forced their way through the bedlam of combat. And then suddenly the keep's door was filled with more men as Lord Hornwood led his own personal guard in.

With that, Roose knew that his time was up, and he decided that if he was going to go down, he was damn well going to go down swinging. "Our Blades Are Sharp!" he shouted and ran towards Eddard.

Ranma saw his father and Roose clashing, and darted forward, slamming his shoulder into one man's side, throwing him up into the air to catch him on the back swing with his mace whose haft shattered under the force of the blow. The man's face completely disappeared and Ranma dropped to the ground, using the piece of the haft still in his hand to stab a man in his side, causing him to scream. Ranma grabbed the man's sword and brought it around to cut into his throat.

He let that body fall as Jon leapt in, taking up position at his brother's side. Jory tried to keep up, but Ranma didn't even notice him and he grinned wildly at Jon. "Together brother! AWOOOOOOO!" The two boys charged forward, taking two of Bolton's personal bodyguard, driving them away from their lord, as Ser Jory danced forward blade flashing and taking another two.

The other four became embroiled against Lord Hornwood and his men. Halys shouted happily, "We've got your back Lord Stark, kill that undead leech!"

The two lords circled one another, their blades flashing out a time or two to test each other's defenses. "Why?" said Eddard. "Why did you take my son?"

"I didn't," said Roose, blocking a blow with the speed of a striking snake as Ice quested for his face. "My bastard son brought him here, I could say against my orders and it would be the truth, but would that matter now? Events have come too far to back out, much too far for me." Roose loosed a vicious thrust toward his enemy's chest.

"No," said Eddard, smashing his blade aside and moving swiftly forward, "it wouldn't." It became swiftly apparent that Roose did not have enough skill to truly hold Ned off for long. And he fell back, wincing as Ice sliced into his armor, cutting it away like butter.

He attempted a parry then a thrust, trying to catch Eddard off guard, but Ned danced back swiftly, and Ice flashed forward. Roose tried to dodge, tried to pull his hand back, but he was too slow. He gritted his teeth as Ice slashed into his wrist, cutting his hand off cleanly right behind the vambrace. He tried swiftly to pick his blade up with his other hand, but stilled as Ice came back, the tip pressing into his throat.

Behind him all of his guards had fallen, and Ranma dropped his liberated blade to the ground. All around, the clangor of battle slowly receded, as the few remaining Bolton guards either surrendered or died where they stood. Two men came forward grabbing Roose by the shoulders and pulling him up and away. Eddard slowly pulled his sword back, before kneeling down to wiped the blade off with a bit of cloth. Then he swiftly left it there and marched forwards towards his son pulling him into a hug, reaching out with one hand to ruffle Jon's hair. "I thought I lost you boy!"

Ranma fought back tears, once more realizing that his father in this life truly did love him, and his arms went around the older man with enough force to make his ribs creak. One hand then loosened enough to sneak out and grab Jon, pulling him into the hug for a moment before Ranma pulled back to look up at his father. "Sorry Father, I went off for a walk like normal but…" The whole story came out from Ranma's perspective, including what he had overheard when his kidnappers thought he was still unconscious when he first arrived.

After that, Dominic was quickly found and brought up from where he had forted up in the dungeon, the men whispering in awe at the droves of dead bodies from the men who had tried to fight Ranma. On unsteady feet while two healers worked on his arm Dominic told his own tale.

This took several minutes during which Eddard's face went from joyous at his son's survival to grim. He once more looked down at his son as the murmurs began at his survival and victory, and at how many soldiers he had killed this day among the men around him. What do the old gods have planned for you my son? He thought to himself as he ruffled the young boy's hair.

Ranma looked up at him with a smile, dim now as the memories of the battle hit him, but still warm and Ned smiled down at him with that small but warm smile he reserved for family. Jon too earned a smile, having fought hard and well, and the two boys stood side by side next to their father. What do the old gods have planned for you that they would challenge you this way at so young an age, Ranma?

For some reason, Eddard knew that answer to that question would terrify him, but he purposefully set it aside for now. Whatever would happen in the future, right now Ranma was a young boy who had just been through an experienced no man should ever face. And until whatever comes, he will still be my son, as I told him two years ago, he thought grimly, and I will defend him with all the breath and all the power of my body.

He moved away from his sons rather reluctantly, picking up Ice again from where it had lain on the floor. "You have heard the witnesses against you, Roose of the house of Bolton. Do you have anything to say in your own defense?"

Roose stared up at him angrily, cradling the bleeding stump where his right hand had once been. But then his eyes went to Dominic and he sighed, all his anger leaving him. "Chance, fate, and one ill-chosen choice have brought me down. I backed the bastard born Ramsay against my own trueborn son because I thought him the better choice, closer to the ideals my house has used to rule this land. I was wrong and that has proven my downfall. I have nothing more to say. Do your duty, Stark."

"So be it." Ned looked over at his sons for a moment. "Our family has been the Lords of the North for thousands of years, my son, and throughout all that time there has been one unofficial law that we have adhered to: the man who passes the sentence must wield the sword."

He turned back to Roose. "Roose of house Bolton, you are condemned for your crimes of conspiracy to commit murder, murder, inciting war with your neighbors, and abetting torture. The sentence is death and it is to be carried out immediately." With that Ned raised Ice into the air and brought it crashing down. With a single blow, he decapitated Roose Bolton, the undead man, the Lord of Dread Fort of the flayed man banner.

After a moment's respectful silence, Eddard turned, wiping the blade off again, and pointed at Dominic with his free hand. "You will come with us, you are now a ward of Lord Hornwood, who now owns the land from this fort back to his former border with the former house of Bolton. By my decree, when you marry you will change your name to that of the lady you marry, or you can take the name of Snow after three years. There will be no more Boltons in this land. House Karstark and house Umber will be given the rest of the land to hold in faith, in this way no one lord will benefit too much from the fall of your former house."

Dominic smiled, tearing his eyes away from his father's body. "I would like nothing better my lord. I never wanted to be a lord anyway, I will become a bard, and bards cannot own land."

Eddard nodded then looked over at Halys Hornwood, looking the man in the eye. "Your first order of business," he said, waving his hand around, "is to tear this place down, root, and branch. Within a year I want not a single stones set on stone here. I want there to be nothing of house Bolton remaining but in the history books. Only the godswood is to remain untouched."

Halys smiled grimly and nodded. "I will see to it my Lord." Of course he probably wouldn't be able to keep all the Bolton land, Roose did after all have other neighbors but if he could keep even a portion of it he could enrich himself tremendously. Moreover, the idea of tearing this place down had been a dream of his family for generations. Plus while house Umber may be even gruffer and lacking in polish than house Mormont, they were good and friendly neighbors, and the Karstarks were old allies of his house.

With that, Eddard turned back to his son putting a light hand on his both his sons shoulders while Jory came forward with a cloak and shirt for the boy. "Now, we need to think about what we're going to tell your mother."

OOOOOOO

Of course it wasn't that simple. Ned needed to stay there and apportion the former Bolton land himself so that none of the three lords felt slighted. This took several weeks as both Lord Karstark and Lord Umber had to actually travel to (or in BigJon Umber's case finish traveling to) the Dread Fort. The men who had served lord Bolton had to be paroled, his minor lords and land owners needed to be told about the change of ownership and why, and any spurt of rebellion quelled before it could occur.

Yet Ned was smart enough to know that keeping Ranma with him for this part, while undoubtedly a good experience for him, would lead to Cat not speaking to him for months. Even with a raven being sent to Winterfell the moment the battle ended, Catelyn and the rest of the family were beside themselves with worry. So Ned sent a hundred of the men from Winterfell back with Ranma and Jon.

Of course by the time they set off the rumors of what Ranma had done had spread throughout the small army. For once, a tale did not grow in the retelling. After all, it was very difficult to add to the tale of a thirteen year old boy wiping out over 150 trained men-at-arms in close quarter combat and that after having been starved for over a week and tortured occasionally during that time, besides.

Jon's deeds, too, were a tale, though a far smaller one. He wasn't the first thirteen year old to fight a battle after all, but in that short battle he had accounted, according to rumor, for twenty dead. This was an astonishing number considering how short the battle had been and second only to Ned Stark.

Still, with the apportioning of the Bolton lands to think about and work beginning immediately on tearing down Dread Fort, the rumors slowly subsided, replaced by other ones as the secret rooms of the Dread Fort were aired out and their secrets found. It would still solidify the start of Ranma's legend however and the lords of the North would start to send their heirs and sons to meet their future lord and learn from him. This would solidify the hold of the Stark family on the North, making vassals into allies and allies into friends. A cancer had been cut from the north before it had chance to bloom and the whole was stronger for it.

Yet for all the fact the tale spread over the North, it didn't make it south. It might have, if a certain spymaster had any of his little birds in Bolton land, but he didn't at this point in time. Tales of the sack of the Dread Fort did of course make it to King's Landing and beyond, but the news of Ranma's skill did not, save in fireside bards tales, heard but not believed. After all, there was no way a boy of thirteen could kill over a hundred and fifty men was there? No, the story was obviously made up.

That was for the future however. For now, Ser Jory and a hundred chosen traveled back to Winterfell with their young charges. During this time Ranma was almost constantly eating every time they stopped to water their horses, a reaction to having been starved for a week. Jon stayed close to him the entire time and on the third day finally blurting out, "I'm sorry! I should have been with you! If I hadn't fallen for Theon's stupid teasing, I would have been with you, and we could have beaten off that murderer Ramsay and his men."

Ranma took a moment out of his eating to look at Jon for a moment then replied, "It wasn't your fault. It was no one's fault but Ramsay. And Roose too, for letting him do whatever he wanted unchecked. Would I have liked for you to be with me, sure, but it wasn't your fault I was captured." He frowned, remembering how Ramsay had taken that woman hostage and used her as a shield, forcing Ranma to surrender.

Jon frowned, unwilling to let go of his guilt and Ranma sighed. "Jon, trust me, it wasn't your fault. Try not to let Theon's taunts get to you from now on and that'll be enough. You know he only needles you because he doesn't like the fact that a 'bastard'," Ranma rolled his eyes at the word, taking any sting out of it and actually making Jon chuckle, Ranma always did that when his birth status came up for some reason, "is so much stronger and better at him at everything but archery. It's been the same problem since the beginning."

That caused Jon's smile to widen slightly but that was all. "Alright, I'll agree it wasn't my fault, but I'm still not letting you out of my sight from now on. Who knows what kind of trouble you could get up to next time!"

"Hah, as if that's ever worked before!" Ranma laughed, pushing his brother in the shoulder. Then Jon responded in like kind and they broke out into laughter.

Soon enough however, they were back at Winterfell, and for the first time in either of his lives Ranma had to deal with being smothered in motherly worry. Catelyn actually pulled him off his horse into her arms, saying "Oh my baby, what did those animals do to you, I'm never letting you out of my sight again!"

Hearing Lady Catelyn say the same words he had used caused Jon to nearly fall off his horse laughing, while Catelyn kept hugging and smothering her son with love for a few minutes before pulling back and looking at him.

She could see he was still slightly gaunt from his time being starved, and while she could not see the wounds on his body, his eyes told a different tale. Despite the smile on his face and the warmth in his deep blue eyes, there was a new-found maturity and experience there. My boy has become a man, she thought sadly, far too soon, and in a way no mother would ever wish for such to come to pass.

After that little Arya and Sansa rushed forward to hug their wayward brother, followed by Bran and even a toddling Rickon. Ranma smiled happily, once more surrounded by his family again. The darkness of the memories of his time as captive and what he had done in the battle faded under their combined warmth like snow under warm rainfall.

Theon waited on the sidelines, looking uncomfortable both at the family reunion, and the fact he hadn't been with Ranma both at the start and at the finish, unable to escape as Jon had. He would have to wait to give his own apologies, and maybe, just maybe he'd promise to be nicer to Jon. He might even keep the promise, for a while at least.

OOOOOOO

Thankfully for lady Catelyn's sanity, that was the only major upheaval for a time. The next three years fell back into a busy but somewhat more normal routine. Ranma and his siblings continued to grow and learn, each of the youngsters now forming their own distinct personalities.

Sansa continued on her way to becoming the perfect noble's daughter. Her sewing and her embroidery were top notch, her manners and bearing perfect, and her face and body began to blossom into what everyone could see would be a gorgeous womanhood. Despite this, and despite the fact she looked down her nose on some of the things Ranma still did (climb trees, roughhouse with Jon, Theon, and others) Ranma still remained her 'favorite big brother'. He would take time out of his week to spend with her, either reading with her or telling Sansa a story, mostly made up at this point to make her laugh or smile.

Bran grew up enough to chase after the older boys and Jon and Ranma smoothly introduced him to their play, though he wasn't nearly interested enough in arms-training to be given their old weight set as Ranma had predicted early on. Theon sometimes resented their new follower but for the most part put up with the youngster easily. Rickon, too, was now able to at least follow the other boys around, and did so as often as he could get away from his nurse.

Just like Ranma predicted, Arya was a wild little thing. She learned hand to hand and weapons training from Ranma almost as well as Jon and made war against Septa Mordane and her mother's attempt to change her into a proper little lady. With Ranma and Jon's connivance, which didn't end no matter how many times Catelyn took them to task about it, she continued to learn what she wanted to rather than merely what she was forced to. Ned now kept clear of it, knowing his youngest daughter had him wrapped around her little finger and, unfortunately, also knowing that Catelyn had a point.

Ranma, now with Jon and, to a lesser extent, Theon continued to learn statecraft, strategy, logistics, and tactics from Lord Stark and Maester Luwin. Despite this and his ordeal under the Bolton's Ranma's personality largely remained the same; irreverent, easy-going, caring, and eager to please his parents. To this was added a new fierce protective streak and a certain amount of maturity when dealing with matters of his future lordship. Jon was a little more introspective, somewhat more brooding at times, but still a good friend and brother.

Theon had given up trying to match the other two in swordplay, although he did so with ill grace. He instead delved into another area to prove his superiority: womanizing. Once he hit puberty, not a day went by when he didn't have a tale to rub into the other boys's faces about his time with one girl or another. Yet despite this, neither of the other boys were dismayed by being shown up in this area.

Jon had no desire to leave any Snows around. While the Stark family, even Catelyn, were supportive and welcoming to him, Septa Mordane and those like her had never ceases to make certain Jon knew his place in no uncertain terms, and at one point had almost corrupted Sansa to their way of thinking before Catelyn put her foot down hard.

Theon did, however, convince Ranma to come with him. But this wasn't because Ranma wanted to use the whores, (after all, he had seen Genma use whores on their training journey and nothing good came from it) but because he wanted to learn what girls liked.

(((Flashback)))

The whore was slightly older than the normal fare, and had actually been surprised and rather amused when the Young Wolf had chosen her when he came in with the Kraken boy. Every whore knew Greyjoy by this point and knew how to handle him. The young wolf was a surprise but not an unwelcome one. He was after all very comely and every girl in Winterfell except Arya (though it included Sansa thanks to her friend Jeyne) wondered if his well-known endurance translated into other things. "So what will it be, my lord, a little bit of the mouth, the tit, or the full service? You paid for it, your choice."

Ranma smiled, more than a little embarrassed by this but his desire to find out what girls actually liked overrode that. Once more, he cursed the fact that for whatever reason, he had never really been interested in girls in that way back in his previous life, not even to the extent of looking at porn. If he had, this trip would have been unnecessary, but he would be damned if he didn't please his partner when he actually got one. "None of that, actually. I just have one request: teach me what women like, in y'know, like in bed."

The older woman stared at him for a moment, then began to laugh gently. It was a rare boy indeed who cared about his partner. She reached out to cup his chin and pull the boy's embarrassed face up to look into her own. "That will take some time my lord, but you've paid for it already. Now, to begin with, many women like a man who kisses in a certain way…."

(((End Flashback)))

Ranma spent the entire day with the woman and left a very embarrassed but much more knowledgeable young man. The whore was asked by her fellows what the young lord was like, but she would merely smile, shaking her head and leaving them to guess.

Needless to say he was ribbed about this trip constantly by Theon and Sansa though for different reasons. Sansa was appalled her favorite brother had gone to a whorehouse, but eventually decided to blame Theon's bad influence. Theon on the other hand was more amused and astonished that Ranma didn't want to go back, but when pressed about what happened would not reveal anything.

More importantly, Jon, Ranma and, to a lesser extent, Theon made friends with several of the young nobles of the North, especially the heirs that began to visit Winterfell on their parent's orders. SmallJon Umber, the Karstark boys Harrion, Eddard and Torrhen who were welcomed as family with open arms by Lord Stark and his family, even the older Robett Glover who was a man grown and married, Daryn Hornwood, Roger Ryswell and others. All of them showed up to learn what they could from the Young Wolf and the Twinblade, as Jon began to be called when he started to use two shorts swords rather than a longsword and knife. Edd, SmallJon, Daryn and Roger became friends with Jon and Ranma, appearing often to hunt, train or simply spend time with the two brothers, to the approval of all their houses.

Yet, the one heir who most often resided in Winterfell was Dacey Mormont. She appeared at Winterfell a month after Ranma was freed from his captivity and stated simply, "I'm here to see if the stories about the Young Wolf and his culling of the leeches of Dread Fort are true."

After that Dacey challenged Ranma to a fight with swords, and was soundly beaten. This didn't dismay her, instead the two were often seen together, and she too, became a friend to Ranma, Jon, and Theon. She stopped by at least once a month, sometimes more, to learn from Ranma and to see him. In fact rumors of the two being lovers began to circulate, but if that was the case neither gave any sign of it.

Catelyn had been somewhat worried about the relationship, hoping that her son had not fallen for the nearly thirty year old Dacey, who despite being an accomplished warrior was still striking to look upon. A marriage to house Mormont however was unnecessary, they were already counted among the most loyal vassals and friends of house Stark, so there was no need to bind them to house Stark through marriage. Ranma's hand, like that of Sansa and to a lesser extent Arya was a potent tool that could be used to strengthen the house.

When asked, Ranma had simply smiled, kissed his mother's cheek and said, "We're just friends, that's all, neither of us are interested in marrying." It was only later that Catelyn realized that this didn't mean the two weren't physically interested in one another, but as no evidence to back that up came to light, she let the matter drop. Theon didn't, of course, and needled both Dacey and Ranma, but the two bore it stoically, firing back as well as they took.

And so time passed, until one day when news of a deserter from the Night's Watch reached Winterfell.

End chapter

So there you have my attempt at the start of a Ranma/A Song of Ice and Fire crossover. My muse thought this story up and would not let me alone until I wrote it, and since I am in a holding pattern on my job, I figured why not let my muse loose, so here you are. If you are expecting a bleep ton of dark shit, go elsewhere. If you are looking for a cocktail (mmm…. B-52's) mix of comedy, drama, violence, warfare (three parts warfare –strategy, politics/espionage and combat), a bit of romance with more than a hint of lemons eventually, then please go to my profile and vote for this story to be continued after I am finished with Horse of the Dead. The other choices are my other newly posted story, Gods, Devils and Wild Horses, Oh My a High school DxD/Ranma crossover, or continuing my mass effect/Ranma crossover. The poll is like all my others, vote = one point for your choice, a PM that tries to convince me that this story or that one is the best one to go with other than for reasons like 'I think this is good, write it' will get that story five points. I had help for this from Trinel, N0mster and several others, so that automatically gives this story 45 points. Thanks again for letting me bounce ideas off you guys and for all the facts you hooked me up with Trinel!

Be warned, I may make up a few names for heirs to houses like House Dustin, who don't have one designated, I'm thinking of the name Hathan- kudos do anyone who recognizes it. If I do continue it I would also be eternally grateful for a beta reader, one good at spotting small mistakes and who has a knowledge of the world of Westeros, and in particular Daenerys and her journey.

As always read and review please.

*Chapter 2*: Chapter 2

EDIT: Changed where I said Jon would be the steward of house Stark while Ranma and Ned were gone. Thanks go to N0mster for pointing out how very strange and attention grabbing such a move would be.

I don't own ASoIaF, if I did some of the main characters would have stopped dying off a long time ago; nor do I own Ranma 1/2, there's too much Akane and not enough Kasumi.

I have decided to put this work only in the ASoIaF crossover because I will be following that version more closely and because I will be using many characters that haven't/won't appear in the TV version.

Regardless, the fact this chapter is here should tell you that it won the poll. I was amused however by the fact so few people actually PM'd me to back up any of the stories. Ah well, if you're interested check out the poll, as the PM's didn't really change any of the choices positions in relation to one another. This story won by a freaking landslide.

Normally I would respond to reviews here, but I have gotten into the habit with Third Path story of responding to them via PM, so I will start doing that for this story in the future. I will put responses to reviews from guests and people who have their PM service shut down at the end of the chapter.

Thank you everyone who pointed out the numbers screw up in the last chapter. I have gone back and corrected it, and I would urge you all to go back and reread it anyway. I have a new beta named Jessolt, and he is the man. Seriously, the chapter reads so much better its not even funny. I'm giving him a shout out for his work on this chapter too.

BE WARNED! I look upon canon as a mere guideline, something that should be touched upon a few times, but other than that… Now, on with the show.

Chapter 2 Times They Are a Changin' (ready or not)

"I despise you right now. I want you to know this. It is important to me that you, Ranma Stark, understand how much I loathe you at the moment."

Theon Greyjoy had grown up into a somewhat tall, good looking, rakish young man with dark black hair and equally black eyes. He bore a longbow behind him on his horse as well as a longsword at his hip, chain mail and leggings along with a cloak made of deer hide. At the moment however his good looks were ruined by the scowl on his face and the fact that said face was also a little frostbitten.

Jon too was feeling the pinch of the weather. Despite the fact that he rode out regularly with Ranma on hunting expeditions, to visit their friends in other parts of the North, and on tasks for their father, they had never been this far north. The farthest north they had ever gone was the Last Hearth which was the seat of House Umber, firm ally and now close friend to house Stark in the person of the house's heir, who right now was riding behind Jon and Theon. Now however, they were well past that and about a third of the way into the Gift, the land south of the wall that had been given over in perpetuity to sustain the Night Watch.

It was the fact that he couldn't feel his face anymore or the fingers of the hand that was resting lightly on one of his short swords' pommels that made Jon speak up in agreement with Theon. "For once we agree, Greyjoy. If my face doesn't recover from this Ranma, I'm going to blame you."

A great booming voice laughed behind them and both the ward and the bastard son of house Stark turned to glare at Smalljon, who was smirking at them. "And you call yourselves Northerners, it's balmy out!"

Smalljon Umber was the son and heir of House Umber's current lord, though he was small in comparison to only a very few people in Westeros. Standing at six feet five inches with wide shoulders and a heavy brown beard, the man looked as if someone had decided to mate with a bear. Ironic, considering that Dacey Mormont rode beside him yet would not touch his hirsute body for gods or gold. "If you can't handle this, wait until you get north of the Wall!"

"Ha, as if you've ever been north of the Wall!" Theon barked back. "I'm not like you, you great fucking bear, protected by your fat and that beard or yours!"

"The weather is nothing in comparison to what our father will do if we do try to get north of the Wall, which, I may remind you, is not something we plan to do on this trip." Jon muttered as another blast of cold air came through the trees at them. This area of the North looked almost completely untouched, giving the impression that it had never felt the hand of man until you noticed that there was a single road leading through it. This was the Kingsroad, but here it was a mere dirt path leading from the western lands of house Umber and the headwaters of the Last River.

His words went unheard however, as Smalljon fired back. "At least I'm not complaining about the cold like a southerner who's seen less snowfall than tits!"

"That is pure envy speaking there," Theon crowed. "You wish you've seen as many tits as I have!"

"Point to Theon," Ranma said from the front, where he had been ignoring the not so witty repartee behind him. Jon turned to stare at his brother, who seemed to feel his eyes and turned in the saddle to smirk at him.

To an outside observer, Jon and Ranma looked very much the same, at least from a distance. Both of them were tall, slightly over six feet with lean bodies, but wide shoulders, though it was obvious that they still had some growing there to do. It was said that they both took after their fathers in looks, dark hair, long, lean faces, and dark gray eyes, in Jon's case. When someone got closer, however, they would begin to notice differences.

Ranma's eyes were not gray but blue, a deep ocean blue, deeper, darker than the normal Tully eyes and in contrast to the rest of his features, which were pure Stark. Both their hair was long, but where Jon let his hair flow free down to his shoulders like their father, Ranma had his tied in a ponytail like the Dothraki barbarians who ruled the interior of Essos were supposed to favor. Both of them had beards at present, but whereas Jon was growing quite fond of his and was thinking of keeping it in a goatee, Ranma had quickly decided that the moment he could, he was going to lose his. He didn't like having facial hair, complaining that it itched all the time. This had caused several rude comments from his male friends, to which he replied in a mature manner by threatening to thrash the lot of them (not an idle threat).

He was still boyish in many ways, shown by the smirk on his face as he looked at his brother and friends. Yet despite this, Ranma had a gravity and power to him when he wished and could exude a sternness that was all Stark, which he hadn't had when he was younger. Ranma had really come into his own as his father's heir and took his duties and responsibilities seriously. For the most part anyway, he still shied away from one specific duty that reminded him far too much of the problems he had back in his past life.

Another difference between the two brothers was what they were wearing. Jon was clad in scale mail and leathers, with a good cloak clasped on one shoulder by a white lacquered wolf's head. Ranma was clad in half plate armor. His shoulders and chest were covered with heavy armor, as were his lower legs and forearms. The rest was leather, allowing him a free range of movement to wield any weapon of his choice. For this trip he had chosen both a warhammer as well as a claymore. The warhammer was so heavy it would take a normal person both hands to wield, if they could at all, but Ranma wielded it easily with one hand and it didn't even slow him down. The claymore was a gift from House Dustin and Ranma had been obliged to take it as well, despite it being too light for his tastes. He, too, had a cloak lined with fur around the neck, which was secured on one shoulder by a small gold pin shaped like a wolf's head.

"It does my heart good to see the two of you getting along so well," he said now, blue eyes sparkling with wry humor. Those eyes were the best indication of his emotions at any moment. Ranma could control his face to a certain extent, but his eyes told that only the truth of what he was feeling. Sometimes they were light blue snapping with humor and sometimes they deepened to the darkest blue of the ocean depths with fury. Such moments were rare indeed, but they showed beyond anything else that he had the wolfs blood that house Stark was known for, despite his general outgoing nature. "If nothing else this trip has been made worth it by the fact it has given you to the opportunity to bond."

Their companions hooted and hollered at Theon and Smalljon who exchanged grimaces. They had never gotten along since being introduced, much like Jon and Theon though for different reasons. Smalljon didn't like Theon, thinking him more of a Kraken than could be trusted, while Theon thought Smalljon was an idiotic barbarian.

Theon swiftly shot back, "It'll be the only outcome, and don't get used to it Stark! This is a madcap chase and you know it."

"I knew that the moment we set out, doesn't mean it isn't worthwhile," Ranma replied, nonchalantly resting one hand on the pommel of his Claymore, staring down at the little wolf pup that was keeping up with the ride with some difficulty. That he was keeping up at all, both him and Ghost, Jon's pup, was a surprise in and of itself, for direwolves so young. Yet, the sight of Fenris running along beside his horse made him remember how they all had come to be out here.

(Flashback)

Ranma and Jon looked up from their studies when they heard a polite cough from the doorway. They had been discussing with Maester Luwin the tactics of one of the battles in the war called, rather romantically (and stupidly in Ranma's opinion), the Dance of the Dragons. Theon, too, looked up from where he had been reading a book on naval tactics, something that Master Luwin had given him since the next battle they were going to study would have a naval component to it.

In the doorway stood a servant, his face apologetic. "Young master, your father requests you to get ready to ride out with him. Patrols have found a Night Watch deserter and they are holding him in a nearby holdfast."

The three boys stood up and bowed to the maester, while Ranma made their apologies. "Sorry about this maester, but duty calls."

With that all three boys made their way out of the room and followed the servants down the corridor and out into the courtyard. There they found horses ready to go, and Ned arguing with Catelyn. "He's too young Ned! You can't let him see something like this!"

"I was younger than Bran when I first saw my father carry out a sentence."

To one side stood Arya, looking put out. Ranma shook his head at her. "Don't look like that, this isn't something you should be sad about missing, Arya."

"I'm missing it because I'm a girl," she growled angrily, sounding almost like one of their family's totems for a moment. "I'm older than Bran, why can't I go?"

"Because I said so!" Catelyn said sharply, turning from her losing argument with Ned. "This is not something that a young girl needs to see and you get out of too many lessons as it is!"

"Arya, it is not like we're just going out riding for the heck of it." Ranma said moving past her and placing a gentle hand on his mother's shoulder. She calmed down a little, hearing him agree with her, and he turned back to Arya. "There is nothing interesting about this Arya, trust me. It's simply a task we have to see to, that's all, the law of the land." Arya subsided, but still scowled irritably at not being allowed to come and Ranma sighed.

Bran was already in a saddle, looking nervous and rather torn between exhilarated and scared, possibly even a little nauseous. "Father, did commander Mormont send word about why this one deserted?" Ranma asked, smiling encouragingly at his younger brother.

His father shook his head somberly. "There will always be men who try to get out of their duty and given word, my son. Their reasons vary and rarely will they tell the truth even when caught."

Jon came back at that moment, carrying both his short swords strapped to his sides as well as a claymore for Ranma. He murmured "Were you able to talk Arya out of coming with us? You know she'll only try to follow if she's still of a mind."

"We can only hope," Ranma muttered back, and Ned carefully kept his face blank hiding his amusement. Arya was proving more of a handful with every passing year, but Ranma's initial idea of channeling her wild ways had paid off handsomely.

Because of the deal they had struck, Arya kept at her studies of needlework and other feminine skills in return for training with Ranma in the afternoon. She was still nowhere near as good at the womanly activities as Sansa was, yet that wasn't who she was either. Arya was good enough to get by, and the relationship between the two sisters, while not friendly was, at least, not combative (or not overly so).

On the other hand, she had taken to Ranma's training like a duck to water Ned felt at this point that she could even take on one or two of the other younger bucks in the guard (outside of his heir's companions or those who practiced with them often, of course) and possibly beat them. But that had done nothing to change the fact that she was a willful, wild little girl, who constantly tested her parents, trying to get away with anything she could. It was trying even for Ranma, especially when she tried to get out of her end of the agreement they had made so many years ago.

Ned shook that thought off however, simply nodding at the two boys, along with Theon who had already moved to his horse, strapping his bow behind his saddle. "Let's be about it," Ned said and turned his horse to face the portcullis of the King's Gate.

The road went through the small town that had been built to house the smallfolk during times of winter and strife around Winterfell, which in these long years of summer was home to a permanent village, and then out into the lands beyond. It took them several hours ride to reach the holdfast where Ned's patrol was keeping the deserter. They had him tied to the ground, three of them standing over him silently. Their lord had given stern commands to any group that found a deserter from the Wall (there had been several over the last few years). There was to be no taunting or any other kind of humor at their expense. The lives of the Night Watch were harsh and people sometimes simply could not stand up to it. While breaking their given word meant that their life was forfeit, that didn't mean you had to make japes about it.

Ned and the others got down from their horses, with Ranma helping his younger brother down. Ned grimly walked up to the man as his guards forced him to kneel on the ground. "Your name?"

The man on the ground was a swarthy sort, still somewhat tanned despite possibly years serving the Night Watch, and when he spoke his accent told Ned man was Dornish. Yet, there was also a broken air about him, and his face and fingers were suffering from frostbite. "A-Andrew Romario, my Lord, I come from Dorne originally. Er, I was an inn keeper before I had the lapse in judgment that landed me in trouble with the law."

Ned nodded, one-handed bringing Ice around from where it had hung on his back. "As a man of the Night Watch, you know the penalty for running from your house, for breaking your word. You have any last words before sentence is carried out?"

The man shivered a little looking up at them all with wild eyes. His eyes lit on Bran for some reason and he twitched a little. "You Northerners," he murmured, "a cold harsh people to make such a young lad face this."

He broke out of that odd little moment to stare up at Ned and at the others. "I, I know you won't believe me Lord, but I saw them, t'was only fleeing that let me live. I saw them, the White Walkers." Ranma's eyes widened and then narrowed in contemplation as the man began to giggle maniacally. "Legends, living legends and nightmares!" he shouted, shaking his head. "Legends, alive and killing, killing my patrol entire. Rangers with three or more years of service with the Night Watch and only I survived. To run and hide and run again, always running!" He raised his hands beseechingly. "I know what I saw, my lord, crazy you may call me, coward I am, but I know I saw them."

Ned nodded slightly, and raised his sword about to pass sentence when Ranma said, "Wait, father." Ned turned incredulously to his oldest son, but Ranma swiftly went to his knees in front of the man. "These White Walkers, what do they look like?"

The man stared at him, surprised, then answered hesitantly. "They, they look almost like a man, but they are slightly taller and thin, too thin, almost skeletal. But they have inhuman strength despite that. Their faces are like ours only pointed, far more angular, as if they were crossed with a fox and their eyes, they glow. They glow blue, so cold it eats at a man's mind. And they bring the cold with them, so cold…"

Ranma nodded thoughtfully and stood back. His eyes were far away and Ned watched him for a moment wondering what his son was thinking but then Ranma came back to earth, looking down at the deserter. "I can't forgive you for breaking your chosen word, for that you know the sentence. But know that I'll try to get to the bottom of what you saw, and, if you told the truth, I will have your name remembered as one of great renown."

The man looked up at him, his eyes filled with tears and he nodded. Ned took this as his cue and stepped forward, raising his sword. "Andrew Romario, you are accused of deserting your brothers and your place on the Wall, proven by your own words. The penalty is death and is to be carried out immediately."

Bran shuddered and looked away as the headless corpse collapsed to the side, the stump where its head had been spurting blood for a moment. "Don't look away," Jon said sternly, pulling his head around again. "This is the duty of a Lord Paramount of the North, the power of life and death. The man who passes the sentence swings the sword. If you take a man's life, you owe it to him to look into his eyes and hear his final words." Jon actually was paraphrasing what Ned had told the trio of older boys the first time he had them watch him dispense justice years ago, and it had been easier for him, since he had already been through a battle by that point.

Theon sneered a little and was about to say that it wasn't a duty a bastard would have anything to do with, but a single searing glance from Ranma made him choke on the words. Bran didn't notice, simply staring at the body of this stranger who had been alive moments ago, and now wasn't due to his own father's blade. He gulped convulsively, but did not look away again.

Ned shook his head softly and moved over to get a cloth from Ser Jory, slowly cleaning his blade, then turning to look at his oldest son. "You know he was just raving, correct? There hasn't been a sighting of a White Walker in over 400 years."

"That doesn't mean they aren't coming back." Ranma said quietly, tapping his forehead for a moment, covering the act by pushing some of his hair back up out of his eye.

Ned's eyes widened as he realized what Ranma was implying. Could this be why Ranma was given the gift of the memories of his past life? Ned shook his head, however. That's not enough, if you're asking me to do something like rouse the North or send troops north to the Wall, we will need much more than this."

"That's why I think I should go. I'll go up to Commander Mormont personally." He hurried on as his father's expression grew stonier. "You know there must be something odd going on, father. This is the fourth deserter from the wall in the past year alone! There hadn't been five in the previous ten years combined, was there?"

"No, there wasn't," Ned muttered, shaking his head, not having put that together before for some reason. He stood there thinking hard for a moment, taking in his son's stubborn face and that niggling little feeling at the back of his mind that said that this was at least in part why Ranma had been allowed to keep his knowledge, had been gifted with his physical skills. "I will agree to that, I suppose, but you will tell your mother you're going and you will take as many of your friends as are free." Ned refused to use the name given to Ranma's companions by the smallfolk, thinking it ostentatious in the extreme. Wolf-sworn indeed!

The idea of telling his mother that he was going to go out on it what amounted to possibly a personal adventure made Ranma gulp a little. She never liked watching him leave. Still, he nodded gamely and the group remounted quickly.

Bran was still having trouble with what he had seen, though Jon was helping him as best he could. Ned allowed his horse to slow until Bran's came up alongside him then began to talk to his second-born son.

About an hour later one of the scouts came riding up to them. "My Lords, we found something you might want to see."

(End flashback)

What the guards had found was a dead direwolf bitch and her litter of puppies, the bitch having been killed in a battle with a massive stag. There had been five puppies, or so they thought at first, and taking it as a sign Ranma, with Bran's help had convinced Ned to let the siblings have one each. They found another one, with fur the white of new fallen snow along the way back, which Jon had claimed. Reactions had been mixed, but all the children had fallen in love with their new companions swiftly.

That was why Ranma had decided to head further north and how he'd gained Fenris as a companion, as well as the others. He thought Sansa and her choice the name Lady for her direwolf was rather silly, though not as silly as Rickon's naming his Shaggydog. Nymeria and Ghost were much more fitting, though Bran had not decided on a name for his yet.

It had been three weeks since then, and Ranma had learned quickly that there was a far deeper connection between him and Fenris then the bond of master and pet. The direwolf was very intelligent with much more stamina and strength than a puppy his age should have. So did Jon's Ghost and they both seemed to have taken on some aspects of their Masters personalities. There were times… Ranma shook that thought off, it wasn't possible was it?

The banter behind him continued, the rest of Ranma's companions joining in and he smiled. Ranma had more friends in this dimension than he had ever had in his old one and not a single one of them had tried seriously to kill him (outside of spars anyway). Dacey, riding next to Smalljon, saw that small smile of her lord and smiled to herself looking around at their companions.

Her mother was always irritated with the fact that Dacey spent so much time at Winterfell or traveling between it and the Bear Island, and at first Maeve Mormont thought that Ranma and Dacey might be getting married at some point, but neither were under any illusions about the relationship. For Dacey, it was almost a purely physical thing. Ranma's physical abilities, the aura of command that Ranma allowed out sometimes, attracted her on some animal level. Ranma liked her as a friend, and had no issue with meeting her physical demands. To Dacey, it was simply a physical thing; to Ranma it was both a physical thing and a learning experience.

Not, she thought now, remembering their last encounter before they had left Winterfell, that he has much in the way of learning to do there any longer. She'd had a few lovers before him, but none of them had Ranma's flair for it. It was as if he was able to take his ability to learn the skills necessary for combat and apply them to anything physical, reading how Dacey's body reacted to learn what made her respond. Dacey had been the master the first time and him the apprentice, filled with knowledge but not much real life experience, now the relationship was decidedly reversed, and she loved it.

Neither of them were looking for a serious romance at this time and Ranma knew that when he married would have to be a political marriage. He hated that, and made no bones about it, but still hadn't wouldn't truly fight against it. Still, Dacey was always amused when the Lords of the North would stop by bringing their daughters with them in an effort for one of them to catch Ranma's eye.

Almost all of them were simpering silly little girls, sort of like Sansa with the same romantic notions, and utterly in awe of Ranma and his reputation, which had spread over the North despite the fact that no one who hadn't been there (outside of Dacey and his other friends) believed what had really happened at the Dread Fort. It had even spread south, and as far as the cities of Essos though no one knew it, but as a bard's tale not something seen as truth by most.

She chuckled now, remembering the last time the Karstark girl had come by with her father and brothers. All of them were welcomed warmly, but there was no hint of her romantic relationship between Alys and Ranma, who had instead taken her and Sansa on a trip to White Harbor for Sansa's name-day present. Despite her father's best efforts, the two of them saw one another as family, and the young girl, she was only a half year older than Sansa, enjoyed having another brother especially one who was much funnier and more willing to spend time with her than any of her own.

They'd do better to learn how to fight and stand up for themselves rather than all that womanly duties crap, she thought, shaking her head and trying to free it of the thought, but it wouldn't free itself that easily. A few of them were being trained in estate management, but very few and not a one of them had caught Ranma's eye. She knew the Lady Catelyn was growing concerned about it and she had taken to glaring at Dacey whenever she was around, but it wasn't her fault that none of them were Ranma's type. Ranma knew he was perfectly free to look around. There could be nothing permanent between the two of them and he knew that before they even got together for the first time.

She looked over when Edd said "What are you smiling at Dacey? There's no way this lot can amuse you any longer, their normal jests have gotten so old on this trip I'm almost inclined to try and get Hathan to join in just to break the monotony."

She laughed a little reaching out to slap Edd on the shoulder. Edd and the other companions chosen for this trip had gone through Ranma's training, though nowhere near to the extent that Jon had. Most of them had caught up with her and Theon, however. Edd, for example, was the youngest of them, a full year younger than the three Winterfell boys and wasn't even at the point of shaving regularly, but he was devilishly quick. A spear rode in his stirrups, which he could use as a lance or as a pole arm, and he wielded it with a style that Ranma had begun to teach him almost from the moment they met. Dacey had heard it described as somewhat similar to the Red Viper of Dorne by Ser Rodrick Cassel, who had seen Prince Oberyn fight at a tournament down south.

"Just remembering the last time your father brought Alys along to Winterfell. He's really trying to push that marriage, isn't he?" Dacey replied.

Edd chuckled, then laughed aloud. "Yes, he most certainly is. He's wanted a closer relationship with house Stark since I can remember, though I think he's chasing down the wrong trail there. Ranma is no more interested in wedding and bedding my sister then he is in bedding one of his own."

Dacey cocked her head for a second, her eyes narrowed speculatively. There had been something about the way he had said 'chasing down the wrong trail' there… She shook it off however, and nodded. "Exactly, I don't know what sort of woman Ranma is interested in, but simpering romantic little girls who have had their head filled with romantic and knightly drivel certainly isn't it."

Daryn Hornwood and Roger Ryswell were riding behind them, and both of them broke out into laughter. "True," Roger said between chuckles. His house had been one of the noble houses that had had ties to the Bolton clan due to the marriage of his older sister Bethany to Lord Bolton, and his family had initially been angry that the house had been wiped out and the Dread Fort razed. That was before they learned why it happened and before Domeric passed on the idea that Bethany had possibly been killed by poison, although no one could prove it so long after the fact.

Both young man were tall, fair to look upon, and wore chain mail. Daryn was a brown haired young man who wore it cut short. Roger wore his own blonde hair down to his shoulders, though his beard was nowhere near as luxurious as his friend's, which was close to rivaling his father's. Roger wielded a single bladed axe and the lance with equal proficiency, both of which he had strapped to his saddle beside him, while Daryn had a long sword and shield, much like Dacey, though her own weapon was closer to a bastard sword than a longsword. This was only natural as she was quite a bit stronger than Daryn, although he was quicker than she was.

Roger went on, "My father's been most amused by it and relieved that Lord Stark and Lady Catelyn have made no efforts to encourage the match. It's well-known that Karstark has ancient family ties to House Stark, and the friendship you have with Jon and Ranma is well known Edd. But House Stark can't favor one family of the North like that over another."

"All the same," Daryn said worriedly, pitching his voice lower now, "Ranma's sixteen, it's about time he started to look for a wife." He was an older man, full twenty and two, and he took a more stoic and somber look of at the word then Roger, who was only two years older than the Winterfell trio. "At least a betrothal should be coming soon, don't you think?"

The last member of their party, which was the majority of the group the smallfolk had taken to calling the wolf-sworn, was named Hathan Snow. He was the next oldest of them after Daryn at age twenty and he had a distinct look of the Manderly family, though he was much thinner than any of that family and none had claimed to be his father, although he was raised with the main Manderly family . He already sported a large handlebar mustache. He was but of medium height, making him one of the shorter members of the party, but had truly massive shoulders and he wore full heavy plate. He was also deadly with the lance that was even now riding upright beside him and had cut his teeth on tournaments in the South since he was ten and two, coming home only last year.

There were rumors going about that the knight he had gone south with as his squire had been killed in a tournament 'accident' after facing the Mountain that Rides in the Crown Lands. The storytellers claimed that he fell off his horse badly cracking his skull open on the ground, but the grim look in Hathan's face whenever anyone mentioned tournaments seemed to signify something else had occurred there.

He didn't speak up often, yet Hathan had the political acumen that the Manderly family was well known for. He spoke up now, his voice a soft, almost musical tenor. "I think the Lady Catelyn would prefer that Ranma look south for his future bride. Tell it true lords and lady, does House Stark really need a marriage in the North to solidify its position at this point?"

They all burst out laughing at that. House Stark and its position in the North had rarely been stronger than it was today. There was the friendship between the heirs to consider, as well as the fact that Ned was well thought of as an honorable and trustworthy man, building on the reputation of his house easily. And then there was the way that they had dealt with House Bolton.

While House Stark hadn't gained anything in the way of coins or land from doing so, all of Bolton's former neighbors had been enriched by it and with those riches, came the message. 'Cross me,' that message said, 'and I will end your house'. One or two of the houses minor might have been angered by that message, especially the ones that looked to house Bolton, but the houses major and the noble houses themselves were simply approving of it. A strong and honorable lord, who could also be ruthless when the situation called for it, was precisely what they wanted to see.

"How far south do you think?" Daryn asked. He and Hathan were really the only ones who had much interest in politics, but the others were slowly realizing that they needed to learn this game as well, something that their parents were encouraging each in their own fashion.

"Lady Catelyn is a Tully," Hathan said earnestly. "A marriage between House Stark and one of the other houses in the Riverlands would probably be a good idea tying the regions together even more. Though I'm uncertain which of Riverlands house would be strong enough to interest her for Ranma, or even have daughters of a marriageable age."

"Just hope it isn't the Frey's." Roger muttered shaking his head.

One or two of the others actually shuddered a bit at that. House Frey were the rulers of the castle/bridge known as the Twins, the biggest and best, indeed in many ways the only crossing over the river Green Fork. It was an important position in many ways, since the castle was in an excellent position over a trade route, and a bastion between the North and the Riverlands along the only quick route South for trade or any force of a significant size. The Freys however were not well thought of by any of their neighbors or indeed practically anyone else. 'We take our tolls' was the house motto, and they certainly did that, extorting as much as they could from anyone who tried to cross their bridge.

Walder, the head of house Frey, was ambitious. He was always looking to marry off his large brood of children (both legitimate and not), who he had gotten on numerous wives, to better his position. But that and the exorbitant tolls he forced on most travelers were only two reasons why the men of the North had nothing but contempt for him and his entire house. While the rest of the Riverlands had risen to follow Lord Stark and Lord Baratheon in the rebellion against the Targaryen dynasty, House Frey had sat it out until it became clear which side was winning and then sent forth its own men to claim their share of the spoils. Nor had they supplied any men to either the defense of the Riverlands' ports or the forces attacking the Iron Islands during the Greyjoy rebellion.

Only Daryn and Dacey (who at twenty and eight was actually the oldest) was old enough to remember anything from that war outside of the history books, but that kind of opportunism and cowardice did not sit well with any of them.

"Have no fear," Ranma said quietly from the head of the column. "I have no intention of marrying a Frey, come what may. They are far too ambitious and not nearly honorable enough to interest me or my family. I would wish to marry a woman with a spine, one who can stand on her own two feet of course, but alas what she brings to the marriage in terms of family and influence is indeed more important." He shrugged, "Such is life. Now hush, I think I can hear our scouts returning." Actually Ranma wasn't at all certain it had been his own ears that picked up the sounds of the scouts, but he shoved that thought aside, yet again.

The scouts had been one of Lady Catelyn's additions to the group. She had insisted that Ranma at least be able to send out scouts around his party, to make certain that they weren't being ambushed or walking into anything. North of the Last Hearth the land was harsh, and House Umber and the nearby mountain clans had often felt the sting of wildling raids.

She had in point of fact argued strenuously against Ranma going at all and had then almost demanded he take a large force of guards, but Ranma had countered that he wouldn't need protecting that much, that his friends would be with him, and they could move much faster than a larger force. Catelyn had at last capitulated, but only with the demand that he send a message back by raven whenever he could, as well as dozens of other motherly conditions. Ranma hadn't minded, still loving the fact he had a mother who cared for him now and simply hugged her and kissed her on the cheek for worrying about him. Indeed, he had sent back regular reports to her until they entered the Gift, which was even more sparsely populated than the rest of the North, apparently.

Ranma and his band had met up with the trackers on the border between mountain clan and Umber land, before they entered the Gift. They were both superstitious and did not like the fact that Ranma fully expected them to run into trouble at some point. When they had heard about the reason for the trip, both of them had looked very concerned, muttering about ancient tales and the forces of the far cold. Whatever that meant, Ranma didn't quite know. He had talked to Maester Luwin about the White Walkers, but all he could tell him up about them were tales and hearsay and had refused to believe there could be any facts behind those rumors. Regardless, the two mountain clansmen believed in the White Walkers far more easily than any of Ranma's friends, who felt this was simply an excellent excuse to go and see the Wall.

According to Luwin, however, there hadn't been a single proven sighting of a White Walker since the coming of the dragons and the Targaryen dynasty. But the dragons aren't here any longer, Ranma thought to himself grimly, waiting as the two scouts made their way back to them through the heavy, rocky scrubland and woods that made up this portion of The Gift.

One of them pulled up in front of Ranma's horse (which he only rode because he hated having to look up to his friends when he talked to them) pointing back the way they came. "Stark, there's a group of wildlings coming this way, about two hands worth." The mountain man didn't actually know his numbers, but he knew to count by his fingers.

"Could you tell what they were? A raiding party, scouts themselves, or something else?" Ranma asked sharply.

"They're armed, Stark," man said shaking his head, "that's about all we could tell. There may be some among them that're female, but amongst wildlings the women all carry weapons, too."

"About two hands worth." Ranma said thoughtfully looking around. All of his fellows were looking anticipatory, checking their weapons. "I want prisoners," he said calmly, "try to remember that, please. At least four, I think. Are they actually coming down the road or moving through the woods?"

"No, they're making straight south, as fast as they can go." The Norrey man frowned thoughtfully scratching at his facial tattoos. "If I didn't know better I'd say they were being chased, or at least runin' from something that scared them something fierce. They ain't being nearly as careful as normal, and they ain't stayin' fully on the road. They're headin' straight south… tis odd to be sure."

"Definitely want prisoners." Ranma said nodding his head. "Make that an order, gentlemen. If they're not coming down the trail, do you think they'll jump us or simply move on past?"

"Wildlings don't grow beyond puberty if they're stupid, Stark pup," the other scout, an older man with a long grey beard, scoffed. "If I was them, I'd steer well clear this lot. You're armed, there's nine o' you, and even if they took you by surprise they'd take their lumps doing it. And you ain't carrying anythin' that they'd be interested in."

"A good point." Hathan said thoughtfully. "So we'll just have to ambush them instead."

The younger scout smirked, tapping his long dagger where it was thrust through his belt. "There's a place about two miles back, Lord, heavy rocks and even more trees than here, including one large rock about on their path. One of us can be up in the trees, and we can tell you when to ride out."

Ranma nodded approvingly. "Let's do it."

With that, the group turned their horses and trotted back the way they came, anticipation rising in the air. Fenris and Ghost seemed to feel it and were jumping around anxiously, but a stern look from their chosen masters stilled both of them. Ranma motioned for Theon. "When we get it stuck in, I want you to shoot down anyone that tries to run. If our scouts are wrong and this group is scouting for some larger force behind them, I don't want any information to get back to them."

"Right," Theon answered, smacking his bow lightly. "I'll head up into the trees with the scout who's going to signal the attack. I can shoot from up in the trees just as well as I can off horseback and my range will be better."

"Good man." Ranma smacked him on the shoulder causing Theon's smile to widen into a grin. Ranma turned to Dacey and Jon and said softly, "You two will be in charge of gathering a prisoner each for us. While I trust the others to try and follow my orders, they are kind of excitable. I can trust you two to keep your cool, can't I?"

"Yes." Dacey nodded seriously. She was the most blooded warrior among them and knew all too well the value of information.

Jon simply smirked. "You have to ask?"

Ranma grinned at him and the ride continued until they reached the hiding place the scouts had found.

Once there, Jon and Ranma spent some moments trying to get their direwolves to stay put. While they were doing this, everyone save Hathan and Roger tied up their horses out of sight. The two of them were the only ones who had trained predominantly to be cavalrymen and were the only ones with lances. Ranma split them off, leaving them with the horses for now. This was going to be a quick and dirty skirmish. There would be no time for them to get up the speed that made cavalry so deadly or even space to do it here in here in the rocky scrubland, where a hoof put wrong could break a horse's leg. Neither man made much of it, being experienced enough to know that the horses needed to be watched, and that their skill set was ill suited for this.

They waited there for about forty minutes, then the scout signaled that the group work of wildlings were in view. About thirty minutes later, they were close enough and the younger Norrey scout signaled the attack.

The wildlings were a straggly bunch, clad in mismatched leathers, breeches, and straggly furs but all of them carried weapons, the sight of which made Ranma's eyes narrow in speculation. The party had gotten strung out here in the slightly denser woods, but when the wolf-sworn charged the wildlings, unlike a disciplined force, which might have felt shock, retreating or holding their ground they simply turned and bellowed their own battle cries, charging forward. If the wolf-sworn had outnumbered them, they'd probably have broken and ran, but as it was they were simply going to stay and fight.

Ranma ducked under one badly chipped and rusted sword that was trying to take his head off before that man was forced to turn aside to face off against Daryn. Ranma blocked another, slightly better, blade with his own claymore then reached out with one hand, snake quick, to grab the shaft of a spear right behind its head as another wildling tried to drive it into his side. Without even a grunt of effort, he used the spear to lift the man who had tried to kill him and, before he could let go of the spear, the wildling found himself slammed head first into a tree. There was a horrible cracking sound and he fell to the ground, neck broken along with his skull.

The wildling man whose sword was locked with Ranma's gaped at this show of strength, then when Ranma disengaged tried to lunge forward desperately. Ranma sidestepped easily, his Claymore coming back in an economical swing with the flat of the blade slamming into the man's unarmored head. He went down like a sack of wheat and Ranma moved on. By this time, however, all the other wildlings were down, dead or unconscious. The only exception to this was one who Jon had pinned to a tree, his short swords on either side of the wildling's neck like a pair of scissors ready to snip an errant lock of hair.

Ranma grimaced a bit internally as he looked at the bodies littering the woods. Despite all the 'practice' he had fighting his way out of the Dread Fort's dungeons, killing was not something he ever got used to. Nor did he ever wish to be used to it, really, but unlike in his original life Ranma would not shrink away from it either.

While the others made their way over to the still awake prisoner, Ranma looked around at the wildlings, turning one of them over to stare down at his chest and opening a few of the packs many of them were carrying. He frowned thoughtfully then nodded at Theon who had joined him from out of the woods. The two mountain clan trackers were also making their way over to the prisoner Jon had taken and the two younger men joined them quickly.

"Ha!" said with one of the scouts, as he got close. "That's a woman. At least we'll have some fun tonight."

Theon blanched and moved very quickly away from Ranma as his eyes grew dark blue. Ranma said softly, "And what do you mean by that?"

The two scouts had never been around the young Wolf before this trip. They had heard stories, but most of those stories centered around his skill in battle not his thoughts about… certain activities. So it wasn't surprising when the man answered "Why we'll be taking our pleasure with her tonight, what else! Oh, of course you'll go first but surely…"

That was far as he got before he felt a clamp lock around his throat and he was suddenly lifted off the ground a full foot into the air. His eyes widened in shock and his hands went to his throat trying to fight back but Ranma's grip on his throat was unbreakable. He held the man aloft without any apparent effort and stared at the other tracker. "There will be no further discussion about that." he said softly. "If I hear that you tried to force yourself upon our prisoner, I will kill you both myself, is that understood?"

Dacey smiled approvingly as did most of the others, save Smalljon and Theon who simply shuddered a little. Smalljon could no longer remember how it came up in conversation, but he'd whispered, probably while he was drunk if he was honest, that his father and his family still practiced the right of the first night. Ranma's reaction to that news had given Smalljon nightmares for days after. Ranma hadn't raised his voice, but when his dark blue eyes locked on you like that you knew he was very angry indeed.

Theon, too, had come under fire for his family's motto and habit of raping women they came across in their raids when he espoused the family motto once too often in Ranma's hearing. Theon had commented about it being the right of the strong or something like that. The next moment found him hanging by his ankles outside a window while Ranma calmly asked Theon if it was Ranma's right to drop him because he was strong enough to do so.

Daryn stepped forward, placing a comradely hand on Ranma's shoulders. "Let him go, Ranma, he doesn't know your ways, and to be fair, it's not as if wildlings don't steal away women. What they do with them doesn't bare thinking about."

"Just because of our enemies act like animals doesn't mean we need to stoop to their level." Ranma said dropping the young Norrey scout to the ground. "Besides, look at them," he went on, motioning with his head over at the bodies. "Only two have any kind of armor, most of them were carrying small packs full of clothing and food, nothing else, and while they were armed, does this look like something a real wildling raider would use?" He reached down and picked up a rusted sword one of the wildlings had wielded and showed the others.

Roger grunted, reaching down and grabbing up a spear, which the word makeshift could be used to describe very well. It was a simple piece of wood, sharper at one end, with none of the hardening, shaping, or the steel tip that a real spear like Edd's had. "Ranma's got a point."

Ranma moved over closer to the prisoner to stare at her. The woman's face was oddly composed, having gotten over her fear while Ranma was making his point a moment ago. "So what are you? Deserters from some wildling band or refugees of some kind?"

The woman answered in the old tongue and it took a moment for Ranma to mentally translate it into common. "We flee. I not understand word refugee, we flee."

Ranma looked at Jon, who nodded and translated Ranma's question. While Ranma could understand spoken old tongue, he couldn't speak it without a horrible accent that made him sound like a complete idiot, sort of like a male version of Shampoo's Japanese. Jon, however, was much better at languages. "Flee from what?"

"We flee from Ryder and the Others" the prisoner replied, shivering in dread. "The Others are coming South. The Great Cold is coming."

"Look at me!" Ranma ordered, turning her head so that he could lock eyes with her. "I am Ranma Stark. 'Winter is coming' is the motto of my family, but you're not scared of winter, you're scared of something else. What are these Others you mentioned?

"I cannot speak of them." She said. "They feel it when you talk of them. Monsters of glowing blue eyes and endless unlife."

"White walkers.", Ranma replied, grimly.

The woman shuddered. "Yes, but do not name them!" She looked up at the sky, where the sun was going down already. Soon it would be night. She shivered at the idea of speaking of them so close to dusk since it was at night when the Others came out. "They have powers, odd strengths, no man can stand against them, no spell or weapon works upon them. And where they go, where their will touches the land, the dead come alive. Come alive to serve them." She shuddered again and would not speak further.

Jon translated for the others, who hadn't been trained in the old tongue as well as he or Ranma had.

Smalljon scoffed as did Hathan. "Please, the White Walkers are a myth. I'll admit that you were quick enough to grab onto an idea for a bit of a lark up to the Wall, Ranma, but surely you didn't really think…"

Smalljon trailed off staring at Ranma's serious expression. "You were serious?"

Ranma nodded grimly. He had never shared with anyone but Jon and his father how he had the memories of another life inside, but the description he had heard from the deserter, the glowing blue eyes, matched what the old gods had shown him that one time in the godswood of Winterfell, or at least a part of what they had shown him.

"If that is so we should turn back." Hathan said. "We have prisoners now, they can give us an idea of what's going on beyond the Wall. Ignoring this mumbo-jumbo about White Walkers, if something is going on to stir up the wildlings, then you need to inform your father and the other Lords of the North."

"Bah!" said Smalljon. "It's some kind of wildlings trick, trying to use superstition against us, to make us wary of facing them." Roger and Daryn both nodded agreement.

"I think," Jon said, thoughtfully staring at the prisoner who he was still pinning to the tree with his swords around her neck, "that we've taken several prisoners here. We should take this one back South with us, but I think we should keep going with the others and drop them off at the Wall with Uncle Benjen and Lord Commander Mormont. "There are some wildling groups that the Night Watch work with at times. He may be able to convince them to tell him more one way or another."

Roger frowned. "I think we should turn back. We've got valuable sources of information here, watching them on the road would be difficult, and if a few of them escape…" he shrugged.

"We keep going." Ranma said shortly, reaching down to pick up Fenris, who had left the horses behind to find his chosen human, scratching the pup behind his ears. "We keep going, and we force this lot to tell all they know about the White Walkers and what's going on north of the Wall to the Night Watch. I'm getting the impression that there's more going on here than just the Others. She said something about fleeing from someone else, which might mean that there's more trouble stirring than the Others, if they weren't bad enough."

"A new King Beyond the Wall, you think?", asked Edd, remembering his history lessons.

"Maybe, and if so the Night Watch will have to be reinforced. The Wall is a fantastic defensive position but you all know how weak the Night Watch has become the past few years and how many of their fortresses have been left to fall apart in recent years."

Theon shrugged. "That process started before even Robert's rebellion, it's just getting as low as it can go now. Though I agree with that, if something's going on beyond the Wall, the Night Watch needs to be warned."

Ranma nodded and gestured around at two unconscious wildlings, which Dacey was standing over. One was her own prisoner, the other had been smacked aside by Daryn and she had jumped in before the Hornwood heir could finish the wildling off. "Tie them up, we'll put them on the spare pack horses, and I'll carry some of our gear."

"And I." Jon said. "I might not have your endurance Ranma, but we can at least give the horses a bit of a break."

Ranma nodded, and the others, all of whom knew the two Starks (for Jon was a Stark, whatever his mother's lineage or the dubious validity of his birth) brothers had much more endurance and strength than any of them, even Smalljon, went about their business.

Within twenty minutes, the group was on their way again. They stopped to rest for the evening several hours later, well away from the scene of the battle.

The next day, they were up early. The woman they had captured, whose name was Osha, had proven to be the most levelheaded of the prisoners. The others had all tried to escape at one point or another during the night and refused to say anything to the wolf-sworn but curses. Osha tried to reason with them, but they simply spat at her and called her a traitor but something about Ranma had given her courage, despite the fact that they were taking her North again.

All the others had also realized that, and it was a constant trial watching them for the next three weeks while the group continued to traverse the Gift. Having to watch the prisoners slowed the band down, but they still made good time, yet for all of that, their unease grew.

For one thing, while the Gift was supposed to be somewhat sparsely populated with smallfolk, who were dedicated to providing for the Night Watch and the Wall, they had seen no sign of anyone. That population should have been built up around the Kingsroad, yet they had not come upon a single person yet. Even the massive, well defended inns that were maintained along the Kingsroad in the North were empty here for some reason, their owners apparently having fled.

Three weeks after the ambush they passed another abandoned inn. Ranma frowned faintly and held up a hand for them to halt. The Norrey scouts came out of the surrounding forest, looking at him quizzically and he shook his head. "Stay with us for a moment. Hathan? Can you get out our map?"

Hathan was staring off into the distance, fingering his lance shaft uncomfortably. And it took Ranma several moments to get his attention. "Hathan!"

The Manderly man shook his head shaking himself out of whatever stupor he had fallen into. "Sorry, what?"

"What's wrong?" Ranma asked moving back to join him while the others looked on in concern. Hathan was not normally given to introspection or spacing out like that and they all wondered what was going on.

"I don't know, milord," Hathan said shivering a little. "There's something wrong. By the Seven, I can't give you any more clear a description than that but there is something wrong. That's all I can say."

The wildling woman cackled. She had picked up the common tongue easily over the past three weeks and was able to follow what the lance bearer had said. "The Seven." she scoffed. "You left the lands of the Seven behind when you entered the Gift, man of the white city. They're barely a whisper here. It is the old gods who hold sway here. The farther north you get, the more true that is."

For some reason Hathan shivered, he actually believed her. After a moment however he regained control of himself. Resolutely, he removed the map, putting the uneasy feeling to the back of mind.

Ranma looked down at the map, frowning faintly. "We've seen a few abandoned farmsteads and inns but we haven't come upon any town yet. According to this map, there should be a town four hours ride or so ahead of us. We'll see if we can stay there for the night and maybe get some answers about why the Gift is so empty."

The others all nodded, looking forward to getting a roof under their head and some place to stick their prisoners so that they wouldn't have to be on guard all the time. The last three weeks had been the most trying most of them could remember.

It actually took them five hour of travel. When they arrived at the village, Ranma and the others looked around in dismay. The whole place looked abandoned and somewhat in disrepair. It was as if the people here had just up and left. Ranma frowned. "Have any of you been this far north before?"

His friends all shook their heads, but Osha nodded when Jon translated the question. "We came through here scavenging for food. No one was here."

Jon frowned, looking around. "This place looks like it was only abandoned recently, like in the last month or so. I mean look," he said gesturing to a one story house that had its roof caved in slightly right above the open doorway, "if that had happened more than a month ago the snow would've built up inside it. It hasn't yet, that means this is relatively recent."

"So what happened to the smallfolk here?" Edd asked a little worried.

"I don't know," Ranma said, looking around him. "But I'm beginning to get a bit of a puckering factor."

"Yeah," Theon laughed nervously, "like we're in for a fucking and not the good kind."

The others all laughed, their laughter ranging from true humor to that used to cover concern, but the group headed deeper into the village. They found a building that was relatively intact and decided to commandeer it for the evening. They took another house that had part of its roof torn off to paddock their horses there rather than in the small corral that was outside the large inn they had commandeered, which had been an inn at one point.

The prisoners were all placed at the back of the house away from the entrance and their ropes tied together against a large supports beam. Osha, however, was allowed to move about freely but she was ordered to remain near the center of the large room that made up the first floor of the house. Yet, the closer night came, the colder it got, and the more worried and antsy most of the wolf-sworn became.

Ranma looked over at the prisoners, noticing how they were shivering in fear now that night had fallen. That wasn't anything new, but it seemed to get worse every night and tonight was the worst. They had even stopped trying to run away during the night (they still tried during the day of course) and were now muttering to one another in the old tongue. He wasn't as good with languages as his brother was, but Ranma could tell fear when he heard it. He turned to Dacey. "I want a fire right in the middle of the room, make sure that it stays lit all night," he ordered. "Get some branches and what not too, we might need torches."

"Both here and with the horses?" Dacey asked.

Ranma looked over at Osha. "These Others you're afraid of, would they go after the horses as well or just us if they came here?"

When Jon translated the question, the wildling woman looked frightened, staring out into the darkness and backing away from the doorway. "Us," she answered, shuddering. "They have no interest in horses. They had no need of them."

"You can't seriously be thinking that she's telling the truth, can you?" Smalljon asked. "I tell you, it's just a trick."

"Look me in the eye and say you don't fill something in the air." Ranma said, looking at him sharply. "I'm not saying it's the Others like she thinks, but there's something in the air tonight. You know me," Ranma said, turning to stare out into the dark, "I'm as at home moving through the woods at night as I am during the day most of the time. Hell, I've snuck out of Winterfell numerous times and gone into the wild, but I've never felt threatened. Nothing like this."

Smalljon shook his head. "I don't feel anything."

"I do." said Jon quietly pulling his short swords from their scabbards, putting them on the ground within easy reach. "Four guards rotation?"

"Yes." Ranma muttered, still staring out into the darkness, his back to the fire that Dacey was tending in an effort to keep his night vision. He had first thought to maybe snuff the fire and let them all keep their night vision, but the fire could also be a weapon at need. "I'll take second watch."

More and more, he was beginning to think that this was the threat that he had been brought here to face, or at least a hint of it. There was still the human element to be considered and Ranma wasn't about to make any plans for the future on vague visions, no matter where they came from. Still, he thought to himself, if I know I was brought here for a purpose, do some of the enemies I'm supposed to face know about me in turn?

For the next three hours, nothing happened. Ranma, who had laid down on his bedroll but had not fallen asleep, was beginning to think he was just jumping at shadows, and the others had come to that conclusion even faster. Two hours later, Fenris began to whine and bite at his heals.

Ranma sat up to look down at Fenris, and the pup looked up, his eyes locked on Ranma's. Suddenly he could feel what his direwolf was feeling, the oppressive cold coming towards them, the feeling of death and hate, the smell of something old and dead, yet moving…

Swiftly Ranma stood up, grabbing his claymore from where it had been lying next to him and moving swiftly to join the guards at the door, who at this moment were Daryn and Roger. Dacey and Theon were also both awake, looking out the windows on either side of the door.

Almost as soon as Ranma began to move, he noticed that Jon had woken up as well, although he didn't seem to understand the feelings or where they were coming from. Jon looked around wildly, as if he had just been woken from a very deep dream, uncomprehending the sudden change.

Ranma didn't understand how he could be feeling what Fenris was feeling but he wasn't about to question it at the moment. He'd seen too much magic in his life before he came here to bother with skepticism.

Roger looked up at him sharply. Daryn did as well gripping his longsword at his side. "What is it?"

"Something's out there," Ranma muttered looking out the door. It took his eyes several minutes to adjust to the oppressive gloom outside and when they did he stared. "What the…."

Roger and Daryn looked out as well, wondering what their younger friend had seen and gaped. Coming around the corner of the village's main road toward them slowly was a veritable horde of people, but there was something odd about them. First, despite the moon not being out and the stars hidden behind clouds, none of them were carrying torches, though there did seem to be some kind of glow about them. Second, they were all moving toward them. And third was the way they moved, like someone not quite in control of their own bodies, sort of like a drunk yet not quite.

"I… Are those… they look like smallfolk, are they the villagers from this town? Where were they?" Roger asked in a whisper.

"I don't know," Ranma muttered, "but they're not moving correctly."

Daryn looked closer and saw what Ranma saw. "They're sort of dragging along aren't they? I wonder why?"

"I don't think it's for any reason we want to know," said Ranma. Almost as soon as he had said that, the smallfolk turned in their direction. Ranma and the others all gasped. The odd light wasn't coming from anything they were carrying. It was coming from their eyes, so bright a blue it hurt to look at them, deep, bright, and filled with the cold of the grave. Ranma shuddered, his hand tightening about his claymore. "Get the others up quickly!"

As everyone else was roused from sleep, Ranma raced back pulling on his plate armor, clasping his vambraces in place around his arms. That was all he had time for when the back of the house was suddenly, without any warning, smashed apart by some monstrous force from outside. All they could see, before the snow that had built up along the back of the house came in snuffing out the flames, was a giant shadow pulling back a massive club made of some kind of clear ice or something.

Ranma sprinted back towards the front of the house, shouting, "Out, everyone out! We need some room to maneuver!" He plucked up a burning twig from one of the fires, hurling it back over his shoulder. There was a roar and a sizzling hiss as it hit something, but then he was out of the door, followed quickly by the others.

There were screams inside as the prisoners were killed by whatever that thing was. Ranma realized sickly that none of them had thought to even try to release them from their chains. Then he had no more time to think because the assumed villagers were on them, reaching forward, their hands grasping with inhuman strength, their eyes blazing with cold blue light.

At the front of their force, Smalljon gasped as one of them grabbed his arm when his sword stuck in another one's ribs, wrenching Smalljon's arm almost out of its socket. Smalljon gritted his teeth at the pain finally pulling his sword free and he sliced the man's head in one great blow before backing away, wincing.

Ranma snarled, then blocked two blows from the villagers before grabbing the arm of one and pulling it in front of the other, raising his claymore and slicing one man's head off before stabbing the other in the center of his chest. That man kept pulling himself however pulling himself along Ranma's blade until Ranma kicked him hard in the chest sending it back off his sword.

"Wights!" Jon shouted, his short swords blocking blows from three of them. "They're wights! Cut their heads off! It's the only way to slow them down and even then the bodies will come back against us later! We'll have to burn them!"

Ranma remembered the simple bard's tale they had heard once out in the village of the smallfolk around Winterfell. Maester Luwin had scoffed at the very idea that there could be wights still around but did not claim that there had never been.

"Smalljon," he barked, "get out your flint and tinder, Dacey, Jon, Daryn protect him, light everything up you can, grab some kind of torch throw it up on every roof we pass." None of his friends bothered arguing and swiftly began to go about carrying out his orders. Smalljon, still cradling his wrenched shoulder, moved into the center of their makeshift formation while the others began to hack and slash at the horde all around them. The two Norrey scouts were trying to protect themselves as best they could but nowhere near as well as the others. Between one kill and the next Ranma looked at Hathan and Roger, who were fighting alongside him. "I saw something back in there." he said, jerking his head back to the house they had just vacated. "Something huge, I don't know what it is, but you and your lances might be the only things that can kill whatever it is. After Smalljon starts lighting things up, we'll make our way over to the horses. You two, get out of town, build up some momentum and come back in!"

Then five more wights were on him, wielding simple weapons but with truly monstrous strength. Strength for strength, all of his fellows would have been overwhelmed, save for Smalljon and possibly Dacey, though they weren't quite strong enough to overwhelm Ranma.

The beasts that had destroyed the back of the former inn they had been staying in, however, were different matter. As Smalljon threw his first torch up onto a wooden and straw roof, they came around the edge of the inn, two of them from either direction.

They were huge, two stories tall if they were an inch. Their skin seemed almost made of rock or ice and was gray with patterns of blue shot through it, with patches of long gray hair. Their faces were like that of a gorilla (though none of Ranma's fellows would make that connection) with long beards and they didn't seem to have any genitalia or anything else. They almost looked like someone had taken something living and then built on top of it with ice and stone. Their eyes glowed with a colder blue than even the wights and they held huge clubs made of some kind of deep blue ice.

"WH-what the hell are they!", Smalljon gasped, backing away even further into the circle of his friends, unused to looking up at anyone let alone that far up. Daryn, Roger, and the others all looked disturbed as well.

"They, they look like frost giants," Jon stammered, "but they can't be! For one thing, they're too damn big! And for another all the frost giants are dead, long dead!"

"So were the villagers." Ranma muttered angrily. "Break through and away. Keep as much distance as possible from them until we can put down all of the villagers. We can't face those things and the wights at the same time!"

The others nodded grim agreement and with Ranma in the lead, forged their way through the throng of undead villagers; bashing, slicing, and hacking them to pieces as they went, although even beheaded or without limbs, the wights kept on trying to get at them. All of them were covered with nicks and bruises in short order. Ranma's plate armor was dented a few times by strong blows that he couldn't quite deflect or dodge. One of the Norrey scouts fell, his stomach sliced open by a shovel and pulled down by the horde, his screams ringing out into the night over the clamor of battle. But they kept grimly on while Smalljon continued to throw out his incendiary torches, lighting more and more fires throughout the village.

As Ranma predicted, the giants couldn't move very quickly and while they were more than strong enough to simply smash through a house, it slowed them down even further doing so. Five minutes of desperate, close in combat later, the group arrived at the makeshift stables to find their horses still tethered there, whinnying and neighing in fear. They were all wild eyed and straining at their tethers. Ranma cursed. He had thought, just maybe, they could just all ride away or just use their higher elevations against the wights but none of them were good enough to control horses maddened by fear. Only Roger's and Hathan's horses looked even halfway calm, and even they were moving around restlessly.

"Everyone back away, let the horses through when they move!" Ranma shouted, racing forward with the two. "Roger, Hathan get moving!" Ranma barked, darting in and grabbing his warhammer from where he had left it, then swiftly helped Hathan and Roger undo the tethers, pushing them both up onto their horses.

Now freed from their tethers, the horses bolted toward the open door. Theon was nearly clipped by them as they charged out, smashing a few of the wights to the ground and allowing the humans to move away from the crowd of wights. However, looming at the back of the crowd were the Giants and Ranma knew that they would be coming towards them at any moment.

"Keep moving away from the giants!" Then Ranma charged forward, slicing into the horde with his claymore in one hand and his warhammer in the other smashing out, protecting his friends backs. His friends followed his orders, pushing away from the giants and the entrance to the makeshift corral, using the moment the horses charged to move away while Hathan and Roger raced away down the street.

The fires were everywhere now. The smoke was getting to the wolf-sworn a little but the flames seemed to be bothering the undead more. It didn't seem to do anything to them without them actually being set on fire, but they were definitely wary of it, something Ranma made a note of.

Ranma ducked under one of the Giant's fists, his Claymore slashing into the thing's knee. His sword sliced into it, but only halfway or so, and the monster's empty hand came back, clipping him upside the head, flinging him aside, and forcing Ranma to let go of his claymore. It was only because of his durability that he survived that blow and he quickly got to his feet, largely uninjured. It was as well he did, because two of the wights were on him almost immediately. He swung his warhammer around to slam into the first one's head while his other hand thundered out with a blow that picked up the other wight, tossing it up into the air and away over one of the burning houses.

The others were not doing nearly as well, but even they were stronger and faster than the wights.

Edd was using his mobility, weaving and bobbing, his spear spinning around slicing and hamstringing when he could. It appeared that the wights could be hamstrung, losing much of their already limited mobility, so it was surprisingly effective. Daryn was guarding his back and sides, shield and sword both moving easily to defend them, but it was obvious that both of them were under great amount of strain. The sheer number of wights around them was beginning to pin them down.

Ranma found Dacey was the closest of his allies and she was holding her own well enough. That was discounting Fenris, who was running at his heels biting trying to hamstring his opponents. The pup was still too young however, and the wights were easily able to ignore both him and Ghost. It was simply a fact they couldn't quite get at the back of most of the enemies knees. That was, of course, until a few of them were knocked down and Ghost came out of nowhere, ripping and tearing at their knees and elbows, and even some necks.

Jon was standing with Smalljon, defending him and Theon, who was sending arrow after arrow towards the giants. Already, there were dozens of shafts sticking out of two of them, mostly in the face or the neck and Ranma realized that the Iron Lander was trying to get his arrows into the giant's eyes. Jon was the one doing the best so far, his chainmail only lightly scuffed, his blades flashing out with more skill and speed than any of the others could manage.

Ranma gritted his teeth as more wights began to come at them from the direction they were heading, though, thankfully, he hadn't heard the sounds of combat from that direction, which meant Hathan and Roger had gotten away at least. He sped up, his hammer flickering out like lightning and hitting just as hard. He was everywhere at once, his hammer slamming into any of the wights that were in a position to get behind or surround any of his friends. For some reason, Fenris also sped up and his bites became much more powerful, able to rip off the wights' feet from the ankles and he was now also able to get at the back of their knees. With that, they were able to hold the line for now and continue to move away from the giants, limiting their impact on the battle for now.

However, with more wights coming out from between every house they passed it was only a matter of time before they were overwhelmed. He blinked in astonishment as he noticed Osha wielding a hunk of burning wood beside Jon and Smalljon.

That gave him an idea, however, and Ranma jumped up from a standing start up onto a roof. Once there he grabbed up a large wooden beam from the roof, pulling it up, hefting it above his hand, and flinging it down into the largest throng of undead villagers. That gave his friends some breathing space and they raced back towards Ranma as he ripped up another one, throwing it down as well while his friends, save Jon, looked up at him in pure astonishment at his strength before turning their attention back to their battle.

Jon suddenly stopped when he noticed something in through the broken doorway of the house he had just passed. Quick as he could, Jon ducked inside, coming back out with several skins of spirits. Above them, Ranma continued to hurl his ever decreasing number of projectiles. One even nailed a giant, knocking it off its feet with a roar, but it scrambled up, seemingly uninjured.

He tossed the spirits out over the undead pinned under Ranma's projectiles while his friends moved to guard his back from the horde that had now gotten around them on all sides. He looked over at Theon who grinned and grabbed a special arrow from his quiver, reaching out and lighting it on Osha's makeshift weapon. The end of the arrow began to blaze and he quickly placed it to his bowstring and cocked it back. "Say the word!"

Ranma saw what Jon had planned and barked a laugh while he jumped from one roof to the other racing towards what was about to be a massive conflagration. "Do it!" he ordered, and Theon let fly.

Theon's aim was true and the burning arrow smacked into the skin of wine, igniting it with a roar. The conflagration ignited quickly as Jon continued to hurl the next skin out into it.

The inferno spread over the timbers that Ranma had used as projectiles and, soon enough, more than half of the horde plus one of the giants were set alight.

The undead had thus far been silent but now they began a keening wail, accompanied by the bellow of the burning giant as it actually began to toss snow onto its burning chest. Ranma's friends answered this with a roar of approval. They went to hacking and throwing the bodies of those wights that made it around the conflagration to come at them onto the flames.

This moment of good fortune ended when two of the giants burst through a house right alongside Dacey and Edd.

Edd went down, slammed away by a fist the same size as his upper body that caught him in the center of his chest, throwing him into the air and away to impact against the wall of another house where he collapsed boneless to the ground. That same giant's club smashed the one remaining scout to a bloody splatter.

Dacey was able to dodge the other giant's club, which was encumbered by the remains of the house it'd just smashed through. Her sword flicked out, catching the giant's arm right behind the elbow slicing it as deep as she could force it. Her sword stuck there and she gasped in horror as she felt herself being lifted off the ground by it and saw the other fist of the giant incoming.

Suddenly Jon was there, leaping from the remains of the wall that the giants had just burst through. He landed on the back of the other giant attacking her with both his short swords flashing, stabbing down deep as he could force them into the giant's back, which wasn't too far, unfortunately.

Ranma appeared too, blocking the blow, forcing it to the side with one arm as his warhammer came around slamming into the giant's leg with as much force as his body could muster. The leg shattered at the thigh and the behemoth could no longer support its own weight, falling to the side.

That giant slowly collapsed and Dacey, relieved, pulled her sword out of its arm. She looked up at Jon only to gasp "Look out!"

The giant that Jon had been fighting wasn't going down easily and Ranma was standing right in front of it. As its club came crashing forward, Ranma couldn't dodge it without letting the blow hit Dacey, so instead he braced his arms in front of him.

The blow landed and Ranma felt himself lifted into the air flying over Dacey's head, gasping in agony as his left arm was broken by the blow. He turned in midair, his feet hitting a wall and he launched himself forward; slamming into a group of wights nearby, fist and feet flashing, his warhammer lost when the giant's blow caught him.

Dacey was busy attacking the same giant Jon was, dodging this way and that. Smalljon and Daryn were busy with the remaining zombies, but Ranma could see two more Giants bursting out of a house right beside them. A fifth giant burst out behind Ranma and he turned his teeth bared in a snarl as he charged forward.

Ranma's working hand slammed into the giant's stomach with enough force to actually lift the monster off his feet and throw him backwards a step. He dodged the first blow, dodged the second, and almost dodged the third one, hammering blows on the giant who was grunting now at his center of mass was almost crushed by Ranma's fierce Amaguriken speed blows, but the fight turned against Ranma when something grabbed his leg, tripping him up.

He looked down and realized that a hand chopped off one of the undead villagers had reached out grabbing his foot, pulling it out from under him.

He looked up at the giant as he kicked the undead creature off him, the goliath's club already falling toward him.

Suddenly he heard a shout. "In the name of the Warrior, go back to hell!" Then Hathan was there speeding forward, his lance point slamming into the giant's upper chest with all the force of his charging steed behind it. The giant roared, not in pain but in fury, as the lance point took it in the chest and through the heart but even that wasn't have stopping it. Hathan, however, noticed this and let go of his lance quickly, bringing around his longsword to hack into the giant's neck.

By this time Ranma jumped up, turning as he heard Dacey shout his name. "Ranma!" With that shout, Dacey threw his warhammer at him.

Ranma grabbed it out of the air with his one good arm. Turning he leaped up into the air, bringing the hammer down with a roar to slam into the giant's head, crushing it utterly.

He looked up from his personal fight to see that Roger had arrived as well, spearing the giant that had been about to destroy Smalljon and Daryn through the skull. He had chosen his target better than Hathan, though he took a blow to his armored chest from the other giant's club that threw him up and out of his saddle. His horse was running away but he had saved Daryn and Smalljon who stood over him, protectively cutting down the few remaining undead villagers. They then grabbed him and moved away from the one giant remaining on its feet.

Ranma looked up at Hathan, nodded his thanks, and the two of them turned, splitting apart. Hathan moved towards the giant that Jon and Dacey were battling, trampling several wights under his horse's hooves.

Theon raced in front of giant that had fallen to its side, which Dacey was fighting, his bow raised at near point-blank range and fired up into its face, an arrow taking the giant through the eye.

At the same time, Edd came back, roaring and screaming, his helmet askew, and blood flowing from his nose, eyes, and a cut on his face, slamming his spear into the giant's chest right over the heart. His spear broke as the giant roared, flinching away but it had done its job, taking the thing in its heart. With no heart and no brain even its undead vitality failed it, and it collapsed into the snow at last.

One outstretched arm clipped Theon as the giant collapsed, but he shook it off and turned back, using the last of his arrows on the wights before pulling out his own longsword. He blocked a blow from one of them that actually had a real weapon, a massive bastard sword that it swung at his head. The blow was so powerful it knocked Theon back several steps, but he recovered and moved with Jon and Dacey protecting one another's back.

By this time, Ranma had smashed through the wights between him and his friends. He jumped up, dodging over the giant's club. His feet touched down briefly on the giant's outstretched arm and his hammer came around smashing the behemoth's head, shattering its skull.

Still the giant kept moving, reaching forward, but Smalljon raced forward, slamming his broadsword into the thing's chest with his one still working arm and all the strength of his body behind it. "Die and stay dead this time!"

With that, the battle was effectively over. The wights still up and attacking were cut down easily. The warriors went about their grim business cutting them down and tossing the parts into the growing fires that were practically everywhere now. Soon, the last went down from a blow of Ranma's hammer, the head of which was now so splattered with blood and bits of flesh that you couldn't even see the steel of it underneath.

Ranma looked around at his shell-shocked and shivering companions, feeling the adrenaline slowly leaving him a little shaky himself. He could already feel his healing ability kicking however, although it didn't seem to be doing much for his arm for some reason. He looked down at it and gasped a little as he noticed how black and blue it was, as well as the bone sticking out of his forearm. "That's going to leave a mark." He muttered, shaking his head and looking up at Hathan. "So, do you believe in the Others now?"

OOOOOOO

In the far north, far, far beyond even the most northern wildling settlements, several beings frowned in their places around a large unbroken column of ice reaching down from the ceiling of the cave they were inhabiting. It was covered with strange glyphs and had several large crystals imbedded here and there, all of them lit up with blue light.

"The trap failed." one of the beings said, his voice a lilting song on the cool breeze, yet somehow wrong as if it had the taint of death on it. "It took the bait, but shattered the thorns of our trap. The aberration still exists, and we have lost much of our resources beyond the cursed human wall. Our supply of tools there has been reduced, and our current crop of homunculus are gone."

"It was a near run thing." another said. Their faces were hidden by shadow; they distrusted one another only marginally less than they'd despised and loathed humans, though their eyes, glowing blue, could pierce the darkness easily. One hand waved at the stalagmite, which suddenly darkened. Far away the homunculus giants that they had commanded began to collapse, leaving nothing of them behind. "What concerns me is what we saw from the other humans in our tool's eyes; all of them were better fighters than normal humans should be. Still, we know its abilities, we can plan better for the next time."

"We need not do anything for a time." another one said, and the others all turned their sparkling blue eyes towards it. Only the eyes were now visible in the darkness of the cave, or at least so it would appear to human eyes. Of course a human would freeze to death in seconds here anyway.

"Use the other humans. They are skeptical, they will not believe save what they themselves see. They will not see the real danger. There is always strife among them, they will destroy one another, weaken one another so long as we play a waiting game." That voice said in response to those looks. "Merely make certain that there is no solid proof other than these humans various injuries, and few will believe them."

With a thought from one of them, the crystals buried in the frozen stalagmite lit up again and they began to send their thoughts out once more, determined to erase all evidence of the attack. Of course the humans would help them with that, fearing the pawns under their control.

OOOOOOO

By the time Dacey, Jon, Ranma, and Hathan finished throwing wight bodies and parts onto the fires. The giants had dissolved entirely, leaving nothing behind them but snow and ice. Not even their blood remained where it had splattered on rock and wood. Ranma shook his head, wondering if that was a natural thing or something magical.

He scowled, looking down at the pyre where they had also put the body of the older Norrey scout. The other one had been hacked apart and they had burned what parts they could find. Ranma was guilt-ridden at the fact he had lost two men, but at the same time, knew they had been incredibly lucky to only lose two men. He felt even more guilty at being grateful it had been the two scouts that had died.

"I lived through it," Daryn muttered, as he sat down next to Ranma grabbing some of the jerky that Ranma had pulled out of the packs for them. "And I still don't believe it. What were those things?"

Jon looked up wearily from where he had slumped next to his brother. "The large ones looked like frost giants. Like the ones from the tales from before the times of the First Men, not the giants who we know still live beyond the Wall. And the undead, they're called wights."

"GAHHHH!" Smalljon yelled, as Dacey reset his shoulder and then moved it around gingerly, wincing occasionally. "That fucking hurt! I still think this is some kind of magic trick of the wildlings, but it's also a threat, one my father and the Night Watch need to be warned about. Couldn't you have done that less painfully?"

Dacey snorted, moving away to lean against the remains of a house's wall, wincing as she did. "Hah, you're just lucky that thing didn't rip your arm off entirely. If not for Ranma's training, none of us would have lived through that. And if they are wights, going by the old stories I heard when I was young, we'll have to burn the bodies to make sure they don't come back to life again. I've never heard of any magic beyond the White Walkers that could bring the dead back to life."

"Neither have I." Ranma said, standing up join Theon at burning the pile of undead. In the distance they could see the light of day beginning to make its presence felt and he smiled before looking at his friend. "Guess now you can change your name from Greyjoy to Giantslayer, Theon." Ranma laughed, slapping the archer on his shoulder.

Theon smiled wearily but shook his head, his eyes showing how rattled he still was. "I'll think about it but this was a near run thing, Ranma, way too near for me to want to remember it later."

Ranma chuckled and moved on but there was some truth in Theon's words. If Hathan and Roger had not returned when they had the group would have been overwhelmed save perhaps for Ranma himself. And Roger had paid a price for his killing that one giant. His ribs were cracked so badly that he was having trouble breathing and he was still seeing double.

Edd was also in a bad way, he looked to at least have a concussion, maybe even a cracked skull though he had come back into the fight like a berserker. He was also complaining of back pain from where he had slammed into the wall of the house but Ranma was hopeful that that was only bruising.

Daryn had come through the best of them all, besides Theon, only taking a small gash from one of the villagers' makeshift weapons. The others were nicked and battered from head to toe and Jon was favoring his right side. Ranma alone wasn't slumped in weariness, though his arm was healing much slower than he was used to even from a wound as bad as this.

His healing ability was actually a little higher than it had been in his old world, far higher than it had been when he was sixteen and just arriving at the Tendo place. Even so, something in the wound he had taken was fighting him. He wondered what the heck that giant club had been made out of. It looked like ice, but it didn't shatter like it should have upon hitting him, so Ranma wasn't certain.

Theon's eyes narrowed as he looked at Ranma. "Speaking of, where by the Drowning God did you learn how to move like that? I know you're good, Ranma, but that was… You moved faster than I could follow sometimes, and you jumped from roof to roof with ease, as if you had been doing it all your life."

The others looked at Ranma, waiting for an answer. All except Jon who simply sat there, one hand scratching at Ghost's head. He would wait for a time they could be alone before asking his own questions. Not even these men (and woman), firm friends all, would believe the tale of Ranma remembering his previous life and carrying over the skills from it. Even Hathan, whose religion had a place for such things, would never believe that, not even with the reality of his otherworldly skills rubbed in their faces. And if they didn't believe him, well nothing good come from that.

Ranma shrugged. He wanted to tell his friends about his memories, but he knew that most of them would not believe him. Dacey might, and maybe Theon since they had lived together so long, but the others? No. The other problem came from Theon. Despite growing up alongside him, if you asked Ranma if he trusted Theon, really trusted him, the answer would be a somewhat ambivalent shrug. There just seemed to be too much of the Iron Born in Theon for Ranma to want to trust him and, if he told just the others, that kind of secret would push a further wedge between Theon and his other friends.

Still he ignored that once again and replied, "I've never tried to hide the fact that I'm simply more physically skilled than most. You all know how strong I am, how skilled. Is it such a surprise to see that maybe I've got other skills you haven't seen yet? And as for jumping from roof to roof, other than Smalljon and Roger, I bet every one of you could do it if you practiced. I like to climb trees and jumping from one to another. The skills and coordination that I learned doing that, made jumping from roof to roof pretty easy, actually."

All his friends frowned, wondering why he was so skilled in the first place, but couldn't really come up with a reason to question him further. After all, without those skills, none of them would be here.

It would have surprised them all that Ranma was thinking along similar lines, though he wasn't thinking positively about it. I need to figure out why I can't use ki attacks and why I can't move as fast as I could in my old life. That barrier, whatever it is, that's blocking my ki from coming out of my body, I need to break it. Whatever those things are, to fight them on a more even footing, I seriously need to get better than I am right now. He had a few ideas as to what that barrier was, but he would need some time to think about it.

"What should we do now?" Hathan asked trotting up to him. He had not gotten out of the saddle since the fight, and had made himself a new lance almost as soon as he could. While the others were busy burning the bodies and tending to their injuries, he had been gathering the horses and had actually done a better job than he had realistically hoped, coming back with five of them. Those plus his own and Roger's gave them seven.

Ranma stared out into the distance, watching the sun's rays make their way across the land. "We'll continue as fast as we can go towards the Wall."

The others looked up at him in astonishment and he shrugged. "It's the nearest place with a maester healer and we need to tell commander Mormont about this." He gestured around them. "A verbal report will be much more easily believed, though I could wish we had some more physical evidence than our injuries and your word Osha." he said, looking over at the wild woman.

She had been tending to the injured, and she and Roger seemed to be talking quietly to one another. By the look of interest in Roger's eyes, he wondered if the man had designs on her. He shrugged that thought off as none of his business, especially since Roger wasn't the type to force his affections on anyone.

In reply to Ranma's nonverbal question, Osha nodded but resolved to keep her own secrets. She had given her word to the King Beyond the Wall, and though she had run from his army she had no desire to be a betrayer as well as an oathbreaker. She would tell the men of the Wall as much as she could, however, about the Others. She looked down as the two direwolves frolicked around, still energetic despite the nights activities, and wondered about what she had seen in the one called Fenris or his owner.

Ranma knelt down, holding out a bit of jerky to Fenris, who pounced on it gnawing at it happily while Ghost moved to his other hand nuzzling in and whining a little. He held out another bit of jerky to Jon's direwolf, wondering about the odd sensation of being Fenris for a moment there when the pup somehow warned Ranma of what was coming their way. If not for that warning, even with how on edge they had been, the group would've been taken completely by surprise by the giants.

What was that? Ranma thought to himself, rubbing at Fenris's head, causing the wolf pup to wag its tail. He noted absently that Fenris was bigger than he had been before this trip began and he wondered if that was normal for puppies. He had seen on this trip that Fenris had more vitality and energy than Ghost did, though he would have to wait until they got back to Winterfell to see if that was simply Ghost being much more calm and laid back than Fenris or something that was different in Fenris from his brothers and sisters.

He also resolved to get a handle on what the heck had happened between the two of them and he continued to look down at Fenris who looked up at him suddenly meeting his eyes. Suddenly it was as if Ranma was staring at himself. Pack leader, good hunt, run good, strong, partner.

Ranma shook himself, moving back from whatever that had been when Hathan trotted back leading the horses already packed with what they could salvage. He and Jon and Daryn had created a makeshift litter, tying it between two of the horses for Edd and Roger. "We're ready to go, milord."

"Let's be about it then," Ranma replied, and the others wearily got to their feet and began to prepare themselves to leave. Ranma himself moved quickly to Roger, lifting him into the litter along one side before moving to Edd and doing the same with him. Within minutes they were on their way, with Ranma leading the way.

Around them the undead continued to burn. Within a few hours, there would be nothing left of them but ash and an hour after that the ash, too, would disappear. Nothing would remain but the wreckage of the village behind them and the wolf sworn's own injuries to provide evidence for their tale.

OOOOOOO

The Lady Catelyn moved through Winterfell, smiling faintly at the servants as she passed them. She paused a moment outside the solar, looking inside at her two daughters who were working at their stitching.

Watching them at this task, the contrast between them was even more apparent than other times. Sansa sat quietly, sewing with dexterity and skill. Already her needle and tapestry work was famed throughout Winterfell and the lands around it. A 'scarf from the lady' had become a gift sought after by both the guards and the smallfolk, something that made Sansa smile faintly when her mother informed her about it, though in truth she was often bored with Winterfell. She always enjoyed hearing stories about the South, where things actually happened rather than here, where nothing seemed to change from day to day or, if it did, it was always happening somewhere else tosomeone else.

On the other hand, Arya had never taken to sewing, tapestry, painting, or anything else that a normal lady of her station should have liked. She was fidgety, anxious, looking out at the sky through the window wistfully every other minute, and wasn't even a third of the way as far in her current design as Sansa was.

Catelyn smiled faintly, shaking her head at the sight of her youngest daughter. She had lost many battles there and so Ranma continued to train Arya so long as she continued to try and learn the womanly duties. The young girl was taking to Ranma's lessons better than Bran in truth. Bran had enthusiasm, though that seemed to have wavered since the day that Ned had taken him out to see justice done, but none of the skill or energy Arya had. All in all, even if she still thought it barbaric and far too cruel to force a child to see such, Catelyn was happy with the result, as Bran had taken to his intellectual studies even more.

Yet it was coming to a time when she would have to put her foot down, permanently, about Arya, though she was not looking forward to that. Not only would it prove detrimental to her relationship with Arya but it might also impact her relationship with her oldest. Ranma had never backed down from his statement that Arya would do whatever Arya wanted, regardless of station or gender, and Catelyn was not looking forward to his reaction when she decided to put a stop to this nonsense.

At the moment, Catelyn moved on searching for her husband, a letter clutched in one hand. News from the South was welcome at times, but this news she knew would change everything and she wasn't certain if it was going to be good or bad change.

Catelyn sighed faintly, wondering why her son was off gallivanting when both she and Ned might have need of his counsel or, at least, support. Ranma rarely gave his opinions on anything outside their family unless asked to, although he had taken to being his father's messenger and voice easily enough, getting real world experience and fulfilling every duty asked of him with flair and energy.

Of course, she smirked, that might be because he knows that he is shirking one particular duty in particular. She was still searching for a suitable wife for her son and had found one or two that looked promising on the surface, if the families weren't too proud to see the merits of at the least looking into the match.

At first, she had thought that possibly marrying him to a Frey might actually be a good idea, but upon consultation with her father and with Ned that idea had been halted in its tracks. She hadn't realized how much bad blood was between her family and the Freys, though she had known of the disdain the northern men had for the family, calling them opportunists and cowards.

Yet if you removed the Freys from the equation, there were no families in the Riverlands of suitable importance that had daughters of the correct age. And all of the families in the North were unsuitable for one reason or another, be it age, no real need to weld their name to the Starks, or other reasons.

The Karstarks, the Reeds, and the Umbers were the only ones to have daughters of the appropriate age. The Karstarks were related already to the Starks from long ago, and their newly reinforced friendship made anything more unnecessary, despite Lord Rickard's ambition. House Umber's girl wasn't from the main line and she was already promised to another. Meera Reed was the right age but the two had met when they were very young and had fallen into the role of cousins easily, much to the later chagrin of Catelyn and Lady Isolde Reed. Ranma however was not going to be willing to change that relationship.

Catelyn found her husband working with his castellan in his office, going over some notes on field production and transportation. She recognized one of them as a note coming from House Reed, stating that the last of the stone taking from the Dread Fort had arrived and work was going to begin on renovating Moat Cailin.

Catelyn frowned at that, not liking the implications and not liking the fact that her advice on what to use the stones of the Dread Fort had been ignored. Catelyn had felt that the stones from the Dread Fort should have been added to either an existing Castle, or to help House Glover renovate their castle's walls. It was well known that Deepwood Motte was an old and poorly designed castle, yet it was an important one despite this, being on the Bay of Ice. It protected what was easily the best landing zones for coming and goings from between the mainland and Bear Island. If anything was going to be defended that should've been, since it was on the shore closest to the Iron Islands.

She did not trust house Greyjoy and the Ironborn to remain loyal to the crown and, in fact, didn't even trust Theon overmuch. Moreover, Catelyn felt that repairing Moat Cailin, which had been allowed to fall into disrepair over the past decade and a bit would send a bad message to those further south, since it was such a powerful defensive position against any threat further south.

She had been overruled by Ranma and Ned however. A survey of both castles had revealed that the Moat was the one most in need of repair and House Glover had been unable to come up with the manpower required to renovate their own castle or even help transport the stones through the wolfswood. Winterfell would have had to supply the workers as well as the money necessary to pay them.

House Reed was able to produce both so long as House Stark dealt with the transportation. Many of the poisonous plants and animals in the swamp of the crannogmen were sold for medicine, bringing in a goodly amount of money, making House Reed much richer than they appeared to outsiders, though they truly had need for little in the way of possessions given their lifestyle. And the transportation would be much easier, since the Kingsroad could be used for the majority of the trip.

Still, Catelyn was worried about how it would be seen by those further south, most especially those who were apparently coming north even now. "My lord," she nodded her head at Eddard, her face serious. "There is a message from King's Landing."

Ned's face gave nothing away as usual but he knew somehow it wasn't good news. He nodded his head to the castellan, indicating he should leave. Catelyn handed the note over quickly and Ned read it silently. He sighed as he sank back into his desk's seat raising his free hand to massage his eyes for a moment. "I take it you have read this?" he asked.

"I have." Catelyn frowned, reaching forward to take his hand gently. "I'm sorry for your loss."

"Jon Arryn dead," Ned muttered. "I know he was old man, but he was still hale and hearty the last time we saw one another. This is a sad day. Have you had word from your sister?"

Catelyn's younger sister, Lysa, had been married to Jon Arryn in an attempt to forge an alliance between the Riverlands and the Vale of Arryn. It hadn't worked as well as it might have, exacerbated because the marriage had borne little fruit, save for one sickly child, and Lysa and Jon's different ages. The fact that Lysa had to marry such an old man and the fact that no love had blossomed between the two was a major point of contention between the two sisters. "I have not. I'll send my condolences but we haven't talked in years. You know she somewhat resents the fact that I am," she smiled as their fingers twined together, "happy in my marriage to you and that it has been so fruitful."

Ned smiled faintly reaching out to take her hand in both of his as she sat down on his desk. "I see. Nonetheless, the king is coming here. We will have to send ravens out telling Ranma and the others to return here to welcome them. It will take the royal party weeks at best, months at worst, to get here depending on how many they bring. Yet for all of that, there is only one reason for that I can think of that would be enough for Robert to come north."

"King Robert means to make you the Kings Hand." his wife replied. "A great honor, though I am uncertain if it is a good idea."

"You do not think that Ranma could handle himself here?"

"I think he most certainly could!" she said angrily then blushed a little shaking her head. "You know what I mean. I am proud of our son, but he is still a young man, with all the impetuosity of the breed. This whole adventure he's on at the moment should be proof enough of that."

Ned frowned, once more wondering if he should share his suspicions about why Ranma had the memories of his past life fueling his abilities, and why he had really gone north, something they had not shared with her for fear of stiffening her resolve against Ranma's going. While reincarnation was a part of the Seven's doctrine, Ranma and Ned were both certain he was here at the will of the old gods, which would not sit well with Catelyn, despite the fact that she had come to at least not look down on the old god religion.

Eventually, he said, "I cannot in good conscience turn it down. Robert is my friend and without Jon there to watch out for him he will be at sea when it comes to politics and running the kingdom. And besides," he said, reaching out to stroke her cheek tenderly, "Ranma will have your counsel here to rely on."

That was said with quite a bit of pride in his voice. No other lady in the northern lands could handle herself as well as Lady Catelyn in the area of land management or politics, and Winterfell and its environment had thrived under the two of them. Indeed, the ideas that she had brought to farming alone was a large advancement. The idea of rotating crops, as they did now, had made the lands his family commanded, as well as those of the vassals that answered to them directly, richer than they had ever been before. They actually produced a bit of a surplus, allowing them to send food elsewhere in the North to lands that didn't have as much arable land such as House Umber or Glover.

"I know," she sighed faintly "but I still worry. And… I have had some thoughts about possible betrothals for our son."

"Oh?" Ned chuckled. "And who exactly are you going to recruit to control our wayward boy?"

Catelyn told him her two best choices and he looked at her in shock. "There is no chance of them agreeing! We aren't wealthy enough to interest the first. Besides, the last time someone from that realm married a northerner, it did not turn out well for either the houses or the individuals. And as for the second, no, just no. The hatred they have for anyone who had anything to do with the rebellion means any marriage into that line would be folly at best."

"I will bow to your experience with those of Dorne, but you cannot think that a single marriage is a good test of such things, Ned. And besides, unless we start looking at much younger or much older ladies, outside of the Freys and the Western Lands there isn't anyone of a suitable rank."

Ned frowned, not liking either option for much the same reason. "I suppose you can pursue this, though I would be astonished if you got a positive response."

"I as well," Catelyn admitted, "but it would not hurt to make inquiries, possibly set up a face to face meeting between the two."

Her husband nodded at that then turned back to his paperwork, and Catelyn excused herself to see to sending out several ravens to various parties.

OOOOOOO

Ranma and his now extremely ragged band of friends continued on their way for another week before they were within sight of Castle Black, the home and headquarters of the Night Watch. All of them, even Smalljon who had actually been here once before with his father, stopped and stared at the sight of the Wall.

A loud horn coming from one of the small towers announced they had been seen and that they were friends, seeing the black wolfs-head banner fluttering in the breeze from Hathan's lance, standing upright by his side.

To say the Wall was massive would be like saying the ocean was wet. It was simply monstrous, made of stone and ice, more resembling a mountain carved semi-smooth by the hands of a god rather than something made by the hands of man. Even from here only Ranma could barely make out the top of the wall, and even he could not make out the buttresses or crenellations, which disappeared into the clouds well above them.

In comparison, Castle Black didn't seem to be a real castle, as it didn't have a wall surrounding it, instead being a series of keeps and towers, all of which, even the largest, was utterly dwarfed by the massive wall behind them. Most of them were sturdy looking and seemed well made, though a few had obviously seen better days. On the southern face of the Wall, was a long wood and pulley elevator, its wooden beams hammered into the ice of the Wall itself. From here, several men could be made out exercising in the courtyard around one of the keeps. Other men had already begun to race to what looked like a stable.

Yet, it was the wall that grabbed their attention. "They say it was raised by Bran the builder," Jon said looking at the Wall in wonder, "our ancestor, Ranma."

Ranma shook his head, pride for his family filling him. "It is an amazing sight." he said, his voice full of awe. Even in his old life he had never seen something that came close to this. It made the portions of the Great Wall of China he had seen seem small and miserly in comparison. In truth, it made anything made by man on Earth seem small.

Osha, however, had a much different reaction to the Wall. She simply glared and spit to one side. The Northerners saw this but ignored it, knowing the wildling disdain for the Wall and those that lived beyond it, who they called 'kneelers'.

The group remained there, staring up at the Wall as three riders approached them quickly.

Ranma smiled faintly as he saw one of them was his uncle Benjen, Master Ranger of the Nights Watch, though all three pulled up sharply in surprise as they came close enough to see how battered the group was. Both Roger and Edd were being carried in a litter between two of the horses and Osha was riding next to Roger. She had taken over looking over their wounds as best she could. Despite their condition and the injuries of the riding wounded, Ranma had set a brisk pace. They hadn't stopped since the battle against the wights and monster giants, crossing nearly half of The Gift in that time.

"Ranma!" Benjen reached down from his saddle to grasp his nephew's hand. The fact that Ranma was on foot didn't bother him, he had seen the almost unnatural endurance the boy had before, though the injuries of his companions were much more worrisome. "What, in the name of the old gods, did you all run into?"

"Uncle." Ranma said, grasping the man's forearm with his good arm. His other arm still hadn't quite healed, though most of the black and blue marks had faded slightly and the bone had been set. For some reason, whatever the club he had been hit by was made of, it seemed to be fighting his ability to heal himself and he could barely force any extra ki into that arm, to help the process. It was still healing but Ranma had no idea what the club could have been made of to create such an effect. "We need to talk to you and Commander Mormont."

Not ten minutes later, Ranma sat down in a somewhat comfortable seat in the commander's office in the Lord Commander's tower, sipping at a very hot mug of tea while Jon and Theon did the same, leaning against the wall behind him. The office was small, dominated by a single wide desk but it had a few chairs with one somewhat good one on the other side of the desk where the Old Bear, Jeor Mormont, sat.

Jeor was a large man, now bent slightly with age, yet still possessing wide shoulders and lively eyes set into a weather beaten face. He had no hair on top of his head but a white and grey beard grew down to his chest. His hands, clasped on the desk in front of him, were large and strong looking despite the signs of age there. All in all, he cut a formidable figure and had an air of command that could be felt by anyone in his presence.

Throughout Ranma's narrative he had remained silent, simply taking it in while Benjen asked a few questions, mostly about the giants and what they had been able to glean from talking to the wildling woman. He sat that way for several minutes after the tale concluded then slowly shook his head. "That is an unbelievable tale young Stark, and I mean that sincerely, in admiration of the fact that you all survived and in disbelief of what you ran into."

"I know sir," Ranma said seriously. "It was near run thing most of the time." And it had been, even for Ranma. Caught by surprise and unable to open up any distance without leaving his friends behind, he had been forced to fight a more constrained battle than he would have preferred. Without ki attacks, it had been damn difficult. Not exhausting really, but tough.

"I'm not doubting that or your word, but then again, I've spent more years than you've been alive up here on the wall, I doubt even many people even here in the North will believe you with only your injuries as proof. And you say the giants or whatever they were decomposed quickly?"

"They came apart almost as soon as we killed them, sir." Jon replied. "I thought that was unusual but there didn't seem to be anything we could do to stop it. And by the time we were ready to go, a lot of the undead bodies were also ash."

From where he was leaning against the wall behind the Lord Commander, Benjen Stark frowned thoughtfully, tugging at his beard, which was rather short, only coming down to the top of his chest but was still completely brown, although it was somewhat unkempt in comparison to Jeor's. Benjen was Ned's younger brother and looked it, having much the same facial features: a long face with high cheek bones and dark grey eyes that could appear blue tinted if he was happy. He was a tall man, though not as broad as Ned was across the shoulders, and seemed built for speed and endurance over strength. His eyes were set deep into a face worn by weather even more than Jeor's, despite being much younger. Even here he wore a longsword at his side.

When he spoke, he seconded his commander's thoughts. "I don't believe even our fellow Night Watch members will believe you ran into a force of the Others, Ranma. I'm not even certain that's what you did, either. I don't know how it could be done, but wildlings could have found something, some way to raise the dead and control them, or perhaps some kind of mind control spell. There are supposedly sorcerers and mages over in the free cities of Essos, possibly one of them has come to the lands beyond the Wall? No, you personally didn't see a White Walker, so you only have supposition, not proof, and as for the undead rising, that is even more unbelievable."

"When you talk to anyone but possibly Greatjon, don't mention the giants and do not, by the old gods, mention your opinion that this is a sign the White Walkers have returned. You'll only make them disbelieve you entirely. Tell them you ran into a trick of the wildlings, some illusion or other that covered their approach and that'll be enough to arouse their interest without arousing their skepticism at the same time. That will be enough for you to rouse the North and get us some aid on the Wall."

Ranma nodded. "Makes sense, I suppose, though I'm not happy about it. Still, I'll talk to my father when I get back and we'll stop in at every Castle we can on the way back. Do you think it might be a good idea to leave our injured here and head back without them? Normally I wouldn't even think it, but I want to get the word out about this and I want supplies, especially, to start heading your way as soon as possible. The Gift is practically empty, there's no way it can support a large force on the Wall."

"True enough." Jeor nodded, smiling faintly. "I'll take whatever help we can get."

"The wildlings have been acting oddly lately, we've seen a lot of movement on their side, especially in larger groups, larger than we've ever seen before in my time as a ranger." Benjen added. "We might be looking at another king beyond the wall and if we are, even without the White Walkers throwing their weight in, we could be in for some rough times."

Jeor nodded grim agreement with his Master Ranger. "The Night Watch is weaker now than it has ever been in my lifetime. But no, I think you should take your wounded with you. The Karstark boy has a concussion but he will survive and Roger Ryswell's ribs are already on the mend, as are all the other cuts and bruises you lot sustained. I wouldn't recommend going very fast for either of them but if you stay here and rest for a few days, they'll be up to riding again."

"Besides, Ranma," Benjen stood moving around the desk and clapping his nephew on the arm, "this gives me the chance to show you lot the Wall." Despite his relatively upbeat attitude, however, Benjen was very worried. The White Walkers had not been seen in millennia, so the odds of this being them were slim. Yet even if this was some sorcerer who was able to mimic their powers somehow, it would be a very bad time indeed for the men of the Wall. He hoped his nephew could convince the Lords of the North of the seriousness of the threat stirring beyond the Wall, because he doubted that without their aid, the Night Watch would be able to withstand the storm he could all too easily see on the horizon.

For the next few days, while Jeor spent time with his granddaughter and sent out orders to the rangers, pulling them back closer to the Wall, as well as to the other two fortresses of the Night Watch, Benjen showed the rest of the wolf-sworn, those that were not convalescing at any rate, the Wall. Every day they went up the elevator (save for Ranma who raced them up the steps, which he felt was damn good training) and were shown the Wall, moving along the top of the massive fortification. The wall was so wide, the entire group could walk side by side along it with room to spare on either side, comfortably away from the drop to the ground so far below. Here and there they came upon ballistae, ranging from catapults to massive crossbows, and there were hundreds of large, man sized pots, ready to be filled with something to dump on any attackers that tried to scale the wall.

Yet, for all the obvious strength of the Wall, it was quite obvious that much of the defenses were in disrepair due to lack of personnel. Once they got more than ten miles from the castle along the Wall, they began to run into ballistae and other defenses that were rotted, falling apart, or simply frozen in place, becoming part of the Wall. Of course, men patrolled the Wall in groups of ten along its entire length, but even so, there wasn't enough of them to do that and get the defenses back in working order. Both Jon and Ranma noticed, also, that most of the ballistae were older styles, not having the range of newer types, and none of them were mobile.

All this, combined with the threat they had run into (or, as Ranma was almost certain, been ambushed by) made certain that all the wolf-sworn knew how important it was to get as much help to the Wall as soon as they could. They also all agreed to not share the true nature of the threat for a time. The fact the wildlings were gathering would be enough to get the North to send aid. After that, they might be able to convince them of the real threat, later.

During this time, the two brothers also talked alone, and Ranma told Jon as much as he could about the vision he had in the godswood. Ranma told him about visions of betrayal, the fact he was fighting humans a lot of the time, and the fact the vision ended with a White Walker staring at him with those glowing blue eyes. Jon agreed that part matched the historical description of the White Walkers, and vowed once more to stand with Ranma come what may. He also demanded they step up his training as soon as they could so he could come closer to matching Ranma's sheer lethality.

The Night Watch Commanders expert opinion was proven correct, and within three days, the group was once more riding out, with Osha still traveling with them. The Wall was no place for a woman, as the song of Brave Danny Flint told anyone who cared to listen. More, she hated the Night Watch with a passion, and had refused to even stay with Jeor himself in his quarters.

Ranma and Jon were at the back of the group, looking down and smiling faintly at their wolves, who both of the young men had taken time over the past few days to get even closer to. Ranma couldn't quite figure out their connection just yet, but he could feel it growing with every passing day He was certain now that Fenris had taken on some aspects of his abilities and maybe a bit of his personality, too. He was already three inches larger tail to nose than Ghost as well as standing a little taller at the shoulders and he could keep up with Ranma on foot for several hours. The wolf was always running around everywhere and seemed to delight in play fighting with Ranma or Ghost.

Jon however soon switched his gaze from the two direwolf pups to staring back over his shoulder at the Wall. Ranma noticed this and nudged his leg. "It was amazing, wasn't it?"

"It was," Jon said softly, "but that wasn't why I was still staring. I just feel as if I'm going to be up here again, sometime. As if my fate is tied to the Wall." He looked down at his brother. "Does that sound odd to you?"

"A little," Ranma laughed, "but not all that much. We both know why of course," he said looking ahead of them where the rest of their party had opened up a bit of a lead on them, "but for now, your fate is tied to mine. Remember what you said, you stand with me. Your fate might be on the Wall, but that will only be because I'm there too."

John nodded seriously and the two brothers clasped hands briefly renewing their vow before racing to catch up with their fellows. None of them noticed a single raven winging its way overhead heading toward Castle Black.

OOOOOOO

"Welcome, your grace." Lord Howland Reed bowed his head, seeming even smaller than he normally would as he stood next to the king on his steed. Like all crannogmen, he was short, wiry ,and somewhat hunched, though the women did not share that last aspect. His clothing was well made, but durable rather than high quality, in colors of green and brown predominantly, able to blend in easily with the swamp of the Neck. He had a short, well-trimmed beard, and his hair was cropped short as well. His eyes were bright and intelligent. His cloak was clasped with a green lacquered pin shaped like a lizard-lion, its back arched and mouth open.

Robert grunted, looking around at Moat Cailin. There was a lot of work being done in the area, several dozen men had stopped their work, repairing and renovating the towers of the Moat with stone, to bow their heads to Robert and his entourage. The Moat had once been a massive castle. It was designed to dominate the causeway, the only route through the Neck that was large enough to be viable for an invading army to use going either way, much like the Twins further south, only more so.

It was possibly one of the three deadliest defensive positions in Westeros, only matched by the Bloody Gate of the Vale and Casterly Rock. There were stronger, larger, and better built castles, but no others whose positions gave them such natural advantages.

Even now with only three large towers, it could hold for years against any army from the south. Each tower could hold two to three hundred soldiers comfortably, including two ballista on each tower. All the towers were situated around the causeway and any army that tried to attack or pass through would be mauled by the defenders. And given the bend in the causeway, no ballista or other siege equipment could be brought to bear on them in turn without being well inside their range.

But most of the rest of the castle had fallen into disrepair, making the Moat vulnerable from the North. Yet, the work being done now was putting two more towers back into working order plus three connecting walls, covering the Moat from the back and western flanks, leaving the only entrance, other than the causeway, the shifting, dangerous trails leading further into the swamp.

Robert took all this in, then turned back to the crannogman. "Ho, Howland. We mean to press on." Robert spat to one side of his horse, away from the crannogman since otherwise that could have been taken as an insult. "The queen is not one to rough it out here with you lot. But I must ask, what's all the work about? Where did the stone come from, it already looks cut?"

Howland blinked. "Your grace, surely you've heard about House Bolton and the destruction of the Dread Fort?"

Robert frowned a moment, then nodded, his face lighting up with humor. "Aye, now that you say it, I remember reading a missive from Ned about that several years ago. Something about Bolton taking the normal raiding too far, and it rolling over his son? Killed the old leech himself didn't he?" Robert laughed loudly and rather abrasively. "So that explains where the stones come from, but why here?"

"We outbid House Glover to be the house given the stone to repair our castle, your grace. We could provide the workmen and pay them while House Glover could only provide the workmen. Also, transporting the stone down to here was much easier than trying to send any large shipments of stone through the wolfswood. We can of course make use of the Kingsroad, they could not."

"I see, a good use of the material, I guess." Robert mused. "Well, if we want to leave the Neck behind before finding an inn, we need to get a move on. We'll you see on our way back." With that the king turned back and rejoined the company.

Howland stared after him thoughtfully, taking in the king's body, the wine stains on his clothing, and the red eyes, shaking his head. He had seen people drinking themselves into early graves before and the king definitely looked like he was doing the same.

The king rejoined the party, telling the others with him about the reasons behind the new construction, but unlike the king, they were much more suspicious. "I cannot understand it my lord, there is no need to repair the Moat unless you are concerned with threats from the south," Varys, the Master of Whispers, suggested.

Varys was a eunuch, fat and bald, always coiffed in purple silk or other outrageous color and smelling of perfume. He was also known as the Spider due to his extensive spy network. Indeed, he was ostensibly along with this trip to check in personally with a few of his 'little birds', his personal spy ring. Considering the rumors that the man had been following up on, Robert had been willing to let him come with them.

"You heard the explanation, Varys." said Robert coldly. "It makes sense, especially if House Glove can't fork out the money."

"Possibly, my Lord." Varys muttered. "Yet, still it seems odd to me."

Robert grunted and ignored him from then on.

Varys frowned, he never truly liked the fact that King was almost immobile on some issues, and far too easily manipulated in others. Robert also had a blind spot when it came to those loyal to him. But he could be right in this, the eunuch thought to himself, after all house Stark has never made any move against the crown, it would not have done so even during the rebellion if not for the death of the Lord and his heir as well as the daughter of the house. Still, it is odd to me.

Such was the nature of those who work in the shadows; they are always on the lookout for other shadows, other plots, and those with dangerous ambitions. It would never occur to the eunuch to just take Lord Reed's words at face value, a problem that would carry over into other matters.

OOOOOOO

The trip back South was as uneventful as the trip up had been, up until they ran into the wildling refugee party. It took them a month to reach the Last Hearth, seat of House Umber, where they were welcomed with open arms.

The Last Hearth was a squat sort of castle, melting into the ground around it, made of stone torn from the earth nearby. House Umber was known for its stocks of wood and stone and their castle showed it, though, thanks to the lack of roads here in the North, they weren't actually able to sell much of it to anyone else. Even getting from the quarries to the Kingsroad was a trial for anything larger than a mule. Their castle was nowhere near as large as some of the castles further south but there was a certain blunt practicality about it, much like Winterfell. Around it in clusters were several small communities, not even villages really, for smallfolk, with a few more scattered through the forests of the Umber lands. People this far north tended to band together like that, there wasn't a single farmstead or woodcutter's cottage in these lands. Too many such had disappeared, sucked up by the wilderness or taken out by wildling raids.

As they came closer they heard the harsh calls and commands from the castle's wall, always at full strength here, unlike Winterfell, which only had fifty men on the walls, most of the time.

Osha looked scornfully at the Castle knowing it to be the main bastion of the Umber kneelers, but she became subdued when Ranma glanced at her. In truth, the wild woman was rather in awe of the young Stark. The speed and monstrous strength he had shown during the battle against the tools of the Others had astonished her.

As soon as they were close enough, someone hailed them from the walls, shouting down. "Smalljon! What the fuck happened to you all, you look as if you've run into an army!"

Smalljon waved his hand up at his father, who had been the one to shout. Indeed, even so many weeks later their clothing and general appearance hadn't changed overmuch and Roger and Edd were still riding gingerly, even though all their other injuries, even Ranma's arm, had healed.

Greatjon Umber was a massive man, taller than even his son, though admittedly, his son still had some growing to do. He stood at around six feet eight, three inches taller than Smalljon, and even broader in the shoulders. He was reputed to be the strongest man in the North lands. In reality, Ranma knew that Smalljon was stronger than his father these days and Ranma was stronger than Smalljon. "We ran into something new father, something that we need to share with you!"

Later that evening Ranma, Smalljon, and Jon met with Greatjon in his Hall, while his servants were preparing a meal for their arrival.

Greatjon was not only a large man, but he had a full head of hair, a massive beard, and big shaggy eyebrows. Everything about him was larger than life really, even his voice. "So," he boomed, "what did you lads run into?"

Ranma cocked his head to one side thinking of whether or not to follow his uncle's advice. He shared a glance with Smalljon and shook his head slightly, something his father missed, thankfully, and decided to follow Benjen's advice. "We ran into a wildling force before we hit the wall." Ranma explained. "They'd hit one of the villages in the Gift, emptied it of people and hid everywhere inside it. We didn't suspect anything for a bit, since we couldn't find any sign of anyone being there, despite having searched a few houses. They attacked us in the middle of the night, and they brought giants." That was close enough to the truth that Greatjon would get most of the pertinent information without getting so much he started to question what really happened.

"We lost both of the Norrey scouts the clan assigned to our expedition, and it was touch and go for several of the others too." Ranma grimaced at that, still not liking the fact he had lost men and the fact they had to burn the bodies. He had sent a raven from the wall to the Norrey clan telling of their heroism, though giving them the same prepared story as he would everyone else.

The older man looked at them in surprise. "Giants, truly? They haven't been seen even close to the Wall in hundreds of years." From anyone else, he would have scoffed at the very idea that the almost mythical giants, who resided in the Frozen Lands beyond even the wildlings land, would ever come south. But he had never known Ranma or Smalljon to tell such a bald faced lie. The rest of the story was much easier to swallow, since the wildlings were masters of ambush. The fact they had wiped out a whole village without word getting out, however, was a worrisome sign of how empty the Gift was becoming.

"I don't know what to tell you." Ranma said shrugging. "One minute all was fine, then there were giants smashing through the back of the house we had taken over for the evening." From there Ranma went back and explained how they had run into the first group of wildlings, who were heading south fleeing from something, he didn't specify what, letting Greatjon come to his own conclusions.

"So something is stirring behind the Wall." Greatjon muttered shaking his head. "That is fell news."

"Yes," Ranma answered crisply, "and it is for that reason that I want you to spread the word that something is going on with the wildlings, we may be facing another King Beyond the Wall here. The Night Watch is weak now, weaker than they've been in a hundred years, and commander Jeor needs all the aid we can send him. You'll start the process, both people and food. The Gift is nearly empty, the wildlings seem to be able to get small forces around the wall, and without the Gift the Night Watch can't sustain itself, unless we all send aid."

Greatjon leaned back in his large chair, scoffing. "You may be your father's heir boy, but you don't order me."

"Yes," Ranma said coldly, "I do. Winter is coming, and we must prepare." His hard blue eyes held the older man's.

Eventually Greatjon looked away. "I won't be alone in this, just the first?"

"Yes," Ranma replied. "We'll stop at every hold along the way we can and I'll be sending Edd home from here to Karhold to get them moving, as well."

"How much of my ready force do you think we should send?" Greatjon asked now past the posturing. The boy had proven time and time again that he wasn't someone to cross and always met such challenges head on, just like he should. Greatjon approved of that.

"I'd like you to send half, you keep four hundred men, yes? Send two-hundred, that'll leave you with more than enough to guard your castle, and give the Night Watch a decent addition for their forces. If every lord, major and minor, can send half of his ready men up there, then that should be enough. Hell," Ranma laughed sharply, "the Wall is such a good defensive location that one man is worth a thousand attackers. Though I've also asked my uncle to make certain that word is sent to every Castle in the North if any large contingents of wildlings approach. If we are facing a King Beyond the Wall, their numbers will be staggering, plus with this new ability to get forces large enough to be a threat around the Wall, we might need a defense in depth as well. With the Gift as it is, any supplies we send will have to be well defended."

It was actually that suggestion that had made the commander unable to send a raven after Ranma and his group, having used all his ravens up sending the news to the other lords of the North.

"I'll send my men out in the morning, with my uncle Mors in command. He'll take orders from Jeor easily enough being of an age with him, and he has a hatred of the wildlings that burns bright in him." Greatjon nodded his head then smiled suddenly, his whole face creasing around it. "You've your father's way about you, lad, both your take charge attitude and seeing true to the crux of the problem."

Ranma shrugged, looking a little embarrassed, and Greatjon guffawed, slapping him on the shoulder. "Go on lad, at least we can set you on your way with a hot meal and good night's sleep."

Ranma feasted well that night with his friends, of whom Smalljon was going to stay here and help his father, while Edd rested for some more days before heading home with a small escort. In fact, Smalljon was probably going to be put in charge of the wagons and two-hundred or so smallfolk that would eventually go north. This would be the first small caravan that would be sent, but within four months the Wall would be strengthened massively.

The very next day, the group rode out again, leaving Smalljon behind them with many clasps of farewell. The plan was to head to Hornwood, through the ex-Bolton lands, then send Hathan home to White Harbor with the news from there, while Daryn would remain with his family at Hornwood. The others would continue on, returning to Winterfell. There Ranma would speak to his father and the two of them would send out messengers to rouse the rest of the noble houses and prepare their bannermen.

A week later as they rode, or ran in Ranma and the direwolves case, they came upon a hill that overlooked the site of where the Dread Fort once stood.

Osha had breathed a sigh of relief as soon as they were out of the Umber lands, knowing them for the most implacable of enemies and grateful to have been under Ranma's protection during their stay. Yet, now she was looking around with wide eyes. She and Jon often spent time conversing, Jon getting better at the old tongue while teaching her their own in turn and he filled her in on what had happened here. Once she learned this had been the flayed man's land and what had happened to them, she was relieved beyond all measure. Umbers would kill or rape you; what the flayed men did was worse by far.

Ranma pulled the horse he had been given by Greatjon momentarily, looking towards where the Dread Fort had stood. The others left him to it until he shook his head and moved to join them. The majority of the stone had been sent South, but two minor lords, answering to Hornwood and Umber, had their longhouses expanded and built up in turn. As the Dread Fort had never been designed to house any smallfolk, the impact on the people of the region was minor, save for one or two houses that had shared Bolton's inclinations, who were most put out by their new lords. When they took to banditry to express this feeling Greatjon had responded by removing their heads for them and adding their holdings to other houses in the area with Ned Stark's approval.

All that remained of the Dread Fort was the godswood, now standing free of any man made walls. It had grown in the past few years, almost mystically fast, to completely cover the area previously occupied by the castle. Nor was that the only change. The heartwood in the center of the godswood had once looked like a flayed man's face, constantly weeping sap. Now however for some reason the sap had dried up and the face, which had seemed to be screaming in agony before, was now smiling. Ranma had seen that once a few years ago, and the sight had made him smile.

Now, however, he frowned as a thought came to him. "Does anyone know what happened to Domeric anyway?"

Daryn shrugged. "He went across the sea to the free cities of Essos. That was about, what, two years ago, I think."

"Ah," Ranma said nodding, "I'd wondered. I wasn't exactly fond of him, he was a nice enough guy but way too interested in putting me in song and story."

They all laughed and he growled at them then looked down at Fenris who had imitated the sound. The puppies could now run along with the horses and him for half a day before having to ride and their endurance was building daily. Still, he knew that Fenris was done for the day and he leaned down, allowing the pup to leap into his hands. Fenris licked his face and Ranma chuckled, pulling out a bit of chicken, which the two shared, as Ranma made plans on how to train Fenris and figure out what the hell their connection was.

OOOOOOO

Domeric Snow, as he rather fondly called himself after Lord Stark's decree that the Bolton line was dead, loved the bard's life. He sang for his supper, he traveled and saw new and interesting places, and he had no ties to the land of his birth or his father. Here in the cities of Essos, he was known as Domeric, the Crooked Hand, due to his hand where the skin had grown back to look stiff and inflexible. Yet, for all that, it slowed neither his sword nor his harp playing and his wits were still as sharp as they ever were, tempered now by the memories of betrayal and personal suffering. Domeric had made his way from city to city, sampling each in turn, but not finding anything (or anyone) that could compel him to stay. He was always more interested in what lay just beyond the horizon than what was right in front of him.

Right now he was in Pentos, a city where life was based off of the golden rule: he who has the gold makes the rules. The rich magisters ran everything, using a puppet prince to add a bit of theater to their iron grip but nothing more than that. Rules and laws only mattered to those not rich enough to bribe their way out of trouble or pay to have the laws changed. Case in point: there were not supposed to be any slaves here, but the rich had servants who wore bronze collars and had as little rights as slaves.

He looked up slightly, letting his eyes rake over the young man and younger girl who had just turned onto the street where he was singing in front of a medium sized crowd. Both were dressed in ragged cloaks covering them from head to toe, yet, a flash of platinum still could be seen underneath their hoods.

Domeric had written several new songs and many of them, especially his masterpiece, the Ballad of the Young Wolf, were always well received. Of course he had changed a few things for the Ballad, making his own part in that conflict into a maiden to add some romance to it. And he had kept his promise to young Ranma. In the song, Ranma had flowing hair, true, but it was his normal black. His eyes had needed no embellishment, and many a girl had tittered about those 'deep sapphire orbs'.

Like all experienced bards, Domeric was able to play and sing while keeping his attention on other matters and he watched the two silver-blond haired siblings (With that hair, who else could it be but the Beggar King and his sister?) moving down the street even as he played the 'Ballad of the Young Wolf. They stopped, however, at the edge of the crowd around Domeric. From underneath her hood, the sister smiled faintly at the current tale of heroism Domeric's harp was playing, while the older brother was staring at him with a burning intensity, a look that somewhat worried Domeric.

They waited until the song ended then, when Domeric bowed and told the crowd that was it for the morning, the older sibling began to move through the dispersing crowd. Soon he stood before the bard and spoke abruptly, his voice even and cultured, belying his ragged clothes. "Your voice has the tone of a Westerosi, be that true? Have you any news from Westeros?"

"Aye, a man of the North I am. Domeric Snow at your service, formerly of house Bolton." Domeric bowed extravagantly. "What kind of news are you interested in, scion of house Targaryen?" At the young man's sudden sharp glare, he shrugged. "Who else has hair or eyes that color, Lord Viserys?

"Bolton?" The young girl looked up. She must have been all of fifteen, if that. She gave the impression of being shy and mousy in demeanor, yet her general intelligence shown through those violet eyes. "Then that tale you just sung, it was true?" At her brothers glare, the girl hunched her shoulders and backed away, pulling her hood further down to cover her face.

A face, Domeric could see now that they were standing in front of him, that was quite beautiful, if too young for his tastes. Still he answered her question readily enough. "Aye lady, 'tis true as death, t'was a tale of the death of my former house and good riddance besides. What they found in the hidden halls of the Dread Fort." Domeric shook his head, shivering theatrically. It had been years after all and he had become used to the memories of that time of his life, both what happened to him and the sights of the skins, hanging in the air of his father's dungeons that they had found after sacking the fort. "Yet, let us not dwell on such things, again, what kind of news are you interested in?"

The older boy continued to glare at his sister for a moment then turned back to Domeric. "You follow house Stark then, the traitors. Why should I listen to you?"

"Because you came up to me, my lord. And the Starks were no more traitors than the Mad King Aerys was sane. No family could have allowed his horrible murder of its lord and heir to go unpunished, to say nothing of the young lady of the house being kidnapped by Rhaegar."

The younger man snarled while the girl gasped in shocked incredulity. But it was Viserys who had the most violent reaction. He reached under his cloak and pulled out a long dagger. "You lie and I'll gut you for besmirching the honor or my family!"

Domeric quickly caught the younger man's wrist with his good hand, holding the blade still. "Calmly, lord, calmly. I said not a word that was untrue, and every man and woman in Westeros, aye and maybe more than most here in Essos, know the tale by heart. If you react so badly to all such inconvenient truths, then how will you convince any to serve you?"

"They should serve me because it is my right to sit on the Iron Throne!" Viserys gritted his teeth, trying to free his hand but having little success. "The Baratheon usurper has no right to it!"

"That at least is true, if by right, you mean by blood. Yet, Baratheon won the throne the way your own ancestors made it, by killing and forcing any who stood against him into submission. That is not to say that he is a good king, because he is not. I have heard many things in my travels both on Westeros and here in Essos, and I know that for truth. Now, have you calmed down enough for me to let you go? Or should I turn this blade of yours on you, then walk away and let your sister, I believe I have heard her name given as Daenerys, to her own devices?", Dominic asked, his voice showing no strain at holding the younger man in place. Indeed for all his bluster, the boy had no muscle to speak of and was obviously untrained in matters of combat. Domeric, on the other hand, was reckoned a fell blade and his undamaged hand was his dominant one.

Viserys frowned, then regained control of his anger, that pure violent anger that he knew proved he was a true Targaryen. He nodded his head sharply. "Very well, I will hear what you have to say. Tell me anything you know about the court and Kings Landing."

Domeric kept from rolling his eyes with difficulty, wondering how the hell someone dressed in rags and who had next to nothing to his name, no swords at his back and no real power base, could ever sound so imperious. "Well, your highness, if you are interested in such as that, the first thing you must know is that the Hand of the King, Jon Arryn, is dead. He was an old man but the suddenness of his death is astonishing, and possibly suspicious."

"If you have news of Essos, sir bard, then pray come into my home and share it in more seeming environs." a new voice interrupted.

Domeric turned and looked toward the speaker, nearly bursting out in laughter at the sight of the man. The man was obese, so over weight, it was a surprise he could move under his own power at all. He was also the proud owner an oiled, forked yellow beard and beady, yet intelligent eyes set into a fat, florid face.

It was his obvious wealth, however, that stopped Domeric's laughter in his throat. The man had a ring worth a normal man's yearly wages on each of his fat fingers and he had jewels and golden thread worked throughout his red and gold shirt; a vast expanse of silk that again was so expensive Domeric could have made enough money off it to live for years without needing to raise his voice in song even once. On either side of the man were two very competent looking bodyguards, each with long spears in hand and short swords on their belts, wearing quarter plate armor.

The man continued to speak, looking now at Viserys, his voice taking on an buttery tone. "I had heard news of you arriving in the city, my lord, but had no idea you were so close, else I would have had my manse to meet you all the sooner. I am Illyrio, I'm glad you got my message. Come, let us take this bard inside and sit down to eat while he tells his news."

Domeric knew he didn't actually have a choice, but then again this looked to be interesting. In many ways, he had somewhat tired of the lonely life of the road and being adviser to these two young dragons looked to be fraught with peril and daring do, all of which he could easily turn to song. So he merely nodded, smiling faintly. "That sounds like a lovely idea, magister, so long as I am invited to sup as well?"

Illyrio laughed, loud and false to Domeric's ears, before turning to lead the way back to his house. As they fell into step behind him, the young girl looked up at the bard. "Is, is what you said about King Aerys true?" She whispered fear and revulsion in her eyes. "Is he really called the Mad King?"

Domeric paused, looking down at the girl thoughtfully. "I was a young squire in the Stormlands when the Rebellion began, lady. I well remember the reasons behind it, the murders and the use of fire on innocents, young and old, lord and smallfolk alike no matter the infraction. All that is public record in Westeros, lady. You have no need to take my word for it, simply find a recent history book or scroll. Always remember, if someone tells you something, make certain it is the truth and do not take anything at face value. I will say that when he took the throne, Aerys was well liked, even loved. But by the time he was slain through Lannister treachery, aye, he was hated and reviled. Time and power lass, can change many a man or even a woman."

Daenerys nibbled at her lower, lip taking in his words, but the moment was broken when her older brother shouted for her to come and walk with him. Domeric looked after the young girl thoughtfully, then at the guard who had taken position at the back of their small group, shrugged his shoulders, and followed the Targaryen siblings into the house, wondering what the future held for him.

OOOOOOO

The trip continued, and a few weeks leisurely travel later they arrived at Hornwood castle where they were greeted with open arms by Lord Halys, as well as his Lady Donella.

Donella was older than Catelyn, pushing fifty years old, but despite that she was still beautiful. She had straight black hair falling down her back with only a hint of gray to it, a curvaceous body, and a beautiful face, which hid a witty brain besides. As such, her husband was the envy of many a lord in the North. Ranma had heard that there had been many men of the North trying to woo Donella Manderly when she was younger and could well believe it looking at her. She was also like Catelyn in that she was a decent enough administrator, able to help her husband manage their lands effectively.

"You are welcome here young lords, though I'm afraid you should not tarry," Halys said holding out his hand to Ranma and the others one after another as they jumped down from their saddles, before pulling his son into a hug. "We have fresh horses for you and you must hurry to Winterfell."

"Why?" Ranma asked, cocking his head. "Has our news gone before us?"

Halys shook his head. "No, we have had no ravens from House Umber or the Wall, what is your news? But in any event news has come from Winterfell. The King is riding for Winterfell even as we speak, he's halfway to Castle Cerwyn by now going by the last urgent raven we had. The King's Hand, Jon Arryn, has died, and he needs Lord Stark's advice on who to choose to replace him."

Those words sent a cold chill up Ranma's spine. For some reason, something inside him was telling him that this was going to change everything. "I see, and how long do we have before he arrives?"

Halys laughed. "As I said, the last raven put him halfway to Cerwyn castle, which was several days past. You'll probably arrive quite a bit later than him, and you'll need to make your excuses for that. Your father, in his last message, said that he will be handing you over to your mother for 'proper chastisement'."

"But we never got the message!" Ranma said, a little panicky now. His father wasn't much of a disciplinarian unless the issue Ranma and the others were being disciplined for was physical. Then he very thoroughly shouted at them, raising his hands very rarely. In fact, the only time Ned had raised his hand was to Jon and Theon because one of their fights had occurred in the wine cellar and had ruined several hundred gold dragons worth of wine, including several bottles that had been laid down on the day of his younger sister's birth.

The lady Catelyn on the other hand… She made you think you were the smallest, stupidest boy in the world. She never raised her voice, she was simply very, very condescending. Ranma couldn't quite describe it, but it made him feel small, silly, and foolish. It was never fun.

"And since when has a mother ever been moved by such a logical argument?" Halys laughed, ignoring his wife's look of mock indignation. "You're in for it lads."

Theon groaned his head in his hands. "We are so dead. Your lady mother is going to skin us alive."

"She can't do that." Jon said shaking his head, pointedly not looking at Donella, who he had developed a childhood crush for years ago that he hadn't quite gotten over yet. "Flaying and skinning are both outlawed, remember. No she'll just cut out our tongues and pickle them."

Ranma shook his head at their antics but there was definitely very real fear there. "Not if we can get there fast enough."

"Lad, you're dreaming." Halys laughed. "The King is but four days away, at best, and it's the better part of two weeks journey from here to Winterfell even if you switch horses and ride as fast as you can."

"I aim to try it anyway, get those horses of yours out here, Lord Hornwood." he laughed, clapping the older man on the shoulder. "Your son will tell you what we ran into," he looked over at Daryn, who was looking rather relived at the need to stay and not having to face the Lady of Winterfell, "that'll give you all the information you need about our news."

"So you did run into something?" Donella asked looking between them while Halys cocked an eyebrow at his son.

Daryn nodded. "Yes, we did, which is why we convinced Greatjon to send half of his ready men to the wall. He's also sending out notes to all of his vassals, telling them to ready themselves to be called up at a moment's notice."

Halys' eyes widened and then he looked at his son through narrowed eyes. "That is grave news, what did you find to warrant such an action?" Behind him several stablemen had already pulled out horses, two for everyone continuing to Winterfell, exchanging their weary horses with fresh ones plus a remount. Hathan would remain here for a few days, allowing his own excellent mount to recover before heading back home to White Harbor to carry their news.

"The wildlings," Ranma said, nodding to toward Osha, who glared back at all the people sending glares her way, "seem to have found some new tricks and were able to get a pretty decent force around the Wall. Your son will tell you more, but for right now, we need to be on our way."

"Are you sure you want to take her with you?" Halys looked at the wild woman askance. "We could hold her here for a time then send her to Winterfell after the king leaves."

"No," Roger said quickly, "I'm to take her with me. My father might need more convincing after all then you or Lord Stark. He is most set in his ways and often doesn't believe anything he personally doesn't see."

"And hasn't had the opportunity to meet the young Lord Stark." Halys muttered to himself.

Ranma waved away the stable hand leading two horses toward him, telling him to hand the reins to Theon and Roger. "You're not seriously thinking of running the whole way are you?" Theon asked. "Even you can't keep up with horses galloping at full stride for that long."

The Stark heir chuckled. "We'll have to see about that, won't we? Let's go!" With that Ranma broke into a run, heading down the road that would take them toward Winterfell, eventually. And as the hours went on and Ranma continued to run keeping up with the galloping horses, Theon was forced to change his tune.

OOOOOOO

Far South of Winterfell, a raven sent by Catelyn had arrived and a woman who was called by many the Queen of Thorns was contemplating how to reply to the surprising missive.

"You can't be serious, grandmother! The North, it's so cold, so lifeless! More importantly, the North is the weakest realm in terms of money and men. Surely, there are better options!" The young girl who spoke thus was a true beauty, with long brown hair tied in a loose cascade that lay on one shoulder going down one side of her chest. She was currently dressed in an elaborate and extremely well-made gown of green, with rose highlights going down in two lines down her sides and on either sleeve. Her face was beautiful and her eyes were normally snapping with good humor, adding to a somewhat flirtatious air she put off. That humor was not visible at the moment, and she stared at her grandmother in shock.

"Enough of that, granddaughter. You will do as you're told!" The woman who spoke was short of stature, bent and wizened with age, and with a face best described as wrinkly. Yet she carried an air of authority, an intelligence that few could match, and her eyes were sharp and cold. This was a woman to command respect even from her own family and her name was Olenna Redwyne.

"I see no reason why my daughter should marry one of the Starks! After all, we've been pushing for marriage between her and Renly Baratheon, which would put us much closer to the throne!" Mace Tyrell was a forty something- man who had once been powerfully built, yet, was now trending to fat. Though his face was hard, there was something a little soft about the set of his eyes, about the way he stood. This was a man who despite his position as Lord Paramount of the Reach, arguably the largest and most powerful realm of Westeros, was used to following orders.

"I know." said Olenna, nodding her head. "I thought it a good idea at the time, yet we all know where Renly's real interests lie. Besides, mayhap Loras alone can be surety of our alliance." She barked a laugh and Margaery frowned slightly, but did not comment on the truth of the matter as Olenna went on. "Even so, it would have been a good match, yet things are happening in the realm, as you would know if you kept your eyes and ears open!"

Mace flushed under her gaze and she went on, speaking now as if she was talking to a rather small and idiotic child, which in her opinion she was. Mace had no political acumen at all, making him less than useless at anything beyond waving around his sword and bellowing threateningly. "John Arryn is dead. That means there is an opening for the most powerful position in the realm, one the King no doubt means to fill with Ned Stark. Now, let me tell you a thing or two about Ned Stark. He is honorable to a fault, straightforward, compassionate despite the Stark Stone Face of his, deadly with a blade and with an army. And utterly unprepared for life at court! He has not the skills necessary to survive there, where the most dangerous blades are the ones that are formed, not from steel, but from words and gold. Yet for all that, he is dogged and determined, and as long as he has the king's ear, which he always will, have no doubt of it, he can do quite a lot of damage to anyone who crosses him or the king. This might be enough to cause a shift in power from the growing reach of House Lannister. On top of that, Robert has always wanted to bond his house to that of the Starks, in memory of his dead love, more than anything else."

The old woman sneered, having many questions about the strength of that love, as well as whether or not Robert had ever been the sort or could become the sort to love a single woman. There were, perhaps, a dozen bastards born to the king, including one in the Vales who had been conceived during the time when Robert was affianced to Lyanna Stark.

She continued, pushing those thoughts away as unimportant. "Myrcella is too young, especially since Joffrey is not yet wedded. Yet, Joffrey is almost of an age with the oldest daughter of House Stark, which means the Starks will become even closer to the crown."

And who knows, she thought to herself,keeping this thought from her face with the ease of long practice, with a father-in-law like Ned maybe Joffrey could possibly be made into something less of the disaster that I envision him to be in the future. Though, it's not as if his father has been all that good a king, either. But Ned is a different matter entirely, if he can perhaps learn the rules of the political arena.

"Now think of it, we can wed our power to the Stark's growing power. Or," she said, smiling cunningly, "we may be able to show Joffrey and his mother at the very least that there are better options closer to home than Sansa Stark."

"You mean for me to go there and see if I can attract Joffrey?" Margaery pursed her lips distastefully. "There's been so many rumors about him grandmother, I'm not quite sure if that is any better an option for me."

"You will do what is best for the family." her grandmother growled and the younger woman backed away slightly. Yet, unlike her father in similar circumstances, she didn't look away, merely staring back at her grandmother. This earned her a slight nod of approval from the old woman, but Olenna went on inexorably. "Things are happening, the balance of power in the realm is shifting, and we need to be in a position to capitalize on it one way or another."

Both Mace and his daughter frowned, but nodded eventually and the woman turned to a table, with parchment and ink on it, to write the missive that her son would then copy and send off. She wondered whether or not Ned was ready to play the game of thrones, but in the end that hardly mattered. Olenna and her family were ready, and they would wring what they could from whatever advantage came their way.

OOOOOOO

Ned looked around at his somewhat depleted family, shaking his head. The missive from Hornwood had arrived a day ago, but even as fast as his son and the others with him could move he doubted that they would arrive in time. It was over a week's travel between here and Hornwood for a small group like that, and there was only so much you could do by continuing to move even at night unless you wanted to kill your horses. And now it's too late, he thought to himself rather irritably. While he had made the decision to let his wife handle chastising their sons and wayward ward, he also decided at that moment to put his own coins into the equation.

How dare Ranma disobey me. he thought to himself grimly. I told him not to go past the Last Hearth. And instead I find that they bypassed the Umber castle on their way up and went straight to the Wall, then went to house Umber's seat after? To be fair, this alone wouldn't bother Ned, especially not given the news the raven returned with, if the King wasn't arriving within the next hour and his son and heir would not be here to greet him, a grave insult. Ned suddenly realized that someone who was here, was missing and he frowned. "Where is Arya?"

"She ran off, father." Sansa replied, shaking her head at her younger sister's stupidity. She also hoped that Arya wouldn't make their entire family look like bumpkins in front of the king and his family. She had heard lovely tales of how handsome the prince was and wanted to impress him if she could. To that end, she was wearing one of her best dresses, a black and blue dress lined with white fur, and her hair was done in an intricate twirl down her back. "She refused to get ready with the rest of us."

Bran suddenly laughed and pointed. Rickon, who was standing next to his older brother, grinned too, waving his hand wildly.

Marching across the open field of the courtyard was a very short soldier, and Ned shook his head. He moved over quickly, catching the young guard by the back of the shirt. "And where do you think you're going dressed like that young lady?"

Arya pouted at being caught but stared up at her father innocently. "I'm going to join the guard for the king's arrival father."

Ned reached down and took the helmet off his daughter's head, filching her spear in the same movement, though where Arya had come up with that was a mystery. "Do you think you can make this young lady presentable quickly, my love?" he said turning to his wife.

"I can certainly try." Catelyn said grimly taking her daughter sharply by the shoulder. "We will be having words young lady, whatever you might think, there is a time and place for such things, and this is not the time.

Aria quailed a little under her mother's gaze but stared back defiantly. She hated doing all this women's stuff, and without Ranma or Jon here, she had lost her closest allies in her ongoing war against them. Arya just couldn't understand why she couldn't be what she wanted to be, why she had to pretend to be this lady of the court or whatever, when she was anything but. Arya scowled further seeing her older sister's smirk of triumph.

However, she didn't have any chance of escape and not ten minutes later, she was back dressed in the dress that her mother had originally laid out for her. She stood at the end of the row of children scowling angrily, wondering where her big brothers were, and Theon as well. Though in truth, Arya wasn't as fond of him as she was of her brothers. Of course that made sense, since she was related to them and Theon really didn't make that much time for her.

Ned sighed sadly when an outrider he had sent out returned, telling them of the king's approach, and still there was no sign of his sons.

OOOOOOO

"Look, see there's Winterfell, and is that the king's party just coming into view? Who's the fat guy at the front? And you said we wouldn't make it!"

"Hate you so much right now! And that might be the king you're speaking of, worthless piece of sea jetsam! Actually, please, say that to his face, I would love to see you without your head at the moment."

"If I could feel my legs I would kick you! And if my thighs never recover I'm going to curse you!"

From the back of another horse there was only the sound of snoring while the two women in their party were awake, yet far too tired to join in. Osha had thought she was tough, the veteran of many battles and a life spent in the wilds of beyond the Wall. But the pace they had set after leaving Hornwood had beaten her thighs and back to mush.

Ranma, for it was indeed he who had spoken first, laughed at Theon and Jon's words. "Ha! Listen, I'm going on ahead, you all keep moving, but no offense but my own presence is going to be much more sorely missed if I'm not there than any of you." Ignoring their gaping faces Ranma leaned down, picking up Fenris who had been running with him for the last full day. Then with a final wave of his hand, he sped up, leaving his friends and brother behind with their almost exhausted horses.

OOOOOOO

Ten minutes later, not a minute after the watchers on the wall had spotted him, Ranma charged through the Hunter's Gate, dropping off Fenris in the kennels with Hodor, the gentle giant that was one of the castle's better stable hands. After exiting the kennels out into the courtyard, Ranma skidded to a halt as he saw the group already prepared and waiting for the King.

Catelyn and Eddard were both staring at him, their faces showing something of an inner turmoil. They were happy to see him of course, but his timing was horrible. He looked as if he hadn't shaved or bathed in months and was altogether rather scraggly, in no way ready to see the king. His younger siblings, of course, had no such qualms, and were simply smiling at him in welcome, happy to see him after nearly three months, with only Sansa seeming at all dismayed about his appearance.

Ranma quickly ran up to them and said, "Mother, father, do I have time to…"

"Barely." Ned said sharply. "I'm not even certain how you got here, it's nearly two weeks from Hornwood to here even with remounts."

Ranma shrugged. "I ran, the others galloped and they all had remounts. We didn't stop. They even strapped themselves to their saddles when they were in danger of falling asleep and we kept going every night. I left them about fifty minutes ago."

Ned nodded. "After we have given our greetings, I will send a group of guards out to escort them in. And we will be talking later."

"Yes, father, we will."

Something in their son's tone made both his parents look at him sharply, and Ned looked at him with one eyebrow raised, wondering if more was going on than what the raven carried message had told him. But Ranma merely nodded his head firmly and Ned sighed. "For now, run and get a shave and clean clothing, one of the servants will prepare both for you." Indeed two servants had already broken off from the crowd of them waiting outside the keep and hurried inside.

Ranma nodded, racing over and hugging Arya and his younger brothers before winking at Sansa. "I'd hug you too dear sister, but I'm afraid I'd get your nice dress all sweaty."

Sansa scoffed at him, not liking how wild looking Ranma seemed at the moment. "After you take a bath, maybe I will deign to allow you to give me a hug."

At that, Ranma chuckled and ran inside leaving the two parents to stare at one another. "Well," Ned said, a little weakly, "he's here at least." Catelyn rolled her eyes, but ten minutes later their son was back, just in time to slip into the line again. Now shaved, clean looking, and dressed in good leathers, a white jerkin, and dark grey coat lined with wolf's fur. He exchanged a quick hug with Sansa, now that he was clean, ruffling his two brothers' hair fondly before standing at attention next to his parents.

OOOOOOO

Queen Cersei Lannister hated the North. She hated its ruggedness, she hated the trees, she hated the fact that it snowed here even in the summer. She hated the people, rustic idiotic peasants, the lot of them. She hated the roads; despite the comfort of her specially made carriage, the trip was hideously uncomfortable without nearly enough creature comforts. And above all, she hated the Starks. Too cold by far, too honorable, too stupid! Moreover, every time she heard that name Cersei was reminded of why her husband never truly loved her, never committed fully to their marriage. No, he was more in love with a dead woman than her. Well I've had my revenge there.

She looked across at her children, all of them hers and none of them Robert's, smirking internally. No one seemed to be able to see the truth right in front of them, the truth being so terrible, and in the end Jon Arryn was the only one to realize anything. He was dead now, and hopefully with him, the chance of anyone discovering the truth about her children.

Myrcella glanced at her mother looking at her older brother and shuddered a little. She was a very bright young girl of ten, one had to be in the court after all, and over the last year she had begun to see things in her older brother that she hadn't noticed before, especially given the way he treated her and Tommen. She winced a little as the carriage went over a bump aggravating her badly bruised ankle. But she kept the expression off her face, not wanting to let on that Joffrey had hurt her stamping on her ankle like this morning when no one was looking. He had begun to do things like that, hurting her and Tommen in small ways whenever he could get away with it.

Yet, she knew nothing would come of complaining to either parent. The king wouldn't care, their father spent as little time with any of them as he could. And the queen was even worse.

He might not have meant to do it, after all, or at least that's what their mother would say, just children playing. Their mother always took Joffrey's side over everything. Joffrey was the golden boy, the heir to the throne and thus more important than either Tommen or Myrcella.

Soon enough they were in sight of Winterfell and she stuck her head out the window despite her mother's hissed injunction to act appropriate to their station, and looked at the castle.

There was something solid about Winterfell. It was big, larger than the Red Keep she thought, and there was nothing about its exterior that hinted at anything but it's simple purpose, defending those within. Yet even so, there was something majestic about the sight, coming out of the mist, situated there among the hills and forests like it had always been there, simply a part of the landscape.

From the head of the column of one hundred forty men-at-arms and sixty five servants, Robert laughed. "Winterfell!" he roared out, laughing, "by the Seven, it's been too long."

OOOOOOO

Not five minutes after Ranma joined them, Robert descended from his horse with difficulty and Ned took a moment to examine his friend, sighing internally as he saw what the years had done to him. Where before he had been a heavy, muscular man, now Robert was simply heavy. He still looked somewhat muscular, but his beer belly was huge, sticking out over his waistline by a wide margin. His eyes were bleary from drink, his hands looked slightly palsied, and his good tunic, possibly made specially to make him look less fat, was dotted with wine stains.

In stark contrast, the Queen, as she got out of the carriage, looked as if time had not affected her at all from the last glimpse of her Ned had seen. Cersei's blonde hair fell in waves down her back and her dress was magnificently embroidered, all in white of course, as well as the white pelt of some animal or another on her shoulders and back for warmth here in the North.

He turned back to the King as Robert walked up to him Ned bowed formally. "Your grace, Winterfell is yours."

Robert looked at his old friend and said bluntly, "You've gotten fat."

At Ned's back his wife and children looked a little shocked as did members of the king's party. But Ned merely looked the King up and down, one eyebrow interrogatively. Robert laughed, then the two men hugged like brothers, clapping one another on the back.

Ranma rolled his eyes, but inside he was thinking, This is the King? He was not impressed. Ranma hadn't been impressed by much he had learned about Robert Baratheon, certainly not after Robert had taken the throne at any rate. He really wasn't much of a King. The tales that reached the North told nothing about what he truly did as a king other than putting down the Greyjoy rebellion. All they spoke of was his drinking and whoring. To Ranma, raised as a martial artist and steeped in the Code, then raised as a Stark and knowing his duty to family and those who looked to him for protection, this was not what a king should be known for. Where were the new laws, new public works, hell, new taxes? But no, Robert Baratheon, the man who had led the successful rebellion against the Targaryen Mad King, was not known for anything but his drinking, whoring, and past glories.

"My Lord," Ned said after releasing the King from their hug, "My children and my wife Catelyn."

"Cat," Robert said pulling her into a hug.

Catelyn returned it demurely. Ned turned and said "And these are my sons, my heir Ranma, Bran, and Rickon and my daughters Sansa and Arya."

Robert grunted at them all, giving a cursory glance to the daughters though his eyes seemed to linger on Arya for a moment before he shook it off. "Where is she?" he said, "It's been years and I want to pay my respects."

Ned understood immediately. "Lyanna is in the crypt of course, where she wanted to be. But that can wait."

"No, now." Robert growled.

The Queen came forward. "Husband, surely this can wait until we're all settled in, it's been a fatiguing journey and…"

Robert turned to Cersei and gave her a glare which shut her up quickly, then turned and moved away. "Now, Ned!"

Ranma's father shrugged apologetically at the Queen and went off after his friend.

As soon as the pair was gone, Catelyn moved to step forward, but Ranma shook his head, speaking before she could. "And that is our king? My deepest sympathies, milady." He said, bowing from the waist towards the Queen.

"Ranma!" Catelyn scowled, horrified by the lack of respect. "You cannot speak of the king like that!"

Ranma shrugged. "I don't turn a blind eye to what I see, mother." He looked past the queen when he saw the children getting out of the carriage. The oldest, with short blond hair, green eyes set into what Ranma would call a WT (weak type) bishounen face with a small pouty sort of mouth, was the first to get out during the king's greeting. He had been looking around somewhat disdainfully, but seemed to have schooled his expression and was now studying the Starks, or possibly just one of them, with interest. The little boy, who had the same blonde hair and same hair style as the older boy, was looking around with great interest, especially at the array of five direwolf puppies arrayed with the Stark children. Fenris had since rejoined the others after having had his own, admittedly rather splashy bath (hence why Hodor was the one Ranma had left him with).

The middle one and the only daughter had honey gold hair done in twin braids going down her chest, and was wearing a dress much like the queen's, white with highlights. Though in the princess's case, the highlights were Baratheon black rather than Lannister red. She was a very pretty young girl, with a face and developing figure that hinted she would someday rival her mother in beauty, though her face had yet to develop the lines or regal coldness that Cersei exuded.

That wasn't what had caught Ranma's attention however; what had was the wince Myrcella couldn't quite hide as she stepped off the carriage's small step onto the ground. "I think however that the young lady should be taken to see the maester. She seems to be favoring one of her ankles."

The Queen turned sharply, her shock at a Stark of all people speaking so about the king overridden for the moment and saw that her daughter was indeed favoring one of her feet as she stood there.

The young princess watched in surprise as the young Lord of the castle came bounding towards her, so fast it took several of the White Cloaks aback. Ser Selmy, the White Cloaks commander, blinked in shock at how fluid and quick the boy was while several of his fellows made to grab him but were too slow.

Myrcella didn't notice that, blushing more than a little at the older boy's good looks. Stark cheekbones framing a thin and handsome face, with hair swept back into a long pony tail and deep Tully blue eyes which were sparkling with humor at the moment. She squeaked a little when, before Ser Arys Oakheart, the Kingsguard assigned to her, could intercede, Ranma had lifted her into the air, perching Myrcella on his shoulder without even rumpling her dress somehow. Before any of the guardsmen around her or her mother could take Ranma to task for his lack of courtesy, Ranma asked, "And how exactly did you hurt yourself?"

She gulped a little, swiftly looking at her mother and Joffrey before answering. "O-on one of our stops I-I tripped, getting out of the carriage and twisted my ankle. I, I didn't want to make a fuss…"

Hearing that the mother in Cersei rose up over the queen's indignation and she shook her head sternly at her daughter. "You should've said something, sweetling." Cersei looked askance at the young man who was holding her daughter on his shoulder, as if Myrcella weighed next to nothing ,and then looked over at Catelyn, having lost her forward momentum for a moment.

Catelyn frowned a little but eventually just gave in. Her son was not one to waste time on courtly manners and decorum. She had been trying for years to change that and failed. She wasn't about to suddenly succeed in the next five minutes. "Ranma," she sighed, "yes, you can show the young lady to the infirmary, I'll be showing the Queen and the rest of her party to her rooms. Our servants will see to your ladies and men."

The Queen nodded and Catelyn turned to Sansa who had been almost blatantly staring at Joffrey, a blush on her pretty face which so looked like Catelyn's own. "Sansa, could you go with your brother and princess Myrcella? I'm sure that the Princess would prefer to have another lady around, even for so short a time, in an unfamiliar place like this."

Myrcella looked down at Tommen, who was staring up at where she was perched and said, "Don't worry, Tommen, I'll be right back."

"You can both come," Ranma said, shrugging. Without dislodging Myrcella, Ranma then knelt down and picked up Tommen setting him on his other shoulder. "I carry my siblings like this all the time, anyway."

The two younger Royal siblings looked at one another in shock and amusement, they had never before run into someone who treated them like this. It was a little weird, but also rather fun and it was about to get a little better. Joffrey on the other hand, carefully hid a sneer of amusement at someone volunteering to be a beast of burden like that. This went unnoticed, however, as Ranma said "Perhaps I can tell you both a story as we go?"

"Oh," Sansa clapped her hands together, her irritation at leaving before she could speak to the prince, disappearing, "do you have a new one about why you were so late getting back? You were supposed to be back weeks ago!" At the word 'story' both his younger brothers raced over to Ranma as well.

"That is indeed a tale, dear sister." he said, reaching down and taking her hand. "Yet, it is a tale of derring-do that I'm afraid Arya would prefer to you, though possibly I could revisit some of the tales I told you when you are younger. I doubt you remember them very well."

The chattering of the children receded and Catelyn turned to the Queen. "I'll show you to your quarters."

The Queen, still extremely nonplussed by he young man had forcefully kept the proceeding informal, simply nodded and followed along. Around her Jamie and the Kingsguard were left shaking their head save for Oakheart who moved swiftly after his young charge. Joffrey however merely sneered at the other young man being so concerned about children rather than the royal prince and turned away, thinking however that the older Stark girl was rather attractive…

Arya was about to go after them when she paused, frowning and looking around. "Where's the Imp? I've heard about him, but I don't see him here?"

That question about her freak of a brother was actually just what Cersei needed to get her brain rebooted from the surprise of Ranma acting so informally with her children. She looked around, scowling angrily. "Where is that little nuisance? Probably in the nearest brothel, I'll wager. Jaime, could you go and retrieve him?"

Jaime Lannister was a good looking man in his late twenties, with long dirty blond hair down to his shoulders; a very small, well-trimmed mustache; and the green eyes of all Lannisters in a face set into a permanent smirk. "I will take on this most arduous duty, dear sister. It wouldn't be the first time after all."

Cersei smiled at her twin, relishing the secret they shared for a moment before turning back to their hostess, her mask of hauteur falling into place easily. Catelyn smiled tightly at her and led the way inside the keep.

OOOOOOO

An hour later found Ranma sitting in the middle of the maester's sickroom, telling his younger siblings, a few friends, and their guests a story. Myrcella's ankle had been wrapped with gauze and she was sitting up in one of the beds, a large pack of snow on it. At the foot of the bed sat Sansa with Lady, her very well-mannered direwolf pup between them, being scratched behind her ears by both girls . Arya and his other siblings sat on the ground with Tommen and the other direwolf pups all in a jumble, something that the young prince had been a little leery of, but seemed to enjoy. Luckily his mother wasn't here, or his enjoyment would have been short-lived indeed.

"With that statement, the pigtailed hero realized that the curse on his hair was all in his mind! After all, he was still a young man, not bald like his father. So he had no need for the cursed item to keep his hair! With that knowledge, he grabbed the massive lengths of hair that had sprung from his head, and began to use them as weapons, like so many ropes and whips in his hands. He flicked his hair weapons through the air, grabbing his beloved out of her kidnapper's hands and swiftly bringing her to his side before tying up the four bald attackers in his hair from the ankles up to their necks."

Ranma's audience laughed and giggled at the tale he was spinning, never realizing that it had actually happened to him in his past life, except for the 'beloved' part. Though at the time, Ranma would have been hard pressed to tell you yea or nay on that, looking back on it Ranma knew he hadn't really loved Akane, been infatuated with maybe, but not love.

"And then, the hero of our tale finished tying up his enemies. After that the hero put all four of them on a boat to a distant land. After that he returned to his lady's house, wondering when the next challenge would occur." As the children cheered, he nodded at the servant in the doorway. "Can I help you?"

"Lord," the servant bowed his head, "your father requests your presence in his study."

Ranma nodded and reached over to pat Rickon on the head where he had been sitting right across from his older brother. "With that children, I will see you all later this evening for the feast. I understand it is expected."

The children all thanked him for the story then began chattering excitedly amongst themselves about the story. Even Sansa and Jeyne Poole, who had heard the same tale when they were younger, had enjoyed this retelling.

He exited the room, smiling slightly at the smiling Kingsguard standing at the door and the maid Cersei had assigned to her daughter. The maid curtseyed, bowing forward to give Ranma a very good glimpse down her bosom, blushing as she stared avidly at the handsome young lord. "A most lively tale, Lord."

Ranma shrugged. "I have a very good imagination for some reason, and my siblings have always seemed to enjoy it."

The woman looked at him and smiled but before she could follow up he bowed again, leaving quickly, and she clicked her fingers. She had only been here a few hours but already she had heard many strange tales, wonderful tales in many ways of the Young Wolf and his amazing endurance. She was eager to see if that endurance carried over into other things, and that line had given her on almost perfect opening.

The servant who had come to fetch Ranma hurried after him, smiling a little at the way he had ignored the girl's attempt at flirting. Whether or not there was any truth to his and the lady Mormont stepping out together, the young master was amazingly adept at ignoring or simply not responding to the come-ons of women.

Ranma found his father in his study, writing something down, and Ranma noticed it had a lot of numbers on it. He figured it was probably a bill of some kind for the food necessary for the king's stay.

Ned looked up as his son entered and smiled at him. "Jon has returned along with Theon, Roger, and the Lady Dacey. They filled me in on what you saw." he said his voice becoming much grimmer. "I'm not certain if I agree with you that the White Walkers are back, but I do know that there is something brewing beyond the Wall, a threat that must be faced, which wields magic long unseen."

He looked hard at his son with a grim smile, not having liked much of what he had heard, yet, still proud of how both his sons had acted. "Jon gave me an almost blow by blow account of the battle. Including how Hathan Snow saved your life." Ranma might have mixed feelings about that, but he wasn't about to speak up, after all, it might well have been true. "I was thinking of this as an appropriate reward for that."

Eddard picked up a piece of parchment from his desk and handed it over across to his son. Ranma looked down and read it swiftly. "therefore in recognition of service to the heir of our house, we, House Stark, cede the holdfast of Eastshield to Hathan Snow, now given the name Shieldarm, to be held by him and his family in perpetuity…" Ranma looked up and smiled widely at his father. "You're giving him a holdfast and a minor title? That's fantastic father, and I think he'll do well as a landed noble. Eastshield, though, is that one of the holdfasts in the wolfswood?"

"It is, on the outer edge toward Torrhen's Square. The land has been reclaimed by the forest, but the holdfast's walls are still there and it is still a strong defensive position, once you reduce the woods around it. It will not be a sinecure to be certain, but with the title and the holdfast will come several smallfolk families and money to entice a few men at arms to his land. It will be up to Hathan to choose them, of course, and to keep their loyalty."

Ranma nodded, smiling happily as he envisioned his older friend's reaction to the news. Ned raised the paper he was currently working on and Ranma saw it was a numbers tally of men-at-arms. "I've been working out how many people we can send and still have a goodly force here, both ourselves and our vassals. I make it over twelve hundred we can send from our own lands without pulling too many men from the fields or from the workshops and still have a force large enough to patrol our lands and guard Winterfell."

"You'll send them after the King and his party leave, of course, father?"

"Of course," Ned replied, then changed the subject suddenly. "I understand that you are not exactly enthralled with the King?"

"If you mean I think he's a drunkard then you're correct, father," Ranma said now sitting down across from Ned at one of the chairs in front of his desk. "You did not see the look that passed between him and the Queen? That's a look I wouldn't give my worst enemy."

"Their marriage is not one of love that is true." Ned said diplomatically. "Robert was still grieving for my sister, but he had to do something to appease the Lannisters, who had control of King's Landing and an army almost as large as Roberts own, but well rested and well provisioned."

"I understand that, but in all this time he hasn't learned how to, at the very least, not show his contempt of her? He basically rubbed it into the Queen's face that he doesn't care for her opinion!"

"I know what you are saying, but Robert was always one who loved fiercely. My sister was possibly the only woman in all of Westeros that could have made him leave over his womanizing ways and, since then, he's always been pining after her memory. And regardless of what you think, he is the king, and you will respect him as such."

Ranma bit back a sharp retort, merely nodding. "Will you inform him of what we saw?"

"Of course not." Ned scoffed. "Robert might give lip service to the faith of the Seven, but he isn't religious and he's not someone who'd understand something like that without seeing it himself. I'll bring up the idea of sending more men to the Wall, but I doubt even the idea of there being a new King Beyond the Wall will be believed by the others in his court. The best I can hope for, is to get him interested enough to head to the Wall himself to speak to Commander Mormont and my brother in person."

Ned went on, now looking at his son with shrewd compassion. "I also understand you lost people, the two Norrey clan scouts that met you on the edge of their territory?"

Ranma nodded grimly, looking down. "I, I've dealt with the guilt about losing people, father. It, it took me a while, but I think the worst part about it was that I was so happy it was the two of them dying and not any of my friends."

"That is a natural human reaction, Ranma." Ned replied, smiling a little sadly at his oldest son. In many ways, Ranma had been forced to grow up far faster than the father in Eddard, Stark or no, could have wanted. First the whole Bolton incident, and now this, what do the old gods have in store for you, my son? "We care for our friends more than we should when they are also our soldiers. It is our duty to not show favoritism in combat or other situations. And," Ned went on more grimly, "not to let grief or anger at the passing of a friend or loved one cloud our judgment."

Ranma nodded his understanding and the two sat there in companionable silence for a moment as Eddard let his son assimilate his words then he went on more briskly. "Your mother has been told you ran into a sizable force of wildlings in the Gift and our suppositions about a threat growing from that corner. She doesn't believe it, however, we don't have enough proof and it's been too long since the wildlings were a real threat."

He waved his son around the desk. "Now, I think if we both work on this we can get it done quickly, if you take House Mormont and the others from the west I will take everything east of Winterfell, and we can figure out how many each house can spare without weakening their own territories defense or harming their economy."

Ranma nodded but added a word of caution. "I also told Greatjon to send supplies up with his men, as well as people to take over the remaining farms and villages in the Gift. As far as we could tell it was practically empty, father."

Ned sighed. "We'll send up some villagers from here, I know of several married pairs that want new land, and I believe House Cerwyn and House Flint of Flint's Finger have a similar issue. The Gift will most certainly be colder and harsher, but much of the territory up there is actually arable land and it is much easier to put a house in working order than build your own and carve out a farm from the wolfswood."

His son nodded in reply but had a question. "Will Roger and Osha be staying with us for a time or will you send them on to the Rills after Roger recovers?"

Ned looked at his son with fond pride. The connections and friendships his son had forged among the heirs of the noble houses of the North were a sight to see, and he took pleasure in particular in seeing the connection between House Ryswell and House Stark started by himself and Mark Ryswell continued. "He'll stay for the king's visit. An heir of a house leaving when the King is in attendance would be seen as an insult save for truly pressing business elsewhere. Roger is right however; his father will need some more convincing of the danger."

"Though I would caution you when you go over the numbers for the Ryswell lands to be cautious in how many men you ask them to send. House Ryswell is the strong arm in the southeast; the Rills, the Barrowlands, and the Stony Shore look to Dustin and Ryswell over the other houses and unfortunately House Dustin doesn't have the men and numbers it once had." That was made worse by the fact that the Lady Dustin had never remarried after her husband had died in the final days of Robert's Rebellion.

Ranma nodded and the two of them set to work quietly for the rest of the afternoon before breaking off to prepare for the feast that evening.

OOOOOOO

Reactions to the very odd young man that was the heir of Winterfell were varied among the King's party. Robert didn't think one way or the other about him, he had been completely concentrated on paying his respects to his lost love. Cersei was oddly ambivalent; the Queen was irritated at his lack of propriety or any kind of deference to her rank or her children's rank, but at the same time somewhat amused at his obvious distaste for Robert. Of course, she was also irritated that he treated her children like children rather than princess and prince, yet at the same time he had noticed Myrcella was injured, something Cersei had missed. So all in all, Cersei was waiting to see how he and Joffrey got along before painting him with the same disdain and hate she had for the rest of his family: the wild little female, the stupid pumpkin children, the idiotic Catelyn, and the all too cold and stiff Eddard.

Joffrey thought him an idiot, and was more than a little irritated that the other boy didn't even try to talk or even acknowledge him outside of a nod of welcome (which Joffrey answered with a small nearly imperceptible sneer that Ranma had caught and filed away). Myrcella and Tommen both thought he was magnificent and a fantastic storyteller. Myrcella, for one, was sad that her own big brother didn't act anywhere near as kindly to her.

It was in the White Cloaks however where the decision on Ranma was most sharply divided. "He's an idiot!" Boros Blount, a heavyset ugly man with a mind quicker in politics than the sword, spoke up first as they made themselves at home in the barracks room set aside for them. "Did you see how he acted, he showed no care for the station of the Queen or the King. It's as if he has no sense of propriety or decorum, or the fact that either one of them could have his head for the asking!"

"That would be folly of the highest order," Jamie said looking up from where he was stowing his gear alongside his bed. "And is that what you really think? Something about him is telling me that he is much more dangerous than he appears."

"Oh, please." said Preston Greenfield, one of the Queen's appointments to the Kingsguard. "The boy is an utter idiot, like Boros said. You can't honestly think that those stories we've heard since entering the North are true? They're but bard's tales, if any were true, they would have made it past the Neck in more than bard's tales."

Jaime shrugged, something was bothering him about Ranma, the way the Stark heir moved, how fluid he was reminded him of a Braavosi water dancer, yet not quite. There was something more there, something that reminded him of someone else, though for the life of him he couldn't bring the memory to the fore.

Arys shrugged his shoulders, keeping his own council, along with Ser Mandon Moore and Meryn Trant. Meryn was not one to give his opinion lightly, while Mandon was silent as a matter of course.

While his so-called brothers discussed the young man of the house, Ser Barristan Selmy sat as memories of years gone by played through his head. They were of a better time, a brighter time. When the White Cloaks weren't a paper shield, when they truly were the best swords in the land rather than the bought swords they were today. Only Jaime was truly worthy of the cloak in terms of skill, but outside of skill he should never have been allowed to retain the White after betraying his oath whatever the reason. Selmy could cut the others down with ease, and some days he was tempted to do just that despite his own oaths.

But right now he was filled with memories of his past, comparing them to the young man they had seen earlier today and smiling to himself in wonder. Ser Arthur Dayne moved like that, that fluid motion, his body under total control, that confidence, only young Stark moves even more fluidly, even more confidently. I must talk to this young man, he is interesting. Possibly the type we need so desperately amongst our company. And while it might cause problems with House Stark, it isn't like Ned doesn't have other children who could step up and become his heir…

OOOOOOO

Later that evening, as was his duty, Ned broached the subject of the threat rising beyond the Wall with the king and the few advisers he had brought to Winterfell with him. Of course, he didn't speak of the White Walkers or anything else he couldn't truly prove, but what he could share was more than enough to come under fire.

"You cannot be serious, you expect us to believe that? The wildlings have not been a real threat for thousands of years!" the Queen scoffed. She was not normally part of the king's council, but since there were so few members of said council here, she had pushed herself into the conversation.

Robert glowered at her and she glared back for a moment before Robert turned away. "Unlike this one," he said, jerking a thumb at the Queen, "I've never known you to tell me anything that you couldn't prove Ned, so I believe you."

"But this isn't Lord Stark, is it?" said Varys, looking at Lord Stark apologetically, though if that emotion was real was more than anyone there could say, the eunuch was a past master at showing only what he wanted people to see. "This is your son. While I can fully understand the young boy overreacting after his first taste of combat adrenaline and concern for comrades can make a man count every enemy twice. If the wildlings have found a way to get sufficient numbers around the Wall, then surely their predations on the North of your lands would be even worse? Has there been a marked increase in raids?"

"There has not," Eddard said, "at least, not to the best of my knowledge. But there is no doubt the Gift has suffered heavily from their predations given how empty my son and his friends reported it was. If their goal was to weaken the Wall, then taking out its logistic support was much more important than raiding the mountain clans or House Umber. And this was not my son's first battle, he has fought and killed before, do not try to denigrate his abilities, Spider."

"Yet even so, I know that you have more experience, more historical records to call upon when talking about how to read the intentions of the wildlings, but that sort of thinking is well beyond anything I have ever read the wildlings exhibiting before." Varys said, staring at Stark, his voice sly and probing.

"Not if there is a King Beyond the Wall behind it." Eddard responded, looking at the eunuch with scant favor yet keen eyes. Ned knew that the Master of Whisperers was a dangerously bright 'man' but had never had dealings with him before. Robert had yet to explain why he was here at all, but regardless, Ned knew not to trust him.

"And as the Queen said, there hasn't been a King Beyond the Wall in hundreds of years," Varys reposted. "And the wildlings have never been known for subtlety even when one piper is able to get all the rats moving together." The eunuch's fat jowls twisted into a smile at his own clever turn of phrase.

"Even if they can get small groups around the Wall, they need to go through it to get any forces large enough to truly threaten the North and the Wall is inviolate." Ser Selmy stated, there to provide a military perspective. While he was willing to believe Lord Stark about what could be brewing, he didn't see why the problem was so important.

"The Wall needs help," Ned's answer rang sharply. He looked over at the King. "The Night Watch's fighting strength is at the lowest ebb it has ever been in recorded history and the Gift is too unpopulated to provide for it. I'm going to send men north to the Wall. Half of my house's men at arms and an equal fraction of my vassals men as well, and I'm sending the call out to all the other Lords of the North."

Robert frowned. This sounded exciting and it had been a very long time indeed since anything really exciting had happened to him outside of bedding a new wench or five. He could feel his heart pounding, rather too quickly it must be said, and his blood flowing again. This was just what he needed, a chance to ride out, to go to war again. I was not made for the crown Robert thought, not for the first time or even the ten thousandth time. Jon Arryn or Ned should've taken the crown instead of me. I am made for war. This is what I was made for.

Yet before he could speak, Varys spoke up again. "Again my Lord, I'm not saying you shouldn't. But this seems like a purely local affair. We have no proof that there is a King Beyond the Wall rising again. We have no proof of anything unusual save a surprising number of wildling raiders and one wildling woman's word. It's not enough evidence for us to rouse the kingdom. We must have proof before we pay to put armies on the march, to pay for the food and other necessary supplies."

Robert was about to bellow something about penny-pushers not being generals when Cersei interjected her own view. "And besides husband, remember what we heard before from our sources about Targaryen loyalists making noises of rebellion in Highgarden, the Crown lands, and even Dorne. Something has stirred them up. That is the entire reason Varys is with us, after all."

Cersei had used the magic words 'Targaryen loyalists' and completely derailed Robert's attention, much like waving a red flag in front of a bull. By the Seven, I sacrificed too much to take the throne, I'll be damned if any fucking lizard supporters gain any head way at all! Robert glared at his Queen then over at his old friend. "They're right Ned. I know you don't like it, I don't like it either. But your son didn't bring back enough proof for us to act on it."

Ned nodded. "I honestly hadn't thought I'd get you to agree, but it was my duty to inform you of what might be a threat to the realm, and what steps I have taken to solve it."

Varys looked a little dubious for a moment, though the fact he let the emotion be seen at all meant it was probably false. In truth, the eunuch was concerned about the changes he had seen so far in the North and, despite the fact that most of those changes, on the surface, seemed to be good things for the North, did that translate to being good for the whole kingdom? Change of any sort could disturb the delicate balance of power, which was already in turmoil due to Jon Arryn's sudden demise.

"Now that that's settled," Robert said, looking around at the others, "leave us."

The Queen and his spymaster left then, with the spymaster going to work immediately on the real reason he had come to the North: setting up a spy network in the North. Of all the realms it was the realm he had least coverage in, which had heretofore been acceptable since the North was also the most loyal realm to the current king. But there had been so many odd tales coming south and the upheaval years back about the destruction and disavowal of House Bolton, that it was obvious he needed some of his little birds here to see if anything was brewing that might threaten the good of the realm, of course.

With the two irritants gone, Robert turned back to Ned. "Bah, good riddance, necessary evils the both of them, don't mean I have to like 'em. Anyway, you ran off to talk to your son before we had a chance to really talk after I paid my respects, Ned."

Ned chuckled. "My wife and I have developed a rather twitchy feeling whenever our son leaves our sight, and with good reason apparently."

"Yes, that crap with the Boltons. Heard you killed the old leech yourself, would have loved to see that! Man was too cold and bloodless by half! We heard about that, though we only heard that your son was captured. Then we started to hear a tale of him actually fighting his way out, once we hit the inns past Moat Cailin, any truth to that?"

"He did fight yes, as I said earlier to Varys," Ned replied, not willing to give any details about what had really happened there.

"Brave lad." Robert nodded. "Your wolf blood is strong in him I see? And were those direwolves I saw with your children?"

Ned shrugged. "They are the totem of my house, we found them as we were coming back from one of my holdfasts. They can be trained you know, in fact they are already very well-trained for their age."

Robert barked a laugh. "Just keep them away from my wife. She hates dogs of all sorts. Except for the two legged kind, I suppose, else she would never have assigned the Hound as my oldest brat's defender." He guffawed again and then looked at his friend seriously. "You know why I'm here Ned. I need your help. With Jon Arryn dead, I need a new King's Hand, and I want you to be that man."

Ned was silent for a moment. This was what he had secretly feared, but as he had told his wife, this was a matter of duty. "Your grace I am honored, what else can I say?"

"Say you'll accept." the king said bluntly. "I need someone to run the kingdom while I am off drinking and whoring, after all!"

"With that lofty a goal in mind how can I refuse?" His friend replied smiling slightly.

"Then don't refuse." Robert said laughing again and clapping him on the shoulder. "I'll even sweeten the deal, we can still unite our houses you know, just like we always dreamed of doing. Your young girl Sansa seems much taken with my oldest brat. Think about it, the stags and direwolves united at last."

"We'll see." Ned said slowly. "I would prefer to watch the two of them together for a time before making a final decision. After all looks aren't everything, there must be something else there as well."

"That's the spirit!" Robert said clapping him on the shoulder again. "Now, where do you keep the wine?"

OOOOOOO

That evening, everyone congregated them main Hall for a feast, save for Ranma and Jon. Catelyn found the two of them in Jon's room and Ranma was giving Jon something from the maester. "That'll help with your legs, you stupid bugger." Ranma said clapping his brother on the shoulder. "Though you'll have to apply it yourself. I'm not touching your hairy legs for love or gold."

John looked up at him wearily. "Hate you," he said slowly, "hate you so much."

"That'll teach you to try and pace me on foot." Ranma said laughing a little. "It's not my fault you tried to run with me." That was actually what happened. Jon had tried to give his remounts a rest and ran beside Ranma for a time with Ghost. Ghost lasted five hours, a very respectable time at the speed they were going and his age. Jon lasted five hours before he too had to give up, his legs burning and sore. Fenris had lasted nine hours, before Ranma had to pick him up the first time, and seemed to get a little stronger each time after that.

"Ahem," said Catelyn, coughing a little to announce her presence. "Jon, I realize you're still injured so don't let this son of mine bother you. There was a time when he couldn't have kept up with himself, either." She tapped her head gently signaling what she meant, and Jon stifled a chuckle as Ranma pouted outrageously. "Unfortunately, you know I couldn't have allowed you to come tonight, anyway." Catelyn went on apologetically. "The Queen has views on bastard children, I'm afraid, and they are not like your father's."

"With a husband like that, I don't blame her." Ranma muttered.

"Yes, well." Catelyn said, not really willing to protect the king's whoring and drinking, but not willing to speak against him either.

Jon merely looked grim. "I just hope none of them have delusions of grandeur. I would like the last war to be the last civil war Westeros ever fights." He shared a glance with Ranma. "We've got other problems brewing."

With that Ranma and his mother walked out. Catelyn looked at her son. "I expect you to be on your best behavior." she said firmly leaning forward and grasping his chin with one hand making certain she was looking into his eyes. "While the King's younger children seem to have welcomed the way you act, it is still not the way you comport yourself around royalty. You got away with it once, do not push it. And I can understand that you have rather ambivalent feelings towards your King, but remember he is the King. You must respect the office and Robert's past, if nothing else."

Ranma took a deep breath and gently reached out pulling his mother into a hug, breaking her hold on his chin. "I'll try okay? I just don't like the look he sent at the Queen. She's also a cold fish sort of person too, but she doesn't deserve that."

"He is the King," she reiterated, but did not move out of her son's hug. "And you must respect the office. Do you understand me?"

"If I realize I can't keep my tongue anymore, will I have leave to excuse myself?"

By this time they had reached the family's personal quarters. "After the music for dancing has begun yes you may leave."

Ranma nodded. "Then you have my word I won't say anything to him."

Later that evening Ranma sat next to his father, and they stood respectfully as the King and his family entered. After Ned gave a brief speech in honor of the King, they all sat down again, the food was brought in, and the feast began. For about forty minutes, it was a convivial atmosphere, if a little stilted, and Theon and Ranma were talking quietly to one another, answering questions from the adults when asked. Robert was in particular was plying Ranma with questions about his experience as a prisoner of House Bolton and asked Ranma to show him the scars from Ramsay's torture, which he did reluctantly.

This again drew various reactions. The Queen looked away, her face drawn and sneering at the scar on Ranma's shoulder and side. Robert grunted in something like approval, while Joffrey sneered a little at the ugly scars, thinking he would never allow anyone to mark him like that. His sister, sitting with the other younger children further down the table had blushed at the flat, dense musculature of Ranma's chest and stomach.

Robert laughed as Ranma quickly pulled down his jerkin again. "Don't worry lad, women love scars."

"I haven't had much experience in that area," Ranma said shrugging, "but I'll defer to your far greater knowledge in that area your majesty."

Robert guffawed again, slapping Ranma on the shoulder with enough force to stagger most men but Ranma merely took it, not even grunting. For the next hour, as Robert got more and more into his cups, Ranma simply sipped at his wine, though he ate nearly as much of the king. The king didn't notice this but he did notice that Ranma hadn't finished even his first cup of wine. "What's the matter boy? Can't hold your wine?"

"I can hold it quite fine, your Majesty," Ranma said simply turning from his talk with Theon to address the king "but I prefer not to overindulge."

"Bah!" the King shouted, "That's only because you haven't had good wine here in the North. Ned, you surely broke out the good stuff for this feast, right?"

"I did indeed," Ned replied smiling faintly, "but my son has never been a major wine or beer drinker."

"Tell me you know how to fuck, at least!" the King said with a guffaw, causing Lady Catelyn and Cersei to both frown slightly.

Theon laughed. "He doesn't indulge in that either!"

"I save it up for more needful times, it loses its luster if you just go rutting around like some people." Ranma replied.

Robert looked up sharply at that, but that line was directed at Theon so he ignored it, laughing loudly instead. "Ah, but they say practice makes perfect, and I mean to get all the practice I can!" The dangerous moment over Ned, sitting between the King and Ranma, breathed a sigh of relief, shaking his head at how Ranma needed to learn how to choose his words more carefully, a thought shared by his wife.

The Queen had heard all this and smiled a little approvingly. Ranma might be uncultured, discourteous, and have no respect for rank but at least he seemed to be a respecter of women, which put him in a very small minority. She caught her brother's gaze from where he was sitting at another table and she felt her breath quickening under his gaze but shook her head slightly at him. Now was not the time to indulge in such things.

Cersei's face blanked utterly when she noticed the King had pulled one of the serving girls into his lap and was making her drink some of the wine.

Ranma had noticed this, too, and looked over at his mother sitting next to Cersei, raising one eyebrow, asking non-verbally 'can I be excused?'

His mother frowned and shook her head. The music hadn't started, and until it did it would be impolite in the extreme for someone to leave the King's table.

Ranma tried to ignore it, he really did, but there was the King flirting outrageously with a girl who was almost young enough to be his daughter. Closer to Joffrey's age than Myrcella's thankfully, or Ranma would have not been able to stop himself from playing punch-the-pedo. Some things had most definitely carried over from his previous life, and his own idea of the age of consent was one of them. But what was worse was that the Queen was sitting right there next to him. It just wasn't right. To Ranma's mind it wouldn't be right at any time to cheat on your wife, but rubbing it in her face made it even worse. "A drunken whoremonger is our King, really?" he murmured to Theon.

"Oh, I don't know," Theon responded. "I like it well enough."

"You would." Ranma said shaking his head again.

Thankfully at that moment songs began to play and Ranma stood up quickly. "I hear the dance floor calling my feet, if you'll excuse me mother, father, your majesties." With that he escaped, leaving Theon to make his own excuses and head out to hunt up his own willing wench.

Ranma however wasn't searching for a wench at all, he merely nodded at Dacey, who was at another table with Roger. When she had arrived with Jon and the others, the King's men had been scornful at the idea of a woman being a warrior, but here in public they weren't about to make a point about it, not on Stark land. He shook his head very slightly after he caught her eye and moved on, leaving Dacey to shrug mentally. She hadn't recovered from the trip, so a night spent simply sleeping sounded excellent to her. Moreover, she hadn't been able to get to her stash of moon tea, anyway, and she made a point of having at least four cups after her trysts with Ranma.

Joffrey was about to get up from his seat and his eyes were locked, rather disturbingly so in Ranma's opinion, on Sansa. Ranma got there first and he held out his hand declaiming grandly "My lady, may I have this dance?"

His sister giggled a little at his antics but held out her hand willingly. "Of course, young sir, I would be delighted," she said and he took her hand pulling her easily to her feet and moving with a whoop onto the dance floor.

The two continued to dance through both a fast song and a slow song. In the middle of the slow song Ranma said seriously, "I see you're interested in the young prince?"

Sansa blushed at that. "Oh, he's ever so handsome and he comes from Kings Landing! I've heard so many fascinating stories about it and it must be so much nicer than here and so many things happen there!"

Ranma raised an eyebrow. "And do you find being a Stark of Winterfell so boring?"

"Oh, you know what I mean." Sansa laughed, slapping his upper-arm lightly. "It must be amazingly interesting there and the weather is supposed to be warm, wouldn't that be nice? You can wear so many more fashionable things if you don't have to always be worried about staying warm."

"Possibly," Ranma said "but that isn't the stories I've heard. I don't like what I've seen of Joffrey, yet. He seems a little spoiled and whiny to me."

"Pooh," Sansa laughed again. "he's only been here a day, you know you shouldn't jump to conclusions."

"Be that as it may." Ranma said dancing around her. "Fenris doesn't like him much, either."

"Oh, now you're just being silly. Of course the dogs don't like him, he probably smells of cats or something like that, or he ate some southern food or other that they don't like the smell of."

Ranma held her still for a moment as the song ended, his face uncommonly serious. "Sansa, remember they are direwolves not dogs, they are as much a part of our family as we ourselves, the living totems of our house. They have instincts, dear sister, Fenris's instincts saved my life not too long ago and the lives of all of my friends."

Sansa was taken aback by his seriousness and then frowned. "I understand what you're saying Ranma, but that doesn't make him a good judge of character."

"No, it doesn't," he said equably, "but it doesn't make him a bad one either. All I'm saying is don't fall in love so quickly that you fail to see what you're signing up for, all right?"

Sansa nodded. "I promise. Now, since you're done delivering your big brotherly injunction," she said laughing and dismissing most of what he said, though taking a bit to heart, thankfully, "why don't you go and see what Arya is up to? I think she's about to throw some food at Myrcella and that would be very bad indeed."

Ranma turned and looked seeing what Sansa had spotted. He bowed swiftly, kissing her hand and moving from where he had been in the middle of the dancers to right behind the Baratheon princess. Behind him Joffrey moved quickly to claim his dance with the pretty Stark girl, a handsome and roguish (in Sansa's opinion anyway) smile on his face.

He arrived just in time, smacking the food out of the air with one flashing hand down onto the floor so fast Myrcella didn't even realize she had been targeted.

Quickly Ranma moved around the table to stand by his sister's side. Once there, he leaned down speaking into her ear. "Now would that have been very nice?"

"It would've livened things up at least." Arya muttered.

"Bed, I think for you." Ranma laughed, reaching down and picking Arya up easily despite her squirming. "I'll be up later to tell you the tale of what happened to Jon and I when we went North."

That made Arya stop fighting. "You promise?"

"I promise."

Arya nodded. "All right I'll go to bed willingly, but you better be up soon." Ranma promised to come up soon and set Arya down. She went to their parents, kissing each on the cheek and then left without further incident.

At the same time, the Queen came over with two of her maids and picked up her two youngest children. She looked at Ranma and Ranma bowed his head slightly to her, which she returned stiffly and the two turned away from one another.

Ranma shuddered just a little. That woman is dangerous. There's a lot more going on behind those green eyes than she lets on. That stone mask of hers is good, too good really, and it's pretty obvious she resents either my family or being here at all, not certain which, or why.

He sat down at a random table, grabbing up a mug of water thankfully, and he quaffed down a few glasses worth.

"It's good to meet a young man who knows to avoid the devil drink," a voice, rather old sounding but still strong said from across the table from him.

Ranma looked up and bowed his head respectfully. "Ser Barristan, I trust you're having fun?" He knew of the older man's history of course and had found much to respect in the old man. He had served the previous king and continued to serve the throne regardless that the king had changed, doing so to the best of his ability. There was honor in that and, outside of the Kingslayer, he was possibly the only one of the Kingsguard Ranma could respect in terms of skill. Ranma knew that back in his old life Cologne and Happosai had been the most dangerous people he had ever met, possibly even more than Saffron in Happosai's case, so knew not to confuse 'old' with 'decrepit', even if the Barristan was portably no threat to Ranma. Never overlook the old, they only get that way by killing or outliving their enemies. Not as applicable in this case as in those two old fossils, but still…

"I'm a little too old for these fetes, alas," The older man muttered, "and it's not really what a knight is made for." The younger man chuckled darkly at that and continued to drink from his water. Barristan raised an eyebrow in amusement. "You don't approve of something I said?"

"Oh nothing like that, I'm just always amused though by the way some people view knighthood. I don't think being a knight means anything," Ranma said shaking his head. "Not when someone like the Mountain that Rides can be one."

Barristan winced at that, but didn't say anything. Ranma was merely giving voice to what he had thought many a time, though he also held Jaime Lannister in just as much contempt for his breaking his vows as he did Gregor Clegane for butchering Elia Martell and her children.

Ranma went on. "The oaths mean nothing if you don't keep to them, if the knighthood cannot be taken away for breaking them. Outside of House Manderly, we here in the North don't have much time to waste on such things, believing a warrior's actions speak louder for him than any oath." Ranma took another long gulp of water then stood up. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have a little sister who I promised a story to." With that he bowed and took his leave, making his way upstairs to see Arya.

Behind him the Kingsguard commander frowned thoughtfully, and decided he would continue to observe the young man. Despite his disdain for knighthood, he carried himself like one who was truly worthy of the appellation and every time he moved Barristan had flashes of Ser Arthur Dayne. If he could be convinced to join, he could be a breath of fresh air the Kingsguard needed to get rid of all the rotted wood in it at the moment.

Outside, Ranma paused as he heard himself hailed. "Ho, be you the son or the bastard born? I've been told you look alike at first glance."

Ranma turned and took in the odd man before him. He was a dwarf, with stubby legs and a jutting forehead over mismatched eyes of green and black, and another mixture of hair color, pale blond and black. In one hand he held a large wineskin, and his face was somewhat red from drink. "I'm Ranma Stark, and you are?"

The dwarf rocked back on his heels smirking wider than before. "I would've thought my dear siblings would've mentioned me or you would have heard tales about me at least. I'm Tyrion, sometimes called the Imp."

"I've heard of you." Ranma responded. "They say your tongue is a very dangerous weapon, as is the mind behind it. I was told about you as an example of why I shouldn't judge a book by its cover."

"Hah, and there we see the normal Stark method of diplomacy. My wit and my tongue can be very dangerous, young Stark, but you're not my normal target for my tongue and certainly my wit can be better used elsewhere." Tyrion chuckled, though only a twitch of Ranma's eyebrows showed he had gotten the joke. "Oh, don't be like that lad, you're far too young to start using the Stark family stone face all the time."

"Why are you out here, Lord Lannister, instead of inside enjoying the feast?" Ranma asked, actually finding himself liking the Imp for some reason.

"Hah, no lord am I, not even in contention for the Lannister name. No, I'm just Tyrion the imp, more mind than might. And why pray would I be in there? For one, my sister never likes me to be around in polite company, especially when she is trying to overawe people like your family. She has enough trouble trying to fight against Robert's lack of manners and general Robert-ness. Out here I can have my wine, I can raid your kitchen for food, and then, when I'm full up on wine, I can head into town and find a whore to fill up in turn."

Ranma rolled his eyes, amused at the jesters' turn of phrase. "Well then, Lord Tyrion, I will leave you to it. I have a sister who has demanded a bedtime story and the amount of mischief she can get up to doesn't bear thinking about, if she takes it into her head to be annoyed that I'm late."

"Hah, a most dangerous assignment to be sure, though before you go a question. I hear from the servants that you had recently been up to the Wall. Is it as magnificent as they say it is?"

"Magnificent? I suppose, in a way, awe-inspiring would be closer." Ranma replied, pausing his turn to look back at Tyrion. "But if you're just going up to see the sights then I would recommend coming back in a few years. If you heard about my trip, you know my friends and I ran into some trouble up there. I'm afraid the Night Watch would not have people free to show you around."

Tyrion bounced on his feet, more dexterous and mobile than one would think in someone so deformed, and now he was standing in front of Ranma again. "Yes, I heard about that, do you honestly think there is a King Beyond the Wall rising again? Surely the wildlings couldn't rally around one person after so long. That's as likely as you Starks developing a sense of humor."

"I would not have told my father what I did, or told Lord Umber or Lord Hornwood about it personally if I did not truly think that something was going on!" Ranma said, now nearly snarling at the idea of someone calling him a liar, even if the story going around wasn't the full truth. He calmed himself down, though, seeing the Imp's grinning face and knowing that the man saw his ill temper and enjoyed it too.

At this point, Ranma's years of dealing with Theon came to his aid. "If you go to the Wall, I suggest you think of ways where you can be useful. I understand you have a reputation as a smart man, though possibly only when it comes to talking whores out of their clothing or in aiming japes at others. Do try to turn that mind to something else if you go to the Wall, hmm?"

Tyrion laughed a little harshly, signaling Ranma had scored a bit of a hit there, though what specifically he said to get that blow in, Ranma didn't know. With a final nod, Ranma turned away again, continuing up to Arya's room.

OOOOOOO

Early the next day, Ranma was up and about. He moved on silent feet out of the keep and out to the exercise area, smiling in a bittersweet fashion at the faintest hint of light in the distance.

It was moments like these where Ranma most missed not being back in his old world, with Kasumi there to greet the morning with him and a cup of tea. If only I recognized my feelings toward her at the time, he lamented once more. If only either of us realized we had grown so close. Yet it would never have worked, not with Akane being there, or my other so-called fiancés or my father. Still, maybe if we had tried to make a go of it from the beginning.

Fenris jumping up onto his leg broke out Ranma of his maudlin thoughts and he smiled, reaching down to rub the direwolf's ears affectionately before moving on. Soon he began his initial exercises, Fenris accompanying him. The only one awake at the moment was Hodor, the large and friendly stable man, who was simple, unable to communicate beyond saying his name. "Hodor?" The big man smiled happily at seeing the Stark heir. "Hodor?"

"I'm fine Hodor, don't worry, I'm just going to do a bit of exercising, though if you could make certain that the horses we brought back are well cared for? They were run pretty ragged."

The giant man, nearly as large as Smalljon, and actually stronger than Smalljon had been before he started to train with Ranma, smiled happily. "Hodor!"

"Good man." Ranma smiled, patted the large man on the shoulder, then moved on, moving into some exercises while Fenris jumped around him.

About an hour later he smiled at Jon who was limping towards him with the silent Ghost at his side. "Are you sure you shouldn't rest some more Jon? I won't hold it against you if you want to rest a day. You did damn well to run with me for so long."

Jon shook his head with a smile. "I'll be alright, so long as you don't have me doing sprints or anything like that." Inside however he was once more amazed at how much endurance his brother had. Ranma had jogged alongside them for weeks, then sprinted alongside galloping horses for four days at the end, and didn't seem to be tired at all.

"No, I think you got enough of that yesterday. Let's start with some arm exercises, then when the others wake up we'll break to help them and then spar afterward when Ser Rodrick joins us."

With that the two of them began to move into a few of the martial arts forms that Ranma had taught Jon before, then moved on to upper body exercises. At about ten, the rest of the Stark brood got up and went about their day. Bran and Rickon joined the two older boys in exercising and were soon joined by Arya and Nymeria, her wolf, who immediately began to romp around with the other pups having a play fight of Fenris against all of them, which looked rather fun.

Ranma looked at his sister, his hands busy helping Bran to aim the bow and arrow correctly, while Ser Rodrick was helping Rickon with some hand exercises to build up his finger and hand strength. "I thought you were scheduled for lessons in etiquette and embroidery in the morning Arya, or did that change in my absence?"

His youngest sister scowled. "Ugh, it's so boring though! Myrcella's joined us, and all she and Sansa can talk about is boys and fashion and other boring things!" Actually the two were sort of comparing brothers in a way, with Myrcella trying to steer Sansa away from her interest in Joffrey. She was meeting with limited success, alas, while learning more about Ranma and Jon, who she had glimpsed that morning.

"Arya…." Ranma sighed. He liked seeing his younger sister enjoy learning how to fight so much, yet at the same time he didn't like the fact she tried to often to get out of their bargain with their parents. "You know our agreement with mother, you need to keep at your studies, or else I can't train you."

"Hmph." With that, Arya turned to Jon, "Well, that makes you my new favorite brother Jon. Do you think you can train me instead of this traitor?"

The Stark siblings broke out into laughter at that, even Rickon who didn't quite follow the joke, being all of seven. Ranma shook his head, holding up his hands. "Alright, alright I'll train you, but if we get in trouble you're going to be the one to take the blame for it. Go get your bow, and we'll have you and Bran practice together."

Arya grinned and ran off to grab her bow, made by Jon as a present for her, smaller and lighter than regular bows from the armory. Bran however seemed to sag, a motion Ranma caught. "What's wrong Bran?"

Bran was going to deny anything was wrong but Ranma caught his eyes and he sighed. "It's, it's just that Arya is much better than me at stuff like this, she's only a girl and she can shoot better than me, fight better than me, and she's even a little stronger too."

"First of all, forget all that 'only a girl' stuff." Ranma said sternly. "I would have thought watching Dacey and I practice together would have knocked the notion that women are weaker on the head for you." Bran blushed, having indeed watched the two of them and Ranma's other friends exercise several times in the past. "Good, then you should know there is no dishonor in being weaker than someone else. For another, there's no reason you need to be a warrior, Bran." Bran flushed further, looking away. "Just because Jon and I have to be, just because Arya wants to be, doesn't mean you and Rickon couldn't be something else."

Ranma reached down and forced his younger brother to look up at him again. "Let me tell you something, thinkers, scholars, builders have their place in the world. When you get right down to it, it's thinkers that change this world, builders that build things for the generations to come. Warriors can only defend things that other people have built. Take the Wall for instance, the Wall was built by our ancestor remember, Bran the Builder! Without the Wall the Night Watch couldn't do its job, and the North would have to deal with the wildlings raiding us all the time even down here in Winterfell, which was also built by Bran. If you want to go down that road, or become a maester or anything, you know our parents and I will support you."

By this time Arya was back and she raced up to Ranma grinning. "All ready!"

Ranma held Bran's eyes for another moment, and Bran sighed, then breathed in deeply and nodded, smiling now. Ranma clapped him on the shoulder then motioned the duo over to the archery range. "Alright Arya, you're aiming at the one on the farthest left, Bran the next right."

Above in a window, Ned had watched all this and Ranma turned his head to look up at his father, who nodded approvingly down at him. Ranma smiled happily then went back to instructing his younger siblings. Seeing that, Ned smiled and turned back to writing out messages to his vassals, sending them in small lots up to the Last Hearth, where they would then move en-masse to the Wall.

Later that day found Arya, Bran, and, surprisingly, young Tommen practicing with their practice blades. Arya was easily the best of the trio and she was working out one-on-one with Jon while Ranma instructed the other two. Ser Rodrick, who was still the official Master at Arms of Winterfell so had to be in attendance was also there, despite Ranma leading the majority of his sibling's instruction in arms. Rickon ran around with the direwolf pups, save for Lady, who was inside being pampered by Sansa and Myrcella.

"Bran, keep your shield up, don't let it drop like that or you're opening up your head to an attack!" Ranma shouted over the clangor of wood clattering on wood. "Good! Tommy, don't just try to hack and slash like that, remember that swords have points, too! Both of you aim your blows, don't just hack and pray!"

Tommen laughed at Ranma's nickname for him. It was a pretty obvious one, it must be said, but something no one in King's Landing would have dared to call him. Both youngsters responded with loud "Yes sir's!"

"What's this, the children's play area, or a training ground?" A sneering sort of voice said from behind Ranma. Both Ranma and Rodrick turned to see Joffrey standing there, a sneer on his pretty face. The prince wore simple, yet well-made armor and was carrying a blunted steel blade, the next step up from the wooden practice blades the youngsters were using. Behind him was his shadow, the swordsman called the Hound, Sandor Clegane, and a pack of other knights, the majority of whom wore Lannister colors, like the majority of the men-at-arms that had come north with the king.

One of them, however, wore the White Cloak of a Kingsguard, but it wasn't Jaime Lannister, much to Ranma's regret. The Kingslayer's skill with a sword was known to be among the finest in the kingdom and Ranma was eager to see how good he really was. Where Jaime was handsome, this man was somewhat plain, with short cropped orange hair and beard under a sallow face, with none of the sardonic humor that marked the Kingslayer. This face was marked with lines around narrowed eyes, which had a certain unpleasant glint to them.

"I wanted to come out here and practice, but I thought you northerners would at least divide the children from the warriors." Joffrey continued.

Ranma chuckled lightly, shaking his head, although out of the corner of his eye, he noticed how Tommen had shrunk in on himself at the sight of his older brother and how Arya was now glaring angrily at the prince. Nymeria had also separated herself from her siblings and stood next to her human. "If you must know, oh prince, the warriors have already practiced for a bit today. If you wish, you may wait a bit and Jon or I will accommodate you."

Theon, who had joined them halfway through the archery practice (and showed up both Arya and Bran, taking some pleasure in beating children) laughed harshly. "Are you sure you can still remember how to swing a practice blade, Ranma? It's been several years since you last did so, after all."

"I have no issues with using real steel." Joffrey shot back.

"I, however, do," Ser Rodrick said sternly. "There will be no live steel practice until you prove yourself able to handle it like what it is, a dangerous weapon that can turn in your hand, not some kind of toy."

"Why not let the lads practice?" Sandor grunted. "The young can learn more from a few nicks and scrapes than from hours of practice with blunted weapons."

"I am master at arms of Winterfell, not you Hound, and as such, I say no. I'll not be responsible for any scarring on either side." Or deaths, Rodrick added mentally. The Young Wolf was a blooded warrior, had been for years, and was easily the most dangerous warrior Rodrick had ever met. If he wanted to, he could carve the princeling into pieces.

"I am the prince, if some Northern lout can use it, so can I!" Joffrey declaimed angrily, as if he was not used to being told no.

Ranma again chuckled, not taking offense at the prince's posturing, seeing it as an example of a little dog barking the loudest. We might be the same age, but that is where the similarities end, Ranma thought. The prince almost sounded like a whiny, less physically inclined, version of Kuno. "If you are so interested in using live steel, your highness, I propose a wager."

"Oh, what kind of wager?" Joffrey asked, his eyes lighting up with interest.

"I will use a regular training blade, and you, with someone else of your own choosing, can try your luck against me, two on one. But if I win, you will stand up at dinner tonight and tell everyone that I beat you, and if you win, I will do the same, though making no mention about your companion." Ranma smirked jumping up and over the training ground's surrounding fence to land lightly on his feet, then moved so quickly, only Jon could follow his movements. Suddenly, Ranma was holding Bran and Tommen's practice blades. He turned, now facing the prince and his followers, eyes alight with battle lust.

Jon chuckled, then motioned Bran and Tommen to join him while Arya grinned, looking forward to this.

Joffrey scowled but Rodrick shouted, "No! Ranma, you know I can't allow that. It's blunt blades or nothing, I know not how good the prince is and I will not allow something like that to happen on my watch."

Ranma shrugged unconcern. "Then let it be practice blades but four of them instead of the original two, I care not."

"I think the Northern bumpkin needs to be put in his place," the man in the colors of the Kingsguard muttered in a low voice, his eyes alight with barely hidden glee, "and besides, your highness, you can beat someone black and blue with training blades and no one can say a thing."

That turned Joffrey's scowl into a somewhat eager, rather disturbing smirk and he nodded. "If the Stark heir is so certain of himself then let us see if he can back it up."

Ranma grinned and threw one of the practice blades to Jon, who caught it easily. Jon then leaped over the training ground's encircling fence, before reaching back over and lifting up the children one at a time, setting them on their feet outside the fence. He and Theon exchanged a smirk, united for once in the thought, This is going to be good…The rest of the Stark clan hadn't ever really seen how good Ranma really was, so were looking a little worried at the unfair odds.

Ser Rodrick frowned, but finally relented. "Very well, but no crippling or killing blows, I will be watching."

Joffrey strutted forward with the, as yet, unintroduced White Cloak, the Hound, and another knight in Lannister colors. They all grabbed practice blades, then entered the salle, grinning and stalking forward.

Ranma, however, didn't wait for them and jumped forward, his blade flashing out to catch the White Cloak's blade, which he had risen in a desperate parry to keep Ranma's blade from his chest. Ranma then ducked away, circling easily, his blade flashing out to cut the leg out from under Sandor when he tried to get behind Ranma.

The Hound went down, yet his sword lashed out automatically, but Ranma danced away, chuckling and circling the trio still on their feet, as if all the advantage was his, not theirs. Sandor's deep-set eyes had widened at Ranma's initial speed and he pushed himself to his knees, eyes narrowed, actually taking Ranma seriously now.

Goaded by Ranma's mirth like it had been a whip, Joffrey growled and charged forward. Ranma dodged aside, the flat of his blade catching the young prince on the rear. Joffrey fell to the ground face first, his pride and rear smarting.

Swift as a striking serpent, Ranma turned, charging the two left on their feet, leaping up and kicking out to catch Sandor in the chest as he tried to grab Ranma's legs with a quick lunge. Sandor was sent flying backward and Ranma's blade caught the Lannister knight's blade locking them as he ducked under the White Cloak's blade which had aimed for its head.

Arya and the other Stark men and siblings began to laugh at the display, while those wearing Lannister colors either gaped or cursed in turn. The bout lasted another ten minutes, accompanied by the heckling and laughing of the Northerners. None of the four southerners were able to land a single blow on Ranma, who was simply too fast for them.

This was especially galling for the Hound, who knew he was one of the better blades in the kingdom, not in the top five perhaps, but certainly in the top twenty, and this young puppy was making a fool of him and the others, as if they were no threat at all.

About ten minutes into the bout, Joffrey realized this and he moved back, wincing only slightly. Outside of that first blow to the rear, Ranma had been very careful to pull his blows. In fact, Ranma had simply dodged or otherwise ignored the prince, outside of landing one more blow that caught the prince on his side, in favor of beating the other three black and blue. "This is a damn farce, you're just dancing around, this isn't real fighting! I've had enough!"

Ranma stopped, negligently blocking one last blow from the still unintroduced Kingsguard, throwing him back on his rear easily. Ranma was rather amused. His initial thoughts on the Kingsguard had been proven correct, if this man was worth the white cloak they were not nearly as good as their reputation suggested. The Hound had been the most dangerous of his opponents and not even he was much of a threat. "Just remember to look before you leap from now on, prince."

Joffrey scowled, a somewhat mad light in his eyes. "If we were back in King's Landing, I would have your head cut off for your insolence!"

"But we aren't, nor would you be able to simply command an enemy to fall down dead in the real world," Ranma replied scornfully. "On your way, prince, and be glad you only have a few bruises and wounded pride. Many of my own lessons have been much more painful."

Joffrey growled, staring at Ranma hatefully and Ranma saw something in his eyes. For just a second, there was something more in his eyes than the normal teenage anger at someone who had just bested him. Unfortunately, Ranma couldn't identify it before it disappeared behind cold disdain. Ranma had hoped that this would teach the young prince to think things through or at least to assume that his opponent might be better than he thought, but it looked as if he hadn't learned either lesson.

After a moment, Joffrey turned and walked off, shouting at his retainers to follow him, forgetting, for a moment anyway, that his younger brother had been a witness to his humiliation. The three men who had fought with him stared at Ranma, but there was much more wariness and even a bit of fear in their expressions as they took up position at the back of the crowd of Lannister men. The entire group retreated, sent on its way all the faster by the barking laughter of the Starks and their men.

Ranma turned to Arya, Tommen, and Bran. "Now then, I believe you all were practicing before I had my bit of exercise." With that they all turned back, and Ranma moved to Tommen and Bran, walking them through some sword forms.

Above them, an old man wearing white enameled armor turned away from the window previously used by Eddard to stare out over the training area, a smile on his weathered face.

OOOOOOO

"Are you mad Barristan?! Did you learn nothing from Tywin and his response to Jaime being raised to the white?! Fucking hells, I want Ned to be my new Hand of the King, not throw my offer back in my face!" Robert bellowed, staring at Ser Barristan, having nearly spat out a mouthful of the wine he was currently drinking when the man told the king his intentions.

Barristan weathered his king's ire with ease, it wasn't the first time he'd been yelled at by his king, nor was Robert the first king to yell at him so. "I assure you, my lord, I am quite sane. I think I have never seen a more dangerous young man, not even Ser Jaime before he was raised to the White. The Kingsguard are supposed to be the best blades in the kingdom. What I saw today and the tales I have heard about the boy since we arrived make it certain that he is already such a blade. Nor is this the same circumstances as Jaime's being raised to the White at all. For one thing, Ranma is not the only one of Lord Stark's children that can take the lordship after Lord Stark's passing. Young Bran or even young Rickon could step up in time. After all, Lord Stark is not an old man, he could live for another forty years or more."

Robert paused and thought about it for a moment, but then shook his head. "I understand that, but given what the Queen was bitching at me for before you got in here, putting Ranma and Joffrey in close proximity would not be a good idea." He smirked, "The fact it would piss off the brat and my 'dear' wife is nice, but she's shrill enough at the best of times. Besides, there's no guarantee that he would accept."

The older man blinked in shock, as if the very idea of someone declining the honor was beyond his comprehension and Robert guffawed, loud and long. "Hadn't thought about that had you, oh Bold one, hahahaha!" After a moment, he got control of his mirth and shook his head. "No, if you want to ask you may, but don't be surprised if he says no. Starks learn duty at their mother's teats and the heir of Winterfell knows his duty."

"His duty should be to the kingdom as a whole, not just to his house, but I take your meaning your grace. I will try to pursue this subtly."

OOOOOOO

Catelyn stared down at the message, rather surprised that house Tyrell had responded so promptly and she wondered why they had. One thing Lady Olenna wasn't known for was hasty, snap judgments or decisions. Yet for now she had to go see her husband. This might change things tremendously, at least she hoped so, and as for the other message Maester Luwin had passed on, she really didn't know what to make of it.

As Catelyn suspected, she found Ned in the godswood. Ned always went there when he was deliberating on weighty matters. Today he was sitting silently, staring contemplatively into the deep, cool pool of water at the base of the heart tree. He looked up when her footsteps announced her presence and Catelyn's breath quickened as she saw that faint, small smile that Ned used only for family, with a certain lopsidedness added to it that she knew was just for her. "My husband, there is news."

Ned nodded. "I have news I would share with you as well."

Catelyn frowned at the tone in her husband's voice and sat down next to him. She never truly felt comfortable in the godswood but had learned to respect the religion of the old gods. "First, we have heard back from the Tyrell family. They wish to set up a meeting between Margaery and Ranma, to see if there is any arrangement that might be reached. But they want the meeting to occur in King's Landing at court."

That last bit caused Ned to wince a little but he nodded, as it wasn't unheard of to have marriage deals occur on neutral ground, so that both parties came to it as equals. "Ranma will not like the idea of leaving the North right now." That, Ned knew, was an understatement. As far as he could tell, his son hadn't yet realized that Ned himself might be heading south, but this on top of that news would not make for a pleasant conversation. If an alliance could be forged with the powerful Tyrell family however, it would be well worth it. If, of course, was the major question.

"Bran can reign here as the visible lord, with myself, Ser Rodrick and Jon as his 'advisers.' While Bran gains good experience, I can control the household and Jon can organize the whelming. He's taken all the lessons Ranma has and he is nearly as bright as Ranma, and he has served as your voice a few times as well." Catelyn responded. "While i realize it is unsual for the heir to leave as well as the lord, this is important; a marriage alliance with House Tyrell would strengthen our house's position tremendously. I think even the king would give his blessing. It would weld the most powerful house that remained loyal throughout the war to the Targaryen dynasty to the crowns strongest supporters in House Stark."

"True." Ned mused, but inside he was worried that removing Ranma from the North would allow the White Walkers to move against them. "Winter is coming." he muttered, thinking how true his family's motto was, a truth every man and woman, young or old, should heed. But will this marriage help us stand against the coming winter, or take our attention from preparing to meet the forces of the endless cold?

Ned put that aside for now, and looked at his wife. "Your news mirrors my own. The king has offered to wed Joffrey to Sansa, despite her still being young for it."

Catelyn gasped in shock. "But that is amazing! In one swoop we can go from being the least powerful of the realms to the most powerful!" She frowned, "Why do you sound so uncertain about this, the marriage would be a great honor. And from what I have seen, Sansa is enamored of the young prince and there seems to be interest flowing the other way as well."

"I am not so pleased with the stories we have heard of Joffrey coming up from the south. I know tales should not be taken as fact but they can have a kernel of truth to them. I would like time to get to know the lad before giving my blessing." He suddenly smiled. "I can use Ranma's coming along as a reason to put it off until I gain knowledge of Joffrey's character, first hand. After all, it would be unseemly to have the younger sibling married off before the older would it not?"

"That… that could work, I suppose, though it isn't all that uncommon Ned and everyone, especially the Queen, would say that Joffrey's marriage is of more importance. I think you are jumping at shadows, yet I would prefer to know as well that my daughter would be happy in her marriage." She chuckled. "And of course you would have Ranma with you to help you and vice versa. I doubt that Ranma will respond calmly to the news that his sweet sister is to wed."

Ned joined her in chuckling but after a moment he asked, "You were uncertain of the wisdom of my becoming Hand of the King leaving Ranma in charge, yet now, despite the news Ranma carried back from the Wall, you think you, Bran and Jon can handle even more responsibility, why?"

Catelyn shook her head with a wry smile. "Jon is nowhere near as impetuous as Ranma, as much as it pains me to admit it. If we tell him to only organize the whelming, he will stick to it, and he will back Bran in all matters as much as Ranma would. Jon is truly a part of this family, it is easy to see the connections between all the siblings."

That made Ned smile a bit, for it was true. Ranma acted on his feelings and intuition much more than Jon, not that they had steered him wrong yet, or at least, not too far wrong. It was also true that Ned had made certain both his oldest sons, regardless of Jon's true parentage he was Ned's son in all ways that mattered, had as much practical experience and book knowledge as he could. Jon would perform well in organizing the whelming, and it was high time for Bran to start learning some responsibility. With Catelyn, Rodrick, and Jon backing him he wouldn't make too many mistakes. He looked at his wife, head cocked to one side. "You said this news from house Tyrell was the first of your news, what is the second?"

"I honestly don't know what to make of it." Catelyn confessed. "The raven I sent to my sister with my condolences came back with a small package, a small piece of worked glass for a telescope Maester Luwin is constructing. Yet inside the box which held the glass, there was a message to me from Lysa. I… it says, well you better read it yourself."

She handed over the letter. Ned took it, reading the short, somewhat hysterical message quickly. In it, Lysa wrote that her husband had been looking into something to do with the King's bastards, and that she felt that the Queen had been angry at this, then went on to point a finger at the Lannisters, saying one of them had Jon Arryn poisoned.

For a moment, Ned sat silently then shook his head. "Lysa barely sounds coherent in this, I would say that maybe there is something going on, but she doesn't provide any proof. Until we see some proof one way or the other, I think we should take this with a grain of salt, if that. I don't mean to sound disparaging, but this letter doesn't say anything concrete, so using it for more than a starting point would be foolish. I can look into what Jon Arryn was doing when I arrive in King's Landing, and I will take more men with me as well as a cook I can trust, but that is all."

"That is more than enough for me, my love. In all honesty, after reading that note I am more than a little concerned about my sister's sanity. I trust you will be taking those guards that have been trained by our son?" Many guards in Winterfell had trained with the Young Wolf, but only about twenty made it a point to train with him as often as they could. They all were markedly better than their fellows and also, younger in the main, since older guards were less willing to take instruction from (and be soundly beaten by) the young heir.

"Of course. I will take Ser Jory Cassel and all the others, as well as ten more. More than thirty men, I'm afraid, would show that we do not trust the guards with the King, or feel threatened by the idea of going south." A thought struck him and he smiled. "Could you send a missive to your father, my love? If he could loan us some more men from his household, they could meet us in King's Landing and join us there, where they would be most useful. It would also seem to be more natural that way, his knights and men taking the opportunity to get to know his grandson first hand."

Catelyn smiled somewhat sadly. "I will certainly do so, though I do not know if it will be my father or younger brother Edmure that sends them. My father is old, Ned, and I don't know how much longer he will be able to continue as Lord Paramount of the Riverlands."

The two talked about their plans some more and then exited the godswood arm in arm. They were intercepted by a furious looking Queen, trailed by a rather irritatingly smug looking Joffrey.

OOOOOOO

"You wanted to see me father?" Ranma asked, standing before his father's desk. He had been out with Arya and his younger siblings, save Sansa. Sansa, the perfect little lady, had made a firm friend in Myrcella and was happy to remain inside all day working on her latest project. It was a jacket with the Lannister lion and Baratheon Stag on either shoulder done in varied hues of red (Lannister) and brown (Baratheon) for Joffrey. Of course, Ranma had vowed to himself to get her training with Lady later.

Lady and Sansa missed out with Ranma leading the others in a rather impromptu learning session, bonding with and learning how to read their direwolves moods and sense their feelings. This was in no way an exact science, but with Ranma's vague feeling that they should be able to get something from their wolves like he had, they all were able to make some progress, though it was a mixed bag without Ranma able to give them any real instruction, having only the vaguest idea of what they were doing himself. It wasn't something he could go to the maester or anyone else for advice for after all.

For one, Bran's, as yet unnamed, wolf seemed to know instinctively what Bran wanted and was always friendly to everyone. Rickon's Shaggydog was at the other end of the spectrum. Rickon couldn't get any feelings or anything else from Shaggy, though he was quick to pick up some of the training words, thankfully.

Nymeria and Arya had a very good connection and Arya seemed to be able to get some feelings from Nymeria. What was better, however, was that Arya had already been experimenting with it, got Ranma's rather out there explanation of what they could do, and wasn't afraid of it. Bran was a little, though Rickon, at age seven, merely found it a fantastic idea, and spent most of the time on all fours following Shaggydog around and vice versa.

Ghost and Fenris however were head and shoulders beyond the others in endurance, training, power, size, and the connection they had with their humans. They responded not only to verbal commands but also feelings, sent out along whatever link they shared with their masters. Fenris was larger by a full hands length than Ghost and was much more energetic and personable than the almost silent Ghost. Ghost, on the other hand, seemed to develop his own ability to blend in and disappear like his owner could at need, which was a little scary, frankly.

Ned looked up not smiling at his son and wordlessly gesturing him to sit down. When Ranma did, Ned spoke, his voice cold. "What possessed you to dishonor the prince so? You are a blooded warrior, you thrashing him as you did caused nothing but bad feelings." He held up a hand as Ranma made to interject. "I know that is not what happened, but it was the end result. The Queen came and complained about your behavior, calling it combative, discourteous, and unnecessary. There is enough bad feeling between her family and ours without you adding to it."

Ranma frowned but nodded. "I'll keep that in mind, I suppose, but I thought that four on one would be enough to offset any loss of dignity."

Ned's face became marginally warmer. "I can understand that my son, but try to get along with the prince, please, like it or not he is the heir apparent, and you will be dealing with him for decades to come." Ranma nodded stoically and Ned allowed his face to relax even further, sighing. "That was not the only reason I wished to speak to you, there are three other things I need to tell you. I am certain you have figured out by now that his grace was not just here to visit an old friend. He wants me to take on the position of Hand of the King and I have accepted."

That made Ranma start in surprise, for in fact, he had not spent much thought on why the king was here, since it had been only a day, after all, and he had been simply spending time with his siblings since he got back. "So, as your heir you're saying that I will have to fill in, I suppose? I can't say I'm pleased by the timing father, in many ways."

"No… that brings me to the second point. Your mother has been very concerned for the past year about how few marriage prospects of the right station there are in the North for you, and has been looking into other alternatives. Do you know of House Tyrell?"

"House Tyrell is the house of the Lord Paramount of the Reach, the largest and, in many ways, richest nation of the kingdom. Mace Tyrell is the current head of the house. He backed the Targaryen dynasty, and relations between House Tyrell and the throne have been strained, but peaceful since Robert took the throne." Ranma recited from memory, then asked suspiciously "Why?"

"Your mother has communicated the idea of having you and Margaery Tyrell, the daughter of the house, meet on neutral ground. So you will be coming with me when we go south."

For a moment, it didn't register, then Ranma's eyes narrowed and he leaned forward. "Father, don't take this the wrong way but are you insane?" Ned reared back in shock at the sudden discourtesy from his son, but Ranma continued. "You know the real story about what Jon and I ran into, you know what that could mean! You can surely see that this threat might be why I was allowed to retain my memories of my past life yet you want me to leave the North? That is utterly insane!"

Ned was about to retort sharply then clamped down on his temper with his habitual control before he said something they would both regret. After a minute he responded, his voice and face once more controlled. "Yet for all that you ran into, my son, you have no idea when the White Walkers will strike, nor what the wildlings are really up to. Unless the wildling woman has shared more with you and your friends than you have shared with me?" Ranma reluctantly shook his head and Ned continued. "The attack on you might have been a preemptive strike, when the bulk of their forces are not yet ready for war. If it was part of a larger plan, they would have continued to try to kill you and your friends rather than being happy with a single assault that showed their hand."

"Now, let us think about what you can do with that time. An alliance between us and the Reach would weld us to the most powerful realm in terms of military potential and the breadbasket of Westeros, something that will be incredibly important with winter coming. Moreover, as your mother pointed out, it will weld the most dangerous and powerful family that stood against Robert and our forces during the Rebellion to us, which would help the stability of the kingdom as a whole."

"I see…" Ranma mused, then shook his head again. "I still don't like it, but I suppose that you've thought about it and I will respect your decision father. I don't agree with it, but I will of course abide by it. And what is the third point you wanted to inform me of?"

Ned smiled internally, knowing that this would take away the last vestiges of discontent Ranma felt for going south with the King's party. "His majesty has offered his son Joffrey's hand in marriage to Sansa, and your mother and I have provisionally accepted. It will not become official until we all arrive in King's Landing, and even then we will be able to use your own need for an arrangement to hold it off until we, and by we, I mean you and I, are able to put our worries about Joffrey's character to rest."

Fenris leapt up suddenly, his fangs barred in a surprisingly intimidating show of aggression, given the pup was barely five months old. Ranma reached down, rubbing Fenris's head comfortingly as he got control of his own emotions. Fenris subsided under his hand and Ranma let out a breath. "I am not happy about that, but at least we will be able to have time to get to know him better. And if we learn that some of those rumors that Theon shared with me this morning are true, we can pull back from the deal?"

"Yes we can, though I am not looking forward to telling Sansa, in that case. I told her not twenty minutes ago about this and I am almost certain you can still hear her squealing in joy, if you listen hard enough." Ned responded dryly.

"I'll do that, if you want," Ranma said, his face grim. "Something tells me that pulling out of this arrangement will be necessary. I don't like Joffrey. That may be my first impression only, and I'll try to keep an open mind, but there is just something… off about him."

"I find myself in reluctant agreement. There seems to be all the worst parts of his mother's line and nothing of his father in him, which is a pity." Ned was also wondering how Jon Arryn had come to die so suddenly and if there was indeed anything in Lysa Tully's hysterical letter. He hoped that, as Hand of the King, he would be able to look into that when he arrived in King's Landing.

Ranma nodded again, though in truth he didn't see much in Robert either, but he knew the man had been different in his youth. "May I be excused father, I feel the need to clear my head."

Ned nodded, and Ranma stood up, moving swiftly out of the study with Fenris padding at his heals. Ned chuckled a little. "That actually went better than I expected."

OOOOOOO

After an extremely quick run, Ranma found himself in the godswood, as always when something was bothering him. He sat down eventually, leaning back against the heart tree, Fenris laying out across his legs. He wasn't there to seek advice or anything like that. Ranma had never really been the type to do that in his past life or this one. He was simply there to think.

From what he could remember of the vision he had been given in this very wood by the old gods, humans, human armies ,and betrayal were some of the threats in the future, but Ranma wasn't really built for sniffing out traitors and he didn't like the idea of going south while the White Walkers were still out there. He wanted to face the threats he was here to face one at a time, defeat them, and then move on but he knew that was wishful thinking.

There was also the fact that he was possibly going to be getting married. He knew his relationship with Dacey was one that could never go anywhere. They both knew it. Despite this, the idea of marrying someone else did not interest him at this point. This was especially true, given his past life, where he had more than enough problems with arranged marriages and girls. He had generally gotten over his fear of the latter but not the former, which added to his current problems.

"I'm worried." he said honestly, leaning back against the tree, both of his hands rubbing Fenris's back as the beast lay on top of his legs. "I'm worried that I am heading into an arena where my skills will not be of much worth, where words are going to be the only weapons. I'm also worried about what the White Walkers will do in my absence."

Ranma closed his eyes, thinking hard. He couldn't disobey his father, it was his duty to go, and even his marrying was a duty because it would strengthen the family. Yet, is that what I should be doing? He thought to himself.

As he laid there, a soothing feeling came over him and he felt his worries fall away. That feeling seemed to say whatever his choice he would be able to face the challenges to come.

He suddenly smiled. "And it's not as if going south will leave the North entirely defenseless. The Night Watch is being strengthened even as I sit here, with more help heading north every day. My friends and Jon will still be here as well, and Jon is well up to leading the whelming. Bran might find he has a passion other than running around and climbing." In fact, he thought to himself, Jon might actually do a better job at this point than I.

There was nothing his instincts could latch onto here, no way to bring the White Walkers to battle. Well, there was one, he could simply march north of the Wall and dare them to come at him, but that wasn't really an option. Wildlings were dangerous at ambush and night attacks here in the North, on their own ground they could cut any army to ribbons. No, now was the time to prepare, to gather supplies and prepare your lines of supply, something that Ranma, while having learned it from his father and Maester Luwin, wasn't really mentally put together to be very good at.

Jon could. He was much more methodical and a little better at numbers (and at writing, Ranma's handwriting was horrible) than Ranma. He had the same connections across the North. He had the friendship of the wolf-sworn who would aid him as they would Ranma in his place and of course Lady Catelyn. So really, Ned was right, there was nothing Ranma could do here, save for being a visible target and threat to the White Walkers.

Decision made, Ranma reached out to gently touch the bark of the heart tree in thanks before turning away and making his way purposefully out of the woods.

Ranma frowned suddenly, looking up towards one of the oldest towers in Winterfell, one that was falling apart and unused. What had caused him to frown was the sight of Bran climbing up the walls. But it wasn't just the spectacle of Bran climbing that had caused Ranma to frown but the fact that his brother had stopped and looked to have almost fallen for a moment but had caught himself. Ranma shook his head and started to move in that direction, ready to help or simply order Bran to come down, if need be.

A moment later he was much closer and, suddenly, he saw a flash of a hand from the window slit Bran was perching on and then Bran was falling, falling to the ground, so far below.

There was no time to think, no time to do anything but run. Pushing as much of his ki into his legs as he could, Ranma's body obeyed his mind's command, going faster, faster than any human could move unaided. Blue-gold energy appeared for just a moment around his legs as he rocketed forward. Even as the barrier inside him, which had held back his ability to use ki for so long, shattered under his urgent need, Ranma knew it would not be enough.

OOOOOOO

Bran loved to climb. He loved to explore, to find secret nooks and crannies. He knew it drove his mother up the wall (figuratively speaking) but there was just something inside him that urged him out to explore and to learn. It was the same reason why he spent a lot of time of an evening in the library, reading far more than his siblings, even sneaking books out to read in his bedroom by candlelight, now that he was old enough to be trusted with a candle. Today, Bran was going up the Broken Tower's side. He had seen some birds nesting up on top, and he wanted to see if there were any chicks.

The Broken Tower had once been the largest tower of Winterfell, but had fallen into disrepair after a lightning strike decapitated it. It was almost entirely forgotten these days. Unfortunately that meant that it was an obvious place for someone to go to have some private time without being found.

This was how Bran came to catch the Queen in a heated tryst. But even more shockingly than the Queen breaking her wedding vows to the King, she was doing it with her own brother! The sight had so shocked Bran he had paused, one hand reaching out to the next handhold, and nearly fell when his other hand's grip failed under his weight.

The sound Bran made while scrabbling around desperately to stop himself from falling, had alerted the two lovers to his presence. Jaime, after popping himself back into his breeches, strode over grabbing his hands and pulling Bran up. Cersei rearranged herself, pulling her blouse shut over her pearly white breasts, glaring angrily at the boy all the while.

Ever after he fully recovered, Bran would never remember the words that were spoken, the promise he tried to make, the Queen urging him to keep her secret, until Jamie spoke a single sentence, which would forever burn itself in Bran's memory: "The things I do for love." Because it was after that, Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer, tried to kill him by pushing him out the window slit.

Yet, Bran had been trained by Ranma not only in sword techniques but hand-to-hand for several years and his hands quickly reached up to Jaime's one hand, threatening to break his thumb while the other gripped his wrist. It took all of Jaime's considerable finger strength to keep his thumb from being pulled back. They struggled for a moment, then Jamie, ignoring how his sister was shouting at him to stop, pulled hard up and to the side, slamming Bran's head against the side of the opening.

The pain from that blow caused Bran to reach up to his head crying aloud and Jaime completed what he wanted to do, pushing the boy out of the window, cursing all the while.

The push wasn't as strong as he wanted however, and Bran slammed his head into the side of the wall as he fell twice more, then he knew only darkness.

The Queen stared at her brother, aghast. "You didn't need to that! We could have…"

"He would've told eventually, no way a boy that age could have kept quiet long." Jamie said, wringing out his thumb and wincing a little, wondering how the boy had been able to fight him like that. Looking out the window slit, he gasped in surprise as from the wall surrounding the godswood jumped the Stark heir. More than six stories he leapt and landed safely on this side of the wall before rushing forward. He was moving faster than Jamie could follow and he hissed, wondering what how the hell the boy could move so fast. "We need to get out of here!"

Cersei didn't question her brother, simply turning and rushing toward the rickety stairs. The Queen growled low in her throat as she quickly and expertly made certain her clothing was once more immaculate. "From now on, let me handle this! That little abrupt moment back there might have ruined everything!"

"You weren't complaining when we…" Jamie drawled then broke off as his sister slapped his face.

"Fool!" she whispered fiercely, "that was not what I meant! You should never have pushed the boy, now we'll cover this up my way."

Jamie frowned touching his cheek for a moment then shrugging. "Very well, dear sister, though if it comes to it, I will protect you. You know that the wolves will respond badly to this."

Cersei sneered at him. "Let the thinking to me, dear brother, trust me I'll come up with something if needed." Thankfully for the incestuous couple, the actual entrance to the tower was away from the direction Ranma was coming, allowing them to leave without being seen, thus they were able to get back into the main keep and go their separate ways. This was helped by the amount of uproar occurring elsewhere in the keep.

OOOOOOO

As fast as Ranma was, he had been correct that he would not be time. By the time he was halfway to the tower whoever was inside had already pushed Bran. By the time he was at the base of the broken tower Bran had smashed his head several times against the wall as he fell like a broken marionette down the side of it, though Bran would not finish his descent. With legs still infused with his ki Ranma jumped up, clearing half the height between him and Bran's falling body before latching onto the wall and snagging his younger brother as he came down.

He jumped back down to the ground landing easily and stared at Bran's direwolf, which had been nosing around at the bottom of the tower until his master ran into trouble, as well as Fenris, who had somehow kept up with him. Ranma would figure out how later, right now there were more important things. "Run!" he ordered. "Get Jon! Tell him to meet me at the infirmary!" Both wolves turned at his command racing away, though Bran's wolf was markedly slower in both obeying and his speed.

With that, Ranma zoomed off, heading towards the keep and already shouting for Maester Luwin and his mother at the top of his voice. It was a shout soon taken up by others as they saw him racing toward the keep with his brother's body in his arms.

They both met him at the doorway to the keep. At the sight of the bleeding, broken Bran in Ranma's arms, Catelyn seemed to freeze, her face going from concerned to appalled when she saw the bloody mess that had been Bran's head and face.

Ranma didn't mention the reason behind Bran's fall for the moment, simply saying to the healer, "He hit his head at least four times on the wall before I could get to him. He's still got a pulse, but it's fading in and out."

They both made way for him and the maester immediately began to work on Bran's head, walking next to Ranma. His hands felt around the boy's head and Luwin clicked his tongue in concern. "Lay him down, quickly!" he ordered, motioning toward one of the beds. Catelyn followed them, her hands over her mouth as great large tears appeared in her eyes. But she forced herself to stay away, knowing she would be more hindrance than help right now.

Out in the corridor Ranma could hear the sound of his siblings and possibly a few of their guests coming to see what had happened, but he ignored that, following the maester's instructions to lay Bran out. "Hot water!" Luwin ordered, "And some clean dressings."

Ranma nodded and made for the doorway only to find several servants turning and hurrying off for the water. When he turned back, his mother was already grabbing some bandages from the shelf.

After handing the wraps to the maester Catelyn looked at Ranma, wanting to ask what happened, yet pausing when she something in his face. Something that made her own face go from tear stained, anxious, and fearful, to angry. "He didn't just fall, did he?"

Her oldest son shook his head, too angry to speak for a moment. Jon ran up just then. He looked wild-eyed at Ranma and then into the infirmary staring at Bran then back at Ranma.

Ranma clapped him on the shoulder, pulling him close. "Take our direwolves," he ordered in a whisper, "head over to the Broken Tower and up it as far as you can, look for anything unusual, anything that could hint at who did this."

"'Who did this'?" Jon asked his face going grim. "You mean someone pushed him?"

"I don't know who did it," Ranma said, nodding his head at both him and Catelyn, who had come close to listen to his words, "but when I looked up and saw him, I saw Bran fighting with someone's hand in one of the windowsills. If only I had been closer!" Ranma slammed his fist hard against the wall, cracking the stone there with the force of his blow. Only Jon noticed this, his eyes going slightly wide despite his previous knowledge of Ranma's strength.

Catelyn shook her head. "Don't blame yourself Ranma, Bran is always climbing every chance he gets, it's not your job to watch him all the time and it's not your fault that someone pushed him. Just…" her voice trailed off as she looked down at her young son, afraid that she would never see him smile again, never see him run up to her with an interesting plant or a tale of something he found or read. "Find who did this," she said her voice cracking as she looked up at her oldest, torn between a bottomless rage and an equally bottomless grief.

"We will," Jon said turning on his heel and rushing away. Ghost, Fenris, and Bran's unnamed wolf all followed him, for once not looking like oversized puppies but true direwolves on the hunt.

The servants quickly arrived with the needed hot water, helped in this by the fact that Winterfell had been built over a hot spring, both heating the castle and allowing for clean, disease-free, hot water.

Ranma made way for them, staring down as they began to work with the maester and his mother on cleaning Bran's wounds. He hissed angrily as he saw the large gash on the side of Bran's head, as well as the broken nose and another large cut over one eye that would need stitching.

He looked around as he felt someone touch his shoulder and turned to see his father with the rest of his siblings behind him, as well as their guests, even Joffrey. Both the girls looked a little weepy, though Arya was holding up better than Sansa. Ranma had to stop himself from yelling when he saw that Joffrey had taken the opportunity to comfort Sansa and had an arm around her shoulders. Rickon was crying, not really understanding why everyone was running around and shouting but understanding something bad had happened to his brother.

Theon, too, was there looking angry and worried. Ranma nodded to him and motioned over to the kids. "Get them out of here," he muttered, "We'll tell them later what happened, after that get back here quick." Theon nodded and started to shepherd the young children off, uncaring of which family they belonged to.

The Lannister guard, who had followed the two royal children from where they had been playing with Arya and Sansa, and Joffrey paled under Ranma's glare and the guard quickly turned and followed them away.

Joffrey however remained, while the rest of the royal party began to make an appearance, wondering what was going on. Robert was the next to arrive and he leaned around the door-jam looking inside. "The lad fell? You mentioned his love of climbing last night Ned, I suppose it was almost inevitable."

"He did not fall, your grace," Ranma growled, his hands clenching and unclenching and his eyes blazing, "he was pushed."

"Do you have any proof of that?" said Varys, who had followed the king, "Or are you simply guessing?" He was now standing well away from the doorway, unwilling to see what had happened to the young boy. Some said Varys had a soft spot for children or too much of a liking for them, and Bran was precisely the kind he recruited to be his 'little birds', the boy and girl prostitutes who were the most important agents of his spy ring. Though here in Winterfell, he had been completely unable to find any such to use and had been force to use other agents.

"I saw him fighting with someone's hand in a windowsill of the Broken Tower, there is no doubt he was pushed. I've sent Jon and our wolves up to see if they could sniff out any clues." Roger and Dacey had just arrived and, at those words, both turned and ran off to join Jon.

At the back of the crowd, the Queen heard this as well and started, looking over to Jamie who was now finally looking worried. She turned, quickly moving over to Sir Preston Greenfield and began to whisper in his ear, so low no one could make out the words. The man gulped and began to shake his head but the Queen continued to speak low and angry. Something she said seemed to change his mind and he finally nodded, whispering back something.

Only Tyrion noticed this and the Imp's eyes narrowed, wondering what his sister was up to.

The Queen nodded grimly and moved on to two of her maids. When she was certain Preston was no longer looking in her direction, she began to whisper in their ears. Both of them blanched slightly, but they both were loyal to her and her family, and had served her long before she became queen. Eventually one nodded her head, somberly.

"If all you saw was a hand, I'm afraid that's not much to go on," Varys said rather apologetically. While he had no family he understood the motivations that drove them.

"I don't care." Ranma said coldly, looking past his father at the eunuch before repeating himself, "I don't care. If I find even a hint of who was behind this, your grace, the barest piece of evidence, I will kill that person. I do not care about his or her station, I do not care about his or her family connections, I do not care about his or her gender! For this assault on my younger brother, he or she will die."

"Well said, boy." Robert grunted, wondering who the bastard was and why the boy had been attacked.

"Agreed." said Ned grimly. He wondered if this had anything to do with the message that Catelyn's sister had sent her, which suddenly was making much more sense than it had an hour ago. He looked over at Robert, wondering if he should tell him about the letter, but decided not to, since it didn't have any evidence backing its claims. The last thing the realm needed were the Queen and King to become even more at odds with one another without any visible cause.

About two hours later, the maester finished and he turned to the audience outside the door. "I've done all I can but I am still uncertain of the extent of the damage. I cannot feel any cracks in Bran's skull but he might be bleeding inside his head. At this point, my healing knowledge is at a loss; it is up to Bran now whether he will live or die. I have some poultices and medicines that can help heal the surface wound. I even have tonics that will speed the healing process and encourage his bones to mend faster. " he said, looking over at the now heavily bandaged head of the young Stark. "But if there's something inside his head that is injured, I cannot do anything about it but wait."

Ranma frowned, cursing the fact that he had never found out a way to use ki to heal other people. He knew it was possible, both Cologne and Dr. Tofu had done it a few times, but Ranma didn't know how to do it. He didn't even have a hint since they had never done it around him after he developed ki sight.

"I'll stay with him." Catelyn said, sitting down in a chair next to the bed, her hand reaching out to grasp her son's limp hand firmly. "I'll watch him and I'll feed him whatever medicines you make, maester."

Ned nodded grimly. He turned to see Ser Jory in the audience and motioned him over. "I want two guards stationed at this door at all times." he ordered. "If someone tried to kill my son because of something he saw, they might try again."

Ser Jory nodded grimly, and moved off to grab two of the guardsmen.

"Bran's direwolf will be back soon, he'll guard the infirmary as well father." Ranma said. Catelyn frowned at that. She always felt a little worried about the direwolves, but their affection toward her children could not be denied, and one of them could be useful.

The crowd began to break up into small clumps, but no one, save Tyrion and Varys, noticed Ser Preston staring hard at the door then at the two guards that were taking up position outside it. He nibbled his lips worryingly, then seemed to have a sudden idea and moved off.

Tyrion followed him with his eyes for a moment before deciding not to indulge his curiosity further, leaving to head to the library, which was rather extensive here in Winterfell. Varys too left, wondering, but his head was already filled with the desperate need to put a spy ring into place here in Winterfell, as there seemed to be many things going on that he was not able to follow.

At Ned's command, Sir Rodrick began to close all the gates of Winterfell, closing all the entrances so that no one could leave. Hopefully this would trap the would-be killer inside. Not fifteen minutes after the group broke up, Ned and Ranma met with Jon, Dacey, and Roger in Ned's study. Ned looked at his 'bastard son' anxiously. "Did you find anything?"

Jon and Roger shared a glance, and Roger spoke for them both. "We did my Lord." Jon reached into one of his pockets and pulled out a very small piece of leather which he opened to show a few short blonde hairs on its inner surface. "We found these up there, and…"

Both men looked over at Dacey, who let out a chuckle, amused by how embarrassed they were at not having recognized the next clue, letting it to her to mention it. "It smelled of sex my lord, that scent you get in a room after two people have been going at it for some time."

Ned and Ranma leaned forward to examine the hairs, and Ned frowned a little. "They're blonde and short but that's about all I can tell about them. They don't seem to match precisely the hair color of anyone I can recognize off hand." Not the Queen's, thank the old gods. If this was because of some tryst of the Queen's, that would be a disaster for the kingdom. "So, Bran caught someone having sex with someone they shouldn't and that was enough reason to assault my son?"

Jon sighed wearily. "From the height that he was pushed, Bran would've been dead or at best crippled for life. Ranma saved him from that, at least. Maybe he'll wake up and be able to tell us who pushed him."

"We'll see." Ranma said grimly. "Head wounds are tricky, remember how Edd was for weeks after that giant caught him a good one. If I've just saved him from instant death but not a slow lingering one, I'm not certain that's any better."

Ned looked over at his son, and frowned slightly seeing a tense readiness in the boy, the need to act, the wolf's blood rising in him with the need to avenge his family. Ned decided, again not to share the missive from Catelyn's sister containing her rants about how there might be something unusual going on with the Lannisters with Ranma. He could not, for the life of him, see any connection and knew that if Ranma heard even a hint of that, he would attack the Lannister party with disastrous consequences.

He sighed tiredly and sat up. "I'm going to go see your mother and Bran. I suggest you four get some sleep."

Ranma frowned, but nodded and Jon, Dacey, and Roger left, leaving him alone with his father. "Does this change your plans, father?"

Ned sighed sadly and shook his head. "No, we still have to leave in four days, though Rickon will now serve as official regent, with your lady mother behind him and Jon helping as much as he can until Bran recovers or..." Ned shook his head of such thoughts and went on. "To be frank, the King has been away from King's Landing too long already. He should never have made this trip or, if he did, it should've been quick, not this slow procession. By the time he gets back, Robert will have been gone from King's Landing for over six months and that is a dangerous amount of time to leave a power vacuum, even if he has a trusted regent watching the kingdom for him."

Ranma frowned a little. He had heard very mixed reviews about Renly Baratheon. He seemed a likeable sort but Ranma hadn't heard anything about his leadership ability. Still that didn't matter at the moment and Ranma nodded, then left the room.

OOOOOOO

Ned remained with his wife for the remainder of that evening and well into the night. He didn't even leave the infirmary to have dinner with the King and his party. Under other circumstances, this might have been seen as a gross act of discourtesy, but Robert understood. He didn't like it, but he understood that Ned cared for his family, something Robert had never been able to do with his own children, disappointments the lot of them.

That very night, the Queen's plans began to move while the iron was hot. It was made all the better, in her opinion, because Cersei had merely set it in motion and left the rest of the plan to her pawn.

It was well past midnight when the crackle of flames drew the attention of the guards on the wall in towards the barn. They could see Hodor, who regularly slept out with the horses, racing around pulling horses out of the barn. All of the men who saw the flames began to shout, raising the alarm. Not a moment later, another fire started up in the library nearby.

Ned had been roused from his place by his wife and son by the shouts and raced out, followed by one of the guards, leaving the other behind to guard the door. The moment he was out he began to shout orders, and soon enough two lines of bucket carriers were in place, fighting the fires. The one in the stable set most of it alight, but thanks to Hodor's heroism, which earned him both many claps on the back and burns on his arms, none of the horses died.

The library fire was fought much more easily, and only a few books and a table were lost entirely. However, there was a casualty, the Imp Tyrion. He had apparently been staying up reading in the library. During the work to save the library, he was found by his brother and a few others of the king's party. Tyrion had been knocked out and was bleeding from a gash on the back of his head in a corner when they found him. It was well away from where the fire started, though right next to an open window.

OOOOOOO

All the adults, save Catelyn and her guard, had run out to help, except for Ranma. Ranma was a very heavy sleeper once he got to sleep (a holdover from his past life, much like his liking for fish over red meat), so it took him a while to rouse even with the shouting going on outside. But once he was awake, his first thought was not of the fire, but whether or not the fire had been set by someone for some other reason. So instead of racing outside to help, Ranma made his way down to the infirmary.

It was well he did. The guard, one of the older guards, a fat man named Tomard, had been slain outside the door. Inside someone draped in an all-encompassing black cloak had smashed his mother to the floor and was wielding a longsword at Bran's direwolf pup.

Despite being only the size of a medium sized dog, the direwolf pup was game, snarling and leaping around, trying to get at the man with scant success. His sides were already bleeding from several, albeit superficial, cuts. Catelyn was getting to her feet woozily, her face a mass of black and blue, possibly her jaw broken when Ranma arrived.

The man turned as Ranma roared and charged, raising his blade.

Ranma knocked it to the side with one hand, his leg flashing out in a kick whose strength he had, alas, neglected to pull. His foot slammed into the man with enough force to literally rupture his insides and shatter his ribs while throwing the man through the glass window behind him with a cry of agony. That cry was abruptly silenced when he hit the ground below.

Ranma cursed under his breath, but had no time to spare for the man's fate, kneeling down and examining his mother closely where she had slumped against the side of Bran's bed. Her face was a mass of purple, but her eyes were tracking well, and she stared up at him through her tears, hugging him around his chest. As Ranma's arms went around her he looked over at the direwolf pup and nodded his head. "Good wolf." he murmured reaching out and rubbing the little pup's head affectionately.

The pup subsided, knowing that the alpha was here and would protect him and his chosen partner. He twisted around, licking at his wounds, noticing that his larger brother had now taken up position by the door.

OOOOOOO

By this time the King's men had joined in with the effort to stop the fires and Jamie had found his concussed brother. The Imp looked up at him a little woozily and asked, "I think I had some bad wine brother, do find the innkeeper and flog him for me, would you?"

Jamie chuckled a little dryly at that. "I think not brother, come, we'll get you fixed up." Inside, however, Jaime was wondering what his sister had done or who had set the fires at her behest and why. Further, he wondered when he would get the chance to kill whoever had done this deed for attacking his brother.

The cry from the keep and despairing wail of the man ejected from the infirmary's window, drew the attention of several of the people at the back of the group working on the fires, including Ned and a few others. Ned, fearing the worst, ran inside to check on his wife and son, followed by Dacey. Roger and Jon hurried over to the body of the man who had come through the window quickly, then stopped, staring down at the body. "Bring a torch over here," ordered Jon, looking up as Jaime, carrying his concussed brother and followed by a few others, joined him.

A torch was quickly brought and the group stared down at one of the Kingsguard. His face was a rictus of agony, the chest of his breast plate shattered and warped by a great blow, caving in the chest under it. Jon knelt quickly touching his throat. "Dead." he muttered then stared at the man's head, which was full of blonde hair. "What was this knight's name?"

"Ser Preston Greenfield," Jaime said grimly, "a landless knight from the Stormlands, he was raised to the white for courage shown in the Greyjoy Rebellion." Jaime's free hand, the one not holding his brother up, twitched searching for his sword, which he had left in the barracks set aside for the guests. "He must have been the one who set the fires, and attacked my brother for some reason. Maybe he didn't want witnesses."

"I see…" Jon muttered then nodded over at Roger. "Grab some men and take the body somewhere, I think we just found who pushed Bran from the Broken Tower."

Jaime almost couldn't help himself and nearly sighed in relief as Jon jumped to that conclusion, much like, he was certain, his sweet sister had wanted. Yet, for all that they had been brothers in the Kingsguard, he could not find it in him to mourn Preston's passing. No, the only thing he felt was relief that Cersei's plan seemed to be working, despite the assault on Tyrion.

OOOOOOO

The very next day one of the Queen's hand maidens named Fiona Mescarny, a married woman from a minor house in the Westerlands, came forward with a tearful tale. In front of Lord Stark, his heir, the King and the prince, with the Queen staring hard at her, Fiona explained through tearful sobbing what had happened. She and Ser Preston had been having an affair almost since the king and his party had set out from King's Landing. She had cheated on her husband with him because her husband refused to move to King's Landing with her years ago and it had finally got to her. She hinted however that Preston had broken his vows to take no woman well before their dalliances began.

They had been getting together more and more often, despite her wishing to break things off and that day he had accosted her and taken her up to the tower for some privacy. Bran had come upon them and Preston had panicked, promptly trying to push the boy off the tower, but he had fought back. Fiona had tried to stop him, but Preston had succeeded in pushing the boy off the tower and the two had escaped back to the keep about five minutes before Jon and the other searchers had arrived. She knew nothing about his activity the night before, but it was obvious Preston had attempted to kill the boy who knew his secret.

Cersei promptly dismissed her from the Queen's service, ordering two of the Lannister knights to go with her back to the Western lands that very day. The knights were also under orders to tell her husband of her shame, or so Robert and the others at Winterfell were told. In actuality, Fiona wasn't married, and the two knights would bring her to the Casterly Rock, where she would enter her father's service with a very handsome stipend for lying to the King and everyone else. She turned to the others shaking her head. "I had no idea those two were involved, Fiona has always been most level headed, this affair on her end is quite a shock, though I have had concerns for some months about Preston's reliability."

"He was one of your father's suggestions," Robert growled. "And now look where we are."

"My father knows fighting men, my husband, but he doesn't know how men can weaken overtime when deprived of pleasures of the flesh."

"True, that man isn't one to enjoy a good frolic, I doubt it would even occur to him to think that a man would miss it." Robert frowned, then laughed. "You sure as hell'd never catch me swearing to the white and the whole 'no women' thing!"

The queen smiled thinly, then turned back to look at Eddard and his family. "I hope, Lord Stark, that your son will recover from Ser Preston's mad attempt to keep his name clean."

Ned nodded his head, his face set like stone. "He will survive, though Maester Luwin thinks his brain might be damaged in some way. It could range from short or long term memory loss to becoming as damaged mentally as our stable boy, Hodor. He, he feels it will be closer to the second option than the first." That was a lie, Luwin had no idea where on that spectrum Bran's wound would fall, but Ned feared the worse. That way, he would be pleasantly surprised if anything better happened and prepared for the worst.

Robert sighed sadly as the Queen, hiding her elation with ease shook her head in sorrow. "I'm sorry Ned, I wish we could have seen this coming." He looked at his friend, and shook his head. "It might be kinder to the lad to…"

"Don't," Ned barked. "Don't even suggest it, Robert." He knew where Robert was coming from, but hope sprung eternal, and that was one decision that Ned would never make.

The King subsided, still shaking her head, and the group broke up moments later.

Later that day Ser Preston Greenfield was stripped of his cloak during a ceremony that hadn't been used in over a hundred years, and his family was sent a raven describing his disgrace. His body was burned, a horrible punishment under the Seven, something that was only done to the bodies of oath breakers, then his ashes scattered to the winds in dishonor.

OOOOOOO

Things began to calm down after that, though Varys, for one, was still wondering about why Preston had gone insane. Catelyn, too, was wondering about his guilt, since he was a knight who owed his loyalty originally to house Lannister, the house her sister's message warned her of. Still, no evidence had been found of some larger conspiracy and, that, plus her own injuries, made Catelyn unable to peruse things.

While Ned took Robert out on hunts, the announcement of Sansa and Joffrey being engaged was announced. Ranma tried to get to know the Southerners with scant success, though Ser Barristan seemed to be as interested in him as Ranma was in trying to figure out if there was anything but childish arrogance behind the somewhat mean streak Ranma saw in Joffrey a time or two. In the end, however, he was unable to make a decision just yet, though he kept an eye on Joffrey whenever he was around Sansa.

Ranma was very busy during this time. He spent time with Arya and the other children during the afternoon and trained with Jon and his friends during the mornings, now that Dacey and Roger had recovered. During the evenings, he was forced to join the nightly meals with his father making nice with the King and his party, watching unhappily as the affianced pair of Joffrey and Sansa became closer under the watchful eyes of their families. And at night, he regaled the children with his tales, taken for the most part from simplified versions of his past adventures. This and spending time with them during the afternoon, finished the job of solidifying the younger two royal children's admiration and friendship toward the Stark heir.

But while everyone else slept, Ranma would stay awake, working with his ki. He still wasn't certain what that final barrier had been but he felt maybe it had something to do with need and the body's ability to truly push past its physical limits. After all, a normal human's body couldn't really handle the amount of energy Ranma could put out, so it made sense that the first time you needed to actually project ki there would be a final barrier to it. It was only his desperate need to save his brother that allowed him to finally break through it.

His ki abilities however were still a little strange. For one thing, while he could mold it much more easily, shaping it in his hands and across his skin in a way he had never truly seen before (outside the Sneaky Thief technique, which really wasn't the same) he couldn't project it very easily. Even projecting a single mini Moko Takabashi, a small ki ball the size of his fist, took a lot out of him. What was more, it dissipated quickly, so quickly it very nearly didn't impact the fall wall of his room.

Yet, at the same time, Ranma could imbue any weapon he carried with ki, something that he hadn't really experimented with before this, leaving weapons use to whenever he needed it rather than as a normal portion of his repertoire. In this world of course, that wasn't the case, so he was glad to see it.

In discussions with Maester Luwin over the years, Ranma had discovered that magic was known here, though most in Westeros didn't really put much truck in it. Still, projecting magic was known, even if it wasn't normally seen or believed here in Westeros. That told him the magic users here were just that, magic users, not ki users. He still wasn't certain why, what power the wizards called on, or how it differed from his own, but chalked it up to a difference in the way energy worked in this world.

There was one ki attack however that didn't dissipate, primarily, Ranma thought, because it wasn't a simple ki attack, but something that changed from ki to something else the moment it left his hands. The vorpal scythes of the Bold Thief certainly worked, and Ranma caused a bit of a minor mystery among the smallfolk by practicing it out in the woods. As deadly as they were, the blades would be something he would only use as a last resort, but they sure as hell were a nice ace to have, just in case.

Ranma came up with several new techniques to work with the 'limitations'. He also worked with Fenris, trying to figure out their connection. After four days Ranma had figured out what their connection was, and even what it was called: warg. The library had several copies of old tales and odd magics that had been known to the Starks in bygone eras, and the ability to project your consciousness into an animal, warging, had been well known at one point and, indeed, revered before the coming of the Seven. Yet that was only a part of it. A warg's bonded animal, and Fenris was certainly that, took on some of the aspects and personalities of the warg. In Fenris's case, this went even farther, giving the direwolf some of Ranma's abilities, which would make him into a very dangerous animal indeed in the future.

Despite all this, Ranma couldn't help his younger brother. Bran had not yet woken up, though his head wounds seemed to be healing. Catelyn, despite her own injuries (thankfully, her jaw hadn't been broken, but her face was still a mass of bruises) rarely left his side, though Rickon often joined her there.

Yet there was a bit of joy for the family despite Bran's continued convalescence. During his examination of her the day after the attack, Maester Luwin announced that Catelyn was pregnant once more and even through the bruises on her face, those around her could tell she was radiant with joy at the prospect. Sansa and the others were all happy about the idea of having another sibling. Ned, however, was sad at the idea of missing the birth, but Robert had promised he would have time off when the moment came.

Ranma looked away from his mother, Sansa, and Arya gleefully speculating with about what gender the baby would be. When he did so, he noticed the Queen, who was staring at Catelyn. Just then, her eyes were not a pleasant sight, and Ranma wondered why.

Dacey and Jon had taken over watching Rickon outside the training area where Ranma had begun to put Arya through even more training. When Ranma left Dacey and Jon would continue Arya's training.

Seeing that Bran hadn't woken, Robert had made the decision to return to King's Landing, and Ned and Ranma would be with him. Four days after everything with Preston had happened, the King's party began to make preparations to leave, while more and more men began to arrive for the trip to the Wall.

Eventually a thousand men of House Stark and their vassals would head north, under the command of Ser Kyle Condon, who would bring a further eight hundred men of House Cerwyn with him. Cerwyn was the closest noble house to Winterfell (their castle was actually only half a day's ride away), and despite the fact that had no heir of an appropriate age to have joined the wolf-sworn, the relationship between Cerwyn and Stark had been close for centuries. Cley, the young son, was Brandon's age, much like Jojen Reed, and would be coming to Winterfell with Lady Jonelle, the only daughter of Lord Cerwyn. She would remain with Catelyn and provide another mothering figure to Rickon and Arya, with their own mother too preoccupied with Bran to watch them.

Others too were preparing for both trips.

OOOOOOO

"So here you are, dear brother. What in the world has you so fascinated in this library? You're usually too busy studying practical anatomy to waste on actual book reading. After that incident a few days ago, I would think you would distance yourself from it." Jaime smirked staring down at his younger and far smaller brother, who was sitting in front of three open books and had a large pad of parchment in front of him covered with sketches he had apparently made himself.

Tyrion looked up at Jaime and laughed lightly, though his eyes were unwontedly serious. "Ah, I can always take up my favorite field of study whenever I wish, though at this point I am more the maester than the student. As for my attack, well, Ranma Stark put paid to my attacker and the reasons behind that attack are simple to see." He shrugged. "I merely was in the wrong place at the wrong time."

Jaime saw something in his brother's expression, something that told him that Tyrion had his own ideas about why Preston had done what he did. Still Tyrion wasn't saying anything and Jaime decided to let sleeping lions lie. "So, what are you here searching for?"

"Purpose." Tyrion said, enigmatically. At Jaime's confused look, he smiled but went on more seriously than normal, baring more of his soul than he would to anyone else. "You know that I am not in line for Casterly Rock, no matter what all happens. I've always sort of followed you and Cersei around, trying to keep you out of trouble." Jaime laughed loudly, and Tyrion smirked. "And getting into trouble on my own, it must be admitted. Yet, I haven't ever really done anything with my life up to this point, nothing that would have people look at me and see beyond the Lannister name and see me as more than the Imp. I might be able to, if I go to the Wall."

Tyrion gestured at the papers in front of him, where he had sketched out hundreds of designs for various siege weapons, including one whose size and scale made Jaime's eyes widen. "The library here had a copy of the siege weapons the Wall has; all of them are old, most will probably break if they are actually used, and none of them are able to be aimed outside of a very small area. I'm good with designing, with fulcrum and levers. I can possibly update the Wall's weapons, so much that maybe, if the wildlings do attack, we can slaughter them so badly they will never attempt to attack the Wall ever again. And maybe that way, I can be known for something other than whoring or japes or being the Imp of the Lannisters."

Jaime frowned, but couldn't say anything to that, and at last sighed. "So I take it, you mean to continue on to the Wall as you wanted back in King's Landing?"

"I do." his brother replied firmly. "I'll be heading up with the men Lord Stark is sending from Winterfell in a few weeks." He smiled suddenly. "Of course, until then I'll be able to continue sampling the wares of the whore house here. There's this one woman, my god the thing she can do with her tongue…"

The Kingslayer laughed as the conversation turned to a much more familiar topic. Yet somehow, Jaime knew that once they parted, it would be many years before Jaime and Tyrion saw one another again, if they ever did.

OOOOOOO

Lord Varys frowned for a moment before dismissing the maid who had just passed on an 'interesting', bit of information. She was one of only two agents he would be leaving here, his efforts to recruit local talent having failed miserably. The smallfolk and servants of Winterfell were almost nauseatingly loyal to House Stark, and not a one of them was willing to spy on them for him.

Moreover, he hadn't been able to recruit any of the whores in town or even find any urchins to recruit. There were very few urchins at all here in the North, where if you didn't have a home, a roof over your head, you quickly died from the weather. Added to this children were precious, and any foundling was quickly taken in by one family or another. The whores, however, had simply refused him flat out. The ones born in the North shared in the same belief in loyalty, and those from farther south knew that their fellows would rip them apart should they try to spy on House Stark for him.

That wasn't good, yet on the whole, it was possibly better than what the information the maid had just given him implied.

"The prince is hiring a footpad, to what end? And is it part and parcel with why the Queen was talking to Ser Preston before his aborted attempt to finish the task he started on the boy? Or was it someone else that was seen by the boy?" Varys muttered to himself, then shook it off. Regardless, he thought to himself, things are shifting and I mean to be on the winning side, whatever happens.

OOOOOOO

The night before the King's party (and additions) was set to leave Winterfell, Jon and Ranma sat in his room, sharing a skin of ale and a plate of roasted chicken instead of being down at the last feast. Both of them were rather feasted out, and Ranma, who had excused himself from his position as host as soon as he could, shook his head. "I don't envy you or the castellan the task of figuring out how much putting the King and his party up here cost us."

"I don't envy you, having to keep dealing with him. I had heard so many stories about Robert as a young man, what's become of him is rather sad to see." Jon replied then took a gulp from the ale skin, staring across their plates at his brother.

Ranma saw his look and shrugged. "Unless you see some way of convincing both our parents that I shouldn't go, I don't see a way I could get out of it. Both going south at all and the whole marriage thing." That still left a bad taste in his mouth, given all the problems he ran into in his previous life through arranged marriages. Part of him had thought to use that as an excuse to at least get their father on his side, but it would have been cowardly and probably not worked in any event.

"No, there's more to it than that. There's a… it's…" Jon faltered, trying to put his feelings about the King's party, all of the party into words. "There's something wrong, I can't describe it better. It's like there are undercurrents all the time, and we can't see them, but…"

"I know," Ranma replied. "I can feel it too at times, I just wish I knew where it was all coming from." Ranma had an idea it came from the pretty obvious discord between the King and the Queen, but was that all of it, or were there deeper currents here, deeper meanings or ambitions at play? Ranma just didn't have the ability to tell. "And then there's Varys the eunuch, who's playing his own game, at least I think so, and Joffrey being an utter little shit, and the fact the Kingsguard are packed with scumbags. Yeah, this trip will be a real barrel of fun. At least Tommen and Myrcella are nice, good kids. And I'll be able to see Meera and Jojen again on the way down. Maybe even make a side trip to see grandfather Tully, I've never met the man after all."

Jon simply stared at Ranma through narrow eyes and eventually Ranma sighed. "I know, don't worry I remember the vision all too well. Betrayal and human enemies were a part of it. I'll be on the lookout."

His brother nodded, and then asked, "What do you want me to do here with the whelming and backing up Arya? Any special suggestions or ideas?"

Ranma frowned but then nodded decisively. "Once we're gone, make certain that any of the men and women from the King's party that have decided to stay are what they say they are. Varys the Spider was along for a reason and just because he serves the crown doesn't mean shit to us. In regards to the whelming, concentrate on making certain the logistics of providing for the Night Watch and the men sent north are as good as we can make them. Be ready for anything is the best I can tell you outside of that. My gut is telling me that the Wall will be hard pressed but the real blow may come from somewhere else, so be prepared to react somewhere else just in case. Still you'll have our friends to help there, and of course, Tyrion too."

"That wasn't as much advice as I could have wished. Still I actually like the Imp," Jon admitted. "He's an amusing fellow and extremely quick-witted even outside of his jokes. I wasn't prepared to like any Lannister, but for him I'll make an exception."

"I like him too, though I wouldn't trust him as far as I could throw the king, that man's mind and tongue make him dangerous out of all proportion to his physical size. Still, he wants to prove himself, that will probably make him trustworthy as long as he can make an impact on the Wall's defense. But putting that aside… there's something else you and our other siblings should know, about our connection to our direwolves, something I found out recently. You know how I was trying to train you and the others to sense out your partner's feelings? Well it turns out…"

That conversation lasted well into the night, and while Jon was more than a little freaked out by the idea of being a warg, he was also intrigued by it. He vowed to try and see if he could figure out how to do it consciously, like Ranma was trying to do. He also vowed to keep up his exercises and training Arya, then, as it was late bid his brother a good evening.

Ranma had spent about five minutes clearing up the refuse of their late repast when he looked up smiling faintly but warmly at a very quiet knock on his door. He moved to it swiftly and opened it silently, bidding Dacey to enter.

She had to wait until everyone, even the King was ready to leave the party, causing enough confusion so that no one would be able to realize she had made her way up to the Stark's personal quarters. She had nearly been caught a few times, but had made it without anyone spotting her.

Ranma smiled and moved back to sit on the bed, looking at her as she moved around his quarters, smiling faintly at the small items and pictures, many of which she could tell were made by his siblings. The rest made by the smallfolk, either commissioned by his father or gifts. "Did you and Jon have a nice talk? You exited the feast so quickly it was rather amusing to see, though thankfully the King was too far into his cups to take offense."

"We did, I hope you and the others are able to help Jon through the trials ahead. He'll have my lady mother as an adviser of course, as well as Ser Rodrick and others, but he'll need you all to lean on. Just as I would've if I were staying."

Dacey smiled, but her mind was on other things. "And with you going south this is our last night together, possibly ever, if you come back married." Her breaches and shirt quickly fell to the floor, leaving her standing there naked facing him. Despite being a warrior Dacey had full, heavy breasts with dark nipples. Besides her breasts, there was little in the way of softness about her and her body was covered with the scars of battle, yet for all that she was still extremely attractive.

Ranma smiled, standing up and moving toward her, his eyes showing his desire clearly. "Then I think we should make the most of it…" After that his lips were on hers, and there was no more talking that night. No coherent talking anyway.

OOOOOOO

The next day, Ranma sat on a horse next to his father and surrounded by fifty of their guardsmen, staring back down the road to Winterfell. Catelyn hadn't even left Bran's side to wish them farewell as she normally would if her son or husband left, but she had been tearful in her farewells in the infirmary, putting up with considerable pain in her face from the tears as she hugged them both farewell.

Ranma, his friends and siblings had wished each other farewell, though thankfully, only Rickon had cried and that when he learned that both Ranma and Ned would be leaving. Theon looked a little worried for Ranma going south, and worried too about staying, with Jon being given so much responsibility without Ranma there to provide a buffer between them. Arya was sad to see Ranma and her father leaving as well as worried about Bran but was consoled by Ranma whispering about a present for her hidden under his bed, that she should retrieve and under no circumstances show their mother. It was actually from both him and Jon, with Jon having paid for it, but Ranma having designed it, and Jon would be training her in the use of her present in the days to come.

Dacey and Ranma hadn't bothered with anything more than the handclasp between warriors in front of the others, much as he had with Roger and Jon. Both of them had known that their relationship would never go anywhere. Neither had been romantically interested in one another, it had been merely a physical thing, more an offshoot of their friendship and Dacey's interest in Ranma's physical abilities.

Roger would be leaving for his family's castle that afternoon with Osha going with him. With the decision to leave House Ryswell mostly out of the whelming being sent to the Wall, she didn't actually need to but the two of them had come to something of a… 'understanding'. With Roger being the second son of the family, he was somewhat freer to make such arrangements than his brother Rickard. Rickard was three years older than Roger, and while nowhere near the warrior Roger was, he was a consummate manager of both land and people and was well up to ruling their house's land after their father passed.

That had been over an hour ago, and now the King's party passed the two Stark men as they sat on their horses, unable to look away from their home. Sansa didn't have the same trouble, and was in the carriage with the queen and the two younger Baratheon children. Joffrey rode at his father's order, an attempt to, in Robert's words 'toughen the brat up'.

Fenris whined a little, a sound that made several of the horses around them shy away from the direwolf, whose head was now on the level of Ranma's waist standing on his own two feet.

Ned looked down at the wolf, smiling faintly. "I think your friend there doesn't like the fact you're riding rather than running with him."

"Oh, I have no doubt I'll be running at some point during this trip. Before or after I meet my prospective bride is the question. Or maybe after we get to court. I'm not really built for court intrigue or politics you know." Ranma smirked, looking over at his father while leaning down to pet Fenris's head.

"Ha, and you think I am? Besides lad, Margaery Tyrell is supposed to be a beautiful young girl."

"It wasn't her looks I was worried about." Ranma replied dryly, and father and son exchanged shrugs, neither of them knowing anything much about Margaery, though Ned knew her father somewhat. He just hoped the daughter was her own person rather than a female version of her father.

Even a younger version of Lady Olenna would be better than that, Ned thought to himself. After all, Ranma will need to marry to someone who has a good grasp of politics. As much as I hate them, I know that politics and diplomacy are important. "Well on that score, we'll just have to see. Hopefully things will work out."

There Ned was talking about more than the possible match between Ranma and Margaery. He once more vowed to talk to his son about his concerns in regards to the Lannisters if they ever found any evidence that the crazy message from Lysa had any basis in fact. He couldn't afford to have Ranma act precipitously, and he knew that Ranma would act if he had even a hint that the Lannisters were planning anything that could harm his family.

"NED!" Robert bellowed, laughing loudly from the front of the column. "Quit your wool gathering and get over here!"

Ranma and Ned looked at one another, then back at Winterfell, before turning away, wondering when they would return, and what the future held for them and their family.

End chapter

Here is my second chapter of this story, which has continued my changing of canon, and expanded on some points raised in the first chapter. Expect the White Walkers to be major players, though they will keep their visible forces to a minimum, husbanding them until the coming of winter, which will be long and dark indeed.

I should warn you all that I might be kinder to Cersei than to Jaime, but the Lannisters are going to be slowly wiped out (just like in canon only the Starks don't join them). I have always felt a little sorry for Cersei, and in this work she won't be as blind to Joffrey's insanity as in the original, but will be unable, as in the original to truly control him. 'It must be hard for any woman to realize she birthed a monster.' And well, Joffrey will be Joffrey, 'nough said. Jaime on the other hand, I've never liked.

Her other children however are just that, children. Here you see them respond to an older brother figure that doesn't care about being seen as childish or anything like that, and who treats them kindly. Myrcella is too young to be in the pairing, but she will develop a crush on Ranma. In terms of age, btw I added two years to everyone's starting age. The very idea of kids as young as thirteen being married off offends my modern sensibilities. I know that in terms of the story being set in the equivalent of the Middle Ages this is wrong, but I just can't write lemons for characters that are that young, sorry to all you purists. On the other hand, I might be open to a well-reasoned argument that can convince me to replace Arianne or Margaery with Myrcella in the far future. After all there is far larger difference between 10 and 16 then there is 18 and 24 (objectively speaking obviously). But like I said, it would have to be a very well- reasoned argument.

To recap, the North is more united and stronger in the main than in the original, but will have divided priorities which will force it to keep more of it's strength home whatever happens south. Stannis will have no need however to head to the Wall to aid the Night Watch. Jon will be the unofficial arm of the Starks for a time, and have his own issues and adventures (no learning ki for a few years at best, sorry) so that I can make him stand out in his own way rather than being in Ranma's shadow, and Tyrion won't be returning south anytime soon and will play a major role in the battles of the Wall, though he won't be seen for a chapter or two. Theon was left behind too, and whether he'll be making trouble or what have you is still up in the air. Very much waffling on what to do with him, but leaning towards not redeeming him. Again, if you have strong feelings either way, tell me.

Ranma has gone with his father south to King's landing to meet his fiancée. Oh, and no Arya coming south with them, I always felt her reason for going south was so stupid it isn't even a very good plot device no matter what adventures she had later on. So no Arya the assassin, which I have always despised, Arya the warrior fine, not Arya the assassin, the killer in the dark. Going forward she will start to be a 'perspective character' just like Tyrion and Jon, don't worry Arya lovers. She just needs a bit more seasoning. She and Jon and even Tyrion for a bit will become prespective characters in the next chapter.

No, Ranma won't be joining the Kingsguard. I have other plans in mind for him.

Now a quick question: Should I kill off Gregor Clegane quickly and publicly or wait to kill him of in battle? Either or, he is going to die by Ranma's hand.

Lemons? Yes/no? Honestly could go either way, though don't expect me to attempt to match the original style or the times.

*Chapter 3*: Chapter 3

I don't own ASoIaF or Ranma 1/2, too much pointless plot twists (and deaths) in one and too much Tsundere in the other.

I have changed a bit of the story going forward thanks to a discussion I had with N0mster: to wit, that Jon, a bastard, as official regent would be seen as both an act of insanity, weakness, or simple stupidity, plus bringing far too much attention down on Jon. I have gone back to correct this in the last chapter, and going forward in this one it will be made clear that he is in charge of the whelming and the logistics of said rather than all of Winterfell.

Thank you for all your reviews, as I stated, I have started to respond to them via PM like in A third Path which might be out this coming weekend, don't quote me. I especially liked the way everyone argued for or against Theon betraying Ranma, but refuse to say yea or nay there. Would also like to give thanks to my proofreader, the irreplaceable Jessolt, for making this chapter far better than it would have been otherwise.

Want to give a shout out to Kiwifan7 for his/her/don't know story A different Path, which is a Bleach story with the pairing Ichigo/Tia haribel/ female Kyoko Suigetsu – it is fantastic and OH MY GOD, why aren't there more stories with Tia as a main character? She is bloody fantastic! If anyone knows any UNMARKED stories with this pairing or with Toshiro/Haribel (still unmarked), I would be grateful. Also, are there any stories off this site that anyone would recommend in this pairing, a Harry Potter/crossover, specifically X-men with a Jean Grey or Emma Frost pairing, that IS NOT Megamatt09 stories? No offense, but those stories have been taken over by the harem. Alas, no other site I've been to is as easy to navigate as , so I don't know many.

Be warned this chapter is a little … boring. Yeah, transport times from Winterfell to King's Landing is irritating, but necessary for the building of the characters and their interactions, though even there that only begins in this chapter. On the other hand there's Jon and a few others…

Chapter 3 Journeys and Darkening Days

The rest of that first day out from Winterfell was unutterably boring for Ranma. Robert was in an ebullient mood, telling war stories and holding court, as it were, and Ned had quickly indicated to Ranma that he had to stay close and listen. This was about as interesting to Ranma as watching trees grow. Ned, on the other hand, was in good spirits, sharing the tales of his youth with his boyhood companion.

For Ranma, the only amusing thing that first day was his partial attempts to warg with Fenris. It was only partial because he had to keep at least some of his attention on his actual body, ready to respond to a question during the conversation. It was well he had, because he was asked several times by Robert to tell him about hunts he had gone on with his friends.

The large direwolf pup loped at the side of Ranma's horse easily, with Lady by his side. Even as his body continued to sit on his horse, Ranma could sense his bonded direwolf's amusement at how slow and out of shape Lady was. Added to this, Ranma could somehow sense a bit of Lady's irritation with said amusement, through some kind of pack connection he supposed. This was much more interesting than listening to his father and Robert wax on about adventures from their time as wards in the Vale.

Inside the carriage the atmosphere had been rather stilted at first, but eventually Sansa became used to the Queen's presence and Cersei allowed herself to thaw enough to let the conversation move more naturally. After Sansa had finished the tale of how the children came to have such unusual pets, the Queen had mentioned how her father had once had a real lion in a cage at Casterly Rock when she was younger. Sansa then engaged Myrcella and the Queen about life in King's Landing.

Through this discussion, Cersei carefully plied the young girl with questions about her older brother, trying to sift for real information among the dross. Ranma was an enigma, and enigmas were dangerous, she learned that long ago. It turned out that Sansa believed everything she heard about him and, in fact, had seen Ranma perform some of the great feats of strength that local tales attributed to him.

Cersei knew to take those tales with a grain of salt but she remembered Jaime mentioning how Preston had died from having his chest caved in from what looked like a single kick, which also warped and crushed his steel chest plate. She decided, however, that the sister's perception wasn't the best way to figure Ranma out, too colored by a younger sibling's admiration. Cersei also knew that as a young noble lady, Sansa was not kept in the loop about important events outside Winterfell, such being the purview of lords and men, a way of thinking that Cersei despised.

The Spider too, was interested in Ranma, although in Varys' case, it was his his decision-making as well as his general character. What made him tick interested Varys rather than his physical skills, which the master of whisperers felt he had a handle on, though he in no way actually did. Varys went about his investigation with all his normal cunning, first attempting to ply the northern men-at-arms with drink and tales of his own, then listening intently, guiding the discussion with the ease of long practice to the topic of Ranma.

Yet he was unable to find as much information as Cersei had gotten. The men of the North were not the most trusting and all of them knew better than to be loose lipped or even drink that much. Their lord might have been at the head of the column and them near the back at that moment, but that didn't mean they were going to take chances.

What he did get was informative but not really what he was after. He learned more about the rather egotistically named wolf-sworn, the bond between heirs of the Northern noble houses that was so close. The soldiers from Winterfell told him that Jon 'Twinblade' was held in high regard among their number, higher than any save Ranma. He learned that the men of Winterfell trusted Ranma and Jon implicitly; both as warriors and as leaders and that the impression he got back at Winterfell was correct: the bastard born was treated almost like part of the Stark family by practically everyone at Winterfell. This was astonishing to Varys, given the history of bastards attempting to grab power from their better born brothers in the past. Bastards were rightly derided for their origins throughout most of Westeros and Essos and feared for the same reason.

In the North, it was slightly different. Bastards were somewhat more accepted in the North, where life was so much harsher, so much colder than elsewhere, where children were precious. Yet even here, bastards were almost never as welcomed as Jon was by the family. It was even more bizarre to give a bastard the power to direct a whelming like the Stark lands were in the process of doing. Catelyn's reaction in particular was astonishing in the extreme, not just in not protesting his being there at all, but in her treatment of Jon Snow.

For a woman to welcome her husband's bastard like that is unheard of save in cases where the woman is barren, but that is most certainly not the case with Catelyn. Indeed, the number of children she's had while still retaining her beauty is astonishing. It is easy to see why Littlefinger is so taken with her even to this day. Hmm… still, I'd best make certain that the boy and Lord Stark are not making a mistake there. Also, I need to figure out Ranma's place, in particular, in the great game. Lord Stark is predictable; his sense of honor makes him easy to plan for and, in some cases, manipulate. His son, on the other hand, surprised me several times while we were at Winterfell. The humiliation of Joffrey and the other three, the speed with which he responded to his brother's fall, his ease with the two younger brats, and his easygoing charisma; all of these I did not see coming before we arrived in Winterfell. There is nothing more dangerous in the game of thrones than a piece whose moves you cannot foresee, Varys thought.

That night, they were forced to camp out beside the road. Thanks to extra horses and pack mules plus fewer stops, they were making better time than the King's party had made on the way north. They hoped to shave at least five weeks off the trip.

The Queen had her own tent with three of her maids, all women who she knew and trusted as much as she trusted any. Myrcella, Sansa, Septa Mordane, and young Tommen shared one somewhat larger tent right next to hers. Joffrey obviously could not share a tent with his betrothed, no matter either child's feelings on the matter, so he bunked with his Uncle Jaime, an arrangement made by his mother. The King, rather obviously, had a smaller tent all to himself, well away from his family. While the children, the Queen, and Joffrey turned in after dinner, Robert and Ned spent several more hours carousing. In actual fact, beyond his normal carousing, the King was trying to take his friend's mind off leaving his family (the majority anyway) with some success, though not as much as he hoped.

Ranma was all for parties but when two girls who he had thought were maids arrived to join the king he retreated, as did his father. Ned withdrew to a tent with Ser Jory Cassel rather than with the king. Ranma, on the other hand disappeared from the camp entirely, showing a surprising amount of stealth, leaving with no one knowing he was there.

Fenris met him eagerly at the edge of the guard's patrols around the camp. The two of them stared at one another for a moment, as Ranma sat in the lotus position and Fenris sat on his haunches in front of him. "Alright Fenris, we've been circling around this whole warg thing, let's see how far we can go…"

OOOOOOO

Cersei never slept well when they were roughing it, although once she did get to sleep it took quite a bit to wake her. None of her children or Sansa snored and, even more fortuitously, her 'loving husband' never even tried to share a tent with her, so it was peaceful at least.

The morning, however, did not get off to a peaceful start for the septa and the kids in the tent next to the Queen. A maid, assigned to wake the children that morning, entered the tent and almost immediately gasped. "EEEK!"

That woke up Tommen and Myrcella both although Septa Mordane was only groggily aware of what was going on, not being of an age any longer where waking up was a simple process. Sansa woke up quickly then groaned aloud at the sight of what had caused the maid to gasp. "Fenris, Lady! You two shouldn't be in here! Bad dogs!"

Lying on either side of Sansa on the ground next to her cot were Lady and Fenris. Tommen woke up, rubbing at his eyes with both hands for a moment then looking at the large wolf lying there. Right inside the entrance, which was towards the foot of the cots, the maid stood with one hand on her chest as she gasped in air from the fright the direwolf had seemingly given her.

Sansa's Lady wasn't nearly as large as her litter mate, still looking like a largish puppy rather than being almost the size of a regular full grown wolf. She was on Sansa's other side from the maid, facing into the tent from the entrance flap, between her cot and that of Myrcella. The younger girl, too, had woken up at the maid's shout. Now she began to giggle, one hand rising toward the friendly and demure Lady to give her a scratch behind the ears. "Oh Sansa, Lady probably just missed you. Didn't you say she always slept on the floor in your room?" Lady's tail wagged, her head lolling to one side under the scratches, causing Myrcella to giggle even more.

"That might explain Lady's presence but not yours, Fenris." Sansa glared at the large direwolf, inwardly wondering how the wolf had grown so large so quickly. Ghost was larger than the others as well, but Fenris was going to be a giant if his growth didn't slow down soon. Sansa hadn't actually realized how large all of the direwolves were going to grow, but she was right: Fenris was going to be a giant even among his breed.

The direwolf looked at her with a surprising amount of intelligence in his eyes. With his tongue lolling out for a moment, he put his paws up on the cot and leaned in. Sansa gasped trying to back away but failing. "Don't you dare?!" Fenris ignored her and began to lick her face. "Gah, Fenris stop it! Get off you big lug!"

Tommen and his sister both laughed, then watched as Fenris backed away, huffing in such a way that it was clear he was laughing at her. "Grrr," Sansa growled a little, then got up. "I just know my brother is somehow behind this."

The maid had gotten over her initial moment of terror and now shook her head in amusement. "Don't worry about it milady, he seems friendly enough at least, not like the pets this one madman from the Summer Islands brought in once. Lizards, ugh."

Sansa looked interested but didn't ask any questions of the maid, who moved forward swiftly into the tent, picking out clothing for the three children while Septa Mordane finally finished waking up, now glaring at the two direwolves. She had never liked even Lady, feeling that a wild animal wasn't a suitable pet for a proper noble young lady. She had never gotten any headway in convincing even Sansa of that, however. The less said of Arya's reaction to that belief, the better.

With a final glare at the two wolves, Mordane pushed herself to her feet with a groan. When the three youngsters began to change, none of them saw Fenris turn away to stare at one of the tent walls.

Outside the tent, Cersei had finished the laborious process of waking up from the large, specially made, cot she used and, upon dressing for the day, exited the tent. As the cold of the morning hit her, she scowled. She hated being cold and, up here in the North, it was always cold. There was even some snow on the ground even in summer. She scowled further when she saw the Stark boy sitting in some odd pose in front of the children's tent. The sight of him simply sitting there, his eyes closed, taking away his most Tully-like feature, brought all Cersei's old hatred against the Starks roaring back to her mind. She moved forward to ask him what he was doing when his large pet rushed out of the tent, followed swiftly by the young Stark girl who proceeded to take him to task.

Ranma broke out of his warg state as Fenris ran up to him, idly cracking his neck, and, only then, began to tune in on Sansa's harangue, which sounded like she was trying to channel the septa, who stood behind her nodding her head with each word. "And it is utterly unacceptable to have your great wild beast in there with us! I know he isn't nearly as wild or dangerous as he looks, but still! And if you think you are going to simply loom in the background to try to scare the Prince off sitting outside our tent like this, you have another think coming!"

The eldest Stark sibling caught his sister's hand as she waved a finger in his face, kissing the back of her hand with a chuckle. If only you knew dear sister. Fenris's native abilities and the strength he seemed to have taken from their bond had made Fenris a very dangerous direwolf already, so much so he had taken out a medium sized bear last night by himself while Ranma was warging with him. A part of Ranma could still feel his teeth ripping out the bear's tendons, then the taste of its meat as it slid down his throat.

He shook it off however and simply smiled at his sister. "Heh, that wasn't my intention Sansa, but now that you say it…" Sansa glowered at him, fighting back a smile at his affectionate gesture and Ranma laughed. "Forgive your brother, dear sister. I'm not really trying to scare Joffrey off." Not really anyway, that just a pleasant bonus. "I just wanted to sleep out under the stars for the evening, and decided to sleep here, that's all."

Sansa frowned at him but Ranma stood up, rubbing her head for a moment. "Now, may I escort you three to breakfast?" Ranma turned quickly, having sensed someone else moving near his side. He bowed gracefully, smirking at the ground before lifting back up, his face composed. "My apologies, Your Grace, I, of course, would have included you if I had noticed you were awake."

Cersei nodded coldly at the boy, though inside she had softened slightly at seeing the two siblings together. Her eyes drifted over to Jaime, who had, as usual, been guarding her own tent during the morning and who was smiling as well. She scowled a little inside, she didn't want to like the Starks or to see them as people, as individuals, rather than the hated enemy. She knew eventually that it would get in her way and she could not afford that. "Very well young man, let us be off."

Ranma's eyes too, had tracked to the Kingslayer for a moment. His eyes locked on Jaime for a moment, sizing the man up, but the moment passed quickly. The two Baratheon children claimed a hand each when Ranma held them out. Sansa followed, walking alongside Myrcella demurely, looking around for her prince.

However, Joffrey had woken up but had not approached them, having been intercepted by his father, who had ordered him to once more ride over the princeling's objections. He was in a very bad mood because of this. After all he was a prince! He wanted to spend time with his fiancée in the carriage but his father had nixed that idea. He also knew that Ranma was somewhat suspicious of him, for some reason, and didn't want to come anywhere near Ranma until he had gotten control of his temper.

Later, after a rather nice meal, the party began to prepare to move on. This was an arduous process given the number of soldiers and servants in the party but still relatively quick, given how organized the servants were. The majordomo for the royal family was a very organized man and had everything running smoothly, despite Robert and his normal group of drinking buddies/hanger's on getting in the way. The Queen, too, got in the way more often than not, though in her case it was her attempts in trying to control the party. Cersei tried to order everyone around, but she ended up simply messing up the order of the packing and the party's controlled chaos.

Robert needed help getting up onto his horse but despite his habitual hangover his eyes were still sharp enough to notice that Ranma wasn't mounting his own horse. "What's the matter lad? Surely you don't need any help to mount, as young and limber as you are."

Ranma rolled his eyes at the question, looking over at his father, who sighed and nodded. "Yes, Ranma you may run."

"Oh thank god." Ranma actually sagged a little with relief. "My legs were going to atrophy at the speed this lot travels!" With that, he reached out, pulling his blade and sheath from his saddle, and strapping it to his back.

"What's this?" Robert asked, looking over at his old friend. He also noticed out of the corner of his eye that the young Stark also had a short hafted warhammer strapped to his horse's saddle. He resolved to see if the boy could use it later in this trip.

"My son gets bored easily and has rather too much energy, which we let him work off by running alongside us." Ned said resignedly. Of course this will also show my son's physical abilities. A show of force can sometimes dissuade your enemies before they act, and I am not so foolish as to assume that all in this party are allies. Most especially not after what happened to Bran and Catelyn!

Ned was, quite frankly, icily furious at the dual assault Ranma had interrupted. He was also grimly certain there was more going on than just his son seeing Greenfield's assignation with a married woman. He didn't honestly think that the Lannisters had anything to do with it. The Queen had too much to lose if she failed and turned the King against her, for no good reason that he could see. They had no real proof of a connection there, despite Lysa's nigh-on insane sounding letter. But Ned felt there might be something else going on, something he couldn't see, and he wasn't about to turn his back on any of the southerners.

"Hah, well, if you want to exhaust yourself, be my guest lad!" Robert laughed.

"You're joking, at this pace? I might just fall asleep anyway." Ranma shot back. Robert laughed again and set off, with the rest of the party starting off as well.

Four hours later, Ranma was still jogging along, easily moving in and out of the column. The reaction of the others in the party was split in vastly different ways along easily discernible lines. The Winterfell men took it in stride, calling him the Young Wolf and other nicknames, laughing and treating it like an everyday affair.

The men-at-arms from the south and the Kingsguard were astonished and amused in turn. Although as the hours wore on and Ranma showed no signs of tiring - or even sweating at all, that turned to more awe and shock. This amused Ranma, after all they were only traveling at a fast walk, which was a rather slow amble to him.

The knights in Lannister colors, however, scowled and muttered amongst themselves, remembering all too well the humiliation that Ranma had handed out on the training grounds to a few of their number. Even the Hound, a pragmatic, hard bitten warrior with no truck with honor or appearances, still seethed quietly from the memory.

The servants were also amused but they had gossiped with their fellows in Winterfell and simply took it in stride. Many of the womenfolk began to wonder about whether that endurance translated to other things, something that had become a favorite topic of speculation among the servants of Winterfell.

Jaime was amused, but not really interested, after all endurance wasn't everything in a fight. He would take speed of hand and eye over pure endurance any day. He resolved to watch the young Stark more closely, but that was all he thought, secure in his position as one of the best blades in the kingdom, a mindset he had fallen into shortly after the end of Robert's Rebellion.

His superior, in every sense of the word, Ser Barristan on the other hand was more observant. He saw the way Ranma ran, every step sure, every movement controlled. The older man simply added this to his growing list of observations. He wondered once more what it would take to get Ranma into the Kingsguard. It had become obvious over their stay in Winterfell that the youth had a lot to offer not just in terms of skill but also in his sense of honor and general demeanor.

Varys, too, watched this and wondered where the endurance came from but didn't care overmuch about it. He wasn't a soldier so didn't think of any of the implications of Ranma's endurance. After all, no matter how dangerous a warrior was, he could only deal with the physical dangers in front of him.

He moved through the column, moving toward where Ranma and his pet were running along easily along the side of the party. "So tell me, young Stark, are you sad to not get the chance to see if you could fill your father's shoes while he was gone?"

Ranma looked up at the fat eunuch on his horse and Varys started, realizing only now that he was close enough to see, that Ranma wasn't even breathing hard. "Not particularly, Varys, though I am more than a little worried that I won't be there to persecute the campaign I can see coming against the wildlings."

The eunuch smiled blandly, not responding to that. He had long come to the conclusion that the youth in front of him and his fellows at least believed the tale of something stirring beyond the Wall. If there was anything behind that, he had yet to discover it. "You must be jealous of your bastard half-brother then." Varys said, choosing his words with malice aforethought. "After all, he is back there getting experience in leading men that should rightfully be yours as he controls the whelming and even the supplies for the campaign. I hear that your father treats him as if he were almost your equal in any case." That part was a lie, there was no hint that Ned had gone that far, Jon was most certainly the follower of the two. But it was true that Jon was treated like part of the family.

Ranma cocked his head, looking up at the eunuch on his horse trying to understand what the man was getting at. "At this point without any chance of battle in the near future, there isn't anyone else I would trust to organize the logistics effort as much as I trust Jon. He's damn good with numbers, he's got a good grasp of geography, and our friends to help him, if he needs them."

"And you have no concerns or worries about him reaching beyond that scope of responsibilities?" the Master of Whispers asked. "There is no one so ambitious as those who stand close, but yet are not, nobility."

Ranma laughed. "Historically that might be the case, but I trust Jon, besides," he leaned forward a little lowering his voice low so that the soldiers around them couldn't hear. "He's absolutely terrified of my mom, we both are. She does this thing with her voice you know…"

Varys continued to listen, frowning thoughtfully internally at how he hadn't gotten much of an answer there. Yet the boy's relationship to his bastard brother was only a small portion of what he wanted to know. This was the first time he had gotten the boy relatively alone, so with the ease of long practice he moved the conversation back to the topic of what might be going on beyond the Wall.

Yet for all the eunuch's subtlety and probing questions, he didn't learn anything new. There was no hint in Ranma's manner that the buildup of the northern forces was for anything but what Lord Stark and Ranma had said from the very beginning, an attempt to reinforce the Wall against wildling invasion. It almost caused Varys to believe them, but he couldn't quite get over his suspicions, coupling the call to arms across the North with the reinforcement of the moat.

It wasn't as if Moat Cailin needed more reinforcement after all, the Spider thought to himself a little morosely. He was no general, but he had eyes and ears, and had heard Robert, Jaime, and Ser Barristan having a conversation about the Moat before they arrived there. Going by what those three said, I would rather take my chances against Harrenhal than attack the Moat. Harrenhal could probably hold out for far longer without reinforcement, yet that's the point, House Reed can reinforce the Moat no matter what an invading army could do. Harrenhal is designed to defend itself, Moat Cailin is built to slaughter any army attempting to attack the North. Why did they reinforce a position already so perilous rather than reinforce an actual weakness such as Deepwood Motte? There must be more to it than simply transport and money issues.

The Master of Whispers was paid by the crown to be mistrustful and this whole thing made him suspicious. On the other hand, the fact that Lord Stark and his heir were coming south actually lessened his suspicion as did the upcoming marriage to the royal family. Still, it worried him. The North hadn't really changed for so long, neither its power structure nor its people, and now they were changing in many ways.

He turned his attention back to the boy and tried to steer the conversation to topics about the boy himself, trying to get a feel for him beyond the tales, stories, and secondhand information he had gained previously. He came away with the impression that the boy had very little in the way of political acumen but he had a certain guile and cunning. Certainly, the boy realized what the Spider was fishing for and began to respond by changing the subject, not giving away any real, concrete information, save for that he was physically skilled above and beyond the norm by a wide margin.

He didn't talk much about the battle against the Boltons when Varys asked. Of his own part in the battle against the wildling ambush, he gave a very brief account while waxing poetically about his friends. Ranma was so adroit at dodging Varys' questions, in fact, that the Spider didn't even realize that there were very large gaps in the tall tale of the battle or that anything supernatural had even occurred.

Ranma looked up after fielding a question about Smalljon's injuries to see in the distance that Castle Cerwyn was now visible over the trees in the distance. "Excuse me," he said politely bowing his head, "but I have to speak to my little sister."

With that, he turned to race back down the column, moving towards the middle of the column where the coach carrying the ladies was moving in stately majesty, or as Ranma saw it, sloth. Ranma shook his head, if they were going to go at this speed the entire way the Kings Landing, it would take them months to get there. And I'll probably die from boredom about halfway, Ranma thought sardonically. I know armies are supposed ta go slow but, as many of us as there are, we aren't an army.

Ranma hadn't been very interested in, well, anything taught at school in his old world but he knew one thing hadn't changed between there and Westeros: the speed pre-industrial armies could move. A good, well organized, and provisioned cavalry unit this size with accompanying carts, which was what this cavalcade resembled, should be able to do sixty leagues a day. That was, of course, on a road like the Kingsroad for the carts, which here was an actual cobbled road with strips along the edge with soft ground for the horses' hooves, not the bare dirt path that it was from Winterfell up to the Wall.

He knew that speed was probably pushing things, but fifty leagues should have been doable, yet Ranma didn't think they were doing more than forty. Thus, a trip that would have taken him barely two hours had taken them two full days, traveling from before sunrise to just after sunset. He had been to House Cerwyn's seat several times so he knew that for a fact. The sun was going down now and they weren't quite there yet. So their speed wasn't bad but was in no way good for a group this size, a little under five-hundred people.

Ranma raced up to the side of the carriage, easily dodging around horses and carts. He ran next to the carriage for a moment, before reaching out to gently knock on the side of it.

One of the windows opened and the Queen looked out at him, one eyebrow raised in shock at seeing Ranma still on his own two feet and running easily. Before she could speak however, Ranma said, "Sorry, Your Grace, but we're coming up to Castle Cerwyn and I believe that Sansa has a present for the lady of the castle. I just wanted to make sure that she had it out and ready."

The Queen kept her eyebrow raised, then regally nodded and turned back to the interior of the coach. Sansa had heard her brother and reached underneath her seat, pulling out a square wooden box about the Queen's arm's length on a side and a hand's width deep. She opened it, and inside was what looks like a very nicely made and well embroidered dress.

Cersei estimated its worth in a single glance. While there were no gold or jewels involved and despite it being made of wool and cotton instead of silk, the work on it was exquisite, far better than she herself could've done, even better than most of the professional seamstresses she used in King's Landing. It was done in tones of light brown and red with white stripes here and there. It looked both warm and beautiful. "Did you do that all by yourself?" she asked, letting her mask of regal distance fall for a moment.

Sansa looked down shyly, but nodded. "I spent most of the last two months working on it and the month before that working on the design and gathering the materials."

For a dress of that caliber and only a single person working on it that was actually very fast work. Cersei nodded in approval. "It looks magnificent." She said candidly, for once not having any ulterior motive in complementing the girl. She was interested, however, to see how the gift was taken and what it meant. The young Stark girl blushed under her praise. They entered into a discussion on styles and materials with Myrcella joining them. Tommen fought back a bored groan, staring down at the small book of fairy tales he had read so often since this trip began.

Outside the coach Ranma continued on, easily catching up to the head of the column. He bowed his head to the King before taking his place next to his father. On the other side of the King, the Prince sat on his horse, trying to look regal and failing, in Ranma's opinion.

But then again, he wasn't really the best judge of such things and he had yet to see anything to make his suspicions about the boy have some basis in fact. I've heard a story once or twice from a few southern men-at-arms about Joffrey and some furry little demon, but they simply mentioned it once and then clammed up, as if it's a secret. Of course Ranma was still laboring under the mental problems caused by the Cat Fist so he had made tracks as soon as the word 'cat' was mentioned. I need something concrete to go with my feelings and the fact Fenris wishes to rip the boy's throat out every time he smells Joffrey if I want to convince Father to break off this stupid agreement between our families.

"Still going strong, lad?" Robert laughed. "I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen it! We've been going since morning, the sun's nearly down now, yet you're still going on! Where do you get your energy?"

"Hard training, Your Grace." Ranma replied loping along easily with Fenris by his side. He shrugged. "Besides, this whole group is moving about as slow as molasses to me."

Robert laughed. "You best get used to moving slow. Large bodies of men always move slow, even if they can live off the land."

He didn't notice how Ranma frowned at that phrase. He knew that the phrase 'living off the land' meant taking what you could from the people who worked it. He also knew that, despite what the king said, an army living off the land actually moved slower than an army that could carry its food with it or supply itself through other means, such as river barges or partisans. Indeed, he had taken the time to work with the maester about logistics in depth and knew that his father had approved of that greatly, given his own experiences during the rebellion. Ned could only too easily remember the gaunt faces of children and other smallfolk who went hungry while his army fed on their fare.

However, what bothered Ranma most about the practice wasn't just the fact it left so many innocent smallfolk hungry if you practiced it but the atrocities that were committed along the way. Destruction of property, murder, and rape were all part and parcel of what occurred when an army had to forage for its own food, even in allied territory. When it was in enemy territory, it became far worse. Ranma had passed through China and Korea many times, after all, and had heard many tales about what the Japanese army had done during their occupation.

Rape was far more accepted in medieval times, such as the era he was currently living in, than in his previous life. But Ranma had not fallen into thinking in the same way as most warriors here. He loathed that act with all his soul, not just as someone who had once changed gender when he was splashed with water, but as a warrior sworn to use his strength to protect those weaker than himself.

"So how fast do you think you could get to Kings Landing alone, boy?" Robert asked, bringing Ranma's mind back to the here and now.

Ranma scowled at being addressed as 'boy', but let it slide for now. He counted on his fingers for a moment, trying to remember distances and geography. "I could probably get there by myself in about three weeks, Your Grace. As it is, it'll probably take us at best three months to get back. I just hope we can go faster, is all."

Robert guffawed. "Trust me lad, if you think the journey's boring, it's nothing compared to the destination. Too much damn talking, not enough drinking, or hunting in Kings Landing. Though, the variety of prey available to another kind of hunt is greater there than on the road!" Robert laughed again.

Ranma bit his lip to keep from saying what he wanted to say and looked over at his father, who sighed with a shrug. Ned, unfortunately, was far too used to Robert's personality quirks and hungers, so took it in stride rather than condemn him. That didn't mean he was going to watch however and had made himself scarce the moment the camp followers began to move towards Robert the evening before.

About two hours after the sun went down, they were finally in front of castle Cerwyn. The castle's gates were opened and the King and his party were greeted warmly, if formally, by the Lord of the Castle, Medger, his daughter, and grandson. His son-in-law was a Flint of Widow's Watch and was away visiting his family.

As soon as the formal part of the greetings was done, the Lord of House Cerwyn turned from the King, reaching forward clasp his Lord's arm. "Ned!" Medger Cerwyn was a slightly older man, four years older than Ned, and shorter with slimmer shoulders. Despite this, he wielded the axe that was a part of his family's symbol.

House Cerwyn and House Stark were so close together geographically both houses knew their friendship had to be strong and every Lord had made it a point to keep it that way. Thankfully their interests lay in different areas and their lands moved away from their castles in different directions. House Cerwyn was more interested in woodcraft, lumber, and moving into the wolfswood to the west. The majority of their holdings lay south and southwest of their castle while House Stark's land lay north and east of Winterfell. The houses did a brisk trade, which had been showing a marked profit from both houses for centuries. The profit had improved even more lately due to suggestions from Lady Catelyn and Ranma.

Ranma had come up with a few ideas of how to transport goods and a way to use water to power saws that House Cerwyn had grabbed with both hands since it had a tributary of the White Knife River only about an hour away from its castle. They used it to send lumber down to White Harbor, the seat of House Manderly and only real city in the North. House Manderly had built over a dozen new ships with the extra lumber, a fleet they added to their trade fleet as patrol ships and trade caravels.

"Lad." Medger reached out to grasp Ranma's shoulders, shaking him slightly. "You're looking fit, as always." He laughed, looking over with a wink at his daughter, Jonelle. "If only you were a few years younger, my dear, all this business about you going south for your bride wouldn't have ever come up, Ranma!"

Ranma blushed slightly but Jonelle came forward, smacking her father on the shoulder. "Enough of that." she said mildly. Jonelle was a comely woman, very much in the mold of a proper lady, with a gentleness about her that called to Ranma, speaking to him of memories of Kasumi. Thankfully, she was also married and happily so. Indeed, she was halfway through her third pregnancy. She had lost her oldest son as a baby to a wasting disease but her second son, Cley, was hale and hearty. Cley was of an age with Bran, and he stood next to his mother smiling widely at Ranma as he came forward to exchange greetings with him and Ned.

When Sansa and the Queen came out of the carriage, all of the lord's people bowed to them, somewhat more deeply than they had for the King. But it was very obvious to the Queen that their admiration and respect was charged with more than a little bit of affection for the Stark girl.

Sansa moved forward, exchanging welcoming kisses on the cheek with the lady of the house, nodding with a smile at Cley, who she had met several times. After greeting the lord of the house, she reached behind her to Jeyne Poole, her best friend/handmaiden, who was holding the box with her gift for Jonelle in it. "A, A gift Lady Jonelle, to celebrate the upcoming birth of your child."

The Lord laughed, looking at the dress his daughter held up, shaking his head in wonder. "I'll never get over how good you are with the needle, little lass."

One of his men, a heavily scarred man, yet, with a kindly smile on his face, laughed quietly. "A scarf from the lady is a treasure worth fighting for, but what should be said about a whole dress?"

Sansa blushed a little at that, even more so when all the men-at-arms from Winterfell and Cerwyn as well as the servants of both genders murmured agreement. It had been an idea of Ranma's to give Sansa something to actually do with her skills, and she had given her scarves and other works to many people as gifts and as rewards for outstanding deeds. These deeds were not just for acts of valor in battle, however, they were given to people of all walks in life for performing above and beyond, and had spread well beyond Winterfell. The men of the North disdained frippery and softness, yet Sansa's work was not only beautiful but practical, making them dearly coveted and her much beloved.

Needless to say, the Queen saw all this. There was honest affection there, both in the eyes of the men at arms and the Lords as well as the smallfolk. She had seen it in Winterfell, of course, that all the Starks were well loved by their servants and the smallfolk in the town about the Castle, but she hadn't thought it had extended elsewhere, believing that tale mere exaggeration.

Now, Cersei moved towards her son, leaning in slightly to murmur in his ear. "You see? The girl is not just pretty, the North seems to love her. Marry her, and the North will love you as well. And look at the smallfolk." She nodded her head towards the servants slightly. "If she can create the connection she seems to share with the smallfolk here elsewhere, then the common people will come to love you far more than they do your father." She had to work to keep the sneer out of her voice when she said that last word. After all it wasn't technically true, and, oh, how she loathed Robert.

Cersei had married the man with hope that the match would eventually be, if not love, then at least affection. She had even felt that, maybe if it did, she would stop sleeping with her brother, who she had loved since they had experimented with one another in their youth. She had even gone so far as to orchestrate Jaime's rise to the Kingsguard, so he would never marry and be available for her. But that dream of a true marriage ended swiftly. It ended on their very wedding night, when Robert called her Lyanna as he fucked her. It curdled further when he broke their vows within a week, and she welcomed her brother back eagerly into her bed in revenge.

That evening, while the others caroused and feasted with the King, Ranma and Eddard sat talking with Medger at his table, going over what Ranma had passed on. Of course, there was no chance of House Cerwyn not sending its troops North with those from Winterfell, as close as they were that just made sense. Medger was sending his right hand man, the landed knight Kyle Condon with them as their commander, though of course, overall command of the Wall's defenses would remain with commander Mormont.

Yet, it surprised Varys, who was listening in, when Medger didn't raise any objection to Jon commanding the logistics aspect. Medger seemed to catch his expression and shrugged, laughing slightly. "The Twinblade is well known to us and he's acted as Ned's voice several times. Not as often as this one," he clapped Ranma on the shoulder, "but enough times for us to be used to listening to him. Regardless of Jon's heritage, we trust him." That last was directed at Ned and Ranma, who both nodded.

The Spider frowned, then shrugged and decided to move on from that line of thought. It was obvious that the Northerners felt they had reason to trust the baseborn Jon. Whether or not they were right to do so was something that they would discover in due course.

Ranma wasn't concerned about that at all, of course. Why would he be concerned about what his brother would do, the person who he trusted with most of his secrets. Hell, almost all of his secrets save for the nature of his past life. No, what Ranma was worried about was whether or not Jon and Theon would get along or if Jon would simply kill the Iron Born if he mouthed off once too often. He'd thought of bringing Theon with him, but when he broached the subject with his father and the King, Robert had shot it down. The King didn't want one of 'those pirate bastards' anywhere near him for any long stretch of time.

He'd also brought up the notion of taking Dacey along, with the idea of leaving her with Sansa as a female guard, but his mother had shot that one down, staring at him with one eyebrow raised in such a way that Ranma decided not to bring it up again. It was obvious that Catelyn at least knew there was something going on between Dacey and her son, even if she had no proof. Bringing her along was in no way in keeping with the reason for Ranma's journey south.

House Cerwyn supplied the group with several more wagons, as well as drovers and teams of horses to pull them, greatly aiding their speed heading south to King's Landing. They would be turning back when they came out of the Neck, since here in the North, carts and the animals to pull them were important commodities.

The next morning the King's party set out quickly, giving their farewells and moving on as the sun was rising. Robert wasn't actually in that much of a hurry but Ned wanted to get to King's Landing as fast as he could, the better to begin his duties and look into Jon Arryn's death.

It was a cold morning of course, it always was in the North, but Ranma didn't seem to feel it, standing next to his horse, which again had his weapons on it. He looked up at the horse thoughtfully, then shook his head. He reached out and patted Fenris on the head, shaking his head again. I might have to ride when we get south of the Neck, I doubt southerners would take me seriously if I simply ran along as I'm wont to do, but before that I'm going to make do with my own two feet, thank you so much.

Robert looked over at him, laughing again as he noticed that Ranma was making no move to get into the saddle. He grunted a little as he himself slipped one leg over his mounds back. He nodded his head at the warhammer that hung from Ranma's saddle. "Is that just for show, boy, or do you use that as well as you supposedly can your sword?"

Ranma grimaced yet again at the 'boy' part in that sentence. Genma had called him that far too often, and there was too much of Robert that reminded him of the fat panda as it was.

Quickly he reached forward, pulling the warhammer loose from its holster and swinging it around. He moved to the side, away from the horses around him, and then he began to move. There was nothing in his motion that told of the weapons weight; there was nothing that showed the normal 'smash and bash' style most men who wielded warhammers or maces used. He almost danced as he wielded it, up, down, around, under, over, the warhammer making the air whistle as it moved through intricate shapes around him. Then Ranma stopped easily with the warhammer outstretched, his arm not even shaking under the strain of holding it there, before lifting it straight up then laying it on one of his shoulders.

He then handed it headfirst to Robert, who took it right behind the head, grunting a little under the weight in surprise. "Yes," Ranma said blandly, "I think I can."

Robert lifted the hammer and looked at it, laughing quietly, and then handed it back. "Hah, interesting display, lad, but there's more to the warhammer then being able to make pretty patterns in the air. Let me tell you, I…"

To the side of this, Cersei had watched, her eyes slowly going wider at the display. Jaime, at her side as always, smiled a little caustically. He had always felt that the warhammer was a weapon for those who couldn't grasp the subtleties of a blade but Ranma had made that thing sing, which gave his thoughts the lie there.

He moved forward, clapping Ranma on the shoulder, leaning in slightly so as to whisper, and not interrupt Robert's tale. "Once we stop for the evening, we might want to test those skills of yours. It might be interesting to have a new training partner."

Ranma looked over at Jaime, one eyebrow raised. Jaime somehow felt that the boy was taking his measure, but simply smirked roguishly back. Ranma eventually nodded. "That might be an interesting spar, yes."

He moved off quickly, however, to help the children into the carriage, grandly bowing in such a way that Sansa began to giggle along with Myrcella while Tommen grinned. Joffrey, who was nearby, once again on horseback, bit back a sneer at the sight. Instead he smiled, moving over as if to listen to his father's story, not saying anything but making it seem by his manner as if he felt Ranma and his antics were childish. Behind him loomed the ever present shadow of the Hound, who glared at Ranma, although inwardly he was hoping he would never have to face the boy in a real fight.

Soon the group set off, with Ranma once more easily loping along like the direwolf of House Stark's banner, waving farewell to House Cerwyn.

The cheers for the King and his family were intermingled with a few cheers of 'Young Wolf', and 'House Stark'.

Varys once more resolved to find out what levers the young boy had. It was obvious he was a symbol for the North and, if it spread elsewhere, he would be a powerful tool in the game of thrones.

Cersei heard all this from inside her carriage and frowned slightly. Legends could start anywhere and Ranma's physical skills almost screamed that he was indeed capable of becoming a legend. It remained to be seen what kind, but there was much she could do with such a legend. If I can somehow suborn him... It might be a long shot given he's a Stark, however, it would be well worth it. But first I need to learn why Barristan is so interested in him. If it's for the reason I think, it could represent both a major opportunity and a major danger.

The party continued on their way for about three hours, going somewhat faster thanks to the added carts and horses along with some rearrangements, but not fast enough to keep Ranma from getting bored with the whole affair. Hmm, if I'm bored, Tommy must be catatonic in there with only the girls and, ugh, Mordane the Uptight, for company. Oh, and let's not forget one of the girls is Jeyne the gossip queen. To cut down the number of carriages, which couldn't travel as fast as carts, they had gotten rid of one of the two carriages. Jeyne and Septa Mordane had moved in with the Queen and the youngsters while the other servants had moved to the new carts that House Cerwyn had supplied.

With that thought, Ranma moved backwards through the column, heading towards the carriage at its center. Once again he knocked on the Queen's carriage. The Queen looked out at him and Ranma grinned up at her. "I'm here to rescue your son."

"What?" Cersei asked coldly.

"Well," Ranma replied with a shrug, "he's the only guy in their after all, and I know my sister and her friend. He must be getting bored."

The Queen glared at him, not liking the idea of her son getting any more involved with Ranma, yet at the same time unwilling to shoot it down entirely, seeing it as a way to bring Ranma closer to her sphere of influence. Still, Cersei shook her head. "Under no circumstances am I going to let my son out of my sight."

"In that case, your grace," Ranma said bowing even as he continued to run along, "I'll stay right here beside the carriage."

Cersei looked over at her son, who had been trying and failing to look anything but bored. The girls had dominated the discussion from the beginning, which the Queen had rather enjoyed, especially since she had convinced Sansa to make a dress for her. The young girl had a true talent for it, and she was wondering what the youngster would do with southern styles. Cersei was slowly convincing the girl that she was her friend, to confide in her, and to listen to her while also gently steering the girl's infatuation with her eldest son. Whatever else she may be, Sansa was not a political animal nor was there much guile in her nature. Cersei fanned her infatuation with Joffrey easily.

Yet, Tommen was but a boy of seven, and he had read and reread the books they had brought with them. He was staring at his mother now hopefully. Eventually she sighed. "Very well, but will you be all right carrying him along while running?" Cersei rather liked the idea of a Stark being a beast of burden to one of her sons. Such was the way it should be, of course.

The door to the carriage opened while the carriage and the rest of the King's company continued to move. Tommen looked a little leery for a moment but Ranma quickly reached his hands forward grasping the youngster under both arms and lifting him easily while still maintaining his running speed and set Tommen on his horse, which he had been pulling along.

With that he swung up easily into the saddle, shaking his head down at Fenris. The direwolf was a little irritated that his bond-mate had once again begun to ride on one of those large edible creatures but Fenris put up with it for now.

"Now, Tommy, would you like to hear a story as we go along?" Tommy nodded eagerly. Ranma smiled then began this story as he did most of them. "In a land far away there lived a pigtailed warrior, whose father was not the most honorable sort…"

OOOOOOO

The moment that Ranma and the others were out of sight, Arya had turned and raced back into Winterfell, heading straight through the keep an up to Ranma's room to find the present he had left her. Jon had seen this and nodded over to Dacey. "We'll be right down, get ready to head out now. I doubt Arya's going to want to wait a single moment." Dacey nodded, sipping at a large steaming tankard of something, possibly some kind of tea, while Jon looked over at Theon. "Are you going to join in?"

Theon shook his head. "I volunteered to go out with the hunting parties to restock our larders." He laughed. "The King might've been fun, but he damn near ate us out of house and home."

Jon groaned aloud. "I know that well enough, I'll have to work with the seneschal and Lady Catelyn most of today to add up the cost of it all."

"Better you than me." The Iron Born said rather cheerfully, enjoying Jon's discomfiture.

To one side, Roger and Osha were on a pair of horses, both of them heavily armed. There had been some mutters about that, allowing a wildling spear-wife to go around armed, but the connection between the two of them was as visible as it was surprising. Osha sometimes muttered about it being against the wildling way for Roger not to have to steal her away but it was obviously a front. She seemed to greatly enjoy being 'romanced' by the younger man rather than ravished.

Jon smiled at the two of them. "So you're leaving now then? I would love to be a fly on the wall when you introduce your new bride to your lord father."

The wildling woman scoffed, muttering about silly soft squatter's ways, but she did so with a smile on her hard, experienced face. For whatever reason, the older woman was quite taken with Roger, possibly his youth and enthusiasm appealed to her, or possibly it was the fact he took the time to please her rather than take his own pleasure. Whatever the case, they were together, and still heading further south, which suited Osha just fine.

Roger laughed. "Ah, but as a second son, I can marry whoever I wish, my father will just have to lump it." He reached down to clasp hands with Jon. "I'll tell my father the tale of what we faced and, also, that our house isn't a part of the whelming. Regardless, if we can convince him, we'll be calling up our men-at-arms and preparing, just in case we are called upon."

House Ryswell was the noble house of the Rills, the somewhat verdant area between the barrowlands and the Stony Shore and they were looked to for protection from both those areas with the decline of House Dustin. With no issue or chosen heir, the future of Dustin had been in flux for years and Ryswell had grown in strength to fill the vacuum, since Lady Barbrey, the widow of House Dustin, was Lord Rodrick Ryswell's daughter.

Ryswell was known for superb light cavalry and decent heavy cavalry, matched in the North only by Houses Manderly and Dustin, the last of which could no longer field the numbers it once could. As such, even if called, they would be of little use on the Wall in the initial stages of what both Jon and Roger felt was going to be an extensive campaign.

"That's good to hear, but keep them home for now, I pray you." He paused, thinking how to put his feelings into words. "There is much opportunity in turbulent times. Ranma and I both got the impression that there might be… something going on down south, although we have no idea what. Keep them at home and ready, just in case, but don't be stuck on the idea of sending your forces to the Wall."

Roger blinked at that, not having spent much time in the presence of the southerners, outside of the nightly feasts. Still, he nodded. "I'll trust your judgment on that, but I don't think my father will be moved by vague warnings and feelings." With a final farewell Roger and his bride-to-be turned and rode out of Winterfell, making first for the town of Torrhen's Square, and then home to House Ryswell's seat.

Jon watched them go for a moment then walked away, entering the central keep. He paused a moment on his way after Arya to check in with Lady Stark in her vigil in the infirmary. Rather than the one guard or two that had been assigned there during the King's stay, they were four men at arms outside the doorway now. This might've been something like locking the door after the horses had all fled but no one was taking any chances with Bran's life or the life of the Lady and her unborn child.

Catelyn motioned him closer, her jaw was still sore so she was barely able to open it in order to speak and even that movement bothered the bruises she had taken to her face. "When you start your work with the seneschal, bring the work here and we will go over it together."

Jon bowed his head. "I'll do so right away." he said correctly interpreting her look as a 'this is something important' look. "I have one small task to do first however."

Nor was the King's stay the only drain on Winterfell's normal resources. They were also home, at the moment, to nearly two-thousand men-at-arms called up from around the family's lands and more from House Cerwyn would be arriving with Ser Kyle and Lady Jonelle tomorrow.

Rickon was looking forward to seeing Cley again, as well as seeing the Lady, understanding that she would be taking care of them for a while as his mother healed from all the bruises on her face. The sight of that had made the youngest stark very angry, which translated into Shaggydog being very angry, snapping at all and sundry, causing the other wolves to sit on him hard, literally, in Fenris's case when he was around.

With a final nod, Jon sped off, wanting to grab Arya before she could race off with her gift.

OOOOOOO

Arya had quickly made her way to Ranma's room, ducking underneath the bed, eagerly looking around, almost immediately finding what she sought. She pulled out a long slim wooden box, a little shorter than a grown man's arm. She almost bounced excitedly in her position on the floor as she pulled it out, opening the top quickly.

She gasped aloud at the sight of what lay beneath. Within was a sword, the style of which she had never seen before. The blade was very long and flexible looking, curved just slightly, and had a wickedly sharp looking edge and point. The hilt was large enough for both of Arya's hands at the moment, but she knew she would eventually be able to wield it in one. She pulled it out reverently, noting the lines on it and the heft, staring down at the barely perceptible swirls of color in the metal of the blade.

The sword was designed from Ranma's memory of the kodachi style of katana from his old life. The name had meant nothing to anyone here and he hadn't used it, of course, but even so the thought of it had often brought a wry smile to Ranma's face, remembering the crazy martial arts gymnast who had dogged his steps so often.

Arya had been doing strength training with Ranma for nearly as long as she could walk and she was much stronger than she looked, almost as strong as a trained man-at-arms. She whistled, whipping the sword around ecstatically, first with both hands and then with one, getting a sense for it, loving how it felt in her hands. "I name you Fang!" she shouted excitedly, looking at it.

"Ranma designed it." Jon said from the doorway, leaning against it with his arms crossed smiling despite his rather stern demeanor at the moment. "I paid for it, Ranma designed it, and we both chipped in to purchase the various metals for it."

It cost both boys a lot actually, simply because Ranma had been very finicky on what he wanted and how he wanted it done. Ranma didn't know very much about metallurgy or what was necessary for blade, but he had read at one point that the Japanese used a different mixture to create their blades than anyone else did and some of the mixture had stayed with him. All three of them, the two of them and the blacksmith, worked together to create the blade in secret over the last few months, getting it ready for Arya's birthday.

It had taken them that long to get it right, the heat needed, the constant folding and hardening, the fact they had to experiment to get the mix of different metals right, all of it had taken a lot of time. It had been a very interesting experience for the blacksmith and he had taken to experimenting with different mixes of metals to see if he could create broadswords with the same basic premise, although the folding, tempering, and annealing aspects took far too long to make it viable for most weapons. Still, the final result was almost exactly what Ranma had envisioned and Jon had already commissioned him to make two other blades of like size for him.

Jon strode forward quickly as Arya began to swing the blade again, grabbing her hand where it held the blade, his face stern. "It's not a toy. It isn't something you're going to be allowed to whip out and threaten someone with, okay? This is a weapon, a tool for killing other people. So long as you treat it with the respect that task demands, you will be allowed to keep it. But if you do not, if you play with it, brag about it, or otherwise misuse your 'Fang', I will take it from you."

Arya looked a little rebellious, but eventually nodded. Ranma always went on about the duty of the Lord to his people as had their father, and this was simply an extension of that. "So will you be training me?"

"Eventually yes," Jon nodded in reply. "Unfortunately, today I have to do the paperwork for the King's visit." He scowled a little. "No wonder he was so fat, all those damn feasts cost us more than we use in a year in a matter of days. Dacey, however, is going to take you out to the woods on a hunting trip, just the two of you. That shouldn't arouse anyone's suspicions. She'll start training you in this blade this morning."

Arya nodded, that made sense. Dacey had become her confidant in many ways. She was a warrior woman from a warrior clan who knew that she was unusual, yet refused to be cowed, something Arya respected a lot. Besides, this would give me a chance to grill her again about her relationship with my big brother. She smirked a little at that, she wasn't one for gossip but she was dying to know the answer to that one. Although why everyone was so concerned about it, she didn't know. All that mushy love stuff sort of went right over her head, really. "Do you know how many days it will take for a new septa to arrive?"

When she had heard Mordane was going south with those sent with the Starks to set up their household down in King's Landing, Arya had danced a little jig in the privacy of her room. In public, she had tried to keep her elation inside but had failed miserably to anyone who knew her. Luckily, her mother was so busy with Bran that she hadn't even noticed that the septa had left.

"We're not going to bring in another teacher for the time being. Lady Jonelle will moving here in a few days. She'll be arriving with their portion of the force that's going North and will stay here while Ser Kyle takes command of the men we're sending to the Wall. Lady Jonelle will take over your womanly studies."

Arya's eyes glittered at the idea of what was going to be happening soon further north and a part of her desired to go with the army. Jon read her mind however and shook his head sharply. "No! Not only no, but no chance in hell! In point of fact I'm going to check and make damn certain that you are in your room or wherever you are needed to be when the troops leave. The Night's Watch is not made up of honorable, decent people, Arya. Most of them are thieves, cut purses, bandits, and rapists. Remember the song 'Brave Danny Flint'! You're strong, and I'm not saying you can't defend yourself against one person or maybe even two, but what about ten or twenty? Even Dacey had some issues while we were there and her great uncle is the commander of the Nights Watch."

Indeed, Dacey had been accosted several times and, once or twice during their brief stay on the wall, had been cornered by a group of the Night's Watch but her skill with the sword was such that she had been able to fend off the few forceful advances. The fact that her great uncle was the commander had stayed most of them.

Arya looked rebellious but under Jon's stern glare nodded. "Fine," she muttered, "should I go and meet Dacey now?"

"First, figure out a way to hide your sword." Jon said with a laugh. "And by all the gods old and new, please keep it a secret from your mother!"

Arya nodded fervor in agreement that and looked around, wondering if she should grab one of Ranma's cloaks and use it. Jon patted her on the head and walked out, still chuckling.

Moments later, Arya left as well, heading out to meet up with Dacey, who had already readied two horses and was standing giving some orders to Hodor, patting the simple giant on his shoulder. "The horses we rode here from Hornwood look good. One or two of them need their hooves reshod, however, so if you could take them over at some point to the blacksmith and have that done?"

Hodor smiled brightly. "Hodor."

"Good." Dacey smiled, patting his shoulder again and turning to the youngest Stark girl. "I hear you have a new toy you wish to try out? Why don't you grab your bow and arrows, that'll add to the deception. Is that it?" She nodded her head at the bundle of what looked like one of Ranma's cloaks that the girl was carrying.

"Well," Arya responded in a loud voice, sounding a little defensive, "I like it, besides its cold out, and he's not here to object, so..."

Dacey smiled appreciatively at the girls attempt to cover the reality of what she was carrying and simply reached over. Arya seemed a little reluctant to pass her sword along, but eventually did so then ran off to grab her bow and quiver. When she came back Dacey raised an eyebrow in query. "Do you need help getting up onto the horse?"

Arya glared at her, grabbed the saddle and jumped up, swinging herself upwards even further, and into the saddle. She threw her hair back, glaring at the older woman. Dacey laughed, then flicked her stirrups, urging the horse to begin moving.

OOOOOOO

"Ah, there you are, Quartermaster Bastard!"

Jon turned and stared at the man who had just shouted that title, Tyrion, the Lannister Imp. Where in the mouth of anyone else the word bastard would've simply been a curse, coming from Tyrion it was both a curse and a strange sign of respect, for some reason. There were stories about how the Imp had been treated by his father, who apparently blamed him for the death of his mother. It seemed to have given him a more neutral stance towards those of baseborn birth.

Moreover, Tyrion had a sense of humor that was starkly at odds with the contemptuous, cold disdain the rest of the Southerners often times showed those of the North when the King wasn't around and they had to be on their best behavior. Most of his jokes were bawdy in nature, which is probably why Theon got along with him much more than Jon did, but even so Tyrion was a surprisingly likable sharp tongued devil. "Where did you get the rank from, and if I am Quartermaster Bastard, does that make you General Imp?

"Not a rank I would be qualified to, unless of course it was an army of whores. General Whore-master that's me!" Tyrion chuckled then stood in front of Jon, his face becoming serious. "When are we leaving for the Wall?"

Jon scowled. "I won't be going to the Wall, unfortunately, but Ser Condon will be arriving in a few days, after that you all should be leaving almost immediately." John felt he had a right to be angry, he wanted to go to the wall, but he had to stay here thanks to his promise to look after the family. He honestly didn't think that there would be any danger here in Winterfell for them, but a promise was a promise. "I will say you should be prepared to make yourself useful both on the march and on the Wall. Here in the North we don't have much truck with people who cannot do their share."

Tyrion nodded, still far more serious than was his wont. "Oh, don't worry about that, I've thought up quite a few little toys I think the wildlings will positively love to play with." One of Jon's eyebrows rose in surprise, and Tyrion took that to mean he should explain. "You see, I've thought up a few new designs for…"

OOOOOOO

After his discussion with the Imp concluded, Jon spent the rest of the day with Lady Catelyn in the infirmary going over the paperwork and bills from the King's visit. The larder was badly depleted, even though the King had loved to go out and hunt for the evening meals, and the wine cellar was barely a quarter of the size it had been beforehand. This included most of the expensive wines but luckily none of Winterfell's residents were big wine drinkers. The ale was more of a loss, but one they could make good, over time.

That was easy enough, the wages needed for the servants and smallfolk that they had brought in to help out the normal castle's servants was another matter, one that the Lady Catelyn had several very firm views upon in many cases, pointing out many that should have their pay docked for various infringements, and passing on the tale of two thieves that had been caught by the majordomo.

When called in about those, the man replied firmly that the Lady Catelyn had remembered it correctly and also suggested a few others be added to the castle's full-time staff. A few were given full-time jobs, but Jon noted down their names as people that he might wish to have investigated in the future on the sly. He well remembered Ranma's injunction to search out any possible spies and get rid of them.

The job was interminable but thankfully it was finished by the time the sun was going down and Jon was able to greet the returning hunting parties, smiling faintly at seeing the amount of game they had brought in. Rickon stood next to his older brother, absentmindedly leaning on Shaggydog's side, the puppy was growing far faster than Rickon, which the boy thought rather unfair. He smiled up at Theon. "Take me with you next time?"

Theon shook his head, smiling a little condescendingly at the younger boy. He hadn't really made any time for any of the Stark youngsters, concentrating on Ranma almost to the exclusion of everything else. Not, he thought to himself darkly as he looked over at Jon, that it actually seemed to change my position in the pack as it were. "I don't think so, sprog, you're a little short for this work."

"A good hunt." Jon nodded cordially. He moved over to help unload Theon's horse, which bore a dead stag on the back. Jon wondered idly if that was a symbol of anything to come, just like the dead direwolf bitch and the corpse of the stag that had gored it. For the moment however, he put that aside and leaned in to whisper, "I have a little job I want you to do this evening, one that I think you are uniquely suited for."

Theon growled a little, not liking the idea of being ordered around by the baseborn boy. But he knew that Ranma had given him some kind of task plus he was also in charge of the whelming and organizing the logistics aspect. He wouldn't go with the troops of course, that task would be led by Ser Kyle Condon of House Cerwyn, who would command a third of the wall's defenders, under the overall command of commander Mormont. One of the other two commanders would be Greatjon's uncle, an old man with a lot of experience, the patience of a rock, and a hatred for all wildlings. Added to this, Lord Karstark was sending his firstborn son up with his own ready force, a mix of seven-hundred infantry and archers, a powerful force indeed, one which only House Umber and House Stark equaled, or in House Stark's case, exceeded.

As well-known as Jon Twinblade was, they still couldn't put a baseborn son over the command of a seasoned commander from a noble house or the firstborn son of one of the most powerful noble houses in the North. He was still in charge of the logistics, however, at least in Stark land, which had in recent years become something of the breadbox of the North. He had helped both Ranma and Ned set up that portion of the campaign and hoped to receive, in a few days, a positive reply to a message Lord Stark sent the night before to Lord Manderly.

"Tonight," Jon murmured, "I want you to go around and search the rooms of all of the servants that came with the King or that house our new hires. In fact, search some of the older ones as well, if you think you need to."

Theon looked at him quizzically, for once putting aside his dislike for the bastard born to ask quizzically. "Why? What am I looking for?"

"You know that Varys the eunuch is Master of Whispers, we never learned why the hell he was here. Both Ranma and Lord Stark were rather suspicious of that. I don't want any spies here, regardless if they're for the King or some faction of the court."

Theon nodded and quipped, "Never trust a spider."

That evening Theon got to work, moving through the keep as adroitly as he ever did when going out to wench or meeting one of the servants in the castle for a tryst. He knew precisely where he was going, too, seeing as he had flirted with two of the three new servants and knew exactly where their rooms were, as well as their work schedule. Right now, all three of the new servants were supposed to be in the kitchen or the larder so their rooms would be unoccupied. Of course, they shared the rooms with a few of the servants brought in to help with looking after the Kings party, but the locals had mostly already left for home.

Theon opened the first door quietly, looking around the corridor to make sure he was not being observed, then moved in, opening the door quietly and making as little noise as he could. Once inside the room of the first servant he was investigating, Theon looked around, moving swiftly now. He looked underneath the bed and in the one dresser as well as behind it. Carefully he brought up a small thief's lamp that he had taken from the stables. This special kind of lamp only let out a small sliver of light, blocking out the rest of it behind metal sides.

It and the small stream of light given off by an opened murder hole high up in the outer wall of the room, which was on the second story of the keep, allowed him to see what he was doing. Revealed by the light of the lamp, wedged halfway up the back of the dresser between it and the wall, there were a few papers, stuck there by what looked like a tiny bit of wax. He had to actually move the dresser to do anything more than see them down inside the crack which he did reluctantly, moving it as quietly as possible. One done he took his belt knife, peeling off the wax that held the papers there.

Once that was done Theon held up the papers underneath the beam of moonlight, reading them quickly. They were in some kind of code, but the placement of them made them suspicious all by itself, so he reasoned it really didn't matter what they said. He stuffed them into his jerkin.

A sudden thought however made him lay down for a moment on the floor, looking underneath the dresser as he very carefully tipped it back. Revealed underneath was what looked like a large stack of coins, tied tightly in cloth and stuck there by some more wax.

Theon smiled tightly, and reached forward quickly, whistling a little at the weight of the roll of coins as he broke the wax holding it in place. The roll was longer than his two fists pressed together, and by the diameter held gold dragons. Once he put it in his pouch, Theon carefully moved the dresser back to its former position before exiting the room, moving onto his next target, a smile still on his face.

The next target didn't have anything in the room, one of the larger servant's quarters which was the living quarters of eight male servants, all of whom were busy at this point in time. He made a thorough search, and found nothing, or at least, nothing incriminating. Theon found a few amusements, including what looked like the lace pantie of a highborn lady stuffed behind one of the dressers, but that was all.

His third stop, however, yielded the most incriminating results. This room, which four maids shared, was in one of the corners of the keep with two larger murder holes up high on both of the outer walls. This allowed Theon to see much better. They also let in the air, which was probably a good thing considering what he found. Underneath the bed closest to the arrow slits, was a small cage with three doves inside it. Looking at them with the light of his thief's lamp Theon frowned, seeing that one of them already had a small roll of paper stuck to one leg. "Never trust a spider." he muttered, chuckling now as he moved out of the room carrying the cage under one arm, heading straight for the infirmary.

Within an hour, the two servants had been rounded up, and brought to stand before the Lady Catelyn, who nodded at Ser Rodrick, the master of arms. The older, slightly rotund man began to question them sharply with the aid of the majordomo, an acerbic and thin-faced fellow with a very stern manner. Presented with the evidence, neither could explain themselves. After several minutes of being questioned, one of them came clean, saying who had paid them. "We weren't supposed to look for secrets or anything, just general information. Lord Varys just wanted to know what was going on here, you know, keep an eye on things, make certain the whelming was doing well, make certain nothing big happened that could worry the country as a whole." Despite trying to put their spying in the best light, this went over about as well as a lead weight in a swimming contest.

Ser Rodrick moved over, leaning down to listen as the Lady Catelyn whispered into his ear, then turned to them. "Needless to say your employment is canceled. By all rights, we should be taking this money from you and kicking you out with nothing but the clothes on your backs. But we won't do that, if you can tell us if there are any more of the Spider's 'little birds' here."

The woman who seemed to be the spokesperson for the duo shook her head. "Lord Varys tried to set up a more permanent group, but he couldn't suborn any of his normal targets, and your regular servants are extremely loyal."

Jon and Theon exchanged a glance and Jon shook his head slightly. They weren't going to take the woman's word for that and Theon would continue his searches. The Iron Born sighed a little dramatically, unhappy at having to give up his nightly wenching for this.

Again Sir Rodrick leaned in to listen as lady Catelyn whispered to him, manfully ignoring the fact that she was wincing as she did so, as any movement of the mouth or face paining her. He turned back and replied formally. "Very well, I will have two of the guards show you out of the castle. Where you go from there is your own concern and we will be taking two-thirds of the gold we found. The rest you can split between you, we care not how."

After the duo was escorted out, Jon turned Theon. "It's well known the Spider normally uses two groups for his spying normally, whores and beggar boys. We don't have many beggar boys in the North but check with the whores, just in case."

Theon laughed. "I'll do that gladly but I don't think he'll have had much luck. The whores here in the North are mostly Northerners, after all, and they don't have much truck with Southerners." They hadn't liked Theon at first either, even as a client, but the amount of coin he was willing to lay down to lay down with them, had changed their opinions of him.

"Do it anyway." Jon said shrugging. As Theon left with a jaunty wave, Jon turned back to Lady Catelyn. "So, what was that about? Normal politics, the eunuch just doing what he sees as his job, or something else?"

Lady Catelyn frowned, then shrugged, and glanced over at Bran. The boy hadn't stirred even once since the maester had worked on him and seeing his younger brother like that made Jon's eyes narrow in anger. Still he kept a level head. "I'm not certain that there is a connection there, my lady." He continued hastily as Catelyn glared at him. "I'm not saying there isn't but we don't have proof."

The worried mother held his gaze for a moment then sighed and nodded her head, looking away as she began to gently stroke Bran's hair. Jon caught Ser Rodrick's eye, nodding his head towards the door, and the two men made their way out.

Theon had actually waited for the two men outside in the corridor. "I had a thought, it's pretty obvious that something or another is going on down south. Is there any way we could set up a spy network of our own?"

Jon paused, considering. "Honestly, the idea is a good one, but I have no idea how we would go about doing that. We don't have anyone here who has that kind of skill set."

The master-at-arms nodded. "You need to remember, also, that rumors and tales are one thing, sifting through to the truth is a skill that can only be developed by doing. We could contact the Lady Catelyn's father, he could pass on anything he learns, but other than that…" The older man shrugged.

"Maybe Lord Mannerly might have a better idea," Jon shrugged in turn, "but for now there's nothing we can do about that. It's not as if we're suddenly going to meet someone who'd be willing to help us set up a spy network of our own, is there?" The trio of men laughed at that, and moved off in separate directions.

That evening, Jon called Arya into his room, along with Nymeria. He had decided not to have this discussion with Rickon just yet, the boy was so young, his mind and will so unformed, Jon feared what could happen if he warged with his direwolf. "I have something to tell you Arya, something that Ranma passed on to me before he left. You see…"

OOOOOOO

Dominic looked up from strumming his balalaika as Viserys asked him a question. Since he had become part of the exiled Targaryen's 'court', the bard had become used to being asked questions randomly. The fact of the matter was that the Targaryens hadn't lived in Westeros since Viserys was a babe, so didn't really have a handle on how it had changed since their father's death and Robert Baratheon's successful rebellion. And as much as Illyrio had aided them in terms of money, food, and a base of operations, he also, didn't have a good grasp on the people of Westeros or the power brokers, beyond the most powerful. He had been with them over a month now and every day for two hours or so, he would tell them what he knew of Westeros, from its customs to its towns, although most of what he relayed was about King's Landing and the court

They showed an appalling lack of understanding, in point of fact, though Daenerys was quite a bit better at overcoming her ignorance than her older brother. Viserys seemed to be under the impression that what he already knew was always spot-on, so that when Dominic agreed with him it was obviously correct and if he disagreed, it was the bard that was wrong. Thankfully, he also seemed to realize that there were certain areas where he was completely ignorant and in those areas he was willing to listen to actual advice.

This hadn't changed Dominic's initial opinion of him, however. He still felt that Viserys was an opinionated, self-righteous, embittered ass with far too much anger and hate fueling his bursts of rage that were all too easily seen as something coming from the Targaryen line.

Daenerys, on the other hand, had surprised him. Yes, she was mousy, yes, she was quiet, but there was a bright sparkling intelligence behind that and a hard will just waiting to come out. She listened intently and he could see the gears in her head moving sometimes.

That wasn't helping Dominic figure out what Viserys had asked however. "I'm sorry, your grace, my mind was elsewhere. What was the question?"

The boy scoffed, but didn't comment. He had become somewhat used to Dominic saying that line in order to gather his thoughts before answering, although sometimes it was just fact rather than a desire to retain more time. He hadn't yet figured out the trick to tell which it was. "Are there any houses among the Stormlands that we could call upon, any who remember the line of their true king?"

Dominic went back to strumming his balalaika, but his eyes were still locked on his interlocutor. "It would depend on what you mean by 'call upon'. There are a few houses in the Stormlands that are not as loyal to House Baratheon as they should be, though whether or not that is because of lingering loyalty to your house or because they chafe under the somewhat distant and rather… soft rule of Renly Baratheon I cannot say."

"Tell me about him," the boy said eagerly leaning forward. "Have you met the youngest Baratheon?"

"Actually, I have once, during the Iron Born rebellion. I met all three Baratheon brothers really, albeit at different times." Dominic smiled thinly in remembrance. "Renly always struck me as a bit of a popinjay, more concerned with words and appearances, he's no real warrior, nor a general. Mind you, he has access to many such and does have a certain charisma and likable nature that can draw others to him. The upper ranks of the Stormlands nobility are loyal to him, the middle rank and the smallfolk, not so much. When I was there, I got the impression they sort of hold him in mild contempt or dislike, simply for how much time he spends at court and in the Reach. If you can produce a strong enough showing that he can be convinced facing you would be disastrous, he may bend the knee easily enough. I am uncertain how loyal he will be, however, unless you can make it personally profitable for him. As long as Robert is alive even that won't happen."

Viserys nodded thoughtfully, his eyes going to Illyrio. The magister was stroking his oiled and trimmed for a moment, then he nodded, agreeing with what Dominic had said. Viserys turned back to the bard. "As long as we are on that cursed family, what of Stannis?"

"Stannis is a very stern, unyielding sort of man, very much a bitter person I felt at the time. Law-abiding as well, yet I also think somewhat ambitious. Don't quote me on that." Dominic finished hurriedly. "It was just an impression I got. He always seemed angry, I presume because he was shunted aside to Dragonstone. I can see his point really, as the oldest he should have been made the Lord Paramount of the Stormlands, not Renly. Dragonstone is small and almost unimportant despite it's strategic position. He is also somewhat unhappy in his marriage, although that is more rumor than most information I share."

He directed his next words at the merchant, looking over at the fat man who was lounging on a divan with a glass of wine in one pudgy hand. He kept a careful eye on the man, wondering how this next part would be taken. "Besides that, he's still the Master of Ships and, if you intend to invade the Western lands, you might have to deal with him one way or another. I would say regardless of what force you bring to bear, meeting him at sea would be a recipe for disaster. If the Iron Born, sailors and raiders all, could not do that, then you would have little chance of succeeding. Dragonstone as well is a tough nut to crack. I am uncertain what forces you have at your disposal but throwing them at such a fortress would be a poor first choice."

"Such talk is months in the future." the master merchant said blandly, sipping at his wine. "I have been discussing where to find a force we can call upon to aid our liege's eventual triumphant return, yet such plans are like wines, they need time to mature. "Now, what of the Reach? It is well known as possibly the most powerful of the lands of Westeros."

"There you will once more have to take my words with a grain of salt." Dominic replied shrugging. "I haven't been there in several years and I only stayed there for a few months. I will say that the noble house that rules it, the Tyrells, are well loved by its people, both of their own house's smallfolk and the rest of the Reach. They have a distinct level of animosity with those of the House of Dorne, however, which could possibly be exploited if the Dornish Marches were not now counted among the Stormlands. I think one or two of their houses along the borders with that land chafe under House Baratheon's rule, but I am uncertain if that is the case. House Swann, for example, is an old and very powerful house, with a very cautious ruler, yet his sons are both known to be personally ambitious, so perhaps some headway could be made there. But in the Reach itself, House Appleton is one, but House Florent is possibly the most important… target. They believe, like House Tyrell, that they are descended from the old Reach kings, and they are a powerful house. Ambitious as well, though a daughter of their house is married to Stannis, her name escapes me at the moment. Still, something could possibly be done there…"

Illyrio nodded understanding what Dominic was saying. Ambition was exploitable and, if nothing else, backing that house might force Tyrell to look closer to home than was otherwise the case. Dominic went on. "I would also tell you to fear House Tarly. Its lord, a man by the name of Rendyll, is known as one of the most dangerous generals in Westeros, and a ruthless one as well. Tarly is loyal to Tyrell, but if you can sway Tyrell…" He shrugged.

"Is House Hightower still the most important of the noble houses of the Reach?" Daenerys asked quietly. She wilted a little under her brother's glare for speaking out of turn but Dominic noticed that she didn't wilt nearly as much as she had when Dominic had first met her.

"I was just getting to that and yes milady." Dominic nodded his head. "House Hightower is very important, as is Oldtown and the Citadel it guards. I think that they can field something like six thousand men-at-arms alone and that is without the manpower of the town. Moreover, their reputation is an honorable one. The White Bull was from that house and they still well remember the honor that he won them. I have never heard any say that Ser Gerold was anything other than an honorable knight, and his example is held in veneration in Oldtown."

"Bah!" Viserys scoffed. "If he was so honorable, why was he not with my older brother at the Battle of the Trident?"

"No one knows my lord, save he fell in Dorne somewhere and had something to do with guarding the body of the kidnapped Lyanna Stark."

"She was not kidnapped!" Viserys exclaimed angrily. "My brother wanted to practice the ancient right of polygamy allowed to House Targaryen! The Stark bitch went with him willingly!"

"Again, my prince," Dominic replied sternly, biting back angry words at the disrespect laid on Lyanna, who was still hailed as one of the fairest of ladies to ever grace the North, "I am simply saying what all men of Westeros know. All the lands know that he was besotted with Lyanna and stole her away in the night. The fact that she died under his care is a mark against Rhaegar your highness, though how that came to be is not known."

"In your opinion," the merchant cut in before Viserys could blow up further, thoughtfully sipping at his wine between words, "would the Reach welcome the Dragon Dynasty back? It's well known that they were loyal until the last, so all this talk about secondary houses is premature."

"To deal with House Tyrell, you must deal with the Queen of Thorns," Dominic said shaking his head. At their quizzical expressions he laughed. "Your pardon, it is a nickname for the family grandmother, Olenna Redwyne, who is ambitious in the highest degree and very active in the political scene. Mace Tyrell is simply a figurehead for her in many ways. You would have to convince Lady Olenna that there was profit in it for the family. I don't believe she is a particularly loyal individual, she looks towards the bottom line as it were."

"So it should be with all people." the merchant replied blandly, the light of the candles in their sconces glittering on his gold rings.

Viserys on the other hand, growled a little angrily, slamming his hand down on the table in front of him setting the cutlery of their nightly snack to rattle. "They should be loyal to my family! All of them should, we were their rulers for centuries. It was our dragons that united Westeros, which created the Iron Throne in the first place!"

"And you did so through fire and the sword, which is how Robert took the crown from you in turn." Dominic said blandly, getting tired of this argument. "Yes, that was a long time ago but you don't have dragons now, do you?"

For a moment, he thought he saw something in Illyrio's eyes, a certain hidden amusement, but whatever it was, he couldn't discern its cause. Instead he turned his attention back to Viserys. "You won't be able to appeal to the righteousness of your rule, not after the mad King did all he could to ruin your family's name.

Both Targaryens stiffened a little at that. Daenerys looked almost sad while Viserys looked apoplectic. Yet, he had learned not to argue with the bard. At the moment, he was still a necessary evil in his mind, having a lot of knowledge that they could use.

Dominic went on, seeming not to notice their varied reactions. "There might be a few houses here or there, even outside Dorne, that would declare for you. You'll have to appeal to their loyalty, personal loyalty. For the rest, you must appeal to their self-preservation instincts or self-interest. Self-interest means you would have to appeal to them and their need for power, although I would hasten to say that friends bought are often times enemies down the road."

"Outside of Dorne, where could I look to for allies?" Viserys asked, looking a little surly but still continuing the discussion. " Allies, I mean, who would be loyal to our house."

"The lady touched on one," Dominic said bowing his head towards Daenerys. "House Hightower is one major possibility. There are a few minor houses of the Reach and certainly in the Crownlands that you could appeal to for loyalty's sake, although how much of a force they would be I don't know. Ambition-wise," he paused thoughtfully, "that is a dangerous road, but several houses minor could be used in such a way. I have already mentioned Florent. In the Stormlands, perhaps the Footes could be interested in monetary gain. House Buckler as well, and more than a few will simply follow the strongest claimant to the throne."

"The Stormlands are the weakest of the lands of Westeros, despite Baratheon coming from there. They don't have the lands or the men the others do. What about the other kingdoms?" Viserys asked.

Dominic turned his gaze to his balalaika, gathering his thoughts, but before Dominic could speak Illyrio replied. "The power structure of the Vale is no doubt in flux. I have no doubt that there are many houses there that chafe under the Lady Lysa, and her sickly, puling son." He sneered a little. "A baby born that far into his father's dotage will never be very strong."

"True, and it is far more open to invasion by sea than it would be from the interior of Westeros." the bard agreed. "I would not recommend it, however, not because of any weakness in the house that controls it, but because of the land itself, which is mountainous, well defended, and with a warlike people. Moreover, there are bandits there, mountain clans, and they would make it hell on any invader even if you won the loyalty of the lowlanders. To put it bluntly, I think that the Vale will follow whoever it is the most powerful. Lady Lysa is a nonentity as far as I know. I don't know anything about her personally one way or another but her dislike for her marriage and for those who forced it upon her is well known."

"We already have agents in the Vale as well as in the Riverlands." the merchant said smiling blandly. "You are correct, of course, that friends bought through ambition are not dearly sought, but they can be useful. My information however on the Westerlands and the North is practically nonexistent, though for very different reasons."

"Not surprising." Dominic replied his voice opaque, leaning back now and looking over at the trio. "My countrymen are not welcoming of any foreign influence. The story of the late Lord Stark and the former heir, Brandon, as well as the treatment of Lyanna has hardened the North against the Targaryen Dynasty."

He raised a hand again to stop Viserys' predictable outburst, sighing internally at the boy who had literally no self-control. Daenerys, on the other hand, was simply gazing at him, her eyes for just a moment carrying a message, commanding him to go on. There's a lot of real steel in that girl beyond her mousy exterior, just waiting to be brought out.

"The North is separated more by its culture than anything else." Dominic continued, pushed by that look in the young girl's eyes more than anything else. "We follow the Old Gods, we believe ourselves to be descendants of the First Men rather than the Andals and, outside of White Harbor, we have no real trading center. We have our own concerns, our own beliefs, and leave the rest of the kingdom to its own devices."

"How likely is it that the North would stand aside if we return and begin a push to reclaim our crown?" Daenerys asked before either of the others could get a word in. Her brother glared at her and she quailed a little, but her eyes kept going back to the bard.

"There, alas, we go back to the personal loyalty question. Lord Stark is personally loyal to King Robert and if King Robert calls, he will answer."

"How important would that be, really?" the magister said, waving his hand rather airily. "Surely, the North doesn't have as many troops to field as the other kingdoms."

"We don't keep as many men-at-arms on hand, if that is what you mean, although we do tend to have more men trained in weapons craft then the other lands, at least in terms of bowmen and those who can swing an axe. Many more families in the North than in any of the other kingdoms need to hunt for their food, after all, since there is so little arable land in comparison to the size of the North. Life is harsh up there, a constant fight against the elements in most places, and if you are not tough you will not survive. And any impact can be a bad one, especially given that as a defensive position the North is practically unassailable from the rest of the continent given Moat Cailin and the marshes. From Essos there is White Harbor, Widow's Watch, Oldcastle, and Ramsgate. All are tough nuts to crack, in fact, nearly any castle in the North is tough to take by siege or assault. White Harbor is a major city, taking it would be an arduous undertaking."

Illyrio was a merchant and, even though he had been a swordsman during his youth in Bravos, had no real understanding of warfare or defensive positions. Viserys, on the other hand, was well versed in the importance of said, along with the general geography of Westeros. So when the magister scoffed at Dominic's assertion, Viserys waved him to silence. "I've heard of the Moat, one of the most dangerous positions defensively in the kingdom. You would need an army to even try to get past it and even then you would probably fail unless you could get behind it or cut off the Moat from the rest of the Neck, which geographically speaking is impossible."

"What forces will you be bringing to the table, anyway?" Dominic asked, cocking his head quizzically. "As I said, you can't expect to be able to call upon any in Westeros to provide you with the majority of your force. Mercenaries and suchlike are well and good but, unless you can employ the Golden Company or those Unsullied in sufficient numbers, they won't be enough."

"Oh, we have a certain plan in the works." Viserys smirked, looking at his sister who looked back at him with her head cocked to one side not having heard anything concrete of their short term plans just yet. "If it goes through, we may have a horde of Dothraki raiders and, with them, we'll be able to ride down any enemy."

Dominic's face blanked at that, and he too glanced quickly at Daenerys then away. He could see where that was going, and he did not like that idea, no, not at all. "What about the Westerlands?"

"Ahh." Dominic shook his head, wincing slightly. "There I don't think you'll find any aid whatsoever. The Lannisters rule that lands with a grip of iron. Or perhaps gold is a better way of phrasing it because they buy so much loyalty with their gold, yet it is also fear that keeps their lands loyal. The 'Rains of Castamere' is a well-known tale everywhere but it's practically a writ of the Seven in the West. Unless you can severely weaken the Lannisters, don't expect to see any aid from that area."

Viserys looked over at Illyrio rather startled by how firm that declaration came out. Oh, he knew how traitorous and vicious the Lannisters were, but surely that should have made their people chafe even more under their rule?

But the magister merely nodded. "That matches well with what my factors have reported. The Lannisters do not rule through loyalty, save in a few cases, but there is quite a bit of fear. And the Lord of that House, Tywin, is among the most dangerous opponents we will face. Do not doubt that, my prince."

From there the conversation shifted, going over the geography of the land once more as well as the different ports. They also discussed the feelings among the smallfolk towards the ruling houses, which the merchant didn't have nearly as good a handle on as he had the movers and shakers. Dominic, as a wandering bard, knew exactly what people thought in all the lands he had moved through. Eventually, the group broke up, with Viserys and the merchant leaving talking quietly to one another heading out the door and away.

Daenerys stayed, along with two maids that Illyrio had assigned to her as chaperones. Whether or not she had such before arriving at the merchant's house was a question but not an important one to Dominic, although judging by the looks that he had seen Viserys occasionally give his sister, he doubted it. Oh, he was certain that the older Targaryen sibling wouldn't have done anything to spoil Daenerys' marriage price but incest was well known in the Targaryen Dynasty after all...

Dominic continued to play with his balalaika, waiting calmly for the girl to speak. Eventually she did, blurting her words out, a mix of excitement and chagrin. "I looked up what you said about our father, Aerys, and about our brother Rhaegar. I didn't believe it at first but the maester here in the mansion and the history books agree that you were telling the truth. I… why did he do that? Why did he burn all those people?"

Evidently the love of fire hasn't yet taken root in this dragon, Dominic thought rather sardonically before replying. "Sometimes madness can grip a person, sometimes ambition can change a person. If you're asking me for the King's thoughts I cannot tell you. As I said, I was but a squire in the Stormlands when the rebellion occurred. I will say there had been signs of madness for years before the rebellion actually occurred, the fact that he refused to let anyone armed with any kind of blade into his presence, not even using a nail file for his nails, as well as other stories. He wasn't the first Targaryen to show signs of insanity, of course. In the Stormlands, it was hoped that Aerys would die soon and hand over the reins of the family to his heir Rhaegar."

He started strumming his instrument's string, then paused, looked up at Daenerys for a moment. "There is a reason why I say 'I know what all people know' about Rhaegar's kidnapping of Lyanna Stark. Before that, there was never even a hint of what everyone called Targaryen madness in him, and possibly if he hadn't done that, the rebellion would never have occurred."

In point of fact, the Rebellion would almost certainly never have occurred, because it was the kidnapping of Lyanna Stark that brought Lord Stark and his heir, Brandon, to King's Landing where they were killed. It was their deaths and the deaths of most of their companions which brought in the North and made Jon Arryn rebel.

He sat silently looking at the girl whose face showed what she was thinking for a moment before closing down. "I see."

"Power can corrupt," the Bard went on, "something to remember whatever your station in life and even a tiny bit of corruption can call to those evil desires and thoughts most men have inside them."

Daenerys abruptly changed the subject. "Why do you think that Magister Illyrio's plan will fail?" At the bard's raised eyebrow, she waved a hand. "I could see it when my brother mentioned Dothraki, your face went blank as if you were trying to stop yourself from saying something you knew we wouldn't like. You do that around him a lot but not so much about my brother, why?"

"I'll answer your second before your first might I?"

At the younger girls nod, of impatience in all likelihood, he went on. "Viserys doesn't control this house, your brother in point of fact has no power at the moment other than what his name can garner him in very limited circles. While Illyrio will probably do whatever he asks, it is the magister who holds the real power. That is why I am more respectful to him than to your brother, who frankly, needs a few smacks upside the head."

Daenerys frowned at that but nodded. It was true after all, they had been alone and friendless for so long that she was used to it, used to being powerless and to her brother's growing rage and fury at their situation.

"In answer to your first question, I've been here in Essos for a while, and I know something of the Dothraki, specifically they are terrified of the ocean. How exactly do you intend to get them to agree to cross the ocean?"

"I don't know." Daenerys murmured, cocking her head as she thought quizzically about it. "But surely the idea of looting Westeros would be enough to get them over their fears?"

"And if you do that, how will you be able to call upon the loyalty of your new subjects? You will not be liberators or returning royalty. You would make it not a thing of nobles battling for a prize but an invasion. A crown bought by the sword needs to be protected by the sword. You'll never be able to let up, never be truly welcome. You'll always have to be looking over your shoulder for the hidden dagger or the poison in your food."

Daenerys nodded thoughtfully and the bard went on. "Also, what does Illyrio get out of backing you and your brother? Remember what I said when I first met you, question everything and everyone."

"Including you?" Daenerys asked, one eyebrow raised.

Dominic shrugged. "I'm here because this looked interesting and I was getting weary of walking on my own two feet. Not so much the travel but my feet were getting worn and its nice to not need to watch my purse or sleep with one hand on my sword. My loyalty is to myself, my house is gone, destroyed by its own hubris, and then its land broken up and added to our neighbors by Lord Stark as was right. My loyalty to Ranma, the Stark heir is solid enough, after all he saved me from an, albeit probably short, life of torture. So if ever you invade the North I will face a tough choice. At the moment, this is all speculation and rather fascinating. It's interesting to hear Illyrio's views, as well as teach you and your brother about Westeros."

What Dominic didn't say was that he knew one way or another that history was going to be made here with the two Targaryens and the fat magister. He didn't know in what manner just yet, which of them would be the one driving that history, but as he watched the intelligence of the young girl and her growing sense of self, he began to think that it might well be Daenerys.

Daenerys nodded, understanding and appreciating Dominic's openness. He was also correct, why exactly was Magister Illyrio, one of the most powerful men in the city, willing to put up with her and her brother? They had nothing to offer him right away, the name might help him eventually, but right now it was more of a burden. She vowed to keep her eyes open, on the lookout for anything that showed he was setting them up for something.

She also resolved to check and see what he was willing to sell the Dothraki for their loyalty. What could they offer, after all, that would be worth the loyalty of such a horde of barbarians? I think I might have to sneak around a bit, something I wish I could have learned to do quite a bit earlier, Daenerys thought to herself, standing up then perfunctorily bidding farewell to the bard before turning and leaving to head to her rooms. I'll also have to figure out how to ditch my minders as well.

OOOOOOO

That evening when they stopped, Ranma helped Tommen off his horse, smiling as the carriage door opened, letting out the ladies within. Sansa, Myrcella, and Jeyne were still giggling about the last story Ranma had told, as was Tommen, though the Queen seemed to be controlling her own amusement far better, if indeed she felt any in the first place. The tale had been about the pigtailed warrior trying to fight off the crazy foreign man with the froglike mouth in an eating contest, something all the younger set had gotten a kick out of. Though Ranma found Varys' interest in it a little strange and oddly disturbing.

"Here you are, Your Grace, your youngest, returned unharmed." Ranma bowed grandly, ruffled the youngest Baratheon's hair, then walked off, searching for an area that was either being set aside as a practice area or simply a clearing, where he could burn off some steam.

Before he could turn away completely, however, the Kingslayer's voice stopped him. "I think, young Stark, you owe me a bit of a spar. Unless of course, telling tales has sapped all your energy for the day."

Ranma turned to find the older man smirking at him, one hand already resting on the pommel of his sword. Ranma smirked, his eyes lighting up with eagerness. "Certainly, Ser Kingslayer, I'll be right with you."

Jaime twitched a bit at the mode of address, as did the Queen, while Sansa merely rolled her eyes and the other children began to plot how to get their mother to agree to let them watch. This proved in vain, however, as the Queen and the septa ushered them away.

As she turned away, Cersei sent one warning glance at her brother, urging him to take this seriously. She didn't have much hopes in that however. Jaime rarely took anything but true life and death situations or threats against his siblings seriously. She was also afraid his ego would get in the way of seeing how much of a threat Ranma really was.

The two men moved through the camp, ignoring the number of men-at-arms who immediately began following them, already making bets as to who would win this bout between the blade of the Lannisters and the Young Wolf of the Starks.

Ranma shucked off his jacket, standing there in plain chain mail down to his waist over a jerkin, a small smile on his face as he held the sword he had been gifted from House Glover loosely at his side. It was a simple blade, unadorned save for a small wolf's head imprinted into the somewhat larger than normal pommel. The blade was battered, the hilt worn, but the way Ranma held it showed how familiar he was with its weight in his hands.

Stepping out of the growing circle of soldiers, the Kingslayer moved to stand across from him, wearing a breastplate with white enamel, arms covered similarly. He held his blade resting lightly on one shoulder, smiling condescendingly, though his eyes were much more serious and calculating, as he stared across at Ranma.

Robert and Ned moved through a hole in the crowd, which opened for them, the King smiling widely. "Ha, this should be good, huh, Ned. Though your son might have bitten off more than he could chew. I might not like his family, or him, but Jaime Lannister is one of the top five best blades in Westeros."

"We will have to see," Ned said philosophically, wondering internally what would be better here: his son pounding the Kingslayer into the ground, thus showing his skill for all to see and become even more wary of, or to have the Kingslayer win, thus making people underestimate him. Still, either way it was out of his hands now.

The two combatants stared at one another, with the Kingslayer bringing his sword off his shoulder to hold in front of him, point toward Ranma. then suddenly he took a quick two step, first thrusting his blade forward, then bringing it into a slash. It was a quick, economical attack, with no tells before the first blow was launched and Jaime had used it to beat several of the current Kingsguard when he felt they were getting to big for their breaches.

It did not surprise Ranma, who dodged back, then brought his own blade up to block the follow on slash, beating it aside and pressing in quickly. Ranma was careful to keep his speed and power down to 'normal' levels, just a little bit more than his opponent. Yes, he wanted to see how good the so-called best blade of the South was, but neither did he want to show off all of his physical skills. Ranma wanted to have people underestimate exactly how beyond the norm he was in ways beyond his endurance.

The two traded blows, Ranma being careful to look a little harried, but not giving ground, pushing back when he could, getting a feel for Jaime, who was indeed as good as Ranma had thought; not quite up to the wolf-sworn's current level, but very good all the same. To Ranma, however, the entire fight was like watching a man move in slow-motion. It was actually tougher to not show how much he was holding back than anything else. As much as he wanted to humiliate Jaime, he wanted to keep his abilities secret much more.

After about ten minutes, the two had danced around one another, neither being able to land a blow on the other, although Jaime had come close to tagging Ranma a few times, and Ranma had come close to Jaime three times. It was enough, Ranma decided, to make the Kingslayer think he was the better of the two, but enough so he would respect Ranma.

With that thought, Ranma backed away, moving Jaime subtly in the direction of a large ice patch on the floor of the clearing where a puddle had frozen. Jaime continued to press his advantage, but then Ranma pushed back, suddenly. When he stepped back to gain some distance, his foot slipped just a little on the ice, and before he could recover his footing, Ranma's blade was gently laying across his shoulder.

Ranma moved back, rubbing his arms as if they were in pain, smiling despite what everyone saw as him being in pain. "My win, I think, Ser Jaime."

Jaime smiled, knowing the youth knew what Jaime did, that Ranma had won through chance rather than skill, and saw Ranma's more respectful address a sign of this. "A good match lad, we might want to do this again in the Riverlands where its warmer. Now go put on your coat Stark, you're making me cold just looking at you."

Around them, cheers and groans began and there was many shouts of 'Young Wolf' at the result of the fantastic match. Robert smiled, slapping his childhood friend on the shoulder. "Your lad got lucky there, the Kingslayer was pressing him hard before that lucky break. Still, a damn good bout."

"I agree completely." Ned replied, though he meant much more than the physical bout itself. All around him, none of the men, even those from Winterfell, could tell his son hadn't given his all, which meant that Ranma's skill would be both respected and underestimated. He gripped his son's hand smiling a small smile of approval at him.

Ranma nodded, seeing his father had noticed what he had done, though he didn't think anyone else, other than perhaps Ser Barristan, standing like a white-cloaked shadow at the King's back, had noticed. "So, what are the cooks charring for dinner tonight, that actually worked up an appetite."

OOOOOOOO

Three days later, Jon greeted Kyle Condon. Kyle was a tall, handsome man with thin shoulders, black hair, who wore a very good suit of chain mail armor, his surcoat blazoned with the axe of House Cerwyn. He arrived with eight hundred spearmen, joining the two-thousand infantrymen, a mix of archers and swordsmen that House Stark had raised, organized into ten companies of two-hundred.

This was neither House's full complement. If push came to shove they could both field upwards of six-thousand if they called in all the men of their minor Houses and pulled men from the fields and crafts. But it was the amount they could field and still retain a decent enough force at home and not rely on levies. With the defensive position of the wall multiplying every man by a factor of 100, this plus the other forces moving north should be more than enough.

After getting their men situated, Lady Jonelle and Ser Condon paid their respects to Lady Catelyn. Both of them came out of the infirmary rather grim faced, despite the good news about her pregnancy. Jonelle immediately went off in search of Rickon with her son, intending to take over looking after the boy as long as Bran was still comatose. It was obvious Catelyn wasn't going to leave the boy's side until he recovered, or passed on.

While he needed a workspace to do all the paperwork necessary to direct the whelming and everything that entailed, Jon had not taken over his father's study, thinking that was a sign of disrespect. Instead, he had taken over a table in the dining hall, with Ghost lounging on the stone floor beside him. He and Ser Rodrick were there now, putting together a final tally of the men going north as well as how much they would be paid during the trip. The party would also be carrying supplies for both itself and for the group from Hornwood, which would meet it on the road up to the Wall.

House Stark was the bread basket of the North these days, the only Noble House that actually had a surplus of food to sell beyond its borders, so it made sense for it to send a large amount of the supplies up. Though this would only be the supplies the companies would be using on the first leg of the trip, the second half would be supplied by Umber and Hornwood. Moving as many men as they were sending over such a long distance, it would take them months to get to the wall, possibly as long as half a year.

The castle's larders would once more be emptied when the army left tomorrow, especially of things like breads and cheeses, but they would be able to make do for a time until they could bring in more from the surrounding farms and holdfasts. Jon was determined to both send as much supply as they could up North and, also, bring in as much food as they could. Something, some instinct at the back of his mind, was telling him it would come in handy.

Ser Conton's handsome face was thunderous as he sat down across from Jon. "I didn't realize Lady Catelyn's injuries were so... nasty. I hope her face heals up soon. Lord Stark was worried for her, but you know how your father is, his face gives nothing away at times." Jon nodded and the older man went on. "It's good that you have men guarding her and young Bran, my instincts, and those of my lord, are telling me that there might be more going on there than we think."

"You and Lord Cerwyn are not alone in that supposition," Jon replied dryly, leaning back and smiling faintly. "Southern politics and the motivation of those who thrive on it are murky at best to us here in the North. We still don't know what Bran really saw so I am willing to think there was something else involved there. Still, we can only defend ourselves against the enemies we can see in front of us. That means sending more troops up to the wall."

Kyle nodded, then began to question Jon closely about the ambush that he, Ranma, and the others of the wolf-sworn had run into. After that, they turned their attention to the order of the march and went over the logistics aspect of it. While House Umber had sent up the first group of its soldiers and a large group of peasants to move into the Gift, Houses Stark, Cerwyn, Glover, and even House Flint of Flint's Finger would be sending up groups of settlers to repopulate the Gift. The other major Houses and those minor Houses sworn to them wouldn't be, either unable to or using their sparse excess manpower for other things.

Jon's tale of the emptiness of the Gift brought home to Kyle the seriousness of what was going on even more than his discussion with his Lord, Ranma, and Ned. While the Gift was as underpopulated as the rest of the North, what population there was centered itself along the Kingsroad. The fact that it was so empty was disturbing. That plus the fact that it happened so quickly, within a year, since that was how long it had been since the last time a Nights Watch recruiter had been sent south, was astonishing. "So once we get to the Gift should we prepare for ambushes? That will slow us down some."

"I would advise it, but I honestly don't know," Jon replied. "I think given the size of the force you will be leading by that point, with some of the mountain clansmen joining you, the group from Hornwood, and possibly even from the Flints of Widow's Watch, you should be far too large for any groups of wildlings that could've gotten around the Wall to attack. My advice would be to use some of the mountain clansmen as skirmishers around your main force to sniff out any trouble."

Ser Conton nodded, sipping at a glass of wine that a servant had given them halfway through the discussion. "And I'll be taking the runt of the lion's pride with me? He's higher born than me, will he try to push for command?"

Jon nodded again. "I doubt it, besides, I think Lord Hornwood is sending Daryn up with his force, so he will assume overall command, with you as his chief advisor, I would say. I would also advise you not to judge Tyrion by the rest of the lions, he's actually a pretty amusing fellow. And much more intelligent than the tales speak of, he's not just a jester." Jon reached over to a piece of paper and brought it over, urging Kyle to look at it. On it was a large ballista and a trebuchet of advanced design. "These are some siege weapons of his that he basically thought up, all with numbered parts and plans to actually build the things. Put him in charge of that aspect when you get there and I doubt you'll be disappointed. I will say from my own experience up there that some knowledge along those lines is needed. The siege weapons along the Wall are either frozen in place, defunct, broken, or simply so old I wouldn't entrust the timber of them. Most of the time it's all of the above, frankly. You get away from Castle Black and that's just the way it is up there."

Kyle scowled. "I hadn't realized it had gotten so bad. It's been what, a hundred and fifty years or more since the last major wildling incursion, so I suppose it makes sense that the upkeep has fallen behind."

Jon shrugged his shoulders, not mentioning the fact that the Wall wasn't there to block out the wildlings, or at least, not primarily. No, the Wall was there to block out the White Walkers. He wasn't certain if the Wall itself was weakening or if they had figured out a way around it but Jon knew that the White Walkers were the real enemy. Still, unless you see them with your own eyes, see the wights coming for you, even men of the North will have trouble believing they still exist. On the other hand, once we do see they exist, our lore and legends will make us able to combat them. Fire is your friend, and so is Valarian steel, and, what was it, some black rock or other? Must remember to look that up.

"And you don't think Tyrion's a spy or anything like that?" asked Kyle, pulling Jon's mind going back to the original topic of discussion. "I'll admit that if he can actually help us build siege weapons like this he'll be useful, it's not an area I know anything about, nor do I know anyone who does outside of simple siege towers or battering rams. But if he's going to also spy on our forces or make trouble in other ways, is it worth it?"

Jon paused for a moment, thinking about the conversation he'd had with the Imp the evening after his father's departure. "There is a… a hunger in him, a hunger for recognition. Not from anyone in particular, but just the world as a whole." Something I could see myself sharing with him had my life been different. "I think he wants to be recognized as something more than the youngest Lannister or the Imp or the whore master or anything like that. He wants to be known for something real, something meaningful in his own right. And I believe he is earnestly sad about what has happened to Bran and the Lady Catelyn. All I can advise, is try to get to know him as a person rather than an extension of the Lannister family."

Ser Conton nodded his head, deciding to try to put aside his bias against those from the Westerlands and that house in particular. It would be tough, but he would try at least.

The very next day the troops left, with the Imp going with them, heading north to the Wall to face whatever threat was gathering beyond it. Jon watched them go, then turned back to reenter the main keep. He might feel a connection to the Wall, but he knew his duty, and right now his duty pinned him in place, here in Winterfell.

OOOOOOO

"The pressing of the wild humans goes well. Is the expedition prepared to do its part?" The voice coming from the depths of the cave was cold, colder than the bite of winter, cold as death. This was in keeping with the location, a cave deep in the Land of Always Winter, so far north that no human would survive outside no matter how much clothing they had on. Even giants would die swiftly outside this cave, and few indeed were the animals that could live here.

"A few of the lower orders are in position to begin work on temporary domiciles already and our magics have begun to work, though both tasks will take a full moon at least. The lower warriors are uneasy of course, but they will do their duty."

"Their feelings matter not." another voice replied, sounding somehow deeper, older, and with a bit of contempt leaking through the words. "It is unusual, yes, but it is only through the use of the ocean that we can get up round the cursed barrier the cursed Stark put up so long ago. For all the ages that have passed since the Builder raised it, the cursed barrier has lost only a little of its power. It was only because we are able to go around it via the water that we were able to lay the trap that nearly caught the Weir-gods' Chosen. That, and our human agents."

"It has always confused me about them." A fourth voice sounded out from the darkness, this one sounding almost quizzical. "They are always so easily blinded by the shine of the yellow metal they call 'gold', as if the base metal has some magic all its own over them. It is incomprehensible."

"A mystery, but one that makes them easily control. Our agents have nearly reached the cursed house of the Builder. The creature of changed fate has left. We have an opening there, which they can exploit."

"And even if that gambit does not succeed, there is nothing there that will indicate our involvement." another voice murmured, chuckling in tones that sounded like ice cracking. "It will also force them to keep some of their forces at home."

In point of fact, it was too late for that to work. The race whose leaders were speaking at present, those which the Northmen knew as White Walkers, had never gotten used to how quickly humans could react as a group to dangers directed at them, nor did they have any idea about siege weapons, logistics, or really making war, as most humans thought of it. They were masters of skirmish, of small unit tactics, and sleight of hand, but full on warfare wasn't something they understood as well as humans, who had, on every world they propagated, made it their second favorite pastime.

That didn't mean the White Walker's couldn't learn of course. That was the problem with throwing a boulder into a stream to divert it, you could never truly control how the water flowed afterward.

"And while they look within and towards the Wall, while the wildlings are pushed by the lesser orders towards it, the island will fall. We will have a secure base of operations around the cursed barrier's side." The first voice spoke again, its tone showing amusement and triumph in equal parts.

"Agreed," said several voices. Cold laughter rebounded around the cage.

OOOOOOO

They came out of the forest, tall and thin, their faces impossibly fair to look upon. That was almost impossible to tell at night with no moon in the sky, the only light coming from the being's slightly glowing blue eyes. They wore armor, looking like a strange mix between frozen ice and a black kind of metal, molded and shaped to have spikes and cruel hooks on it in different places, as much weapons of terror as it was a defense against harm. Their ears were pointed, their faces almost fox like from what could be seen, and their fingers inhumanly long as they rested on the hilts of weapons.

Most seemed ageless and yet young, speaking quietly from one to another while following the two who seemed to lead as they moved out of the forest and onto the endless ice. Farther south this area would become an ocean, but here in the dead, frozen Land of Always Winter, where no human could dwell, the salty sea froze, kilometers thick ice in places even where it became water once more.

A gesture from one of the apparent leaders and they all fanned out, moving around the huge mountain of ice and snow that was in front of them, putting themselves between it and the land. Others came out of the woods carrying bags and other items, and they began work on the massive mountain of ice, carving out caverns and crevices. It would be the work of many moons but that would allow the winter to move south, freezing and making their craft even stronger. Soon this mountain of ice, which would have eventually become just a random iceberg, would be habitable. After that, it would be sent south with a force to attack their target.

OOOOOOO

"They're pushing us harder than they have in the past, far more." Mance Ryder, the King beyond the Wall said, frowning as he rubbed his face, closing his eyes briefly. What the hell is going on? Before this past month, there'd only been a sighting every few months of the Others, enough to terrify and to make me think of going south, but now? Fifty sightings of their wights and four of the Others themselves?! They're trying to exterminate us piecemeal. Nothing made by man can harm them and fire can only do so much to keep them at bay with winter coming on.

He opened his eyes, staring thoughtfully at the map on the table before him and his closest advisors. It wasn't very detailed, wildlings didn't have much use for maps, but he had been raised from a young age on the Wall, a babe taken after a group of raiders had been put to the sword. He'd even been to Winterfell as part of the escort for the former Lord Commander. That was over a decade ago now, before he turned his coat over the infringement of his freedom to wear a coat that had colors of his own choosing.

Mance was a middle-aged man of middling height, long legged and lean, with broad shoulders. In the light of the cooking fire his sharp face and brown eyes were visible, though his long brown hair was now mostly gray. He wore black ringmail, a holdover from his time as a brother of the Night's Watch, shaggy fur breeches, and wore a cloak of black wool and red silk, the same cloak he gave up his life in the Night's Watch to keep.

"Tormund, how many men have we lost since this push of the cursed Others began?"

"A little over 300 scattered over the last few weeks. They're getting more and more open in their assaults, Mance." said the man so addressed, whose gray beard reached his chest. He was taller as well as broader across the shoulders than the other men in the room of the longhouse and his face was creased with smile lines as well as signs of age. On his arms he wore golden bands marked with runes of the First Men.

Yet, for all his apparent toughness, there was fear in his face and eyes. "None of the survivors of the attacks can tell us anything about what they look like but one thing is clear, their powers are getting stronger despite the fact that winter isn't on us completely. When the dead fall, it's usually taken them longer to revive as wights, now it's almost instantaneous. The night belongs to them, Mance. Not even the boldest of our men will leave the light of the fires any longer. It's not just here at our main base either, every clan is probably falling under the same attack. The ones allied with us have passed on reports of that, including," his eyes cut to another man, equally tall but bald and earless, "The Thenn."

"I had hoped to wait until winter reached the Wall at the very least." Mance murmured thoughtfully. "Allow a few more of the clans to fall under our sway, and get our logistics, such as they are, to be set up."

"We'll have to take the chance of moving now." said another man, who didn't have a beard on his face and was much shorter than the other two. He had a knobby chin, thin mustache and pinched cheeks, with a widow's peak and dark black hair. What really set him apart, however, was the fact his armor was made of loosely tied bones, which rattled with every little movement. At his side he wore a thin bladed bronze longsword. No wildling, certainly no wildling of the power of these men, would go anywhere unarmed, even here in the longhouse of their King.

As Mance turned to him, the shorter man went on. "We do have more clans joining us even now, including a few that I would never have expected. They're all terrified of the Others and they think you're the best chance to get through the Wall and away from their influence. But at the same time, the more time that goes on and we don't move, the more they think that you're too scared to attack the Wall."

Mance frowned thoughtfully, but didn't otherwise respond for a moment as he considered options. After a moment he nodded. "We'll have to move in stages. Get the word out to the clans now to get them moving, but we'll take a force straight south ourselves to set up a small forward base, take that old bastard Craster's Keep maybe. It's not much, but it's near a river, and it can feed and house the first group of raiders, and we can then start to ambush the rangers and scout the Wall's defenses. Pity, I wanted it to be set up directly in front of the center of the Wall. That way we could feint at the center while sending troops around the edges at the weakened sides, then take each of the still manned castles one after…."

Mance looked at their blank faces and shook his head. "Never mind. The Wall should be barely manned according to our last reports. If we can sweep aside the rangers before they know we're there and have the element of surprise, we can probably overcome the squatters with one good push anyway." All three men, even the one with no ears, who had a man next to him signing the words at him, cheered at that.

While Mance had some reports of the Wall itself and, indeed, a few observers close by the Wall who were good enough to evade the rangers, he didn't have any spies beyond the Wall. Else, he would've known that this was a very bad idea and that the Wall wasn't going to be 'barely manned' for very much longer. In fact, House Umber troops had already arrived and the first shipment of supplies was on their heels. Smalljon was leading the group of settlers for now, with orders to join his granduncle on the Wall after. House Karstark's troops would arrive in three more weeks, well before the wildling's larger clans could get there, with Lord Karstark's oldest son and heir, Harrion.

OOOOOOO

As the King's party traveled south along the Kingsroad over the next few weeks, covering the distance from House Cerwyn's castle through their land and along the borders between the barrowlands of House Dustin and the lands of House Manderly, moving toward Moat Cailin, the days fell into a routine, besides the movement of the party, that is. Ranma would wake up, spend time with his father for a few hours, trotting alongside his horse and the King's at the front of the column, then move back through the column to 'rescue' Tommen from the carriage, and then would tell stories to the young boy for the rest of the day. They alleviated the boy's boredom from the trip plus the servants and men-at-arms nearby liked them as well. Even the Queen did to a certain extent, certainly the ones about the Ice Queen. They were amusing at least, plus had the added benefit of keeping Ranma in close proximity to the carriage which allowed her to speak to him whenever they stopped.

They also served to completely disarm Varys. For some reason, the eunuch was particularly fond of the stories of the warrior cursed to change genders with a splash of water and turned his attention for those weeks to plying Ranma for more stories of that character rather than trying to analyze what impact he would have on the game of thrones.

Despite the stories, however, there was still a bit of tension in the air between the Lannister supporters and the heir of House Stark. All of the southern knights had heard about the humiliation Ranma had handed out to the Prince, the Hound, a Kingsguard, and even a Lannister knight. None of them were willing to forget it, the Westerlands knights especially, not with Joffrey subtly fanning the flames.

The Prince also warned them not to do anything to redress the issue until they had left the North. No, better to wait until they were in the Riverlands, at the very least, possibly in Frey lands, before starting to make trouble for the boy. After all, no matter how good he was, Ranma wasn't proof against a knife in the back, now was he? Or, perhaps, an attack while he was asleep? Maybe some kind of attack on the boy's pet at some point?

Joffrey had to stretch his mind rather than simply order his hangers-on to attack the other boy. He had to be clever, because for some reason Joffrey didn't understand, his mother had forbidden him to order any direct action against Ranma. It was obvious there was a lot of familial affection between Sansa and Ranma, so any overt attack on him or his character might offset the work that Cersei had done in gaining the girl's confidence and inflaming her interest in Joffrey.

This was not only because of his impending marriage to Sansa, but because Cersei's determination that day in Castle Cerwyn hadn't wavered. This boy had skills far above the norm and, despite the fact that her brother was a little too egotistical to see it, Cersei could see it easily. It was like watching someone out of the Age of Heroes, seeing him race along day after day, not even much sweat on his brow as they covered hundreds of leagues over the past few weeks. Such skill was dangerous, especially allied to an enemy house, and not just as a blade to be used against the enemies of his house, but as a rallying point, a gods-touched champion for the people. Every time they saw anyone on the road or at the very infrequent inns, there were calls of 'Lord Stark and 'Young Wolf', even from the smallfolk they passed or saw in the distance.

Unfortunately for Cersei, she hadn't figured out what levers to use on Ranma. He didn't drink, didn't seem to have any hidden vices in the form of drugs or lust for money she could manipulate. That left only the obvious and, while Ranma was a young boy, the Queen had yet to see any of the sort of glances sent her way that such a young man would normally send a beautiful woman. Either he was much more subtle in that manner than she would've expected given his normal attitude or, perhaps, his interests lay in an entirely different direction. Yet, he didn't give off any of the signs that such a man or boy would give in that case. She had long known about Renly and the Rose Knight for example.

Now, as they passed the halfway point between Cerwyn and the Moat, Cersei had decided that either she just wasn't the boy's type, which was unusual but not entirely unbelievable, or he was one of those very few men that didn't feel immediate lust for a woman. Still, she had several months to go before they reached Kings Landing, and Cersei knew she would eventually find some way to control Ranma.

For his part, Ranma enjoyed the trip, a little anyway. It wasn't like it was a big deal for him. Running all day at this speed was easy. Spending time with Tommen was okay, but rather boring. After all, he didn't get much enjoyment out of the stories and, even when he began to let the boy ride on his horse alone while running beside him, it was boring.

Ranma had also not gotten any more of an impression of Joffrey than he had when they set out. The Prince was very careful to not be around him for the majority of the day and, when he was, Joffrey was always with his mother or surrounded by others, along with his father.

Every day the column halted for a few hours at midday to change out the horse teams, have the midday meal, and let the men at arms have some time to exercise. Robert refused to travel as quickly as they could. He wanted to stop and carouse on his way back to Kings Landing as he had on his way up. Eddard nixed most of this, but the King put his foot down on stopping for long lunches, which took chunks out of the day that would've been better spent moving.

The men-at-arms, for the most part, took this time to train amongst themselves, with Ranma joining in exuberantly, training with those from Winterfell, along with Ser Arys Oakheart and Ser Barristan and including his father at times. Jaime had exercised with them a time or two, but his sister demanded he attend her whenever he could, which cut into his training time and had halted any chance of another full match between the Kingslayer and Ranma. Cersei knew deep down who would win such a match and had no wish to see her brother so humbled.

Ser Arys was a brown-haired, brown-eyed man with largish shoulders and an easy going manner which did more than any mask to hide what he was really thinking. He had taken to Ranma due to the way he treated the younger siblings of the royal family, treating them like children rather than pawns, noticing them over their older sibling. It was obvious that the young Princess was quite smitten with Ranma but he had yet to even notice it. It was very clear that Ranma had swiftly put Myrcella into the 'sister zone' as it were (and not her mother's sort of sister).

Today, however, Tommen came to Ranma. The older boy turned from facing three of the Winterfell guards as the youngest Baratheon sibling called his name. "Ranma, do you think you could train me like you did back in Winterfell as we travel?"

Ranma cocked his head, handing the practice sword that he had been using to illustrate a parry back to a smiling Stark man. "I don't think your mother would take kindly to it, Tommy. We didn't bring any of the practice vests, after all. I suppose I could walk you through some exercises to increase your strength and dexterity, if you want?"

Tommen nodded eagerly. "I want to be as good as you are when I'm older."

The Stark heir winced as the men-at-arms around him chuckled. "That would probably take much more time than your family would be willing to let you give to the arts, Tommy, but I'll see what I can do. Did you ask your mother, the Queen, about this?"

Tommen paled a little, causing Ranma to laugh. "Let's go, if she agrees to it, I'll train you, if not then we'll figure something out."

They found Cersei holding court around one of the mealtime campfires. Ranma scowled when he saw that Joffrey had taken the opportunity to sit next to Sansa. He was telling her some story, probably made up, of a hunting expedition he had been on where he had killed a wild boar with a single thrust of his spear. Ranma doubted Joffrey had ever killed a wild boar, leastwise, not one that hadn't been tied down first.

Cersei turned, looking up as her Tommen and Ranma came close. One eyebrow rose interrogatively, wondering what the boy wanted, while inwardly cursing, not having noticed that Tommen had wandered off, concentrating as she was on Joffrey and Sansa.

Ranma bowed from the waist. "Your pardon your grace, but Tommy came to me and asked if I could train him as I did back in Winterfell." He hurried on as the Queen's eyes narrowed angrily. Out of the corner of his eyes he saw Joffrey scowling at him as well as Sansa, who probably had heard something of what had happened but almost certainly not the full story. "Er, anyway, I was thinking that I could just give him some exercises to do rather than go straight to training as we don't have the practice pads." He reached out unruffled the younger boys head affectionately. "It'll probably tire him out for the part of the day spent in the carriage."

Before Cersei could respond the King's voice boomed from behind them. "That's a fine idea lad, and you Joffrey, you join them too." They all turned to look at the King, who had approached them from the edge of the scrub on horseback with Ned and several men-at-arms behind him, the ones who were in charge of hunting for the party, along with his group of Kingsguard. Between two of the hunters they carried a spear below which was tied a boar.

Robert flicked one hand somewhat contemptuously at his older son. "Take this one with you as well, Ranma." he said looking back at Ranma. "See if you can make something of either one of them."

Cersei interjected. "Surely my love, it is more important for Joffrey to get to know his fiancée at times like these. It isn't as if they can have a conversation if you are going to have him ride all day outside the carriage." As the king's face began to redden with anger she went on smoothly. "Perhaps, if Joffrey can exercise with Ranma during our stops like this, he can ride in the coach after the midday break?"

While his younger sister smiled hopefully, Ranma fought back a scowl. He hadn't seen that coming, though Joffrey joining them had been a possibility. He did not like the idea of giving Joffrey more time with Sansa, his sister was besotted with the Prince enough as it was. Ranma still hadn't gotten more than impressions and feelings to back his instant dislike of the older Baratheon child, but neither had his feelings of disquiet eased.

Robert growled a little but decided to go with it. "Fine, your little brat can rest his ass in the afternoon, if that's what he wants." He laughed loudly, as did the men at arms behind him them though Ned shook his head, sighing faintly, sending a plum of breath into the cold air.

The rift between Joffrey and Robert was becoming more obvious the more time Ranma and Ned spent with them. Most importantly, it was becoming obvious in comparison to Ranma and Ned. Ned had yet to find out why the King was so contemptible of his firstborn son nor why he was so distant with all of his children. Surely the man had some fatherly feeling in him somewhere, even if his wife wasn't Lyanna?

The Crown Prince scowled for a moment but at a glare from his father subsided. Joffrey wanted the man's attention and affection, but at the same time he feared his father like fire.

Cersei got up as Joffrey did, exchanging seats with him to sit down next to Sansa, but before she did she murmured into Joffrey's ear. "Just wait my son, put up with it for a few days and the King will forget his silly desire to 'make a man out of you' or whatever he calls it. Then you'll have more time in the carriage with me and your bride-to-be, won't that be nice?"

Her son nodded, but still looked irritated.

Ranma led Joffrey and Tommy over to a patch of flat ground nearby, shadowed by the Kingsguard who always followed Joffrey around as well as a few others, including Sandor Clegane. The Hound smirked. "So you'd rather spend your time teaching children than exercising with real soldiers, boy?"

Ranma grinned a little challengingly at him. "Why not? It's not as if the 'real soldiers' on this trip it can really challenge me, after all. Or are you saying you want another go-around?" He held the Hounds gaze for a moment, staring the older man down.

The Hound was not someone who would take such a challenge lying down, normally, but there was just something in Ranma's eyes, a challenge that for some reason Sandor found he was unwilling to take up. He also remembered, just as well as Joffrey did, the manhandling the young man put them through. He was not used to being so handled easily, Sandor wasn't among the top ten blades in Westeros, but he was a damn good fighter despite that, so it had been a sobering experience for him.

About a minute later, Ranma walked Tommen and Joffrey through the exercise he wanted them to do, mainly sit-ups and pushups for now, then running in place and some limbering exercises. While Tommen took to them with a will (yet no skill), Joffrey was not exactly enthused about the exercises, yet did them all the same, scowling all the while. With Cersei and Robert so close by there was no chance of him making any trouble or even complaining verbally, so the rest of the stop passed uneventfully.

About three hours later the group got ready to go. Tommen was once more placed on Ranma's horse near the royal carriage. He looked at Ranma, who was trying to not glare at Joffrey as he got into the carriage after Sansa. "You're so good Ranma, do you think you would ever join the Kingsguard?"

Ser Barristan was standing by Robert's side close-by. Hearing this question he perked up his ears.

The question worked to grab Ranma's attention from his attempt to discreetly burn a hole in the back of Joffrey's head via his stare. He turned, reaching up to ruffle the younger boy's hair with a laugh. "Not a chance!"

Tommen pouted. If Ranma was a King's guard then maybe Ranma would be assigned to him and, maybe, actually being a prince would become fun. Myrcella, getting into the carriage after her mother, also seemed a little sad at that, but it was Tommen who spoke up. "Why don't you want to be a King's guard? It's a great honor!"

"For one thing, I'm the heir of Winterfell and I'd have to leave that behind, something I've been trained to be since I was younger than you. And for another…" Ranma shook his head. "Never mind."

"Is it the abstinence?" Jeyne blurted through the open door of the carriage from her position by Sansa. The girl flushed as the Queen looked over at her from where she was standing by the carriage door, glaring in censure. Mordane, who was getting in the carriage from the other side, also glared at her, smacking Jeyne on the arm.

Ranma however simply laughed. "Not at all, little Miss Gossip, there are other reasons, most of them being bound by the words duty and honor."

The Queen ushered Jeyne in then looked at Ranma quizzically moving to stand closer to him. "Truly, why are you not interested? It is indeed a great honor. You're father is still a fit man, you have younger brothers who could take over as heir while you go on to make a name for yourself, rather than merely wasting your life waiting for your own opportunity." Here she was simply sifting for information, trying to see more of Ranma's character, the better to figure out his handles.

Ranma looked over at the queen. "The responsibly of an heir is not something one should set aside, not if you are actually worthy of it." Ranma paused, then nodded his head slightly towards the head of the column where Robert sat on his horse now, then murmured in a low voice so that Tommen couldn't hear. "And let's just say that if I give my personal allegiance to a King, he'd have to be worthy of it."

That comment brought a small smile to the Queen's face, and she leaned forward just slightly enough to let a bit of her décolletage be seen. "I would agree with that sentiment young man, but perhaps eventually there will be one such."

My son will be a better king than Robert has ever dreamed of being and with this boy at his side, they could do magnificent things together. I must figure out how to control him or, if not that, marginalize him in some fashion. With that she turned, flipping her hair expertly behind her in such a way that the special soap she used in it wafted under his nose. she ascended into the carriage.

Ranma turned again to face his horse, Fenris right beside him. The large direwolf looked up at him and Ranma looked down at it, shrugging a little, unable to get the impression the wolf was trying to send him as the smell of the Queen's shampoo hit the direwolf. Smells, especially the memory of smells was one area where their bond was very weak.

Soon enough they were on the move and Ranma put the odd exchange out of his mind, never noticing that Ser Barristan had moved away, sighing sadly. The old man knew for a fact that if Ranma felt like that already, there was no chance of him convincing the boy to take up the White while Robert was on the throne and certainly not Joffrey, either. Unlike the rest of the Kingsguard, Ser Selmy was not blind to the boy's faults and growing issues.

No, I will have to set aside the idea of Ranma joining and helping me cleanse the Kingsguard of its current taint. Unless, he thought to himself his eyes moving towards Tommen and then from Tommen to the carriage and back again, something surprising happens. But that isn't likely to happen, is it. NO, I am a Kingsguard, not a king-maker. I must deal with the world as is, not as it should be.

OOOOOOO

Life in Winterfell had also fallen into a new routine over the past few weeks. Standing in for the wounded lady Catelyn, Jon, with Rickon accompanying him sometimes for the look of it, would meet with farmers, landowners, and merchants, gathering supplies to be sent to the Wall, though he'd yet to receive a reply from Lord Manderly about the way they wished to do this. After all, you could send a lot more supplies by ship in a shorter amount of time then you could by land, and the Manderlys did have a trade fleet, after all, which had grown in size over the past ten years, built from wood coming down from House Cerwyn's land. They could transport goods up to Eastwatch much easier and from there it could be distributed along the wall.

Getting the food and other goods from Winterfell or Cerwyn or Hornwood down to White Harbor would be bothersome, but even there, Jon had plans. After all, House Stark and House Cerwyn had used the White Knife River and its tributaries, why not expand on that? It would take time, and possibly wouldn't be used for the first shipment down to the White Harbor, but eventually he hoped to have a system much like that found in the Riverlands to ship goods down river. Lord Stark, with Ranma and Jon's aid, had been planning to work on that for the past year and the men, mostly pulled from two minor houses along the river, were ready to get to work on it.

While Theon continued to go out with the hunters to bring in more game for the larder, Jon's work cut into his training time, so he wasn't actually able to train with Arya like he had said he would and what little training he did was mostly getting to know how to warg.

Many a night Jon stayed up late, his mind riding along with Ghost as the direwolf went out on its own to hunt. Ghost was larger now than he had been when Ranma and the others left, although he wasn't quite as large as Fenris had been when they left, but he was more than large enough to escape the kennels whenever he wished. His trick of moving unseen had also evolved to the point where he could get out of the keep and out of Winterfell from Jon's room without being seen.

Jon was getting better at directing him, at riding and controlling their connection, analyzing the direwolf's senses and using them almost as well as his own. Arya, too, was getting better and Nymeria often joined her pack-mate to hunt. Though Arya had yet to learn as much as Jon, simply because she couldn't stay awake at night long enough to warg with Nymeria as long as Jon did nightly with Ghost, she was still learning quickly.

Here Jon was lucky. Ranma had yet to figure out a way to bring up their family skill to Sansa in such a way that wouldn't terrify her, but Arya had no such fear. Even with the tales of Old Nan about skin-changers and how evil they were, Arya was confident in herself and her siblings to discount them. But even as fascinated as she was with warging with Nymeria, Arya couldn't concentrate on it, due to how much other stuff she was doing.

Arya exercised for half the day with Dacey in the mornings, then was forced by the Lady Jonelle to take etiquette lessons with her. Unlike the 'old prune' Mordane, however, Jonelle actually made the lessons interesting by putting in anecdotes of history and little humorous moments she had seen in her father's halls, or heard from further south. Rickon also liked Jonelle, who also made his own lessons fun, interspersing them with games for him and for her son, Cley.

Still, Arya made no bones about the fact that she was always eager to get away from the castle and exercise with her new sword, Fang. Dacey obliged easily enough, having been asked, between bouts of lovemaking that last night with Ranma, to take Arya under her wing. When the frost was still covering everything and the mist was still billowing, the two would ride about two hours from Winterfell, deep into the words to a clearing, where they exercised until midday.

Every day would start off the same, with Arya going through various strength and dexterity exercises, then she would move through some other exercises meant to heighten her mobility that Ranma had trained her in, including, though she didn't know it, several of the first katas he had learned as the basis of the Saotome School of Anything Goes. If Ranma continued to train her, Arya would be able to jump and fight in the air as well as he had when he was younger, though the addition of a sword made her slightly slower. Still, it would certainly take the ground-bound fighters in this world by surprise.

Dacey didn't make use of those, since she was larger and stronger than most men she had no need of them and had honestly started training with Ranma too late in life to really get the most out of them. Still, even Dacey had gotten some aid from the katas that Ranma had integrated into their training. Indeed, all the wolf-sworn, though only a few people had realized it yet, were deadlier warriors by far than most.

After that, however, came the part that Arya loved best, full on sparring. Arya didn't wear the padded armor like Bran did when he had been training. Dacey forbade it on the grounds that it weighed the girl down and did nothing else. Instead, Dacey had Arya wear personalized leather armor and use a small light buckler, which gave her some defense but didn't weigh her down.

While Arya was built for speed, light on her feet, and always mobile, Dacey was simply a mountain. She would stay still in one place, her sword and large shield flicking out fast as lightning at the younger girl, who could only barely parry a few blows before she was thrown back. In this manner, Arya was learning how to use her speed to the greatest advantage and building up her strength further. She was already surprisingly strong for her size but she couldn't rely on that strength against a grown man or a group of enemies to see her through. Arya would never be a big woman, she took after her mother in height rather than her father, and she would never have the massive muscles or the reach that a woman like Dacey had.

Still, Arya was learning how to fight at a frightening rate. Unlike Bran, Arya had a real talent for the blade and her instincts for fighting were incredibly good. She was also ruthless, taking any advantage she could, using her hands, shield, feet and anything else to gain an advantage, something Dacey praised. She was teaching Arya how to fight, not prance around. Every day Arya improved, never falling for the same trick, always building up her base skills.

Today, however, their first spar was interrupted. Dacey paused for a moment, holding up a hand to warn Arya away. She stared off into the woods, her eyes narrowed as she concentrated.

Arya stopped, looking at her quizzically, as Nymeria, laying on the ground by the edge of the clearing, perked up, her ears upright. Arya frowned trying to get a sense of Nymeria had heard, but not being able to. Instead she turned her attention back to Dacey. "What is it?"

"I thought I heard something over that way." The Mormont warrior pointed away from the direction that would take them back to Winterfell, deeper into the wolfswood. "Sounded almost like jangling of a harness and voices in the distance."

They paused, and in the silence Arya was finally able to get a read on what Nymeria was hearing. Voice of two legs, four legged not-for eating things the man things use, those odd things they had on them, moving and stamping. Arya came out of her short trance with a grin and raced off, Nymeria nipping at her heels. "Let's go see what it is!"

"Arya, wait!" Dacey shouted then cursed luridly before racing after her.

Arya had gained some of her older brother's endurance, and could run through the woods for hours on end. Dacey had some endurance, but little of Arya's speed so she had fallen well behind the younger girl by the time Arya neared the source of the noise enough to make out what it was with her own ears.

On the other hand, she had also gained some of her half-brothers sneakiness, so she knew how to be quiet in the woods. Sliding into a small area between a snow pile and a tree trunk, she motioned Dacey to move up behind her. Looking around the side of the tree they could look down the side of a very small hill in the forestland looking down at a largish clearing that was full of stamping horses and men.

The men and horses were all ragged, looking as if they had traveled for a long time. The men were caked with mud, their clothing was torn, patched and simply dirty along with their bodies, not a one of them looked as if they had as many meals as they should. They looked like a band of down on their luck mercenaries more than anything else.

Arya wondered what the heck they were doing in the wolfswood at all, let alone so close to Winterfell in such numbers. Dacey was wondering the same thing, and she glared down at the men from their hiding places. "Move back a little," she whispered. "Let's get further back out of sight."

Even Arya knew when to be serious and she moved back with her mentor past several trees, back towards the edge of their hearing range. They hunkered down again, hiding behind a downed tree out of sight. Dacey reached into a pouch, bringing out a small viewing glass, which had been a gift from Jon on her last birthday. He and Ranma had pitched in for it, though Dacey had at the time been a little miffed that her gift from Ranma hadn't been at least a little more romantic. Still, it was useful and had been expensive to pay for the glass in it plus have it shipped up to Winterfell.

She looked through it at the men, who were moving around and talking amongst themselves. She was looking for some identifying mark, something she could use to figure out where these people had come from. After a few minutes, Dacey hissed in surprise. Arya looked at her but Dacey merely shook her head, staring at what looked very much like the remnants of a flayed man mark on one battered shield.

The men sworn to House Bolton had been broken up and separated into different houses both major and minor. But Dacey knew that a few of the minor houses that had sworn to Bolton hadn't been happy about their lord's house being erased in such a manner. Greatjon had crushed two such houses when they joined together to try and force the issue, but it looked as if he had missed more than a few of their troops. How the hell did they get this far south without being seen and what the hell are they planning?

"Can you hear what they're saying?" Dacey asked her young charge. Part of her wanted to send Arya back to Winterfell, to take word of what they had found and to get the girl away from danger but she knew Arya wouldn't go without a fight. As good as she had been so far about being quiet, Dacey had no illusions that would last if they began to argue. Best not to have an argument with her this close to men who might have fell intentions.

She turned back to the man grimacing as she noticed another warrior whose shield bore the image of several frogs on a yellow background. "House Marsh." she muttered. "Evidently some of their men at arms survived when Greatjon crushed them."

Arya looked at her in surprise and Dacey explained. "When your father ordered the dissolution of Bolton you know that some houses took it poorly? Well Marsh was one of them. Greatjon crushed Redflag and Bloodtaker while Lord Hornwood crushed another one when they all tried to take to brigand's ways. Well, Marsh, the family Hornwood put down tried, anyway. The other two tried to band together behind one of their lords and force the issue, wanting to be raised to noble status and given control of the former Bolton lands in their entirety. Lord Umber did not have much truck with that."

"Huh, so, what, they're here to raid something or other? But surely a force this large should have been seen at some point before this." Arya muttered. Once more she tried to connect to Nymeria, to use her partner's senses, but the wolf couldn't relay the words the 'two-legs' were saying, not understanding them.

"I don't know. They could've moved into the mountains and followed that route down through the wolfswood but I would've thought the mountain clans would've stopped them."

Arya shrugged. "Maybe they did, maybe this is just the remnants of a larger force or maybe they broke up into smaller groups and snuck in that way.

In fact, the brigands had broken into groups of four or five and made their way south through various means, coming together at an abandoned tower several days travel deeper into the wolfswood before making straight for Winterfell in two groups of sixty.

A sound from behind the two girls made Dacey turn, her sword already flashing out of her scabbard to meet the rush of two men with spears, who had come out of the woods behind them. One of them shouted loudly. "Alarm, alarm! Two Wolf bitches on the southern side of caaa-!" That man died with Dacey's sword in his throat, his words ending with a gurgle of blood.

Arya unwound from the ground like a coiled spring, her small buckler pushing the spear that had been about to take her in the back to one side, competing her turn by slicing her sword into the side of the man who had wielded it.

She gaped for a moment as the blood gushed out from the heavy gut wound but Dacey, knowing they had but moments before the band was roused, smacked her upside the head. "Don't freeze on me! Let's get out of here!"

Arya shakily nodded, but it was too late. The men of the camp reacted with all the speed of the desperate and jumpy. Five more men had rushed toward the sound of the shout, while behind them Dacey could hear the band rousing in its entirety.

"Surrender wolf bitches, you may live!" One man demanded, his eyes staring at both the girl and the woman hungrily. It had been over a year since any of this band had dared to pillage and the sight of two females this close was making them all nearly blind with lust.

Dacey shivered a little but pushed Arya behind her, raising her bastard sword in one hand, her heavy shield in the other. "If you think only five of you are enough to take me, then come ahead and try."

The speaker stared into her eyes and flinched away but his fellows charged forwards. "Guard my back!" Dacey whispered, then moved to meet them. Her shield smashed out, catching one attacker's blow with such force it actually pushed the attacker back, opening him up to be sliced from crotch to chest by her blade before Dacey turned, blocking the next man's strike with her sword as her shield's bottom edge lashed out to the third man's face as he tried to get around her.

"AGH, You gah!" Arya took that man with a deep slash that caught him right below his chest plate, spilling his guts to the forest floor and ending his curse before it could begin. Her buckler whipped out, redirecting the sword of the fourth man before her sword ripped out of her first victim to sink deep into his thigh, causing him to scream and fall to the ground.

The final man tried to thrust his spear into Dacey's chest, as her sword was still blocking his fellow's blow. Nevertheless, she deflected the thrust to the side and into the ground with her shield. The man then screamed and collapsed to the side as he felt the back of his knee be ripped out from behind him. "AGHHH!" Nymeria's jaw then clamped down the back of his neck, ripping and tearing.

With the last man down, the two women raced away through the woods back the way they came. But by this point, the reavers were fully aroused and men were rushing towards them through the woods, many trying to race around the two interlopers to get ahead of them.

The men also had horses and, because Arya refused to leave Dacey behind, they were able to encircle the pair again, though the noise had surprisingly brought aid. Three men, who had somehow maneuvered their horses around the women, fell from their saddles in rapid succession, arrows sticking out of their chests.

Theon burst out of the woods, leading seven men he had been on a hunting expedition with. All eight of them knelt on the ground, firing one arrow after another from their bows. Men fell all around the two racing women, who skidded to a halt in front of the archers as Theon calmly pulled back his own recurve bow, sighting his target for just a second, before letting fly. The one man he had seen with his own bow fell with a gurgle, Theon's arrow having taken him right through one eye.

"Lucky for you, little wolf, that we were in the area!" Theon shouted, a bright, almost hungry smile on his face as he picked out another target, a man coming around a snowbank, another bow raised. Before the man could aim, he too fell, an arrow through the neck, his blood staining the snow around him bright red. "Get going, I have no idea what's going on here, but I think Winterfell should be warned!"

Arya looked at Dacey, who nodded. Arya looked at Nymeria for a moment, a wild idea forming in her mind. Wordlessly the two raced on, but they didn't go back toward Winterfell. Behind her Theon, Dacey, and the hunters broke off, moving away from the direction Arya had just run toward, trying to keep the attention of the brigands on them while keeping their distance from the main band, and picking off the frontrunners.

After running about ten minutes, the noise of combat now muffled by the woods all around them, Arya and Nymeria stopped in a small glade with grass visible in the center, the sun having melted the snow away in this place for now. In the middle of the tiny glade, Arya went to her knees, staring into her Nymeria's eyes. This was something beyond anything she had heretofore tried, using her link to try to command the wolf, not with instincts, but with an actual mental command, even if it was couched in terms that a wolf would understand. Pack in danger, pack in danger, call for aid, call now, HOWL!

The howls of wolves were devices of communication, almost like an army's bugles, and could tell pack members a lot more information than humans could ever truly understand. It took Arya a moment to get her intentions across to Nymeria, to forge the connection to her so that she was controlling the wolf's actions, distilled through the instincts of the wolf, rather than merely riding along her partner's mind. But soon, Nymeria opened her mouth, then threw her head back and howled, the noise echoing all around, heard for leagues in every direction.

OOOOOOO

Jon had finally been able to get away from the cursed paperwork. He had decided to spend his day out hunting with Ghost, just the two of them, although he had left Winterfell along with a band of ten hunters. He was just aiming his bow at a doe a hundred yards away when the sound of a howling wolf in the distance reached him and Ghost, who was laying belly down in a snowbank downwind from the doe, his white coat letting him blend in with ease.

For the first time, Ghost broke into their connection, pushing thoughts and feelings into Jon. Danger, pack mate calls, danger! With the thoughts came an image, the image of Arya kneeling by her wolf, her sword by her side, as well as a direction.

Jon bolted upright, instantly turning to race in that direction. As he ran, he raised his hunting horn to his mouth and blew an alarm. This was to summon the band of hunters, which had broken up into teams of two. Not five minutes later, the first of the hunters came into view and he raised a hand, pointing ahead of him.

As fast as Arya could move, Jon could move even faster, though he didn't have the endurance of his brother. In the space of twenty minutes, he covered enough ground to begin hearing the sound of combat in the distance. By this time, four other hunters had heard his horn and moved through the woods to meet up with him. Jon looked at them and the two he had first seen, smiling grimly as the two, visibly winded, came into range of his voice. "Alright, I have no idea what's going on, but it seems we might be running into some trouble ahead, so here is what we're going to do…"

Moment's later the hunters were on their way, and Jon raced through the woods to where he could hear Nymeria sending up her howl. He found her and Arya in the clearing he knew his sister and Dacey used to practice. He raced up to her, catching Arya in a hug before she could turn from staring into her wolf's eyes, evidently warging with Nymeria. "Well done, Arya! Are you hurt?"

Arya came out of her trance when her brother's arms went around her, and was almost surprised that he had come up on her without her feeling it. To one side she noticed Ghost, larger and stronger than Nymeria, standing and staring out into the distance towards the faint clangor of battle through the woods. It was only when those sounds hit her that Arya finally broke out of her momentary stupefaction. "Jon, we need to go, Dacey, she and Theon and few others they…"

"I know, and I will handle it Arya, I've already made some plans, but you need to get back to Winterfell to warn them. I can't take you back into that." So saying, Jon stood up, moving in the direction of the battle. "Go!"

Arya however had other ideas and moved with him, Nymeria moving to Ghost's side, her fangs bared in anticipation. "Oh hell no, Jon! You may be my brother, but that doesn't give you the right to order me out of this. I'm a Stark too, and my Fang will strike against the enemies of our family!"

Jon growled, but after looking into her fierce eyes, so much like their father's, without even a hint of their mother's softer nature in them, he realized the futility of arguing. As they raced on he chuckled, shaking his head. "Well said sister, just make certain you protect yourself well, I don't want to explain to anyone I let you get hurt." Arya laughed aloud, and the quartet of direwolves raced on, both the two legged and four legged now moving as one pack.

OOOOOOO

The battle in the trees had become close far too quickly for the hunters' liking. The men they were fighting pressed forward, using their shields to guard themselves from the Stark hunters' arrows, but never falling back. Instead they surged forward desperately, anxious to wipe out this band and move on to Winterfell before the castle of the Starks could be roused against them, knowing that was their only chance to pull through. They had been promised much and they wanted to make the Starks pay for what happened to their Lord four years ago.

Theon was armed with a heavy short sword, sort of like Jon's, only broader, with a jagged cutting edge along one side and a broad, heavy point, good for punching through armor. But the hunters were only armed with their longbows and skinning knives, which was a poor match for armor and melee weapons. They fell back as the men around them rushed to try and close with them.

One hunter died with a gurgle as a man wielding an ax came around a tree, slamming the single blade of the axe into the hunter's stomach, nearly slicing him in two with the force of the blow. The axeman died, however, with Theon's arrow right through his eye.

The Iron Born turned quickly, pulling his sword out of its scabbard to block a blow from a longsword, pushing the man off balance before grabbing his arm and pulling him close. The tip of Theon's blade took the man under his chest plate, then as he ripped it out, pulled the man's intestines out when they caught on the notched side of the blade. As the man screamed, Theon left his sword in the soon-to-be-corpse, calmly picked up his bow, then fitting a shaft to his bow, shot another man down. "Die, you stupid fuckers!"

Dacey was holding off three men at once, her blade flashing out to smash their swords this way and that. Her shield was now dented and buckled but still deadly, both for defense and as a weapon, which the Mormont clanswoman proved by ducking underneath one man's blow and smashing the edge of her shield into the inside of the knee of another man. As the man began to scream and fall to the ground, all the fight gone out of him, her blade came up to cut into the unprotected side of the third man, who had lunged at her former position.

A mace crashed down onto her back and she grunted in agony but her armor held, despite the fact that the impact threw her to the ground. She rolled, bringing up her sword desperately to block a spear thrust from another man, smacking it aside, and kicking out to catch the man right in the crotch. "AGHHHHHhnhhhh…."

Dacey rolled again, as the man went down screaming with his hands clutching his family jewels, which the she-bear had ruptured with her kick. She finally got her feet under her and pushed to her feet, blocking two more strikes and pushing both men back with a roar. "Here we stand!"

Theon grunted irritably as he ran out of arrows. His last arrow took a man armored in full plate armor, taking the man in the small opening between his gorget and helmet. He grabbed up his short sword from where it was imbedded in the guts of the corpse he had killed earlier and raced forward to join Dacey. They worked to keep the brigands away from the archers, who were once more pulling back, ducking around trees, and trying to use the trees and snow mounds as cover. There were over thirty of the invaders down already, their bodies scattered through the woods. The wooded terrain didn't allow the attacking force to bunch up and use their numbers to their fullest advantage, allowing the defenders to pick them off as they attacked. Moreover none of them were armed with bow and arrows, and the hunters reaped a deadly toll.

The battle began to go against the Stark loyalists, however, when more enemy arrived from behind the archers having circled through the woods, killing three of them before they could pull back. The remaining trio of hunters moved away from the two sides converging, deeper into the woods. This unfortunately left Dacey and Theon isolated, facing at least forty, possibly more men. "Pull back, move with me." Dacey ordered, making her way in the direction of the glade she and Arya used for their sword-practice.

Then suddenly, Arya, Jon, and their direwolves were there, snarling. "Winter is Coming!"

Ghost went for his usual subtlety, leaping towards a man and ripping out his throat with fangs that approached the size of knives. The force of the blow sent the man's corpse skittering backwards with Ghost still on it, then the large animal leaped off its kill, ripping one man's leg out from under him.

"AHH, getitoff!" The man screamed while he tried to bring up his blade, but Jon slew him almost absentmindedly leaping over Ghost's first victim to engage two men who were trying to circle around Dace and Theon, his swords flashing.

Of all the wolf-sworn and the Stark siblings, Jon had trained the most with Ranma by a wide margin. His speed and strength were quite frankly inhuman when compared to normal soldiers. There were stronger men out there even so, but there was no-one, save Ranma himself who was faster, and his blade smacked the blades of his opponents aside, almost contemptuously, before slicing out their throats so fast the men didn't realize they were dead until their bodies hit the red-tinted snow at their feet. Five men died as Jon moved through the woods, his swords moving in perfect control, smashing blades aside, cutting open weak points, slashing through armor, all with equal ease.

Theon grabbed the haft of a spear thrusting towards him, sidestepping to pull the man close enough for his short sword to ram through his throat, the blow punching out the back of the man's neck while shattering his spine. Then he pulled the spear out of the dying man's hand, wielding it for a moment against another man before Jon was there, cutting the man down and joining Theon. "Took you long enough, Snow!" Theon shouted over the cacophony of battle, stabbing with his short sword at a man who had played possum behind him. The man's blood joined the rest that had been spilled out onto the forest floor and the patches of snow around them.

"Don't complain, I had to set something up!" Jon returned, ducking underneath an axe and slicing open the stomach of its owner, before burying his other sword's tip into the eye of another man.

"Set what up!?" Dacey queried, now wielding her blade in both hands, her shield discarded due to being too smashed and bent out of shape to be anything but a hindrance. She frowned at the sight of Arya, who was now fighting beside her once more. Nymeria was working with Ghost at the outskirts of the battle to rip and tear at men and take attention away from the quartet of hard pressed humans.

Arya, however, ignored her trainer's frown, concentrating on the here and now. She blocked and parried blows from several men who seemed to think her an easy target, falling back toward Dacey for a moment. Suddenly, she jumped to the side, leaping halfway up a tree trunk, kicking off it over a massive two handed swing from a man wielding a greatsword, Fang flashing out to cut the front of his neck open in a welter of blood while her buckler flashed out, smashing into the bridge of another man's nose. She landed on the ground rolling as she hit, kicking out to destroy that man's knee with a satisfying crunching noise before standing tall, her eyes wild and Fang flickering in her hand.

Suddenly, arrows began to fall among the men around them and Jon smiled grimly. "That."

Jon had taken the time to hunt up the men that he had initially left from Winterfell with. Before he met up with Arya, Jon had sent them toward the battle on an angle, intending to have them attack the group making all the noise from the side. Now, their arrows whizzed through the heavily wooded area to take the attackers from the left side of the battle around Jon and the others.

Even so, the invaders were stubborn and there were more of them then Dacey had first thought, a little over a hundred at the beginning of the battle, in fact. She and Arya had only found one of two areas being used as a final gathering point, and the others had all rushed toward the sound of battle rather than trying to go around it to make for Winterfell. The soldiers kept coming forward, pressing the quartet hard. It was touch and go for the next twenty minutes or so, with more men coming out of the woods to try and close with the archers, forcing the hunters to retreat through the woods.

The attention on the archers took more pressure off the quartet of close combatants and they broke away, breaking out into a large clearing next to a path, having forced the attackers off their course toward Winterfell and down toward the road leading eventually to Hornwood and beyond. The hunters joined up with Jon and the others, pulling out their few remaining arrows to aim back at the edge of the woods. Arya wiped her forehead wearily, while her brother, Theon, and Dacey simply stood, waiting for the rush of men to pursue them out of the woods. They didn't have to wait long and, soon enough, their attackers charged out, their faces grimly determined.

Before battle could be rejoined, however, a jangle of harness from around the bend of the road through the trees spelled the end of the battle. "For the Seven and White Harbor!" A familiar voice shouted, accompanied by several others. Around the bend came a force of twenty armored knights, their shields showing the white merman on a blue-green field of House Manderly, their lances lowered

Before the attackers could pull back into the woods, where horses would lose their mobility, the knights were on them. This was the final straw for the attackers, who finally broke, most of them trying to escape rather than fight now, running in every direction. The knights split off, trampling attackers underneath their hooves, their blades flashing down and out, their lances lost in that initial rush. The heavier two-handed blades they used cut through the infantrymen's sparse armor easily, killing or maiming with every blow.

Arya fell to her knees, gasping in breaths, more exhausted by that short amount of real combat than she ever was after a half day of exercising with Dacey.

Jon reached down and ruffled her hair, leaving his hand on her shoulder as he looked up at one of the knights who was moving towards them. The visor lifted and a familiar face looked out at them all. Hathan smiled grimly. "My Lord Manderly sent myself and Ser Wendel to discuss the plans of using his fleet to transport supplies up to the wall." He waved at a somewhat portly knight who was moving through the woods with more difficulty than the others, but his sword was flashing out with vigor and strength. Wendel was the second son of Lord Manderly, a belted knight and one of his father's better field commanders. "Our timing seems to have been impeccable."

Jon and Theon barked laughter, while Dacey merely nodded, letting her sword drop to the ground as she knelt by Arya, gently bringing the young girl into her arms. She thought that Arya would have to be consoled about having killed men, but she was shocked to realize that there were no tears in Arya's eyes, only the aftershocks of her first battle working her their way through her body as the adrenaline left her.

Theon looked down at Arya too and groaned aloud. "By the Drowned God, what are we going to tell Lady Catelyn?"

"Absolutely nothing!" Jon replied firmly. "Arya wasn't here, she was never here. Dacey," he glowered at the woman, "did what she should have done and sent Arya through the words where she found me, so she stayed far away from the battle." One eyebrow raised, he looked down at Arya, wordlessly asking if the young girl understood that saying anything about this was a bad idea.

But the girl, who was now really feeling all the aches and pains of her first combat and who was trying to figure out what she felt about killing men, simply nodded, with Nymeria's bloody jaw pressing into her side. "We'll have to stop somewhere where I can clean up at least, maybe get a servant to bring me out a new set of clothes, but I really don't want to have that conversation either."

Wendel had joined them at this point and began to laugh. "No matter how big a wolf pup gets, I suppose he or she will always be afraid of his mother!"

OOOOOOO

The aftermath of battle was always hard but in this case the Stark forces had gotten off relatively lightly. While Arya was sore and exhausted, she hadn't actually been hurt. Her small buckler had been ruined, but Fang had come through it without even a nick on the blade. Jon, too, was uninjured, though one of his short swords had been broken by a sword-breaker (a short weapon with two heavy tines, which the user could use to capture and snap the blade of a sword).

Theon, however, had taken several blows, in point of fact his ribs on one side were cracked from a barely redirected blow from a mace, and had taken a cut above one eye, the blood of which had nearly blinded him before they retreated out onto the path, where Hathan and the knights following him had joined them. Dacey was wounded as well. The armor she had been using had been buckled and rent, exposing several wounds to her side and chest. Luckily, none of them were major and the maester was well able to deal with them when they returned to Winterfell.

Of the seventeen hunters that had left the Castle that morning, six returned. They had fallen in the woods to the swords of the attackers before they could retreat, or had been circled and cut down. Hathan had lost one knight, who was pulled from his horse by a desperate band of seven brigands who had banded together deeper in the woods. They had been ridden down by his vengeful fellows.

When they returned to Winterfell, thankfully for Theon, Jon, and Dacey, the ruse about Arya worked. Catelyn was too appalled that the brigands had come so close to her daughter (who she knew spent her mornings out in the woods with Dacey, and was ambivalent about it, not knowing what they were doing) to take much notice of the somewhat faraway look in Arya's eyes or the fact that Nymeria, who routinely did not bathe, was almost fresh smelling. Arya spent the rest of that evening in the infirmary with her mother being fussed over, something she put up with easily enough.

With the aid of Ser Rodrick, Jon and Theon questioned the few survivors closely, and they were all very vocal, trying to save their own skins. It didn't work obviously, but alas, none of them had much information to share. They simply told Jon and Theon they had been a part of House Marsh, before that House had been smashed by Hornwood for taking to brigands ways after the fall of House Bolton, as well as some House Bolton soldiers who were more loyal to their dead liege than most.

They had been led by a man called Gorson, the man who had worn full plate armor that Theon had killed with his last arrow. Gorson had found someone, he refused to tell the others who, that was willing to pay them to assault Winterfell. He had moved the men in small lots south towards their target, mostly through the mountains. Why they hadn't been bothered by the mountain clans, especially the Wull clan, who was the closest and most firmly allied with House Stark, was a mystery. Jon sent a messenger out that day to see if the Wull, the leader of that clan, knew how the men had snuck by him. It would take weeks for that messenger to find the mountain clans, however, and weeks more for him to return.

Later that evening, Jon, Theon, Hathan, Wendel, and Rodrick had dinner together, and the bastard born exchanged news. "It seems as if this was holdovers from the fall of House Bolton, wanting to strike out at us. There might have been someone else behind it, but the only man who knew who it could be, died during the battle." Jon said.

Hathan nodded, but he was frowning contemplatively. "Would a force that size have been able to break through? There were some six score of them all told, going by the number of bodies we found scattered throughout the woods, not enough, I would think, to take Winterfell."

"No," Jon replied, while at the same time Theon said "Yes."

The two looked at one another. Jon waved a hand for Theon to speak. "If they had taken us by surprise they might've won through into the castle itself before an alarm could be raised, surprise is everything in an attack like this. If they could have gotten into the winter town, then they might have been able to do it. The bastards could also have taken Arya hostage, if they had even an idea of who she was."

Jon frowned but eventually nodded his head in agreement. "That is possible. We'll have to heighten the guard's alert levels, though after this they shouldn't have to be told to be more alert, hmm?" Rodrick nodded grimly, having already passed on that order. "And send out patrols to make certain that that was the only group. I've already sent a messenger to the Wull clan, warning them of small parties trying to move through the mountains. I would've thought that no force however small could've moved through their land without the clan's knowledge, but it looks as if that was the case." Jon exchanged a glance with Theon and Hathan, trying to convey the fact that maybe their enemies from the ambush up north had a hand in that.

"Still," Wendel's voice rumbled from deep within his wide chest out from under a walrus mustache. "I believe it is time for us to move past this momentary excitement and to the matter at hand."

After that, the conversation delved into what Wendel was here to actually speak to Jon about, and if he felt any irritation about having to speak to the baseborn Jon about this rather than Lady Catelyn or anyone else from the family, he did not show it. The show that Jon and Arya had put on this afternoon against the raiders had impressed him and the knights with him, even more than the details he had heard of the wolf-sworn from his own baseborn family member.

The plan for the logistics aspect of sending supplies up to the wall was that Houses Stark, Cerwyn, Dustin, and Hornwood, along with the initial shipment by House Umber, would be supplying the majority of the food and other goods for a time. House Mormont would be sending a small troop of three hundred men, via the Bay of Ice, to the Shadow Tower, although that would be all the Mormonts would be sending.

House Flint of Flint's Finger, Glover, Reed, and Tallhart would not be sending any supplies, though they would be sending settlers instead. Indeed, in the case of Glover and Flint's Finger, the settlers would be eager for the chance to move, the lands of those houses being tougher and harder to work than even the rest of the North. House Ryswell, the Lockes, and Flints of Widows Watch would eventually be providing supplies and men as well but their supplies would not travel by road like the first group.

Instead, the majority of those supplies would be sent first up to Winterfell and then to White Harbor via the White Knife, whose tributary was already being used by House Cerwyn to send lumber down to the only true city in the North. The supplies would be taken by ship up to Eastwatch, the easternmost castle of the Wall, which protected a small port. It would be an almost constant stream of supplies rather than just one major drop off, but provisions would be getting up there even faster than the force under Ser Kyle Condon could arrive.

To that end, House Stark, with the aid of its minor Houses Mollen and Poole, would be sending men to clear and control the waterways as much as possible, to ease the trip down. House Poole controlled a holdfast by the river about two days journey from Winterfell and had been working on the project for years, with decent results on their section of the river, including coming up with ideas based off pulleys and elevators to get shipments down several small waterfalls. House Mollen was located near where the White Knife split, with a tributary heading off toward Castle Cerwyn while the main river continued down from Long Lake to the sea. If the river could be controlled enough, the goods would only take a bare week to get down to White Harbor, carried by riverboats with paddlewheels powered by mules. This was far faster than overland, a trip that would take more than a month for a caravan of any size.

House Manderly was willing to go even further, however, by not only sending up the supplies for free, but protecting those ships with their burgeoning navy, a navy that few had a hint that it was growing, just yet. That force had been building for the past several years. It was nowhere near the size that the Stormlands or the Iron Islands boasted, or even the King's Landing, but it was growing, fed by the wood and supplies from House Cerwyn sent down the river, which in turn was fed by Ranma's ideas of the river transportation and water driven saws.

After about an hour, the conversation finished and the two older men retired, leaving only Theon and Jon at the table. The two sat in silence for a time, as Jon simply sat there staring at the far wall and Theon drank a stein of ale. "It's a good plan." Theon muttered, his own eyes rather far away, his mind filled with ideas of the ships that would be sent north. This daydream was interspersed with memories of the crash of waves and the darkness of the depths of the ocean from his earliest years, a memory that had dominated him in many ways for his entire life.

"True." Jon said, now turning back to him and frowning thoughtfully. "The only problem is, that while White Harbor has a navy, it isn't a very good one just yet. Experienced sailors and captains, yes, but not a lot of experienced ship-to-ship fighters and no master-of-ships. Jon cocked his head thoughtfully, staring at Theon. "Would you like a job?"

Theon's eyebrows both shot up as his face, which had been darkly contemplative, now registered shock instead. "What kind of job are you talking about here?"

"I wouldn't be able to make you master-of-ships down there or anything like that, but I could send you down as House Stark's representative. You could give advice and go out on some of the ships as they head up to the Wall."

"You mean I could go up on one ship. It's not like changing horses or something," Theon replied automatically, but his voice lacked the tartness that it normally would when delivering a jibe like that. "What exactly would be my role?"

"Combat specialist." Jon said with a shrug. "You can't say you haven't noticed that you and the other wolf-sworn are simply better trained and better at combat than anyone else."

Theon nodded, he had realized that, both in the fight against the wights and in the fight earlier that day. Four against how many had attacked us in the woods, we should have fallen quickly, even with the hunter's aid. Even with the woods working in our favor as well as the wolves, we should have all died today. Instead we slaughtered more than half a hundred men! Legends have been made of worse fights than that! Ranma's training has made us all more than normal men. Perhaps there is something to the smallfolk's belief that he has been touched by the old gods.

Jon went on. "Well, couple that with the lessons you've done with Maester Luwin about naval warfare, your general skills, and what you can remember from your time among the Iron Born and you might know more about ship to ship combat than anyone House Manderly employs. Prove yourself and maybe Lord Manderly and his representatives will trust you with more authority."

Of all the northern houses, the Manderlys had the least amount of antipathy toward the Iron Born. Having their holdings on the other side of the continent from the Iron Born and the rebellion had protected them. Hathan and all the other Manderly men that Theon had met with had treated him appropriate to his station, with no condescension in their manner.

The fact it also got Theon away from Jon before he or Theon attempted to kill one another need not be said. The past few weeks been relatively quiet save at meal times when they were both there at the same time because their duties had kept them away from one another. Yet there was no way that was going to continue.

"So I would be a kind of advisor on naval combat?" Theon asked skeptically. "That's rather vague."

"Which means it will become what you can make of it." Jon replied, nodding. "So, will you do it?"

Theon actually paused for a moment to think about it then nodded firmly. "I'll do it."

OOOOOOO

That night, after spending nearly all evening with her mother in the infirmary, Arya snuck out of her room with Nymeria joining her quickly. She made her way unseen out of the keep and over the grounds, entering the small enclosed area containing the godswood. Like a shadow, she moved through it following Nymeria now, heading deeper into the woods to the heart tree.

The duo came out of the woods into the tiny clearing in front of the heart tree, staring as the moonlight gleamed off the deep pool of water by its roots. Arya noticed that with the moonlight overhead, the face of the old man, carved or somehow grown out of the wood, looked somewhat different, yet was still welcoming rather than scary like it should have been.

Arya sat down in the roots, Nymeria crowding into her side as she pulled Fang out of its sheath, laying it on her knees and looking up at the face above her. She wasn't very religious but she had been brought up to believe in the old gods and she hoped that they could help her now. "My Da always comes out here whenever he needs to think or after he, he hands out justice. I never, I never really knew the, the weight, I guess, of that until now. I, I killed today, I don't know how many men. Twelve, more maybe, I don't know."

She paused for a moment then went on. "I, I know Dacey and by brother were worried about my reaction, but I just, it was just a thing you know. I didn't enjoy it, I didn't, after that first one it became easier, but I never really felt sadness about killing them or anything like that. I was angry, really angry during the fight and after, I was just, numb maybe, something like that."

The youngest Stark girl laid her head back against the trunk, the warmth of her brother's cloak wrapped around her and Nymeria pressed into her side keeping the cold of the night at bay for now, though she knew it wouldn't last for long. "I know I'm supposed to feel remorse or something, but I don't, not really. They attacked us, I had to kill them to defend myself and my home, that was it. That, um, I've never been good at, you know, feelings, but that bothers me. Should I be feeling something, or am I still numb, I, I just don't know…"

Arya fell silent, simply leaning against the tree for a moment. Nymeria's head came up, pressing into her own, the female direwolf's eyes locked with her bond mate, as if saying 'this is what you are'. Wolves don't kill unless they have to, but nor did they shirk from it.

Arya's hands rose, rubbing Nymeria's chest, then her neck and ears. A feeling of contentment and belonging filled her, a sense of welcome and approval somehow, coming through to her from the woods all around.

The girl smiled and sat there until her fingers and toes began to feel a little numb from the cold. Arya stood up, then on a whim leaned up on her tip toes to kiss the side of the wooden face coming out of the bark of the tree. "Thank you." With that, Arya raced off through the woods, Nymeria at her heels, all her inner doubts at rest for a moment, not knowing that this moment solidified all the changes that Ranma had made in her, which would infuriate certain parties once they learned of it.

OOOOOOO

Ranma's decision to train Tommen and Joffrey didn't have an impact on the way the king's party traveled. Just as before the group would get up and head out, covering about 25 leagues or so before stopping for a midday meal, after which they would continue. But now, even Ranma was hard-pressed to come up with new stories to pass the time, forcing him to make up some rather than rely on the memories of his life as Ranma Saotome.

There was still a bit of tension from Lannister supporters towards Ranma, but it had simmered to a low boil, waiting eagerly for the time when they left the North behind to come out.

Joffrey's own hatred of Ranma had solidified into a burning force, though he was careful to keep it under wraps, more because his mother seemed to have her own plans moving forward for the Stark heir. How dare Ranma have his father's approval! How dare Ranma choose Tommen over Joffrey to befriend! How dare Ranma show him up every day with his endurance, good humor and skill! How dare he always show him up and force him to do these demeaning exercises! How dare this jumped up wild boy from the North act as if he was the prince's equal! In Joffrey's mind, now the idea of marrying Sansa was not just to have a pretty little toy to play with, but so that he could eventually break that pretty toy in front of the young man he had come to hate with every fiber of his being over this trip.

He was able to keep a lid on it while he was out on his horse for the first portion of the day by simply staying away from Ranma or staying near his father. If there was one place Ranma would not be, it was near the drunken carousing that was how Robert began each day. The young Stark heir was quick to leave the King's presence as soon as he could, politely or not.

Inside the carriage was another matter. While on the surface Joffrey kept his cool, he did little things to irritate and hurt both of his younger siblings, things that he could get away with even when sitting right next to his betrothed or across from his mother. Kicking them 'accidentally' while stretching, elbowing Tommen hard in the ribs as he got up out of his seat, or pulling on Myrcella's hair when Sansa and his mother were looking out the window. These very small things, to him, did not truly go far to appease his anger, but it was enough for him to keep control, for now.

Myrcella knew that Joffrey was being his usual horrid self, though he was showing a surprising amount of cunning in hiding it in plain sight from Sansa. Not so much their mother, who never bothered to notice such things. Still, Myrcella put up with it as she always had when she had to, though she was proud of how Tommen put up with it.

Tommen didn't realize what was going on and as days passed he began to ignore these little blows more and more. Thanks to Ranma's training, he was becoming a little tougher every day. Unlike Joffrey, who only did them begrudgingly and stopped the moment Robert, a few days later, stopped watching, Tommen threw himself into the training eagerly. Though he really wasn't very good at it yet, he was enthusiastic at least and soon noticed something that spurred him on even more.

His father was actually showing some interest in Tommen! The dedication and time he was putting into the training exercises of his idol had gone quite a ways to making him seem more like what Robert felt a son of his loins should be like. It wasn't anything big, just a smile here and a nod there, but that was better than the scowls and glares that any of the royal children normally got, if the King noticed them at all.

Thankfully, Joffrey hadn't noticed this yet nor had Cersei. Her normal sharp senses for such things dulled by 'that time of the month' a few days after Ranma began to take Tommen under his wing. This was not a pleasant time for anyone in the coach. Even with the chance to be next to his betrothed plus the chance to needle his younger siblings, Joffrey jumped at the chance to escape the carriage while his mother was in such bad humor. The Queen knew this, so allowed even her daughter out of her sight during this time. The two young children spent five days out on Ranma's horse, with Myrcella holding her brother in front of her, next to Ranma as he ran along with Fenris telling them tales, while Joffrey rode at the front of the column as was his right, with Robert.

During this time, Sansa joined Ned on his horse as she had a time or two on trips to White Harbor, Castle Cerwyn, or even once to Castle Hornwood. The two talked quietly, blocking out the rest of the world as the two of them spoke as a father would with a daughter who he was going to be giving away all too soon.

Once Cersei's time passed, she went back to her project of figuring out how to influence or handle Ranma, with limited success so far. Varys, on the other hand, had given up his interest in the Stark heir for now, instead trying to analyze Ned and the impact the older Stark would have on King's Landing or vice versa. Varys really didn't understand Ranma or the impact he could have as a symbol or as a warrior. He dealt with shadows, money and politics, not warfare or symbology. Cersei, however, knew that symbols, such as a gods-touched warrior, could be dangerous if not harnessed. She was waiting for them to get down where it was warmer, so she could truly begin her campaign to do just that.

Two more weeks passed thus while they crossed the side of the barrowlands until they were within sight of the Moat. As the massive towers (each of them larger by far than any tower in Winterfell and able to house at least three-hundred people comfortably) came into view, Ranma looked up at his father riding next to Robert at the head of the column. "Do you think Lord Reed will be there?"

"I hope so," Ned responded, a small smile appearing on his granite-like face, "though I am uncertain, the Moat is not House Reed's seat after all."

Robert barked a laugh, as with him as he sipped from his wine. "Hah, maybe the bentback won't have been able to find his own damn castle, Greywater moves, after all! What say you lad, want to run ahead and see if Howland's there?"

"Don't tempt me, my Lord." Ranma replied, shaking his head. "It wouldn't take much, trust me. I'm getting mighty bored with the pace this group sets. Maybe if you quit drinking half the morning away before we set off, we would make better time?" Ned looked at his son sharply, but Ranma merely shrugged back, after all it wasn't like he had really attacked the King, was it? Ranma was just getting tired of the King and of the Queen, in her own way, as well. The King wore his vices on his sleeve. The Queen tried to hide her feelings under a veneer of hauteur but Ranma could tell there was a lot of hate plus a lot ambition underneath. Some of the looks the Queen had sent his way freaked Ranma out.

Robert laughed again, not taking the boy's jape as an attack on him but as a sign of Ranma's boredom. He'd been amused the entire trip with the way that Ranma just kept going day after day, sprinting along with the horses and not even seeming to be very effected by it.

It took them another four hours travel to actually reach Moat Cailin, but they had timed this portion of the journey very well. The Queen, her ladies, Sansa, and the children stopped with twenty guards at an inn within an hour's ride of the Moat. The rest of the party continued on and stayed at the Moat, welcomed by the men of a few of the Neck's minor houses and House Reed.

Lord Reed was indeed waiting there, although neither of his children was with him. After firm, brotherly hugs exchanged with both Ned and Ranma, Lord Reed explained their absence, his voice rasping as it always did, a holdover from a childhood disease many crannogmen suffered from. "Meera was with me here but she's out hunting now, along with several others. There was a report of a lizard lion nearby. A full grown one, not one of the adolescents or young males."

Lizard lions were sort of like crocodiles or alligators back in the world Ranma had come from initially and, yet, in many ways, weren't. For one thing, they were stronger and heavier than crocodiles or alligators normally were and, for another, their skin was even tougher. In fact, many marsh warriors used their skin for armor. It worked almost as well as half-plate without being nearly as heavy. Their arms were also much longer and more flexible and, after reaching their full growth, they developed a poison that they secreted from the spines along their backs. The females were also able to exhale a noxious gas from their mouth, at need. Also, unlike crocodiles or alligators, their jaws were heavily muscled both for opening and closing.

The breeding adults were also somewhat more intelligent, enough to know to stay away from humans for the most part. The adolescents hadn't developed the intelligence to stay away from humans, making the younger lizard lions range from nuisances to real dangers. However, none of the adolescents were ever large examples of their breed. They were a danger certainly, but they hadn't yet developed the poison nor were they so large. They did not have much in the way of animal cunning, which seemed to develop even more slowly for lizard lions than it did for humans. A fully grown lizard lion could weigh, at a minimum, as much as a knight in full armor along with his horse. An adolescent could weigh as much as an unarmored human. It took several years for them to move from their teenage years, as it were, to full adulthood. Keeping their numbers down was a major, long term occupation of the Neck's Noble Houses.

Ranma frowned, looking over the marshlands abutting the eastern side and almost the entire frontage of the Moat, save for the causeway, a road, twenty feet wide at this point, leading on south under the watchful eyes of all three towers. He was worried about Meera, who was a good friend of Arya's, despite being older. He looked up at one of the towers, shuddering as he saw the ballista on the roof. That thing looks like it would smart like one of Lime's punches. "What about your son, how is he doing?"

"Jojen is doing well, in the main." Howland answered, frowning faintly. "He collapsed about a month and a half ago, but he seems to be recovering his strength well enough. His mother is keeping him close to home, however, since he has had some fever dreams ever since, muttering about how fate has changed, and other incomprehensible things. 'The eyes have closed' was one, and something about three eyes."

Ranma and Ned both frowned, offering their condolences and well wishes for the boy to get better. Ranma remembered Jojen as a bit of an odd child, with wide staring eyes and an almost musical voice, yet, he was also surly and detached, sometimes giving the impression that he wasn't all there when you were talking to him.

He much preferred Meera, who was an older version of Arya in many ways. The girl was wild and cagey, a very skilled hunter even though she was only fourteen, and somewhat passable (high praise from Ranma) with a spear. She and Arya had met a few times and had got along splendidly, though she and Sansa had not. Sansa was most definitely a girly girl and Meera was the ultimate tomboy.

Howland clasped his old friend's shoulder affectionately. "Come, we've put up a bit of an outdoor meal for you all, not a feast, my lands don't produce enough to fully feast you as you should be, Your Grace." Ned smiled, eager to share news with Howland, whose advice he always respected, wondering if the man would see the same dangers Ned saw ahead of him down south. Robert grunted, but didn't really care one way or another so long as the wine was flowing freely.

Once they started to traverse the Neck, there would be no stopping, no midday meal, and no hunting. The only way through the neck was by the Kingsroad on its causeway. There was nothing in the Neck but marshes as far as the eye could see on either side of the road, so no way to hunt. They would be pushing through as quickly as possible, exchanging horses and mules as they could to push on. The trip through the Neck going up had taken a little longer than three weeks. The trip going down would hopefully take them a shorter amount of time.

Ranma followed after his father, frowning faintly as women he could tell were whores moved to join with the 'camp followers' that were a permanent part of the King's party, moving towards the men-at-arms, two of the better looking ones moving toward the King. He shook his head, suddenly not very interested in partying. Later that evening, Ranma was able to excuse himself, then moved off to talk to a few of the soldiers of House Reed before moving away from the light of the many campfires.

He found Fenris, who was now almost as large as a pony and showed no signs of reaching his full growth, moving toward him almost immediately. The direwolves eyes were gleaming in the faint moonlight, eager to hunt with his bond-mate. Ranma chuckled but shook his head. "Sorry pal, but hunting around here isn't anything you're going to be good for. There's not nearly enough solid ground out here for you, sorry."

Fenris huffed, his breath puffing out in the cold air for a moment, causing Ranma to frown a little, remembering his house's motto, making him wonder if winter was coming soon, and if Jon was handling things back north, preparing the Wall to defend against the White Walkers. At the moment however, there wasn't anything he could do about that.

He came back to the here and now, looking out over the marshlands to the east. "I just gotta get away for a bit. Stay out of the way of the southerners while I'm gone, alright?" Fenris couldn't really understand human speech, but the images Ranma sent along their link got through and the direwolf padded away into the night.

Ranma smiled at that, then moved to the edge of the solid land along the eastern edge of Moat Cailin, marked by a small, chest high wall. It's opposite number along the western edge, facing toward the Fever River, was among the defenses being rebuilt, but this one, facing the marshes, didn't need that. Ranma hopped onto the wall then, without further ado, leapt forward, grabbing the limb of a tree about twelve meters away, flipping himself into the canopy and away, a wide grin on his face as he left the party well behind him.

OOOOOOO

While the noise and bustle of the party went on around them, Ned and Howland had retreated to the large, flat-bodied marsh boat that Howland used to traverse the marshes of the Neck. Robert had gone off with three girls at once, mumbling something in his drunken stupor of wanting to break his personal record. Ned had sighed, smiled, and let him go his way, though inside he was beginning to be worried about how much ale his old friend consumed. Then Ned and Howland had made their escape from the carousing, leaving Ser Jory and a few of Howland's men in charge to make certain that nothing violent happened.

Now, alone with a single candle the two exchanged news or, at least, Ned told Howland about the news from Winterfell. He told him everything, the stirring of the White Walkers and their attack on Ranma's party, the attack on Bran, Ned's growing concerns about what might be awaiting him down south, everything.

Howland took it all in, simply sitting there, saying nothing as was his wont. Howland rarely spoke about anything until he had time to work it all out in his mind. Finally he spoke, his voice low and rasping, yet still a welcome sound to Ned's ears. "You are right to be concerned about what might be going on in King's Landing, Ned. Here in the Neck, we hear a little more news than the rest of the North, thanks to our tradesmen selling our medicinal ingredients in the Riverlands. There are rumors of discontent, of the growing reach of House Lannister and the corruption of the court. Robert was an excellent general and a warrior, but he has not been a good king. He has not really tried to rule the kingdom, it is the council that rules in his stead, and there, Lannister gold buys many votes."

He looked at Ned's face and chuckled, the rasp in his voice making the chuckle sound very odd. "You are too much the honest Northerner, my lord. Politics is about power, money, and prestige, as well as appearances. That is where Robert has faltered. Jon Arryn helped him navigate those waters somewhat, but could not control them. The court is a cesspool, where the shit rises to the top."

Ned grimaced, but nodded. "I just wish I had a real idea of what I was going to find when we get there. As the King's Hand it will be my duty to... drain that cesspool, I suppose you could say, but what am I going to find at the very bottom?"

"That I cannot tell you, I can only say that which you should already know. For one, do not assume that the people you deal with will be honorable or even rational. When someone becomes used to wielding power, they will do everything they can to keep it when threatened. Watch your back and keep that lad of yours close, if you can. He tends to react in a very… blunt manner and that might earn you more enemies than it frightens away. On the other hand, if things do become physical, young Ranma can be a force none will be ready to match."

"True enough," Ned nodded, smiling faintly. His son was indeed a force to be reckoned with, though as unsuited as he was when it came to politics and the sort of back alley deals he feared he would all to soon be forced to deal with.

The crannogman paused, one hand moving over his closely shaved scalp for a moment as he thought. "I cannot give you any more precise advice there. You have already been in contact with Lord Tully. He may know more or, at least, send an advisor you can trust with the men you requested. As for your other bits of news, I cannot think what your son saw, but my gut is telling me it was important, more important than simply a illicit meeting between a White Cloak and a married woman. On the other hand, the White Walkers…" He frowned deeply. "That is worrisome, far more worrisome than whatever is going on down south. They haven't been seen in over eight thousand years, far longer than any notes or histories I would trust. I wish I or the houses owing mine fealty could aid you but your idea to send a whelming up to the wall is a good one. Yet, they come with the winter. I trust you have also told the other houses of the North to prepare for that."

After Ned nodded, Howland looked at him sharply. "But the whelming will have brought some attention to the boy. Did you think of that?"

Ned shrugged. "I had to leave him in charge. Ser Rodrick doesn't have the head for numbers to handle the logistics and he isn't well known beyond my family's lands to speak for my house. Jon has the one, and is known well enough for the other. I trust him to handle it and, while this might bring more attention his way, none in the North will look too deeply at things."

Howland hummed noncommittally, staring at one wall as he remembered a day years ago and the toughest fight he had ever been in. He was more than a little concerned about any attention being paid to Jon but his baseborn status defended him from such scrutiny or did, if you didn't really know Eddard Stark and his sense of honor. He shook it off, what's done is done. "I wish I could aid you more my friend, something material, some advice to help you steer this course other than simply telling you to be very careful but it is outside my realm of knowledge. I'm sorry."

"That's alright, old friend. Simply talking about it made me feel better." Ned smiled, and the two moved on to other things.

OOOOOOO

Ranma leapt from one tree to another, smiling faintly at the chance to do something more physical than just running along. He zoomed through the night of the marsh, lit by the stars above and the faint gust of luminescent gas rising from the marsh below, which hid the lower areas of the trees he was traversing through, hiding many threats beneath its ever moving surface. He was almost silent for all of his speed, a mere rustle of leaves in the night, not even his sword, strapped to his back, catching on branches or giving any indication of his presence.

Beyond the needed physical exercise, this was also a mental release. Out here there was no hidden agendas swirling around him just outside of his ability to grasp, no drunken king not worth his crown, no queen with her odd glances and cold ways, no Joffrey, no worries about his family or the coming troubles he could see, both from the White Walkers and whatever the hell was going on down south. Nothing but him, the marsh around him, and the night air whistling around him.

About thirty minutes after he left Moat Cailin, Ranma's enjoyment was shattered by a loud roar, accompanied by the cracking of wood in the distance and someone cussing like a sailor in a voice of mixed anger and fear. It was a female voice, a voice he had heard before. "Huh, sounds like little Meera is in trouble."

Ranma moved rapidly in that direction, passing through the branches of the trees as easily as someone else would over level ground, arriving on the scene swiftly. Below him, a small hunting boat, a coracle about as long as a man was tall, thin, flat-bottomed, yet, made of thick wood to stop hidden branches or, more importantly, the claws and jaws of a lizard lion, had been capsized. A young girl, visible by the moonlight and some marsh lights coming off the waters among the trees, was now balanced precariously on the prow of the boat, both hands holding a short hafted trident, whose tip was pointing down at the reason her boat had capsized.

A huge lizard lion had come out of the marsh's water, its fangs gleaming in a mouth opened as wide as Ranma's arms would stretch, its red eyes gleaming with hunger or blood lust. The thing was longer than the height of three men, wider than the coracle it had capsized, and apparently, judging by how Meera's thrusts were skittering along its back, its skin was harder than chainmail. The thing was ignoring the girl's futile attempts to wound it, simply clawing it's way up the coracle's flat bottom to get at her.

"Winter is Coming!" Ranma howled, pulling his sword free from it's scabbard. He leaped down from the tree he had been in to land right on top of the lizard's snout, forcing its jaw closed. One foot raised in an attempt to smack him away but, by this point, Ranma was ready with his sword and the armor of the lizard's arm wasn't as tough as it's body. Ranma's thrust burst through the back of the things foot and the monster lizard retreated, trying to bring its jaws to bear on him.

Ranma turned quickly, grabbed Meera, trident and all, and leapt up into the treetops. "Hey Meera, ran into a bit of trouble, did you?"

"Oh shut up! I was following the thing, it's bleeding from some old wound, making tracking it relatively easy, but I lost it when it hid under some quicksand under the water. How was I supposed to know it had enough strength to overcome the quicksand's pull!?" Meera yelled in his ear, hyperventilating a little at both how close she had come to death and Ranma's sudden arrival.

The girl was tough, though, and got over it quickly, staring down as the injured beast began to slam it's massive tail against the tree trunk that supported them. "The forest folk must have sent you, Ranma Stark, but what do we do now? That thing is going to keep attacking us and it's already killed ten hunters in the past two days, along with three family boats disappearing. It's my duty as a Reed to kill it before it can do more."

"Then we better finish it now. Get your trident ready and make your way down the tree to that low branch down there," Ranma indicated a large branch about three feet above the water's churning surface. "Then wait for your shot but remember to aim for the eyes."

Without further ado, Ranma once again leaped downward, laughing aloud now at the chance to vent some of his frustration about the journey he was currently on. He landed feet first on the things back, slamming his sword down point first. With his strength Ranma was able to plunge his sword's tip through the powerful back armor of the lizard lion, but it didn't penetrate very far before stopping.

This gave the cagey old lizard time to roll in the water, which it did, taking Ranma and his sword with it. Ranma cursed as he slammed into the water, but kicked out, his foot glowing blue for a moment, when the thing turned to try and close its jaws around him.

The blow caught it on its upper teeth, shattering them and actually throwing the thing a little up out of the water. Meera, shaking off her shock at the power of the kick, stabbed quickly, aiming for the giant lizard lion's right eye. Her trident skitter across the armor plate surrounded the thing's eyes and skull, but one of the tines of the trident smashed into the monster's eyeball.

"RAAHH!" the lizard lion roared, turning away to try and bring it's tail to bear on Meera while concentrating on Ranma. Meera dodged as much as she could but she still caught a glancing blow that lifted her off her perch on the low slung branch, throwing her through the air into the water a few yards away. Luckily, like all crannogmen, she could tread water and climb like a monkey, so that was what she did, climbing up the trunk of a nearby tree as quickly as possible.

With Meera dealt with and Ranma now weaponless, and in the water, the lizard lion pressed it's advantage. Ranma, however, didn't retreat, simply moving to meet the creature. Its jaws once more tried to catch him, but Ranma, quicker than lightning, grabbed the upper jaw and flipped himself up and out of the water into the air above the beast.

The lizard lion actually shook its head in stupefaction for a moment before pushing out of the water, trying to catch its attacker in midair. Ranma merely changed direction by grabbing a hanging branch, reaching with his other hand to his sword still stuck in the beast's back. He pulled it out, grunting slightly, then, flipped himself over to land in the water right under a tree, standing on the roots hidden in the water.

The beast charged once more, jaws open to bite him but Ranma stood his ground. When the thing came close enough, he stabbed his sword deep into its mouth with as much force as he could, slamming through the lizard lion's upper mouth and deep into its brain, killing it instantly.

Ranma had to let go of his sword and leap into the tree as the thing went into its death throes, watching as the thing thrashed and died. He looked over to where Meera was clinging like a drenched koala (not that anyone else in Westeros would call her that) to another tree and said dryly, "Well, that was exciting, wasn't it?"

Meera gaped at him for a minute, then barked a laugh, before moving up into the branches of the tree. She sat there, staring down at the massive lizard lion, not even looking up as Ranma made his way over to her while, in the distance, lights from other coracles began to appear, the other hunters who had been out searching for this monster making their way toward the sound of the disturbance. Meera had lost her lantern when the boat capsized, but since it had been a choice between her trident or her lamp, she didn't mind. "That lizard lion is a real monster, it must be at least as old as my father. What in the name of the old gods was it doing around here, we never see any lizard lions that old this far from the center of the Neck, nor do ones that old normally bother to come close to humans."

She felt more than saw Ranma shrug ignorance and she looked up at him now, pushing her long brown hair back out of her eyes from where it had matted across her face with swamp water, shivering a little in the cold nighttime air. Ranma looked just as wet and bedraggled as she did but still had a smile on his handsome face and didn't seem to feel the cold. Meera smiled, smacking her shoulder against the boy she knew as a somewhat wild, chaotic cousin more than as heir of the lordship of the North. "So, what brought you to my rescue, Ranma, besides the obvious I mean?"

"Going south with my father, who has agreed to be the King's Hand, though why anyone would want the job is beyond me. Anyway, I'm going south to meet my prospective bride. Someone from House Tyrell down in the Reaches, ugh. Frankly this bit of fun here was probably the last I'll have for a while."

Meera gaped at his morose expression, then, as the lights of her fellow hunters came close enough to see them, began to laugh again. She was still laughing when the other crannogmen arrived.

Ranma left her to it, suddenly noticing that the tree they were on had no moss on it, nor was it rotting. He looked down at the trunk and saw a face jutting out of the trunk. He smiled faintly, leaning back and closing his eyes, allowing a feeling of rightness and wellbeing to wash over him, while below the hunters began to make plans to transport his kill.

Suddenly a small vision came to him, a roar, fire, and the beat of wings. He opened his eyes, wondering what the hell that meant, but shook it off for now, staring down at the giant lizard lion. "I wonder what it would take to make a suit of armor out of that thing?"

End Chapter

Okay, so first a major rant, then a minor one. Not to speak ill of the dead, but I loathe David Eddings' work, not just because they all have all powerful gods (hate that idea) in them leading the people around like obedient dogs on a leash, but because they assume that humans do not progress. 1500 years from one war to another, and nothing has changed but what armor and metals are used in warfare?

Martin is guilty of the same thing, only on a much smaller scale. Technology IS NOT STATIC! Even in the middle ages there was a difference between one century and another. Also, Martin doesn't make enough use of river power. The White Knife should have been mastered and controlled as much as possible, fueling trade and growth between Houses Stark, Cerwyn and Manderly. Jon is going to push that aspect.

I also realized while writing this that Mr. Martin has only a vague idea, or is being deliberately vague, about geography or how land was normally broken up in a feudal system. Having the seats of two prominent houses, and Cerwyn is one of the most powerful in the North, apparently, so close together is weird as hell. Had to scramble to reason out how that would work, where the borders would be. So consider the two castles sort of being at the points of triangles facing one another but not overlapping. House Cerwyn's triangle is open face moving somewhat down toward the Rills to encompass that town, and a large chunk of the wolfswood below a straightish path to the seat of House Glover. The Stark's widens to include a bit of the wolfswood before reaching the mountains, and down toward the White Harbor including much of the White Knife and some land beyond. I also went back and changed it so that Hathan's new holding is North of Winterfell rather than in what I describe here as Cerwyn territory.

And he also seemed to have forgotten about Flint's Finger for a time or is he saying that their land can't be invaded, then used as a stepping stone, troops being ferried over the Saltspear into the Rills to get around Moat Cailin? Does the Neck really stretch that far west to prevent that? Since it looks as if it becomes forest near the shoreline near the Twins, and while an army has trouble moving through forests, it isn't impossible, for infantry troops in particular. If anyone knows a better map than the ones on: images/e/e7/Map_of_ and images/c/cd/The_ , please tell me.

In this chapter, Ranma sort of got bogged down in the blah of the journey, while interesting things happened at home with Jon and Arya getting a chance to shine. Next chapter might have Ranma travel the Riverlands and to Kings Landing or just the Riverlands, we'll see. Unless I decide to concentrate only on Ranma and the King's party for a chapter, Arya too will become more of a central character. Theon and Tyrion will wait a time, to allow them to reach their disparate destinations, (maybe) though I will be honest and say making dialogue for the Imp is a major challenge.

A question I am certain someone will ask, does Arya's blade have the same characteristics of a Valyrian one? No, Valyrian blades were made by magic and with a heat Ranma and company could not reproduce – dragonfire - her sword is simply an exceptionally well-made blade in a new way that sets it above of most others. Why didn't Ranma have one made? He already had a blade, gifted to him by House Glover. Why not Jon? The ore for the blade was too expensive given all the false starts for them to make more than the one for Arya.

I also regret to inform Gendrya fans (is that how you write it) that this particular pairing will probably not happen. Sorry.

I will not be going into the minutiae of the other realms more than I have here unless it directly impacts the story (such as when war breaks out), I wanted to do it for the North here to show what Jon was up to and what the composition of the force sent to the wall was, as well as how Dominic was wheedling his way into the trust of the Targaryen exiles

Oh yeah, how would Theon's family react to him leaving behind the Greyjoy name? – Gaining a new name through a heroic dead and given a lordship? Not saying what I have planned for him, but I am just asking everyone's opinions.

*Chapter 4*: Chapter 4

I don't own Ranma or Martin. Mores the pity, since I would have stopped both authors from making the mistakes they did. Ah well.

Minor rant: OH MY FUCKING GOD, I hate it when I look through fanfiction and I see Mpreg and yaoi shit. Mpreg is just fucking wrong, I don't even think it's right if it's a sex-changer. Yaoi is easy to avoid if it is marked correctly, but having Harry/Hermione as characters and then saying Harry/Draco (I just threw up a little in my mouth) without stating Draco as a character in the summary is a fucking trap worthy of an admiral Ackbar impression.

Fem Harry is another pet peeve, but I suppose it is okay so long as she's not paired with… well any male really. Sorry, I just don't get it.

Anyway, I recently got into Transformers fanfiction, and I thought I could do something with that universe – not so much one generation or another, but all of them cobbled together. I really like the Arcee character from Prime, though I am wondering about a woman's perspective on her and on the original Transformers universe, So Janissa, what, if anything, do you think about it?

If anyone is interested, PM me, and I would be very willing to exchange ideas, see what other people think. Frankly lately I've come up with a lot of ideas (Ranma X Sailor Moon, HP X Star Wars, Ranma X Transformers, HP X HOTD, HP X HSDXD, Ranma X X-men, Ranma X Oh My Goddess), and I might, just maybe, be creating a one-shot archive. Not certain though.

I want to thank all of my reviewers, thank you for your continued support. This is, in many ways, the most ambitious project I have taken up, not only in complexity, but in the number of characters, and the type of original tale.

I realized writing this that I made another mistake: I referred to Stannis as Robert's Regent while Robert went north, but it was in fact Renly – for some reason I got their names confused in my mind. I have gone back and corrected this.

I would like to thank Jessolt for his work as a beta, without him this chapter like all my others would be nowhere near the level of writing they are now. I'd also like to thank Wal Otter for a bit of this, he'll know which bit, and special thanks to Trinel for answering some nitpicky questions about ASoIaF that I could not get from the wiki or my own memory.

Chapter 4 Shadows Hide Many Things

It took the marsh hunters a while to figure out how to transport the giant lizard lion, since it was actually far bigger than any of the hunting coracles, but no one complained. A prize of this nature came along once a generation. Eventually, Meera, after searching rather forlornly for her pike, ordered several of the crannogmen to tie their boats together, allowing them to then tie the giant beast to them all in turn. During this, Meera also satisfied her curiosity about why this mature lizard lion had been in an area with so many humans around. It turned out that the bull had lost its testicles at some point in the past month or so. Such a thing wasn't really common because their testicles were protected behind an armor plate that only receded when it was time for the actual mating since, like with many animals, mating was more akin to rape than anything else. This time however its chosen female had some more fight in her than this old bull had expected.

It took them an hour to tie the beast's carcass down on the boats, then another hour to get back but word had gone ahead of the party and they were met at the edge of the solid ground around Moat Cailin by two worried parents and a worried direwolf.

Meera jumped straight from the foremost boat up onto the pier and was swiftly engulfed in a hug from her father, her ribs creaking a little for all that she stood a full head higher than him. "If I'd known what a monster was out there lass, I'd never have let you go." His low, rasping voice was even more scratchy than normal with emotion. Lord Reed turned to Ranma. "Thank you for saving my daughter, Ranma Stark."

Ned was never one to show much affection in public but the hard handclasp he gave his son and the pride in his eyes was more than enough to show Ranma what he felt. Ranma, flushed a little at that and the looks of respect in the surrounding soldiers and hunter's eyes, tried to change the subject a little. "I'm sorry father, I lost the blade house Glover sent me for my last nameday."

The sword had snapped in several places after Ranma had rammed it up into the lizard lion's mouth during the beast's death throes. After it had finished thrashing around, they had only found the tip of the sword still lodged in its mouth, the others having been flung out into the muck and mire, or possibly ingested, Ranma wasn't certain which, nor did he care.

Ned barked a laugh. "Ha, a cheap price to pay for that beast, my son, and for the two of you returning safe and whole."

At that point, Meera began to tell the tale of how she and Ranma had killed the giant beast, a tale that drew several more clumps of feasters to her. Surprisingly, Robert was not among them, having retired early to his tent with a crannog woman. A little while later, Howland asked Ranma what he wanted to do with the carcass. "As it was you who killed it, it's yours Ranma. The armor of this beast would compare well to even full plate and be much more flexible. That is what I'd recommend for you to do with it, though we don't have a blacksmith or leather worker I'd trust to do the job here. Even if we did though, it would take weeks of hard work to create a single suit of lizard armor."

Ranma thought for moment, then smiled faintly. "Could you send the skin to Winterfell? I would trust our blacksmith there to work with your leather workers to make the most of this find. I'd like for it to be made into armor for myself, Jon, Daryn Hornwood, and Ed Karstark. We're all of a size after all, so fitting out Jon would make armor for the rest of us. The bones and everything else, they can be used to make bows and handles for blades, correct?"

"Aye, they ain't as good weapons as dragon bones but they actually make better bows, or so tis said. From such a carcass as this, we could make at least a dozen composite bows." an old hunter, face gaunt and aged with lank white hair answered, tapping a short bow by his side. It was only when he did, that Ranma realized it was white and yellow, the color of bone rather than any wooden color.

"Then let's do that as well, as many as can be made, for my siblings but also for Meera and the other heirs of the noble houses." We might not have come up with the name ourselves but we are wolf-sworn and, like a pack of wolves, though we are apart, we are together still. After Howland agreed to do that, smirking slightly at his daughter's gob-smacked expression, the group began to break up, the King's party knowing they would be out on the road early the next morning.

OOOOOOO

Used to waking up early after so many days on the road, Myrcella was the first to get up. Even if the party wouldn't set off for a while yet, the children had to be ready to go quickly, along with the Queen. She pouted as she looked around, not seeing Ranma around waiting for them, which had become a fixture on this trip. She knew it was silly of her but that hadn't stopped Myrcella from developing a crush on the oldest Stark sibling. Despite his, at times, stern Stark features, Ranma was warm, kind, outgoing, and funny to go with his obvious strength. All the things she would love to see in a betrothed.

I know it's hopeless, she thought to herself as she entered the inn's bathing area, which the Queen had taken over entirely the evening before for their party. Her body moving on automatic, Myrcella began to undress after testing the water in the tub. The bath was warm, heated by a hearth or something underneath it, she guessed. For one, Sansa and Joffrey are to wed, regardless of my own feelings about that, so there is no need to tie the Stark family to ours with another marriage. For another, Ranma already has a betrothal lined up. And for a third, he treats me more like a sister than my own older brother!

The young girl pouted as she looked at herself in the large mirror that Cersei had dragged along on this trip. She cupped her barely formed teats for a moment, sighing. Maybe if I were older or had already started to blossom, then mayhap if Sansa and Joffrey didn't work out, and fat chance of that happening, I could somehow convince my parents of it but no, that's wishful thinking at best. With a final sigh, Myrcella moved over to the tub, getting in and sighing luxuriantly while waiting for the Queen, Sansa, and the others.

Later, she saw Joffrey, who had elected to stay here in the inn rather than 'rough it' at the Moat with their father, the King. He was once more regaling Sansa with a made up tale of prowess in some form or another. No, Myrcella realized, Joffrey was reciting poetry to the naïve northern girl. I wonder what Sansa would think if she knew those poems she gushes over weren't originals he made up on the spot for her but ones Joffrey stole from professional poets out of the Reach? He's only changing the name of the woman in them, for the Seven's sake! While still very young, Myrcella had spent almost her entire life in the court and knew when someone was putting on a false front, especially her own older brother. She had also heard that exact poem before, sung in honor of her mother at one point.

Myrcella frowned, however, when she noticed, as Sansa turned to address Jeyne, the look of vitriol Joffrey sent Tommen's way as her younger sibling raced up to her, smiling. Myrcella, in an act she would never have even thought of doing before this trip, quickly crossed the distance between them, pulling Tommen around behind her while glaring back at Joffrey.

His eyes widened for a moment, then he glared at her as well before he smoothed his features back to normalcy as their mother came out to usher them all up into the coach. Tommen looked up at her questioningly but Myrcella merely shook her head with a smile, then made certain to sit Tommen as far away from Joffrey as possible in the carriage.

About two hours travel time took their much smaller band to Moat Cailin where the rest of the party was waiting for them. Myrcella gasped in astonishment, a sound that drew the attention of the others in the carriage, causing all of them to look out of the window. By the road leading north was the carcass of a monstrous lizard lion, which was being held up on a huge skinning bed.

The King, Lord Stark, Ranma, and Lord Reed all stood by it along with an older girl she didn't know standing beside the diminutive Lord Reed, with the Kingsguard and the rest of their party already on horses nearby. As the carriage came up level with them, Myrcella could hear her father saying. "By the Seven lad, take me with you the next time you go hunting! You certainly find more interesting game than I have in many a year!"

As the others around the King broke into laughter with their King, Tommen went wide-eyed. As soon as the carriage stopped, he ignored his mother's hissed instructions to stay put and bolted out of the carriage toward his hero.

Joffrey followed, more because he knew that his father would once more insist on his riding rather than remaining in the carriage, than because he was really interested. The oldest Baratheon sibling saw his father nod cordially at Tommen, an acknowledgment that, despite how lukewarm it was, none of the Baratheon children had ever seen from their father before. Hate for his youngest sibling curdled within him and he glared daggers at Tommen's small back. Cersei noticed the nod as well and wondered what it could mean for the future but didn't see, or perhaps willfully ignored like so many other things, the look her oldest son was giving her youngest.

On the other hand, Myrcella noticed it once again. Even as Ranma modestly waved off Tommen's entreaty to tell him the story behind the massive lizard lion, she watched Joffrey through narrowed eyes, wondering what her older brother was going to do. She blushed faintly as Ranma looked toward the carriage, his blue eyes alight with humor. He bowed in their direction, then turned and, after raising the youngster into his saddle, grasped the reins of his horse. He then made his way over to them, already spinning a tale for Tommen. "Ah, I'm bored of telling that tale already, Tommy. Besides, its short and not very funny or interesting. How about this one: There once was a kingdom, whose inhabitants were so strong and powerful they were called demons by their neighbors. Now, to the royal family of this land was born a princess, who longed for adventure. Her chance to get away for a bit was realized when her nation decided to invade a very tiny neighboring nation. Instead of conquering it however, the demon kingdom always gave their opponents a chance, deciding their invasion by contests of all sorts, including simple games. This time they decided to see who would win a game of tag, between the princess or a randomly chosen noble of the country they were invading…"

Sansa blinked then looked at Jeyne, who shook her head. They hadn't heard this story before! Ranma smiled warmly at his sister, before ruffling her hair, affectionately, ignoring her pout with ease while nodding in Myrcella's direction, causing Myrcella to smile at him shyly.

Around them the cavalcade got going. Lord Stark and Lord Reed had put their heads together to think up ways to make this part of the trip move faster resulting in Ned commissioning boats to carry the luggage and many of the servants while the party continued on horseback (and carriage) down the causeway. The boats carrying the food would come out of the secret waterways to abut the causeway every evening. In this manner, they would be able to go faster. This part of the trip was no fun for anyone so even Robert was fine with speeding their way through. The party would eat the midday meal while moving, no afternoon stops, no hunting or carousing, simply because the view in the Neck was not one anyone but a crannogman could love.

As Ranma regaled the children with tales of the Tomobiki district near Nerima, where the insanity was greater even if the amount of combat was much less, the last of the soldiers mounted up and they moved off. Behind them, the smallfolk started to carve up and skin the lizard lion for its trip to Winterfell. Even starting with the softer belly shell it was very tough going, making it obvious that the hide would make extremely good armor, even if the cost of making it would be quite high.

Lord Reed stood and watched the party move down the causeway through the massive gates of the one wall that had still been intact from the old castle, wondering what his friend Ned would face, hoping against hope that he would take his words about not trusting other people's honor to heart. In a pocket of his cloak, he held two letters that would go north with the lizard lion, which he dearly hoped would not be the last such missive sent, even if he would not be the one delivering the others.

OOOOOOO

Greywater Watch was not much of a castle, being more a large wooden palisade around a single two story keep made of stone. Despite this, it was next to impossible to siege because it was impossible to find in the first place. Greywater was built on a crannog, a man-made island that moved randomly over the waters of the Neck, which made it impossible for any invaders to find it. This was the seat of House Reed, Lord of the Neck.

At present, of course, Howland was absent but his wife, Jyana, and his young son, Jojen, were still present along with their servants and a few guards/hunters. Here in the marsh, there were no men-at-arms, although every man knew his way with a pike and most crannogmen were expert archers and hunters.

Jyana spent much of her time these days looking after her youngest child, who had collapsed several weeks ago like a marionette with his strings cut. Since then Jojen hadn't opened his eyes or even stirred at all. So it was with shock that Jyana saw him awake when she came in from grabbing a tray of food for herself. She moved forward quickly, laying a gentle hand on his brow. "Jojen, oh my son, I am so glad you've woken up. You've been in some kind of fever dream for the past few weeks! How are you feeling?"

Jojen did not answer his mother directly, instead staring past her shoulder further north. When he spoke, it was in the riddles of a seer, a talent the Reeds had known he possessed for many years, though Jyana thought it more a curse than a gift. "The eyes that have been closed may yet be opened. The future has changed, yet the green abides. The choice must be made between the green and the builder." It was only after he finished speaking this odd line that the ten year old boy looked at his mother with eyes far older and wiser than his years. "I must go to Winterfell."

OOOOOOO

Three weeks after she had taken them, Catelyn's wounds had at last receded, allowing her to talk at a normal level, something all her family and advisors were happy about, save for one. Rickon had at first welcomed his mother back to health but when she ordered him to continue to take lessons with Lady Jonelle, that had faded rapidly. She still refused to leave the healing hall for long but this didn't stop her from becoming more active in the family and the castle. Still the healing area became an impromptu center for the castle business, with Catelyn throwing herself into the work even as she kept one eye on her still comatose son.

A few days after her recovery, Catelyn sent a servant to fetch Arya to her. It was nighttime by this point, and Catelyn stood at the window, staring out into the dark. The window's panes had been repaired, but it was open now, allowing in the night air as well as letting her look out over Winterfell. Snow had fallen since the last time she had taken in the view and Catelyn shivered at the bite of the cold of the North, which seemed sharper somehow today than it had been since she arrived here all those years ago as a new bride.

She looked around at a diffident cough behind her. "You wanted to see me, mother?" Arya was dressed in her regular garb of pants and an overlarge coat. Nothing about it told of her station and it almost erased her gender from view, which made it a sort of example of the problem Catelyn had called her youngest daughter in to talk about.

"Come in Arya, and sit down." Arya did so, looking at her mother warily as Catelyn sat across from her at the small table that had been moved into the healing hall. The mother stared at the daughter for a time, then spoke. "You are my daughter, a highborn woman, yet you dress in rags like that in an attempt to run away from it. I have long allowed you some leeway, allowed you to follow your dreams of wielding a blade because of the agreement I made with Ranma. Yet you and I have never talked about why I felt that such lessons were a waste of time. I have only ever tried to cajole and browbeat you before this. Since it has obviously not worked, I have decided to try a new tact, explaining, in as blunt terms as I can use, why women perform an important job in our society."

Arya stiffened, fighting an urge to run, but stayed put, one hand on Nymeria's head, where the direwolf pup had placed her head in her mistress's lap. While not as large as Ghost, Nymeria was still already the size of a regular wolf, despite only being a bare five months old.

Having noticed her daughter's trepidation, Catelyn smiled faintly but her words were deadly serious as she spoke. "The role of women of stature in our society is to be the bridges that hold that society together by the oldest way imaginable, by that of blood." Arya looked up at her in surprise and Catelyn went on. "A wedding between two Houses can be used to improve the station of one House, to ensure the loyalty of one House to another, to forge alliances between Houses of the same stature. A marriage can win your family power, possibly even broker a peace between warring families or even nations. Eventually, as a Stark of Winterfell, you will be called upon to marry to make the family stronger. As such, you must know the skills all girls of your stature know, the better to bring more suitors."

At this point, Arya had held her silence as long as she could and now she exploded, years of silently building frustration and anger coming out. "I hate that! I hate it, hate the idea of only being important because of what my, my maidenhead can bring! I want to be my own person, to be important in my own right rather than as simply a, a bridge between our family and another! Why can't I be free to make my own way in the world?!"

"Would you be willing to give up your family to achieve that dream?" Catelyn asked archly. "Would you leave your siblings, me, your father, and Winterfell behind for such an uncertain future?" Arya's silence was her answer and Catelyn smiled faintly. "I know that you hate this but your hate will not change what is. Yet, nor will I continue to try to change you."

Arya looked up in shock at that while Catelyn's smile turned grim. "Times are changing, winter is coming like the family motto says and softness in winter can spell death. If you are to be married, the man you marry will know precisely what he gets, a wolf as well as a lady." Arya smiled at that, but Catelyn's next words brought her down to earth. "Yet, I will have your word as a Stark, here and now, that when the time comes to do your duty, you will enter into it with, if not happiness, then at least understanding because it is your duty to your family. I will try my hardest, and you know your father will as well, to find you a match with a man who will appreciate you for who you are, but your marriage may be too important to put off for reasons such as that. Until then Arya, you are free to continue your lessons with Dacey with my blessing, so long as you also continue you lessons with Jonelle on decorum, the maester with history and with me in land management."

Arya frowned heavily but the allure of getting her mother's blessing for training now won over the far distant unpleasantness of marriage. After all, she had years to go yet before she had to figure out a way out of that. "I swear it mother, so long as the man isn't too old, smelly, or boorish, I won't make trouble when the time comes."

"I suppose that's the best I can get." Catelyn chuckled quietly. "Now, tell me about the battle that occurred a few days back." Arya looked at her quickly to see Catelyn smiling coldly at her. "Did you think I wouldn't see through that flimsy lie you and the others concocted? Please, I'm your mother, I know these things."

The question and answer section when on for a time, then Catelyn told Arya to find Jon, wanting to speak to them both. When Jon entered, Catelyn immediately asked him, "So did you find anything out from the prisoners you took? And why didn't you mention the fact you took prisoners to me after the attack occurred?" She refrained from mentioning his choice to let Arya fight. She had meant to take him to task strongly about that, but Arya had defended him, saying she would have followed anyway. Dacey wasn't off the hook just yet, but that could wait.

"Nothing concrete, ma'am. Just the fact that their leader had found someone who was willing to pay for them to sack Winterfell. I've sent a runner to the Wull to see what he can tell us about this, predominately how such a large band of men moved through his territory unimpeded. The mountain clans should have taken these men to pieces in their mountains. Instead, they came out unscathed and within striking distance of Winterfell without being seen. If I had found anything concrete from the prisoners, I would, of course, have told you."

Catelyn waved that off. "Was there anything to tie the attacker's mysterious benefactor to the Lannisters?"

Jon spoke carefully, not liking the way Catelyn seemed to brush off what he said about none of their prisoners having known anything. "I apologize, Lady, but again, there was no proof of who their backer was. Moreover, this was set in motion long before the King arrived. The travel time through the mountains for a group of any size would be measured in months, not weeks. No ma'am, this has nothing to do with the Lannisters."

It was obvious this did not sit well with the former Tully woman, whose hot-blooded nature sometimes came to the fore. Yet she reined it in for now. "Very well, I'll concede the point. Though I think the Lannisters are somehow behind this, I won't allow myself to concentrate on that to the exclusion of all else. Now, on to more immediate topics: I understand that you, Ser Rodrick, and Maester Luwin have between you been dealing with the running of the land. Arya and I will both now be taking part in those decisions."

Arya looked at her in surprise and some consternation but Catelyn merely smiled grimly. "You want to be the equal of a man then you will have to take on the duties of a man, as well."

That made Arya's back straighten up, and she nodded resolutely. "I am a Stark of Winterfell, mother. I will do my duty."

Life in Winterfell passed relatively quietly for the next few days as the furor over the attackers died down. Dacey (after a very uncomfortable talk with the Lady of the House) remained in Winterfell as Arya's mentor/bodyguard/trainer. Hathan and his new retainers moved on to his new holdfast, taking with them some servants, who were working at jobs below their abilities here in Winterfell.

Theon had left the day after Catelyn's… discussion with Dacey, headed to White Harbor with Ser Wendel and his party, who were returning home with the plans for their part in supplying the whelming. Ser Wendel bore a letter signed by Lady Catelyn and Rickon asking for Theon to be given an advisors role in their supply operations, as well as two sealed envelopes for their Lord. One was from Lord Stark prepared before he left, detailing some plans between the two men, as well as asking Lord Manderly to ask his factors for any news they could get their hands on the man thought needful for Ned to know. Wyman Manderly was among the most intelligent and far thinking lords of the North. Both Catelyn and Ned respected 'the pufferfish's' political acumen. This was why Catelyn had chosen to send her own letter to the man, updating him on recent events as well as giving her own opinion about them and asking for his opinion.

Arya, while not having much to contribute, did indeed join the meetings to discuss readying the White Knife for supplies, making certain all the farms in the area were producing as much as they should, and gathering in supplies. Men also began to ready the winter village (the large village that surrounded Winterfell that was practically empty save for the whorehouse and the market) for inhabitants while at the same time preparing Winterfell itself for more people. The crispness of the night air, the heaviness of the clouds in the sky, the random snowfall, all of it pointed to one thing: the coming of winter. Arya only had something to contribute when it came to the construction aspect and, even there, not much but she was at least trying her best. With Catelyn there as well, she didn't allow her irritation at being forced to be part of the meetings to be seen.

This new routine was interrupted several days after Lady Catelyn recovered from her wounds. As had become usual, the extended family of the Starks and her advisers had dinner in the healing area, something that had at first confused and irritated the servants, but they had long since gotten used to it.

Most of the time, the direwolves would be outside playing at this time of day since Lady Catelyn still wasn't over her, rather irrational in her daughter's opinion, fear of the beasts. The only exception was Bran's direwolf, who simply hid under his bed when someone tried to force him out of the room. He never growled, barked, or anything, unlike Shaggydog, who had become quite wild before Lady Jonelle took Rickon in hand. Thankfully, it seemed as if the boy's self-control and education had an effect on the direwolf pup as well. So used to the presence of Bran's direwolf had Catelyn become that she didn't even notice his growling as she, Jonelle, Arya, Dacey, the maester, and Ser Rodrick sat down to dine.

Jon might have but he wasn't here this evening. He and Ghost had gone on an expedition to House Mollen to see how they were coming with their project of taming the White Knife in their territory. He was due back the next day and his report would be very interesting indeed. It turned out that the White Knife could be tamed enough to allow medium-sized barge transports. Lord Dorrel Mollen had found a young man who was a genius at creating pulleys and levers which aided the effort tremendously. They could even be used around the occasional waterfall found along the White Knife.

The meal had been over for a few hours at this point but they all lingered around the table going over business, even Arya, since her mother kept glaring at her every time she looked as if she wanted to run off. Now, however, they were talking about something that interested Arya a lot and her attempts to leave stopped.

"So the next shipment of food and other supplies will be ready before the White Knife has been tamed, unless Jon has something surprising to say about the progress being made on that project. We'll be faced with a choice, either to keep it here, try to send it up to the Wall by land, or over to the White Harbor overland. Your thoughts, Ser Rodrick?" asked Catelyn. Her eyes were shrewd as she looked over at the master of arms, who was Jon's second in command of the whelming.

"It would be faster to send it to White Harbor, milady. A convoy of foodstuffs traveling up to the Wall would take a minimum of six months, maybe longer if the conditions worsen. From here over to White Harbor, two months and then another week and a half, going by Lord Wendell's estimate, to get it up to the wall."

Maester Luwin asked, "So, when our men plus those of Hornwood and Cerwyn arrive, how many men will the Nights Watch have on the Wall?"

Ser Rodrick reached over to a pile of parchment on the table but Arya beat him to it, pulling out a piece of paper that a raven had delivered to them that morning. "It says that House Umber's first group of troops have already arrived and the Karstark men have been sighted and are nearly to the Wall. So plus ours… Lord Hornwood is sending six hundred archers and spearmen… Flint of Flint's finger is sending up five hundred, I think Jon said… I would say that would put their total numbers at around… more than five thousand, with two thousand being our men." That last was said proudly, Arya being proud of the strength her family could call on.

"A goodly number, for any defensive action." said Luwin, smiling a little at the girl's eagerness for anything involving battle. "Until one thinks of how large the Wall truly is."

Dacey waved that off however. "The Wall is such a strong defensive position that any one man on it is worth a thousand or even two thousand attackers. Yes, you have to spread them out, but," she paused shaking her head a little, one hand going to her stomach as it grumbled at her. "Y, your pardon I seem to be feeling a little ill for some reason. W-where was I?"

Ser Rodrick put his stein of beer down looking at the younger woman quizzically and shook his own head, one hand going to his own stomach. "I'm, my stomach is…

Arya clutched her stomach for a moment, fighting back a wave of nausea.

Lady Catelyn stood up abruptly. "Excuse me a moment." She ran out the room, heading towards the nearest garderobe. Arya and the others all stood up as one, almost, with Arya rushing over to the single window of the healing hall. The adults rushed out the door, with the men swiftly moving towards the nearest arrowslits, tearing their shutters open and heaving the contents of their stomachs out the narrow windows, while the women made for the nearest garderobe.

Not even two minutes later, the servant who had brought them their food came into the healing hall, smirking villainously. He was not a man known in Winterfell, for he, in fact, was not a normal servant. The excuse he had given for asking for employment was that he needed some money to purchase enough food to get him back to his home in the lands controlled by Flint of Flint Finger's but that was a lie. In fact, he was a cut purse, a murderer for hire, though nothing like the trained assassins of the God of Many Faces. He was simply a low level sort of vermin that could be found practically anywhere, even here in the North.

He had agonized for weeks on how to do this job. He had even thought at one point to simply give it up as a bad job, to take the money he'd already been paid and run with it. But for some reason, he had decided to stay with it, possibly because it had been the Crown Prince who had hired him. Yet, more likely, it was because Joffrey had threatened him with the Hound, who terrified him as any big dangerous predator would a smaller predator. This man well knew he couldn't hide from someone like Sandor Clegane, no matter how long it would take the Hound to find his scent.

Nonetheless, it had taken him weeks to think of a way to get the Lady Catelyn out of the room and for the furor to die down enough so that the guards on the door would no longer be present. A mild dose of food poisoning, mixing in tainted raw meat with the heavy chowder had done for that well enough. It would be several hours before any of the ones who ate it would recover, including the two guards who had eaten prior to the family eating in their room. Of course, it would raise suspicions but by then he would be long gone.

He stopped however when he saw Arya at the open arrowslit, cursing internally. He hadn't realized the window in this room had been repaired, since before this it had been covered by a wooden panel. Before he could think of what to do, Bran's direwolf crawled out from under the bed and stood before him, growling angrily, his teeth bared.

The man froze as Arya turned from the window, her face green and one hand on her stomach, but still in charge of her faculties enough to realize what the man was trying to do. "Wh-what are you doing!" One hand scrambled at her side, but Fang was in her room, Catelyn not wanting her armed at their evening meals.

"What does it look like, you little wild bitch." the man muttered, his eyes locked on the direwolf in front of him. He'd heard what the things could do in defense of their masters. It was well he had, because at that moment the wolf charged him, mouth open.

Arya threw up again but her mind was working despite this. The moment she recovered, she opened the connection she had to Nymeria and sent a desperate thought down it. Pack mate danger, come to me!

In front of Arya, the would-be assassin sidestepped left, trying to stab the direwolf with his knife in an overhand blow and catching the animal a glancing blow along the neck. But this was a mere nick to the direwolf, who turned his head and snapped at the murderer's hand in an attempt to mangle it. The man cursed, stepping backwards, his knife once more between him and the wolf. He lunged forward with the weapon in an underhand grip, trying to get the direwolf in the eye.

The direwolf sprang backwards but still was caught by the knife high up in one shoulder, which tore a portion of fur off, adding to the number of scars this direwolf had gained in its fight with the previous assassin. He yipped and backed away still snarling, while on the floor Arya had thrown up again, cursing how useless she felt right now.

The man grinned and pressed forward, but at that point the door to the healing hall banged open. Suddenly, Shaggydog and Nymeria were there, bounding forward, snarling. Before he could turn to face this new threat, Nymeria had her teeth in one of the man's legs, ripping and tearing at the hamstrings behind his knee.

"AHHHGG!" The man fell to the ground screaming, waving the knife wildly, but Shaggydog dodged in, grabbing his wrist in his mouth. He wasn't big enough to simply bite it off like Ghost or Fenris could, but he could tear a large chunk out of it, rendering that hand useless. "YEEEEE!" The man screamed again high-pitched, yowling in agony, but that ended abruptly as Nymeria went for the kill, ripping out his throat.

Even as the alarm was raised in the keep, the servants and guards responding to all the screaming, the pack moved together. Shaggydog and Nymeria began to lick at the wounds Bran's direwolf had taken, rubbing their heads against him consolingly. Nymeria turned to her mistress but was waved off, as Arya, leaning back against the wall underneath the window, looked at the bloody corpse, then rubbed her stomach. Strangely enough, the sight of the dead man wasn't making her any sicker.

A sound from the bed drew her attention. She and the wolves turned to gaze happily at the sight of Bran, sitting up and yawning in bed. He looked at the three direwolves and the dead man. But rather than be aghast or scared, Bran merely nodded and reached out to his direwolf with one hand. His bonded partner moved forward hesitantly, at first, then with more enthusiasm licking and snuffling at his master's hand. Then he finally had time to look at his sister. "Hello, sister, you stink."

Arya raised one fist at him mock threateningly but couldn't keep the wide grin off her face. She made to stand up but her stomach gurgled at her and she turned to throw up once again out of the window. Seeing this, her brother shook his head.

Bran felt as if he had come out of a waking dream, although the reality of what lay on the floor made him wonder if the dream was over yet. The sight of his sister being sick was odd but at least he could understand it, unlike his dreams. In them, Bran had been flying, his spirit flying in the air, as he had longed to do for so long, and then he was falling, falling into an abyss constantly, never in control, never able to find his way back home and back to his body. Then the three-eyed crow had appeared, who somehow Bran knew was more than a mere crow, even a three eyed one. It had led Bran home, led him back to his own body.

Now Bran slowly slid out of the bed, testing his legs and finding them a little wobbly because of all the time he had spent lying down. He sat down on the edge of the bed, taking his direwolf's head in his hands and gently stroking his fur.

The moment Lady Jonelle had joined her in the garderobe, Catelyn knew there was something wrong. After a few minutes, she forced herself to her feet, ignoring through sheer willpower the urge to throw up again and rushed back to the healing hall. She looked inside and gasped in horror at the sight of the man on the ground, with the direwolves all sitting around him, looking between her, the bed, and her daughter, who was covered with some of her own sick and leaning against the room's open window. The bed however held a sight that drove her horror of the dead man's corpse out of her head. Bran, her second son, her baby, her darling dreamer, was sitting upright and smiling happily at her.

"His name is Summer," Bran said, patting his newly christened direwolf on the head. "Because though winter is coming, summer is always the hope of man."

OOOOOOO

Jon came back the next day, taking a page out of Ranma's book on the last day of the journey to get back that much faster. He ran the entire day, breathing deeply and easily as Ghost bounded alongside him, leaving behind the five men-at arms that he had been traveling with.

He waved at a few guards he saw on the walls of the Keep, stiffening slightly as he noticed their alert, guarded movement along the wall. Suspicion darkening his mind, Jon raced into the keep then up to the still guarded healing hall, where he found Bran and his direwolf sitting in bed together, while the maester once again went over them.

The maester hadn't recovered as quickly as Catelyn or the others had, being an older man and not nearly as hardy. Still, he was on his feet now and going over everyone who had eaten that evening. It hadn't just been the Starks and their advisors; it had also been their guards and several others that had eaten from the same ruined meal. Even so, all of them were on the mend. It was obvious that the murderer had placed the tainted food into the soup to get just this reaction.

Catelyn, sitting up in another bed nearby and watching her son with joy in her eyes, looked up as Jon entered. "You missed a bit of excitement, Jon." she said dryly.

Jon looked at the dagger on the table as well as the bloody coin pouch, then his now awake brother and asked simply "What did I miss?" Bran and Arya filled him in while Jon picked up the dagger, looking at it carefully. "This is a Valyrian dagger, I recognize the characteristics from seeing Ice. Who would give this to a common cut purse, whatever their mission?"

"I know precisely who." Catelyn replied coldly. "One of the Lannisters." Jon looked at her skeptically but she nodded her head firmly. "I remember one of them saying that he had won that knife off the King. I can't remember who though. I think it might've been the Imp."

Jon, however, was much more skeptical. "What possible reason could Tyrion have to try to assassinate Bran, especially after all this time and given the fact he was wounded in the first attempt? I will warn you again, milady, don't get so focused on one answer that you neglect to search for others. Who knows, someone else might have won that dagger off Tyrion after that conversation."

He picked up the bloody pouch, opening it, and pouring out the money, whistling a little as the coins poured out. "Gold dragons again, five of them. Someone had money to waste. Which argues against it having been the Imp, he's not so frivolous as all that, and he didn't have much money to call his own."

"Maybe he spent it all on paying the man who tried to kill Bran!" Catelyn exclaimed angrily. "Why can't you see that they are involved in this?!"

"Because there is no real proof." Jon answered back calmly, keeping his own temper under control with ease, emphasizing his words with the very calmness he said them with. "There is supposition, there is possibility, but there is no real proof to connect any Lannister, let along Tyrion, to this crime. All we can tell from this is that Bran saw something that someone is still terrified of letting anyone know about."

That line of thought derailed Catelyn's growing anger at Jon not seeing the truth as she thought of it. She wanted to blame someone for this assault on her son. She wanted vengeance but Catelyn knew she had to wait and choose her target carefully; she couldn't go haring off in search of vengeance. With Ranma not here and with Bran only just recovered and still so young, she had to stay here to watch over the family.

She trusted Jon, of course. Over the years since Ranma's revelation she had come to see him as a nephew of sorts and did not hold his status as a Snow against him. However, other people would hold that status against the family if it looked like they trusted a bastard born too much, thinking them too trusting and gullible. It would also bring too much attention to him and some might question his origins if that occurred, bringing ruin on the Starks.

She turned to look over at Bran. "Can you remember anything, my son?"

Bran looked up from where he had been staring into Summer's eyes, shaking his head sadly. "I remember waking up that day and thinking I might go kind climbing to find the nests of some birds I noticed by the Old Tower but that's all except, except for golden hair and someone saying 'the things I do for love'. It was a man's voice, but that's all I can remember. I'm sorry." he finished, looking a little morose.

"Don't be, Bran." Jon said moving over and pulling him into a firm hug. "I'm just glad you're alive and well, your memories of what happened are more than a fair exchange for that." Bran snuffled a little, grabbing his older brother in a hug. Jon stood there for a moment ruffling his hair and smiling over at Catelyn who smiled back along with Arya.

Sitting next to Catelyn, Lady Jonelle smiled too. She had been one of those who had thought it odd that Jon was so well loved by the Starks and most particularly Lady Catelyn. But seeing him with Bran like this made it clear that Jon had a good soul to him. Though Jonelle didn't think she would have been strong enough to put up with one of her husband's baseborn children, it was obvious Catelyn had moved past that.

After a moment however, Catelyn brought their attention back to her with a gentle cough. She winced a little, one hand going to her stomach, frowning thoughtfully. "Maester Luwin, will the food poisoning have affected my pregnancy?"

Luwin shook his head. "There are some types of food poisoning that will have such an affect. my lady. However, this one won't have any long term effect on you or the baby." He looked over at Jonelle, who had stiffened with trepidation at Catelyn's words. "Nor will it have affected yours, Lady Jonelle, despite how far along you are."

The Lady of House Cerwyn breathed a sigh of relief and Catelyn decided to move back to the former topic of conversation. "Despite what Jon said, does anyone here not think that there is something going on down south, that this is not all connected to some larger scheme or plot of the Lannisters? The golden hair, the knife, my sister's message, the knight who hails from the Westerlands trying to kill Bran… the clues are building up. More and more, I am convinced that my husband and my oldest children are walking into a snake spit and I am stuck here, unable to help." Catelyn growled.

That sound actually made all the direwolves look at her in the wolf equivalent of surprise. They then resolved to be very respectful to the angry pupping mother.

None of the people in the room answered her for a moment. Not even Bran spoke up, though he looked a little quizzical, as if he couldn't quite follow the conversation. Jon moved back from his hug, patting Bran on the head. "I'll fill you in later."

He looked over at Lady Catelyn once more and shrugged. "We already called on your father to lend Lord Stark some men in Kings Landing, we could send a message to your sister, ask her for more proof against the Lannisters, or for aid in the form of men for Lord Stark, but that's all I can think of at present."

"We could send messages about this latest occurrence to the Red Keep," the maester thought musingly, "but I would wait until we can be reasonably certain that Lord Stark is there before doing so. Leaving a message like that unattended strikes me as a very bad idea. But that would tell Lord Stark that there was more to what Bran saw than we assumed."

"We could send another message to grandfather, mother." suggested Arya. "If I remember my geography lessons right, he could send a rider with a message to intersect the King's journey south."

Catelyn shook her head. "I like the idea of sending my father a message, but Lysa seems too overwrought to be trusted. I already sent two messages to her asking for more proof, one immediately after the initial attack on Bran and one after I recovered from my wounds. The one message I got back held no more proof than the first and was even more hysterical."

Luwin nodded. As master of ravens, he saw most messages as they came in. The Starks were aware of this and trusted him to not read anything he shouldn't. "I have seen that message and I agree that your sister seems too stressed to be trusted. There is more than grief in that, however, there is also fear. And people who are afraid can do odd things at times. I would recommend we give her time to get over the shock of her husband's death and time to let her son grow some more before we trust her state of mind."

Catelyn suddenly smiled, thinking of another family member she could call upon. One who she would swear would not have forgotten their family motto of 'family, duty, honor'. "Actually, don't send a message to my father. With his declining health, I don't want to put anymore strain on him. No, I have another place in mind for it…"

OOOOOOO

The trip through the Neck had been easily the most boring part of the trip so far, with the unchanging landscape on either side of the causeway, the lack of hunting for Robert, and the buzzing of bugs and odd noises from the bogs. Thankfully, it was also rather quicker than the trip down from Winterfell to the Moat. With the supplies and the servants who couldn't ride brought along by boat, it had taken two weeks to traverse the length of the neck. Every evening, the boats holding the parties supplies would come up to the causeway through secret waterways known only to the crannogmen, allowing them to set up camp, eat the evening meal, and replenish their daily supplies. This made the trip much faster than if they had to travel at the pace set by the carts. Even the carriage, with two teams of horses instead of one, didn't slow their pace down all that much.

Still, it was a relief for everyone when they began to see regular trees and solid ground ahead of them that was not part of the causeway. Once there, the servants began to reorganize the party's supplies as they came off the crannogmen's boats at a tiny wharf near where the causeway connected into the rest of the Kingsroad.

During this, Ranma shucked off his heavy wool and fur coat, as well as his chain mail for a moment, switching to a short sleeved leather jerkin. It had been getting noticeably warmer with every day they traveled south in the Neck, and it was very noticeable now. It wasn't warm by any means just yet, but it was solid autumn weather. The jerkin, however, was rather tight around his shoulders and Ranma grimaced a little. "I'll have to let this one out around the shoulders, father." he said looking up at Eddard who was leaning against his horse's side beside him.

Ranma ignored the looks he was getting from some of the female servants and, most especially, the look Jeyne was giving him with the ease of long practice. Jeyne had been pining away at him for years but she was not his type with a capital 'Oh Fuck No'. It wasn't even funny how not his type she was.

By his side, Fenris scratched behind one ear with his hind paw. The direwolf was now larger by a head than any dog or regular wolf and, judging by the size of his paws, still had quite a bit of growing to do. Before he finished up, Ranma estimated that Fenris would be as large as a warhorse. That would be interesting, especially if his strength was proportionate to his size...

"That will give you something to do for the evening. We won't be moving out from this place for until tomorrow, I would estimate, before all of this is ready to go again." Ned replied, looking at his son and smiling faintly as he saw the youngest Baratheon standing by his side, scratching at Fenris's neck.

Ranma grunted agreement then looked over at Tommen. "Come on, Tommy. We can get some training in while the servants are doing their work." Robert nodded approvingly at Tommen, causing the young boy to swell up with pride at finally being acknowledged by his father before chasing after his personal hero. They hadn't gotten past muscle exercises yet but Ranma had said he would start teaching him some speed exercises, as well as finger and wrist exercises.

Nearby, Joffrey scowled, staring at Ranma and his younger brother hatefully but quickly wiped it off his face as his mother came out of the carriage. Cersei looked over at Robert and Tommen as well. She had noticed this before; Robert actually acknowledging, for the first time, one of his children in a positive manner. In truth, she was rather torn about it.

She hated the man, no, worse, she loathed him with every fiber of her being, but if he acknowledged one of the children like this, then it might argue against certain…truths if they came to light, which could only help in the long run. Yet she needed to watch out for another reason. If he chooses to name my babe, my darling baby, as heir over my little lion, the consequences for my plans going forward could well be large indeed.

Cersei frowned thoughtfully looking at Robert through narrowed eyes, stepping aside to let her daughter, Sansa, and Jeyne out of the carriage. It might be that I need to move up my plans a bit to combat that…

Myrcella and Sansa knew nothing of the Queen's inner thoughts. They were best of friends by this point, along with Jeyne to a lesser extent, and the trio of girls stayed together as they watched the work progressing before the septa came out of the carriage, moving a little gingerly. The long trip was not doing her any favors and she had caught something while in the Neck which had sapped her strength further. But she grabbed all three of the girl's attention easily enough, moving them over and beginning to go through some etiquette lessons with the trio.

It was more busy work than anything but she didn't want any of her impressionable young charges to be near the work being done on the wharf, since even from here she could hear the cursing of the crannogmen and the servants as they tried to reorganize the jumble of packages and supplies. This was made more difficult by the fact many of the carts and drovers had turned back to House Cerwyn when they entered the Neck, not having been given leave by their lord to continue. Varys tried to negotiate with them to go on but they were all adamant at turning back, as their lord had commanded. Without Ned's aid, who backed them, Varys made no headway.

Eddard's approximation of the time needed to get the convoy moving again was spot on and the group bedded down by the wharf that evening; many of them in the small huts that the Neck's merchants used and others in tents with the men-at-arms in tents all around the royal family and the Starks. The trio of girls shared one hut with the Queen, her chief handmaiden, and the septa, while Robert and the men shared one, along with, to Ranma's disgust, Varys. He didn't like the eunuch, considering him a greasy little asshole. Having heard from Robert and others of his pederast tendencies, now every time the eunuch was near him, Ranma's fists itched. Alas, as master of whispers, his position was such Ranma couldn't simply kill him and dump his body in the Neck, as much as he wished to.

Around them the work continued through the night, readying the party to depart the next day.

With the warmth of the day, came the willingness of the Queen to actually get up without aid and she did so the next morning, looking around quizzically as she noticed that her daughter and Sansa were not in their cots. She looked over at the entrance to the small hut they had commandeered for the ladies and saw Jeyne leading them out. She sighed angrily. In her mind, Jeyne was a bit of a gossipy troublemaker and Myrcella and Sansa were all too willing to follow her lead at times. This wasn't the first time the trio had gone off during one of the stops, although she wondered what they were up to this time. Surely, there were no rabbits or other wild 'cute' animals around or anything else at this time of day that would interest three young ladies?

Cersei decided to follow them and got out of bed quietly, pulling on a dress, same one she had one last evening. She would normally never wear the same thing twice but it was ready to go and she wasn't about to waste the time to get more prepared for the day. Who knew what mischief the trio of girls would get up to in that time? She followed them swiftly, the ease of long practice allowing her to steal along quietly. Many a time she had met Jaime for one of their trysts in such a manner and she was easily able to move through the slowly waking crowd of servants and men-at-arms.

She was surprised when the girls reached the edge of the camp and kept on going, making her wonder once more where they were off to.

The evening before, Jayne had seen Ranma exercise with Tommen in one of the streams that fed into the neck. She also knew from long experience that Ranma got up in the early mornings to exercise. Watching him exercise was one of her (many) guilty pleasures. So, if he wasn't outside their tent/house waiting for them, it was obvious to her that Ranma would be exercising somewhere.

Ranma was indeed exercising in the middle of the stream, a small fast-moving stream about two yards across and only coming up to his knees but still nice and cool. He was also shirtless, his flat, exceptionally toned stomach and abs on display, the powerful corded muscles shifting visibly under his skin, his tanned skin making the scar along his side and on his shoulder standing out even more. If there was a single ounce of fat anywhere on his body, it wasn't apparent. He was going through some kind of exercise, hands and legs thrusting out quickly, moving in a pattern of some kind like he was dancing in place. None of the watchers knew it, but Ranma was going through one of the advanced katas of the Anything Goes School of martial arts. It was designed to increase your speed, as well as your coordination and agility.

Jayne blushed a little, licking her lips as she stared at Ranma's abs and shoulders. She was far and away the most experienced of the trio, though still technically a virgin, and to her Ranma was just yummy. Sansa simply blushed and looked away, furtively taking glances out of the corner of her eye at her older brother while internally castigating herself for doing so. Myrcella being the youngest and most innocent of the trio, at least in this manner, was blushing so red she looked like a ripe tomato.

Behind them, even Cersei was effected. Despite her love for her brother, she could see that Ranma was a magnificent specimen of man. Perhaps I should step up my seduction plans even further than I had previously wished to. she thought to herself, it might even be amusing if he can actually use that magnificent body for more than combat.

However, right now, Cersei was more than a little irritated at Jayne dragging her young, impressionable daughter out for this. She reached around them, one hand cupping her daughter's mouth. The other two turned at the sound of Myrcella's muffled squeak. "I think," she said icily, "that you three should head back now, don't you? It is unseemly for young ladies to be spying on a boy like this. I am certain the septa would be more than happy to prepare some sort of punishment for you all."

Thoroughly cowed by her stare, the trio nodded quickly and ran off back to the cabin they had commandeered. The queen took one last glance of Ranma, then shook her head and moved off after them, grateful that the boy had his eyes closed and had not even noticed them, so intent was he on his exercises.

If they had stayed longer, they would have seen Ranma stop his present kata, then jump into the air moving through another one, throwing out kicks and punches faster than most men could even see. Moments later, Fenris appeared out of the woods, attacking his master to signal the beginning of his own training.

OOOOOOO

The party got underway a few hours later with nothing else happening, though Tommen wondered why his sister was so red in the face when Ranma picked him up from the carriage. He soon forgot it when Ranma began another tale from Tomobiki.

As the two trotted forward, neither of them saw Joffrey glaring at them, from the back of the column, for once. The Crown Prince turned to the Hound, saying simply. "Tonight. Gather some of the men, I think it's time that the Stark heir be brought down a peg."

Sandor nodded agreement and moved off to do his patrons bidding, inwardly thankful that Joffrey had agreed that he shouldn't participate, the better to not link the attack back to the Prince. Later that evening, Sandor had gathered five Lannister men-at-arms and told them it was time to teach the Stark boy some humility. All of them were in agreement, the Northern boy had to be brought down a peg, though not being fools, they were leery about doing it themselves. However, when they saw that Ranma had, for once, elected not to sleep outside of the tent containing his sister and the other children, instead sleeping out beyond even the outer edge of the campsite, they agreed more readily.

Joffrey met up with them, giving them some final instructions in a low voice. "I don't want any visible bruises on his face but anything else is fair game. Beat him into within an inch of his life, make him scared of his own shadow."

The men grunted agreement at that, grinning evilly. No matter how much stronger, faster, or more durable Ranma was, he couldn't beat all of them, especially if they got a drop on him while he was sleeping, right?

"Wait!" Joffrey said suddenly thinking of something. "In case you're seen by any of the others, pour some wine and ale over yourselves and drink some ale for your mouth. Make it seem as if you're drunk."

Ranma didn't know why Jeyne, Myrcella, and Sansa were all of a blush whenever they saw him today but had decided to remove himself from their presence a bit until they got it under control, whatever it was. Then too, the forests here were different from the forests at home and Fenris was eager to explore.

Now, his body lay there on his sleeping roll as his mind flew with Fenris, zooming through the trees, all his senses acute, looking for small furry things to hunt or even large furry things to fight. Fenris wasn't picky. It wasn't as if he was hungry, but it never paid to let one's skills flounder.

So deep was Ranma into his wolf trance that he didn't even notice the knights standing around his bedroll. One stood directly over his head, staring down at him evilly, then brought down a wooden staff, trying to smash Ranma in the chest. They were under orders not to kill him, just to beat him up a lot, so he aimed for the ribs rather than the head.

There had been no sign that Ranma was awake or had any knowledge of what was going on around him so it came as rather a surprise to his attackers when Ranma's hand lashed out, caught the end of the staff, then flipped the man over him into the woods.

It was only by chance that the man didn't shout or otherwise make a loud noise at the sudden shock of being thrown through the air, but the 'thunk' as he hit a tree was rather distinctive. To their credit, his fellows responded quickly, moving in, and slamming their own cudgels and staves down towards where Ranma was sleeping.

They found out the same thing that their now unconscious comrade had, as had several people in his old world. Genma had basically attacked Ranma every night while on their training trip and, sometimes, even in Nerima to build up his situational awareness. He had done it so well that Ranma had basically developed sleep-fu. His body responded automatically to any attacks on his person while he was asleep.

So as Ranma was rousing from his trance, his body was still defending him. By the time he was actually aware of what was going on, two attackers had been thrown to slam into a nearby tree and one of his attackers was limping badly from a fractured ankle.

Ranma woke up grunting irritably, even as his body, still on autopilot, grabbed the last person who was about to attack him by his arm, pulling him in before slamming his elbow straight into his temple, knocking the man. Before the unconscious body could fall, Ranma stood up, grabbing it around the middle them tossing it onto the two unconscious men clumped by a nearby tree. The man with the fractured ankle tried to get away but Ranma caught him by the back of the neck and almost gently smashed his head against a nearby tree, knocking him out.

"I wonder what caused this little bit of amusement." Ranma muttered, reaching down to grab two of them up by their scruff of their coats. He jerked backwards however at the smell coming from them. "Drunk, you're all drunk?" he asked incredulously. Fenris, at this point, had come back from where he had been hunting. He sidled up to his master with the first attacker, dragging the man along by his jerkin, though, by his soulful eyes, this was not exactly pleasant for the direwolf. Ranma knelt by the comatose man then shook his head as he smelled the same overpowering smell of spirits from him as he had from the others.

He stood up looking at all five of the men for a moment. "I'm not going to get any answers out of you lot and, by the smell of it, I don't think you'd have good ones to give anyway. Woo, what a pong!" He grinned suddenly, and then ripped off the leggings and arm sleeves from one of the man, before tying his four fellows together, crotch to face. The fifth man, he simply propped on top of the pile. With that he turned away, rolling up his bedroll with a whistle on his lips.

Nearby, well out of sight and well hidden deeper into the campsite, Joffrey growled angrily. Then he turned to Sandor. "After he leaves, cut those fools loose. We'll need to think of something else."

The Hound grunted irritably, yet inside he was very relieved he hadn't been part of the attack. It looked as if the boy had been feigning sleep, just waiting for them to attack, and if so... Sandor shuddered, but after Ranma and Fenris left their former position, moved to do it his master's bidding.

Meanwhile, Joffrey continued to watch Ranma as he walked through the sprawled out campsite, anger and hate churning in him. So I can't do anything directly to him, little humiliations will have to do, and maybe a change of target as well…

The next morning as the party was leaving, Ned sidled his horse up to his son, who had just lifted Tommy up onto his. "I notice that you are getting more glares than you were before last night." he said rather obliquely. "Did something happen?"

Ranma chuckled, making certain that the strap around Tommen was tight before turning to his father, a wicked grin on his face. "Nothing of consequence, no. Just some drunks trying to make themselves look tougher than they really were, that's all."

At his father's interrogative eyebrow rising into the air, Ranma elaborated. "Five men at arms wearing the Lannister colors tried to attack me in my sleep. They were all drunk and I think it was probably about that time back in Winterfell where I kind of humiliated the Crown Prince and his 'chosen champions'."

Eddard could almost feel the sarcasm in the air when Ranma use the words 'chosen champion'. "I see, but they were drunk, you say?"

"Yep, their breath smelled of it, their clothing smelt of it, someone had a real party last night and wanted to beat up on me for their after party treat." Ranma laughed while Tommen chuckled. "It didn't go the way they thought it would."

Ned frowned some more, but given his son's nonchalant manner in regards to the attack, he simply nodded. "Very well, but do try to not make any more enemies, please. Humiliating the Lannister men-at-arms is one thing, but if you do it enough you might draw the ire of the Queen and the Crown Prince again. This will be tough enough without you making enemies like that."

Ranma shrugged, moving toward his father and whispering so that Tommy couldn't hear his next words. "I think that I've already made an enemy of the Prince. I've noticed his glares my way a few times, but I'll try."

"That's all I can ask." his father replied in the same manner. "Have you had gotten a chance to find out more of the Prince's character?"

"Other than his being a braggart and a liar, no. Joffrey's always telling tales and using poems as if he'd been the one who invented them for Sansa's benefit, but that's it. You could ask his father, you know? There has to be something behind the Kings contempt for him doesn't there?"

"One would hope, though I'm afraid the King allows his relationship with the Queen to color his actions with his children. There is no love lost there, if you haven't noticed."

"Really, gee, I hadn't noticed father." Ranma said, sarcastically rolling his eyes, causing Ned to chuckle a little.

At that point they were interrupted by Robert bellowing "Ned, we're moving! Get up here!"

Lord Stark nodded again at his son, reaching down to pat him on the shoulder then moved off moving towards the front of the column where Robert waited for him. After his father left, Ranma turned to Tommy and asked "Now, what was the last story I told you?"

As the horse began to move with the rest of them and Ranma began to move along with them, Tommen replied. "The rich lord appeared, and vowed to woo the demon Princess away from the weak knight."

"Okay…. Ahem… Now torn between two men, one chasing her, and the other one being chased by her now, Lum was left in a bit of a conundrum. She actually hadn't been getting anywhere much with the knight who had so surprisingly beaten her in their game of tag. He didn't seem to like her attentions, rather chasing after everyone else in a skirt. So she decided to use a magic game from her country to figure out who she was most compatible with…"

OOOOOOO

Over the weeks since Dominic had opened Daenerys' eyes to what might be happening around them, Daenerys had been teaching herself how to sneak around. She found she was actually good at it. So long as she didn't actually look like she was trying to sneak around, people in the mansion automatically overlooked her. As such, she had found the magister's treasure room but it was always locked, leaving her no clue as to what they could be using as barter to the Dothraki. She had also followed the two men around the mansion, trying to find out what kind of deal they were trying to make with the horselords. Despite this, she was no closer now to figuring that out than she had been when Dominic discussed it with her.

Finally, she had to concede she was getting nowhere by herself and went to Dominic for more advice. The Northerner had become something of a true friend to her, despite his reservations about sharing information about the North with them. They had actually had a bit of an argument about that because, until she had learned the truth about how the old Lord Stark had died along with his heir, she had never seen a real difference between the Starks or the Lannisters. Both of them, in her opinion, had been dogs of the usurper Baratheon, both equally at fault for what happened to the King, her older brother's wife and his children.

Dominic had described how the two had died in detail, his voice calm from beginning to end, then asked her simply, "What would you have done?" He then went on to tell her about the days after the sacking of Kings Landing, when as a young squire he heard that Ned wanted Tywin and his family punished for their sack of the city. Lord Stark thought the sack went well beyond what should've occurred, as well as what happened to the children, calling for the head of Gregor Clegane at the very least. It was the only time that Lord Stark and Lord Baratheon had argued. It could have led to their friendship being forever derailed if not for their shared grief over Lyanna bringing them back together a few months later.

She found Dominic in the solar, strumming on his balalaika while gazing soulfully at one of the maids of the house, who was gazing back rapturously at him. Daenerys rolled her eyes. Dominic had been cutting quite a swath through the female servant population here, with his 'not from around here looks' and his dashing manner they were easily able to look past his maimed hand. The music apparently helped quite a bit as well.

She coughed to get his attention and Dominic looked up in surprise before rising from his chair. He bowed pleasantly to the maid, gesturing grandly with one hand. "I believe I am needed, we should try this some other time, yes?"

The maid blushed prettily, then moved towards the doorway, bowing to Daenerys before exiting. She nodded at the servant before turning back to Dominic, shaking her head. "I do hope you're being careful. I don't think magister Illyrio would take it kindly if you put half of his staff in the family way."

"Oh, I'm quite careful and there are certain concoctions that can help prevent such which I make certain that all of my dalliances take the next morning." As Daenerys laughed and moved towards the now vacant seat across from him, Dominic took a moment to look at her. Despite her womanhood coming rather later to her than was sometimes the case, she was definitely showing signs now of growing into a radiant beauty. Sixteen now, she was slowly losing that rangy, gangly look that girls of that age sometimes went through and was putting on pounds, gaining curves in all the right places. Even from when he first saw her until now, which was only a bare six months, the difference was apparent.

What wasn't apparent at first glance, was the inner strength of the girl coming to the fore. Now safe and with the ability to learn from the magister's library, Daenerys' intelligence and knowledge was growing daily. Helped, Dominic was certain, by the fact that Viserys was only rarely around to breathe down her neck, out and about as he was with Illyrio. She was also quietly charismatic. There was just something about the Targaryen girl that drew people to her, seen in the servants that had at first been supposed to watch her now looking to her as their mistress. Moreover, she seemed to be able to stare straight through you. Those eyes, those violet eyes of the Targaryen line, seemed to gaze into your soul.

"Now, what can I do for you, princess?" He asked, bringing his mind back to the present as she sat across from him.

She sighed. "I've tried following my brother around. I've tried following the magister around. I have tried asking the servants. I've tried getting into his vault to see if he's got some sort of relic or something that he's going to trade to the Dothraki for their aid. I have found nothing. I can't get into his treasure room. It's always locked and I think the magister keeps the key on him at all times. I don't know what else to do. Have you found out how they are trying to get the Dothraki to aid us and, more importantly, how they intend to get them across to Westeros?"

Dominic frowned now, wondering how to break the news to her. After a moment, he decided for the truth, the girl would make her own decision after that. "I can actually help you there. You see, I wandered about the town as a bard today, just to keep my hand in, you understand?" He waggled the fingers of his non-mangled hand at her. Daenerys rolled her eyes, making a 'get on with it' gesture with her own hand. "Anyway, I asked a lot of questions about the Dothraki and about their leaders. I found no way anyone could convince the Dothraki to go on the ocean and there have been no hints of grand alliances or treasure being handed over to them, beyond the normal tribute the city gives them to stop them from sacking it, of course. One the other hand, apparently one Khal, that is what they call a leader, is in the city. His name is Khal Drogo. There is some kind of prophecy detailing the coming of a figure out of Dothraki legend, 'he who mounts the world'. They say it may be Drogo's son, born of a union between himself and a woman from another land. What is known as fact, however, is that Khal Drogo is the most powerful Dothraki warlord around. He leads an army of forty thousand horse, an impressive horde to be sure."

He watched as it sank into his listeners mind. Nothing happened for a moment, then Daenerys' violet eyes widened in shock and horror. "You mean me! They, they mean to, to sell me off to some, some horse riding barbarian! That is the totality of their scheme? To simply sell me off to this Khal and he'll give us his troops! That's beyond ridiculous!"

"I thought as much," Dominic said mildly, waving one hand in the air as if to calm her down, but this didn't work.

Daenerys stood up in a fury, for the first time feeling that boiling, all-encompassing rage that Viserys thought came from their Targaryen blood. She stood up abruptly and stalked around the room, waving her hands in the air. "Even if I become this Drogo's wife, it's not like I'll be his equal or anything. I know enough about the Dothraki to know that their womenfolk do have rights of a sort but they can't lead a horde! That doesn't even consider how the hell we're going to convince them to cross the sea, which you said they're scared of!"

"I never said it was a smart plan." the bard protested. "I only mentioned that it was a possibility. Possibly, there could be more to it that hasn't reached the rumor mill. For anything else, you'll have to go to your brother or the magister."

"I will." Daenerys said firmly. "I'll go to Viserys this very night!" That line froze Dominic's blood, but before he could say anything Daenerys stormed out heading back towards her rooms.

That very evening, as she said she would, Daenerys confronted her brother. For the first time in their lives she stood up to him, angrily, "So, I have heard some rumors about how you are planning to get the Dothraki to agree to back us. Selling me off to one of their Khals? Is it true?"

Viserys calmly sipped at his wine smirking at her, somewhat drunk and therefore a little more coarse than he would have been otherwise. "Yes, that's the general plan, we have to use what we can, after all, and you," he said leering at her looking at her from head to toe, "are a very valuable commodity. Why do you think I never married you, myself? Your brides-head is worth far more than anything else about you, that's for certain."

This calm response did nothing to quiet Daenerys' rage and she replied scathingly. "And you think we can just march in with an army of forty thousand barbarians, barbarians who have no ability at siege warfare, against Westeros, a land that has dozens of castles that we would have to take by storm and with terrain far more varied and mountainous than that of most here in Essos? What about the barbarian's fear of the sea? How are you going to get them to go with you at all?"

"That's just a silly myth." Viserys said with an airy wave of his hand. "The promise of loot, pillage, and a return to the old ways of sacking cities rather than being paid tribute by them will garner enough interest from the Dothraki to offset their fears. All the cities are willingly paying them tribute rather than fighting them. That removes most of the worthy enemies, save for one another."

"As for aid in sieges, I have a certain alliance in hand already and with Illyrio's help we have allies elsewhere in Westeros. Trust your brother." he said, smirking and patting her cheek like a little girl. "With the barbarians as our manifold fist and our agents aid elsewhere, we will regain the Iron Throne." His eyes burned with a fervent light.

Yet, Daenerys did not share his optimism. "I think you're underestimating the fear of the ocean that the Dothraki feel and, unless this alliance you speak of is with a strong enough nation, we don't have enough people! What about a fleet? We would need to protect the ships the Dothraki are on until we land, and Dominic said that Stannis Baratheon is very dangerous at sea."

Now, Viserys was becoming angry at her questioning him. "If you must know, it is with Dorne that I have an agreement." he snapped, ignoring her rather pertinent point about needing a fleet. "I am to wed Prince Doran Martell's daughter thus once more binding the House of Martell and the House of the Dragon together once more!"

"That's all well and good in the south," Daenerys said, "but the rest of the nations won't just fall in line, we'll have to conquer them. We won't be seen as their rightful rulers returned, we will be seen as conquerors and we can't do that! Have our readings and Dominic's retelling of Robert's Rebellion taught you nothing?!"

Her brother snarled in anger at the mention of the rebellion but Daenerys forged on. "A King cannot simply run rampant over the land, wielding the sword to keep himself on his throne, because the moment the sword fails, he dies! We need to subvert them from within, garner public support, not barge in like, like a rampaging dragon! We don't have to just take back the throne, we have to rule from it!"

She was interrupted as Viserys slapped her across the face. Her head jerked back with the power of the slap. She could feel blood running down her from her lips for a moment but she glared back defiantly. That deep well of anger Daenerys had felt since realizing what Viserys and Illyrio intended sustained her where before she would have meekly given in at the first hint of her brother's rage.

"You will do is you are ordered." Viserys growled at her, grasping her around the throat with one hand. "I will reclaim our throne, whatever I must do, whatever price we must pay, however we can do it! If I have to wade through an ocean of blood to the Iron Throne, then I will do it. Remember your place, you are my younger sister, I am the head of the family, you will do what you are told!"

"Never!" she gasped. "We can't rule like that. We can't just rely on the Dothraki and Dornish swords. We need…" she was interrupted again by a slap, but she still glared back defiantly.

That look seemed to goad her brother and when next Viserys hit her, it was with his fist, not within open palm. Daenerys reeled, but she still stared defiantly at him "You can't silence me by…"

That was as far as she got before he again had her by the throat and his fist smashed into her stomach. Again and again, Viserys hit her, now in full 'Targaryen rage' as he called it, not even noticing when Daenerys' eyes lids shut and she slumped into unconsciousness. He hit her again and again in the face, on the chest, on the arms, and the stomach.

Viserys only stopped her when Dominic raced in along with Illyrio, wanting to see what all the noise was about and the bard pulled Viserys off his bloody, beaten, sister.

OOOOOOO

Ranma and the King's party had been traveling for about a month after they left the wharf at the end of the Neck and they were now near enough to a river to hear it from the road, if faintly, due to the noise of their passage. The Green Fork it was called, one of the three major rivers that gave the Riverlands its name. It flowed out of the Neck elsewhere on the Neck's length and, up ahead, merged with the Blue Fork and the Red Fork before traveling out to sea.

The King had called a halt early today for this reason, since the stream would allow the servants to wash the dirty clothing that had accumulated and this area was a good hunting ground, as well. "You want to come with us, lad?" he asked gaily, looking down at Ranma where he was helping Tommen down from his horse. That horse, Robert reflected with amusement, is probably the envy of the rest of the four legged bastards in the party, only having Tommen to carry day after day. He had invited Ranma along ever since they had left the Neck behind, hoping always in a rather loud voice that the boy's luck would rub off on them and they'd find some good sport for a change.

Ranma shook his head. He had come to somewhat like the King. He did have a sort of rough and ready humor and magnetism to him but he wasn't Ranma's favorite person in the world. Plus, hunting when he wasn't warging with Fenris didn't really interest him. "Not this time, your majesty, I think I'm going to swim for a bit. Do you have any idea how rare it is to be able to swim in the North without danger of frostbite?"

He looked over at his little sister, who had just exited the carriage. "I think you should come swimming, too, dear sister. You haven't had any proper exercise since this trip began." The girl raised her nose up haughtily but Ranma continued his needling of her before she could reply. "I don't think the Prince would like you so much if you became overweight, do you? And that's what you're going to do if you don't exercise after all that eating and sitting in one place for so long."

That seemed to settle the matter for Sansa, who nodded in agreement. Robert rode off with a booming laugh as Ned simply shook his head and chuckled, reaching down to ruffle Sansa's hair before he rode off after the King.

The trio of young girls, along with Cersei surprisingly, went off to change, coming back in the short pantaloons and loose shirts that passed for swimming clothing for women here.

Looking at the Queen, Ranma groaned a little internally, turning away quickly. Cersei had been acting strangely since they had left the Neck behind. She was almost always semi-friendly to him now, which made him even more suspicious of her. She was also always finding some reason to bend over or flip her hair back in such a way that the scent of her perfume hit him, always touching his hand after he brought Tommen back after exercising at their stops.

There was no denying the woman was gorgeous: blonde hair, green eyes, fair skin, and a figure that was one of the best Ranma had ever seen. However, her attentions toward him were freaking Ranma out! It was like she was flirting with him, but that couldn't be right, could it? Why him, especially considering, you know, the whole married to the King thing!?

While Cersei had gone into this little bit of seduction with the hope that she could eventually wear Ranma down and begin to control him using the oldest way imaginable, after a few days she had actually begun to enjoy it, and not just because her evil little brother Tyrion wasn't around. Despite the fact that, according to Jeyne, at least, Ranma was no virgin and, in fact, had been in a long-standing relationship with Dacey Mormont, the warrior woman Cersei had noticed a time or two at Winterfell, he tended to flush and look away, blushing like a little boy at the merest hint of flirtation from her. It fed her ego a little but it also was just so intensely amusing to her.

Beyond that, she had realized that Ranma was more dangerous as a rallying point than she had thought. He had an easy going charisma, an energy, a power to him, which seemed to ensnare anyone nearby, even some of the southern men-at-arms. When he spoke, people listened, even those nominally his superior, and when he was around he grabbed people's attention. He was at times stern like his father, such as when he was training Tommen, but the warmth underneath was visible in those deep blue eyes for any to see, unlike with Eddard, who only let his warmth show with family and friends.

Luckily for Cersei, her twin had been too busy 'guarding' the King to notice her interest in Ranma. Two of the Kingsguard had come down with the flu a little while after they left the Neck and were unable to do their duties. Jaime had been forced to follow the King around in their stead and the King always went hunting the moment they stopped for the midday or evening meal. Even once the King returned, Jaime had to stay with him. Jaime had become a little irritated by it but Cersei was rather thankful for it, since her twin would never have understood what she was up to with her mild flirtations, if he saw it. Oh, Cersei was subtle, but Jaime would have noticed something.

As would Tyrion of course, though what he would have done about it, that she didn't know. She hated the little dwarf, had hated him since she had heard a prophecy from a wise woman in Lanisport that both she would outlive her children would be slain and that her life would be ended by the 'valonqar', which was Valyrian for 'little brother'. She had feared Tyrion for years as being the object of that prophecy, especially since everything else the woman had told her had come true.

That was unimportant right now however. Now, they were coming to the halfway point of the trip and there hadn't truly been a lot of progress with her little project. Ranma still didn't seem to look at her as a woman when she wasn't outright flirting with him and it didn't seem as if she was getting through to him. Today's venture into flirtation also failed, because Ranma took one look at her and the girls, flushed, and moved off down the Green Fork, swimming away with the ease of an athlete through the water. When Tommen made to follow, the Queen brought him up sharply, ordering him to stay in the shallows with the rest of them, though her eyes tracked Ranma as he moved off.

At this point, Joffrey joined them, more to show off his physique to Sansa than anything else. To his dismay, however, Sansa merely glanced at him then away with a faint blush on her face while her friend Jeyne stared with a rather critical expression on her face. She turned away to whisper something into Sansa's ear, which caused Sansa to blush brightly and push her friend into the water with a giggle. Myrcella laughed and jumped in too, splashing them both. The young girl had been having a lot of fun on this trip, able to get away from the court and all its rules. Even her mother had allowed her to have some fun, though only under supervision of course.

The Queen allowed her legs to soak in the cold water of the river for a few moments, then, as Ranma showed no sign of coming back while she was here, sighed and stood up. She left septa Mordane in charge of the girls, knowing that nothing would happen under her watch. Instead, Cersei went back to change and talk to a few of the Knights who were loyal to her family, to see who had been behind the rather stupid attack on Ranma the night after they left the Neck, which was still being talked about in amused tones by many.

Cersei felt such assaults were premature, at best. She needed some way to figure out how Ranma was going to react to the cesspool that was politics in Kings Landing. If he was unable to navigate it without making enemies, that too would be information she could use and could give her pawns to use against him in the future, if need be. She also needed to learn his father's intentions when they arrived, which could be a much more immediate problem.

Back at the stream, Joffrey had begun to practice his swordplay, flicking his sword here, there, and everywhere, showing off in front of Sansa. This effort however, failed. Sansa had seen her father, both of her older brothers, as well as a few of the wolf-sworn at work, and knew true prowess with the blade when she saw it. So she merely smiled rather wanly. "You, um, you look magnificent, my Prince. Surely your prowess in battle matches that of your prowess on the hunt." Her face and tone however gave her away.

Joffrey scowled at her before stalking off angrily. Soon his angry walk brought him near Tommen, who was playing with Lady and Fenris further down the riverbank, splashing them and being splashed in turn. The sight of his younger brother brought an all-too-familiar rage surging through Joffrey's mind.

He hated the fact that Tommen had been getting so much attention lately, not just from Ranma, who he could care less about, but from the King, their father! While fearing Robert, the one thing Joffrey wanted above even the crown was his father acknowledging him, seeing him as his true heir! The fact that Tommen seemed to gain their father's approval after a few weeks of working with Ranma, made Joffrey's anger boil over. He conveniently neglected to think that he had had the chance early on to learn from Ranma, and possibly gain Robert's regard in turn, but such people never realize that they are their own worst enemies.

He charged his younger brother, his sword raised. He had just enough presence of mind to try and cover his act by saying, "Let's play brother, sneak attack!" He brought his sword down and Tommen, thanks only to his training with Ranma, was fast enough to dive out of the way, just in time.

Joffrey's sword wasn't a practice sword, it was a real one, which he had convinced his mother to let him carry a few days ago. If that blow had connected Tommen might've been maimed for life, at best. Tommy ducked back again, moving deeper into the water, his eyes wide and afraid at this sudden assault.

The 'civilized' Lady simply sat there in the shallows, looking on in confusion, but Fenris came to his rescue, bounding out of the deeper water. Joffrey tried to protect himself, slashing at the wolf, but Fenris was too fast and he slammed into Joffrey bodily with a shoulder, smashing back-first into the shallows. He leaned down, growling low in the prince's ear, and Joffrey stilled, something in his monkey brain telling him that death was very near indeed.

Ranma, warned by his bonded wolf's anger came swimming back up river in time to catch a bit of the action. Once there, he came forward motioning Fenris off. "What the hells were you playing at?" His voice was coldly angry as he knelt beside the prince, picking up his sword, which had fallen into the water when Fenris hit him. This isn't a toy, your highness." and instead of saying the words with any sense of respect, there was only derision and contempt in his voice. "You could have killed Tommen with that stunt. If you want to spar with someone, you ask, you don't just charge at your younger brother with a real weapon like that!"

His sister came running up at that point, pulling Ranma away, while behind her Myrcella went to Tommen, cursing herself for not having anticipated this kind of thing. Joffrey can't really hurt Tommen 'by accident' while in the carriage thanks to Tommen traveling on horseback most of the time, now. I should've thought he would look for some other way to hurt Tommy, but attacking him like this?

Sansa, however, knew nothing about Myrcella's thoughts or Joffrey's growing darker desires. "R-Ranma! He was only playing, your wolf overreacted. Are you all right, my prince?"

Joffrey scowled but allowed the girl to help him up, staring hard at Ranma. "Your wolf hurt me, if you can't control it, I'll have it put down!"

Fenris growled at him, but Ranma laid a gentle hand on his head and he calmed down quickly. "I have Fenris in complete control, my prince, which is something I can't say about you or whatever the hell drove you to try and attack your younger brother like this. I'll say again, if you want to spar, go to one of the men-at-arms, don't attack someone out of the blue like this."

Joffrey glared at him and stalked away, exaggerating his wounds where Fenris's claws had nicked him on the shoulder and chest, wincing occasionally for the look of the thing. "I'll have that beast put down for this, you'll see!"

After that, Joffrey ran to his mother, who overreacted, and when Robert and Ned came back from hunting, she accosted them with Joffrey at her side. After Joffrey told his version of the tale, he demanded that Fenris be put down.

However Ranma quickly countered that, informing them of what had really happened, with Tommen and Myrcella backing him up. When they were asked their opinions Jeyne simply said she hadn't seen anything and Sansa, much to the ire of both her father and Ranma, took the prince's side.

Robert looked disgusted. "So someone here is lying and I think I've got a good idea who," he said glaring at his oldest son. The useless waste of cum had never amounted to anything, yet, and this was just one more in a long line of disappointments that began with that damn pregnant cat he had butchered. Then the boy had the nerve to come and show me the babies, expecting me to be proud of him!

That thought never failed to infuriate Robert, but even so, he turned back to Ranma. "Still, we can't have an animal attacking the Crown Prince like that, even if it was warranted. It's almost as if it had attacked the King. Besides which, look at the size of Fenris, he's what, a tail longer and a head taller at least than the other one. The bigger that wolf grows the more dangerous he's going to be and the less you'll be able to control him. Best to put him down now."

Ned frowned and looked at his son, who he could tell from the tense way he stood, was about an inch away from committing violence. This was proven when he said grimly, "Your majesty, Fenris is only as dangerous as I am myself, something I will prove if anyone tries to 'put him down'."

Robert's eyes drew together angrily, unused to being talked to like that, but the Queen surprisingly came down on Ranma side. The last thing Cersei wanted to do was to drive a further wedge between him and her family. It looked as if Joffrey was doing all he could to widen that riff and she determined to take him strongly to task for that. For now, however, Cersei spoke calmly. "I think this has been blown out of all proportion. It's true that my son was only playing but he should have remembered that his sword wasn't a practice sword, while, at the same time, Fenris should've been gentler about taking him down. There is wrong enough to go around and Fenris has never acted violent before this. He interacts well with Tommen and with Myrcella and hasn't attacked anyone else, either. I will admit its size is off-putting and can make it dangerous but it seems well-controlled."

For some reason that made Robert bark out a laugh, although Ranma couldn't say he got the joke. Yet even his father's lips twitched in amusement, at the way that line could've been taken. The Queen went on, ignoring them with ease. "When we get to King's Landing, we might need to think of how to corral both wolves, simply for the safety of others. Right now, have Fenris and Lady steer clear of Joffrey, who it seems Fenris, at least, doesn't like, and we will speak no more about this incident."

She ignored the look of surprised betrayal on her oldest son's face. They would be having words later. This would put Ranma somewhat in her debt, as it was well within the King's power to order Fenris be put down and his own father would've had to obey.

The King laughed again, good humor restored by his bitch of a wife saying a double entendre like that without even realizing it. "Fine, but if it happens again lad, your wolf will be put down."

Ranma's glared at the King but didn't say anything, merely stalking away. That almost brought the King's bad mood back but he only had to look at the constipated expression on his eldest brat's face to get it back. Ranma also glared at his own sister and then shook his head, as if gravely disappointed in her, which he was. He then walked away without a word, followed by Ned, who didn't even look at her.

That made Sansa feel about 4 inches tall for a moment, but what was she supposed to do? She was to wed Joffrey. She couldn't go against his word, certainly not for a mere pet.

That evening, Ranma cornered Sansa after dinner before she could retreat into the children's tent and laid into her in no uncertain fashion. His voice lacked the usual warmth it held when he talked to family and his face was set in the 'Stark mask', as his friends often called it. "You took the Prince's side over that of your own brother and what you knew was right? What possible reason could you have for lying like that, Sansa?"

"Ranma," Sansa whispered urgently, "he's my fiancée! This is what I've been dreaming about for years! To wed the Prince!"

"So that is more important than the truth? What if it had been Lady who had jumped on top of Joffrey, would you have stood up for your own wolf if he and the Queen called for her to be put down, or stood by and watched Lady get her head chopped off?"

"No! But it's not that simple!"

Ranma held up a hand, far too angry right now to continue this. "I think you need to rethink about your priorities, Sansa, or you might lose something important while chasing after something that might not even exist." With that he walked off.

Sansa stared after him for several moments before ducking inside the tent, wondering why Ranma couldn't see, couldn't see that she loved Joffrey, that they belonged together! Sure, Joffrey had an anger issue but so did his father! Sure, he wasn't the warrior that Ranma was but he was also untried and a man didn't have to be a warrior to be a good king or husband. Marrying Joffrey was her dream and she would do anything to see it come about.

While Jeyne commiserated with her friend, Myrcella looked at her sadly, wondering if it was too late to open Sansa's eyes to the truth about her brother. If something like today couldn't do it, I'm almost afraid of what could… Instead of saying anything she turned away on her cot as if already falling asleep, vowing internally once more to protect Tommen from Joffrey as much as she could.

As he stalked away, Ranma paused looking at the Queen who was about to enter her own tent. Ranma nodded his head at her and the Queen responded with her own nod of the head before moving inside, where she let a small smirk of triumph appear on her face. A crack has appeared, now all I need is to find some way to capitalize on it.

Ranma groaned, running one hand through his hair as he moved off to where he would sleep up in one of the trees near the camp, with Fenris on the ground below them. He didn't want a repeat of what had happened after they left the Neck and with Joffrey on a tear that was more likely than anything else. This isn't my kind of fight. he thought to himself There isn't anything I can grab here, anything I can see to turn my skills on. It's all just words, trickery, backstabbing, and hidden agendas. Damn it, I need to be on guard all the time. It's like being back in Nerima only instead of physical attacks I need to be ready for political ones.

In the tent he shared with his uncle Joffrey was trembling with rage, while Jaime simply lay there, lost in his own thoughts as to what his sister was playing at. For the first time, Joffrey had felt the barbed edge of his mother's tongue and it had been unpleasant to say the least. She had taken him to task for endangering his sibling, for then lying to her, and, worst of all, for making her have to make peace with the King. She ordered him, ordered! Him! To stop looking for ways to attack Ranma, that the Stark boy's physical skills made him a weapon she wanted to turn to their use but that she couldn't do that when he was making every effort to alienate Ranma.

All this made Joffrey's hate for Ranma even stronger and for Tommen as well. He couldn't understand what was so special about the Stark boy. Oh, he was quick and had endurance but who cared about that in relation to Joffrey being the Crown Prince! That meant he was much more important than some wild boy from the North, so why was everyone acting as if the Stark freak was special? And as for Tommen, he was now getting even more of their mother's attention as well as their father's, something Joffrey could not abide. Yet, that was Ranma's fault more than anything. There must be something I can do to him, something he won't see coming. He thought for a long time then smiled. I can stomach this a while longer but the moment we get back to King's Landing, I must seek out the alchemists' hall...

OOOOOOO

She dreamed of the fire of dragons, raining down from the sky. Only their targets weren't normal, they didn't seem to move as humans should, nor did they seem to feel pain they only died silently under the breath of the dragons. She dreamed of a man made of blue-gold fire leading a charge but against whom she couldn't make out. She dreamed again of blue eyes, warm and expressive, a face that somehow was kind yet stern. She dreamed of cold, cold creeping across the ground like fingers of death, coming closer and closer only to be halted by the fire of dragons and the feel of a wolf pelt draped across her body.

Daenerys woke up but found she couldn't gather enough energy to move or even open her eyes. What had awoken her was an argument going on nearby, the noise of which drove what little memory she had of her dreams out of Daenerys' mind. "What! You said it yourself, we need their troops! Why the delay?"

"Not even a Dothraki barbarian would agree to marry a woman who has been beaten bloody, my prince! What on earth were you thinking?" There was something to the magister's tone that had never been there before when he addressed either of the Targaryen siblings, cold harshness and condemnation rather than obsequiousness.

That, possibly more than the words themselves, brought Viserys up short. He glared at the magister then asked abruptly, "Are the barbarians really afraid of the ocean? If we can't use them in Westeros then what is the point of this arrangement at all!"

The magister waved one hand dismissively. "That fear can be overcome with enough treasure promised to them, if…"

"You sound remarkably blasé about it, but this is putting all our eggs into one basket. What if we can't? What if this marriage doesn't do anything for our cause? We will have gambled away one of our most important pieces for nothing!"

"Do not concern yourself about that, the barbarians will play their part. You will have your army eventually. If not from the Dothraki, the threat of them might force a few of the free cities to pony up enough money for us to raise a mercenary army."

"And thus he would be seen as just an invader, just another claimant to the throne with no more right to it than any other. Worse, you would be seen as a foreigner and that would rally the people against you like nothing else." That was Dominic's voice, calm and almost analytical.

Viserys turned on him. "I heard that same argument from Daenerys. What have you been telling her?! She should know not to question me or my decisions! I should have your head for your part in this!" Viserys, of course, didn't think he was in the wrong at all, it was merely his sister questioning him that was wrong.

"I merely answered her questions, your grace, that's all. She was the one who asked them in the first place. Yet, that does not mean that her questions are invalid, does it? If you get them across the ocean, over their fears and Stannis and his fleet, the Dothraki might be able to win you the throne, but your own actions before, after, and especially during that invasion will make it so you keep it. If you simply threaten anyone who's wants to stand against you or questions you with your horde of foreign troops, you will never be able to live without them. You, your children, your line will always be forced to rely on the sword to keep your throne."

"If that is the way I must take back my crown from the usurper then so be it!" Viserys said coldly. "Those people should all have been loyal to my family in the first place, now they have made their beds and I will happily kill them all in them."

"This is all of no consequence, really." the magister said waving one hand airily, unseen by Daenerys. "My healers say that Daenerys will be able to move in a few days but it will be months before her bruises and cuts heal enough for her to be seen in public, let alone be married off to Khal Drogo. I can postpone the wedding for that long. Postpone, not get out of. The barbarians are death on pact breakers and the city itself could be made to pay for the price of any such broken deal."

In actuality, the Dothraki were really not a threat to the main free cities themselves these days. Their defense was too strong for the Dothraki, who had no siege knowledge, to break through. But the Dothraki could put the lands all around the main city to the torch. Of course, none of the other cities would come to one another's aid, which, even with the sea trade untouched, would allow the Dothraki to slowly but surely choke the life out of any one of them.

Viserys nodded grimly. "Daenerys will do her duty and we will have their blades."

The two of them left, leaving only Dominic and the healer, an elderly woman who puttered around the room making certain that the two of them were not left alone, acting more as chaperone at the moment then a healer.

Dominic took no notice of that, simply sitting in the chair next to Daenerys and shaking his head. "You silly girl, what in the world possessed you to actually confront your brother in such a manner? You should've gone to the magister rather than your brother, at least the magister wouldn't have assaulted you like this."

"Had to." Daenerys whispered, her voice coming out hoarse thanks to the damage to her throat and mouth area as well as disuse. "How long?"

"You've been out of it for four days now. And what exactly did you mean, you had to?" Dominic asked, not showing any surprise at her answering him.

"Had to confront him, had to show, not a little girl anymore."

"He seems to already think you aren't a little girl, that is in fact the problem at present. So what will you do now that you have confirmed their rather simpleminded plan?"

"Don't know, rest, heal first. You, you look around? Search. Illyrio hiding something, the treasure room."

"Simplicity, the hallmark of any good plan, and yes, I'll hunt around see what I can find."

Daenerys tried to nod her head but couldn't move her neck. She simply blinked at him with her one open eye. "Thank you."

Dominic shook his head, moving away from the bed as the healer moved in to give the girl some medicine that would knock her out, letting her body heal. He chuckled quietly, looking down at his un-maimed hand, wiggling his fingers. "Well, I suppose I can see if these old fingers still remember how to pickpocket."

OOOOOOO

The King's party continued down the Kingsroad, which in turn followed the Blue Fork. At this point, they were in the Riverlands proper, the more settled region of this kingdom rather than the less populated border region between the Kingsroad entering the Neck and entering the Riverlands. As such, there were more people and many more dwellings along the road. Farmsteads now appeared practically every two or three leagues, but they looked rather strange to Sansa and Ranma. The Northerners had gotten used to farmsteads in the North, which were always heavy stone buildings, designed to hold a large extended family and to serve as a defense stronghold as well, in a pinch. But the houses were also built heavy to keep in the warmth and keep out the cold. Here, buildings had many more windows with much more glass. Most of the structures were made from wood rather than stone and mortar with thatched roofs rather than the heavy wooden roofs found in the North.

The two siblings were now talking again, though only haphazardly. Sansa had not yet apologized for taking the Prince's side in the argument about Fenris nor had she really thought about what she might be giving up in chasing her dream that Joffrey had come to represent, that of marrying a prince and living in the center of things, in King's Landing. However, Ranma had cooled down a little from his anger at that but was even more determined than ever to find real proof to show Joffrey wasn't what Sansa thought he was. Unfortunately for him, Joffrey had made himself scarce since that incident, sticking to his mother's side at stops, and staying in the carriage when he could, from wherever Ranma and Tommen went.

Two things had changed though. The first was that Robert occasionally forced Ranma and Tommen to ride up front with him, where he regaled them with his own stories. He seemed to be, in his own rather ham-handed way, to be showing approval for Tommen, whose lessons Ranma had stepped up. Along with the ones made to build up strength and speed, Ranma had begun to give him lessons on self-defense, unarmed for now. Robert had seen them at it, and his approval for his youngest child had risen a bit more.

Now, while Ranma enjoyed the stories that Robert could tell from his youth, at least the ones that were about battles and fights rather than wenching, he preferred to spend time with the youngsters at the back or talking to the men-at-arms from Winterfell. By this point he had exercised with all of them, even the ones he haven't exercised with before this journey began and all of them had gained a bit more skill because of it. Nothing like Ser Jory or the others he had trained with back in Winterfell but enough to make them a little more dangerous than your run of the mill swordsman. At every stop, he could be found giving pointers of stance and style even as he kept training Tommen, though his own sword had not been replaced.

The other change was that the leader of the White Cloaks, Ser Barristan, had taken to spending more time by the carriage and talking quietly to Ranma and Tommen when Ranma wasn't regaling the younger boy with stories. He did this randomly and never seemed to spend much time with them but he plied Tommen with questions about leadership and what he would do in any given situation, like the sort of question Ned plied his son with at times, but Ranma was left to wonder what the older man was thinking. Nor was he alone in this, Cersei too noticed, both this and Robert's attempt at reaching out to Tommen. She noticed, wondered, and worried.

Despite this minor mystery, nothing else occurred for the next week or so until they came upon a large inn set on the side of the road that was large enough for the Baratheon and Stark households, although not their troops. Most of the men-at-arms kept going and would make camp in a large clearing at the other side of this tiny village, though the Kingsguard stayed with the two families.

The inn's second floor was organized around a small central seating area, with six rooms of varying size down two hallways on either side. Two large rooms were first, with several beds apiece, for normal guests. Then there were two more rooms, each of better quality than the last.

After a very decent meal, dominated by Robert talking excitedly about what kind of hunting they could do on the next day of the trip, as well as Ned quizzing Ranma on his knowledge of the Riverlands geography, the group retired. Ranma first went outside to check on Fenris, who had been put in the inn's kennel for the night. His wild looks and size frightened the innkeeper so much that he was shaking like a leaf despite the amount of money that the eunuch handed over for their night's stay.

Still, Fenris seemed happy enough and the other dogs in the kennel certainly weren't going to bother him. They were all away well from him except for two. One was a large hunting dog that Ranma thought looked sort of like a Rottweiler but with a basset hound's ears. He had seen both often enough in his travels to make that comparison, though the combination was new. It was lying down near Fenris, its eyes on the direwolf, although it didn't seem to Ranma that it was thinking of attacking him. The second dog that didn't seem wary of Fenris was a tiny toy dog that was yapping at the large direwolf pup. The direwolf, however, was ignoring it with ease. Ranma chuckled reaching through the bars to rub Fenris's ears, causing the large pup to rumble deep in his throat and wag his tail. "Try not to eat that one, okay? I don't know whose it is but that can only cause trouble and, more importantly, it might upset your stomach. Then where would ya be."

Fenris chuffed, amused at his masters words, then looked over at the yappy dog with one eye. The tiny dog whimpered a little and backed away, it's tail between its legs, but the moment Fenris looked away shook itself and came back yapping even louder. The other dogs however continued to stay silent and as far away from Fenris as possible. Even though he was only barely seven months old, Fenris was larger and more powerful than any of them. Unlike the yappy dog, all of the others knew this. Ranma chuckled again and headed back into the inn.

When he got up to the second story, he noticed Ned waving to him from one doorway, near the far end of the leftmost hall. On the other side of Ned, Robert could be seen entering the last room on that side of the inn. Giggling laughter of some woman or other reached Ranma's ear as he walked toward his father causing Ranma to sigh, shaking his head, noticing the Queen entering the second room on the other side with her handmaiden, while the girls entered the one beyond that.

He had a tremendous amount of respect for Robert the fighting man, Robert the general, but he was quickly losing all his respect for Robert the man. It wasn't so much that he particularly liked the Queen. Even if Cersei had come over to his side on the issue of Fenris, she was too vain, too aloof, and too unthinkingly arrogant (above and beyond the whole flirting thing) but he still didn't like the way the King flaunted his infidelity front of her.

That was added to the fact of his drinking, something that reminded Ranma all too much of Genma, plus the fact that he didn't really seem to want to do anything but hunt and rut all day. Not once had he discussed anything about actually being king, taxes, laws, problems facing the realm, whatever. None of it seemed to matter to Robert, which bothered Ranma a lot, given the training Ranma had under his father and maester Luwin.

Ned and Ranma talked for a while that evening in their room, something they hadn't been able to do during the day for a while since Robert took all of Ned's attention and Ranma was perfectly happy to train with the troops or spend time with Tommy and the other kids.

Though honestly calling Sansa a child wasn't really accurate any longer. Ranma hadn't really noticed it back in Winterfell, in the familiar environs of home, but here on the road, especially since it had gotten so warm out after they had left the Neck behind, he could see Sansa was now a rather attractive young woman. Sansa had their mothers auburn hair and heart-like face, a thin waist, long legs, and had developed breasts at some point when Ranma wasn't looking, all of which her dresses were made to accent without putting her body on display. All in all, she was easily one of the prettiest girls/women in the party.

Her brother wasn't the only one who had noticed Sansa. The men-at-arms and Joffrey all had noticed. Of course, the troopers stopped after they noticed Ranma looking at them, his blue eyes dark with the promise of violence. Joffrey, however, Ranma couldn't stop from looking.

They stayed up late that night, talking about their impressions of the royal family, what they expected to be happening back home, and what they would find in King's Landing. Ned informed his son that he was going to try and find out what Jon was doing before his death. He was beginning to believe more and more strongly that, in at least one area, Lady Lysa was correct: Jon had been poisoned. "From what I have gathered from Robert, there was no lead up, no warning of an oncoming illness. One day Jon was hale and hearty, in command of all his faculties, performing his duty as Hand of the King, and not even two days later, he was dead. That speaks of someone having a hand in it, some poison or other. And if Jon was murdered, there must have been a reason. He had many enemies but I fear it was in aid of something more than a personal vendetta. If so, it is my duty, not only as Hand, but as a friend to the king to figure out what it could be."

Ranma shook his head. "We're going to be in a very tenuous position, father." he said critically then smirked a little. "I'm good, but this isn't my type of fight."

"Nor mine." Ned murmured, leaning back on the bed and smiling faintly. "Still, honor demands that I look into it."

Ranma nodded. "Of course it does, but I don't think you should look into it without guarding your own back. We need to think of a way of doing that. And I don't think we should trust anyone in King's Landing."

"Roberts all right," Ned replied mildly, though his face had closed down a little, knowing his son really didn't have the best opinion of his friend. "And I think your lady mother has a friend in King's Landing, a man Jon Arryn trusted as well. Hopefully… the master of purse, Petyr Baelish, is a childhood friend of hers, and I can hope for some aid from him." So long as he doesn't hold my brother Brandon's beating him in a duel for Catelyn's hand against me and my family…

Ranma waved one hand in a so-so gesture, unknowingly echoing his father's thoughts. "That's nice and all, but that was a long time ago. People change, and like I said, from what I've seen just from Varys, the King, and the Queen, this is a cesspit we're running into."

That remark brought to him Ned's mind what Howland Reed has said that evening at the moat, and he nodded slowly. "I will trust only what I see and hear, and I won't go anywhere without a guard. Will that do?" he asked rather jokingly, looking at his son. "Or will you be dogging my steps as well? You realize you're going to have to get to know your possible spouse after she shows up? Who knows, she might already be there."

"Oh, thank you so much." Ranma growled, "I was trying to forget that part."

Ned laughed quietly but warmly as was his nature in private like this. He reached over and grabbed his son's shoulder shaking him gently. "Give the girl a chance, you might be surprised."

Ranma chuckled, reaching up with one hand to grasp his father's where it rested on his shoulder. "So long as that surprise is a pleasant one, that's fine." With that the conversation turned to less serious matters such as what might be going on at home and whether or not Catelyn's latest child would be a boy or a girl. Still, both of them were worried about what they were heading into in King's Landing but were equally determined to do whatever their honor demanded when they got there.

OOOOOOO

That evening, Fenris lifted his head up from where it had been lying as the tiny made creature, the dog that was not natural, began its little yapping sound. No wolf would ever call that thing a dog really, it was simply too small, too tiny, not natural.

This time, the creature wasn't yapping at Fenris but three men dressed all in black who had stolen into the inn's yard. Rather than make for the doorway of the inn, which was closed for the night, they went straight towards the kennel. Something in their manner made Fenris stand up from where he had been laying, dislodging the female that had sidled up to him during the night. She smelled quite interesting, as if she was going into heat soon but wasn't quite there yet.

That was a pity, but for now Fenris shook off such thoughts, which he wouldn't have even been able to do if he was a regular dire Wolf and not a bonded one. His sense of self was odd, far more human than would otherwise be the case, even more so thanks to the odd energy that their connection carried to him from Ranma.

That was unimportant at the moment. Here and now, Fenris began to growl low in his throat, a growl with strange harmonics to it that should've sent anything evolved from monkeys up into their trees for protection.

The three men paused, showing they had some sense, then came on, showing that they didn't have enough. Two of them carried those long fangs of the men they called spears, while the third carried a shorter steel claw, a sword. Fenris's nose wrinkled, smelling the men from here, the same scent that had been on the men who had attacked his bonded master. Fenris backed away, growling somewhat louder as they advanced on the kennel.

Once they were close enough, the two men with spears thrust them through the kennel's fence, trying to stick Fenris. But Fenris dodged to one side, then with a lightning twist of his head grabbing the spear of one man, pulling him forward with a muffled whoop to crash into the fence. It rattled a little, and the other man barked out a whispered order in the man thing's tongue. Without Ranma warging with him, Fenris couldn't understand it but he could read their tone easily enough.

The other man with a spear tried to get Fenris in the side. He dodged away again, this time smashing out with a forepaw with surprising strength, breaking the spear halfway up its shaft. He swiftly grabbed up the pointed end with his mouth and threw it at the man who held a sword with a sharp twist of his neck.

Though he missed, that seemed to startle the man things, and they all backed away quickly. To heighten the effect, Fenris growled at them, his fangs bared, the noise getting louder and louder.

The three attackers seemed to think better of it at that point, and raced away out of the inn's yard as quickly as they had come. Fenris stood staring after them, growling still, as the rest of the dogs, who had been woken by the disturbance, looked around and made their yips or barks in turn for a time before Fenris turned and glared at them.

That silenced all of them, save for the small irritating creature. Fenris glared it into submission easily, however. He looked at the other dogs who all looked back at him backing away slightly as was proper in front of an alpha. With a huff of amusement Fenris laid down again, and almost immediately the female with the interesting smell nestled against his side.

He was unsurprised to feel his master moving toward him and the very brief sound of a door opening and closing heralded his arrival.

Ranma had felt his bonded direwolf's anger and irritation from where he had been falling asleep. He had woken up and snuck out, but by the time he had reached the front door of the inn, the excitement had been over. Now he looked down at Fenris, smirking. "Did you have fun?" Fenris huffed again, his tongue lolling out as smiled. "Ah, good, did you notice if they were wearing red?"

The direwolf looked at him askance and Ranma groaned. "Right, can't see colors, never mind." He reached down to rub Fenris' head once more, then turned and walked back into the inn.

Fenris snorted, then laid back down, allowing the female to rub her body against his. Yes, she did smell interesting…

OOOOOOO

Ranma froze halfway up the stairs to the second floor for two reasons. One, there was a candle casting a very low light from the central sitting area. And two, he had just gotten a surge of, of lust or something down his link from Fenris. Fucking hell! Okay, none of the texts that talked about warging ever mentioned feeling that kind of thing from your animal!

After a moment he continued on, wondering who was awake. He was surprised to see the Queen sitting there with a small slim novel in one hand and a glass of wine. Her hair was rather frazzled and she grimaced occasionally, as if she was suffering from a headache. She looked up as Ranma came up the steps. Ranma bowed slightly to her. "Your grace, are you feeling well?"

"A minor headache, young Stark, nothing more." In point of fact Cersei did suffer from headaches occasionally but she also was using this to see if she could overcome Ranma's self-control with one final push. "Was there something wrong with the dogs? Your Fenris acting up?" Cersei leaned back slightly, bringing attention to her chest, barely held within her silk chemise. "Come sit with me, I have been meaning to ask you some questions about my Tommen's training."

Ranma gulped, feeling a little more effected by Cersei's minor flirtations than he would otherwise have been because of whatever the hell Fenris was up to. Damn it, where's a fucking snow drift when I need one. Even so, he knew better than to bring up the little bit of excitement Fenris ran into. He also noticed, not for the first time, how possessively the Queen talked about all her children. "C-certainly your grace. And no, no problems, a small toy dog was causing trouble, which got the others all irritated, but I was able to calm them down. Now, maybe I'll be able to get some sleep."

He sat down across from the Queen, looking at her quizzically. "What did you wish to ask? I think Tommy's training is going well. He's slimming down nicely and putting on some muscles."

"That is precisely what I want to talk to you about." Cersei grimaced a little. At first, Ranma's informal manner had been amusing, but after so long it had begun to be irritating, yet she was more concerned her little lion. "You have him doing all these exercises at such a young age. I am worried it will stunt his growth in the future. I have often heard the maesters speak of too much exercise not being good for children, hence why sword training does not begin until ten."

"That is true, your grace. Some exercises, if taken to extremes, can harm you long term. But I am varying the exercises Tommy is doing so his body can adjust."

"Hmm… Well, that brings me to my other question. I realize that my Joffrey and you have… not been able to get along, but I was wondering if, if he comes to you, would you agree to train him again?" Cersei leaned forward, which allowed her décolletage to flop open.

In his present frame of mind, Ranma couldn't stop himself from looking. He saw the Queen's breasts, somewhat larger than they looked when she was dressed, full and ripe, capped with pretty dark red nipples the size of a silver stag. He groaned, a low, primal, sort of rumbling sound that caused a smirk of triumph to appear on Cersei's face for the briefest of moments.

Ranma very visibly got control of himself. Why the hell is she doing this? What does she have to gain? He suddenly snorted mentally, Fuck it, I was never one ta beat around the bush. He reared back, closing his eyes for a moment then opened them to glare at Cersei, ignoring her body for now. "Why? Why this…" Ranma gestured with one hand at Cersei. "Why are you trying to, to get a reaction out of me? What do you have to gain from it? I refuse to believe you're doing it just for fun."

Cersei actually blinked in shock at this direct question, then surprised herself with a very dry chuckle. "You are direct, young Stark." She paused for a moment, knowing now that she would never be able to control Ranma through his hormones like she had hoped to, which, surprisingly, saddened her, just a little. The boy had an iron self-control which was astonishing in one so young. "Such a question, and what it implies, could get you in a lot of trouble."

"You more than I, I think." Ranma riposted. "And speaking of which, wouldn't our current circumstances be damning enough, the Queen alone with a young man? Even if the King flaunts his indiscretions, it would be damning for you to do the same. Not exactly fair, but there you are."

"Too true." Cersei replied dryly, though that line of defense struck far too close to home. Robert was so egotistical he would dismiss any suggestion she might be unfaithful to him despite his own treatment of their so-called wedding vows, but Eddard and others would take it much more seriously.

She thought for a moment, then decided Ranma required some answer or he would become more suspicious of her, which she didn't want, most particularly in this direction. A bit of the truth would do. "Have you ever heard politics described as the game of thrones?"

Ranma shook his head, watching her closely, not even a hint that he thought of her as a woman.

After a moment Cersei went on. "It is called a game, but it is a most serious one, where families vie for power and the ultimate goal, the throne. I have been a pawn in that game my entire life." She paused, wondering why she had said that, not having meant to but she couldn't pull the words back now. For some reason, even she was effected by Ranma's nature, becoming a little more open around him than she should be. "Now I am a player and I am willing to do anything to see that my side wins. Robert Baratheon is an inept king but my son will sit on that throne in time. You are an enigma, a force to be reckoned with physically, like my brother only even more so. Your skills, they come straight out of the Age of Heroes, making you very dangerous, not only as an individual but as a symbol."

"You are allied with a house that might someday move against mine. The Starks and Lannisters have never been friends. It has been obvious from the beginning that you do not partake of your father's loyalty to my husband and, through him, the Baratheons. Is it any wonder I want to try to control you?"

She didn't mention the fact she hated his house thanks to Lyanna's memory laying over her marriage like a stifling blanket, her fear of Ned and his ability to whisper into Roberts ear, or how willing she was to resort to any means to get what she wanted. Honesty was just another weapon, after all.

Ranma sat silently, looking at her for a moment then nodded. "You have been honest with me, your grace, so I will be honest with you. I will not be controlled in such a manner, nor any other. My loyalty is to my family and to the North. Maybe, eventually, if I get along with this Margaery girl…" He twitched a little at the memory of his upcoming marriage, as if he had swallowed something bitter, which, given his previous experience with fiancées was understandable, even if no one else knew about it.

Cersei actually smiled slightly, noticing how ambivalent the young man was about marrying the Tyrell girl, who was, even she had to admit, a very comely lass, regardless of what else the marriage brought to both families. Yet, the idea of marriage seemed to hold no attraction for Ranma.

"My loyalties may expand to include her family. I like Tommen, I like Myrcella, and I wouldn't ever do anything to harm either one of them, though I think Joffrey needs to grow up a bit and stop being such a brat." That caused Cersei to stiffen angrily, but Ranma went on undaunted. "So long as you and your son, once he ascends to the throne, do nothing to threaten those parties, we will have no problems."

With that Ranma got up from where he was sitting, bowed from the waist to Cersei, then walked away. Cersei's voice stopped him however. "Young Stark, the moment your father officially becomes Hand of the King, both of you will be forced to play the game, whether you want to or not. And in the game of thrones, you win or you die. Remember that."

Ranma stood there for a moment at the edge of the candle light, then continued on his way silently, making no noise as he reentered the room he shared with his father. Cersei remained there, slowly drinking her glass of wine for a time as she thought about the young man that had just left, trying to factor him into her plans, trying to stop the thought that he would have been a good husband for her if only she were younger or him older.

She never noticed that Varys the eunuch had been listening from the foot of the stairs. He had been given a room downstairs, which, while not as nice as the ones upstairs, was adequate for his needs and which kept him close to the royal family and the Starks.

Well, wasn't that interesting. It appears my plan to make myself invisible to the Starks and the Baratheons on this leg of the journey has borne some unexpected fruit. So the boy is nothing more than a blunt object after all, despite his undeniable charisma and possible leadership ability, though that last one is up in the air, I must have it tested somehow. Yet still, a blunt object, with a tremendous amount of skill and self-control but no real threat to those of us who are used to moving in the halls of power. And Cersei seems to think of her children as Lannisters first and Baratheon a distant second. How… interesting. Though she was surprisingly open there, that too was surprising. With that thought, he turned and went back into his room, wondering what would happen when they reached King's Landing.

OOOOOOO

Smalljon, grunted irritably, sawing at the reins of his horse for a moment to bring it up sharply, ignoring the horse's irritated whinny as he glared down at the cart whose wheel had come off, necessitating this stop. I never knew what moving with large groups of people was really like before this. By the old gods, this is so irritating! "How long will this be-damned wheel take to fix?"

One of the smallfolk, from among the several young married couples that were part of the first group heading into the Gift to repopulate it, looked up at him. He was a large man, as most men from Umber lands were, though not as large as Smalljon, with a massive beard that covered most of his face. "At least an hour ,lord. Thankfully this wagon isn't full, it was one of the ones our provender fer the trip we're on."

The heir of House Umber grunted. "Well, get to it then but make it quick. I want us at least three leagues further on before we stop for the night." The man nodded, then bent to his work as Smalljon turned away, looking from side to side at the procession heading ever deeper into the Gift and, at this point, it was the Gift, had been for a few days. A little over a dozen family groups, all young and hungry for their own land rather than working their family's land, two blacksmiths who wanted to open up their own smithies, and several others. It was an oddity of geography, but the Gift had decent, arable land without the need to clear the forests like elsewhere in the North. Certainly more than House Umber's lands, which was just too damn rocky for many farms. What farms there were, were massive farmsteads, each of them little forts, almost holdfasts, able to house the extended family as well as any farmhands they had. Despite the security and family ties, sometimes a newly married couple wanted to get out and away from their family to make their own way.

Smalljon turned his body further in the saddle, looking around at the group of forty mounted troopers ranging around the column. None of them were actually trained horsemen but the horses allowed them to cover the entirety of the column, which was a rather toothsome target for any wildling raider, or any other sort really, though Smalljon hadn't raised any… odd ideas about that. He knew there was more out there than just wildlings but he had agreed then and still agreed now with Commander Mormont and Ranma about keeping that a secret for now. It wouldn't do to have people questioning them about the nature of the threat until they were positioned to defend against whatever was out there.

He noticed, almost absentmindedly, that it was somewhat colder than it had been when he came this way with the other wolf-sworn. Not a good sign… Smalljon was pulled from his thoughts by one of the Norrey scouts coming out of the forest, obviously wondering why the column had stopped, then laughing loudly at the idiot lowlanders with their troublesome carts. Smalljon laughed and waved at the man, thinking that the scouts had earned the right to laugh.

None of the Norrey warriors traveling with them, a full hundred from the northernmost mountain clan, had horses and they had kept up easily with the carts. All of them would be going on to the Wall to add their skills to the rangers and were eager to get it stuck in with the wildlings. The forty men-at-arms with Smalljon would be building a small holdfast around which the settlers would build their community, the first of several on the Kingsroad. That way they could send guards up to the Wall with any supplies they sent up. That was well into the future, of course, when they had their first harvest in but the system was a good one to put in place, especially given what had happened to the Gift's previous occupants.

The column soon moved on and they were able to cover the three leagues Smalljon wanted before needing to stop. The place they stopped at was a rocky clearing with several large boulders and rocky outcroppings everywhere. It was a decent defensive position, one the wolf-sworn had used as a resting point on their way up, well before they spotted the wildling raiders.

As the sun was setting however, one of the Norrey scouts (they didn't seem to have any kind of organization so one was as good as another) came out of the dusk near where Smalljon was tying his horse down for the night. "Umber, we've spotted a large group of wildling raiders, at least twenty hands strong. They're at least two hours away but their own scouts have probably spotted yar and yer slow ass carts." The man spat to the side in disgust. "What'ja want ta do?"

None of the Norrey scouts could really count but hands and twenty was easy enough to understand. Smalljon grinned evilly, waving one hand in the air to signal his men over. He'd taken lessons from Ranma, Jon, and Lord Stark himself several times, and knew that there was nothing more dangerous than having an ambush turned against you. "Do? We're going to slaughter them, mountain man, we're going to slaughter them."

As the Norrey scout gave him and his two officers more information, Smalljon could see the belief of the new threat going through his troops. Many of them had been rather skeptical of the idea of a King Beyond the Wall but the size of this raiding force definitely argued for it. Not only was it large for any wildling force on this side of the Wall, it was also a single group. The wildlings rarely raided in larger than groups of ten without someone around to instill some organization to them.

Along with the acceptance of the threat there was also a sense of grim anticipation. House Umber had felt the stings of wildling raids many times over the millennia and every man here had fought them before. Smalljon nodded at them all. "Alright, here's what we're going to do…

Two hours later, it was full night and the temperature of the air, which had already been extremely cold, plummeted further. The fires the smallfolk set up were large, to give off heat as much as light. Large, head sized stones, were set into the fires, then placed under and around the horses. A few families had gifted their youngsters with portable braziers, which they set up under large canvas tents containing their carts and their horses, warming both the beasts and themselves for the night.

Nothing about the campsite, at least at first glance, said that the Umber men were ready for trouble but they were. The majority of the smallfolk, though many of the men had taken up arms to join the battle, had been moved into the center of the clearing around the rocky outcropping. Two large makeshift tents had been commandeered for use by Smalljon and his men. A few of those men were out there on guard, although they would be transferred in every hour in an attempt to keep frostbite to a minimum. The Norrey scouts were nowhere to be seen, of course They were waiting to close the jaws of the trap.

Smalljon waited anxiously, waiting for the signal from a few of his guards, who were positioned up trees several yards out from the edge of the camp, watching until they saw the wildlings advancing through the forest toward them. The wildlings were experts at night actions but they would have to charge out of the forest for that final push into the rocky area around the camp.

Finally he heard it, the call of a crow on the wind. "CAW-CAW!"

Smalljon bellowed, charging out of the tent. "Up lads, and at them!" Almost immediately, he saw the forms of the wildlings lit by the fires of the camp behind him. They had charged forward and now reacted like the time with the wolf-sworn, once again, not like a trained force would have by freezing and backing away. The wildlings had no such response. Instead, they surged forward as a mob, their iron, copper, and a rare steel weapons raised and howls on their lips.

Which suited the men of House Umber all too well. They charged with roars on their own lips. "RAGHHHH!" Smalljon led the way, his massive claymore slicing one rather thin wildling in twain before he brought it back around to smash into the wicker shield of another. All around him, his men hammered into the wildlings, who attempted to go around the sides of their defensive push only to be taken in the back by the Norrey clansmen.

Smalljon had split the scouts into twenty-five men groups and spread them out away from the straight line of the wildlings advance. Now those groups smashed into the flanks of the attack, grinding it under. Where before, it appeared the attackers had an advantage in numbers, now they were on their heels against a numerically superior force.

Smalljon laughed aloud, bringing up his sword to block a blow from a copper sword, almost negligently smashing his free fist into the sword wielders' face, throwing him to the ground. "One!" The flat of his blade smacked into another wildling's head, sending him comatose to the ground. "Two!"

An older soldier, wielding a wicked looking saw-toothed axe, laughed. "Keeping score lad, I thought yer father'd beaten that out of you years ago!"

"Ha, he did indeed! Many a lesson I've learned over my Father's knee, but no, I want at least…" Smalljon paused, parrying the blow of one wildling that was wielding his sword somewhat better than the normal hack and pray method. His sword smashed the other man's sword to the side, opening up his body for a punch to the sternum. The wildling doubled over with an explosive whoosh, then fell senseless to the ground when Smalljon brought his sword back, smartly rapping the man on the back of the head with his pommel. "Three prisoners! I want to know how these bastards are getting around the Wall!"

"Hoho, someone's learned to look beyond the edge of his blade." The man said, grunting as he twisted a little, freeing his axe from a corpse to block a blow from another wildling just in time.

Smalljon grunted again and pushed forward into the woods, where the main battle was taking place in the dark of the nighttime woods, lit only by the lights of the fires behind him, and the half-moon above them. He was immediately surrounded by four wildlings but he hacked one down before the other three could close.

The heir of House Umber put his back to a tree for a moment, blocking the blows of all three, moving his claymore as if the massive sword weighed nothing, then kicked out, shattering the femur of one of the attackers. That man fell and Smalljon's knee took him in the face, throwing him backward. Another Umber man came in behind his attackers, his sword ending that man's life then threatening the side of one of Smalljon's other attackers.

The last man found himself alone for a split second and was backing away when Smalljon charged forward, bulling into him and throwing him backward. Before the man could regain his footing, Smalljon's claymore cut off his head in a welter of blood.

He grinned over at the other soldier, who had dispatched his own opponent with less panache but with just as much certainty, who grinned back at him. The battle wasn't over and wouldn't be for a while yet, given the nature of the terrain and the poor visibility, but it was no longer in doubt.

Two hours later, the battle was over, the remaining wildlings breaking off and disappearing into the dark of the forest. Because it was so dark out, Smalljon forbade his men from following them, knowing the wildlings could still be dangerous. The Norrey men ignored his edict, for the most part, and lost over a dozen more men after Smalljon ordered his men back, making their total losses twenty six dead and fifteen injured, four severely. The men of Umber had lost nine dead and ten wounded, two seriously. No one knew the total wildling corpses but they were scattered everywhere, so much so that Smalljon had to have his men gather the nearest ones and take them away from the camp. His order to burn them surprised many of his men but no one argued about it.

The next day, Smalljon and the two most experienced men of his command questioned the three prisoners he had taken. Not one more wildling had been taken alive, which was normal for fighting the wild men from the far north. They didn't believe in giving up, and they certainly never took prisoners themselves. Not male ones, at least. Women were fair game and many families, even House Umber, had lost daughters to wildling raids. Mors Crowfood, the man who had lead the Umber contingent up to the wall, had lost his daughter to such a raid, which was why Greatjon had chosen him for the command.

Eventually, Smalljon was able to wring the information he wanted out of their prisoners. It turned out that the wildlings had begun to use large boats, built with mostly green wood, then set forth through the Skirling Pass out onto the Frozen Shore and, from there, took to the sea to get around the Wall. It had been one of the first things that had changed under the new King Beyond the Wall, who Smalljon now had a name for: Mance Ryder. It was still treacherous work and many men had died from the cold of the Frozen Shore but it had allowed larger groups of wildlings to move around the Wall and into the Gift or even beyond. Yet, the wildlings were all adamant that the Gift had been emptier and emptier with every raid and it wasn't just them. That raised some questions among Smalljon's men and he did nothing to quiet them.

Eventually, the column got moving again. Smalljon, with his advisors suggestions, had split off twenty of the Norrey scouts, sending them back to carry the words to the mountain clans. The Norreys and the First Flints especially needed to know about this, since they could possibly intercept the wildlings in the mountains before they could enter the Gift proper.

Those men would also spread the word to the other groups coming up to reinforce the wall. The threat had a name and was very real now. Everyone needed to know that the wolf-sworn had been on the money, something that would steel their resolve. Once that was done, Smalljon and the rest of the column continued their journey deeper into the Gift.

OOOOOOO

The next two weeks passed uneventfully, with the King's party continuing on their way in as lackadaisical a fashion as the King could contrive. The breaks for lunch and dinner became much longer and the time spent hunting during those breaks was longer as well. That was fine by Ranma, who had been expecting another attack on himself or Fenris ever since his little meeting with the Queen, though he supposed she was probably still continuing her wait and see approach.

Ranma somehow knew Cersei was also unconnected to the attacks had seen before this, they weren't her style. He wasn't certain why he thought that, but they weren't. Cersei would wait until she knew he was a real threat rather than a possible one but when she struck, it would not be some toughs smelling of drink that came for him. Ranma wasn't certain what it would be, but he was certain it would be much more dangerous than that.

He was almost positive now that Joffrey was behind those attacks, although he didn't have any proof to back that thought up, other than the men who attacked him being men-at-arms in the Lannister colors. That wasn't enough given the 'provocation' Ranma had given them back in Winterfell. It was just a feeling, that and the fact that whenever he was around, Joffrey tried to glare a hole through his back.

Of course, the princeling had enough sense to stop doing that if Ranma was looking his way or if Sansa was around. That bothered him, both the fact that Joffrey was showing such subterfuge or, at least, an ability in said skill, and that Sansa was still besotted with him.

Lady seemed to have gotten the hint that not all was as it should be with Joffrey and she tended to be tense and ready to spring whenever Sansa and Joffrey were together, according to the pack sense Ranma got from his link through Fenris. Unfortunately, Sansa seemed determined to not take her direwolf's advice, treating Lady as a simple pet rather than a partner.

Mind you, Ranma thought to himself now as he once more lifted Tommen off his horse to set the young boy on the ground next to him at one of their interminable stops, the fact that she's tried to dress Lady up like a doll a time or two on this trip with Myrcella was hilarious. The image of the ladylike direwolf, bedecked with ribbons and bows, had brought the entire party to a laughing stand still for a moment as she ran away whining into the woods. Even the Queen had cracked a small smile at that.

Ranma frowned suddenly as he felt the Queen's presence behind him, moving to one side, that perfume of hers wafting towards him. She had still been slightly strange lately and Ranma wasn't really certain of what to make of that. Or of the 'discussion' (and he used the word very loosely) that they had back at the inn. It left him still uncertain what game the Queen was playing. It was obviously to promote her darling Joffrey but did that also mean that she would move against anyone she thought might be a threat to him and, if so, how? Was she personally dangerous? Ranma didn't think so, but wasn't about to place any wagers on it. Or was she only dangerous because she was Tywin Lannister's daughter? All he knew of that man certainly made him one Ranma would be wary of,. Gold could buy many things, after all, though Ranma was still getting used to the idea of someone being more dangerous through his influence than in person.

He pushed those thoughts to the side for now, reaching down to rub Fenris' head for a moment, nodding pleasantly at Myrcella who blushed brightly and moved away. She had been doing that ever since that night at the bottom of the Neck and Ranma was still bemused as to the cause of it.

Still, he ignored it once more, moving off with Tommen following him eagerly, ready to get to work on today's exercises. They had finally gotten to the point where Ranma was having him practice swinging a specially weighted blade, and Tommen was eager to get to actual sword exercises.

Myrcella hesitated for a moment, wondering if she should follow them but then she saw Joffrey approaching and saw, out of the corner of her eye, Sansa smile. She groaned before moving to join the girl she was rapidly coming to realize would become her sister. Not in the way I could wish, Myrcella thought rather tartly, and whether or not she'll be happy when she achieves her dream is up in the air, but I can't in good conscience leave her alone with him.

She discounted the chaperone presence of the septa with ease, that old woman had not taken to travel on the road very well at all and was moving as stiffly as an old crone these days, especially after she had been taken ill from something a few weeks back. The Queen had already moved to talk to her brother about something by one of the fires, getting in a word with him before he had to leave with the King on one of his numerous hunting expeditions. The rotation had not been changed since the two ill Kingsguard had recovered, something Cersei was rather irritated about.

Myrcella sighed again, but pasted a smile on her face and moved with Sansa toward Joffrey. She shivered for a moment, seeing the Hound at Joffrey's back as always as well as Ser Meryn Trant, a man whose smile scared her, made worse by the looks he sometimes sent her way when no one was looking. But then, Myrcella felt the reassuring presence behind her of Ser Oakheart, heartening her, and she went forward resolutely.

OOOOOOO

Later that day Ranma looked around suddenly, hearing raised voices from the little area by the cooking fire he and Tommen had taken over for their training. He could hear one of the voices, raised as only a voice trained to bellow over a battle field could be. "He's my boy too, damn you! If I want to send him to foster somewhere, I'll damn well do it!"

Ranma stood up, tapping Tommen gently on the head. "Hold off for now, Tommen, let's go see what your parents are yelling about."

Tommen flushed a little, embarrassed but nodded and moved with him. Before he had met Ranma, Tommen would've made himself scarce quickly if his parents were arguing, fearing the man who was his father almost as much as he wanted the man's acknowledgment; fearing his mother too, not physically but for her words, which could hurt worse than anything else. He had seen her flay men with her tongue alone and had felt it himself a time or two before this.

These days, however, Robert was acknowledging him, smiling at Tommen since he began to learn how to fight and be fit from Ranma plus, in the past two weeks, he had also begun to truly spend time with the man during their rides. Tommen wasn't really close to his father, not yet anyway, but the chance of becoming closer was there.

The two soon found the Cersei and Robert arguing with Ned standing between them trying to mediate things while everyone else had quickly gotten out of the way, though Varys and everyone else stood close enough to listen to the argument. Ranma sidled up to Ser Jory, nodding at the two arguing royals. "What sparked this?"

Jory shook his head, looking a little bemused. None of the Winterfell men had really gotten used to the fact that the King and Queen were so at odds with one another, certainly not in such an open fashion, and it took them all aback that the two royals were airing their rift in public. "The King mentioned the idea of sending Prince Tommen off to ward with some lord, his brother Lord Renly, or even up in Winterfell. The Queen exploded on him, saying Tommen was far too young for that kind of thing and she would never agree to sending him so far away. The King responded angrily, and it, well it, escalated from there."

The young prince smiled, then scowled in turn. It was nice to know that his mother cared for him, she was sort of standoffish with him and Myrcella, devoting most of her attention to his older brother, which was right and proper given that he was the Crown Prince. Yet, at the same time it made sense that he, as a younger brother, would be sent off to ward while Joffrey would not. Sending the Crown Prince off anywhere like that would imply favoritism and that just wouldn't do. The younger prince, however, could be sent and thereby tie another family closer to the crown.

Tommen looked up suddenly at the thought. If I could possibly ward with Ranma wherever he is… He looked up at Ranma, who was staring at the two arguing royals, his eyes narrowed, focusing on their body language. This wasn't the first time the two of them had argued like this, that was certain, and he could tell these arguments only ended one way. Thus, he did not see Tommen looking up at him, sudden hope in his eyes.

As the argument reached a crescendo, Ranma stepped smartly between the King and Queen, one hand grasping the King's hand right before he could raise it in a blow across the Queen's face. "Is this something you both should really be arguing about in public like this?"

That caused both Robert and Cersei to frown at him but it also knocked both of them out of the tunnel vision that had come upon them as they once again argued with one another. Robert frowned, feeling his arm gripped in Ranma's vice-like grip. He was about to bellow at the boy to let him go when he looked around, finally realizing he was about to strike his Queen in public. He really didn't care about most people's opinions but Ned was staring at him with hard, judgmental eyes, that was enough for him to pause.

"Personally," Ranma went on, "I would ask my Lord Father what he thinks of the idea that sparked this argument."

Ned smiled faintly at his sons attempt at diplomacy. It reminded Ned all too well of the times that Theon and Jon had fought, only to have their heads banged together by Ranma until they stopped. He also vowed to watch Robert more closely from now on. He knew the man hated Cersei but that was not enough reason for a man to strike his wife, as Robert had seemed about to do.

However, he concentrated on the present. "The Queen raises a good argument that Tommen is too young at the moment to be sent to ward, the usual age for such things is ten or eleven. Her point about favoritism is well taken, as well. With the impending marriage between our houses, Robert, you need to be careful not to show too much favoritism towards my house. Being a King is all about being a balancing act after all. This means of course that sending him to Renly or Stannis is out of the question, as well. The point of warding is to build relations between families and they are your brothers. Yet, at the same time," Ned now turned towards the Queen, who was wearing a triumphant expression, "Tommen should not be sent to ward in Casterly Rock because of the connection there with your father, Lord Tywin." That wiped off her smile quickly. "The best idea would be to send him to the Reach, the Vale, or to Dorne. That way you avoid any hint of favoritism and Tommen gets to see a portion of Westeros that he has previously not seen."

That perked the boy up a little from his previous disconsolate expression at not warding with Ranma and the Starks. He enjoyed learning and seeing new places would be fun, though it appeared as if it would happen in the distant future. Three whole years!

Ned went on, speaking about things he felt both should have already known. "Ser Renly's friendship with the Tyrells is well known, so perhaps House Hightower in the Reach? That would put Tommen in Old Town and the Citadel. The Vale is without true leadership at present and Dorne is such a land apart. Plus it has real cause for grudges against you that any thoughts in that direction would need to be considered seriously."

The master of whisperers, who had been listening silently, smiled at this, shaking his head. Lord Stark would have made a fantastic king, if he puts such thought into something so distant. Pity.

Robert frowned then that frowned turned upwards into a smile and he guffawed loudly slapping Ned on the shoulder. "You see, this is why I want you as my Hand! I can't get my mind around all that 'balancing act' shit! We'll think about it some other time but I'll take your words to heart." He scowled at his Queen for a moment then turned away, not apologizing to her for the argument or the fact that he had been about to raise his hand to strike at her. It wouldn't have been the first time after all.

Cersei stood there for a moment glaring after him, then nodded quite abruptly to Ranma and said sharply to him, "Remember what I said a week ago, young Stark." With that she turned away as well, heading back towards the carriage.

Everyone else moved away, going back to preparing the camp for their departure. Ned looked at his son with his head cocked to one side and Ranma shrugged. "She said 'in the game of thrones you either win or die', couldn't really tell you anything else." Not without making everything much worse and embarrassing the hell out of me, anyway.

Ned nodded, sighing faintly and showing a bit more emotion than he normally would. "This is getting more and more complicated!" Ranma nodded, then turned and moved off with Tommen once more.

OOOOOOO

The southernmost land of Westeros, Dorne was truly a kingdom set apart. Partly, it was geography. Separated by the Red mountains, Dorne was hotter and rockier than any other region in Westeros and even had the continent's only real desert. The people here also followed more Rhyonish traditions, giving their women more leeway in their choices of profession than other lands, as well as practicing a… more open and more physical sort of courting.

This land was ruled by the cagey and cunning Prince Doran Martell. He was an old man, who battled with a bad case of gout which made walking painful. Yet, there was nothing wrong with his mind and his experience made him a very dangerous political opponent. Now, he sat, staring at a message from the far North, which he had been doing off and on since it had arrived several weeks ago.

"Still staring at the missive from the northern dogs, brother?" Oberyn Martell was Doran's younger brother and, outside of their narrow, tanned faces, there was nothing in them to show that relationship. Oberyn was a middle aged man, hale and hearty, trained as a warrior, called the Sand Viper for his skill with a spear. Where his hair was still black, Doran's had been white for years and he was much older than his brother, a happenstance caused by their mother having several miscarriages and two other siblings between them, now dead. Moreover, Oberyn was known for his many dalliances with the ladies and, if you asked around, men as well, while Doren had only had one wife, who had given him three children, yet, had never really become used to Dorne and had left when the youngest had been sent away to ward with House Yronwood.

But what really set them apart wasn't their looks, but their temperament. Oberyn was wild, as hot blooded as most of his countrymen, quick to hate and quicker to act, with a bottomless rage deep inside him for what had happened to his sister, Elia Martell, during Robert's Rebellion. Doran was pensive, calm, cool, and collected, never acting unless he knew he would succeed in his endeavor and never gambling on anything. Yet, he too harbored a deep rage for what had happened to their sister.

"I am wondering what it signifies, if anything." Doran murmured, leaning back in his wheelchair and looking around the Water Gardens, gardens that were entirely fed by water funneled by a series of aqueducts. "It could just be a woman trying to make the best match for her son and house or it could be a sign of the Starks rise to ascendency. One would be amusing, the other, dangerous for us and the interests of Dorne."

"Bah!" Oberyn spat to one side. "The wolves might not have been the ones who sacked King's Landing and I'll give you that Eddard Stark would not have allowed the slaughter of Elia and her children but they still support the Usurper. I doubt that any close relation between the two of us would be a good idea, or even very profitable."

"True enough. Lord Stark should know that just as well as us, yet, he allowed his wife to sound us out about this. And my spies have reported that the Queen of Thorns has asked for a meeting between Margaery Tyrell and this Ranma Stark in King's Landing, to see if they are compatible. Of course, with that woman, nothing is as it seems but I have to wonder what game she is currently playing."

The two brothers turned as a feminine chuckle resounded around. Arianne, Doran's oldest daughter, was a petite thing at five feet two inches, yet that did not in any way take away from her beauty. She had long, thick black hair that fell in curls down her back, perfect olive colored skin with large, full breasts barely covered by the silks she adorned herself with, as befit her station. Her eyes, which could smolder with lust and desire on a whim, were now sharp and cunning. "At least the Tyrells are acting one way or another, father. Whereas we seem to be content to sit here and wait, secure, yet out of touch."

Arianne went down to one knee in front of her father. "Let me go to King's Landing as well. This Stark boy could be interesting and, even if not, it hardly matters. I will be there to look for advantages for our family. We've had reports of Robert's drinking himself into an early grave and the rise of the Lannisters before this. Surely we should act to nip that in the bud." No one in this family ever called Robert, King. Oberyn, in fact, had never done so even in Robert's presence.

"If I could trust you to keep your cool and your mind on the job, I might well have thought to send you." Doran replied calmly, raising one hand to touch Arianne's hair. "Yet, you have too much of my brother in you, child. Besides, you would hate the North, the cold would kill you in short order and, if Olenna has already opened up talks for Margaery's hand, then we would be coming in too late to get enough out of the talks to interest me."

"I am getting tired of waiting here!" Arianne cried, shooting to her feet and stamping her foot angrily. "You have been saying we will avenge Aunt Elia's death for years, yet you haven't taken a single act in that direction. Is your grand plan to avenge her to simply outlive her killers?"

Doran lost his temper for a moment. "Enough! There are plans in the works, plans I am not at liberty to tell you but in which you will play a major part. To that end, you must simply wait for the opportune time." The Prince of Dorne leaned back, calming himself. "A scorpion is patient, my dear, and thus only needs to strike once to allow its poison to work. A scorpion can kill anything with a single strike, whereas even the mighty cobra might need more than one. Yet, you are correct, we need to have an eye in King's Landing."

"Oberyn, you may go. Keep your eyes open and sound out the Starks in particular about what they will do when Robert dies, especially if their hatred for the Lannisters has cooled. Also, find out if there is any truth to the rumors that Jon Arryn might have been poisoned. You may take your squire and two of your daughters, as well. We need information and if there is any chance to weaken the Lannisters, I want to know about it.

"You are not to act on your own though." he hastened to add, seeing his far younger brother's eyes light up with eagerness. "Merely report back to me on anything that happens."

"Of course, brother. I would never dream of acting without your approval." His pious tone fooled none of them. To one side, forgotten for the moment, Arianne's eyes narrowed as she began to make plans of her own.

OOOOOOO

The trip passed uneventfully for the next two days and they began to see actual signs along the road, giving them directions towards King's Landing as well as signs for the rather famous Crossroads Inn. Robert saw this and sighed. "That means were nearly home, damn it! Oh well, it was fun while it lasted."

He looked down at Ranma. "What do you say, lad, could you race ahead and tell the inn we're on our way?" He pulled out a small ring from a pouch, tossing it carelessly to Ranma. "Show them that if they don't believe you when you tell them you're from the King."

Ranma grinned and sped off without another word, instead of jogging, moving into an easy, ground devouring lope with Fenris at his heels letting out a loud, happy bark. Robert looked in shock at the speed of the lad then laughed aloud. "Young Wolf, indeed!"

Ranma raced ahead, glad to get away from the party once more. About an hour's travel, which would be practically an entire day's ride for the rest of the party, brought Ranma within sight of the huge Crossroads Inn. It consisted of several buildings around one main one, four stories tall, with wide walls around a central area. It could easily hold the Baratheons and Starks, plus their servants and the Kingsguard, though not the rest of their party.

Ranma turned his attention away from the inn when he saw a man sitting on a horse by the side of the road that he felt probably lead toward the Vale lands. The man was tall and lean, his features, from what Ranma could see as he ran closer, were lined and weathered with gray hair visible even from here. Though, as Ranma trotted closer, he could also see a hint or two of auburn.

As Ranma got even closer he could see the man had bushy eyebrows. As Ranma slowed down he could tell the man also wore excellent chain mail and had a cloak fastened by clasp in the form of a black painted trout. That gave Ranma the last hint he needed at the man's identity and he began to laugh.

The noise caught the man's attention and he turned from looking down the road toward the Vale to the young man who had been jogging easily along the road from further North. As the young man stopped, the man took in his weathered features speaking of the North, his dark hair tied into a ponytail, blue eyes much like his own, only deeper. The young man, with that hard gaze, the muscles visible under his clothing, and the confident expression, he was a man there could be no doubt, also wore a good leather jerkin under good chain mail. And, as if he needed it with the large wolf at his side, his belt buckle was shaped into a wolf's head.

Ranma looked up at the man smiling widely. "If my lady mother described you accurately, you would be my great uncle, Brynden Tully?"

The man smirked down at him and when he spoke, it was with a hoarse, almost smoky voice. He slipped out of the saddle easily, before grasping Ranma's arm warmly. "Aye lad, I am that. Catelyn described you to a T, as well. Good to finally meet you, kinsman."

Ranma grinned, pulling the man into a hug, which Brynden returned. The Tullys were never one to stand on ceremony with family members and Brynden was even less inclined in that direction than his other kin. When he pulled back, he held Ranma at arm's length, looking at Ranma, analyzing him. He was not known as one of the most intelligent knights in Westeros for nothing and he quickly realized that this young man was something special. He had a strength in his form that was astonishing and a barely concealed energy. Whether that was all, he could not say, yet, but Brynden would watch for more. The warhammer on his back made Brendan almost compare Ranma to Robert in his youth; A Robert that had never taken to wenching, drink, or carousing of any kind.

He finally let go, smiling faintly, though there was some worry in his eye. "Come, Ranma, let's go inside and sit down. I have things to tell you. Your lady mother did not convince me to leave my post as Knight of the Gate just on the chance to meet you, her message has… things we must talk about. Where is the rest of the King's party? Surely, you didn't run off and leave them behind. I wouldn't blame you but…"

Ranma laughed a little. "No, they'll be along eventually. The King sent me ahead to ready rooms for them here."

Brynden looked at him sharply at the rather sour way Ranma had said 'the King'. "I see we must talk." he said reflectively. As Knight of the Gate, Brynden was able to hear a lot of news from anyone using the main, in fact, only real, road into the Vale and it was that information which Catelyn hoped would he would use to aid her husband and son. Brynden led the way inside in and sat at a table waiting while Ranma talked with the innkeeper. Soon, Ranma was back and Brendan looked at him with calculating eyes. "So, before we get to what my lady niece has to say, tell me what's been going on? From your perspective, I mean."

That made Ranma's eyebrow rise in surprise but at the older man's cool, contemplative look, he nodded and began to relate everything that had happened from the moment the King arrived in Winterfell. He also informed Brynden of what might be happening up north, though didn't tell him about anything mystical. He could tell that his uncle could see there was more than what he was saying and smiled faintly.

His mother had often said that on top of being the one all the youngsters went to when they had problems, Brynden seemed to see things that others missed and had the ability to pull information out of anyone. This was proven as Brynden led him on with small leading questions, pulling information from Ranma that he would probably not have shared otherwise, even information that Ranma didn't realize he possessed, like discerning the real thrust of Varys' interest in him or that the eunuch had been making an effort since leaving the Neck to fade into the background. Ranma hadn't actually noticed at all.

"You see, the master of whisperers is a consummate politician, not just a spy leader but, at times, a spy himself. He can learn more by being silent than you could tell him in your answers. He was trying to figure you out. Lord Stark, your father, he knows from years ago. The Ironborn Rebellion and even THE rebellion with its aftermath brought them into contact. But you, he did not know and the unknown can scare someone whose business it is to know everything. I daresay by this point he has a much better read on you, possibly a better one than you could want."

Ranma nodded and went on with his story. At last his tale ended. Brynden sat thoughtfully silent for a few moments before speaking again, staring at his niece's son with one hand cupped under his chin. "There is more that you have not yet told me about this threat rising beyond the Wall," he said bluntly, "but keep it secret for now, lad. I am a proven skeptic, after all, and things of that nature don't sit well with me."

Even so, that very sentence told Ranma that he had guessed what might be lying out there, though it gave no hint of whether or not he believed it. "Still and all," The older man went on, "it's also obvious to me why my dear niece wanted me to come and meet you."

"Will there be any trouble from this? I mean, you were Knight of the Gate weren't you? Surely, Aunt Lysa would be irritated by it?"

Brynden waved one hand airily, though there was nothing airy about his eyes. "Lysa sees shadows where there are none and enemies where there are friends. She seems to have gone almost entirely around the bend since her husband's death, though I would have been shocked if you would've told me she cared so much for him even a week before his death. They were not a loving couple, indeed, I would've said she hated him."

"What about my mother's message for me?" Ranma asked, eager to hear from home.

Brynden smiled and pulled out a small leather satchel. He reached inside, taking out a piece of parchment, folded many times over to be small enough to slip into a raven's carrying case. There was another one beside this, which Ranma supposed was for his father. Ranma eagerly took the note from his great uncle, reading it quickly while Brynden sat quietly. In it, Catelyn described what had been going on since he and Ned had left Winterfell. The attack from the former Bolton men, who had somehow gotten down to Winterfell, the assassination attempt on Bran's life, both of these drew frowns from Ranma, though the rest of the note, which said the logistics aspect of the whelming was going well and the notes about her continuing pregnancy. Arya's continued training under Dacey and the notes about Bran waking up, made Ranma smile.

"So, some good news and some bad, Ranma?" Brynden quipped. "You'll need to work on not showing your emotions so clearly."

"Oh, I can do that already, if I think about it." Ranma replied, then tapped the table thoughtfully. "I suppose you know much of what my mother mentions to me?" Brynden nodded grimly. "It is all still guesswork but it isn't painting a pretty picture."

That drew a bark of laughter from the Blackfish. "Hah, that would just be business as usual in politics." He went on more grimly. "Before your father gets here, let me tell you what I know of the conditions at court. Mind you, since Lord Renly was the regent during this little jaunt of his highness, some of this might have changed."

"Shouldn't we wait for my father or is this so interesting that you want to do it twice?" Ranma asked, smiling faintly.

Brynden paused then nodded. "Good point, lad." He raised a hand to grab the attention of the barmaid, asking her wordlessly to bring over some ale for the two of them. He watched, rather amused, as Ranma pushed his mug to one side, not touching it and looking across at him. "So, tell me about any adventures you've had before all this began."

The two of them talked for hours exchanging tales, waiting for the King and his party to show up, while at Ranma's feet Fenris sat, his eyes closed. Until that is, a bard in the far corner began a song called the wolves of Winterfell. After a few lines, Brynden watched amused as his kinsman's face paled, then reddened with irritation. "By the old gods, he promised me, no damn flowing locks!" Ranma paused, while the two listened to the song, then Ranma shuddered visibly. "Ugh, why the hell did he change his own gender in the tale? That's just…"

Brynden was indeed very intelligent. Thus he was easily able to put what he was hearing from the bard together with what he knew about Ranma's history. So when he heard that part he began to laugh, loud and long.

About an hour later, the King's party finally arrived. Reactions to Brynden's being there were mixed in the company. Jaime and Ser Barristan regarded him as a fellow warrior, as did most of the knights, not caring about why he was there. He was a well-known and well-respected knight for his part in the Ninepenny Kings War and had fought in Robert's Rebellion as well. Robert greeted him warmly and took it as truth that he was merely here to be with his kinsmen.

The Queen, on the other hand, did not welcome his presence. Brynden was far too bright and watchful for her tastes with none of the naïveté that plagued Ranma and his father. Moreover, he had more knowledge of the way the world really worked here in past the Neck, which wasn't good for her ambitions. She still hoped to, at the very least, not make enemies of the Starks, but knew that Ned would do the 'honorable thing', which would almost certainly put them at opposing sides in the near future.

Sansa was ecstatic on meeting a new family member, having heard tales of Brynden Tully from her mother. He also figured prominently in several bards tales for his role in the war that had won him his knighthood.

Brynden was gentle as he gathered her into a hug, ignoring her formal curtsy. "By the Seven, lass!" he exclaimed quietly. "Look at you! Your mother sent me a small sketch of you when you were six but, by the seven, look at you now! You look just like your mother did when she was your age." Sansa blushed rosily at both the hug and the comparison, since in her youth Catelyn Tully was known as one of the most beautiful women in the Riverlands.

That night the majority of the King's party stayed up late, carousing in the inn's main room along with Brynden, Ned and, for the first time, Ranma. They stayed up well into the night, but unlike the rest, Brynden and the two Stark men did not get drunk. They were still sober when they met that evening in the room the trio was going to share, along with Ser Jory, who was 'stepping out' at that moment with one of the barmaids.

Brynden immediately handed the note from Lady Catelyn to Ned, who devoured it with hungry eyes. Unlike Ranma, who had shown his emotions on his face when reading his note, which he had burned following Brynden's advice, Eddard showed no emotion other than the skin tightening around his eyes.

When he was done, Eddard looked up at Brynden. "I see. So, everything is pointing at the Lannisters being up to something."

"And what Bran saw was not a Kingsguard rutting with someone he shouldn't but something much worse." Ranma muttered, then frowned. "But the knife could have been a plant, right, to make us look even closer at the Lannisters. By the old gods, this is damn confusing."

"True." Eddard chuckled, though there was no humor in the sound. "I am afraid however we still need more to go on. As you say, the knife could have been a plant, nothing you or I have seen is conclusive of anything but bad blood between the King and Queen and their children, which, thanks to your efforts, seems to be fading in at least one case. Without Bran's memory, we have nothing solid against the Lannisters."

"Solid or not, you should realize they are a threat." Brynden cautioned.

"True. Now, Brynden, my wife trusts you to aid us and I know you and trust your judgment. So tell us, what are we heading into in King's Landing? Do you have any idea why the Lannisters are stretching their muscles?"

"It isn't so much stretching their muscles as acting with muscles they already have. Robert is a fantastic general and was an excellent warrior," Brendan said calmly, "but as a king he is a figurehead, at best. I wouldn't say he's a horrible king. We've had worse, obviously, but he doesn't really rule."

Ned frowned sadly, while Ranma merely grunted, making a get on with it gesture. Brynden went on. "The real power is the Council. The King's Hand wields quite a bit of power but even he must answer to the Council. It will be imperative for us to discover where they all stand. Ser Barristan is on the council, but rarely speaks up, Renly is master of law, but spends as much time as he can get away with in the Reach. It is rumored he has a lover there but no one knows for certain. He can be counted on to promote the King's interest, but he isn't actually very learned in law. 'Tis rumored he is more a moderating influence than anything else but he also looks out for his own interests."

"And he's the one the King left as regent?" Ranma asked, addressing both the older men. "Is that why?"

Eddard frowned. "Renly was left as regent because Robert favors him over Stannis and trusts him. As regent, his power would be limited but I wonder what if anything he has made of Jon Arryn's death."

"I have no idea but there has been no news of any other upheaval since Lord Arryn's death." Brynden replied. "Stannis is master of Ships but his duties often have him away from the council, as well. With Stannis, it really is his duty. That man takes all his duties seriously and can be found in Dragonstone ruling there or with the fleet. A decent power base but not a political or monetary one, made worse by the fact that all know of the bad blood between Stannis and Robert. That bad blood was made worse, at least, according to rumor, by your opponent over him as Hand, Ned."

"I've heard from Maester Luwin in our studies that Renly was given Storm's End over the older brother but never what caused the bad blood between Stannis and Robert in the first place."

Eddard winced, knowing this wouldn't go over well. "For one, they are just simply too different in personality to get along. For another, Stannis led the assault that took Dragonstone from the Targaryen holdouts but failed to capture and kill the last two children of the Mad King, Viserys and Daenerys. Daenerys was born on the island."

"So he hates his brother for not killing two children of the family that wronged him. Lovely." Ranma growled.

"His hatred for all things Targaryen is indeed all consuming." Brynden quipped, trying to lighten the mood before going on. "Grand Maester Pyrcelle is the spokesmen of the Citadel but is known to be a political animal, almost as corrupt as the High Septon, which might mean he has been bought by Lannister gold."

"Okay, the High Septon is corrupt too? Oh, septa Mordane is not going to be pleased." Ranma didn't really like the septa much but he respected her power of faith and the fact she was devoted to her charges and said faith.

"I can't say I know the lady. Next is Petyr Baelish, Lord Arryn's appointment to master of coins. I… I have no idea about him, his loyalties these days, or how good he is at his job. It was a surprise appointment, though I believe Petyr is intelligent enough to do a good job. He… he will be on the watch for anything that can be used to his own advantage but I just can't say with any truth where that will take him or if he will aid us for loyalties sake. Oh, the Queen is known to take part of the council sessions, if informally. "

"So let me get this straight, the council is the power behind the throne. On said council, we've got two who are sometimes absent and possibly not on our side, one who is, at best, playing his own game, a Queen who has possibly bought another councilor who, again, is playing her own game, and a eunuch with pedophile tendencies who, a third time, is playing his own game. Needless to say, these games are for their own good, rather than the good of Westeros as a whole or us in particular. Ouch!" Ranma winced, remembering all too clearly Cersei's warning about the game of thrones.

He kept worrying at that problem and the growing suspicion that the Queen was in fact the most dangerous of their opponents, at least in the short term. On the outside, Ranma continued to listen intently as Brynden discussed what else he knew, which, alas, read more as a series of rumors than anything else. Why the Lannisters were stretching their muscles, he did not really know, though he had heard that Jon Arryn was looking into the King's bastards. That made Ned frown but that gave him a starting point. Brynden finished up with, "I have some contacts in King's Landing in the poor sections and the harbor, so I will be able to find out more when we get there."

Ranma groaned again, causing the two older men to chuckle darkly. None of them were looking forward to the end of their journey now but were willing to go on. The next day, Brynden joined the party.

From then on the journey became much more fun interesting for Ranma, with Brynden and Ranma getting to know one another. The old knight and Ned also took turns to begin testing Ranma's geographic knowledge at random. They made up military scenarios for him and Joffrey to solve. Robert too wanted to see his eldest son's military ability.

Robert soon let off on it, realizing that his son didn't show the aptitude for anything martial Ranma did. His beliefs were too unrealistic and too vainglorious. Joffrey fully believed that as crown prince he was unbeatable, and that conviction bled out into his view on strategy and anything else.

Ranma on the other hand was quick, always on the lookout for tricks to use to minimize his own casualties while smashing his enemies.

At Robert's behest Tommen joined these little lessons but didn't seem to take them as seriously as he should, which Robert put down to his age. Still and all, he was well pleased with how his youngest was turning out on this trip, glad to see at last one of his legitimate sons was acting almost like a son of his should, even if he still didn't look like him.

OOOOOOO

"He killed what!?" Lady Catelyn asked, her eyebrows rising in astonishment as she looked at young Meera Reed, who, along with her brother, had arrived with several carts, apparently carrying the skin and bones of a single lizard lion. "What in the world was he doing?"

"I know not why or even how he appeared, milady, but Ranma saved my life. That monster was close to finishing me off and it had killed several dozen hunters before me." Meera said, still kneeling in front of where Catelyn sat next to Bran in the main hall of Winterfell. Now that Bran was awake, there was no reason to continue to use the healing hall as the center of the keep's business so life had returned to more normal lines. The only real difference was that it was Bran sitting in the Lord's seat, rather than his father or older brother.

Jon looked up from reading the note from his brother, smiling faintly. "I hope that you are up to the challenge, Mikken? From what I hear lizard lion skin grows tougher as they age, something like this, it would be as good as plate mail."

"Aye, Jon, t'would, and would be as flexible as leather. Perfect fer your style or that of the lass and the rest of you wolf-sworn." Mikken was an older man, with a balding head and short cropped white beard. Still, his shoulders were broad and he was skilled in his craft, acting as both blacksmith and armorer. He was skilled enough to make Fang for Arya, Theon's ugly short sword, and Jon's short swords. None but Fang were true challenges but he was eager for the chance to work with such an exotic material as the lizard lion skin. He had been called into the hall when Meera arrived.

"In that case, when you have a good idea of what you want to do, tell me when you want me and I'll make time for fittings." Jon responded. Arya pulled on his sleeve from where she was leaning against the wall next to him behind the Lord's seat. He shook his head, motioning that she was still growing a point that caused her to nod agreement yet pout at the same time.

Sitting next to his mother, Bran ignored all this, trying hard not to look at Jojen, who was staring at him with wide eyes. Something in them worried Bran, as if Jojen represented something but he couldn't tell what. All he knew was that it had something to do with the odd dreams he had been having off and on. They were so confusing he didn't really like thinking about them but Jojen's stare was telling him that he might have to face them, and what they meant, in the near future.

"Arya, show Jojen and Meera to their rooms, they'll be staying with us for a time." Catelyn said, bringing Bran back to the here and now. Jojen looked as if he wanted to speak, but his sister hurried him out of the hall, seeing the Winterfell maester waiting along one wall with a raven message in hand. He kept looking at Bran as the two followed Arya out, trailed by Mikken, rubbing his hands excitedly.

Bran looked to his mother to see if he could be excused but she shook her head. "I realize you don't have much to contribute Bran but as the Stark of Winterfell, you must take part in these discussions." The young boy nodded glumly, reaching down to pat Summer's head where it lay in his lap.

Now that the Reeds and the blacksmith were gone, the group became much less formal, with Jon pulling chairs around to form a loose circle around the Lord's seat. In fact, they wouldn't have been formal in the first place if not for Meera being here to speak for her family. For that there were certain formalities that had to be addressed. Catelyn still was in charge, of course, and she proved this by speaking first, though the topic wasn't as serious as normal. "What does Ranma have to say, Jon?" Needless to say she had already read the message from her husband, which was more of a love letter than anything serious, mentioning offhand the fact that nothing untoward had occurred and that her children were getting on with the Baratheon children.

"Beyond giving us all our love and hoping that Bran has recovered by this point it says, and I quote, 'Traveling is slow. The King is a drunk, his eldest a stuck up ass, but the two youngsters are nice enough. Sansa is still acting lovestruck. I miss Winterfell already, oh, and I killed a lizard lion.'" Jon replied drolly, causing the people around him to laugh. "My brother has never been good at communicating via the written word but it does get the gist across. Unfortunately, I bet that any trouble will have happened after they left the Neck, so this note really doesn't tell us anything."

After that moment however the meeting turned to other things, with Maester Luwin relaying the messages that had arrived by raven. "Lord Mormont has sent word. Smalljon came ahead to the Wall after setting up the first group of smallfolk in the Gift. They have been set up in a single area and are building a holdfast, around which their community is going to be kept small, so that they can pull back into it at need. The farmers report that they can begin to plant right away but, of course, it will take time before they can harvest anything."

Luwin sighed, shaking his head. "Given the weather being colder here, I fear we may soon see a real winter, unless it is a false winter like years past of course. Even so, they might be able to get in a single harvest before autumn is declared. I would caution everyone to begin hoarding now."

"It will be a real winter." Bran and Jon said together. They looked at one another while around them their family and advisors all wondered about why the brothers both sounded so certain. Jon shook himself and smiled at the old maester. "Your advice is good and we have already informed the farmers of Stark lands to begin doing so."

Luwin nodded and went on. "Smalljon also said his party was attacked in the Gift by a large band of wildling raiders, a hundred strong. He sustained losses, as did the Norrey scouts, but they were able to get some information about the King Beyond the Wall from them. His name is Mance Ryder and Commander Mormont says he is a former Night's Watchman."

Jon and Ser Rodrick both winced. At the younger man's nod Rodrick elaborated, his voice gruff. "That will mean the wildlings will be better organized and led than they have been under other Kings. He may also know where the Wall's defenses are weakest and concentrate his assault. It may prove to be a very good thing that Lord Tyrion went with our forces, his knowledge of siege craft might be the decisive factor."

Catelyn scowled at the mention of the Lannister Imp, but Jon moved the discussion on quickly, seeing that Luwin was done. "The messenger I sent to the Wull clan came back. He reports that the Wull has no idea how the men got through their lands, and are willing to 'give us geld' to repay their dishonor. To that end he has promised 'full dross', a full whelming, of his men if we call on them." Jon still thought something or someone else had aided the ex-Bolton men, but wasn't willing to say it out loud nor could he prove it in this instance.

His report brought Catelyn out of her thoughts about the Lannisters and their plots. "That would be what, five hundred men?" Rodrick and Jon both nodded, that was about what they would estimate the Wulls or the Flints, the two most powerful clans, could put out. "I don't think we should call on them for the Wall, the mountain clans can't mobilize as fast as we can and they would be a burden on our foodstuffs the entire way North."

"I would recommend we send another messenger and ask the Wull, the clan chief, to come down and speak to us in person here, to tell him of the news further south, like we have the other Lords only a bit more. That way we can show we still have confidence in him and his clan, which may make them react even faster to our summons, if we do need them." Jon interjected.

That made sense and the conversation continued. Bran took part in the next topic, his eyes alight with eagerness. Since he had recovered, Bran had decided to mold his thoughts around a conversation he had with Ranma, about not needing to be a warrior, instead he would be a builder. He had taken over designing the necessary pulley systems to get barges down the waterfalls that broke up the White Knife, corresponding with one of Lord Manderly's surveyors to do the same thing in Manderly territory. He also was planning ahead for the days when the river would freeze and had devised ways to still use the waterway even so, with the barges fitted with huge runners.

Catelyn and Jon both smiled at the young boy's eagerness, hoping his plans worked half as well as he thought they would. Catelyn took over then, telling how the Glass Garden, a glass enclosed garden heated by the hot springs underneath Winterfell, was going to be expanded and turned over entirely to the growth of foodstuffs. With that, hunting, and careful rationing, Winterfell could feed itself and the small town around it even in the depths of winter. The plan had come from her and maester Luwin, as well as designs found in the library from days long past.

As the talk continued, Jon leaned back, letting the others dominate the discussion as he thought about other things. He thought about the White Walkers, those inhuman foes beyond the Wall. He thought of the wildlings and what it would take to make peace with them, if it was possible at all, because he knew that they and the White Walkers were going to be only two of many enemies that reared their heads soon. On the heels of that thought, Jon wondered what was really going on down South. He wondered about Sansa, his father, and brother and what they might be facing, what the future had in store for them all. Then he vowed once more to himself, that come what may, when they returned, and he was certain they would return, Ranma would see to that, that the North would still be here. Winterfell would still be here, their family would still be here to welcome them home, strong as ever. For though we are far apart, like a pack of wolves, we are together still…

OOOOOOO

The rest of the journey to King's Landing passed swiftly without any more additions to the party or changes to the daily routine. Robert now insisted that Ranma and Tommen travel with him at the front of the cavalcade, which angered the Queen, who didn't like her baby boy being out of sight like that but Robert put his foot down sharply. He continued to try in his ham-handed way to reach out to the boy, not really doing anything with him but regaling him with tales of his own early life and including him in the 'discussions' that Eddard and Brynden tossed Ranma's way about geography and warfare.

Ranma enjoyed himself during what amounted to tactics and strategy classes given by three of the best. Say what you would about his personality, Robert was a very good general and his problems, despite not being as varied as Ned's or Brynden's, were built around real life questions. He always wanted Ranma and Tommen to do better than the reality had been in those battles of his youth or ancient history, even with him or the others in their party, including Jaime at times, taking over the opposing side. He treated it like a game, but his eyes were shrewd as he watched Ranma and his youngest son, most particularly Joffrey on those few occasions the boy would make an appearance. Of course, Ranma took to this like any other kind of combat and he learned just as much about the King and Jaime as they learned about the way he said he would do things.

The questions that Brynden asked the 'kids' were in particular very tough, with most of them covering small unit tactics. Small unit tactics, along with skirmish actions of all sorts and battles in hard terrain, were the Blackfish's specialty. After the first such question, Brynden always made a point of saying that Ranma couldn't just power his way through them by himself, which had been Ranma's answer. When he tried to bring the boy to task he was surprised that Ned backed his son up, stating quietly that he could do that.

That night, the two Stark men filled their kinsmen in on some of Ranma's abilities, though not all of them, since Ranma had gone to some lengths to hide many of them from everyone, even Jon and his father. For example, his new ki armor technique would come as a severe shock to anyone as would the ability to project his ki as various weapons and into his own weapons to make them deadlier.

They didn't give Brynden any kind of explanation for where he got his abilities but the Tully knight seemed to take that in stride. His loyalty was to his family and to his personal honor. So long as Ranma was both family and did nothing to dishonor the family then Brynden would have no problem with them.

While Ranma and his father took these conversations seriously, regardless of how it was treated by everyone else, Tommen simply thought it was a fun kind of game and, while he learned, he in no way took it seriously. Still, it was telling that his strategies were never as… removed from reality as Joffrey's answers remained. Tommen cared for his troops and smallfolk and all his answers tried to protect those two groups. He rarely won because of this but at least his questions didn't drive Robert to yell at him as he often yelled at Joffrey for his irrational belief in his own infallibility.

Speaking of Joffrey he had, thankfully in Ranma's opinion, backed off from his enmity for Ranma. He was actually acting quite nicely these days to everyone, not just around his parents or those of equal stature, unfortunately solidifying Sansa's 'love' for him. Ranma still didn't trust him. His eyes never matched his new attitude and Ranma caught him sometimes, when Joffrey thought he was unobserved, glaring at Ranma as well as Fenris. Still, he didn't seem prepared to push things any longer.

In reality, Joffrey was playing the waiting game and was willing to spend most of his time in the carriage, where he could feel Myrcella watching his every move, something he despised but could do nothing about. Myrcella ignored his attempts to hurt her under the guise of 'stretching' and kicking her, or punching her when Sansa and the other's were not watching. The one time he had tried to do the same to Tommen when he joined them at Cersei's demand, she pushed him, spoiling his aim. The girl had gained courage somehow, though Joffrey had no idea where it came from.

Still, they were nearing King's Landing, near the place of power for him and the other Lannisters, a battleground where he had all the advantages, as well as the backing of several powerful figures. Once there, he could find ways of causing trouble for the young Stark, without it being traced back to him. He, Myrcella, Tommen, and several others were still Joffrey's targets, but he could wait. If there was one thing this trip had taught him, it was to hide his true feelings. He owed that's to his mother turning on him so suddenly about the direwolf issue so many weeks back, though she was still his staunchest supporter, thankfully.

He even understood what she was saying about wanting to wait but felt his mother was wrong. Cersei didn't want to make Ranma an enemy of her family unless she absolutely had to. She hoped to hide certain truths from the Starks and thus keep from open conflict, where Ranma's abilities, those she could see, scared her. She was astonished they didn't scare Jaime or any of the others but still believed that the boy was a threat they should do their best not to face openly.

Joffrey knew that they were already enemies. He did not know the terrible truth that Cersei was hiding, that neither he nor his siblings were in fact the King's children. He was simply looking out for himself. A king could not survive, in his opinion, if there was someone nearby who burned brighter than him, who was more important, more powerful, than the king. Ranma, by his very nature, gathered to him the attention that should've been Joffrey's, something he could not allow.

While the Queen knew Eddard and Brynden were the true threats to her plans (and her life, future, and everything else), Joffrey was single-mindedly focused on Ranma and the effect he was having on those around him, particularly his siblings. The elder Stark, Joffrey could care less about, feeling the adults would handle the adults.

Ranma knew nothing about his enemy's thoughts or that he had gained an enemy for life rather than an egotistical boy's ire. As they started on the last day of their journey, Ranma exited the tent he shared with his great uncle and father to see King's Landing, visible in the distance. It sat in the land like a squat, spiked hill with three tops.

About an hour after the party set off, Ranma and the others could see a band of mounted men coming down the road toward them. They had seen traffic for much of their journey going in both directions but normally the scouts were easily up to 'convincing' the rest of the traffic to make way. This time, Ranma could see that they allowed this group through.

About twenty minutes later, the group had come within hailing distance. The man in the lead, who wore a suit of enameled green armor and a helmet with a pair of golden antlers, raised a hand in greeting, shouting aloud. "Hail, brother. I see you have escaped the cold of the North without any trouble and brought back your prize is well! Hello Ned, how are you?" The man speaking was Renly Baratheon, Robert's youngest brother.

Ned shook his head, bemused as usual by the way Renly tried to be so friendly to everyone around him. The two of them had met many times, but Ned had never been friends with the younger Baratheon. Eddard was closer in temperament to Stannis than Renly, but at least he felt that Renly was loyal to Robert, which was enough.

As they got closer, Ranma could make out more of his features. Renly was a handsome man with neatly combed black hair falling to his shoulders and light blue eyes. His body was trim, yet not muscular, and his face clean shaven, much like Ranma's own.

When they were within touching distance, the two brothers leaned over their mounts to clasp arms. Renly looked down at where Ranma was standing between the King and the horse carrying the littlest prince. He wondered why it was Tommen up here rather than Joffrey, though any of the three being near Robert was a surprise. "And who is the boy? Surely, you don't need help to get off of your horse, Robert…" he paused, as Fenris loped up from the rest of the party, coming to a stop beside Ranma with his tongue lolling out a little. Now nearly the size of a small pony, the direwolf looked simply monstrous in comparison to most wolves or dogs, a fact that caused many of the knights behind Renly to grab their swords in shock.

At his brother's gob smacked expression, Robert laughed, waving one hand expansively at the wolf and Ranma. "This is Ranma Stark, Ned's oldest boy, and that is his pet, Fenris. Large, isn't it? Still the boy's got it well-trained, never saw the like."

One of the knights laughed quietly. He was an exceptionally handsome young man with long, flowing brown hair framing a face without blemish or mark, dominated by golden eyes. His armor had what looked like jeweled flowers on it at points.

The carriage had come up as the party stopped and spread out. Within, Sansa and Jeyne began to talk excitedly to one another as they stared with blushing faces at Ser Loras Tyrell, the Knight of Flowers, a living legend thanks to his beauty and gallantry.

Loras flashed the carriage a bright smile and a bow, causing the girls inside to nearly swoon, but he had already turned back to Ranma. "So you're the one who might be marrying my sweet sister? I don't know whether to congratulate you, warn you if you hurt her I'll kill you, or commiserate with you. Do not get me wrong. Margaery is a great beauty and very intelligent but she abhors the very idea of cold, having never actually felt it in her life. She was not well pleased to hear that she might be marrying you and thus be forced to move to Winterfell."

Ranma turned to him from looking up at Renly with one eyebrow raised but his glance sharpened on the other young man. "You must be the Rose Knight I've heard so many songs and stories about, most of them from the two blushing maidens in the carriage, admittedly." Ranma bowed slightly but didn't remove his eyes from the man. The stories were equally split in talking about the Tyrell knight's handsomeness and his deadliness with the blade or lance. Despite how he looked, this man held himself like a knight, and was much more dangerous than he appeared.

Loras, too, looked down at Ranma, his gaze changing from humorous to searching. The two of them began to talk, mostly commiserating about sisters much to Sansa's chagrin. This was a cover for analyzing each other as young men who were certain in their strength often did with one another.

After only about ten minute's observation, Ranma formed a positive opinion of Loras. Underneath his handsome good looks there was a blade, waiting and ready. He was almost like Jaime in terms of skill but nowhere near as cocksure or blind as the older man.

On the other hand, in Ranma's opinion Renly was simply a good-looking man who was well spoken, but Ranma felt he cared a bit too much about appearances and seeming. Charismatic certainly, but soft. He had dismissed Ranma after that first gaping glance at Fenris, which was rather stupid. He seemed much more interested in the fact that Tommen was up here and that Robert seemed to be almost friendly to the boy.

Loras was different from Jaime however in one, much bigger factor. He hadn't crossed blades with Ranma, yet, and so was forming of his opinion of him through his words and his manner. No tales except for one bard song had reached this far south of the Young Wolf but even observing Ranma for a few moments, Loras could tell that he was something special. Every movement seemed controlled, every racing step certain and sure as he jogged along with the horses when the party began to move on with the knights of Reach accompanying Renly added to the cavalcade.

"Tell me," he said casually, looking at the boy as he raced along with his warhammer on his back (due to an incident with Tommen trying to lift the thing and hurting himself, which nearly gave the queen ammunition to cancel his lessons), "are you planning to enter the tournament?"

"What tournament?"

"Robert loves tourneys as much as he loves hunting and other things." Loras replied smiling faintly. "He is bound to want to hold a tourney to celebrate your father's appointment as his Hand."

Ranma looked up at him on his horse and the two men shared calculating glances. "And are you entering this tournament?"

"I would be proud to enter and win glory for my family." The handsome Tyrell knight said smiling faintly. "And the women do love it so when I win and share my roses with the crowd."

The younger man nodded his head with a smile. "In that case, I will make certain to enter. It will be fascinating to cross swords with you."

"The words you spoke are mine as well." Loras responded with his own smile. The conversation turned once again to other things, the differences between the Reach and the Riverlands, the number of tourneys that Loras had entered before. In turn, Ranma mentioned what had been happening in his life, giving a little more detail about the Bolton incident than he normally would, as well as the run in the wolf-sworn had with Wildlings.

While this conversation was going on, a much more guarded conversation was going on nearby between Ned, Renly, and Robert. "So, has anything happened while you were acting as regent for the King?" Ned was trolling for information here, trying to see if anyone had taken advantage of the King's absence to push their own agendas. He still hadn't really come to grips with how hands-off Robert was as King. Anyone could push their own agendas while he was there, save for the most… obvious machinations.

"Nothing much." Renly replied, smiling faintly, his face and voice giving nothing away. "My brother, Stannis, once more retreated to Dragonstone a few days gone, much like he had when you 'slighted' him by not choosing him as your Hand. Robert grunted irritably at the memory of their brother's anger at this supposed slight, though his lips twitched at the droll emphasis Renly put on the word. "Although he had returned to the city a few weeks after you left, Robert. Some kind of business he was conducting here, I know not what. Just that he spent a lot of time down by the docks, so I assume it had to do with the fleet in some manner."

That news interested Ned somewhat, as he wondered what Stannis was up to but didn't help him much. "Anything else happen?"

"No nothing else, save the normal humdrum business of the kingdom running itself. Though I am afraid you will have little time to get used to the workload when we formally install you as Hand, Ned. I imagine you will, alas, find a lot of paperwork left over from Jon's sudden demise."

Though Renly said it in a flippant manner, this line brought attention to Jon Arryn's death, which was what Ned had been angling the conversation towards. With that line of thought, Ned responded quickly, yet casually, remembering Brynden's warnings to keep his thoughts close. "I am afraid you are right about that. Paperwork is one of the world's uncomfortable certainties. Just so I am prepared as I can be, do you have any idea what he was working on before he died? Any new taxes or anything like that?"

"Not at all." Renly replied, chuckling. "I was not in the city at the time. I was in the Reach conducting business there."

"Business between the sheets!" Robert guffawed. "You may be subtle about it, brother, but everyone knows you have a lover somewhere in Highgarden! We all thought it was Margaery Tyrell, but since Cat was able to convince that old ass Mace to see about a marriage between her and Ranma, I've been wondering who it is that's caught your eye enough to keep you traipsing back to Highgarden every chance you get!"

Renly chuckled and waved the question off, his entire body giving the impression he couldn't be bothered to answer the question. Ned sensed this was a new twist on an old topic of conversation for the two. Renly turned back to Ned and said formally. "I have no idea what Jon was working on. His sudden demise was unexpected and quick but he was an old man after all."

This gave Eddard no clue whatsoever about what Renly was thinking, though his apparent friendship with Robert was a mark in his favor. Ned really had no belief that the man was plotting against his brother. But, whether or not Renly was not sharing information about Jon's death because he didn't have any or because he was afraid to share it, was more than Eddard could say.

Ned wondered how to once more bring the conversation around to this topic but Robert quickly grabbed the reigns of the conversation. "Never mind that, we must have a tournament! I want to start to plan for it the moment we can, to celebrate Ned becoming my Hand! I bet that son of yours is going to join up the moment he can. He's been chomping at the bit for something physical to do this entire journey!"

"Though I will say," Robert laughed, looking over at Tommen, "he's had a good effect on the kids or, at least ,two of the three." He guffawed again, but this time the sound was sharper, less humorous, and more biting. "Some brats you just can't teach, apparently."

Renly raised an eyebrow and nodded cordially at the younger boy who smiled back at his uncle rather wanly, since Renly had never used his considerable charm to get close to the boy or any of the trio of children, really, seeing them more as pawns in the great game than family. The fact that Robert was being so affable towards one of his sons was beyond astonishing to Renly. Still, he took it in stride for now.

Around him Brynden looked at the rest of the party shrewdly, paying particular attention to where Jamie was talking quietly to the leader of the Gold Cloaks, the King's Landing City Watch, Janos Slynt. It seemed that the Kingslayer had his own man to talk to about what had been going on in their absence. He wondered where that man stood and decided that he would assume Slynt was a Lannister supporter from now on until proven otherwise.

He tried to sidle his horse backwards through the still moving cavalcade but the men noticed him coming and the conversation halted. Brynden stopped moving his horse in that direction, leaning downward as if he had thought his bridle was loose to cover the motion. Ranma looked back at him before responding to his father order to once again get up onto his horse.

By now, they were closer to the city and Ranma could make out more features, especially against the backdrop of the ocean. The sprawling size of it for one thing was astonishing to him in comparison to the only other city he had seen in this reality, White Harbor. The walls were not as impressive and there seemed to be shanty towns built right up beside the walls on all the sides he could see and he could tell even from here that houses were built right up next to them on the inside, whereas in White Harbor, the wall was surrounded by an area given over to defense, in the form of barracks training areas and rally points. Rising out of the sprawl of the main city were three hills, upon which sat two castles and some ruins, a dome collapsed in a way that was visible from here.

Soon he could tell something else. Fenris noticed it first, followed promptly by Lady, where she was running alongside the carriage carrying her mistress. Both direwolves whined and snuffled, wrinkling their noises as if in disgust. Fenris whined, looking up at his bonded, who shook his head, smells not coming over their link as well as other senses. A few hours passed and Ranma no longer needed to try to figure out what his bonded wolf was smelling. "By the old gods, what the hell!"

The southerners all laughed at him and the other Northerners who had never been to King's Landing before. The city might be the largest city in Westeros but it was also the most squalid, and above all, smelly. It reeked of refuse, excrement, and innumerable other horrible smells. Perfume wasn't a affectation here. The Queen had long ago learned to liberally dab it on to combat the smell of the city.

Ranma had no such defense and he nearly reeled in the saddle, as did many of the other Northmen. Yet they gamely continued on, slowly becoming acclimatizing to it. He even chuckled a little shaking his head as he looked ahead at the city, remembering a line from a movie he had loved the few times he had been able to escape his fiancées to see it in the theaters. "Kings Landing, you'll never find a greater hive of scum and villainy. We must be cautious."

Loras heard him and laughed aloud, bringing some attention from the others in their party, but he waved them off chuckling a little. "Truer words were never spoken, young Stark. You must indeed be cautious here."

Not an hour later, they were at the city, the horns blaring the Kings return, the gates to the city, always open for traffic which never truly stopped, now lined with Gold Cloaks to keep the crowds back, two lines of them heading deeper into the city. It was as they were passing underneath the walls that Ranma began to feel that his life was once more going to change and possibly for the worst.

End chapter

OH HOLY HELL, I am glad the whole moving from place to place thing is done now. The plot can start to move forward!

It is… unclear if Robert knew in the books about Renly being gay. It might be an 'open' secret, but hell, he missed the fact not one of his 'legitimate' children were his, when none of them had anything of his features so… yeah.

That last bit about Jon and the others at Winterfell was meant as sort of a stopping point for their story, as well as introducing the changes that are going on there. Changes will continue there as outlined but I won't be walking you, dear readers, through them. That will let me concentrate on what goes on at the Wall – Smalljon, Daryn, Jeor, Benjen, and, for those of you who are waiting for him, Tyrion, who will be in the next chapter. I will be flipping between them, Ranma, and Daenerys for now, mainly because I like to mix action with everything else.

Thank you for reading and as always please review.

*Chapter 5*: Chapter 5

I don't own Ranma or ASoIaF. For the first, I would have made it somewhat more realistic, and for the other, well, just check my update speed man. Heh.

In other news: Russia creating its own internet? Um, I know I've got two Russian fans for my Harry Marvel cross, so I hope this doesn't happen. I think Putin is off his meds, I just hope no one who reads my stories is affected by his imperialist ambitions.

I would like to thank my beta Jessolt for his aid, without him, this chapter would not be at the writing level it is now.

Chapter 5 A Straight Line in the Land of Zigzags, a Mountain's Fall

Theon stood somewhat more nervously than normal in front of Lord Manderly in the Merman's Court, the feast hall of New Castle. This feast hall was unique because instead of being simple stone rock with a smattering of banners, tapestries, and trophies its walls, floor, and ceiling were covered with wooden planks fitted together with care then decorated with paintings of all the creatures of the sea on a light blue/green background.

The hall had nothing to with why Theon was nervous. That was because this was the first time he had been here without Ranma and he knew that, despite his appearance, Wyman Manderly was one of the more dangerous lords of the North. Not personally, Wyman was so fat he couldn't ride a horse and at about sixty-five years old, he was one of the three oldest lords in the North. People even made fun of him, calling him the Fat Lamprey, or Ser-Too-Fat-To-Ride-A-Horse, yet for all his outward appearance, Wyman was incredibly intelligent, shrewd, and subtle.

White Harbor also gave House Manderly a position of strength that no other house in the North could match. The silver mines that they controlled plus the trade going up the White Knife and out to sea from it made them the richest house in the North as well. Only Winterfell, mainly because of their relatively new position as breadbasket of the North, could come close to matching that. Above all that, he and his House was known to be loyal to House Stark.

Wyman looked at Theon with shrewd eyes, smirking a little. "This appointment of yours from Lady Catelyn and young Jon, excuse me, young Bran, is rather openhanded, advisor to the fleet? What exactly does that mean?"

"It means, Ser, that Bran and Lady Catelyn were afraid that because you don't have anyone who is truly learned about ship to ship combat that you would need my expertise. Not, I hasten to add, that your men don't fight well but I know for a fact that you take more casualties at sea against pirates then you really need to…" His voice trailed off looking at the Lord.

Wyman guffawed, slapping his hands on his knees. "True enough, I suppose. My experienced men are spread throughout the fleet now. It's grown in the past few years, which you already know." Indeed, seven new galleons had been created in the past two years and five more before that, giving house Manderly forty ships in total, though most were trade carracks rather than war galleys. Only fifteen were war galleys but more were being laid down even now and the others weren't totally helpless. But Theon was right, in terms of naval warfare they were kind of feeling their way into it.

No one in the Manderly fleet had been part of suppressing the Iron Born Rebellion or the War of the Nine Penny Kings and, despite the nature of seafaring, sailors from the different realms of Westeros tended to keep to their own even in foreign ports. So Wyman had been unable to bring in any experts worth the money on ship to ship combat, let alone how best to organize defended convoys. Still, there were few enough pirates who plied their trade this far north, where storms were severe, ice in the rigging was normal nearly every night, and frostbite was a constant danger to your crew. However, the nature of the supplies heading to Eastwatch-by the sea; foodstuffs, men, women who were going to enlarge the small village/port there, and weapons might make some of the greedier of them overcome their dislike of the conditions.

"Very well, I'll send you out on one of the war galleys with the first shipments to go up to the Wall. Until then, lad, my city is yours. I have no doubt you'll enjoy yourself!" The Lord dismissed Theon with a wave and a laugh, turning to the next supplicant. As Lord of White Harbor, Lord Manderly was constantly called upon to adjudicate matters of law, hence why the Merman's Court was open to the public.

As soon as he had exited the hall, however, one of the castle's servants joined the younger man, moving in the same direction. Around the bend in the corridor, the man leaned toward Theon, whispering quickly. "Lord Manderly will send a servant to your room this evening to get you. He has something he wishes to talk to you about without so many eyes around."

Theon nodded imperceptibly and moved on, shaking his head slightly at the way the Pufferfish, as Lord Stark called him, acted at times. That evening, he was promptly taken from his room (and a willing wench) and then escorted to Wyman's personal apartment.

Inside he found Wyman, his two eldest sons, Wendel and Wylis, and the servant who had brought him. "Come in, Theon." the fat lord said, no boisterousness in his manner, only seriousness. Gone was the smile, the gleam of humor in his eyes. In their place was a hard look and bright, searching eyes.

Theon did so, sitting across from the man at the table in the center of the room, a heavy thing of oak with massive feet. Wyman was so fat he couldn't even lift himself to sit upright, so he reclined on a specially made chair across from his guest, while his sons sat in normal chairs on either side. The man waited until Theon was sitting down, then began without any preamble. "Tell me what you know about this King Beyond the Wall, as well as what you boys really ran into on your jaunt up there. The truth, all of it. Lord Stark sent a letter, in cipher of all things, to me saying that there was more going on, far more than anything you wanted to report about, and I applaud that. But I need to know where the real threat is going to be coming from; to better lay my own response."

"Both sides, Sir." Theon answered promptly. "Something is happening down south, we're still not certain what, but whatever it is, it has to do with the Lannisters. That's all we know, though why, or even if there are factions among them or we don't know. It's almost certain some threats will come from that area. All of us at Winterfell are sure of that. We hope that Lord Stark and Ranma can stave it off for now but that's the real reason why Lord Stark didn't ask you, House Glover, House Flint of Flint's Finger, House Locke, House Dustin, or House Ryswell to send troops north. We might need them elsewhere."

This was actually something he and Jon had talked about the evening before he left. It was a rather cordial conversation between the two, one of very few they had had over the years but they had agreed about this point. Catelyn's presence had much to do with that, though Theon would never admit the wolf mother scared him these days whenever they talked about anything that could pose a danger to her children. They had decided that if he was asked, Theon was to share everything.

He didn't mention House Reed, which had little manpower to begin with and less to spare given the need to defend Moat Cailin, though mentioning House Dustin was rather beside the point as well. Oh, their minor Houses were still strong, but Dustin itself had only Lady Barbrey Dustin, who had refused for years to remarry or designate an heir. That stance had lost the House a lot of strength, though her relationship to Lord Ryswell meant the House was still considered a noble one. It would recover in time, but right now it simply wasn't worthy of consideration.

"In terms of the danger behind the Wall, that is a little harder to explain…" From there on Theon went into detail on the ambush the wolf-sworn had sprung, their injuries afterwards, and most particularly the giants they had met, which Jon had said couldn't possibly be real giants because they were too large, even for the frost giants of legend. The nature of that struggle brought all three Manderly's upright quickly, even the Lord pushing himself up with difficulty to stare at Theon.

After he stopped speaking, the trio was silent for a time before Wyman spoke. "That's quite a tale and I wouldn't believe it for an instant if you didn't have so many witnesses. Younger Hathan was silent about the battle, on orders from Ranma no doubt. Still, it tells me that I do need to prepare for both." He looked over at his two sons. "Start filling the armory and see to the defenses of the city. I want White Harbor as strong as we can make it. After that, give me a round number of men we could pull out and still retain a force strong enough to defend the harbor and the city itself. We might need to send that south."

"I would say that any such talk is premature." Theon hastened to interject. "I know for a fact that Ranma and Lord Stark will be looking for other solutions. They both think the danger on the other side of the Wall is much more important."

"Of course, of course" Wyman said nodding his head, "and I believe it too, but if these ghouls can get around the Wall somehow, then we must be prepared to fight them elsewhere just in case. As such, a quick reaction force might be necessary, certainly for our lands at the very least. I will send word to the Lockes, to the Woolfield, and to the Flints of Widow's Watch. The Flints sent up a party to the Wall along with House Karstark, so they might not have men to spare, but they can at least step up patrols of their lands.

Theon nodded and, knowing he was dismissed, moved off to the doorway. As soon as the door was closed, Wylis turned to his father with one eyebrow raised. "You didn't tell him about your plans with Lord Stark, father?"

"I haven't told anyone my plans with Lord Stark, yet." He smirked a little. "Ned might act the stiff-necked honorable man but that doesn't mean he's stupid. Ned's trusting us to provide him with an exit, if need be, so it behooves us to do the job properly, doesn't it?"

Both his sons nodded fervent agreement to that and they began to discuss captains they could use for this serious task.

OOOOOOO

The King's party passed through the city's outer wall using its main gate and were immediately inundated by waves of noise, made worse by being confined in the city by the high walls. The route through the city up to the Red Keep, which could be now seen slightly better without the intervening wall in the way, was lined with Gold Cloaks every few yards. These men, whose purpose was to provide order in the city, were now keeping the crowds back. Ranma rode next to his father, who rode next to Robert while Renly was on his other side. The carriage was directly behind him, while Loras was on Ranma's other side.

The Knight of Flowers waved grandly at the crowd, causing some of the smallfolk to cheer, most particularly the womenfolk. Most of the crowds, however, seemed rather indifferent to the return of their King. Most of the noise was simply the hustle and bustle of the city.

Ranma grimaced, the smell of the city seriously getting to him. At first, he thought that maybe it was his connection with Fenris. The direwolf was becoming more and more disturbed by the smell coupled with the noise but Ranma couldn't close his connection to Fenris as he needed it to control the direwolf, less he go berserk. That was the last thing they needed right now. Fenris growled, one side of his lip curling back, but understood his human didn't want him to attack any of these noisy two-legs. However, the noise from the two-legs coupled with the smell of this two-leg place was bothering him tremendously.

It was bothering Lady as well. However, she was still small enough to fit inside one of the carts and had done so. Choosing her target with care, Lady hid her nose among the ladies' laundry while the two carters laughed.

Truth be told, the smell was bothering Ranma just as much because it was a symptom of other things as well as being damn irritating. Before this, White Harbor was the only city that Ranma had been to in this world. It was clean, organized, and not nearly as crowded as this. Lord 'Pufferfish' controlled the city with an iron grip, and the shrewd man had firm ideas of sanitation, cleanliness, and organization; all of which helped in the defense of the city. It hadn't been so very long ago, after all, that the city had been under attack by pirates and no one in the North was liable to forget anything like that.

The North remembers, but it looks as if the Southerners never learned in the first place. He was broken out of his morose thoughts for a second as Loras reached over the space separating their horses to swat him in the arm. "Ranma, that face is not doing you any favors with the ladies. Smile, we're past the outer edge now and into the city proper."

Loras waved his hand, indicating the somewhat larger houses which were much better kept up, though not nearly as clean as similar houses in White Harbor. Then again, there wasn't any snow on the ground so maybe it was a trade-off. The crowds pushed to the side of the road were much better garbed as well and, whereas before the cheering had been sporadic, far more people here were cheering. It was a rather subdued kind of cheer but they were generally happy to see their King and his family returned out of the hinterlands safely. Ranma did notice one or two clumps of older people who, rather than cheering, stared at the men in Lannister colors with fearful eyes.

Ranma shook his head however. "You see the smiling ladies in the cheering, Ser Loras. I see the squalor, the stink, and the flaws." It made Ranma wonder if he could introduce the idea of sewers into Westeros. White Harbor didn't particularly need it, having already had rain channels on the roofs and roadsides constructed in such a way as to help with snow melt, and also strict waste disposal laws with truly draconian penalties, but this place desperately needed a sewage system. He continued to muse about that, wondering what kind of sewage system Westeros could make with its current technology (it wasn't as if Ranma was an expert after all) as the party continued toward the Red Keep.

The road meandered through the city up onto one of the hills that dominated its landscape. This one was the largest, dominated by a keep made of pale red stone. As they grew closer, Ranma could make out seven large towers at points along its outer wall, which, despite being in the center of the city, still had crenellations and buttresses for archers and were very businesslike.

Despite its martial appearance, Ranma was struck by the fact that it was actually more than a bit smaller than Winterfell. Probably more people lived here year round but he doubted that it was as self-sufficient as his home. An invading army would starve itself in the North before taking Winterfell by siege. That thought gave Ranma a sense of pride as they passed underneath the large bronze gates. Those were definitely for show but Ranma could see a second inner gate that wasn't. The bronze gates were probably replaced with steel and wooden doors in times of war, anyway.

They entered a large cobbled square, the edges of which were lined with servants and keep residents, which were bowing to the King as he came forward on his horse. Robert laughed, waving one hand grandly around them. "Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home! Welcome to the Red Keep, Ned. I hope you and your lad enjoy it here more than I do, if truth be told!" Eddard nodded noncommittally, looking around at the servants and the keep.

After that, everyone became busy with unloading. The men-at-arms retrieved their items and went off to their various barracks. Ned sent his men ahead to the Tower of the Hand, which was a large tower set to the side of Maegor's Holdfast, the main fortress of the keep, itself surrounded by a moat and an outer wall. The Hand's tower contained a small barracks that Ser Jory and the men-at-arms from Winterfell would inhabit. There were other barracks in the Keep, one in the Holdfast, one in the White Guard Tower which was home to the Kingsguard, and a larger barracks set along the outer walls of the Keep. Going by the colors of the men arrayed in front of it, that one had been partially taken over by Lannister men.

Even here, the smell of the city still permeated enough to bother Ranma. Ranma quickly helped Tommen down from the horse and then grabbed Fenris by the scruff of his neck. With that firm grip in hand, he moved over towards the children as they exited the carriage, hearing Lady whine a little from her hiding place.

He smirked as he saw Sansa trying not to wrinkle her nose. "Dear sister," said Ranma grandly, "if I had known that the smell was what you wanted to experience most of all of civilization, I could have introduced you to a pigsty."

His sister glared at him but refrained from responding. The two of them had not been on the best of terms since Sansa had taken her fiancé's side over Fenris, since she had refused to apologize for it. They were polite and didn't ignore one another but the closeness that had characterized their relationship was gone now.

Cersei on the other hand merely smiled faintly. "It is the one aspect of the city that I loathe." she confided. "I normally have to put on twice as much perfume just to keep it away from my own sense." She deliberately tossed her head slightly so that the smell of her hair hit Ranma and he shook his head groaning internally as he backed up slightly.

She still tended to do little things to get a rise out of the young Stark, simply because she knew they did get to him somewhat, and she had enjoyed it as well as using her sexuality as a tool to try to control him. The latter might've failed but it was still fun, something the Queen didn't want to give up, strangely. "If you wish I can give you the street and name of the merchant who sells the perfume my daughter and I use."

Myrcella giggled a little at the thought, while Tommen, who had long been used to the smell, simply sniffed the air trying to decide if he liked being back home or not. Ranma simply agreed that it would be a good idea, then, with Sansa sticking to the royal ladies like glue, went over to retrieve Lady. The direwolf whined, but Ranma forcibly lifted the female direwolf in his arms, setting her down. He grabbed her by the scruff of her neck before quickly doing the same to Fenris, who looked ready to bolt for the little bit of wood they could see in the Keep.

After that, Ranma's father called for him and Ranma moved over in that direction pulling both direwolves along. Eddard smiled at that, looking down at Fenris, who was looking a little wild-eyed, his teeth barred. "I assume the smell is getting to him?"

"The smell, the noise, and everything else is getting to them both, though I'm only bothered by the smell, father." Ranma answered shaking his head. "If this is civilization, they can keep it."

Eddard smiled slightly even as Ranma's thoughts idly went back to trying to figure out a way to lay down a sewer system. He knew in general terms how they worked but he had never actually seen a plan for them or paid close attention to those he had encountered.

"There is to be a formal ball this evening." Ned replied, shaking his head. "Find someplace where Fenris and Lady will be comfortable without you there holding onto them. We don't want any trouble from that quarter."

"Agreed, I'll lock them in my room for now. Fenris won't like it but he'll understand the necessity. The Queen told me of a place where I can buy some perfumes in the city. It might make the two uncomfortable but spraying a bit on their noses every day might keep the smell of the city from bothering them and, so long as I leave him here in the keep, the noise shouldn't irritate either one. Though, I might decide to just leave Fenris in the godswood.

Ned shook his head at his son's belief in his bonded wolf's intelligence but given the alternatives, Fenris would indeed understand somewhat. They could see the godswood from where they were walking, overlooking the river at the back of the keep. The godswood looked to be about four acres, with elms, alders and black cottonwood trees, quite unlike the woods at home which were pine, oak and other, tougher trees.

The river, the Blackwater Rush, was one of the rivers that ran through the Riverlands to give that land its name. The Blackwater's mouth, where it fed into Blackwater Bay, contributed to making Kings Landing a decent port.

"So long as you warn Fenris not to eat anyone he comes across, I don't see a problem with that. Hopefully the trees' smells will overwhelm the smell wafting up from the city." Ned said half seriously. He wondered idly how large Fenris would be once he stopped growing and had the disturbing premonition that he really didn't want to know. "I trust you can find something formal to wear?"

"Plate armor and cloak, got it." Ranma quipped and Ned shook his head with a faint smile which was his public way of laughing. The two of them continued on into the Tower of the Hand and up the stairs, past where their men were setting up in the barracks on the first floor.

The second floor was servants' quarters, which were admittedly much nicer quarters than the equivalent in Winterfell. Though the windows were a bit too large to be arrow slits and neither man liked seeing them only on the second story.

The third floor had what looked like a hall, much smaller than the one back in Winterfell. It was a private audience chamber, which was rather cozy, with heavy rugs and wall hangings with a single large round window letting in the sunlight to illuminate it. There were candles in the corners for when the sun set.

The next level was the workspaces, two desks for secretaries situated in one large area that dominated the floor, outside a single room with a closed door.

Ranma paused a moment, pointing at the door with his chin, since his hands were still occupied by the two direwolves. "I assume that's your new office?"

"I imagine so, yes," Ned replied dryly shaking his head. "One of the servants probably has the key. Ser Jory will ask around for us, but at the moment all I wish is to put my feet up and have some quiet time to myself."

"I can definitely understand that." Ranma said nodding his head, before he pulled at his shirt for a moment shaking his head with a chuckle. "I'll have to find some local clothing though, the heat down here is irritating." Ned nodded, watching his son head to the stairs leading further up before turning to look at the office door thoughtfully.

The younger Stark preceded his father up to the level where the private quarters of the Hand and his family began, with several large windows letting light into the various rooms. The stairs ending in a sitting area around which were several doors leading to private quarters. A smaller staircase continued to the next floor, presumably used for storage or guest rooms.

Ranma sat in one of the chairs, grunting in pleasure as its padding shifted under him. It was big, soft, and comfortable something, he had to admit, few chairs in Winterfell could boast. The people of the North had no time for such things really, although it was getting better thanks to his mother's and his own suggestions. Those soft chairs that were there were, of course, in the women's quarters, his sisters' and his mother's.

Ranma sat in silence for a moment, while Fenris rested his large head on his thigh. With Ranma having let her go, Lady had already moved into one room, where the servants had moved much of Sansa's clothing. Ranma shook his head at her almost lap-dog attitude, then leaned further back in the chair, closing his eyes as he thought.

This whole place gives me a very strange feeling. On the one hand, it reeks of decadence. I mean, we passed candle sticks on the way up here made from gold and those tapestries would be something Sansa would take three years to make, each. Plus the sheer number of servants, all of them better dressed than nearly any back in Winterfell. There's a certain sort of power, I suppose other people would call it majestic, yet the whole city and this keep in particular… Ranma shook his head. The city is diseased, there's no other way to put it. The smell, the disorganization, the number of people stuck here, it's a wonder there hasn't been a plague yet. It's only a matter of time though.

In fact, Kings Landing did have a very rudimentary sanitation system in the upper levels of the cities but the squatter towns that abutted the city along its outer walls; the poorer sections; and the sections devoted to anything that by their very nature smelled such as tanneries, blacksmiths, and the alchemists guild as well as the wharves, didn't. All the refuse simply went out to sea, making the harbor utterly disgusting. Even the River Blackwater was soiled as it passed through the city. This was just barely enough to stave off the plague Ranma was worried about, though he was correct in that it would be devastating if it ever occurred. The sheer number of rats and other vermin would see to that, as would the fact the humans ate the vermin in much of the city.

Ranma wasn't certain if he was just talking about the physical when he thought that Kings Landing was diseased. He decided to wait on deciding that until he met with the King's council. If they are as corrupt as Uncle Brynden thinks, then it fits well with everything else here.

As if conjured by that thought, Brynden himself walked up the stairs, shaking his head with a faint smirk on his face. "Vayon Poole, the steward your father brought along, has already taken over the keep and gotten rid of nearly all of the servants. They weren't very happy about that. Apparently, some have served here ever since the Rebellion, but he wanted none of it."

"My father's orders were rather explicit." Ranma replied with a smile, motioning the Blackfish to pull up one of the other comfy chairs. "He wanted to make certain this place was secure."

The older man did so, wallowing in hedonistic pleasure in the chair for a moment, before looking over shrewdly at his young charge. "I'm not going to be at the ball this evening. I wasn't invited but that's not the real reason. I could simply show up, after all, I am a belted knight and a nobleman, we can do these things. But I think my time would be better spent getting a feel for the city. I think it will aid us in knowing what the common folk here think, as well as the merchants and everyone else, about who are the powers behind the scenes. Did you notice that man who tried to get your father's attention after the King went off?"

Ranma shook his head and Brynden groaned. "Ranma, I realize that you're not used to playing politics but you need to be on your toes here. There are powers here that are not based on physical strength or honor. That was Petyr, the master of coin. The one I mentioned as being a childhood friend of your mother's?"

"You did, but you also said that times had changed and you weren't certain of his loyalties, something I agreed with. Has something happened to change your mind?"

"Not at all, I'm just wondering what he wants to say to your father. If he tries to get them alone, see if you can overhear the conversation. That way he won't have to be seen passing it on to me. There are also a few things that you can do to see what sort of people the King surrounds himself with…"

For an hour, the two talked about how to see if someone was trustworthy, already bought, or neutral in various ways, after which Brynden left Ranma there so the younger man could take a nap. If there was going to be a ball this evening, he wanted all his mental strength to get through it.

OOOOOOO

Joffrey was a very happy prince. They were finally home in the Red Keep, the place of power for his family and for him. Here, he had trusted servants who would do his bidding. Here, Joffrey knew his way around. And most importantly, here, he was finally free of spending every day with Ranma watching as Ranma came closer to Tommen while Tommen came closer to their father.

Now with the families separated, the King's family ensconced once more in Maegor's Holdfast, he could take action against his younger brother and he grinned evilly as he decided how to do just that. First, however, he sent for one of the servants that had been given to him by his mother, a trusted Lannister man who answered only to him. The man had been trained in Casterly Rock not to ask questions and to obey any order given.

Later that day, as Joffrey was preparing for the ball with the help of a few servants, the man came to his quarters. He was small nondescript sort, who could blend into any crowd, something that had proven useful more than once with both his current and past masters. Joffrey smiled at him, turning away from the servant who had held up one of his finest silk shirts. "You, I have a job for you…"

After the man left, Joffrey turned back to the business of selecting an outfit to show his status properly. The gold embroidered shirt would be especially good, coupled with the red pants, he would look like a proper Lannister, while the overcoat in brown and green would give him a Baratheon flare. Now what to select as the proper accessories...

OOOOOOO

Myrcella was busy showing Sansa her room when Cersei came in. "There is a formal ball this evening to welcome the King and ourselves home. I trust that you will both prepare accordingly, ladies? I will be checking."

Sansa and Myrcella grinned at one another then nodded eagerly. The Queen smiled faintly at the two of them, then looked at Sansa. "Take note of southern styles when you are going through your clothing with Myrcella. I hope to see what you can come up with soon."

Sansa curtsied to Cersei and answered in an affirmative fashion that brought another small smile to her face, which faded the moment she left the room and saw Jamie standing at guard along with Sir Oakheart and Ser Mandon Moore. She didn't like Moore. The man was utterly unreadable, silent and brooding, and always staring with cold, dead eyes. She knew Jaime didn't like him much either, though he did say that the man was somewhat skilled with the sword.

Jaime followed her and the Queen frowned before smiling at him leading the way further into the Queen's quarters, saying loudly to be overheard, "Jaime, if you have time, could I give you a list of things to buy in the city? I haven't yet gone over everything…" At that point, she closed the door.

Strangely enough, she hadn't felt the need to signal her brother for one of their trysts in several weeks. Not only because of the travel time being much more dangerous, but because flirting with Ranma had been strangely satisfying on its own, now that she came to think about it. Nevertheless, Cersei didn't reject him when Jaime pulled her body back into his own with a hand around her waist. It always felt like coming home when they made love and today was no different.

Though just this once Cersei had to fight with herself to stop picturing Ranma in Jaime's place. She knew that would be impossible. There was not a hint that Ranma would go for even a fling with no strings attached and, without the need to control him, there was no need to offer such. Still, it was an odd thought and it returned as Jamie left thirty minutes later, leaving her to take a small nap before the evening festivities.

OOOOOOO

The ball occurred that evening in the Great Hall, a massive hall that was also the throne room. It was large enough for a thousand men, although tonight it only had seating for half that: courtiers, knights, and ladies of high standing from the Crownlands; there to drink to the King's return. The tables had been set up along the walls, which were covered with hunting tapestries, to leave the center free for dancing. Ranma knew that during the Targaryen reign they had been lined with the fossilized heads of dragons, which had probably added further to the presence that the Iron Throne lent the room.

Even sitting as it did behind the King's table, the Iron Throne's presence could not be ignored. It was made of a thousand melted swords, taken from the dead that had tried to fight against the Targaryens when they conquered most of Westeros, all save Dorne and the North. The North bent the knee, while Dorne was able to keep its freedom during that initial time, bending the knee only later after a bloody war and a marriage which connected their ruling line to the Targaryen.

The throne was a thing of points, jagged edges, and bare metal, with a pile of swords through which a few steps were built up to a large, very basic seat at the top. There was only a small cushion on it, since the throne was not made to be comfortable. Every jagged edge was sharp, ready to prick, cut, or even skewer the unwary. Every King had sat there, not a one at their ease, as it was designed so by Aegon the First. There were persistent rumors throughout the lands that it had even killed a few people over the years.

Ranma stared at the thing for a moment as he and his father entered, dressed in dark leather pants and jerkins dyed Winterfell black and gray, under which they wore short-sleeved cotton shirts. Their cloaks were lined with wolves' fur and clasped on one shoulder with pins shaped like a direwolf's head, with Ranma's holding a small sapphire for an eye while Ned's held an equally small diamond. Unlike the well cared for and coifed hair that was the norm for men here, Ned's hair was shaggy and unkempt, as was his short beard. While Ranma's face bore no beard, his hair was tied in the Dothraki fashion as, normal.

With their dark clothing, hairstyles, and northern, weathered looks they stood out like stones in a field of flowers but neither cared. Nor did the two men-at-arms, who were also knights, who were watching Ned's back even here. Their clothing was much the same as the Starks', though more worn and without the cloaks.

Ser Jory and the other man followed Ranma's father as he moved over to the King's table, clasping his friend's hand warmly before sitting down at Robert's right side, Cersei sitting on Robert's left.

Ranma tried to move over towards the children's end of the table, causing much twittering and laughter as he deliberately made it look as if he was trying to sneak along. A harrumph from his father called him sharply to task. He sighed and moved over to him. Still, the moment of levity was what Ranma had been searching for and he watched carefully who smiled and how, as he and Brynden had talked about earlier. The answer, alas, did not give him much information, since he couldn't tell if any one person of the people not smiling was looking around to take their cue from anyone else. Should've known that wouldn't work. Ah well.

He sat next to his father and the feast began moments later. The man on his other side turned to him, introducing himself. He was a short, slender man, with sharp yet handsome features punctuated by a small pointed beard. "Petyr Baelish, master of coin at your service. So, you would be the lovely Catelyn's firstborn? Surprising, that only your eyes would tell of it. Most especially seeing as your younger sister looks so much like Catelyn did in her youth."

Ranma shrugged. "We do have a bit of a mix among us children. Sansa is my mother to the light, almost, while I take after my father save for my eyes as you pointed out, ser. Arya is pure Stark in appearance, even more than I. Brandon and Rickon are more of a mix of the two. Rickon has mother's eyes and face and father's hair, and Brandon has her hair and eyes but father's face."

"I understand you have a half-brother, a bastard-born that you were raised with? That must've been trying on Cat. In fact, I can't imagine her putting up with it at all."

Ranma was immediately on his guard, knowing that any question about Jon was one he had to tread lightly around. "I think that she got over it. I believe that Jon's devotion to both me and my siblings was a definite mark in his favor, as were the many times he kept me out of trouble in my youth." He swiftly changed the subject to one such example and moved on to asking questions about the man's own youth and his duties as master of coin, while studying him intensely.

Petyr came off as affable, intelligent, and poised but the real story was his eyes, which sometimes flitted around the room, searching and assessing. His hands, too, were similarly very mobile as he spoke, playing with a small coin or stilling very briefly as his eyes caught something. Whatever his loyalties, Petyr seemed dangerously bright as well as observant. Ranma vowed to watch his words very carefully around this man.

For his part, Petyr was watching both Starks intensely. He was a little surprised by Ranma's apparent sense of humor and outgoing nature but not overmuch, since he had been briefed by his agents among the servants the King had taken north with him. The boy was a simpleton, unknowing of the cesspool he was entering.

On the other hand, the fact that Brynden was here and he was already down in the city apparently talking to old acquaintances was troubling. Petyr knew the Blackfish of old and he was one of the most perceptive men he had ever met.

So too was the fact that thirty men-at-arms and five belted knights sworn to House Tully had arrived weeks ago. They had shown no sign of leaving the city, despite there not being any reason for them to be here at all. The most one of his factors in the city could get out of one of them was that they were here to meet their Lord's kinsman, which was a surprise and an irritating move.

He hadn't yet had the opportunity to meet with his ally Varys to hear what had occurred in the North and, like Varys, Petyr's own spies were very thinly spread in that area with most of them in the small trading post on the southern side of the Neck and in White Harbor. His main contact had been Roose Bolton but his death over a decade ago had silenced that avenue.

Unbeknownst to any, above and beyond personal self-interest, Petyr was also motivated by hatred for all things Stark. He had hated the Starks ever since Brandon had beaten him in a dual for Catelyn's hand. His hatred had solidified further when Lady Catelyn didn't return his affections, not even responding to the one letter he sent her after Brandon's death, hoping that she would consent to marry him now that Brandon was no longer in the way. At the time, Petyr hadn't had much influence but he felt certain that if Catelyn had tried to get out of marrying Brandon's younger brother Ned, she could have.

Instead, she chose to honor the deal made between the Tullys and the Starks but Petyr refused to think that she was happy in such a cold place with such a cold man. Hearing of her children made him ache inside and his hate for all things Stark renewed with each passing word. It should have been me who she married, my children she should have given birth to, not wolf pups! Though young Sansa, she truly is the image of Cat when she was younger… Neither this nor his burning hatred for all things Stark showed on his face, however.

Their discussion went on for over an hour, neither telling the other anything important while the meal went on. Soon the King signaled the servants, who began to play some music for dancing. Ranma stood up quickly at that and Petyr moved with him, leaning in closely so that his voice was covered by the cacophony of the crowd and the musicians. "There is something you must know, something that Jon Arryn was searching for. There is a particular book in his library that he was looking at."

This hint would not do what he wished since Ranma was already prepared to distrust him. He had gotten the full tale of what had happened between Brandon and Petyr in their youth from Brynden and Ned. Moreover, the questions about his family and the one or two about Jon had put him on his guard further. There was also just something about Petyr's constantly probing eyes that set his hackles on end and he resolved to keep him at arms-length. "I will pass that on to my father. Now, if you'll excuse me."

Petyr was left there as Ranma moved over to Myrcella, bowing grandly to the young girl and holding out his hand. "May I have this dance, fair lady?" Myrcella blushed rosily, looking over wildly at Sansa and then her mother, who nodded her head imperceptibly. If there was one man in this entire room that she could trust not to get familiar with her daughter, outside Jaime, Robert, or Sir Oakheart, it was Ranma. Robert laughed as Ranma took Myrcella on a wild spin around the Great Hall, forcing out a whoop of glee as they sped out onto the dance floor between the tables, smirking at Sansa who was dancing with Joffrey much more sedately.

After one such dance, Ranma came back and showed Tommen how to dance with his older sister, then stood on the sidelines laughing as he watched the two move around the floor. Around him, the courtiers smiled and chuckled in a rather forced manner. Despite this, Ranma was watching Petyr and Varys out of the corner of his eyes. He was also watching the Queen and a few courtiers who looked particularly arrogant.

As Ranma spent time with the two younger two Royal children, Varys stood in the background near the Queen. He was still wondering what game the queen was playing, though he had long since come to the conclusion that the Baratheon regime was not in the best interests of the kingdom as a whole, hence why he had agreed to aid Petyr in some of his ambitions. They would weaken the kingdom in the short term, but allow a stronger family, a better royal line to take the throne. With his aid in securing the throne, something he would be well paid for, of course.

Robert had also taken to the floor, dancing some kind of raucous jig with a fat priest dressed in red, laughing all the while. The King was loud and boisterous, seemingly filling the hall with his personality, yet for some reason Ranma felt he didn't quite fit here.

The Queen however was much more at home, as was Renly. The younger Baratheon brother was in one corner surrounded by courtiers as well as several ladies, both married and not, who were laughing at something he had said, while Ser Loras danced with some lady or another from the Crownlands. Cersei was holding forth elsewhere with her brother nearby, though what she was saying Ranma couldn't tell. There were more people around her than either of the Baratheon brothers, all of whom were listening intently, man and woman.

This was a warning that Ranma had to take to heart. They had arrived on her playing field and were now away from his. He could no longer react to verbal threats as he normally would without risking making more enemies for his family than they already had. He would have to be constrained by the local rules, at least for a time.

Ranma danced with many ladies that evening, all of whom became somewhat attracted to the young man whose handsome features were dominated by the deepest blue eyes any of them had seen and who moved like a trained dancer on the floor. Many of them tried to convince him to follow them out of the hall to a dark corner or a patch of the lawn away from all the noise. All these attempts failed and Ranma kept dancing on and off, always making time for Myrcella. He danced with his sister just once, though their dancing was stilted and distant, much like their conversations these days. Unbeknownst to Ranma, his continued dancing with the Princess only served to solidify her crush on him.

The Stark heir had his mind on other things nor was he the type to enjoy casual dalliances. Besides, Ranma thought sardonically as he once again rebuffed an offer to escort a lady back to her chambers with simple excuse of having to stay and watch his sister, something that made the ladies all pout outrageously despite their varied ages, yet in reluctant agreement. After sleeping with the she-bear, I might break some of these southern waifs accidentally. Many things could be said about Dacey but fragile and docile were not among them and their lovemaking always tended to be rather intense in nature, at least in part.

Despite his self-control, Ranma was feeling the lack of companionship, especially with Cersei's flirtations on the trip here but he wasn't about to have a one night stand would with anyone in this city, not even the whores. I like sleeping with someone who I don't have to watch my back or words with, thank you.

"I understand, Ranma Stark, that you wish to journey to the perfumers Street?"

Ranma turned and nodded his head at Renly. Renly had snuck up on him somewhat, but there's didn't seem to be any evil intent in it, especially considering how confused his hearing was from the crowds. "I do indeed, Lord. The smell of the city is rather overpowering and even in here, it is faint but still discernible. I'm also afraid that the smell will eat away at Fenris's self-control, even here in the keep, which would not be good." A mild understatement, considering Fenris had begun to exhibit some measure of ki-enhanced strength.

"In that case, you may travel down into the city with Loras and me tomorrow. The batch of perfume he brought from home is giving out."

Ranma nodded his head, then looked over to where his father was signaling him. After making his excuses to Renly, Ranma moved in that direction. Once his son was standing in front of him, Eddard said quietly. "It is time we made our apologies and withdrew. I was given the key to Jon's study by Petyr and I want to see what is in there."

Internally, Ranma cursed. He had been on the lookout most of the night but it appeared that Petyr and his father had talked without him being in a position to overhear. The man was good at sneaking around, something Ranma would have to bear in mind. "I'm all for leaving father but remember what Brynden said, we can't trust anyone here. When we get there, let me open the door just in case there's a spring trap or something."

"I'm not as old or feeble as all that," Ned responded dryly, but he nodded nonetheless and clapped his son on the shoulder. The two of them escorted Sansa to her quarters, the younger girl being somewhat tipsy and unable to coherently argue against leaving the party so soon. The good food, the wine, and the atmosphere had all been exactly as she had dreamed it would be, aided by the fact that she was allowed to drink without adult supervision nearby for the first time. Dancing with Joffrey, the elegant Renly, the handsome Loras, and several others had been utterly divine and every time she turned around a servant had been there holding a tray of drinks.

Ned put his daughter to bed motioning Jeyne forward from where she sat on her own bed to help Sansa undress. He smirked as Lady took one sniff of her mistress' breathe and whined, moving away slightly. "Take care of her, Jeyne, Sansa seems to have had a bit too much to drink. I'll inform the staff to have a hangover cure ready, just in case." Jeyne nodded, a little miffed her father had forced her to stay in the Tower that evening.

Eddard nodded back then exited Sansa's room, heading down with Ranma, who had opened the door to his room to let out Fenris. With the direwolf following them, Ned and Ranma made their way down to the locked door of the Hand's office. Despite Ranma's concern, there was no sudden trap to assault them when they opened the door, and Ranma and his father entered the study looking around.

The room was very well organized. It had scrolls and a few books of law, taxes, and other things on one side with a smaller group of books in a single shelf embedded into the opposite wall for pleasure reading. There were a few comfortable looking chairs, one of which was set by the window with a small table next to it, a book set there already. Two more chairs were set against the wall by the smaller bookcase with a small table between them, with what looked like a snuff box. In the center of the room was a desk, with two not very comfortable looking chairs in front of it and a much more comfortable looking chair on the other side facing the doorway, but this was clearly a business area, unlike the small sitting areas by the window or the book case.

Ranma moved around, lighting the candles in the corners, which gave the room an even homier feel.

"Just as I last saw it. Jon Arryn was more of a homebody than he would have liked people to think, very much enjoying any chance to mix leisure with business." Eddard murmured, moving in to the center of the room looking around with a faint smile. Fenris passed him, moving toward the back of the room.

There were a few scrolls open on the desk and Eddard advanced to look at them. He then spoke aloud to Ranma, while Ranma moved around, studying the law books on the wall. "This one is about a new taxation proposed on the ports, raising docking and unloading fees in every port of Westeros. It's been signed and ratified, though Jon seems to be wondering about the wording of certain parts, given some of the notes in the margins. Interesting but not very important. Another bit of business, a note from someone in the city named Alayaya? Sounds like a Summer Island name. About another brothel near her mother's changing hands to Petyr…"

The two Starks shared a glance, shaking their heads irritably. They knew the necessity of such places but the fact that there were dozens in Kings Landing was rather disgusting to them. Most especially, since they both knew that the madams of this city probably did not take nearly as good a care of their 'tags' as they should nor were they picky about their ages, something that in the North was anathema. Children of both genders should not be treated so and in the North, if a madam or brothel owner employed a 'tag' younger than thirteen, they would be either jailed, sent naked out into the wilds. Or, if male, sent to the Wall.

"Hmm, nothing else interesting, though there is a message about wanting to talk to a few merchant contacts to get their impression of the Crownlands economy. He also wanted to look into the balance of trade with Essos, specifically the cities of Braavos and Pentos. The bit about Braavos seems to be much older than the Pentos addition, since the ink looks very faded. Nothing of interest at present." With that Eddard moved on, while Ranma crouched down to look at the desk from underneath, searching for anything hidden or odd little sections.

Ned had moved to the small reading area underneath the window. He reached forward for the small book that was sitting on the desk there but Fenris quickly got between the older man and the desk, growling. "Ranma," Ned said, slowly backing away from the wolf who probably weighed more than he did now, "your wolf is growling at me."

Ranma closed his eyes even as he came out from underneath the desk, reaching into his connection with Fenris. Fenris tried to share what he smelled that had his hackles on end, but Ranma couldn't make head or tails out of his sense of smell. There were just so many nuances of smell that the human brain just could not handle. Fenris and Ranma worked together for a moment, and finally Ranma was able to get, Danger, bad, no eat, from his wolf. "Something about the book bothers him father, hold on a second."

Ranma stood up swiftly, moving to the nearest candle, taking it, and then leaning over the book. He frowned, seeing a thin coat of something. "There is something smeared on this, some kind of oily stuff."

"Poison." Ned nodded grimly. "I've heard of poisons that can be administered by touch. Well that proves it, someone did kill Jon Arryn. Wait here a moment." He left, coming back quickly with a thin pair of female riding gloves, pulled taut over his much larger hands. With these on, he turned the book over to look at the cover. "'The Lineages and Histories of the Great Houses of the Seven Kingdoms', by Maester Malleon? Why would this be important?"

"I don't know, father, but that book is evidence. We need to put it someplace safe, after we somehow clean it of poison."

Ned nodded, fighting with himself the desire to read the book right then. After all, they didn't know how deadly the poison was and he wasn't about to take the chance. "I will find a place to hide it, but you're right, it is a very important piece of evidence."

"Should we go to the King with this? Poison on the book means Jon was killed. It could be part of a larger attack on the King or country." Ranma asked.

After a moment, Ned shook his head. "No. There is little chance of this being part of a foreign plot or anything of that nature. None of the Free Cities have the strength to take Westeros on unless they unite, which even we would have heard about up in the North. Nor do I think this was the start of an internal attack on the King. If it was, they would have moved against Robert immediately after Jon's death, when he was weakest. Or even somewhere on the road to and from Winterfell."

"No, this is simply a deadlier version of court politics. We have no idea who did this and, until we do, we cannot make accusations or in any other way tip our hand. It could be the people who would normally take over the investigation into such a death. We were warned by Brynden not to trust anyone and what I've seen so far proves we shouldn't trust Janos Slynt or Varys, the two people who are the most likely to take over the enquiry."

Ranma nodded approvingly and the two left the room. Ned headed to his own room intent on hiding the book then removing his gloves, only one of which had touched the book, before disposing of them down the tower's garderobe. Ranma, however, exited the tower and headed to the godswood. Fenris eagerly bounded down the stairs behind him, interested in what they would find in the woods here that were small and edible.

Almost immediately, Ranma realized the godswood here was much more controlled and trimmed than any real godswood should be. The godswood at home was made of densely grown oak, pine, and other trees, with leaves on the ground everywhere there wasn't snow, the air smelling of pine, loam, and snow. Here, the trees were spread out, with actual paved paths on the outskirts of the wood. Deeper in it was slightly better, thankfully, and it looked as if the touch of man tapered off.

He found the heartwood in the center of the woods. It was an oak tree rather than a weirwood tree, which struck him as really odd, but this was the first godswood he had been able to stop at since that time he found one in the Neck after rescuing Meera. He had hoped to stop at the Isle of Faces but they hadn't actually come close enough for him to head there and back in a day. At the moment, Ranma simply wanted to take a moment to reflect.

He was soon joined by his father, who sat down in the loam beside him, sitting there silently contemplating the face on the heartwood. It was a moment of silence, or familial understanding, far from home. A moment of peace to give them strength in this new, strange world. After a few moments, Ned left to send a message to Winterfell, telling his beloved wife and family they had arrived safely, as well as take care of a few other items, leaving Ranma there alone with his thoughts

OOOOOOO

Tommen had spent the evening with Myrcella having a sleepover in her room. He woke up in a giddy mood, hoping to run over to where Ranma was to find him and see if he would be willing to continue their training even if they had arrived in Kings Landing. He didn't want to ask Ser Aron Santagar, the master-of-arms of the keep, because the man didn't have much time or patience for children. He didn't even like training Joffrey and only trained Tommen when Robert insisted.

Leaving Myrcella still sleeping in her bed, he left her room to head back over to his own. Tommen opened the door to his room and moved inside, frowning as he noticed that the cage which had held his pet song bird was empty. It had been a gift from a courtier, in hopes of currying favor with his mother. It hadn't worked as well as the man thought but it had still been a nice present and Tommen liked animals. He had a pet kitten at one point but it had wandered off when he was young and never returned.

He looked inside the cage and his frowned deepened at all the blood all around it. Someone had killed it or maybe a cat had gotten in? But then how had the cat gotten through the bars? He looked around, still frowning, at which point he spotted it on his bed, deliberately tucked between the covers and the pillow. The bird's feathers had been plucked and its body opened from beak to naval, letting out all its intestines.

Tommen's teeth clenched on the need to scream but this wasn't a scream of terror or, at least, not entirely. It was a scream of rage that Tommen pushed back down. He shook his head angrily, wondering who had done this, but then moved over to the bin he used for his soiled clothing, pulling out a shirt he had worn on the trip to exercise in. With it, he calmly wrapped the bird up, moving out of the door to the dispose of it elsewhere. I won't give whoever did this the satisfaction of seeing me cry but I won't forget, either!

His father was just coming out of his room, all ready to head out on the hunt, but stopped when he saw his youngest holding something, something which was staining the shirt containing it red. "What do you have there, boy?" Robert frowned, hoping that his youngest son wasn't following his oldest brother's footsteps.

"Someone killed my songbird, father."

The anger in the boy's voice calmed Robert's initial worries. "Oh, what do you intend to do about it then?" This was yet another way that Robert was feeling out his youngest, wanting to make certain that the changes that Ranma had wrought in the boy were real changes rather than momentary ones based off his wanting approval or attention.

"I'm going to try and find out who, father, and then, then I'm going to make them pay." Tommen growled.

Robert guffawed, clapping the youth on his shoulders staggering the little boy almost off his feet despite having held back. "That's my boy. Toss it out for now, you can hunt for clues later. Let's go get some breakfast, then I think we should see if we can rustle up enough men to go hunting, after I give the small council its marching orders, of course!"

Tommen gaped up at him. This was the first time Robert had invited any of his children on a hunt with him! The young boy nodded rapidly, then raced off to get rid of his songbird's body.

Nearby, hidden in an alcove by a window, Joffrey saw all this and ground his teeth together in fury.

OOOOOOO

Ranma woke up that morning; spent time with his family then at around midmorning went out to meet Loras and Renly for their trip into the city. They were dressed simply, with none of the court finery they had worn the evening before, but still in good elegant clothing in silk with velvet cloaks and doublets, though both men also wore swords at their sides. Ranma wore his dark leather pants, though he had forbore the cloak and wore a simple short-sleeved jerkin with his belt buckle of the direwolf's head to denote his family.

Of the three, he was the only one unarmed. They were soon joined by Brynden, who told them he had business down by the docks. The quartet of men descended into the city together but Brynden soon broke off, leaving the three men to head towards the perfumers street.

Soon enough, they were there. Ranma browsed around until he found a perfume that smelled of pine wood and needles. It reminded him of the smell of home, and he bought six small glass vials of it. He was astonished at the price of them, each one costing at least twice what they would be at home, and that with the need to transport them up from White Harbor. He asked about it, and the man shrugged. "Supply and demand, master. All the highborn need perfumes to keep the smell of the city at bay."

Ranma grunted, irritated at the amount but still having no idea how to really propose a sewer system. Nor did he have any desire to stay in the city long enough to see it through.

"Such is the price we must all pay to keep our senses working." Renly quipped, and the trio turned for home. Ranma and Ser Loras were already talking about setting up a spar later that day. Renly was looking forward to it, though not just because it would be an interesting match.

Renly was interested in Ranma; he wanted to figure out if the young man had… the same tastes as he and Loras. The night before was inconclusive in proving that one way or the other. He could simply be a Stark, they were normally a stuffy sort, not given to much in the way of humor, though Ranma was more open than most. But perhaps he was simply more closed off about physical affection? Renly didn't know and wondered. Regardless of that, watching the two young men exercise would be stimulating.

They were hailed as they walked along by Brynden, moving through the crowds around them, followed by thirty men who were moving in a bunch, led in turn by five men in full armor. "Cousin," Brynden said, reaching out and clasping his nephew's arm, "these men are from my brother. He sent them here to meet with you and get to know you. He wants to see what kind of man his daughter's son is."

Ranma nodded cordially at the other men and fell into step with them, talking about the trip down and asking questions about Riverrun, which Ser Desmond Grell answered. He was built much like Ser Rodrick, save for the fact he had a slightly larger belly. Despite this, his arms were thick, his dark brown eyes sharp.

Loras and Renly exchanged a glance, wondering what this was about. They had yet to hear what had happened up Winterfell and had no hint yet that Jon Arryn's death had been anything but natural.

On the other hand, Ranma was well pleased with both the men and the fact this gave them eighty five swords inside the Red Keep or would once he got the men situated in the barracks in the Tower. He and his father were going to meet with Ser Jory later that day to relay to him that the former Hand had indeed been murdered. While he couldn't share that with anyone else, they wanted the men on guard to be ready for anything, so thirty more men-at-arms plus five more knights would be a good addition to their forces.

Beyond there being a possible threat against the Lady Catelyn and the family she had married into, the men from Riverrun were interested in Ranma. After all, whatever his status as a Stark, he was also part Tully. With Brynden out of the succession, that left Edmure the only heir available after Hoster died. He was a good sort but rather arrogant and headstrong and, it was felt, not a good leader. A few hoped that the idea of Hoster passing over him in line of succession would liven up Edmure's ideas, though it was doubtful if such was politically possible. The idea of a single person being heir to both the North and the Riverlands would not sit well with any of the other high lords. Still, they were here to learn about Ranma Stark, oldest of the Lady Catelyn's children, which to them, was much more important than his actual last name.

They were back at the Castle soon enough. Immediately, Ranma turned to Loras. "Seeing as these men are here to meet and see me in action, perhaps we can have our little spar now, hmm?"

Loras smirked, one hand curling at his side as if it was holding a sword hilt. "I'll just go get changed and be right back."

The men from Riverrun grinned at one another. This was indeed something they were interested in, whether or not Ranma's skill matched with the tales that had come south on the wings of bard song. Of course, skill in battle was only part of what they were here to find out. They wanted to know Ranma the man, not just the warrior. But it was a good starting point.

About twenty minutes later, Ranma and Loras faced one another across a training area outside the Tower of the Hand. It was a smaller area than Winterfell's, much smaller, in fact, with room only for about six people to exercise at a time but there was room around the separating wall for watchers, which was now crowded.

Ned had joined them, wondering if Loras was as good as the tales told of him, not having seen the young man in action before and also wanting to talk to the men from Riverrun as soon as he could. He had met Ser Desmond before and knew the man to be honorable as well as close-mouthed, which would prove just as important.

For now, Eddard set that aside to officiate the match. "No crippling blows, no blows to the face at all, and when I say stop, you will separate from one another. Understood?" Both fighters nodded and, at Lord Stark's signal, the match began.

Loras took the initiative, darting forward one foot extended before the other in a diagonal, almost like a fencer with a rapier would. Before Ned could move two steps, Loras was within sword range of Ranma, bringing his sword around in a swift, controlled arc.

Ranma responded just as quickly, using a sword borrowed from the armory here in the Red Keep. He blocked the blows easily, matching the older man's speed. He parried back quickly, nearly taking Loras in the chest with his practice blade, but Loras dodged backwards just enough for the blow to miss, returning a series of thrusts and cuts quickly.

Ranma dodged to one side, bringing his sword up again in a cut towards Loras' leg. Loras leaped backwards, frowning. Aiming for the leg and extremities like that was not something done in normal duels and it was rather frowned upon in most tourneys in the Reach as well. Still, it was a legitimate tactic during a battle and he resolved to practice against such in the future. Now, he rolled to the side as Ranma came in pushing his advantage, bringing his sword up to block Ranma's next blow, pushing back and thrusting but Ranma blocked that as well.

Their blades locked for the moment, the two young men struggled against one another. Loras was strong, much stronger than he appeared but that wasn't really saying much, especially when compared to Ranma. Ranma easily overpowered the man, throwing him back, almost forcing Loras to lose his balance.

He was still able to block the next series of blows as Ranma came on. The watching audience began to shout encouragement to one or the other fighter while the match escalated.

Ranma and Loras stood there blocking and parrying with their blades, neither moving from their spot for a moment, until Ranma decided to change it up a little. Instead of parrying a slash aimed at his chest, Ranma ducked under it at the last second. His free hand struck like a snake upwards, grabbing Loras' sword hand right behind his wrist. Ranma pulled Loras off balance, slamming his elbow into the man's stomach, and heaving him up with that same move, lifting him into the air and over Ranma's body without even a grunt of effort.

Loras landed and rolled, despite being surprised and slightly winded, flailing around with his sword trying to keep Ranma at a distance. It succeeded, for the moment, but before he could get to his feet, Ranma's leg lashed out in a kick that caught him in the shoulder, throwing him back and off balance, loosening his sword grip just enough for Ranma's blade to smash it out of his hand in the next second. Before he could move again, the tip of Ranma's blade was tickling his throat. "My win, I think, Ser Loras."

Loras grunted a little, raising his one hand to knead at where Ranma had kicked him. "You Northerners practice a much more full body contact sort of spar than I am used to." He looked up almost challengingly at the younger man. "Savor this victory, Ranma Stark. The next time we fight, I will be better prepared."

"I'm looking forward to it." Ranma grinned. The man was good, very good in terms of normal people, he supposed. Still, he estimated Loras was a little faster, yet nowhere near as precise or controlled as Jaime the Kingslayer.

He reached down and lifted Loras onto his feet. The audience began to clap, both for this sign of chivalry and for Ranma's victory. The men from Riverrun mingled with the men from Winterfell, hearing stories and listening to their conversation, while the first group began to exercise and train with Ranma. Loras and Renly waved off further exercise, leaving to head back to their quarters together, although they would both show up intermittently over the next few months to join the Winterfell and Riverrun men in their daily regimen.

OOOOOOO

Later on that day, at his father's request, Ranma joined Eddard as one of his aides during the new Hand's first meeting with the small council, just to see how things work. He was not looking forward to the experience.

The meeting was held in the Queen's Ballroom, a small meeting hall in Maegor's Holdfast. It could seat a hundred comfortably, though today the main table sat eight. Beaten silver mirrors were set behind the wall sconces, allowing the torch's light to seem brighter than normal, aided in their task of lighting the hall by arched windows sitting high up on the south wall.

Ranma had previously met Varys, Renly, Petyr, Ser Barristan, and the Queen, who was there but didn't actually have a post on the small council. Stannis wasn't here, so that left only Grand Master Pycelle of the Citadel as the only one there Ranma hadn't met. He was an old man with a bald, spotted head, alleviated around the edge by a bit of lank hair. His maester's chain stretched from neck to breast, obscured by a long, snowy beard that ran down his chest, well groomed but still somewhat unkempt due to its length.

The King actually sat in for once, simply because he wanted to state the purpose of the meeting, which he did the moment everyone was seated. "I want us to organize a tourney to celebrate Ned taking on the position of my Hand! We'll have it two months from now, and, of course, we'll need prizes for the larger events. Nothing gets the blood thumping than a chance for glory and coin!"

"How exactly are we going to pay for this?" Petyr asked coolly, his eyes on the King, yet flicking to Lord Stark, who sat beside Robert, and Ranma, who sat behind Eddard in the place reserved for aides. Each of the small council save the Queen and King had at least two of them. "We have no money in the treasury for such."

"Bah, will make it up somehow. I'm not going to let you and your coin pinchers spoil my fun, Baelish!" Robert laughed, pushing up out of his chair and making an exit, intent on doing as he always did, push the thinking onto other heads. "Now, I'm off. I got word from the hunt-master that there was a bear reported in the Kingswood!"

The small council rose and bowed to the King as he left, the door banging behind him. There was a moment of silence then Ned turned to Petyr as they all took their seats again. "You said there is no money in the treasury for this tourney he wants to have for my appointment as Hand, though personally I do not think my appointment deserves such. Still, he is the King, so we will have this tourney. But was that an exaggeration or do you really think we don't have enough money in the budget to pay for the tourney?"

Petyr smiled thinly, his flexible fingers (which gave him the nickname Littlefinger) pressing together in a triangle in front of his face. "Alas, it was not an overestimation. There is almost literally no money in the treasury."

"How is that possible?" Eddard asked sternly. "The Mad King left the treasury brimming with gold coin."

"As you know, my lord, the King did not call for taxes for five years after his Rebellion, the better to let the realm rebuild. During that time, we began to go into debt because the work took much in the way of ready coin, both here and the entirety of the Crownlands, with the addition that the King did much as he does now. His grace has gone through it all with his excesses and then some. We are in fact deeply in debt to the Iron Bank of Braavos and to Tywin Lannister for nearly a million dragons, each." Actually, Littlefinger knew they were in debt for much more than that but sharing that knowledge with anyone else would not suit his own plans. Not until the time was right.

Ranma's and Eddard's faces closed down, assuming the 'Stark mask' at that, causing a little shiver to go up even Petyr's spine. Their thoughts, however, were not on him, but on the problem at hand.

Winterfell was completely self-sufficient. House Stark wasn't nearly the richest noble house, but it had reserves of a hundred thousand gold dragons for emergencies, some of which the Starks spent recently to pay for the King's visit. That was money the family had been adding to every year in one form or another. Though it had been badly depleted during Robert's rebellion, it was made up later by their taxes, monies taken from ransomed lords during said rebellion, and their portion of the profit from selling food from their lands (and those of the minor lords who looked to them) to other noble or minor houses.

It was more complex than that, of course, but that was the gist of it. A hundred thousand gold dragons was seen as a lot of money, more money than Winterfell needed in times of peace, really, far more than any other great house in the north save the Manderlys could call on. To hear that the kingdom was in debt to the tune of two million dragons was disturbing to both northerners.

"My father will not care one way or the other about such debts between family." Cersei said coolly. She enjoyed hearing of Robert's shortcomings but this one could also be laid at her door as his Queen, so she had to speak up to offset some of it at least. "Our control of the gold mines in Westerlands makes that simple enough, though my father would probably force some concessions down the line. But the iron Bank is a different matter. I believe it was you, Littlefinger, who approached them to take out a loan?"

"Of course. I am the crown's servant and their interest rates were far lower than your father quoted to me the last time we exchanged ravens two years ago. Bottomless your mines might be but his largesse is not." Petyr replied coolly, easily deflecting the attack.

"And where precisely has this money gone?" Eddard spoke, his voice as cold and controlled as his face. "A few tourneys here or there, that cannot add up to millions in debt, unless we are not taking in money. I know for a fact my factors, at least, have paid taxes to the crown, as have every Northern Lord."

That was actually a big deal in the North. Yearly, the great houses would transport their taxes for that year down to Winterfell. The portion due to the Iron Throne would then be taken out and transported down to White Harbor where it would be taken by sea to Kings Landing.

Sometimes bandits or pirates attempted to attack these transports. Ranma, Jon, and Theon had actually gone down to White Harbor with the shipment many times and even been attacked once. It had been Theon's first taste of combat and the archer had performed very well, though he had thrown up after. Ranma could remember it vividly, as well as the Iron Born's rage at being seen doing so later.

"I assure you, my lord, that those returns are not as high as you would think. Paying the Gold Cloaks, paying for the King's men-at-arms who keep the Kingsroad clear of brigands, the huntsmen, the bailiffs that keep the peace on the road into the city as well as upkeep of said. Work on the Kingsroad is continual and very expensive, as is the upkeep of the fleet. In fact, the fleet is a major drain on our resources. If we could cut back there…"

"No." Eddard and Cersei spoke as one. Eddard nodded his head at the Queen and she went on. "No, we cannot afford to cut back on the fleet. The Iron Born are still far too independent, far too unwilling to bow to the Iron Throne. If they try to break away again, we'll need the fleet. That and piracy is always a threat to trade."

Petyr shrugged and moved on. "We are still repairing and rebuilding parts of the Crownlands despoiled in the Rebellion. In fact, even Kings Landing itself is still being rebuilt in many areas. The Crownlands doesn't make much money that isn't immediately channeled back to them. Dorne is remarkably stingy about paying any taxes at all, the Stormlands pay little taxes because they make so little money and have areas still recovering from the war. Much, as I hate to say it, does the North, since most of those monies make their way back north in the form of foodstuffs bought by the crown via long time agreements with the North."

That comment made Ranma and Ned exchange glances. They both knew precisely how much foodstuffs came back through White Harbor and up the Kingsroad, and it wasn't near as much as the taxes the North sent to the Iron Throne. Around half, perhaps, mostly to the Stony Shore, the Flints of Flint's Finger and House Karstark. House Stark had been cutting into that more and more in the past few years, so much so that outside of Flint's Finger and those smallfolk and houses minor which lived in the Stony Shore, they were building up a nice surplus, though admittedly some of that would be sent to the Wall with the forces gathering there.

Petyr didn't know what the two Northerners were thinking and continued. "The Reach, the Vale, the Westerlands, and the Riverlands alone cannot keep the kingdom out of debt when the King is set on his excesses. This tourney is not the first, in fact, he has thrown one every year at least since taking the throne. Nor is that his only excess, nor yours, Your Grace."

Petyr shrugged eloquently, smirking internally as he threw the blame back on the Queen. In actuality, the debt would be much smaller if it was just the royals being excessive. But Petyr had been funneling much of it into his own operations. He had covered his tracks so much, however, that it would take a troop of bankers years to work it out, and not a single banker or law-master in the city would help anyone he told them not to.

Before the Queen could explode on him, Varys spoke up. "It also must be said that my own… maneuvers cost much. Keeping my little birds happy, most especially the ones in Dorne and Essos, takes money and their return is not in coin but words and knowledge."

"That is understood, master of whispers," Ranma spoke up after a subtle nod from his father. "Yet, I would be curious to see if the knowledge they carry back to your ears is worth the money fed them. I think, also, that if we cannot meet the Crown's costs then either we need to cut said costs or think of ways to raise money. For example, this tourney is sure to pour money into the inns, bars, and, as much as I personally loath the practice, brothels. I think we can look to them to help pay us back for it more than a normal city-dweller. Perhaps a special incidental tax on them, to be paid after the tourney is over but to go on the books the moment it is announced?"

Petyr, who was a major brothel owner, blanched at that but Ranma went on undaunted. "Furthermore, taxes on the Kingsroad should pay for itself. I realize we already tax the wharves and ship-carried goods but I should think that any goods traversing the Kingsroad should also be taxed…"

From there Ranma tried to bring to mind his lessons from his father and maester Luwin as well as what little he could remember about taxes and other things from his former life. Many of his suggestions were shot down as unworkable but many of them were good and sensible. Ned, of course, took part in the discussion as well, speaking of how water travel could be taxed more heavily since it was so much cheaper for the user, something that made both Varys and Petyr wince internally, since they both owned several warehouses used by merchants and shipmasters both here and in other ports.

Renly, who was nearly silent throughout the entire meeting, spoke up about having House Baratheon pay for the tourney, defraying the cost further.

Eddard agreed to this then went on to the idea of cutting costs, looking at the Gold Cloaks and the upkeep of the Kingsroad, in particular, in terms of efficiency and graft. Cersei, surprisingly, had some good ideas in that area, such as turning the upkeep of the Kingsroad over to the great houses whose land it traversed, then fining them heavily for every incident that occurred on their land or if upkeep of the road fell behind.

The discussion went on for hours with Eddard taking the reins of the council easily, with Ranma interjecting as he could. Petyr, Cersei, and Pyrcelle took part in it wholeheartedly, while Barristan sat, merely observing throughout.

As the sun began to dip down in the sky beyond the windows, Ned finally called a halt. "I think that is as much headway as we can make today. Thank you, gentlemen and Your Grace, for your time. We've come up with a lot of good ideas today to turn this debt around. I will want to look over the books of law and taxes before we meet again. Lord Renly, I think the tower has copies of all the present law books but if any laws have been passed since the Rebellion, write their numbers out so I can find them."

"Petyr, if you could get me the ledgers for the years since the Rebellion by the end of the week, I would be grateful. Varys, I'll want to see your reports on the great Houses after that. If any of them haven't paid taxes, I want to make certain their reasons match up to reality. We will talk further on cutting costs to your web but for now we have more important things to do."

Varys winced at that comment while Petyr and Renly both nodded. Renly looked a little doubtful at his task, not having truly cared about the laws before this. But at Ned's grim expression, he realized he had some work to do.

Petyr, however, was confident. He had several sets of ledgers, both 'real' and not. Ned had surprised him by the force of his personality plus the knowledge he and his son had about taxes. While this was unexpected, he had buried his manipulations beyond literally dozens of layers of falsehoods, notes, and bankers' tricks, none of which could be linked to him but to his predecessor. He would come out looking like a hard working person trying to solve an insoluble issue while also keeping a demanding master happy; perhaps also someone who shouldn't be trusted but in politics that was the best any sane person would hope for.

With that Ned stood, bowing his head to the Queen as she left the room first. She looked at father and son as they came out, staring hard at them before nodding her head gravely and moving on. Ranma and his father exchanged a glance at that, wondering what she had been trying to say with that nod, but shrugged it off for now.

The two Starks were silent as they walked back to the tower of the Hand, remaining so until they were alone in the family suites at the top of the tower. "You do know that he lied, right, father?" Ranma asked.

"Perhaps Petyr lied or perhaps he is merely trying to stem the flow of blood from an already gaping wound. Remember, he has only been master of coin for four years now. This debt could have been building up long before that. Yet, if every realm is paying taxes, even as 'low' as the North does, there is no way the kingdom could be in debt, despite all of its ongoing expenditures and the King's excesses, unless the money isn't being used well. Dangerously low on ready funds, perhaps, but…" Eddard shrugged grimly. "I will have to look at the books to be certain, of course, but someone is definitely at fault here. Whether it is tied to Jon Arryn's death or not, I do not know."

Ranma nodded. "Makes me wish we brought maester Luwin along." Beyond his passion for the occult and supernatural tales, Luwin was a wizard with numbers, while Ranma and Eddard were only fair. Jon was better than Ranma but not up to Luwin's ability.

His father barked a laugh but went on more seriously. "The Blackfish is busy making contacts in the city. I think we need to wait and see what develops there, with the ledgers, and with my investigation for now. I won't ask you to sit in on further meetings, my son, so until I find something or your prospective fiancé arrives, you'll be at loose ends. I trust you'll keep yourself busy, perhaps a bit of exploration?"

"Oh, have no fear of that, father." Ranma replied, smirking slightly. With what he had shared with his father about his abilities, that line could mean anything and basically meant Ranma could do whatever he liked so long as he didn't make a fool of himself. "I'll find something to occupy my time."

For the rest of the evening, Ranma explored the Red Keep, finding some things of interest and some oddities, including what might be part of an escape route out onto the cliffs overlooking the sea that backed the Red Keep. Ranma marked that in his mind, stopped exploring, and went to bathe and get ready for dinner.

That night, after yet another feast with the King (thankfully it wasn't a ball), Ranma took Fenris out to the godswood. The large direwolf had responded poorly, at first, to having perfume dabbed on his nose but after a bit realized it really helped block out the smell of the city. Lady had seemingly liked it a little since Sansa used the same perfume that she wore. Thankfully, it didn't impair their sense of smell entirely.

Once Ranma got across the order to not leave the godswood, Fenris happily went off in search of anything small and edible. He had eaten earlier but meat given on a plate never tasted as good as meat he personally took. To Fenris at least, Lady never turned down being waited on hand and foot. She was becoming more and more domesticated with every week.

Ranma wished his wolf good hunting, then wrapped himself in the Silent Thief technique, turning invisible to all. With that, he jumped onto the small wall between the back of the godswood and the Blackwater, then out over the river to land on the other side. Even for him, that was a hell of a leap, one he barely made, but it served his purpose to get him out into the city, though on landing his attention wavered on the technique for a moment as he fought for a foothold on the heavily sloped roof.

"Ere, what's 'at? Anyone 'ear somethin' just den?" An oafish voice sounded below the roof of the house he had landed on.

"Yer hearin' things Marl, I don't see nothin'." Another voice sounded, one heavy with drink or something else that slurred his words badly. Ranma grinned then jumped to the next roof, once again wrapped in the Umi-Sen-Ken as he took to the skyline of the city, leaving the two arguers behind.

This gave him a birds-eye view of the goings on of the city, which was a mixed blessing at best. He saw at least three murders in the lower ends of town, all by groups of men. He was tempted to step in but the men killed had all been armed themselves so didn't. He did however throw bricks taken from the rooftops at several would-be thieves and at one man who seemed about to buy a young girl from her parents. Why the parents were going to sell her, Ranma had no idea but he had to stop himself from doing more to help her. At least they would have the bag of money the man had on him. He waited there for a moment as the parents grabbed the money, the girl, and then ran off before he moved on.

That first evening, Ranma didn't see anything unusual or strange that could tie into Jon Arryn's death, the Lannisters spreading their influence, or anything else. What he did see however, was a few Gold Cloaks taking money from shop owners. So, the Gold Cloaks are a protection racket more than a true city watch? Lovely. Later, he would learn that Janos Slynt was as corrupt as Blackfish had first told them but Robert kept him on, fearing his replacement would be worse. This would mark a small argument between him and Ned but nothing would come of it just yet.

For now, Ranma would spend the next few evenings getting to know the layout and feel of the city, a task he did not in any way enjoy for many reasons, not least of which was his sense of honor forcing him to step in occasionally. Over the next week his acts, unseen by all, spawned an urban legend of the Rock-Hurler, defender of the downtrodden, women, and 'justice', though, thankfully, none of it was linked back to him.

OOOOOOO

"Come now, my sweet, wouldn't this be the ultimate thrill? You know you like the idea of using that big padded chair of his for a better purpose then merely a home for his ass for hours on end." Domeric's voice was like honey and wine, enticing and enflaming.

The maid who he thus addressed was a young thing named Varyth, only two years older than Daenerys herself, but for all that, she was far worldlier than the Targaryen princess. She was also very sexual and knew how to use it. She enjoyed the thrill of coupling in interesting ways and places, the thrill of possibly being caught stirring her juices like nothing else. That was why Domeric had chosen her for this particular 'dalliance'.

"I don't know," she said coquettishly, blushing and looking away in a fetching manner. "What if master Illyrio wakes up and hears us?"

Domeric sighed and put his hands around her, pulling her against him as his hands began to work at the ties of her bodice. "Playing hard to get are we? I thought you were the one who likes the thrill of exposure?" If not I suppose I could always go see Sieganta."

That older maid was actually the only one on the household staff that Domeric felt was Varyth's equal in her zeal to try new things and places. He pulled away as if to go see the other woman right now.

He stopped as her hands grabbed his and she pulled away slightly, pulling him behind her towards the doorway they had been talking in front of. "Fine, but let's do this quick."

"Of course." Domeric murmured, already kissing the back of her neck while one hand fondled her rump even as he opened the door, closing it quickly as they stumbled into the room. The moment he did, he felt her hands on his breeches as she turned in his arms, kissing him hard and pulling him forward by his belt buckle, moving through the magister's study.

Three walls were lined with shelves containing books, scrolls, and a few dozen very expensive looking nick-knacks. The far wall was filled with floor to ceiling glass windows, which allowed the moonlight to light their amorous activities. That was pretty damn expensive Domeric well knew but what interested him was the large desk and the door leading into Illyrio's bedroom.

For his paramour, however, the large comfortable looking seat that the magister used on the other side of his desk was much more interesting. Soon enough, Varyth was gasping and moaning as Domeric pounded into her while she sat there, his face buried in her hair by her neck, although he had moved them around slightly so that he could watch the door to the bedroom. As a bard, he was very good at multitasking.

The girl climaxed twice before Domeric finally came, eliciting a gurgle of pleasure as she felt him eject deep inside her. For a moment, they murmured sweet nothings to one another, then he pulled out of her, causing a whine of protest but the girl straightened up quickly.

He smiled at her, patting one of her naked thighs. "You should get yourself cleaned up and get back to the others. Mistress Wendyll will be searching for you." Mistress Wendyll was the head of the household here and ran a very tight ship indeed, although that had not stopped Domeric from cutting a wide swathe through her younger workers. "You wouldn't want her to find us together, especially here, would you?"

He pulled up his breeches and reached into a pocket, pulling out a handkerchief. With that, he began to clean the seat as soon as she stood up and smiled at her. "I'll clean up here, you go on."

Varyth giggled at him and sashayed to the door, doing up her bodice. "The next time you want a quick roll, come find me. As long as you're willing to pay for the moon tea, I'll be fine with anything."

Domeric smirked at her and waved as she closed the door, then quickly turned and got to work. First, he took out a small rectangle covered by cloth, which upon unwrapping showed itself to be a small block of clay. Taking out a small bottle of water, he wet the clay, getting it read to be molded, then flattened it to the size of his hand. He carefully placed it in a pocket then moved towards the doorway leading to the magister's sleeping area, pulling it open gently on oiled hinges. He knew they were, because he had been in here three days ago to make sure.

The moment Domeric opened the door, he heard the snoring of at least three people, causing him to smile. The fat man liked to sleep with at least two of his sex slaves but the spiced wine Domeric had plied him and his two chosen doxies of the evening with seemed to be doing its work. The trio would be out of it all night, which would let Domeric do his work.

He moved stealthily towards the huge bed, shaking his head at the opulence of the room as well as the garish colors used, only visible thanks to the moonlight at present. Thankfully, too, the covers were pulled up, else Domeric would have had to remove his eyeballs later.

Moving closer, Domeric saw a glint of gold around the fat man's neck lying on the pillow next to him, between his head and one of his doxies. Slowly and quietly, Domeric reached across the woman to gently lift up the key lying there. With his free hand he reached into his pocket and pulled out the rectangle of clay, applying it to one side of the key, folding it over the key, setting a bit of silk along the edges to keep the clay from forming entirely around it. He held it there for several nervous moments as the clay slowly solidified, before bending the new mold and removing it quickly. He made certain to touch the key again, making certain the clay didn't leave any residue. It had, but only by the handle, thankfully, and he removed it with quick, dexterous finger nails.

After that was done, he quickly left the room. Domeric waited inside the study by the door for a moment as he tried to discern if anyone was walking the corridor outside. Not hearing anyone, he quickly slipped out into the hallway, closing the door behind him just as quietly as he had the one to the bedroom, before making his way towards nearest window. Unlike the windows in the study or in the bedchamber, this one didn't have glass, the magister not seeing any reason to waste that kind of money on any area of his household beyond his personal rooms and the dining Hall. He looked outside for a moment, making certain no one was around, then leaped out, landing lightly on his feet a story below. He then made his way into the connected kitchens, to finagle the kitchen helpers out of some food, determined to act as normally as possible.

The next day, Dominic headed out into the city, his balalaika on his back. The reason he had given the magister that morning was that he wanted to see what he could find out about any news from Westeros on his own. "Sometimes bards will tell one another things we won't tell anyone else." he said quietly, so as to not bother the magister's headache or draw Viserys' attention from where he sat at the other end of the table.

Daenerys wasn't with them, since neither her ribs nor the injuries to her face had healed. Domeric estimated another month before she was fit to be seen in public, whereupon she would probably be swiftly married off to this Dothraki Khal, Drogo.

For a time, Domeric did as he had told the magister he would, contacting a few other bards in the city and exchanging news with them. He learned that Eddard Stark had been made the Hand over the strenuous objections of the Lannister Queen and her supporters. Domeric felt this was a good move in some ways, horrible in others. Eddard was an excellent organizer, manager, and leader. What he wasn't was a politician or even a good dissembler. This could be very bad for the Starks. They don't play the game of thrones as the south does.

On the other hand, Ranma went with him to meet Margaery Tyrell, which in itself is curious. As a Tyrell, I have no doubt she is politically savvy and ambitious plus with him there if it becomes a physical contest it will go… poorly for their opponents. I have no doubt he has only become better since he was younger. For a moment, as he strode down the sunny, noisy street, he was once more back in his father's dungeons, blood splashing on the walls around him, watching in awe and not a little fear as a boy of twelve smashed his way through experienced men at arms, a wild snarl on his lips. Better to be part of the pack than its prey…

Other than that, he found a few interesting nuggets of information, mostly about a strange Red Witch that had been seen on Dragonstone and rumblings of something going on between the Iron Throne of Westeros and the Iron Bank of Braavos. That, for certain, would interest Illyrio. The Iron Bank was perhaps the most powerful bank in the world. If there was trouble brewing there, then chaos was sure to follow and from chaos, opportunity.

After a little while, his questions changed to his real purpose, though what he found out was not to his liking. His next contact was a man who Domeric had aided once when he and his band of wandering players had been waylaid by a group of bandits. The man's eyes narrowed as soon as he saw Domeric and the moment his set was done, he motioned the ex-Bolton to join him in the back room of the inn he and his band were staying at.

The moment the door was closed, the man said earnestly, "I don't know who you've taken up with Domeric but someone put out a notice to the city guards with your description. The dockside guards aren't supposed to allow you on any ship, the guards at the gates aren't supposed to allow you out, and the city guard is supposed to watch your movements as they can without being obvious. They've enlisted the thieves the beggars, innkeepers, and even some of us to watch to make certain you don't run. Whatever you've gotten yourself into, they don't want to let you back out."

Makes sense I suppose, they've brought me deep into their confidence. I could hurt them particularly with the fact I know how deeply Illyrio is involved. Without him, Viserys loses his power base and, as good as his guards and food tasters are, anyone can be assassinated for the right price. Domeric thought to himself, while on the surface simply smiling placidly ensuring the man he wasn't all that dangerous to know at present. He'd found a rich client, who wanted to keep his music all to himself. The bard didn't believe him but didn't care enough to press. "Anything else happening in the city?" Domeric asked.

The man shrugged. "One of the magisters is building up support for something and the pauper prince has been seen traveling to and from all of the high magister houses. I have no idea what that's about, though there are rumors of them all putting together some kind of purchase to be paid back later. But what they might be buying, that I don't know."

Domeric nodded and left the man. The story was the same elsewhere. Viserys and the magister were going around drumming up support. It appeared as if Daenerys forcibly halting the first plan of the two had forced them to actually think ahead for a change. Domeric had no idea what they were going to purchase, although it sounded as if it might be ships going by a few rumors he heard down by the port.

If so, they are obviously planning further ahead than I had expected, though they still haven't figured out how to convince the barbarians to cross the sea. Domeric mused, as he returned later that evening. In his pouch, he held a small bar of pewter. With that and some things from the kitchen, he would soon be able to fashion a duplicate copy of Illyrio's secret key.

OOOOOOO

Daenerys groaned in pain as she finished her porridge, having opened her mouth a little too wide. The damage that her brother had done to her face and body were on the mend but nowhere near healed yet. Most of the black and blue marks had faded on her chest and arms, but her face had come in for special punishment. The cuts and bruises there were still prominent even if she no longer resembled a mottled blueberry. Despite this, her thoughts were clear as she leaned back in her bed, frowning as much as her face could allow without pain.

To say that the beating had opened Daenerys' eyes to the manner of person her brother had become was an understatement. She could remember when they were younger, when he was her protector, her rock in the world after they were evicted from Ser Willem Darry's house by his servants. But the years of moving from place to place, relying on others for hospitality, then selling off all they owned, even their mother's crown, had stolen that from him. That aspect had worsened as the years went on but, until recently, she had still hoped he could be pulled back from the brink. But it seemed with a clear plan ahead of them to reclaim the Iron Throne that Viserys had gone power-mad, giving in utterly to the madness that was so prevalent in their line.

Daenerys wished it could be otherwise but the anger and fury that Viserys showed, the disregard for the cost of reclaiming the throne both to them and to those they would rule, told her that should he ever become king, it would be a disaster, not only for their line and its history but for the people of Westeros. As she had said to him, it wasn't enough to reclaim their throne; they then had to rule from it. They couldn't do that after building a mountain of skulls as he seemed to think they could. They didn't have dragons to overawe their enemies and, even if they had, dragons alone could not keep them on the throne.

A king cannot rule through fear, though perhaps the Lannisters are an example of how such could be done, she thought sardonically then shook her head. Yet, that is also because they are good governors, not just ruthless ones. Ruthless and pragmatic, that I could live with but Viserys isn't pragmatic, merely ruthless and wrathful. He wants to hurt everyone who didn't support our family, whatever their reasons, and he doesn't care how he does it. That is not only shortsighted but self-destructive.

Daenerys looked up as the door opened and Domeric walked in. She nodded towards the seat by her bedside and asked quietly, her mouth barely moving. "What news?"

Domeric shrugged looking over at her nurse, who sat in that nearby chair reading. There was always someone present in the room as both nurse and chaperone. "Well, there is some news in the city." He began to a few tidbits of gossip about runaway magisters daughters and sons, as well as other little things like that while the woman kept reading.

Eventually, another nurse came in. This one was one of Daenerys' watchers who Domeric knew had decided to switch her loyalties to the Princess. She exchanged positions with the nurse who had been there before and, almost as soon as the first woman was out of the room, Daenerys glared at him. "Now real news, please." she said firmly, not having enjoyed the gossip at all, such things were beneath her now. Somehow, her facial wounds did not take away from her sternness at that moment.

"Well in terms of real news," Domeric replied "I was able to get a certain item but it will take many days before it is ready. Many nights, at least a week, maybe two to avoid suspicion. After which, we can satisfy your curiosity about that particular issue. In other news, the magister and Viserys seems to be rounding up some backing among the other magisters. They're not having it all their own way, at least according to rumor, but a few have signed on for something big. They're also apparently commissioning ships to be built, which could be what they're rustling up money for, I'm not certain. I have no idea how much a ship costs, though I imagine it would be quite a bit."

"Possibly," he murmured, leaning back a little now, "if they figured out a way to convince the Dothraki to cross the sea, their plan could work. They could, at the very least, win your brother the throne if they had the element of surprise, though keeping him there would be something else entirely. If they didn't have surprise,…the Dothraki really don't have any tactics that would be applicable to taking fortified castles or holdfasts save by storm, which they are unsuited for. They are cavalry; take them off their horses to, say, scale a wall, and they lose most of their training."

Daenerys frowned thoughtfully, leaning back. Sometime during or after her beating she had decided that she would do everything in her power to keep her brother from the Iron Throne, the madness in his eyes as he spoke of taking it by force haunted her. Oh, a part of her wanted it for herself; it was after all their birthright. Viserys was right about that, at least. But now the majority of her thoughts were about not being his tool in his quest to take the Iron Throne. She looked him in the eye and said simply. "When the time comes, are you with me?"

Domeric knew she was speaking about more than just helping her with her present schemes, something he had been doing at least in part for the amusement of it. "Daenerys," he said gently, "I'm just a bard. I'm decent with a sword, good at ferreting out information, at sneaking around a little, but I have no idea where we would go, what we could do long term."

"That's not what I asked. Are you with me?" Daenerys repeated, her violet eyes locked with his brown ones.

Domeric looked at her, sitting there still somehow projecting an air of regal nature despite her wounds and despite being in a bed, this young woman who had begun to become someone who he would gladly give his allegiance to. He finally sighed and nodded. "I am with you.'

"Good." Daenerys leaned back a little, sighing faintly and relief, then opened her eyes and stared at him again. "Find out what the magister is hiding in that storeroom of his, there must be something we can use. Something expensive we can take to pay our way. I know a few captains who would be willing to take us aboard to get us out of the city regardless of our circumstances, so long as we can pay for our passage. We can worry about where to go once we are on our way." Domeric nodded, then listened as she spoke a few names, committing them to memory.

Over the next week, his efforts to procure the times he needed to first harden the makeshift mold and then melt the pewter into it bogged down badly. He had overestimated his cleverness in that area and he was forced to head out into the city in stages, lest he attract attention by the unusual nature of what he was doing.

More bad news piled onboard when he went to inquire at various taverns about the ship captains Daenerys had told him about. Not only did he have to ditch several followers whenever he neared the port section of the city, but neither of the two captains were in port at present. He eventually learned that one hadn't been heard of for over a year now and there was an order out for his arrest from one of the magisters. The second was due back in four months.

That evening, Domeric relayed that news to Daenerys. "I agree fleeing by sea is the way to go, the land route is too long and Illyrio's arm too long for that to be a good idea, especially if he informs the Dothraki that I have 'stolen' a gift he wished to give to their Khal. The problem is, your wounds will be healed in another two, possibly three months. After that, there is no way to get out of your marriage to Khal Drogo."

Daenerys' face firmed underneath her still present wounds. There was no way she was going to be married of to a Dothraki barbarian to serve her brother's mad schemes. "In that case, it would seem I must anger my brother once more."

OOOOOOO

While the Winterfell men and their Riverrun allies settled into their keep and pursued their own interests, Joffrey now continued his campaign against both of his siblings as well as Ranma, with the aid of a few servants as well as his knowledge of the keep. His attempts to bother Ranma were mostly foiled simply because he couldn't get to his room, guarded as it was by Fenris. The massive direwolf scared Joffrey more than anything else because it was both massive and it lacked the self-control that Ranma possessed. Ranma, for example, wouldn't simply attack Joffrey as a matter of course. Fenris had never warmed to him and his attempt to injure his brother on the trip down from Winterfell had solidified the wolf's low opinion of him.

Tommen felt the brunt of many of his tricks. Joffrey would randomly catch and mutilate an animal somewhere on the keep's grounds and leave some blood or other bits in his room. Of course, he was very careful never to let anyone see him doing this. He still didn't understand why this was different than his father's hunting expeditions but he understood that his father at least thought they were and Joffrey was leery of angering him. He also went out of his way to belittle the boy, ruining a few of his favorite books, his better clothing, and his playthings.

Myrcella was also bullied but not in this manner. Instead, Joffrey messed up her dresses, when he could at least. She was a much tougher target since Joffrey had no real reason to be in her room and sneaking in while one of her maids was there, which was almost constantly, was very tough. Still, he ruined a few of her dresses and, whenever they met in the hallways, he would suddenly become clumsy, stamping on her toes or otherwise attempting injure her.

Neither sibling went to their parents. This wasn't anything new, after all. For Myrcella, Joffrey had been doing little things like this for the last few years, increasing his depredations the longer he went unpunished. She was happy thinking that, for the most parts, she was simply his new target, not realizing that he had moved on to other things with Tommen.

Tommen of course didn't know who was behind it but the young boy was growing angrier and angrier with every incident. It was a strange sort of anger, oscillating wildly between the urge to lash out at anyone nearby and the desire to run and cry. He was determined however to handle this himself and with every week that went by the desire to do so increased with the dream of thrashing whoever was behind it.

Other than seeing his young trainee's anger at times, Ranma didn't know anything about this. In response to the visible emotion, he had started the boy on some mental tricks which seemed to help, though he was surprised that Tommy didn't just tell him what was wrong. Besides this, Ranma was, not exactly fitting in, but making a home for himself, in a way.

The tax ledgers had arrived within a week as they hoped so Ned and Ranma spent most of their mornings going over them. Neither had been able to make much headway but it was still early in Ned's tenure. Brynden, along with starting up his own small ring of contacts in the city, was also on the lookout for a competent money lender or law master they could hire to help. So far, he had no luck in finding such whose opinion they could rely on. Renly, for all his title as Master of Law, was no help whatsoever, leaving most of the daily business in the city to the Gold Cloak commander, Janos Slynt, who was a weasel of a man, if Ranma had ever met one.

While Ned spent the afternoon meeting with Renly, Petyr, and Varys, Ranma would exercise with Tommy, then move on into his own exercise against the men from Winterfell and Riverrun plus occasionally sparring against Ser Loras before spending some time with Myrcella and Fenris. The Flower Knight stayed in the city, ostensibly because there was no point in going back to High Garden just to turn around and come back for the tournament and Ranma didn't really care enough to look into the matter further. Those in the know however knew why.

A few of the White Cloaks joined them and even a few Lannister knights. Eventually, the training segued into multiple enemies against one, something that the few White Cloaks (which included Jaime) and Loras seemed to enjoy, since it more resembled an actual battle then one-on-one combat. Ranma lost a few of those, as well as one or two matches against the other blade masters, to keep up the appearance that he was merely an extremely skilled youth rather than the physical monster he really was.

During the evenings, Brynden would join Ranma and Ned for dinner, simple fair thankfully, since even Robert didn't throw balls every night and Ned only had to use the phrase 'working dinner' to make the King realize he didn't need his friend's presence at every meal. The Blackfish would tell them about his own investigations during this time, though in a nutshell it boiled down to 'nothing yet'. He had yet to find anything in particular concerning Jon Arryn's death, though he had found quite a bit about opinions about the North, about the Starks in particular, about the Royal family, and everyone else.

The Starks were seen as outsiders but honorable and friendly enough. They were known to be prickly and the civilians knew it. While many of them seemed to approve of it, many also saw it as a weakness. The merchants in particular seemed rather dismissive of the Starks, seeing them as poor barbarians. The men-at-arms did nothing to dissuade this opinion nor did Ranma or his father. Truthfully speaking, the only person from Winterfell who wanted to really fit in to life at Kings Landing was Sansa. To everyone else, this wasn't home, it was a foreign city where they were forced to abide.

Ranma personally felt the place was just vile in many ways so he loved the monthly evenings where the trio of Starks and Brynden would meet to listen to the notes from Winterfell. Even Sansa enjoyed listening as their father read out the messages, though there were bits of it that they did not share with her. Sansa was a sieve for secrets at the best of times.

Yet in terms of Kings Landing, there was much more industry and people here than even in White Harbor but the city was a cesspool from the top down. Ranma knew his father was doing all he could to clean up the top of the pool but it had yet to even begin to trickle down. He yawned, as he crossed the grounds toward the entrance of the keep, heading into the city today instead of training. His sense of honor wouldn't let him sleep when he could be out and about, hidden under the Umi-Sen-Ken, so he was out till early in the morning doing what he could to cut into the massive amount of crime in the city.

He had hoped to use his cloaking technique to spy on the potential enemies but Varys, Petyr, and the Queen all had set areas where they went to talk about anything and always locked their doors. Well, Varys and Cersei did, Petyr had other means to cover his discussions that he used, such as using the noise of a kitchen to obscure his voice or having it in plain sight at the evening table. Varys did that as well.

"Ho, Ranma, where are you off to?" Ranma turned to see Ser Loras, resplendent as always in the latest court fashion. Ranma felt it made him look a bit like a popinjay but he knew the other man had skill enough hidden underneath the softness. Ranma, in contrast, wore leather pants and a silk shirt he had bought here in the city. Ranma had missed the feel of silk since being reborn, though he did have to argue about not needed anything but a simple white shirt with the shirt-maker. Ruffles, lace, and pantaloons were idiotic ideas in his opinion.

Today, Ranma also had his warhammer strapped to his side and several scroll sheets bound together in his hand. Despite being in a bit of a rush, he smiled in welcome. "Morning, Loras. I'm heading out down to the Street of Steel. I need to order a new blade and its best to put in the order now, before people start to arrive for the tourney."

The other man smiled eagerly at the mention of the tourney, always keen to show off his prowess with the lance or even a sword. "I see, well I shall accompany you then. I have a friend arriving for the tourney whose name-day is coming up. A good knife would be an excellent gift, I think."

Ranma looked at him askance as the two men walked on. "This friend wouldn't happen to be your sister would it? I assure you, I won't do anything she'll need a knife to respond to. Your stories about her thorny side have been more than enough. Oh, is Renly finished that work on the laws my father asked him for?"

"Hahaha!" Loras laughed. "It was not my intention to scare you off her entirely my young friend, merely warning you what you are getting into." In truth, Loras had been rather miffed about his family deciding to pursue a match between Margaery and the Stark heir. He had hoped for a while that Margaery would marry Renly, giving him and Loras the perfect cover for their own love. Margaery was comely enough that so when the time came Renly could have gotten an heir on her. For the rest of the time, well Margaery had been known to dally with maids a time or two and certainly had some interest in that direction.

"The knife is in fact for a friend in the Stormlands, Ser Bryce Caron. He's a good man, though the last time we talked he was speaking of trying to learn how to fight with sword and dagger at once. And yes, I believe Renly was nearly finished up with the work your father, the slave driver, has assigned him." Loras laughed again and the two men made their way down into the city.

About forty minutes' walk brought them into range of the clangor of smith's hammers. "You will be seeing Tobho Mott, won't you?" Loras asked. "He's the best there is, he claims to be able to work with even Valyrian steel."

Ranma's eyebrows shot up at that claim. Brynden hadn't mentioned that when he recommended the name to him before they even arrived at the city. "Aye, I am, though that is surprising and encouraging." The two men continued up Visenya's Hill, each shop more expensive looking, until they came to the very last shop. This shop was larger than the others in the street with two stone knights riding a griffin and a unicorn on either side of the doorway. The door itself had a hunting scene carved into its ebony and weirwood panels. Ranma's eyes widened slightly at recognizing the weirwood and he shook his head sadly at this misuse of the wood.

The two young men entered, hearing the ring of hammer on metal from the back of the shop, which was separated from the front by cloth. There seemed to be two hammers at work, one far lighter than the other clanging away almost constantly, while the other was measured, steady. The other walls held a few examples of the smiths work, four fantastic pieces of armor in various colors though not by paint, a few swords that looked amazingly sharp and well formed, and two magnificent helms shaped into the likeness of a dragon and a lion.

A small desk sat along one wall, behind which a young man stood. "Yes, can I help you?"

While Loras began to look around the smithy, Ranma nodded. "Hey, I'd like to speak to the smith Tobho Mott, please. I'd like to order a sword but I have some specific requirements."

The man frowned and tried to convince him to buy a sword from the wall but Ranma gently tapped his warhammer, replying he had some specific requirements for a second time. The man frowned, then went into the back room, momentarily allowing Ranma to see the forge beyond.

After a moment, the steady hammering was replaced by a hiss, as steam appeared around the cloth. A few seconds later, a man came out to see them, staring at them with deep-set, intelligent eyes under a balding head in a face that had seen a lot of years go by. "Can I help you?"

"I hope so. You see, I wish to order three weapons, all of which I have very specific requirements for. I would like all three, two knives and one sword, to be made to my specifications and with a very specific mix of ores." He held up the papers he, Jon, and the armorer in Winterfell had made during their attempts to make Arya's blade. He began to tell Tobho about how he and the smith in Winterfell had worked together to create an entirely new (at least to this world) type of blade with an equally new way of mixing the various ores together.

Tobho at first was merely humoring the highborn fool who seemed to be trying to sell the smith a new way of making blades but, while many of the things Ranma described didn't seem too surprising, the nature of the steel they eventually made was. It almost sounded like Valyrian steel, except not worked to that high a heat or with the magic added in. Still, it was only a step below that. "I'll see if this alloy of yours really works, lad, but for now, show me the specifications for the blades you want."

Ranma had in fact drawn the blades. While his handwriting was abysmal, his sketching was pretty good. He had sketched out a katana but not like most he had seen in his former life. The one he based it on was made during the period where guns were being introduced into Japan. As such, it didn't have as much curve, it was slightly longer, and it was double edged. The groove was larger as well. "This is the sword I want. As you can see, it doesn't precisely match anything out there."

"I also want to order two knives, made like this." The knives were even more unusual. A very heavy triangle shaped blade rose from a peculiar handle which was made up of two parallel bars connected by two cross-pieces, one of which met the blade, the other just below it. The handle thus resembled an 'H' wide enough for a man to grasp the crossbar in his fist. The notes in the margin said it all had to be made of steel and all of it one piece.

"That is an interesting weapon lad, though I'm not certain how effective it would be." Tobho cautioned. The new weapons grade metal the lad had described however was interesting enough for him to ignore that.

Ranma smirked. "Trust me, in the right hands they can be deadly." In fact, given the chain and scale mail prevalent in combat in Westeros, the katar would allow a normal person to slice through them. The blades were going to be gifts. One would go to Tommen once he was ready for it and the other to someone else among the wolf-sworn. Ranma wasn't certain who just yet, although he had thought of another type of short sword he could order for Jon but wouldn't until he was going to be sent back to Winterfell.

As for the katana, such a blade would normally be at a disadvantage against plate or scale armor but with enough of a cutting edge and Ranma's speed and strength, that equation changed. Not even considering his new abilities in strengthening his weapons.

"Well, it's your coin, Lord Stark." The smith shrugged.

"Really? So you wouldn't be using this new type of sword steel in other projects if it works? I think I should have some compensation there, don't you?"

Tobho snorted. "Tell you what, Lord, I'll make the blade first. If the metal comes out as you say, I'll make the knives for free."

That won a gasp both from the man manning the desk and the young man who had just come out from the back of the shop, carrying a helm made to look like a stag's head, with sharpened horns rising from its helm. "You not charging full price for work, are you alright, master?"

"Enough out of you, Gendry." The man turned from talking to Ranma to take the helm from the young man. He held it up, turning it this way and that as he examined it critically. "That'll do, I suppose, lad. Take a look at these sketches. I'll be doing the mixing for these but you'll be doing the crafting for the knives once we see if the mix for the sword actually works. And as I was saying, if it doesn't work, you'll pay for the knives and the materials besides."

"So long as the blades come out as I want them to, I'll agree to that." Ranma nodded.

Loras had listened with only half an ear to the conversation but after catching his coming out of the back from the corner of his eye, the Tyrell knight had been studying Gendry closely. Gendry was a large framed young man, with wide shoulders, blue eyes, and thick black hair. He looked almost like a young Robert, save somewhat more muscled, and he seemed more given to brooding if his face was any indication. "Who is that helmet for, might I ask?"

"T'was the last of suit ordered by Ser Stannis Baratheon." Gendry answered. "Though I hear he's no longer in the city, hasn't been for months. Pity, it's one of my best pieces."

"Yours, hah! I was the one who made it, lad. You've just done the horns and the polishing, though I'll say you did an adequate job." Tobho barked, looking at Loras shrewdly. "Now back to work with you, Waters."

Gendry grimaced at the use of the last name, which denoted bastard status in the Crownlands, but did as he was told. Loras hummed thoughtfully to himself, then turned back to the smith, asking him to recommend a knife suitable for someone using a longsword and a knife at the same time.

After showing the Knight of Roses a few samples, Tobho sold him one of them and then he and Ranma finalized their agreement. After that, the two men left, with Loras going back to the keep, while Ranma wanted to explore the city for a bit. In actuality, he was meeting up with his uncle for lunch in the city at a tavern the man had found where they could hopefully talk without being overheard. Even with the job Vayon had done vetting the servants here and replacing as many of them as he could with those that had come with them from Winterfell, neither Brynden nor Eddard trusted anything they said wouldn't be overheard.

Brynden and Ranma were at this inn ostensibly because it had the best Vale mead in the city. Vale mead, made in the highlands of that mountainous land, was better and more alcoholic than any other sort but it went sour quickly, so exporting it was tough. Brynden had ostensibly gained a taste for it during his tenure as Knight of the Gate. He was also friends with the innkeeper from a while back, before said worthy had moved to King's Landing, and the noise and bustle of the tavern room covered their conversation.

"So, anything new to report?" Ranma asked, his lips hidden behind a mug of mead. The honey added to it made this the only alcoholic beverage he actually liked the taste of, despite the need in his new life to fake it at times. "Father will be in meetings all day and he's been so exhausted of an evening we won't have times to talk about anything then.

Actually, that was only partly the case. The rest was that, despite his natural intelligence, Eddard Stark was ill-suited to thinking in terms of secrets and plots. So while he was bearding the small council about its open graft and running a small investigation of his own into Jon Arryn's death, Brynden and Ranma dealt with the more subtle side of things in very different ways.

"The Queen has been sending bought agents through the city, searching for something, asking questions. No one was willing to tell me what that's about, but it is something to watch out for." Brynden took a sip from his own tankard, letting it obscure his lips as he added his next nugget of news. "I have also found out two important bits of information. One, that Grand Maester Pyrcelle took over Lord Arryn's care almost as soon as he fell ill and sent the Lord's own healer away."

Ranma frowned at that. One of the first things they had found out was that Pyrcelle was a loyal voice for the Lannister cause on the council. Varys and Petyr were more or less neutral, but Pyrcelle wasn't. Whether he reported to Tywin or Cersei was up in the air though, as he and the Queen, did not always agree when she took part of the small council discussions. "And the other?"

Brynden actually hesitated. "I don't know if this is actually important or not but Lord Arryn apparently had a mistress in the city. Or at least, he was seen a few times visiting a brothel, although he was only seen talking to the mistress of the place and her daughter. It is a very high end establishment, so getting any information about him out of anyone who worked there will be next to impossible, but a few other clients gossiped about it."

After a moment spent tugging at his pony tail, Ranma muttered. "See if you can find out who owns the brothel in question by tonight. If it isn't owned by Littlefinger, then it might be a clue to something. I'll try to sneak in and see what I can find out. The name of one of the girls wouldn't be Alayaya, would it? That name was mentioned on a message Lord Arryn had left on his desk."

"Yes it would, though I would take anything found there with a grain of salt." Brynden cautioned. "They had the key and plenty of time to clean up anything incriminating. Anything that was left there was left for a reason, like the poisoned book."

"Agreed, but it could still be worth a look. Other than that, be on the lookout for Northmen down on the docks at the Inn called Davey's Rest. If you hear of any, don't try to contact them; come and tell my father." At Brynden's intrigued look, Ranma chuckled a little. "My father might not be good at skullduggery but he is good at thinking ahead and Lord Manderly does have a trade fleet…"

Brynden nodded, hiding a smile behind a hand. "I see." He shrugged. "Other than those silver stag bits of information, I haven't come up with anything just yet. It's very hard to make any headway here; there are so many people who already have agents. Varys has personal agents as well as hundreds in his role as Master of Whispers. Petyr has both his own and agents of his office, the Queen has some, the High Septon has some, and Lord Renly has a few in the higher end districts. The Gold Cloaks have quite a lot of influence as well. I've also found at least a dozen 'king of thieves', small time criminals, who have agents here and there."

He sighed sadly. "As good as I am at noticing things, at reading people; this isn't a task I've ever even tried to do before. It has definitely been touch and go. Still, I'll keep at it. There is something big hidden here, some secret that the Lannisters are hiding. I'm not certain if it's connected with Lord Arryn's death but I don't believe in coincidences like that." What he didn't tell Ranma was that it was also personally dangerous. His life had been threatened more than once since coming to the city, and he had been assaulted twice.

Both times, it appeared to be a common mugging gone wrong but he had his doubts, hence why he now went around with five of the Riverrun men disguised as common toughs. They were actually sitting at a nearby table even now, waiting for him to finish talking to their Lord's grandson.

After that, the two men finished their mead, then parted company, with Ranma heading back up to the Red Keep. As he did so, Brynden made his way around the city to the market district, wanting to meet with a money lender to see if he could find a banker or someone else who was trustworthy enough to bring in to help Eddard and Ranma go through the tax ledgers.

OOOOOOO

Ironically, at the same time that Brynden and Ranma were talking about the difficulties the Blackfish was running into setting up his circle of contacts, Petyr Baelish was contemplating that very thing. I've been able to stymie the Starks push so far, Petyr thought. But The Stark pup and the Blackfish are proving difficult to get a handle on. I'm almost certain the boy's found a few entrances to the secret passages plus the Blackfish has made a few contacts and even created a safe zone for himself. He isn't making any headway beyond that, yet, but he is still too bright for me to be happy about allowing him to continue his activity in the city.

That doesn't even consider the headway Eddard's making in cleaning up the books and the small council. It's only a matter of time before he pushes for Janos to be replaced and, without him, I'll lose that cover among the Gold Cloaks. I'm also concerned with how much headway he's made pulling the Crown out of debt. He and Renly are now loosely allied and he is sometimes able to talk the Queen into agreeing with him. Plus, his push toward standardized ledgers and book keeping is worrisome. My own position is secure so far, I have too many cutouts in the books I gave them for them to connect me to the debt I've devised. Yet, if that push continues, I may have to use all of my cutouts, both in the books and in terms of pawns.

I thought Eddard would already have been following up on the clues I left him but he is surprisingly suspicious of the obvious. A good attitude, but a very unexpected one coming from a damned Stark. Couple that with the fact I can't be seen doing anything to Robert's bastards here in the city, since the bitch Queen already knows about them all. I need to be subtle in any further attempts to push their interest in that direction.

Is it Brynden's influence I wonder? That man has always perceived more than those around would suspect. While he isn't at home in this realm of secrets and spies, he knows enough to at least, as the sailors say, tread water. And that steward of Starks has done too good a job clearing out the servants in the tower of informers, both mine and others. I only have one left and she's a scullery maid with no chance she could leave or remove anything in their rooms without being found out.

I need to aim the Starks at the Lannisters further, yet I dare not do so in such a way to show my own hand. That will be a little tricky. I suppose it comes down to figuring out which of my operations to sacrifice to keep Eddard amused and myself free of at least the 'lions' share of their suspicion, which has so many different meanings here.

Petyr chuckled, then rang for a servant.

OOOOOOO

That evening, after Brynden had subtly told him that brothel in question, named, 'Flowers of All colors' of all things, wasn't owned by Petyr, Ranma moved over the rooftops of King's Landing, cloaked as always in his Umi-Sen-Ken in search of it. This was made more difficult by the nature of the brothel in question. It didn't advertise itself like most such establishments, being very expensive and discrete as well, relying solely on word of mouth among its noble, or at least very rich, clientele.

Eventually he spotted the small sign outside the large building declaiming his target. It was a very large building, two stories tall and at least as long as four regular houses. It had a single entrance protected by a silk awning right under the sign and all of its windows seemed to have blinds covering them.

Ranma jumped down to the street, waiting a moment by the doorway, clad in his stealth technique, for it to open. A moment later, a small group of richly dressed men entered. Ranma recognized one as a courtier but the others he didn't know. In any case, their opening the door allowed Ranma inside.

They entered and almost immediately came to a halt due to an argument in front of them. Inside was a large sitting area with a small bar, dozens of large cushions and chairs, and scantily clad young ladies moving around the clientele with a large staircase leading up to the second floor. Both whores and customers had moved well away from the source of the commotion.

Two heavily armed and armored bouncers stood with a statuesque black woman in a green silk vest with what looked like peacock feathers of yellow and green sewn into one shoulder. In front of them was a squad of four Gold Cloaks. They didn't have helms on, and seemed to have come here for some fun, but something had set them off. The two girls they must have been sitting with, a young black woman who wore an orange silk dress with a gold choker around her neck and a girl with dirty blonde hair wearing a cream colored dress, were being held by their arms by two of the men. The second girl had a bruise already beginning to form on her face.

Ranma however noticed that one of the Gold Cloaks, a man at the far back of the group, was looking around the room as if searching for something. He looked between his search and the girl with the bruise out of the corner of his eye.

"And I tell you we have already paid! If you gentlemen wish to partake, you will have to pay for yourselves and agree to the rules of the house just like any other customer! Protection payment is the way of the world but I will not pay one copper star more nor will I let you beat my girls as if they were common trollops!"

The Gold Cloak who had been looking around answered her, apparently the leader of this group. He snarled angrily. "And I tell you, woman, if you don't want further trouble you'll let us UNG!"

The 'UNG' was caused by Ranma having moved around the courtiers to where he stood right behind the Gold Cloaks. While he couldn't use ki techniques while clad in the Umi-Sen-Ken, he could easily punch, kick, or anything else. So he simply smashed the Gold Cloak leader upside the head, knocking him out easily.

The three remaining Gold Cloaks whirled, looking for whoever had attacked them, glaring at the courtiers who were the closest to them, having come right through the doorway. This allowed the two bouncers to move forward and, before the trio could do anything more, they found the bouncers with drawn blades at two of their throats.

The third man was the one holding the black-skinned girl and she took the opportunity to wrench out of his grip. He tried to grab her but a thrown rock came out of the air to slam into his forehead, sending him senseless to the ground. The girl laughed aloud, a tinkling sound in the air. "It would seem the Rock-Hurler has decided you should go, gentlemen."

Now the two conscious Gold Cloaks had blades at their throats and the unseen presence of the Rock Hurler. Speculation was rampant in the ranks of the city watch on what the Rock Hurler was, some kind of spirit, a single name given to dozens of people 'fighting the good fight', whatever that meant, or something else entirely. What was known was it was no respecter of rank. Several Gold Cloaks going about their regular business had been accosted before this and not a single clue as to who the attacker was had been left behind.

They decided to do the intelligent thing and raised their hands. A moment later, they were being escorted out of the brothel and a runner was sent toward the nearest barracks carrying an account of what happened. That way it would be their word against hers and the proprietress, whose name was Chataya, was well known among the noble and rich. The Gold Cloaks would be reprimanded severely for making trouble in what was one of the most nobly favored brothels in the city.

While her mother was dealing with this and the Gold Cloaks, the black-skinned girl was looking in the direction the rock had appeared from. There were no clients of any of her fellow girls in that direction and she wondered how it had happened.

After a moment, she turned back, only for a whisper in her ear to halt her movement, her eyes going wide in shock before she regained control. No one was close enough to overhear the voice and luckily business had once again begun around her so no one noticed her sudden start. "Is your name Alayaya?"

Alayaya froze, then nodded slowly, making as little movement as she could. The unseen voice responded promptly. "Good, I work for the Hand, Eddard Stark. From the old Hand's notes, you were one of his informers. I'm here to follow up on a rumor that Lord Arryn came here. What did he talk to you about?"

For a moment the Eastern Island girl stood, weighing the nature of the rumors of the Rock Hurler against the unseen nature of this voice and his proven capabilities. Whatever magic was keeping her from seeing the man she didn't know but it was obvious he could take action despite it. She decided to trust that at the very least, the voice meant her no harm, and replied by flicking her hair at the stairs. She moved in that direction, stopping to gather the injured girl to her, then moving on to a room on the second floor, following after the other girl.

This room wasn't made up as a normal prostitutes room would be, instead it was a nursery. There were five cradles in it, though only one was occupied at present, and there were even a few toys around. Whores did, after all, sometimes have children despite the moon tea and other methods to protect against that. Chataya took the pragmatic view that it was better to offer aid right here rather than kick out girls who might have many devoted customers because they didn't drink their tea. If the men didn't have to suffer, there was no reason the women did.

"I told you your baby would be fine, Mheagan." Alayaya smiled, watching the other girl play with her baby. "Though, I still say having him in the first place was a mistake." She nodded her head sharply to indicate to the unseen man that this was what Lord Arryn had been here to see.

"I don't get it," the voice confessed behind her confessed.

With Mheagan's back to her, Alayaya groaned a little, even as her lips twitched upwards at the amusing note of confusion in the whispered voice. Suddenly feeling a little braver about all this, she leaned back deliberately and almost shivered as she felt her back hit a warm solid surface. It was very solid and she could feel through her thin silk dress that it was powerfully muscled under an equally thin shirt of its own.

She was forced to move out of the doorway when Mheagan came toward them carrying her baby. "I need to go change Baara and then feed her before putting her down again. You don't suppose the mistress would let me out of working the rest of the evening?"

"Not a chance. My mother might be kind to us all but she is also a star-pincher of the first order. I'll head down in a bit and tell her you're busy but that's all." A moment later, they were alone, and Alayaya looked around. "Where are you now, Rock Hurler?"

"Over here." Ranma said, from where he was leaning against the wall by the doorway. "Why would Lord Arryn be interested in the baby? I mean, she's cute and all but I'm certain he'd seen babies before."

Alayaya actually giggled at that before moving in the direction the voice was coming from. She held up a hand, waving it around until she hit something solid. She touched what she hit, feeling the muscles of a man's chest under her fingers. There was something about this whole situation that was exciting, like the tales of her ancestral home that her mother had told her; about how jungle spirits would sometimes come alive to mate with a man or woman they desired. The idea of an invisible lover was thrilling to her.

Still, the black-skinned courtesan kept her mind on the task at hand. "If it were not for the good you've done throughout the city, I would not even think of sharing this with you. But that girl, she is a bastard daughter of the King. He was here a year and a bit ago and Mheagan didn't take her moon tea in time."

Ranma frowned in thought, wondering what would interest the Hand about one of the King's bastards. I mean, I've heard there's something like a dozen of them around, spread from here to the Neck and down to Dorne. What's one more? Still, it's a part of the puzzle, just like that book we found the evening we arrived here. Something about the bastards and the Baratheon line? I'll pass it on to my father; this is a bit too odd for me.

He was interrupted as Alayaya's fingers moved up from his chest, questing for his face. "I don't suppose I could convince you to dally with me a while? My mother's stories always said the jungle spirits were… ardent lovers. Can the same be said for one who has some of their tricks?"

Ranma shivered a little at her continued touch. It had been a long few months since he and Dacey had been together back in Winterfell, especially with the Queen and her little acts adding to it. Even a few of the servants had hit on him, making it worse. Still despite that and the blush suffusing his face, the heat of his body now threatening to break his control of the Umi-Sen-Ken, he answered in the negative.

"I'm afraid not. Sorry." And he really was. Despite his dislike for her profession, this girl was extremely attractive, with medium sized breasts, long, toned legs and a face that was simply beautiful. She was also seemingly gentle, sweet and intelligent, which added to the attraction. It would no doubt have been an amazing time. "I'm not one to have casual dalliances, no matter how tempting."

Alayaya sighed but did not leave off her questing hands. "Pity."

Ranma caught her hand in one of his, then dropped a large bag of gold dragons onto a small table set by the door beside him. "For your troubles, lady, and if you hear anything, get word to the inn 'Mountain Honey'. More will be paid then."

When she opened the bag, she gasped. Inside was enough money to pay for her time for a week of pleasure. "Are you sure I can't interest you in staying?" When she turned, however, she saw that the small window in the far wall was open, letting in the night breeze.

OOOOOOO

Two weeks after that incident, a party from High Garden arrived. There were fourteen knights from the Reach who were going to be entering the tournament in various ways, though none had as high a standing as Ser Loras, but that was beside the point. They had served as guards for Lady Margaery, her two maids, and her chaperone, septa Nysterica.

This was the first time Ranma was going to be introduced to his prospective bride and Ranma's first impression of her was that she was very pretty, with thick, curly brown hair falling to just above her bosom, large brown eyes set into pretty face with unblemished skin accenting a slender and shapely figure. In the formal stilted world of the welcoming ceremony, which both he and Robert surprisingly agreed were rather stupid, they couldn't get to know one another. That evening however was different.

As her prospective fiancée Ranma was allowed to escort her to a ball accompanied only by her chaperone and Loras, who stayed several feet behind them. The ball this time was being thrown by the Queen for their arrival and the arrival of several other parties for the tourney over the past week, not just from the Reach but also from the Stormlands, the Crownlands, and even from the Westerlands. This included Lancel Lannister, her cousin, who was going to take part in the melee and the joust, representing their family along with Jaime. Most of these were lords and ladies, and they roomed in the keep, filling it almost to capacity. Those of not so high a status got first choice of the inns in the city prior to the event.

Ranma didn't particularly like the look of the knights that had arrived from the Westerlands, particularly Lancel, who looked just as arrogant an asshole as Joffrey without as much reason to be. Thankfully, he had been taken aside by the Queen within an hour of his arrival. She ordered him to steer clear of Ranma and his father if he couldn't act as befitted his station on pain of sending him back in disgrace to Casterly Rock. Cersei still felt that Ranma's physical abilities were too dangerous to rouse if they could avoid it.

Margaery smiled at him, reaching forward with her hand to grasp his and leaning in close to kiss his cheek, a move that caused her chaperone to hiss behind them but Margaery was an old hand at this. "Good evening Ranma, we did not really get a chance to talk earlier. I know you have as many questions for me as I do for you. This whole marriage idea of our parents came out of the blue to me, though obviously I can see its advantages. I trust you do not find it too arduous?"

She tilted her head so that her hair fell to the side coquettishly and Ranma chuckled a little. She was acting like a sort of mix between the Queen and Nabiki, hiding so much while trying to be friendly, poised, and seemingly outgoing, but definitely manipulative. He decided to lay it on a bit thick to see how she responded. "On the contrary lady, I find myself well pleased with the arrangement so far. Of course, I am not going to immediately say I am in love with you but at least the rumors of your beauty understate the case."

Margaery smiled pleasantly at the complement, while her own eyes roved over Ranma. Despite the fact that he wasn't exactly dressed in the height of fashion, he still was pleasing to the eye. He was wearing leathers and a jerkin the same as any workman would here in the South, though of quite a bit higher quality. The wolf's head on his belt buckle was distinctive and certainly set Ranma apart. So too did his handsome features, which were rather startling to her.

She had been prepared for a stern Stark face. Ned was certainly known as dark and somber but Ranma's features were very handsome despite being almost pure Stark. And those eyes, those deep dark blue eyes that she could almost feel herself falling into. Suddenly the idea of marrying this young man wasn't so distressing. The fact he had his hair in a style almost like a Dothraki ponytail was sort of strange though.

Margaery Tyrell had been around fighting men most of her life and could tell from the way Ranma moved that he was one. She had also asked Loras his opinion on the young Stark upon her arrival and had been frankly surprised by the way that Loras spoke of them. There was actual admiration there for his martial skills. The fact that Loras had never actually beaten Ranma, save with several others fighting him all at once, had shocked her. She could count on the fingers of one hand the number of people in the Reach who could fight her brother on an even footing and the number was even smaller for those people who could beat him.

"You know," Ranma muttered to her as they walked, "I've never done this before, this whole meeting a stranger and trying to get to know them since you might be married to them thing." This statement actually included his previous life. Most of the times when he met a fiancée something else would come up and conversation had become somewhat easier, or they were 'friends' (for however short a time) before said announcement was finalized. How did you break the ice in this situation anyway? Ranma decided to go with his strength and simply asked out loud. "Er, so, tell me about yourself."

Margaery chuckled but found the direct approach rather refreshing. "Well, I'll start with the small things first I suppose, other than the things you already know such as my age and family." she smirked as Ranma snorted. "Besides that, I like to garden. I spend as much time as I can outside in the rose gardens of High Garden. I make my own perfumes when I can. I'm somewhat decent at embroidery and dressmaking, though nothing to write home about. I've heard your sister Sansa is excellent at both of those, I might ask for some pointers."

"Sansa would love that, I think she'd love talking to you at all really. She and Myrcella get along well, and the idea of talking to another highborn lady from the South, especially from the Reach, will delight her. After all, your home is known as the home of chivalry and fashion, even to us in Winterfell. But that's not really what I asked. I asked you to tell me about you, not the socially acceptable things you do."

Margaery looked at him with shock for a moment, somewhat appalled by how direct Ranma was, yet, at the same time, enjoying it. "Such a question isn't normally asked, at least not at this point in the courtship."

"I don't play by the rules." Ranma replied blandly. "So tell me, what do you think of Kings Landing for example, how much perfume do you have to put on daily to ignore the smell? Beyond gardening, what do you do when you can get away with it. Do you have any books you like?"

"I like horseback riding and I take care of my own horses when I can convince the stable hands to let me." She did indeed, though this was also an excuse she used so she could practice kissing with some of the stable hands, the handsome ones her own age anyway. One of them in particular had been very young and handsome, though of course she never let it get any further than kissing. The ramifications of not having her maidenhead would be a political nightmare for her family and could be grounds for the annulment of the marriage.

"In terms of books, I like history books, romances of course when I can find them, new ones for preference. I don't normally have to put on much perfume to ward away the smell but I do have an extra strong perfume I use exclusively while I'm here. I've been here a few times over the years since the Rebellion, mostly with my father, so I knew what to expect." She didn't actually answer his question about King's Landing since that could too easily segue into politics. That was an area she didn't want to go into with the Stark heir, not if she could help it.

Ranma looked at her as she spoke and Margaery found it rather flattering that his eyes did not stray down to her bodice, which in her current dress was rather on display. "I prefer my own feet really, mainly because I can out run any horse I've come across, so far." He paused as they came to the doors into the dining hall, where the festivities it would commence. "So tell me, and I'd like the truth milady, what was your first reaction to this whole marriage idea?"

The brunette heard a faint cough behind her and groaned mentally. It would appear as if her older brother had said something he shouldn't have and Margaery frowned, trying to think of a way to salvage it. Yet, something in Ranma's eyes made her pause. He was asking for the truth not an embellishment or some kind of pretty, flowery response.

She decided to go with honesty for the moment, at least. "I was against it. I didn't see the point to it. Winterfell and the Starks are seen as sort of weak here in the South. Yes, you command the North and the North is large but that's all it has going for it. You can't match the coinage of any of the other nations, you can't match the trade, and you can't match the manpower. It's estimated that, at best, House Stark could raise two thousand men before impacting its own lands horribly and the majority of them would be untried smallfolk. I can name several houses in the Reach alone that could exceed that, let alone my own house."

"But then we began to think about the political aspect. Your father is a close friend of the King and we thought that perhaps he would be joining his house to yours before word even reached us that Prince Joffrey was to wed your sister. This way we also join with the King's family and become that much closer to the crown. Personally, I don't look forward to Winterfell, if we do get married. I have never felt the cold as I'm certain my brother told you." Margaery turned to glare back behind her and Loras chuckled, waving her off. He had long since become immune to her glares, mores the pity. Her grandmother's glares could curdle milk but Margaery had never really gotten the hang of them,.

"Physically," she went on turning back to Ranma, "I have to say that I'm glad I am to wed someone of my own age. Too often ladies of standing are married off to people much older than ourselves. So while I am somewhat displeased with the idea of moving to Winterfell, I cannot say I am displeased with the match itself." Ranma nodded and they continued on their way. "So tell me about yourself?" she said nudging him in the side slightly.

Ranma had wondered what exactly to tell her when she asked that question. Telling the truth never even crossed his mind. Her response to his last question, however, told him a bit more about her. There is a mind behind that pretty face, though if she is trustworthy, I don't have a clue about.

Luckily, if he decided that he and Margaery would not be a good match, his father had given Ranma permission to back out from it. His mother would be unhappy, rather a vast understatement there, but Ned at least would understand and there were other considerations at this point as well. "Well, beyond the obvious, I am somewhat of at a savant when it comes to anything combat related. I have been from a very early age. This has got me into quite a bit of trouble at times but for the most part has served me well. I like telling my younger siblings fairytales, most of them I make up myself and they're a big hit. I regaled the two younger Royal siblings with them coming down from Winterfell and they loved them. I suppose if I wasn't my father's son I could've become a bard somewhere."

"That reminds me of a song I've heard about you, detailing the fall of House Bolton. Was there any truth to it?"

Ranma growled a little, a sound that was rather more primal than anything else Margaery had ever heard, and it sent a little shiver through her. "There is some truth to it I suppose. The fact that I was captured by Lord Bolton's bastard son is true enough, though there were no flowing locks and there was certainly no damsel in distress. The damsel was in fact Lord Bolton's true born son Dominic and I refuse to speculate as to why he changed his role in the affair to that of a woman."

For a moment, that phrase didn't register and then Margaery burst out with laughter, while Loras looked a little irritated, for some reason, behind her. She sent a teasing glance his way and then snuggled into Ranma sighed cooing gently "I don't know either." before pulling back at a hissed warning from the septa. She noted that he had stiffened at her touch, moving away slightly.

Ranma realized he was missing something there but shrugged it off for now. "Anyway, I like to travel, though mostly by myself or with a few other people who can keep up with me. Most of the time when I travel I have to do so as my father's voice but it's still fun nonetheless."

As he went on to describe his friends, Margaery listened intently, rather shocked by what she was hearing because she could see through the friendships to what they represented. Oh, she didn't doubt that the young men were friends but what really was happening here was the Lord of the North strengthening ties to every other highborn family in the North, making his own position that much stronger. It was a startlingly subtle way of strengthening your position. Though Margaery could tell that Loras was more concerned about the Wolf Sworn, as Ranma rather jokingly called his friends, than she was, rather than what they represented.

The rest of their discussion was made up of anecdotes from their childhoods, the two of them getting to know one another, which Margaery, rather surprisingly, found was more fun than she thought it would be. She was careful however to not become too friendly with the boy, despite her flirtations. The fact that Ranma too seemed to wish to keep her at arm's length was a surprise but his self-control surprised her. When she leaned in for a kiss, Ranma turned his head slightly to kiss her on the cheek rather than the lips. When they left her brother and the septa behind for a moment as they made their way into the holdfast, Ranma didn't try anything and he always made certain they stayed at a decent distance form one another.

During the festivities, they separated as Margaery went to sit with Loras at one side of the Royal table while Ranma sat with his father. Studying them together, it was clear to Margaery that the two of them were close, though neither was exactly easy to read. She wondered if the way they stood out was deliberate or not. Even here in a royal setting, the two of them dressed simply as they could get away with. Where most gentlemen wore doublets and hose, fine silk shirts, and pantaloons, the two of them wore dark leather pants and simple jerkins, well-cared for and clean but out of place here. She was almost certain that it was deliberate, yet it seemed so out of character for the Starks from what she knew of them and their family.

Prince Joffrey Baratheon was at the opposite end of the spectrum, however, and she studied him intensely. She was very well aware of her grandmother's injunction to see if she could somehow seduce him and convince the Queen, at the very least, into backing a marriage to her rather than to Sansa Stark. On the surface, that job seemed to be relatively easy. The boy's eyes had followed her the moment she and Ranma entered the hall, like many others, and even now, while he was supposed to be speaking to Sansa, Joffrey kept on glancing her way.

The obvious adoration and possibly love, she couldn't say for certain, in Sansa's eyes for the Prince was rather off-putting. The country girl didn't seem to realize that Margaery was checking Joffrey out and vice versa but after a few minutes, Margaery stopped, sighing mentally.

Physically at least, Ranma was a much better prize than Joffrey. Joffrey was handsome in a sort of… lukewarm way. He certainly was dressed in the height of fashion and she saw he knew his way around the court as she watched them later that evening. But after Ranma's discussion with her earlier, that didn't appeal to her as much as she had thought it would. There was just something so real about Ranma, as if he was the most solid individual in the world, a poor description perhaps, but still one she could form even mentally into words.

Perhaps it's because he seems so exotic to me in comparison to what I'm used to. He is direct, where others would be using the flowery rhetoric other suitors have attempted. He wants to know what I think not just what I say. He watches me, my face, not my body. He is so composed, yet there he is now, laughing and playing as if he didn't care that they were in the middle of the court, where all eyes watch constantly. Margaery thought as she moved away from her brother, who had claimed the first dance.

This was an old family ploy, allowing her more time to analyze the flow of the party and figure out if there were any factions at work among the womenfolk and for a moment she left off thinking of her possibly betrothed to see what she could see. There didn't seem to be any factions, among the women at least. Every woman she saw was in some fashion either paying homage to or dancing attendance on the Queen if they weren't with a man or dancing in truth. Even Sansa was. As a betrothed, there should be a clear limit on how much time she should spend with her betrothed over her family but either she doesn't realize that or doesn't care. Odd, is that something I should put down to her being from the North or how besotted she seems by the prince?

The only exception to this rule was the young Princess Myrcella. She chuckled lightly at watching the Baratheon princess giggling her way around the room once more on Ranma's arm with Ser Jaime, let off for the evening, smiling and waiting his own turn. Ranma seemed to treat her as a younger sibling and it was attention that the young girl was eating up. I can understand that. I doubt the Queen or King have much time for the younger siblings and, judging from the stories he had told, Ranma was a perfect guard and big brother figure. Sort of like myself and Willas. Despite their deference in ages, Willas, the oldest Tyrell sibling, had always treated Margaery kindly and with great affection, always making time with her and telling her stories.

The glances the young girl sent Ranma's way from beneath her long eyelashes however told Margaery that her feelings were definitely not sibling-like. "Oh dear, someone seems to have a crush." she murmured tilting her head just slightly to the giggling girl in Ranma's arms as the pair went by.

Loras chuckled. "I have seen the same thing, though I will say that Ranma hasn't done anything to encourage her one way or the other. Well, other than dancing with her at occasions like this. That is more to defend himself from the affection of the ladies of the court, though it also serves as a warning to others." His face and tone became grimmer with those last words. "If I could direct your attention to one of the Kingsguard, Ser Maryn Trant? You can see him over my left shoulder, at present."

"He is an odious looking fellow." Margaery kept her own voice light and airy, lest they be overheard. In the hustle and bustle of the Hall, this was an almost certainty but tone sometimes mattered more than words, though it was a warning to Loras as well. He took it with aplomb and nodded faintly.

"He is that. Luckily, he isn't assigned to one of the siblings. I shudder to think of what he might try. He seems to be one of those that like little girls. Fortunately, Ranma seems to have missed that or the King would be short one more Kingsguard."

"Surely he wouldn't be so foolish as to simply attack the man with no proof."

"I have spent time talking with him and I have come to the conclusion that young Ranma is almost frighteningly direct at times. And if he is direct with Ser Trant, the man's body will be found in the morning, dead. He killed Ser Greenfield in Winterfell did you hear?" After that, Loras related the public story of what had gone on in Winterfell.

"I see." Margaery murmured, now a little worried at how many enemies Ranma's attitude would add to the list his family already had. Her brother wasn't one to know anything about politics, really He let that to his lover, though obviously she wasn't supposed to know that but it was one of the worst kept secrets in High Garden. "And what does Renly think of him?"

"Sharp, intelligent, direct were his words, I believe." Loras showed no concern about his younger sister asking her that question. It wasn't exactly a secret that he and Renly were friends, after all. "He hasn't made any enemies yet, but he will, Renly is certain. Direct people tend to not last very long here."

"Which makes me wonder why you've done so well, brother dear?" Margaery murmured wickedly as the song ended. The two of them bowed to one another once more and moved apart. Her brother merely laughed.

She made certain to dance with the Prince several times, getting the measure of Joffrey through discussion and the way he held himself. He was arrogant young man, she thought grimly. Yes, he was intelligent enough, yes, he could carry on a conversation but he didn't seem to be really listening to her. He didn't seem to pay particular attention to her words, only her body. When they touched one another as part of the dance, he did so with exactly the right amount of strength and energy, well-trained but there was still something about it that bothered her. His cockiness, too, is the kind that will get him or others killed and as the Crown Prince, it is far too likely to be other people. I must do some research among the servants here however, the better to discern his real character.

Margaery wasn't the only one watching of course. While Robert and Ned were oblivious to the games going on, Varys and Petyr were not. They both frowned wondering what kind of game High Garden was playing. The Queen too frowned, wondering what was going through Margaery's or, better yet, Olenna Redwyne's head.

Ranma too noticed, though he didn't do anything about it right now, merely watching out of the corner of his eye. Brynden had warned him about things like this. The Tyrells were known to always be on the lookout for ways to better their position and even marriages were weapons in the game of thrones, as Cersei had called it.

Later that evening, Ranma confronted Margaery in his usual blunt manner. "So, is it by personal preference you're trying to get close to the Prince or is that an order from your family?"

"You are smarter than you look, though even asking such a question is breaking all rules of decorum." Margaery replied with a faint smile, taking his hand as he once again escorted her back to her quarters in the Maidenvault. She would remain there with her two maids as well as her female chaperone, who, with Loras, was even now following them once more. "I was ordered by my father."

"You mean Lady Olenna." Ranma interrupted. At Margaery's cocked eyebrow, he shrugged. "The Blackfish is remarkably good at ferreting out information from rumor. He also apparently met your grandmother at one point. He gave me a quite interesting description of her and then warned me never to cross her, ever."

"Sound advice with dealing with any highborn girl." Margaery said rather wickedly smirking at him.

"So you are being told you're going to have to play both of us." Ranma frowned, moving back to the current discussion. "I will not lie, lady. That bothers the hells out of me. Not just the fact that you're willing to do it, or even can do it but the fact that your family made an agreement with mine to see if this could work and still ordered you to try for a greater prize." That last word was said with scorn, although Margaery could not tell if he was directing it at Joffrey or her family and her for making the attempt.

In fact, it came from both what Margaery was doing and his memories from his past life. Ranma could all too easily see both himself, much as he didn't like to admit it, and Akane, leading on more than one person, in how Margaery acted. Not to mention Genma, who would have no problem breaking one agreement for a better one.

"Such agreements are not worth the paper they aren't even written on, Ranma," she said and flinched slightly at the look in his eyes. Normally, if someone looked at her like that, Margaery would become angry or even respond hotly but there was something so disheartening about it coming from the Stark heir.

She went on anyway. "Your honor is seen as something old-fashioned and useless, most particularly in Kings Landing. The game of thrones is at its most serious here." she went on noting that Ranma seemed to recognize the phrase, although why he flushed a little she didn't understand. "Family is everything, getting closer to the throne is the goal. If I can, I will woo Joffrey away from your sister, for the betterment of my family's position.:

"I might prefer you over him and indeed I do," she said earnestly looking at him and holding both of his hands in hers, though that wasn't something she would have considered sharing and actually being honest about, as little as a day ago. "But family comes first and the great game means I must make an honest attempt."

Ranma sighed heavily, looking down at her. "I cannot condemn you for following the rules of this game as it is played out here in the south. But neither will I play along with it. I do not play games, lady, not of this sort. Not with my heart or with my honor."

"This isn't a game! That's just a stupid name that someone came up with long ago. Politics is deadly serious. Who would you have closer to the throne, us or the Lannisters? Or Dorne? They have no knowledge of the rest of the Westeros; they care not for our ways of life. We must, my family must move ourselves closer to the crown."

She neglected to say that High Garden was both one of the most powerful of the realms and, yet in a way, the most vulnerable. It had none of the natural defenses of the Vale, nor did it have the equivalent of the Moat like the North, the protected pass into Westerlands, the deserts and the mountains of Dorne, or even the harshness of the land to dissuade invaders in the Stormlands. The Crownlands, The Riverlands, and the Reach were the most vulnerable and open of the nations. The Reach was the richest land of the three and could field larger armies without damaging their economies than any of the other lands but still they were vulnerable defensively.

"If we wed," Margaery continued, "If we wed, I will be loyal to death. You need never have any doubts about my fidelity or loyalty once our vows are said. I will never take any other man to bed. I will never do anything to dishonor you. I will be loyal to you and to our family, both sides, once our vows are said. But until then, I have to keep my options open and play the game the best I can."

"I said I wasn't preventing you doing it and I meant it." Ranma replied mildly. "Continue to act as you see fit, just do not expect me to treat you as anything more than an acquaintance until I know I can trust you. My heart is only open to family and friends, lady, and by your own words I cannot trust you with it yet."

By this point, they had covered the walk to the Maidenvault and Margaery felt her minders moving up from behind them as they came to the entrance. Margaery nodded. "I suppose I cannot fault you for that." Ranma smirked at her, causing Margaery to actually flush a little, then raised one of her hands to his lips, kissing the back of it gently before turning without another word and walking off.

Margaery watched him go, her thoughts rather more clouded than they normally were. Ranma was much more handsome than she had thought he would be but she could have easily ignored that. Handsome men were a copper star a dozen. But he was also much more observant. He didn't have nearly enough knowledge to make sense of the court or the factions, and he seemed uncaring of how much influence mattered. Despite this, she found herself rather interested in him. His direct manner, his honor, his sense of humor, once he got past that initial moment of confusion and embarrassment, was rather fun.

She wasn't certain the two of them would get together. She had told the truth, despite her own misgivings about Joffrey having now met the boy, she still had to make a strong try for him. Yet, it was obvious that Ranma would not be willing to simply play along. Margaery would have to make an honest attempt to be with Ranma as much is with Joffrey, which was a prospect she didn't find bothersome at this point.

For now, the Rose of Tyrell shook off that thought, concentrating on a note she would be sending her father, really her grandmother, via raven the next morning. It was going to be interesting what the 'queen of thorns' made of this.

OOOOOOO

Myrcella had hated Margaery at first sight. To be sure, she had met the older girl one or two times and had gotten along with her as well as could be expected from such a wide difference in ages. Yet the moment Margaery showed up, hanging off Ranma's arm as they came into the hall, Myrcella had hated her. Since they had arrived, Ranma had made time to be with her when he could, solidifying their friendship and making Myrcella's crush on him grow further, into something she felt she could rightly call love. He had tried at first to make time to be with Sansa but Sansa still refused to apologize, causing an ever widening rift between them with every week that passed.

She had been ecstatic when instead of monopolizing the beautiful (even Myrcella had to admit she was that) Margaery's time during the dancing section of the evening, Ranma had made time for her just as much as he had that first night upon their arrival in Kings Landing. She was also very pleased that he didn't seem to be as taken with her beauty as, say, Joffrey was. Joffrey seemed to oscillate wildly between staring at Margaery and staring at Sansa, who Myrcella could tell were indeed the two most attractive girls around their age there.

Throughout the evening Myrcella was torn on what to do. On the one hand, she could see that Margaery was flirting with Joffrey almost as much as she seemed to flirt with Ranma. In fact, she seemed to switch almost entirely to Joffrey once Joffrey made his own interest in her apparent. Sansa had looked rather hurt but haven't done anything about it and seemed mollified when Joffrey apologized later about having had a little too much wine. In a way, Myrcella had to hand it to her brother. He was becoming very good at hiding his true personality behind that friendly face.

Maybe if the façade was the reality, I wouldn't be ashamed to share blood with him. Myrcella thought coldly, as she was assisted into a simple everyday dress by one of her maids. Her loathing for her brother had solidified in the time they had spent on the road and it had not changed for the better since their arrival back home. Though he was very careful to never show anything more of his real personality to Sansa, their mother or anyone else, Myrcella knew the beast underneath the disguise. If Margaery is willing to make a play for him, that might actually work to my own advantage. If nothing else, I need to make certain Ranma isn't taken in by her.

With that thought foremost in her mind, the young Princess moved from her room in the Royal suites down to where Ranma could be found every day exercising with a few men from Winterfell. Not many were up this early since most had begun to follow local costume to sleep in as much as they could, most particularly the men-at-arms, who were free on their off hours to visit the fleshpots of the city, though Myrcella wasn't supposed to know about it.

So focused was she on her mission, that the Princess didn't even notice when Ser Oakheart followed her like a silent shadow from the moment she left her room. Even here in the Red Keep, every member of the Royal family still had his or her shadow among the Kingsguard. Ser Oakheart in particular took his duties seriously, assigned to Myrcella nearly 24/7, with only Ser Jaime and Ser Moore spelling him, mostly at night. Ser Trant had at one point been on the detail for the Princess as well but he and Oakheart had argued about his actions during that time and Ser Barristan had changed the man over to guarding only the King.

Ranma was indeed already up, running around the inside of the outer fortifications of the keep, moving as fast as a sprinter despite having already completed several circuits. He'd already been up for several hours and had taken off his shirt to better preserve it for later in the day. Unlike Sansa, Ranma didn't have so much clothing as to go out of his way to destroy them.

He slid to a halt as soon as his spotted Myrcella, moving quickly in her direction with a smile on his face that again caused her to flush, along with his shirtless chest. It made her wish yet again that he was smiling at her for reasons other than welcome. There was this warmth hidden underneath Ranma's Stark features that was astonishing coming from someone from the North or, indeed, anyone really. It called out to her, aided by his looks and the fact he saw her, Myrcella the young girl, rather than the daughter, the Princess, or any of the other hats she was forced to wear.

"Hello, little princess," Ranma said in his most informal manner, bowing grandly to her before grinning. "To what do I have the pleasure of your company this morning? You normally sleep in after an evening of dancing like that. Is something wrong?"

"I…" She paused and flushed even further under his blue eyes. "I hoped to speak with you before you met with Tommen later." This was her cover but it was also a bit of a truth. She wanted his opinion on what was bothering her youngest brother. "Have you noticed a change in his attitude since coming home?"

Ranma nodded seriously, moving over to where he had left a towel before he began his run. He started to towel himself off, never noticing how Myrcella seemed to follow the movement with wide, blushing eyes. By the time he turned around, she had managed to gain control of herself. "I have, I thought that maybe one of the courtiers or one of their kids was doing something that keeps making him angry. He seems to wish to handle it himself however and until he comes to me for help I'll let him. I can't solve all of your problems for you two after all, you can't learn that way."

"I suppose…" Myrcella replied hesitantly. Normally, she would simply put it down to Joffrey but he seemed to be spending most of her time targeting her or with Sansa, which was what Myrcella wanted. But the really was worried about her younger brother, he seemed so angry these days whenever he was with her, their mother, or their father, who was spending more time with him. Robert and Tommen's relationship had grown closer since coming back, though Tommen still tended to read a little too much for Robert. The King had even taken the young boy out on a few hunting trips. "It's just I worry."

She came closer to him, touching his arm lightly, as she had seen her mother do at times to a few men. "I also wanted to warn you about Margaery. I," she paused, then went on hurriedly. "I saw her flirting with Joffrey last night."

Ranma looked down at her, smiling faintly as he ruffled her hair. "Thanks for watching out for me, Merry, but Margaery and I talked and I warned her that so long as she was willing to play these games for her family, I would respect her decision but I wouldn't let her close to me."

Myrcella breathed a sigh of relief, for much more than the words. "That's good." They stood there for a moment then Myrcella realized that she really shouldn't be alone with him regardless of whether or not she was physically safe with him. She could see Ser Oakheart well out of hearing range, but they had turned around slightly from her arrival however so that she was mostly hidden by Ranma's bulk.

Knowing Ser Oakheart couldn't see her and feeling greatly daring, she leaned up and kissed him quickly on the lips before darting around his startled form. "In that case, Lord Stark, I bid you a good day." With that ultra-formal ending, she raced off, blushing hotly.

Behind her Ranma stood there rather stupefied for a moment then shook his head with a chuckle. I guess she's got a crush. I wonder what I did to deserve that? I was just being me. Hopefully she'll get over it; I wouldn't want things to be awkward between us.

"Well that was interesting." said a voice behind him and he turned to see Margaery coming towards him from around a bend in the tree line of the Park where he had just been running, followed by one of her chaperones. "You look like a poleaxed deer." she said critically.

Ranma barked a laugh, shaking his head. "What, no flowery, impassioned words this morning, my lady?"

"You seem to like plain speaking; I shall do my utmost to oblige you. Was that the first time she tried something like that? The Princess should be careful. Loose lips could sink her ship, if she is seen to be flirting with you in such a manner."

Ranma laughed a little louder at that. "I wouldn't worry about it. That's the first time she's tried that and I have no doubt it's just a silly little crush. My sister, for example, used to have a major crush on your brother Loras just from the tales we heard about him in Winterfell. Alas, her preferences changed to Joffrey when they met. What was your first crush, my lady?"

The Tyrell maiden joined his laughter, shaking her head, yet she answered readily enough that she had a crush on one of the knights that served her father, a somewhat older man but who was among the most dashing she had ever met. In her mind however, Margaery wondered if the princess' crush was really a simple crush or something more serious. Still, if the little girl thinks she can handle adult matters, then I may have to disabuse her. She never even noticed how possessive her thoughts about Ranma had already become as the two of them walked off to the morning meal.

OOOOOOO

Melisandre, priestess of R'hllor, had always felt definite in her path. Ever since she had first begun to have visions of the Azor Ahai, the warrior of light, she had known her path was to find him. Her furor for R'hllor and desire to convert the heathens had alienated her from even other Fire Lord worshipers but she cared not. If they did not see their duty to convert those heathen followers of the Seven or other Gods, then she would make up for it with her own efforts. Her visions had brought her to Dragonstone and she set to converting Lady Selyse Florent, Stannis Baratheon's wife, to the worship of R'hllor, the better to get access to her husband. Of course, this way she would also already have a powerbase before having to prove her powers to him.

Of late, most of her attempts to see the far future had produced little usable information despite her best attempts. The short term future she could still see and interpret easily enough but the rest was a muddle of images. Too many for her to separate, of lions, wolves, and stags, all locked in battle and of a strange image, a wolf-man holding a kind of fire, not R'hllor's holy fire, in his hand. It was as if the future was in flux constantly. Something had changed, something R'hllor refused to, or could not, share. That was worrisome and when that thought first occurred, she had wondered if she had somehow failed her god. Such a thought was so foreign though that it could not remain in her head, however.

Soon Stannis would come to see her power as well. Soon Cressen would make his misguided attempt to poison her. His faith in the Seven would not save him from R'hllor's fire and, after that, the Azor Ahai would come to believe in her powers. Together they would march forward into destiny.

OOOOOOO

After she arrived, Ranma split his time between his normal routine and spending time with his fiancée, though this was no great hardship despite his decision to not get emotionally involved with her at this point. Besides Margaery was very intelligent and some of her comments, now that she knew she could play it straight with him, were rather biting when it came to Kings Landing.

Her sense of humor was fun most of the time, though Ranma noticed a certain tension whenever she and Myrcella were in the room. He liked Myrcella and he didn't know why Margaery thought that her little crush was anything really important. And later that week, Margaery's initial reaction to Fenris hadn't been her best moment.

OOOOOOO

"Ranma," Margaery said sweetly as she closed the door to his room, calmly, very calmly. "Why in the Maiden's name do you have a monster in your room?"

"Oh, that's just my direwolf, Fenris." Ranma replied from where he sat in the sitting room, smirking at her after setting aside one of the ledgers of the Gold Cloaks that his father had asked him to look at. Janos' bookkeeping skill wasn't exactly organized but he was uncertain if this was deliberate or not yet, much like his father's impression of Petyr Baelish. Margaery and her minder had come in to spend some 'supervised time' with him. She had offered to play him in a game of chess and had gotten up to get the game board from his room. "Don't worry, he won't hurt you. Well, he might lick you to death but that's about it."

"This is a very expensive dress I'm wearing Ranma." she muttered, calming down a little from her shock. "He better not try to lick me." She reopened the door and gulped again at how huge Fenris appeared simply sitting there in front of the door. She had been around her brother Willas' dogs many times but even though they were hunting dogs, big and tough, they weren't this big or this wild looking. Sitting up on his hind quarters Fenris as he was now, he was almost as tall as Margaery, and much more massive. "Um, good dog?"

The growl that sounded from deep within that cavernous throat signaled something she said bothered him.

"He doesn't like being called a dog." Ranma said, waving one hand to indicate she should get out of the way. "Something about status, I think, or maybe he doesn't like the assumption he's domesticated."

Fenris padded around Margaery, his nose lifted haughtily in the air as he moved toward his bonded human. Ranma grinned, rubbing the wolf's head for a few moments, paying particular attention to his neck fur as the large beast rumbled happily. Margaery watched the two of them together for a moment, then decided that Fenris was relatively harmless and went to get the board.

It took Fenris two and a half weeks to get accustomed to Margaery and the particular smell of rose and honeysuckle that she used in her homemade perfume, primarily it must be said, because the honeysuckle reminded him of a bit of an adventure he had many moons ago during the trip down to this man-place. Bees may be small but their stings hurt!

But to Margaery that was time well spent. It had taken her only two days to realize that Fenris was much more intelligent them any normal animal should be. He was also much more dangerous, going by the fact that he alone was able to fight Ranma on an almost even footing while seven men-at-arms couldn't do the same thing. She had seen both of sorts of matches since her arrival here and understood what that meant.

Still Fenris was a little too large for her and he didn't seem to care one way or another about her either. Where Fenris would let Myrcella or Tommen pet him, scratch his ears, and even curl up with them, acting like a furry sofa for the children while they watched Ranma exercise before Tommen took his own turn, he would only let Margaery pet his head.

Myrcella seemed to take this a sign so while she didn't flirt with Ranma she made a point of spending time with him. But this did not go unnoticed.

OOOOOOO

Myrcella entered the Queen's chambers with a bit of trepidation, not knowing why she had been summoned. "You wanted to see me, mother?"

Cersei sat on a small window seat, gazing out over the city with a grim sort of set to her mouth, though her eyes weren't exactly tracking until she heard her daughter's voice, upon which Cersei came back to the here and now. "Yes, come in, sweetling, and close the door. The two of us need to talk."

That did nothing to settle Myrcella's nerves but she sat across from her mother willingly. The relationship between the two was somewhat odd. Myrcella knew Cersei cared for all her children, yet she always took Joffrey's side in any argument. She was stern, always making certain none of the children acted improperly according to their station, yet still allowed Joffrey to act out far more than the others, though that had changed somewhat since their trip back down from Winterfell.

Since Myrcella had noticed her favoritism, she had become more distant with her mother. Still, there was much the young Princess admired in her mother as a queen and a woman. Some she didn't, of course, but she tended to ignore those unless they impacted how she treated the children.

Cersei looked at her and tsked. "Grab up that hairbrush over there, your hair looks like it needs a good brushing." Myrcella obeyed and then came back, turning around so her back was to her mother, sighing faintly as the brush began its work. Some of their best moments began like this so it was a good sign that Cersei was so mellow right now.

After a moment of familial silence, Cersei began to speak. "I have heard rumors from the servants, from Jaime and others, that you are spending a lot of time at the Tower of the Hand. Specifically watching young Stark, Loras Tyrell, and others exercise. And that you seem to be spending time with Ranma, as much as you can."

"I, yes, mother." Myrcella nodded her head.

"Good, you didn't try to lie to me." Cersei's voice was now tart but there wasn't any kind of angry edge to it that the princess could detect and her hands kept working on Myrcella's hair. "I have heard no reports of you acting like a strumpet or anything of that nature, which is good, you are still acting as a princess aught, if a little too willful. But do you honestly think this fascination with the Young Wolf will go anywhere? You know Joffrey is to wed his sister. There is no way you would be able to marry him. Tying the two families together twice would be politically impossible and you have yet to have your first bleeding, unless you have something you wish to share? And whatever little game Margaery Tyrell thinks she's playing, Robert would never allow the betrothal between Sansa and Joffrey to be broken."

And whatever my own thoughts on the matter either, Cersei thought, with well-worn anger. I can see the benefits of such a marriage far outweighing that of getting a Stark married to a 'Baratheon', but no. Robert's too Stranger-be-damned set on uniting his and Eddard's line.

Myrcella flushed at the mention of her period, which she indeed hadn't yet had. Her body had developed somewhat more in the past months but she was still a child, something she wavered between being thankful for and cursing wholeheartedly. "No, mother, I just… he's just… I know nothing will happen, mother, but will you let me have my first crush for a time. Can you remember yours?"

The Queen actually smiled for a moment, though her eyes were far away, remembering how deeply in love she had been with Prince Rhaegar after her father told her they would wed. The Dragon Prince had been seen as the height of chivalry, handsome, kind, intelligent, and strong. Even as his father descended into madness, everyone had held out hope that Aerys would hand over the reins of the kingdom to his son. She had been besotted with him for years before he decided to marry the Dorne princess, Elia Martell, even after she and Jaime had begun to experiment with one another.

She had understood at the time that it was a political decision. Her father's position as Hand already made their family too powerful. There had to be balance but it had struck her sore nonetheless. Looking back on it she wondered how much of her life would've been different would've been better if that marriage had gone ahead. I wouldn't have had that damn 'wise' woman and her prophecy hanging over my head for one, though I wonder if Jaime and I would have begun our affair even so.

And it isn't as if I haven't had a few dreams of Ranma myself. That endurance… Stop that, it will never happen and you cannot afford to see him like that, not when he could become such a dangerous enemy. Ned Stark is like a damn wolf himself on the scent and eventually he might be able to uncover why I had Jon Arryn killed. I can't allow my response to that to be clouded sentimentality.

For now, Cersei ignored her daughter's question and kept to the meat of the matter. "I won't say you can't spend time with Ranma sweetling but that is all I will allow. If I even hear a murmur that you have been alone with him or done anything to 'get his attention', we will be talking again and that conversation will be far less pleasant. I won't let my daughter act like some lowborn trollop; you are a lion and you will act like it."

Myrcella could have asked what a trollop was but she could read the context well enough, though she thought her mother was acting rather unfair. She had seen the way the Queen sometimes acted to get men to do what she wanted, including the way she too looked at Ranma once, though, of course, the Queen never went beyond glances or simple touches.

She idly wondered why their mother always went out of her way to call them lions when alone. Surely they had as much stag blood in them? But Myrcella also knew better than to point that out so merely nodded. "I know, Your Highness, I'll do nothing to dishonor our house."

"See that you don't." The Queen said, then moved on to a happier topic. "Now, your hair is becoming curlier than I expected it would naturally be. We'll have to change the styles we wish you to be seen in..."

OOOOOOO

While his son was making something of a place for himself in the city, Ned was busy at his new job. For the two of them, King's Landing would never be home. Winterfell was their home and it always would be. The crisp morning air, the homey touches here and there, the familiar stones around them, and the warmth of family; Ned and Ranma missed these things dearly. Sansa, on the other hand, seemed too busy running ahead to see what she was leaving behind.

However, Ned's job as Hand didn't leave him any time to woolgather. Indeed, it took up practically his every waking moment. Simply sorting out the problems that had been building up was a momentous task. Not only was the tax system and records horribly disorganized but the amount of graft that was there at the lower levels was astonishing.

"How did Jon Arryn let it get so bad?" Eddard asked himself, not for the first time since taking up his duties, a question that was never really answered to his satisfaction. "It couldn't have gotten this bad since Jon's death, while that was over a year ago now that still wasn't enough time for the kingdom to have gone through the massive amount of money they owed to the Lannisters and the Iron Bank. Jon had to realize that they were going toward bankruptcy. There literally was no money in the treasury to pay the loans back and not enough money coming in either. Taxes haven't been raised, not since Aerys died, but they should still have been enough to pay off any monies needed during the time Robert canceled them in order to boost the reconstruction."

Oh, Petyr had devised a few new regulations that meant merchants had to pay more taxes but all that money flowed back out to pay for too many items they shouldn't be, let alone the king's extravagances, which were much more considerable than Ned had thought before going over the books. Still, that was perhaps a tenth of the money being spent, considerable yes, but nowhere near the total.

He was also, unfortunately, still working alone on this. Brynden had failed thus far to find a trustworthy secretary/banker and Eddard, while being good at numbers and sums, wasn't up to the task in front of him. He still hadn't figured out if Petyr was a loyal servant of the crown or not but Ned had jailed several secretaries for stealing from the crown. That was treason and they would soon be given the choice of the Wall or the axe. The laws, too, weren't as streamlined as they could be but Ned had decided to put off that problem.

Needless to say, his job wasn't made any easier by Robert's desire to throw at tourney for him. The money spent on that, in particular the cash prizes, was exorbitant in his mind. Winterfell ran on less for a year than was being poured into the tourney. On top of that, Eddard also had to work on actually organizing said tourney. He had often joked with Robert about that over the past few weeks; that the best gift he could give a Hand would be to give him a few days off and take the reins himself. But Robert had merely laughed and told him that the tournament would be worth it and that he would enjoy it once it started.

That just proved to Ned that his friend didn't truly understand him. To Ned Stark, a good time was spending time with his family or a good book from Winterfell's library. War was a serious business and contests like tourneys didn't interest him at all. Of course, Ranma was looking forward to it but Ned knew his son was far more into battle and combat than he was and had proven that he could be serious when necessary.

Because of this workload, his investigation into the death of Jon Arryn hadn't really gone anywhere since they arrived. Oh, he had the book. The book was exactly what it said, a look at the noble families of Westeros, a genealogy book, yet for every family not just one. He wasn't far into his investigation of even the book but he it interesting, as was the knowledge that every Baratheon of the last five generations had black hair and blue eyes.

That was strange considering the Royal children but none of them had married into Lannister so it was inconclusive. Since he could barely read a few pages a day, given how exhausting his new duties were, that was as far back as he had gone just yet. It certainly wasn't proof of what the book's connection to Jon's death seemed to imply, especially taken along with Jon's final words. It was a horrifying thought even so, made worse by Ranma's description of the young baby of the whore's. He hadn't had time to follow up on that nor had Brynden had much luck finding out what the Queen's agents were doing, but he feared…

Regardless, there is something very wrong with Joffrey, regardless of his parentage. I have heard rumors about a cat that he mutilated when he was younger and he is cruel to animals when he gets away with it. I have seen that with my own eyes. I have also heard he bullies the servants a time or two but even that is not enough. That plus his arrogance might be enough for Robert to remove him as heir, however, despite being the oldest.

The others, on the other hand, are much more like they should be. Young Myrcella might be a copy of her mother physically but she has a sweet, gentle nature. Ned had also noticed her crush on his son but given her own older brother, it was easy to see why she and Tommen had grabbed onto Ranma when he was friendly with them. It wasn't as if Ranma really went out of his way either, he simply acted as he always does. It's why all the youngsters of Winterfell like him, not just his siblings. But the effect he's had on Tommen…

Tommen was turning out to be a mix between Renly and Robert in temperament. He liked to train since he be had begun with Ranma and had continued even on those days when Ranma couldn't spend time with him. He also willingly read when he could, like Renly was supposed to, and played hard as well, much like Robert, although his play had yet to become like Robert's, a good thing in Eddard's opinion. No, despite his looks those two are almost certainly related. I need more proof than this, proof positive that I can take to Robert about Joffrey and, much though it pains me to admit, possibly the Princess. I just hope there is some other reason that Jon died, if true this could rip the realm apart.

OOOOOOO

Prince Oberyn Martell looked over Kings Landing a few weeks after Margaery Tyrell and her party had arrived. He could've been here much sooner, but they had decided to put off his coming to Kings Landing until news of the tournament had officially reached them, to give him an excuse to be in the city. Now he stood here once more looking out over the royal city, wishing he was anywhere else.

That feeling had little to so with the squalid, smelly, and above all trash infested port of Kings Landing but it certainly was endemic of his real reason. The very limited sanitation in the city simply consisted of the 'better parts' of the city pushing everything into the river, which carried it into the port to join the rest of the refuse. It was a pity, because without the despoiled water, the port would have been decent. The sight of the rocky hill, on top of which the admittedly imposing Red keep could be seen, only made the image of the dirty port below it even worse. "Like above, so below." he quipped.

"I'm sorry, I didn't catch that ser?" Daemon Sand, Oberyn's squire asked. He was a handsome youth with a strong jaw, light blue eyes, and sandy brown hair. He was also attempting to grow a beard but he had been meeting with limited success in this endeavor, as yet.

Oberyn certainly wasn't going to encourage him; he much liked the young man better without a beard. "I said, so above, so below. The small council, the court, and their politics are a cesspool, where the shit rises to the top. The city and most particularly the port is a cesspool, where the refuse rises to the top and is then eaten by those below when they can. Like above, so below, you see?"

"At least you're used to the smell, Your Highness. I haven't been here before; it's the most I can do to keep myself from adding to the mess down there." Daemon pointed down to the water over the side of their ship.

"True, the city is a bit of an acquired taste. Did you bring enough perfume?"

"I did, though I don't know if I have enough for both of us and our stowaway."

The Prince chuckled. "She has my daughters Obara and Tyene to look after her. I imagine she won't run into too much trouble while here in the city so long as they stay out of the slums, at any rate."

He had known the moment she had arrived on the ship. Arianne wasn't really very good at hiding her intentions from her family, though she was surprisingly good at sneaking around. If Oberyn had to guess, the Prince thought that only he, his squire, and his two daughters were aware of her presence on board with possibly the kitchen maids back home knowing what she had done. Other than that, she had been able to hide herself remarkably well.

Still, she wasn't supposed to be here at all. If my brother finds out that I knew she was with us when we set off and did not immediately put her on shore, he will be very cross. Still, the girl was intelligent and it would be interesting to see what she can do on her own.

As the two men made their way deeper into the city; Arianne, Obara, and Tyene waited in the hold of the ship. Once Oberyn and Daemon were out of sight, the trio, wearing heavy, form-hiding cloaks, made their own way into the city.

In fact, the Princess of Dorne had planned rather better than either her father or uncle would have thought. The girls already had a destination in mind, a small hostel that dealt with high-end merchant clients who dealt in jewels and thus preferred to travel discreetly. It had its own security force; all of them experienced men-at-arms from the Vale. It was located on the Hook, a long curved road that led from the River Gate, which led out of the city south, then up to Aegon's High Hill. It was a relatively decent area, though not very rich, it was law abiding.

The three young women made their way through the city, being careful at first to let none of their features or feminine curves show. The wharves area was heavily patrolled but the area between them and the rest of the city was a hive of hovels. If you were on the main roads, you were safe enough but why take chances? They soon arrived at the 'Humble Hearth', which was the descriptive name of the inn.

Obara cracked her neck explosively, pulling off her cloak to reveal the short sword she had strapped to her side and a buckler strapped to her back. Completing the ensemble was a long whip, which she had tied around her waist like a belt. She was a tall, big-boned woman, who considered herself a warrior. She was decent enough with the sword she had, as well as in the use of the whip, though her preferred weapon was a spear, much like her father. "So, now that we're here, what exactly are we going to do, Arianne? You promised me excitement and I suppose hiding away like we have has been fun but I hope you have something else lined up for us.

Arianne dropped her own cloak on the middle of the three beds, smirking at the older woman as she stretched, her full chest pushing out for a moment as she popped some of the joints in her back. "Why dear cousin, what we do is simple, we snoop. Men never think that women, particularly women such as myself and Tyene, are capable of speech, let alone intelligence. In any case, we will be able to hear what is going on in the city, which way the wind is blowing and then see if there is anything we can do take advantage of it, either for sport, for family, or to irritate the Baratheon king or his cats and dogs. Hopefully we will find the animals are already at one another's throats, but if not, well, I'm certain that we can find a way to make trouble somehow."

"That sounds interesting, Ari, but I should warn you to watch what you eat in the city, even in the better quarters." Tyene was a fair skinned woman despite coming from the arid wastes of Dorne with golden hair, sky blue eyes who radiated innocence from every pore, a sense that was extremely false. The dress she wore underneath her cloak was her normal light green with creamy white highlights, a high modest bodice, and long sleeves, highlighting her innocence as Obara's leathers heightened her martial appearance.

She was a poisoner by preference, and had a wicked tongue on her that could ever so politely flense a person's hide or lie with the face of a virginal maid. "I have heard of the food used in the poorer sections of the city and, judging by the smell, we should only eat at the best, most expensive eateries. I would also like to stop by the markets; I didn't bring any supplies with me."

"Tomorrow." Arianne replied firmly. "For now, let us find a nice upscale alehouse, preferably by the perfumer's street or possibly the Street of Flour. I want up-to-date news, cousins, before we move into our hostel tonight."

After they found a suitable establishment, the odd trio discovered that the city itself was abuzz with the news of the coming tourney or, at least, the middle-class and upper-class were. The bottom class didn't care one way or the other, their subsistence existence not really allowing for time to wonder what their betters were doing.

They heard some odd stories about someone called the Rock Hurler, as well as some news they were interested in. They also noted where the Lannister supporters were staying. Tyene, in particular, was very interested in the stories, although she was also interested in the fact that someone from the palace was seen down on the Street of the Sisters, which held both the Great Sept of Baelor and the Alchemists Guildhall.

Obara was interested somewhat in the tourney, though as a woman she probably wouldn't be able to enter. While she wasn't attractive, she still had womanly hips and chest so there was little chance of her tricking her way into the tourney.

Arianne, on the other hand, cared not for either of these tidbits. What she cared about was that Margaery Tyrell and Ranma Stark had been seen together. Despite what she told her cousins, she was planning much more than making trouble here. No, what she wanted to do was see if she could in some way break up this upcoming marriage. Barring that, she would be willing to seize any opportunity to further Dorne's position, as well as her own, by weakening everyone else's positions, if she could.

OOOOOOO

Single knights and groups of men intent on winning glory for themselves and their family names began to trickle in from the Stormlands, Riverlands, and elsewhere in Westeros, outside of the North. Of course, the North was also going to be represented by Ser Jory, Ranma, and a few of the others from Winterfell, so that really didn't matter one way or the other.

Like he had been joking all along, Eddard still found himself in the unenviable position of being the one in charge of everything, which put even more of a strain on his time. He was so swamped, he was forced to turn over almost all it to Ranma and Ser Jory. While this got Ranma out of the city to oversee the construction of the various tents and stalls, it also cut into his training time tremendously, something Ranma didn't like.

It was early morning on one such day when Joffrey made his first mistake since trying to push for Fenris' execution. The Prince knew that Ranma would be busy all day with the preparations for the tournament and thought that perhaps it was a good time to escalate things with his younger brother. After all, soon enough he wouldn't have to worry about Ranma any longer. The specific item he had wanted from the alchemists was almost ready and could not be traced back to him, which was why it had taken so long. But for now, it was time again to put his little brother in his place.

Joffrey had become emboldened since coming home to the Red Keep, not only because he felt this was his place of power but because of how Tommen hadn't been reacting. At first, Joffrey thought he might run to their parents to spill out the story about the dead songbird but that hadn't occurred nor did he go to them after Joffrey upped the ante, leaving bits of dismembered animal in his room randomly.

He was all set for tears, which would work in his favor and prove to their father that Tommen wasn't a son he would be proud of. Not like Joffrey saw himself, if Robert could only see past his looks, which was the reason Joffrey felt the man never appreciated him like he should. The fact that Tommen hadn't done that meant he was too scared of reprisals, at least in Joffrey's mind, which meant Joffrey was free to escalate things further. The mantra of the bully was the same no matter your station or reality.

So when he came upon Tommen heading out of the Royal suites down to the Tower of the Hand, where he would exercise, Joffrey decided to twist the knife. He said jokingly, "I haven't seen your little songbird around lately, brother, did it escape? I would hate to think that it has sung its last refrain."

Tommen had been on tenterhooks for months, getting angrier and angrier every time he found a dead animal in his room, with no one to direct that anger at. While on the surface his older brother's jocularity was mostly in keeping with the older boy's sense of humor, if the term was used very loosely indeed, Tommen was in no mood to see it as simply a joke at his expense. So instead of reacting verbally or simply running away as Joffrey had thought, Tommen turned and roared, jumping towards him.

"Don't make jokes like that, you, you RAGH!" Other than that, there was nothing intelligible in his shouting but his charge took Joffrey completely by surprise.

Joffrey was a young man, spare and thin of body but still almost a grown man, who had kept up on some of the sword practices he had to do to keep in shape. Tommen was merely ten years old, yet a small fireplug of muscle thanks Ranma's training. The young Prince found himself bowled over by his little brother. He barely got his hands up in time to protect his face as Tommen began to pound on him.

All the younger Prince' training about where to punch, something he had only begun to learn in the past month and half, left him thanks to his fury. As strong as he was for his age, the blows weren't doing any real damage but Joffrey wasn't exactly a strongly built person, either, and they would leave welts and bruises that would last for days.

Luckily, for the older prince's body and ego, Tommen's wordless bellows of rage had been heard throughout the Royal suites. About thirty seconds into the assault, Tommen found himself lifted off Joffrey by a massive hand grabbing the back of his shirt. "What's all this!" roared a voice, their father's voice, in full fury. "I'll not have my brats arguing like this, rolling around on the floor of the hall like dogs!"

At the sound of that voice, Tommen subsided nodding his head and let his hands fall. He soon found himself planted feet first on the ground, while Joffrey sniffled a little bit on the ground nearby. Robert stared down at him with contempt in his eyes before flicking his gaze over to Tommen. "Well, what happened here?"

Behind them, Myrcella and Cersei came out from deeper within the suites, having heard the noise and Robert's roaring bellow. Unlike Robert, who was all set for the day to head out to see the preparations for the tournament before getting in some hunting, the two ladies haven't quite gotten ready for their day. Cersei had hastily pulled on a robe to cover herself, which was the only reason that Robert beat her out in the first place because the King's chambers were several doors further down than the Queen's. They used to share a chamber but Robert had decided on this arrangement so he could more easily bed willing wenches than a frigid lioness.

Myrcella made to rush over to her younger brother, unmindful of the fact that her robe wasn't tied closed until a stern injunction from her mother made her stop. She looked down at herself then blushed before pulling the robe around tightly around her body. She shivered a little inside at the look she caught out of the corner of her eye from Ser Trant, who had been standing guard with Jaime on Robert's door. Jaime, however, stepped between the two, moving quickly in front of the Princess, motioning her back to her mother. Her mother's stern glance and hand on her shoulder forced Myrcella to go back into her room but it also forgave her slightly. The shouts and mindless screaming had startled the Queen as well.

Robert didn't notice this, simply staring down at his youngest son. "Well? What you have to say for yourself?"

Instead of trying to make excuses, Tommen stood up straight and stared up at his father. Ranma had been teaching him quite a bit more than just physical exercises; he also been teaching Tommen how to truly be worthy of being a noble and he said steadfastly, "I have no excuse father. My brother made an ill-timed joke and I overreacted."

Robert's lips twitched a little from their frown, pleased that his son owned up to it like this. More and more the stag in the littlest lion was coming out and he was happy to see it. That didn't mean he was any happier about the two boys fighting like this where any servant could see them. "And what kind of ill-timed joke was this to make you lose your temper, boy?"

"He made a joke about my songbird, Sir, about how he hadn't seen it lately."

Despite having his own strong suspicions in that area, the King hadn't done anything about it since his youngest seemed to be handling it well enough on his own, seeing it as another test of his youngest boy's mettle. Now he simply stared down at Joffrey, who was still sniveling a little as he sat upright on the floor. "Get up." Robert snarled contemptuously. Joffrey hastened to his feet standing there, trembling. "That joke is ill-timed, given what happened to his bird while we were all away. I'll hear no more jokes or quips about that. Are we clear or do I have to thump you as well?"

Joffrey shook his head rapidly; the fear of his father's wrath overcoming his desire to see Tommen punished and his anger at how Tommen had manhandled him, which was growing in him now that the assault was over.

Robert turned his attention back to Tommen. "On the other hand, we can't just have you attacking your older brother like this. He is the Crown Prince after all and some things just can't be borne. Do you understand me?"

Tommen nodded, looking down for just a moment before looking back up at him. "Good." Robert said nodding his head firmly. "You're confined to your room for the rest of the day. I'll send the maester to you to give you extra lessons and lines to write out, which will be all I'll do for this first offense but if it happens again boy, I'll take my belt to your back understand?"

The young boy nodded looking over at his mother who stared at both boys, her face unreadable at the moment. She was thankful that the King hadn't handed out a larger punishment to either boy and she decided to watch her oldest son more closely from now on.

She didn't understand what was going on there, having been busy herself with the small counsel as well as her own duties, responsibilities, and plots (of course). Cersei had been able to get a spy onto the Tower of the Hand's staff so was hoping that she could have the incriminating book that caused Jon Arryn's death removed before too long, hopefully before Ned Stark could push forward with his investigation. She also had her agents in the city 'removing' other pieces of evidence.

Joffrey knew when to back off. He decided then not to torment his younger brother with the dead animals any longer. He'd leave a few, spaced out intermittently so it seemed as if it had nothing to do with this assault but after that he would let it peter out. No, Joffrey was beginning to realize that the changes Ranma had made in Tommen were too deep for him to just go back to his old ways of dealing with him.

With that Robert dismissed both boys, but he gave Tommen one silent nod of approval as the boy turned away.

After that, Robert moved backwards, entering the Queen's chamber, an area he didn't normally enter without being drunk first. Cersei quickly closed the door behind them, looking at him thoughtfully. "Your son might have been up to his old tricks lately." Robert growled, looking at her angrily.

The Queen bit back an angry retort, not liking anyone to attack her little lion. But she was a politician, and had played this game for a very long time. She knew how to play for the long game, not just the here and now. "There is no proof of that, still I will have words with him about being more sympathetic to his younger brother. That joke was certainly ill-timed."

Robert looked at her. Seeing her unkempt like this made him remember how beautiful she was, just like she had been on their wedding day. It made it easy to see why she was still counted as one of the most beautiful women in all of Westeros. Yet for all that, there was no love between them, or even lust, frankly. She wasn't Lyanna, the only woman that Robert felt he could ever have truly loved, and there had been too much bad blood between them since. "What if I said," He said abruptly, "that I was thinking of naming Tommen my heir over Joffrey?"

Cersei had thought this might be coming for months now, well before they arrived in Kings Landing in fact. But despite that forewarning, her anger at the very idea nearly caused her to explode at him. Yet, her self-control was such that she was able to fight back the angry words. "I would say that it is premature. Tommen is a young boy barely 10 years old now. He has not even reached his eleventh nameday, while Joffrey is sixteen going on seventeen. He is also due to be wed, further strengthening the crowns position and uniting House Stark and House Baratheon."

In fact, it was only how deeply in debt the kingdom was and Eddard's insistence that they at the very least shave that by half before having a large wedding ceremony that was staving it off at all. Sansa had been bleeding for over three years now so there was no physical reason why they couldn't be married. Ned had grabbed onto that excuse with both hands, both he and Ranma seeing that match more and more as unfitting for their daughter/sister, no matter what she herself thought. The row that caused was now entering the stuff of legends among the servants of the Tower.

In fact, right now Sansa was commiserating with Joffrey outside on the lawn while his parents talked. She was going to have a stern talk with Tommen about his brother's dignity. Ranma would have a talk with him as well, which would be more along the lines of a critique of his form than anything else.

Robert's temper cooled a little in the face of his Queen's cold analysis. "Aye," he muttered, "you're right. But if Joffrey doesn't show himself to be a man rather than a little puling whelp before they wed, I'll name Tommen my heir and send Joffrey and Sansa out to one of my brothers. Hah, maybe Stannis could stick a spine up his ass!" For all that he disliked Stannis, Robert knew him to have a high sense of honor and to be a personally brave and intelligent man. "Stiff as a corpse, though."

Again, the words almost acted like a whip to Cersei, trying to force her to respond, to shriek at the very idea of her son moving away from where she could protect him. But her self-control once more came to her aid. "If it pleases you, that seems appropriate. I would say however," she hastened to add, "that we should not discuss this with anyone else. Let them both continue to act as they have, in that manner we will see whether or not either is truly changing."

Robert grunted again and headed for the door leaving without another word.

The Queen stood there for a moment in silence thought. In the end, it mattered not to her which son took the throne, though she felt that her eldest had the best mind of the trio and was the eldest, therefore should be the heir. And yet, she no longer felt as powerful or as certain in her position, not only with Joffrey but as Queen as she had a year ago. The fact that Eddard still had possession of the book worried her with each passing week, despite knowing how much time and energy he had to put into his duties as Hand.

The Starks were too powerful, too strong with the support of the King plus the ninety men they had on call here in the Red Keep for her to want any kind of physical confrontation, certainly not with Ranma added into the mix. Even with the men her cousin had led here from Casterly Rock, that would be an unwinnable fight, even if she was the only one who could see it.

Tommen with his friendship and sort of apprenticeship to Ranma would have the Starks backing, since the way he was acting seemed to indicate he truly was the King's son, even if his looks argued against it. Of course, if certain truths came out not even that would save her personally.

With that thought uppermost in her mind, Cersei left the room, not realizing that the entire episode had been seen by several servants, one of whom answered to Littlefinger. When he heard about it, he merely smiled, contemplating how best to use this to his advantage in his ongoing quest to topple all the other players from their high seats.

OOOOOOO

About a week after that incident, Margaery accompanied Ranma into the city to pick up his sword. It was more because she had her own shopping to do than anything else, as well as the fact that it gave her an excuse to get away from Joffrey. More and more she was worried about him, loathing the task at her grandmother had set her. She knew it was all for the good of the family but right now there just was no contest in who she would be willing to marry. That, plus the fact that Ranma was keeping her at arms-length until she proved trustworthy was driving her a little batty.

Of course, there were her grandmother's orders and pithy comments about Ranma and Joffrey to consider as well. 'Honest, upright, a Stark,' she said in her letter, 'a fool other men will follow, let him try to keep his distance, I am certain our rose can wind her vines around him.'

As for Joffrey, Margaery was still ordered to try and get close to him, until she had solid proof to back her uneasy feelings. 'For all your misgivings, the boy is a prize. He is heir to the throne, much better a match for you and for him too, if his father wasn't a fool, and such a man can be led by his appetites, whatever they may be, making out position all the stronger.'

Today they were walking through the streets, accompanied by her chaperone as always. No guards were with them as Ranma was guard enough all on his own. Soon enough, they were on the Street of Steel, winding their way up the hill. Margaery wrinkled her exquisite nose at the smell and further at the noise. Ranma chuckled. "You didn't have to come with me, if this offends your Tyrell sensibilities, you know."

Margaery huffed irritably. Ranma had been poking fun at her family in this manner for a while, seemingly amused by how her family held themselves to a high standard of beauty and decorum. Her shots back at his uncouth nature were taken with aplomb, leaving her with no set retort. "I am not so lack-witted as to let you out into the city without a minder, Ranma Stark. Who knows what kind of trouble your barbarian manners would get you into? I need to protect my family's investment, after all."

This had become a familiar refrain between them, oddly enough, a sign of the budding friendship between them. While Margaery was dealing with her issues, the two were becoming friends, something she would never have expected to be able to say of her prospective groom. He was kind, funny, honorable, which was part of the problem in getting closer of course, and intelligent something she would not have thought in all honesty.

Moreover, he had a level of charisma that was astonishing in one so young, a tried and tested core of strength, unlike the posing and the pomposity of other men their age she had met before. Those youths were too young to have fought in even the Greyjoy rebellion and they thought battles were like tourneys, with rules and mulled wine waiting for you. The difference between that and true toughness was something she never would have recognized until seeing the real thing in Ranma.

There was a mutual respect growing between them and, despite the fact her inability to get closer to him using her normal charms drove her up the wall, most of the time Margaery found herself enjoying this process more than she would some torrid whirlwind romance from a bard's tale.

For his part, the more time he spent around Margaery, the more Ranma compared her to Nabiki from his last life. They were both very observant, very intelligent, and devoted, Margaery to her family, Nabiki to herself. Though, where Nabiki had few real scruples when it came to her dealings with others, Margaery had limits she would not cross and her methods were entirely different.

Her political acumen was extreme, however, and Ranma had called on it a few times to aid him in his dealings with various nobles of the court, a few knights, and most particularly, Lancel Lannister, who had only obeyed his cousin's injunction for a week before trying to make trouble in the court. He found himself stymied easily by Margaery and Ranma.

That Margaery was attractive, there was no doubt but the mind and the personality was what interested him more than that. She was funny, gentle at times, sarcastic and snarky at others. Mutual respect and amusement as well as attraction seemed to be working very well as a basis for their 'relationship'.

The two continued to snipe good-naturedly at one another as they continued up the hill. They soon reached Tobho Mott's store. Entering the sales area, Ranma found the same young man manning the front. After exchanging greetings, Ranma asked, "I received a message that my sword was ready?"

Tobho's gruff voice sounded from the back. "Aye, it is and an odd job it was. Still, I'm happy with it. The cutting blade is good, lad, but I'm worried about the durability of it." The man came out, holding his customers finished blade. "Yer new steel strengthening techniques worked and, ye gods, the edge is something I could use like a razor but that very sharpness means it will be more prone to wear and tear in a long battle."

"Let me worry about that, old man." Ranma grinned, taking the blade and holding it up to the light. It was just as it looked in the sketches he had shown the blacksmith. It even had the lines, the faint wavy texture to the steel. The katana had a faint curve to it, was a little over 40 inches long, longer than a normal katana would be, with one side having an edge all along its length and the other down half of it. The point, too, was wicked and Ranma smiled as he looked down its length.

Ranma brought the blade down to one side, holding it there for a moment before performing Iaido, a fast draw cut, then bringing it back across just as swiftly, the noise of the sword through the air making a whistling sound. "Nice, very nice. The weight is perfect, the steel looks good too, and the cutting edge…"

He pulled out a handkerchief from his pocket. Throwing it into the air, he brought the katana up to slice neatly through it. "Looks good. I don't suppose you have some steel ingots I could test it on?"

"I've got a sword you can test it on, if you want. I wouldn't mind seeing what it can do, either." Tobho shouted toward the back for a moment. Gendry came out, carrying a simple, yet very well made longsword.

Margaery immediately noticed the young man's features and she frowned thoughtfully.

Gendry looked at the very pretty high born girl and flushed, effected by her beauty, before looking at Ranma. "I'll just swing this and we'll see if that fancy edge of yours keeps up."

"Hah, you just swing it, Waters." Tobho growled. "None of your lip."

That made the Tyrell girl glance at the smith sharply, noticing how the man had called Gendry a baseborn. Interesting and the man made certain we knew it. That possibly means he understands the Queen's views on her husband's bastards. Or could it be her policy against them is more… proactive than I thought. Something to think about, as is why…

Ranma, however, simply nodded at Gendry. The young apprentice swung the longsword through the air between him and Ranma. Ranma waited a split second and then swung his katana. There was a 'Spang!' as the two blades met. There was silver blur in the air, then a solid 'Thunk' as a foot of the longsword's blade impacted the wall. Ranma grinned. "I think the blade works, master Tobho." He held the blade up, showing that the edge hadn't even been marred. "So, how much do I owe you?"

A few moments of haggling later, Ranma and Margaery left, with Ranma having been told a time to expect his two 'odd short swords'. He had run into a man who used a similar weapon before, which was where he had gotten the idea for them.

Halfway back to the Red Keep, they were hailed from an open door bakery to the right of them. "Is that the maid of High Garden I see? And you must be young Stark? You've got your father's looks to be sure."

They turned and Margaery's eyes widened, recognizing the man from a painting she had been shown of her family's enemies. "Prince Oberyn." she said bowing her head and curtseying with all her formidable grace, despite being in the middle of the street with the hustle and bustle of traffic moving around her. She moved forward, forcing Ranma and her chaperone to follow. "I did not know you were in the city. When did you arrive?"

"Oh, a few days ago." the Prince replied blandly. "Alas, I do not have the sea legs to get off a ship and go immediately into combat so I had to arrive early and, as you well know how little affection I have for the Royal family, best to get here early and get a good room, yes? I don't suppose your older brother Willas is here, is he? I have a lot of respect for that man, particularly in animal husbandry, and there were some questions I wished to ask him of a new line of horses coming out of Essos."

Margaery laughed politely, though what he had said hadn't actually been funny and the mention of Willas was undiplomatic in the extreme since he had been crippled by a bad fall from a horse in a tourney against Oberyn himself. "I regret to say that my eldest brother is not here, though, if you wish, I would be happy to send any correspondence you want to him via raven. But I find I have forgotten my manners. Prince Oberyn, be known to Ranma Stark. Ranma, this is Prince Oberyn of Dorne."

Ranma nodded sizing the man up. "Uncle Brynden mentioned you were in the city, Ser, though he didn't tell me you were going to enter the tourney."

"Yes, I imagine he would, a most intelligent man, your uncle. A spear user like myself, at times as well, though not as speedy as I. I found it informative he was here in the city serving you and your father in such a fashion. It made a good first impression to be sure, though I have to wonder, are you three still able to wend your way through the pits of this place? Or have they begun to move toward you?"

"A little bit of the former, possibly more of the latter." Ranma shrugged, knowing not to say anything more. Brynden had told him about Oberyn's being in the city. Ranma and Ned were both of the opinion the man was here as the Dornish equivalent of a vulture, circling for opportunity. You don't trust scavengers, you keep them in sight. Luckily for the Starks, both Brynden and Eddard felt Oberyn was no threat to their position, yet.

Next to him, Margaery kept her polite smile from becoming rather more crooked with difficulty. So, Ranma can act circumspectly; where in the Seven Kingdoms has he been hiding it? Margaery knew nothing about how much of his skills and abilities Ranma was hiding even from his father, how much he had learned of the city, and how it worked over the last few months. Ranma preferred the direct approach, especially in matters of the heart (or betrothal). That didn't mean he couldn't be subtle or secretive.

She kept that thought off her face for the moment, studying Prince Oberyn closely as she could without appearing anything but the perfectly poised, demure noble lady. High Garden and Dorne were not friendly with one another; they had long been enemies over the Dornish Marches. This competition had been overtaken in recent years with the hatred Dorne and its Royal family held for all things Lannister since the Rebellion.

Still, Margaery wondered how the Prince would affect the power struggle going on behind the scenes here. The Lannisters and the general corruption of the court were very slowly losing ground against Ned Stark and his dogged, determined approach. With every month that passed, he pulled the nation slightly more out of debt to the Lannister family as well as the Iron Bank of Braavos. It was precisely what he had to do but it was only a matter of time before the Lannister faction began to push back, though, strangely, she felt the Queen wasn't interested in it or, at least, had something on her mind other than the battles occurring in the court and small council.

"Come, sit with me." the Prince said. "I have heard a wondrous tale of you, boy, was there any truth to it?" He raised a hand to the serving girl, who quickly returned with two mugs of beer.

Ranma rolled his eyes, then pulled up a chair readily, sprawling out in it with one hand negligently falling to the pommel of his new sword while Margaery and her chaperone took seats nearby. The smith had been damn good, even if he was slow. The sword was excellent, if as expensive as Tobho cautioned it would but Ranma would get his money worth when the smith finished his katars. Well, one would be Ranma's, he thought the other might be a good nameday present for Tommy, after he got his parents' (really his father's) permission first, or maybe one of the wolfsworn, as had been his original thought on it.

"Some truth, not so much derring-do as the song states. Any kind of battle in the enclosed space of a castle is more about blood and death than courage as I said to the giggling girl over there." Indeed Margaery was giggling. Any mention of that song would set her off a bit. "I rescued Domeric, the trueborn heir of Roose Bolton. I have no idea nor do I wish to speculate on why he changed his part in it to that of a woman."

The Dornish prince guffawed loudly at that, slapping his thigh. "I see! Well, in any event it should be interesting to see what you do in the tourney."

"Are you going to compete?" Ranma asked. "I've heard stories about how good you are with a spear. I imagine it would make the melee more entertaining."

"Alas no, I they have no wish to enter the melee or the jousting. I'm here for the wrestling and archery competitions. "I'm quite afraid that I would lose control if I were to face anyone who backed Robert in his rebellion."

Margaery's face went blank at this blatantly indiscreet talk but Ranma merely shrugged. "I can't say I like the man much. He doesn't seem to really be reign as I understand it, being more of a figurehead than anything else. But your comment seems to have had a bit more than sheer disgust there. I understand that Dorne's relationship with the Crown is bad, although I thought it was mostly the Lannisters you hated."

"I hate them all," the Prince growled, his self-control for fraying slightly as this well-worn topic came up. "I hate the Lannisters for what they did, I hate Robert for not punishing them for it, and I hate your father and your family Stark for backing it and that bastard's rebellion!" He reined himself and with difficulty. "Though at the same time," he went on, almost against his will, "I…can't fault your family for what they did. You were certainly given enough provocation."

"I can understand that," Ranma said nodding his head, showing no reaction to the Prince's sudden violent reaction. "But Robert was at war and it was the Lannisters who were at fault for the death of your sister and her children in the sack of the city."

"Hah!" Prince barked a sound that was in no way a laugh. "Death? You make it sound so clean. You have no idea what the Mountain and his men did, do you? It wasn't merely that they killed my sister Elia but what they did to her and her children."

A cold feeling began in Ranma stomach and he frowned. "I know the Mountain killed them in cold blood and I've never understood why Robert didn't demand his head at the very least but what else did they do?" He asked, not certain he really wanted to know the answer.

He didn't. "Ser Gregor Clegane and Ser Amory Lorch killed Aegon, Elia's young son, in front of my sister and then raped her as Lorch killed her baby daughter while she watched. The Mountain's soldiers bragged about it after!" he said, his voice harsh and grating, his hands clenched on the stein of beer he had been drinking from so hard that the wood actually creaked a bit under his hands. "I hate them, I will always. I hate Tywin Lannister for ordering it, for the slight of Aerys choosing to wed Rhaegar to Elia over his daughter the bitch queen. I hate Gregor Clegane and Lorch for doing the deed. And I hate 'King' Robert Stranger-damned Baratheon the First for not punishing even the murderers as he should have!"

Oberyn was silent, breathing deeply as he tried to get control of himself. "It is because the Mountain will be in the tournament that I dare not enter. I would have tunnel vision. I would charge him with everything I had and another Lannister supporter would take the opportunity to slip his sword between my ribs. Accidents happen all the time on the field of the tournament, after all."

Ranma went cold. Even Margaery, who had heard rumors of the real story about what happened during the sack of Kings Landing before, had been horrified by this simple, unadorned tale. Ranma too had heard a version of it before but certainly not the full story. Enough to make him hate the Mountain That Rides but now, knowing the full story, his emotions shut down almost as if he had entered the Soul of Ice. "I did not know that." he said quietly, his voice quiet.

Yet something about it made everyone in the vicinity, even those passersby who didn't even hear the conversation, shiver and move on quickly. Margaery and Oberyn stared at him, as Ranma's hand, with no apparent effort, crushed the stein of beer he had had been holding into so many splinters. Ranma didn't even notice, simply staring across at the Prince. "I didn't know but I do now."

That was much worse than what he had thought, that it wasn't even simply a horrible death caused by the heat of battle as maester Luwin had told him in their history lessons. This was cold-blooded and premeditated torture and rape, and the Lannisters and Robert allowed that monster to go free? No longer. Ranma's voice was so cold it could have frozen the water of the port. "I do now."

He stood up, bowing abruptly to the Prince. "We have to get back soon, so we will take our leave now, Prince Oberyn."

Oberyn was rather shaken by the sheer force of Ranma's voice and the unrelenting, yet cold fury it held. Truly it is said that Stark blood has ice in it. he thought to himself, shuddering a little. He knew his own temper ran hot and that in the heat of a moment he would do horrible things. Had done horrible things in his mercenary years. Yet, that voice had unnerved even him, a core of uncompromising purpose, something of the unstoppable nature of winter itself in it.

Soon enough, however, he recovered and shook his head, smirking a little at having done, albeit without plan or attempt, what he could to sour the Stark heir's opinions of the King and the Lannisters. A good day, still, I wonder what that young man will do now?

The walk back to the Red Keep was silence and Ranma said not a word as he dropped Margaery and her chaperone off at the Maidenvault before heading straight to the tower. There were five days before the tournament began and Ranma now knew what he was going to do.

OOOOOOO

After that event, in the days leading up to the tournament, everyone that interacted with him noticed the change in Ranma. There was an edge there, a sharpness to his movements. No longer was he going out of his way to have fun with Merry or Tommy. Now he exercised nearly all day, his movements sharp, controlled, and edged with a deep and abiding fury.

The third day of this had Eddard calling his son in to talk. "Something is bothering you, my son, everyone can see it. Even Tommen and Myrcella have been walking on tiptoes around you the past few days. Can I ask what is wrong?"

"Gregor Clegane will be in the tourney, correct?" Ranma said, turning from the window to stare at his father, his blue eyes dark as the depths of the ocean.

"He will." Ned responded, hesitantly staring at his son. "We received word from Castle Clegane several weeks back that he will arrive the evening before and to put his name down for both the melee and the tourney."

"You never told me the full truth, Luwin never told me what really happened in the sack of Kings Landing do Elia Martell and her children." Ranma said.

"No, I did not." Eddard replied simply. "There are some things too horrible to speak of, that was one of them."

"And you knew what my response would be to it."

"Yes, I knew."

"Then you know what I'm going to do."

Ned looked his son thoughtfully and nodded. "Yes, I do. It is long overdue, my son, though I am not so sanguine about risking you in a fight with that monster. Still, if something should happen to him, then I will thank the old gods that such a one has been removed from this earth."

Ranma nodded and the two men shared a firm handshake before Ned let his son go. He stared after the younger man for a moment, shaking his head. In actuality, he had worried, after Ranma's initial run in with the Bolton forces and what had happened then, that Ranma would have simply ridden off to hunt down the Mountain, despite the distance between castle Clegane and Winterfell. The mental scars left by Ramsay Bolton were deep and had never truly healed. Added to this was Ranma's sense of honor, something that Ned fully shared. Still, Eddard couldn't have allowed that, but now, in a tourney? Well, it would still make trouble but it would be much easier to handle. And I really will sleep better knowing that one more beast has been removed from this world.

OOOOOOO

A month after her discussion with Domeric, Daenerys did precisely what she had said she would; she goaded her brother into hitting her again. She did so this time by attacking his basic intelligence and goading him by comparing him to the many madmen and women their family had produced. Viserys had been pulled off her much quicker this time by a guard stationed outside her bedchamber, but the majority of the damage had been done to her face, making her once again unsuitable to be married off.

The old Daenerys might have cried out or become more fearful of her brother after his attack, even if it had been her plan in the first place. But Daenerys had changed; no longer was she that young woman, who was willing to let others control her. She wanted to control her life and physical pain like this was a paltry price to pay for that.

So a brief, painful, yet heartfelt smile appeared on her face when she heard magister Illyrio cordially ripping into Viserys outside her door. "I fail to see what kind of strategy you are following when you assault your sister so, Your Highness, perhaps you could enlighten me? Because from my perspective, these bouts of Targaryen madness do nothing but weaken our position." Daenerys' smiled slightly at that and the hissing indrawn breath from her brother that came with it.

Outside the Princess's room, Illyrio glared at Viserys, wondering if he might have been better served to separate the two Targaryens and ditch the older sibling to concentrate on molding the younger. But it was too late for that now and, in all honesty, these bouts with his sister were the only real issue he had with Viserys. "I have been pouring my goodwill with Khal Drogo out like water in the desert to apologize for this but this will cost us. Luckily, Khal Drogo was planning to leave soon on some kind of errand, something purely Dothraki that I don't understand. Regardless, he will be back in three months, by which time the Princess must be presentable No more delays will be allowed or else Drogo may believe we are slighting his honor. If that happens, the whole city might pay the price for your madness."

Viserys ground his teeth but he nodded. "You're right. I shouldn't have reacted as badly as I did. She's just a child, lashing out at her superiors because she doesn't like their plans for her." Illyrio nodded encouragingly, his spiky beard bobbling, but inside he was wondering if Daenerys knew precisely what she was doing. Viserys went on, moving away from the door to his sister's room. "Anyway, how far along are we with our other plans?"

"I feel we might have enough political clout." Illyrio pulled at his beard thoughtfully as he followed the older Targaryen down the passageway. "Money has never been in much doubt but we could use more aid among the magisters whose holdings are centered on the shipyard. We've bought a lot of new hulls but if we don't woo them, those hulls might be postponed as long as they can get away with to pay back that slight. Other than that, there are one or two magisters we might wish to appeal to in order to aid to our war chest."

"Very well, get me a list of them, as well as some information about them, and I will see if we can convince them of the rightness of our cause." Viserys had been doing very well with wooing the magisters to believe in his cause, now that he had a backer like Illyrio.

Most of these magisters were not on the ruling council, being slightly below that, but two were and their influence was decent enough. Not enough to truly change the balance of power in the city. None of them, for example, were linked to the 'city watch', the small standing army that patrolled the city streets and ostensibly protected the city from exterior threats but were in reality mere strong arms for the council. Nor were the magisters who dealt in foodstuffs, always a city's main weakness, represented.

Still, Viserys had charmed enough magisters to bring in about twenty times the amount of money and resources Illyrio alone could call upon. "I trust you to be your normal, urbane, convincing self." Illyrio murmured as the two continued on their way.

Behind them, a door opened slightly and Domeric came out, looking a little thoughtful as he turned to make his way to Daenerys' room.

Over the next few weeks, Daenerys busied herself by reading every single book she could get her hands on: about warfare, about taxes, about laws, about anything really; both from the Free Cities of Essos and from Westeros. The Westeros books were few and far between, hence why Illyrio had allowed Domeric into his house to make use of his knowledge. Still, they helped expand her knowledge of the continent that her family had called home for three hundred years.

While she was doing this, Domeric memorized the guard schedule and became friends with a few of them, trying to figure out a way into the magister's vault without having to fight his way in. If he had to do that, they would never get out of the manse, there were too many guards. He was decent with a blade but not that good. Of course, he was also called upon to put forth his input whenever Illyrio or Viserys asked his opinion on anything Westerosi.

He was writing up some notes on the Vale lands for Viserys when they were interrupted by Illyrio coming in, looking thoughtful. "We seem to have attracted another Northerner to use, ser bard. A Jorah Mormont is here to swear his service to the Targaryen siblings. Do you know him?"

At that name from out of the past Domeric's eyes widened in shock, while Viserys looked at him in amusement for his sudden lack of control. "Jorah Mormont? Yes, I know him very well or, at least, knew him well. He and I fought together in the Greyjoy Rebellion. We were among the first Northerners to storm the walls of Pyke."

"Is he trustworthy?" Viserys asked. "And is he so good with a blade that he would be an asset?"

"As a blade he is around my level, I think, though he was also trained as a troop commander, something I never had interest in learning. However, I doubt he would be able to tell you anything I could not about Westeros. You see, he is an exile. He fled his House's Island in front of a sentence of death for slavery. He was selling people from his own clan's land and others into slavery to pay for keeping his second wife in the comfort she had become used to."

Viserys rolled his eyes. He had spent most of his life in Essos, where the slave trade was a major part of the continent's economy, so he had never developed the Westeros attitude toward the practice.

The bard knew this and cautioned. "Do not make the mistake of assuming that the slavery issue is a small one. Even smallfolk in Westeros are free, the concept of slavery is anathema to nearly everyone both in power and not."

"Hmm." Illyrio murmured. "I'm going to have the guards escort him here, let us see what he has to say."

Moments later, Jorah Mormont was shown in. Like all his House, he was tall, broad shouldered, and strong. Also hairy, with a beard that had seen better days and hairy arms shown in the short sleeved shirt he currently wore. He had been stripped of sword and mail before being allowed into the magister's presence.

When he was ushered in, his eyes lit on Domeric and widened in shock. "Domeric Bolton! What by all the gods old and new are you doing here?!"

"I could be asking you the same question, Jorah." Domeric's voice was cold and Jorah flinched at it. "I take it your ventures into slavery have failed to keep your lady happy, so you are here to pursue another profession?"

Jorah winced further, then barked a unhappy chuckle. "You always did have a tongue on you. But no, I'm here for me. My wife left me; she's fucking some merchant prince in Lys. So much for love!"

It was Domeric's turn to wince. "Throwing away your honor and your family to keep her happy wasn't enough? Ouch. I apologize for my tone, Jorah."

Viserys barked a harsh laugh. "Such loyalty will eventually reap its own rewards, yet we are getting far afield of the real topic. Why are you here, man of the North, and what can you offer us to take you into our service?"

If anyone objected to Viserys' use of the royal 'we', none commented on it. Jorah shrugged. "I had thought to give you another perspective on Westeros and its people but I have no doubt that Domeric has already filled that role. I will say that I have connections still in Westeros, particularly in the Vale and Westerlands. Other than that, I am an able blade and a good leader of such. I have taken a hard look at Robert Baratheon's rule and I think that a return to the glory days of Targaryen rule would actually be best for Westeros in the long run, so if you'll have me, I'll be your sworn man."

That comment won Domeric some looks, since the bard had not in fact sworn any oaths to either Illyrio or the Targaryens and had been blunt about his being torn between them and his loyalty to House Stark. Viserys however simply nodded. "Blades we have but field commanders used to the Westerosi methods of war could be useful. Still, that is a long way into the future, so what information can you give us of Westeros to make employing you now useful?"

That conversation continued for a time, since it appeared that Jorah had some way of getting news from Westeros that was more up to date than Domeric's. The news that Lysa Arryn nee Tully had fallen into some kind of paranoid madness was interesting and potentially very useful. A land without a clear leader might be more vulnerable to conquest, despite its mountainous nature. The news that a King Beyond the Wall had risen was useful, as well, and something Domeric hadn't heard a hint of. It implied that, at worst, the North would be too busy defending that border to add its weight to anything happening further south, at best, forces from the rest of the realms could have been sent to the Wall, weakening them all.

Despite this, Domeric was more than a little suspicious of his former friend, which he confided to Daenerys later that evening. "His information is too new for someone who has spent years in Essos after his exile. I have no idea how he is getting it, he waves that off saying it is from contacts he made during his slaving years but that doesn't make sense. Those kinds of friends are fair-weather at best, why would they continue to share news with someone who has nothing to offer them back?"

Daenerys frowned, wincing internally at the pain this caused her face. "Could he be an agent of the eunuch? The master of whispers is supposed to be very subtle, after all, and these tidbits he's shared could simply be there to get us to trust him." Here she spoke of Viserys and Illyrio, really, not her, but the point was still applicable.

"Hmm… I would have said no before I heard of his crime all those years ago, but now?" Domeric shrugged. "You must understand how slavery is seen in Westeros, Princess. It is a social taboo on the order of, of, offering violence against someone once you have taken bread in his or your own house. It is something that would make you anathema to all right thinking people. His reasons were such that I can commiserate with him but never condone his actions."

The young Princess took this in, though inside she still didn't understand the Westeros reaction to slavery, having been raised from a young age here in Essos. Still, she understood enough to make note of it. "I see. How will this influence our plans?"

Domeric shrugged. "I'm waiting for an opportunity but I have come to the conclusion we might have to go for a smash and grab, as it were, and we are still going to be waiting some months before the ship captain you think will aid us is here to spirit us off. I will warn you, however, that this is a onetime proposition; when we try to break into the magister's vault, we won't be able to back out.

"I understand that." Daenerys actually smiled slightly, despite the pain of moving her mouth. "I understood that the moment I began to plan this out. We must, as the saying goes, risk all to gain all."

OOOOOOO

Two days after speaking to his father, the tournament began and Ranma signed up for the melee and the joust. Gregor Clegane would be taking part in both. Ranma cared not for winning any longer; that would've simply been fun and amusing but now he was a man on a mission. The years since the crime occurred did not change right and wrong and, because of his experience upon meeting Ramsey Snow, he could all too easily imagine the pain, anguish, and terror Clegane's victims felt.

The tournament was situated a morning's journey away from the city in a large clearing that was about two miles across. In the center, with wooden bleachers surrounding them and a two story Royal box between them, were the fields for the two main events, the jousting and the melee. The jousting area would also be used for the archery tournament, while the melee section, a wide, circular area of gravel, bare ground, and grass, would be segmented up for the wrestling and fisticuffs competitions, as well as a few others, like knife throwing, spear hurling, and others.

Stalls had been set up all along the edge of the tournament selling food, alcohol, whores, and many other things. At Ned's direction, the money those vendors earned would be taxed quite a bit so both they and the crown would see a profit. Well the crown wouldn't, not given the large size of the prizes Robert had insisted be given out to the winners of the biggest competitions, archery, melee, and jousting.

The crowds had gathered already, as Ranma arrived with his father and the few knights from Winterfell who were going to enter the tournament. Many had thought to enter but that number decreased, once they saw how grimly Ranma acted about his own entry. Ser Jory, Mattimeo Cluny, and Ser Thomas Willowtree, were the only ones who still intended to enter the melee or the jousting, while six others would be entering the archery competition. Twelve men from Riverrun were participating, spread out in the melee and in other competitions.

Willowtree was the fourth son of a minor House that was beholden to House Manderly and was the only Ser among them, other than Jory. He, like Jory, had won his Ser in the Iron Born rebellion for defending an ally. He was also the only person amongst the fifty men that had come south that believed in the Seven and he had been heavily disillusioned by the High Septon since their arrival here. In his own words, he desired some honest, wholesome battle to lose himself in.

Jory had his eye on a maid of the Queen's he had been flirting with the past few months and hoped to use the prize money to help in wooing her. Mattimeo wanted to make a name for himself. He was the youngest of the three, a humble, smiling lad who got along well with Ranma most of the time, though he wasn't nearly as serious about his martial skills as the others, knowing he would have to go home, eventually, to his family's coal mine.

That first day of the tourney was a half-day devoted entirely to the melee. This would allow those contestants who had also signed up for the jousting and were injured during it to heal somewhat over the two weeks of the tourney before the jousting began. Before that, of course, the tourney had to be formally begun by a speech from Robert.

Ranma stood among the other melee combatants while all around them crowds began to gather at the edge of the area set aside for the melee. He wore a half-plate armor, which bore his family's crest done out in black on the burnished steel and a single blue eye. At his side, he wore a simple longsword, borrowed from the Red Keep's armory.

For the melee, you had to blunt your blade as part of the security of the event so not as many people would die. Maces, hammers, and other blunt weapons were made lighter and had to submit to inspection for that purpose. His old warhammer hadn't passed inspection but Ranma had refused to blunt his new sword. That seemed almost like sacrilege, given the magnificence of the blade the master smith had forged for him.

The King's family, several nobles, and the Starks sat in a special two story pavilion that had been set up alongside the two areas for the main trio of events. It was covered with an awning that would give them shade from the sun, although all its sides were open. The chairs could be twisted around from one end to the other so that they could view both the jousting and the melee from the same position.

Margaery sat next to Sansa with Myrcella on her other side, a sitting arrangement that none of the three girls liked. With Joffrey sitting beside Sansa and then the special area for the King and Queen next to him, this left them with the current sitting arrangement, since Myrcella wanted Tommen to be sitting as far away from Joffrey as he could. Not that Myrcella was happy to have Margaery anywhere near her but her friend at least was a somewhat decent buffer so she wasn't tempted to claw her eyes out when she cooed about how handsome Ranma looked out there.

Sansa didn't like the fact that Margaery had been occasionally flirting with Joffrey but that seemed to have died down of late, which she was very happy for. She hadn't been prepared for it at all, though her womanly instincts had served her enough to step up her own flirting with him to keep the Crown Prince interests where it belonged (So much so that her father had taken her to task a few times). While Sansa was making herself a place in the Red Keep, getting along well with all the ladies and becoming the head seamstress of several projects, including one dress for the Queen that she was creating as a surprise gift for her, Sansa's relationship with her brother and father was not what it once was.

Neither of them saw the truth as she could so clearly. That Joffrey, despite not being what they thought of as a good match, was indeed a good match for her and would make an excellent King. He had the right attitude, the correct courtly manner, the looks, everything. Still, Sansa was looking forward to seeing her brother in the tournament. She also knew how easily he would overmatch and overwhelm any one person, so seeing him in the melee would probably be a better show than in the jousting.

On the other side of the raised seats for the King and Queen sat Ned, Renly, Ser Loras, Lancel Lannister, and Lord Jason Mallister from the Riverlands fortress of Seagard. Petyr, Varys, and the rest of the council as well as a few other highborn gentlemen and ladies from around the Crownlands sat behind them. A few maids and servants sat or stood around the edges of the box.

Ned had greeted Lord Mallister warmly. His domain, Seagard, was both a town and castle; it was built to defend the coast from raiders coming from the Iron Islands and was the site of many of the battles against the Iron Born during their rebellion. House Mallister itself was one of the most powerful Houses of the Riverlands.

Jason Mallister was an honorable man around Eddard's age with a chiseled face, brown hair, and eyes as sharp as the eagle on his family's crest. He and Ned had met before and respected one another deeply. Since the man's arrival a few days ago, the two of them had been sequestered, in the Hand's Tower. Ned shared with the man everything but his worry about the true parentage of the three royal children. Jason was sickened by the amount of graft Eddard was discovering but vowed to share his observations with Lord Tully when he could.

The new Hand still hadn't decided if Petyr was loyal but not willing to rock the boat, or working for himself. But that observation, as well as everything else Eddard wouldn't share even with a trustworthy friend like Jason, was a little much to send himself in a message back to Winterfell. And the ship from Lord Manderly, which had arrived two weeks ago, was an escape route, not a messenger service. The ravens, after all, could be sent anywhere the maester sent them and Ned didn't trust any of the Red Keep's maesters, most particularly Pyrcelle.

Oberyn was not among the occupants of the Royal Box. He sat among the crowd, looking around with interest as he tried to see if he could spot his errant ladies. They had done a very good job of disappearing into the city but he hoped to spot them here. He had begun to think maybe he was wrong about them being able to handle themselves and wanted to make certain they were still alive. The things his older brother would do to him if Arianne were killed here hardly bore thinking about. At last, he saw them among the peasants sitting in the merchants section of the seating and he sighed deeply in relief.

After that, Oberyn looked back at the melee competitors, easily spotting Ranma Stark and his own squire. As a relative unknown, Daemon Sand was able to disappear among the hundreds of other competitors, which would keep him safe. Relatively, anyway.

Robert stood up and after a short speech ended grandly, "This tourney is in honor of Ned Stark taking over as my Hand! For the honor of your families, for the money involved, and for the honor you'll show your King, fight well!"

With that, the horns blasted from all around and the groups moved off to their own tents at the far end of the two fields that would be used for the melee and the jousting, Ranma sharing a tent with his fellows from the North. They quickly pulled on their helmets on, adjusted their armor, and got their shields. Ranma looked at the other three before putting his own helmet on. "I probably don't have to tell you this," he said, his voice once more tinged with an icy rage, which sent all three of the other men backing away slightly, "but stay away from me out there. I'll try not to hurt any of you three if I can, but don't get between me and the Mountain that Rides."

All three men's eyes widened at that declaration and began to wildly speculation what it meant. Ser Jory was the first to put two and two together. "Justice long overdue, my Lord," he said reaching forward to clap Ranma on the shoulder. "I hope you get your chance."

Ranma nodded, reaching out and gripping the older man's shoulder then turned at the sound of the second booming bellow of the horns indicating the men needed to reassemble for the melee.

The melee occurred in a wide circular area, with every man set up along the edge of the circle. Unfortunately, Ranma found himself almost directly across from his target. As soon as the horns boomed again, every man (mounted or otherwise) would run forward twenty paces into the center of the circle, where they would start to attack one another.

Strategies for the melee varied. Many, such as Oberyn's squire Daemon, would move forward slowly, staying to the outer edge to pick off one or two opponents, staying away from the main battle and letting his opponent's tire themselves out.

Others, like Gregor Clegane would simply wade into it, using their strength and reach to smash their enemies. Gregor was truly a giant, nearly eight feet tall with massive shoulders and arms, weighing over thirty stone, nearly all of it muscle. He used a six-foot long, two-handed greatsword with just one hand, even on horseback.

Ranma didn't care about that, he merely cared that his target was in sight. As soon as the horns blared again, he leaped forward, faster than anyone there had ever seen a man in half plate move. Suddenly, he was in the direct center, his sword lashing out to smash aside a blow from a horsed knight from the Stormlands, his return blow bashing the man off his horse. He fell awkwardly, smashing his head into the ground, out cold. With that, the tourney began in earnest and the melee erupted around him.

Ranma whirled, faster than any man there could move, blocking a blow from another man who had entered the melee on horseback. Ranma had chosen not to do this, despite the height advantage it would give you, since controlling a horse would've taken away from his concentration

The man was so astonished at his speed that he hadn't even set himself in the saddle correctly to block a return blow and Ranma's strength almost lifted him off out of his saddle. Ranma gut-checked the horse, throwing it back and causing it to whinny. The man barely kicked out of the saddle before the horse landed on him.

Ranma had already turned away, taking on two more men, one with a mace and one with a claymore, bashing both hastily raised weapons to the side, his fist flashing out to smash into their heads one after another with lightning speed, sending them down to the turf. He raced on, dodging the clumps of combat he could, heading straight for his target.

By the time he got close, however, Gregor Clegane had already been disqualified, retreating with ill grace out of the melee area. Ser Thoros of Myr had been closer to Gregor than Ranma and, like he often did, the man made straight for him. The priest of R'hllor wasn't, as Ranma had noticed a time or two seeing him with the King, very priestly, enjoying many pleasures of the flesh. But he had never forgotten or forgiven Gregor's savagery during the sack of Kings Landing. So he made for the man, blazing sword held high, cutting down four others, whose horses weren't trained as his own to ignore his sword.

Unfortunately, the Mountain's massive horse was as spooked as the man himself by the Thoros's flaming sword. He rode out of the tournament angry and raging but unwilling to face the priest with his blazing sword. The jeers and catcalls of the crowd followed him, causing the man to grit his teeth angrily and mark the faces of the loudest hecklers for later retribution.

Just as he crossed the threshold of the area, Ranma came up behind the priest, cursing angrily. "Damn it, I wanted him!"

Thoros twisted in the saddle and blocked Ranma's blow to his legs quicker than he looked to be able to move. There was also quite a bit of muscle underneath that fat, reminding Ranma of the time he had sparred with Lord Manderly's son Wyman. The flaming sword, however, didn't matter to him at all so he didn't retreat when their blades locked. He pushed the priest hard, forcing him and his horse backwards, before elbowing the horse so hard it collapsed backwards. Thoros barely threw himself form the saddle before the horse landed.

Despite this, Thoros simply guffawed, his blade slicing forward to lock with Ranma's once more. "You'll have to get in line if you want a piece of the Mountain, lad. I can name over a dozen men here who would love to end his life. And you're too young to waste your life in the attempt."

With that, Thoros broke their lock, thrusting quickly. Ranma dodged to the side allowing the lunge to go past before trapping his sword arm underneath his own. With a twist of his body, he broke the fat man's arm while, at the same time, smashing an elbow into the man's face sending him senseless to the dirt. "Young I may be but I'll do what you don't seem to be able to."

He left the red priest lying senseless on the ground, moving back through the tournament, smashing everyone aside. If he couldn't face Gregor in the joust, where the contestants were randomly chosen, he would have to fall back on plan B. For that, it would be best to have won the notoriety and the money from both the melee and the joust.

The battle continued. Due to the chaotic nature of the battle, no one in the melee realized how badly Ranma was simply overpowering them all. The spectators could see, of course, and Robert's guffawing bellow rang out every time he saw Ranma almost negligently smash another grown man to the ground before moving on.

Jaime was due to join the jousting along with several others of the Kingsguard but he was standing guard on the King's box for the first day of the tournament, which had been devoted to the melee. Now, he watched on as the Stark heir ripped through his opponents like a direwolf among sheep and frowned heavily. The lad was holding back! How good is he really? He can't be as good as I am, not in terms of skill at least, can he?

Ser Loras watched with worried eyes as his young acquaintance/almost friend cut a swathe through the melee. "Something is eating Ranma; I have never seen him be so serious. This should be fun and games to him, I know for a fact he holds back often in our duels."

Renly looked at him in surprise and Loras shrugged. "Ser Barristan joined us for spar once and, afterward, called him out on it. I overheard them talking. Ranma has depths of strength and power as well as skill that he has not yet shown. But this is something else."

Next to them, Ned merely smiled grimly, knowing what his son had in mind while Jason Mallister smashed one hand against the railing in front of him with every man Ranma smashed to the earth.

The three girls cheered, each in their own way, while Joffrey and his younger brother clapped. Joffrey was doing it only to be seen to do it, while Tommy was excited and awestruck. Inside Joffrey was smirking. He had his own plan for Ranma Stark and the tourney was the perfect time to put it into action. It wouldn't kill him by itself but it would humiliate and dishonor him so badly he might well be exiled, killed, or sent to the Wall as a Night's Watchman. Any of the three outcomes would please him greatly.

Among those locked in combat, Sandor Clegane was the first to realize what was happening and also the first to bow out because of it. He backed away, pulling off his somewhat battered helm as token of his withdrawal, revealing his heavily burned, scarred face twisted in anger. He had no wish to cross blades with the Stark boy and wasn't so egotistical as to keep in the battle just for the sake of it. Others followed, their eyes wide in awe, including Daemon Sand, whose sword Ranma had shattered, with a kick of all things, as Daemon tried to attack him from the side.

Twenty minutes after that, the second to last of Ranma's opponents collapsed senseless to the ground as Ranma simply smashed his shield against the man's own throwing him backwards before knocking him to the earth with an open palm blow to the chest. That left only Ser Jory.

As good as Jory was, they both knew who would win that particular battle. The other men from Winterfell had fallen before Ranma had proven his superiority but had acquitted themselves well, taking out five men in the case of Mattimeo, while Ser Thomas unhorsed seven and downed six before he fell. Now Ser Jory pulled off his helm, bowing to Ranma in token of surrender.

At that signal, the cheers of the crowd redoubled, shouting "Stark, Stark, Stark!" Though where the shout started from, Ranma didn't know.

He bowed slightly to the crowed then turned with Ser Jory following over to grab their fellows up from the mass of unconscious, wounded, moaning, and groaning contestants. Servants and healers came forward, as well. Unlike in tourneys past, Ranma's sheer dominance had actually kept many people from dying save for one man who had fallen off his horse to land awkwardly on his head and another whose head had been struck from his body by Gregor Clegane before he was forced to withdraw by Thoros. Despite being blunted, the Mountain's massive sword was still deadly.

Ranma pulled off his helmet and strode forward towards the King's Royal box. At a nod from one of the melee officials, he stopped at the correct distance, bowing formally.

Robert bellowed another laugh, staring down at the Stark who was so strange in so many ways, yet a consummate warrior, better than any he had seen, better than even most of the old Kingsguard. The present Kingsguard were staring down at him with approval in some eyes but with consternation and fear in others. "Damn lad, that was glorious! Well done, the most dominant victory I've seen in a melee since the first time Thoros used that blasted flaming sword trick!"

He tossed down a token, which was proof that Ranma was the winner. The prizes would all be given out on the last day of the tournament, right after the jousting was finished.

Ranma bowed, once again to the two Royals and once to the ladies before another one for his father, then moved off to help Ser Jory pull along Ser Thomas, who had a nasty gash on one shoulder from a sword that hadn't been quite as blunted as it should've been. Mattimeo had broken his arm, yet was holding his fellows' weapons under his other arm looking remarkably cheerful for all of that. The quartet made their way back to their tent as the crowd cheered for a few moments before dispersing to other amusements for the rest of that day.

During this time, Oberyn Martell met up with his squire, who apologized for his bad showing. His Prince waved this off. His mind on other matters, such as what about how Ranma moved through the melee was bothering him. He didn't figure it out, however, and he and his squire moved on to see if they could somehow surprise the three girls in their own mischief.

OOOOOOO

"You'll do it tomorrow evening. He doesn't have a servant assigned to his tent so put it in the food that is every contestant is given for their tents. Make sure you're not seen doing it." Joffrey glared at his ever so helpful servant. "Don't get caught."

The servant bowed and Joffrey turned to enter his room. He, his mother, and sister had come back to the Red Keep with many others, including Eddard Stark and a goodly portion of his men. They felt the time spent traveling in the morning was well spent in return for having stone walls to keep off the heat and actual beds. Robert hadn't come back since this gave him even more freedom to be with his doxies, forcing the Kingsguard to split.

Joffrey sat down on a window seat for a moment, staring up into the night sky as he thought. This was but one attack he had planned, there were others he could try but even he had realized that facing Ranma in battle would cost him far more in terms of men that he could pay without it being linked back to him. He still had retained a few men that Ser Janos had recommended from the Gold Cloaks for their skill with arrows but even that was too open for him to risk right now. Maybe if this attack didn't work he might try it, but not until then.

And it's not like this first tonic is the only one I've picked up from the alchemists. Such helpful fellows they were, if slow. Still, I have more than enough other concoctions if this doesn't work. And the Starks have made enough enemies here in the city for it to not be linked back to me. In fact, it would probably go back to Pyrcelle, that irritating old man. Mother's complained about him butting heads with the older Stark often enough and he would know how to do it too, wouldn't he? Or perhaps Petyr, the penny-pincher. I might wish to plant some evidence in those directions if the need for a scapegoat arises. But one way or the other, Ranma Stark will eventually be out of the way, no longer stealing the attention that should be mine! Though I still might have to deal with certain others…

OOOOOOO

The next week was given over to small events, while those who were going to participate in the jousting recovered from the melee. The archery competition would begin the next day and cover two days from midmorning to evening, while the rest of the time would be taken by smaller competitions. Ranma didn't join any of the smaller contests though he could easily have dominated them as well, though the archery probably wouldn't have been as easy. He had left that to Theon rather deliberately as they grew up.

Instead, he spent time showing Tommen, Myrcella, and Margaery around. With Ser Oakheart and Ranma guarding them, the King and the Queen knew that no harm would come to their youngest pair and Cersei knew that Myrcella really needed to get her crush out of her system. Seeing Ranma in the tournament yesterday hadn't done much to dissuade that crush, unfortunately. The Queen had hoped it would, given her daughter's gentle nature, but it appeared as if nothing had changed. She hoped that Ranma's treating Myrcella as a sister throughout the day would help end her crush as Ranma, with every kindness and brotherly act, drove home their respective ages and the way he saw her. Otherwise, the Queen would never have allowed her children to wander around the faire at all, let alone with so few followers.

"Well now, isn't that odd?" Arianne Martell said thoughtfully, looking up from where she Tyene had been perusing some admittedly excellent jewelry pieces.

Tyene cocked an eyebrow, then turned her head to look in the direction Arianne was looking. "Is that the younger Baratheon children? My, they really don't look like stags at all, do they?"

"Hmm, that is true though not what I was commenting on, still, I wonder…" Arianne frowned, then shook it off. "The rather attractive young man with them must be Ranma Stark. My word, he is a handsome fellow, if rather barbaric in dress."

"Should we follow them?" Obara asked. She fingered her short sword where it hung inside her cloak, feeling under-armed without her spear.

"Yes, I think we should. It will give us a good idea of how close Stark is to the children and to his prospective bride. While his being allowed to wander around with the Baratheon brats is telling, so is the fact Margaery is keeping her distance, not using her body as she could to flirt with him. If there is a distance between them, perhaps we can widen it and halt that marriage entirely." With a last look between them, the trio of women began to follow the royal party through the faire.

Margaery and Myrcella spent the rest of the day sniping at one another cordially over Ranma's head, while he made every effort to ignore it. Tommen won himself a few prizes with his hand eye coordination, winning a large and expensive bottle of perfume for his mother who took it with a warm smile that evening and a kiss on his cheek.

They sometimes came upon Joffrey, Sansa, their chaperones, and their large guard detail. At these moments, their trio of unnoticed minders faded further, yet keenly watched all involved from the privacy of the crowd.

At these meetings, Sansa always stared hard at Ranma, wordlessly urging him to apologize once more while not realizing that she was the one that had to make that overture first. In response, Ranma would simply glance away, shaking his head internally at how at home Sansa was here, how unlike a Stark she sometimes appeared these days.

Sansa was no longer a girl on the cusp of womanhood, she was a young woman, as much as Margaery despite being younger, but there wasn't a hint of her northern upbringing in her looks. Gone was the clothing she wore in the North, her hair was different, her gait was different, her jewelry was different, and she didn't even have Lady at her side as she walked around the faire.

Like Fenris, Lady had been confined to her room for much of their time here, though in her case she was quite happy to remain inside and be pampered. Sansa still spent a lot of time with her, she made a point of it, in fact, but Lady was losing the wildness that a direwolf should have. She also seemed to have stopped growing and was merely as large as two normal wolves combined now.

Fenris wasn't pleased with being stuck inside so Ranma had taken every opportunity he could during his work on organizing the tourney to let Fenris get away from the city for a time. The massive direwolf, now as large as a pony, frightened a lot of people at first but he was well behaved, so hadn't eaten anyone yet. He had raced off every night into the Kingswood to hunt and seemed to have picked up a craving for bear and boar in particular.

That evening, Myrcella begged her mother to stay with Ranma and Margaery a little later so she could join with them and the battered Mattimeo in a few rounds of chess. Cersei eventually allowed it after Ser Barristan volunteered to stay with them, though her initial thought was to have Lancel stay with them. But the antipathy he and Ranma had for one another made that a bad idea.. Still, with the septa Nysterica, Margaery, Selmy, Oakheart, and Mattimeo there, she felt it was safe enough to let her daughter stay..

Nysterica and Oakheart lost quickly against Margaery and Selmy. Ranma and Mattimeo were evenly matched at first because the guardsman took a purely defensive posture, wanting to whittle down his opponent as much as he could before trying to go on the offensive. This didn't work for long, but it made their match take twice as long as the others, which allowed Ser Barristan and Margaery to battle it out, with Myrcella taking on Ser Jory before he left for the evening. Jory had found a lady from a Crownlands minor House to step out with, a young widow who was here to see her younger brother in the archery competition. Myrcella won her round just as Ranma finished off Mattimeo and broke off to have something to eat allowing Myrcella and Margaery to face off.

That battle was vicious from the get go but Ranma was more interested in his food. Every participant's tent was supplied with food on the King's tab, though this time Eddard had pushed that expense over to the merchants' guild, since they were making money throughout the tournament. The food consisted of simple fair that would keep for a time, fruit, breads, oil, and cold cuts.

Ranma hummed for a moment as he ate some of the cold cuts. "Hmm, some kind of odd sauce on this. Very spicy though."

Mattimeo paused in heading off himself to visit a lady, not one, alas, that he actually was attempting to woo. In his case, she was the type you had to pay. "Really, I didn't notice anything earlier today. Maybe they changed the glaze or something for the evening."

"Maybe, still good though." Ranma shrugged and kept eating. Unlike the kids, he hadn't eaten as they went around, since neither Royal had thought to actually bring money, forcing Ranma to pay their way along with Margaery's. Oakheart had simply laughed and shaken his head when asked to pitch in.

Soon, Ranma was left alone with the southerners. The match between the two girls continued on, while the trio of men and Nysterica talked quietly. The Septa was an older woman, a few years older than Ranma's mother and, while not pretty, was very intelligent. She and Oakheart spoke of growing up in the Reach, while Selmy looked on as the two girls slaughtered one another's forces.

Ranma finished his meal and came back, watching the two girls. For a moment he paused, shaking his head as a wave of vertigo hit him. Margaery looked up at him as he stumbled. "Are you alright Ranma?"

"I, I'm feeling a little hot for some reason." Ranma passed a hand over his brow, feeling it come away with some sweat, as if he had been exercising hard for hours. "I'm alright, I think." A moment later he realized that thought was rather ironic as he felt response down below. Fuck, what the hell! I've got a hell of a lot more control than to let that happen out of the blue like this, what the hell is going on? Ranma hunched over, trying to hide his visible reaction to whatever the hell was messing with his hormones.

All the other people in the tent were now looking at him and the two girls were moving toward him. "Ranma, you look as if you've got a fever, come and lie down."

"Not a fever, something else…" By this time, Myrcella and Margaery were right in front of him, the Princess on his right, with Margaery directly in front of him. Her bodice was straining slightly as she leaned over to put her hand on Ranma's forehead. She smelled of rose and honeysuckle, and Ranma could see a faint sheen of sweat on her neck rolling down into her bodice…

He couldn't help himself; he leaned forward, pulling Margaery toward him. "Ranma, what…" That was as far as Margaery could get before Ranma had pulled her head down, leaning up himself to kiss her hard on the lips. For a moment, Margaery didn't respond, her hands smacking ineffectually for a second against his chest, but after a second she found herself responding, the sheer passion in the kiss making her react ardently, opening her mouth to Ranma's questing tongue.

Nysterica however and Barristan pulled them apart. "What the hell do you think you're doing lad! I know you two might become engaged but there are limits to what you can do!"

Ranma growled, he actually growled a little, and before Oakheart could pull Myrcella away from him, he was smacked aside by a single open palm blow to his chest plate. He 'oofed' as the air left his lungs, then landed on his ass at the far end of the tent. Ranma however had already turned away, his arms going around the shocked Baratheon Princess.

Myrcella was wearing one of her normal dresses, though her body had grown out a bit more since they had met in Winterfell, filling it out slightly so her budding chest was pressing outward, where before she had been flat. Her hips were also somewhat more pronounced. She smelled of vanilla and a hint of lavender, the kind of perfume a young girl would wear.

The princess squeaked as Ranma nuzzled into her neck. She could feel his arousal nudging against her stomach, then she squeaked again as she found his lips capturing hers. Unlike Margaery, the younger girl didn't have enough control to resist and she gave into the kiss, reveling in her crush kissing her, reveling in the sensations going up and down her spine, traveling to areas she had never felt anything like this from before. Her mouth opened in a moan and Ranma's kiss became even fiercer as their tongues twirled together.

The feel of her small chest against his, however, was just enough to give Ranma's rational mind enough of a kick to pull away. The younger girl fell to the ground, a wide, happy, and very out of it smile on her face. Ranma moved back, his arms around his body as his teeth bared, yet he sent a single command to Fenris. The direwolf, finally realizing something was going on rather than the human equivalent of a mating hunt leaped over the downed Oakheart to smash into Ranma, bearing him to the ground.

Fenris sat on him, allowing Ranma to gain some more control. He looked past his direwolf at Ser Barristan, who was standing staring at Ranma his old eyes shrewdly moving between him and the food. "Get them out of here, Ser Barristan! There, there was something in the food, I, I don't know what it was, but I can't…"

"Aye lad, I know, I have no idea what it was, but this isn't you." Ser Selmy picked up the still swooning Myrcella and followed the wincing Oakheart out of the tent, followed quickly by Nysterica and Margaery.

Margaery had enough presence of mind to grab up the plate of meat cutlets before heading out. She looked behind them for a moment, seeing Ranma on the ground, his eyes closed now as he tried to breathe deeply but it was obviously hard for him. His face was still flushed and Fenris was now having to fight to keep him there.

"Well now, it would appear our idea to watch them has paid off already. How intriguing, I wonder what has occurred." Arianne's voice was a mixture of interested, amused, and contemplative as she spoke, looking through the dark lit by the numerous fires and torches to the Stark tent. "Tyene, what do you think?"

Tyene had somewhat better night eyes than the other two and also a very quick mind. "Hmm, it would seem as if something has indeed happened. The young Baratheon girl is out of it at present, while the others all look worried and confused."

Obara grunted irritably at the two other girls simply talking about it, leaving it up to her to actually take action and find out what was going on. She moved forward with her cloak covering her features as she went by the Stark tent. A moment later, she had circled back and was back with the other two quickly. "The Tyrell girl is worried. She fears that the young Stark has been poisoned somehow, but whatever it did, made the 'chaperone' very angry." She said the word with some distaste, since betrothals were much more interesting affairs in Dorne with none of these silly minders, "I could tell the Tyrell girl had been kissed hard as well, and going by the torchlight, she seemed flushed. She was also carrying a tray with a few sweet meats on it."

"Hmm, Tyene, is there anything in your repertoire that would have an amorous effect on someone before starting its deadly work?"

"No, though I know many aphrodisiacs that could be placed in food. Many of them do have harmful effects." Tyene frowned in professional curiosity. "I wonder what will happen now? Many of them will stay in your system until you release."

Arianne frowned, but she was thinking well beyond the now. A moment later, there was a ripping sound that carried to them two tents over and then the sound of running feet heading out into the darkness away from the tourney and its surrounding tents at amazing speeds. "Tell me, do you think you could create an antidote for whatever it is?"

Tyene looked at her in surprise and Arianne smiled. "The Stark heir seems to have flown the coop, as it were, and I bet that whoever tried to poison him desired more of a reaction than what has occurred. But we can still use this, to give us an in with the Starks here, possibly even place you in their household."

"Devious, but I doubt the Tyrell girl will believe in the serendipity of me simply showing up out of the blue right as my skills could be useful." Tyene replied skeptically.

"Perhaps, but I bet the offer of aid will offset that. Obara, you go with her. Make no mention of my being here. You are simply two of the Sand Snakes having followed your father without his knowledge to see what Kings Landing is like. If pressed, admit to being here to see if you can make trouble for the Lannisters."

The two sisters exchanged a glance in the light of a torch but willingly moved forward. By the time they arrived, the group around the tent was becoming frantic or, at least, the two girls were. Oakheart and septa Nysterica were still trying to get their minds around what had happened.

At this point, Myrcella had recovered from her initial swoon at having been kissed like that by her longtime crush, taking the memory and storing it in her mind as a treasured possession to be viewed at a later date. Now however she had to concentrate, in order to help said crush. "We have to get after him! We can't just let him run around out there wild while whatever is doing this to him goes through his system! Who knows what it might do."

"Judging by how fast he raced off, I doubt any of us could catch him." Sir Oakheart said, shaking his head sadly. One of his hands was kneading his armored chest, that palm shot had been painful in the extreme. While it hadn't cracked his armor like that of Greenfield's body back in Winterfell, it still stung like the blazes. He also thought that staying here would keep his charge away from the amorous Ranma, which was a very good idea in his opinion.

Ser Barristan said nothing, staring out into the darkness wondering who had done this, and why. Actually he had a very good idea of why and he glanced at Margaery who had just peered into the tents to see Fenris still there. The large direwolf was pacing around, unable to understand what was going on with his bonded master, but understanding he couldn't help him in whatever was bothering him. Yes, I have a very good idea of what they wanted he thought grimly. It was only luck and Myrcella insisting she wanted to take part in their chess games. With her being here, my presence and that of Oakheart stopped the worst from happening.

"By the time we get back to the city and find an alchemist or maester to help us figure out what is in his system, Ranma could be days away." Margaery muttered to herself. She hadn't honestly believed the stories of how fast he could move until she saw him rip out of the back of the tent and race away faster than her eyes could track. If Ranma could keep up to speed for any length of time, then they had no chance of catching him. It wasn't like any of them could track him in the dark of the forest, either. "Besides I wouldn't trust either of those groups not to have been at least the source of whatever is doing this in the first place. No I'm afraid…"

"Perhaps we could be of assistance." said a soft melodious voice behind them. All five people gathered around the Stark tent turned to see two young women standing there. One of them was garbed in a heavy cloak but it could do little to mask the heavy shoulders and the warlike stance she took. Both White Cloaks tensed, hands going towards their ever present blades as their expert eyes spotted the short sword hidden under that cloak, as well as a the hump of what could be a shield on her back.

The other woman wasn't nearly as threatening, shorter of stature with an innocent and open expression on her face that was centered around wide expressive blue eyes framed by black hair. Judging from their complexion and accent, both of these women came from Dorne, which made both White Cloaks even more wary of them.

Margaery however concentrated on what they said rather than what they were, she would think about that later. "What do you mean you can help us?"

"I have been trained as a septa, though I have not taken the vows, and I specialize in healing and dealing with the poisons that are all too frequent in my country. If you have a sample of the food and can tell me the symptoms, I can try to concoct an antidote."

"Your names?" Ser Barristan asked grimly. He had a feeling that he knew these two or, at least, the older one. "Your features seem vaguely familiar to me, ladies."

"We are two of the sand snakes, I am Tyene, this is Obara."

"And why should we trust you?" Myrcella said, now having her own worries about these two. Relations between Lannister and Martell were deadly at best, and their relationship to House Baratheon was not exactly warm.

"I think we can wait to ask that question, if they can help Ranma, then let them do so now." Margaery said, commanding all three of them. At that moment, all her normal airs fell away, revealing the steel of the trained leader within, the one who had learned at her grandmother's knee, and none of these three had the immunity that Loras had developed to her powers of persuasion. "The symptoms were thus, one moment he was fine, the next he was sweating somewhat, flushed face and woozy of body. Immediately after that he seemed to lose control of his, base desires, shall we say?"

"Base desires?" Tyene shook her head. "I had thought the Reach the most liberal of the rest of the country, but.." she shook her head, finding amusement in that line even now.

"He came all over amorous, couldn't seem to control himself, and almost attacked myself and Princess Baratheon," Margaery said bluntly. "Are you happy now? Here." She thrust forward the plate she was still holding, which had two slices of spiced cold cuts on it, as well as a bit of sauce. "See what you can make of that."

All seven of them moved back inside the tent which was far better lit with a brazier in each of the corners. Tyene moved immediately over to the small stand that had held the food previously, setting the plates down. "Orange colored." she murmured then dipped a small spoon she took out of a small inner pocket of her cloak twirling it around on the plate. "Very viscous and thick, far too orange in color." She took a very small dollop of it, and placed it on her tongue tasting it for a moment before wiping it away quickly. "Concentrated bisti root, mixed with a few other ingredients. Concentrated!"

She repeated the word 'concentrated' for a moment shaking her head. "It's a wonder he didn't jump your bones immediately with this in his system, a testament to his self-control." she said almost admiringly. "If all of these slices…" She counted for a moment thinking of how many slices of meat had been on that plate before and shook her head. "That's incredible."

"What is it?" Myrcella asked looking under her arm at the plates. Tyene smirked at her a little, internally fighting down the urge to reach out and slap the Baratheon girl. The fact that she looked so much like a lion did her no credit in Tyene's eyes. While she personally had never known her aunt, she was, despite her out of wedlock birth, a Martell. You do not wrong the Martells without paying the price, even if you did so via omission rather than act.

Still, she answered readily for now. "In a diluted form it would be called the Lover's Reinforcement. The viscous nature of this sauce however tells me it wasn't diluted, making what is a normal aphrodisiac into a super-powerful one that can affect the mind, possibly permanently if not countered. I say again, it is a wonder he didn't simply assault you regardless of who was around."

Inside she was indeed impressed, though not for the Stark boy's willpower. This was a very bold stroke indeed. It would have discredited the Starks as a whole and Ranma in particular, and make them enemies of both the Royal family and the Tyrells. No chance anyone in the city would take the Stark's side if it came to light that he had been under the influence, in any case. Pyrcelle controls the maesters here and he's a Lannister creature.

"Can you aid him?" Margaery asked, staring at the girl intently. For all her skills however, she couldn't to detect any falsehood, any pleasure from a plan working correctly. This wasn't at an attempt to get on their good side in other words, though she was still very worried about the Sand Snakes and wondering what, by the Maiden, they were doing here.

"I can, though it will take time and several ingredients." She listed them off quickly to Obara who recited them back to her. "Fetch me those from our pouches and I'll need another one that I don't ordinarily carry with me, dried ox tongue. It doesn't keep well, though it doesn't have to be dried for this." She shook her head. "Concentrated." She shook her head again. "A wonder indeed."

"I'll go with you." said Ser Oakheart, standing up quickly.

Outside the tent, Arianne had taken a position along one side of it, so that she could listen in on the conversations. She had to lie down on the ground so that her shadow couldn't be seen through the tent sides but it was worth it. So the game is afoot she thought sardonically, though it remains to be seen how it will play out.

Obara and Ser Oakheart returned ten minutes later with all the ingredients that Tyene had requested. She pulled out from a small pouch an equally small mortar and pestle set, and began to grind up the ingredients while ordering Obara to cut the ox tongue, which was fresh rather than dried, as finely as she could. Slicing and grinding a number of roots and herbs into a fine paste, she added several different powders into the mortar. Tyene then placed the shredded ox tongue in the mixture and stirred it using the pestle. The final ingredient was a liquid from a vial that she pulled out from one of her pouches.

"Tell me," Margaery said casually, "do you always carry these ingredients on you like this? It must be rather irritating, after all."

"Back home to be sure, the smell sometimes bothers me in the heat, I must admit." Tyene answered in seeming honesty. "Here though, the heat is not so oppressive and the need to carry them far more prevalent. Most of these are very expensive, or hard to get, or both and in this city I have no wish to deal with the alchemists or the maester guild to refill my supply. This task is actually very expensive."

"I can understand that," Margaery said quietly, "and if this works I will reimburse you personally."

"Oh?" Tyene said, archly looking up with one eyebrow raised from her work for a moment before looking back down. "You actually have a coin purse somewhere in that dress?"

"Of course not, that's betrothed are for, but I can send my chaperone for it."

Said chaperone huffed indignantly but didn't say anything in response, a little rattled by the events of the evening. "Who did this?" she muttered to herself, shaking her head. "As much as I hate to admit it, lady," she said, looking up at her charge, "you're right about Ranma's personality. He's been keeping you at arms-length so well this was entirely out of character for him. Not to mention his assault on the Princess."

"Which we will not be speaking of further." Margaery said firmly. Luckily, Myrcella hadn't been kissed by Ranma as hard as Margaery. Margaery's lips were actually slightly bruised but Myrcella only had a faint blush suffusing her features still, at the memory perhaps, with no other visible sign of what had occurred. "If word gets out of what occurred here, no matter what was behind it, Ranma and his family will face severe repercussions. Even as little as what occurred could set the Queen in particular against him. This would do no-one here any good."

"That's true." Myrcella said. "My mother is rather respectful of Ranma but I think she dislikes the Starks for some reason."

Myrcella knew the reason, she had heard her mother scream and yell about it at her father when she was younger and had never forgotten that. It was harsh, knowing your father loved a dead woman rather than your mother and that was the reason why he wasn't close to you or your siblings, above and beyond not looking as he could have hoped.

Still, that seems to be changing in Tommen's case so maybe it will change eventually for me as well. Joffrey, she thought, should be taken by the Father for judgment and I have no doubt he will be found wanting.

"So none of us will say anything about this. If anything comes out, I will simply say what occurred, that Ranma tried to attack me but then regained control of himself. No mention of Myrcella will be made, am I clear?" Margaery cocked an eyebrow at them all. If Ranma had been there, he would have shivered a little at how much like Nabiki in full ice queen persona she looked like at that moment.

Everyone else in the tent nodded rapidly, then shifted uneasily until she looked away from them.

Five minutes later, Tyene finished her work, pouring the concoction into a large tankard with a lid on it that she had ordered Obara to get after she finished shredding the ox tongue. As a final step, Tyene threw in a lit match, closing the lid quickly. There was a brief burst of purple flame that appeared around the edge of the lid, then Tyene shook it vigorously once more.

She opened it to test its color, finding it a light greenish color with striations of red just as she wanted it to have. "Good, it's a bit thicker than normal but that's because of using the fresh ox tongue rather than the ground version. It will work to counteract the concentrated bisti root potion."

"That only leaves how we get this to him." Ser Oakheart mused.

Sir Barristan would've spoken up as well but he was too busy thinking of who could have been behind this. He did not like the conclusions he was forming. Still, despite his like for them, the Starks were not his charges and if he accused anyone the full story might well come out. That would damage both them and the Royal family, as well as their relation to one another, so he decided to keep his silence for now.

"That's easy." Myrcella said promptly pointing over at Fenris who was still pacing around one of the edges, snarling at anyone who came close. "We give it to Fenris to carry to him."

"I could rig up some kind of carrier with some straps." Obara offered, though her tone was skeptical. "Do you honestly think, though, that the wolf is smart enough to know what we're talking about? I'll tell you plain, I'm not approaching him. Look at him and how he's acting now."

"Fenris is a lot smarter than you think." Myrcella replied and moved over towards the wolf. She moved slowly, her hands outstretched in front of her, in token of peace. Fenris turned and snarled at her but subsided just as quickly. He rumbled a little as she moved forward but let the girl touch his neck and ears.

Obara went to work on creating a carrier for the tankard while Tyene melted a bit of wax around the edge of the tankard to keep it closed and the liquid inside.

While the two sand snakes were working, Myrcella began to talk soothingly to the wolf. "Fenris, we need you to take something to Ranma, something that will help him. You know he is in distress, you can tell, you sat on him before, remember? Can you do this for us, Fenris?"

Fenris huffed a little at being talked to like he was some kind of dog but licked her face in response and sat on his haunches waiting. Margaery came over, carrying the tankard and, beyond a little rumble and a look in her direction, Fenris was still. Margaery and Myrcella tied it in place, thinking that it would not be a good idea for anyone else to come close.

A few minutes later, they were done and Margaery rubbed Fenris's ears just the way he liked it. "Take this to Ranma now, quickly."

Fenris stood up, then pounced lightly on Margaery, being careful to keep most of his weight on his hind legs as his front paws rested on her shoulders, before licking her face. He then turned and raced through the flap that Ranma had created at the back of the tent in his desperate exit, quickly moving faster and faster.

Margaery growled a little, wiping the dog drool from her face as Myrcella giggled. She looked around and said warningly, "Not a word."

OOOOOOO

About forty leagues away from the tournament, ten leagues or so into the Kingswood, Ranma sat in the lotus position on an oak that had fallen. He was using the Soul of Ice to try to counteract whatever the hell was happening to him. Frost was forming all around him in response, an oddity in this area of the world. Distressingly, he was slowly losing ground. The Soul of Ice was more of an emotional control; the physical aspect was secondary and, while it gave him certain immunities to exterior sources of heat and cold, this wasn't heat exactly, it was a hormonal imbalance inside him.

It was working for now by causing major shrinkage, to put it bluntly, but Ranma had no idea how long it would continue to do so. He only hoped it would outlast whatever was in his system, though the constant thoughts of the beautiful women in his life that tried to break through, from Margaery to Dacey to Alayaya and even more unsuitable yet still pretty women such as the Queen and Merry, were draining him slowly.

About an hour after he arrived, he sensed Fenris coming near. Ranma groaned internally, wondering why the direwolf was seeking him out after Ranma had ordered him to stay in the tent, fearing whatever was messing with him could cross over their link.

Soon enough, Fenris was in sight, coming through the words like a shadow out of the darkness, his eyes glowing golden in the dim light afforded by moonlight shining through the dense canopy of the trees. He halted right in front of his master, looking up at him only slightly as he leaned forward to press his nose against Ranma's chest.

Ranma noticed that he had a tankard around his neck like some kind of emergency response dog from Switzerland, whatever they were called. He had seen them in a few cartoons when he had been going through his first childhood back in his old reality. He had stolen into houses to watch said cartoons but he couldn't remember what their names had been.

"What's this boy?" he asked, reaching forward and taking the tankard. It was bound up in wax around the edge of the lid but that was easy enough to break once he knew what this was.

He opened a sliver of their connection, not wanting whatever was going on his system to carry over their bond. In this manner, Fenris supplied him some memories. Two new females coming in, talking to the little one and the potential mate, creating some man-thing after much man-speaks, the little one and the potential mate asking Fenris to deliver it.

Ranma looked inside the cup and found himself rather grateful for the very dim light. It bubbled a little and he wondered who the hell Margaery had found to make this for him but if she felt it was a good idea, he was going to trust her judgment. Well, hers, Ser Barristan, and Fenris', anyway. "Bottoms up."

Ranma grimaced as he downed it, gagging a little at the taste. "By the old gods, that is foul." he muttered, but he kept on drinking the entire tankard. Then, with Fenris there beside him, he sat still, listening to the night around him.

Soon, Ranma felt it working, the feeling continuing until he felt his erection finally dying down. Fucking thing didn't even die down when I was in Soul of Ice and tryin' to fuckin' freeze my own balls off! He slowly released his control of the Soul of Ice and was rather amused to note that there was at least an inch of ice on the wood of the tree stump, as well as on the ground all around them. Fenris seem to have enjoyed the experience, if his huffing and amusement through their link was anything to go by.

About another hour passed until, finally, Ranma felt well enough to completely release the Soul of Ice and he stood up, cracking his back and shoulders explosively. "That was not a pleasant experience." he muttered his fingers digging into Fenris' neck affectionately. Now you, I think, deserve a treat. Since we're here in the woods anyway, let's go hunting."

Fenris shot to his feet eagerly, bounding off into the woods, with Ranma following quickly.

OOOOOOO

The next morning, Ranma was back at the tourney. He immediately sought out Margaery at the tent she shared with her family and their servants, a rather more elaborate tent than his own, but that was neither here nor there. He waited outside as Margaery came out, and smiled rather wanly at her, beginning formally. "Lady Margaery, I have to…"

She shook her head quickly. "Don't. It was amazing that you didn't react stronger to that Seven damned concoction or, at least, so one of the Sand Snakes, Tyene, says."

"A Sand Snake? I've heard that name mentioned with in context with Prince Oberyn's daughters."

"Exactly, though they profess to have been here without his consent. Consent I might agree with, knowledge, I very much doubt."

"Do you think…"

"No," Margaery replied firmly before Ranma could finish his sentence, "I could detect no hint that either woman was involved in the actual attack, moreover it wouldn't be their style. Though this particular snake could be indirect, the majority of them much prefer open combat or conflict, at the very least. Oberyn would stab his enemies in a second if he could get away with it but he wouldn't poison you. As I said, Tyene is different, much more subtle, but also too young to remember her aunt and be part of Oberyn's consuming hatred of all things Lannister. There is no doubt in my mind she might cheerfully poison any Lannister of Lannister supporter but you are neither; it would simply be too risky. I think she simply grabbed onto this opportunity to ingratiate herself to you and your family."

Ranma nodded. "Is she here with you or do you know how to contact her?"

"She remained behind in your tents, along with Ser Oakheart. Ser Barristan took Princess Myrcella back to the city and her mother a few minutes after Fenris left. He got a stern talking to but not about what actually happened. We contrived a story that she fell asleep during the chess competition and the rest of us were so intent on our games that we didn't notice. It's flimsy, but it will work."

"I'll have to apologize to her, too." Ranma said feeling very guilty about the entire thing, despite what Margaery said.

Margaery hummed in agreement, though inside she was laughing hysterically. That little girl loved every second of it and it hasn't done her crush on Ranma any good at all.

Later, Ranma interviewed the two Sand Snakes himself, though his first comment wasn't actually about the crisis the evening before. Instead, he said, "A whip, really? Is that a sexual thing or do you actually use that in combat?"

Obara spat to one side while her younger sister laughed, hearing someone else make the same comment she has made several times in their lifetimes. "I use it in combat, though I do use it on too-smart men, sometimes."

Ranma snorted and from there the conversation turned to what had occurred. After it was over Ranma looked keenly at Tyene. "While I'm thankful for your help, I'm not blind enough to think that this was merely a good septa act on your part. You want something. What?"

The poisoner/healer shrugged. "Our original purpose in coming to Kings Landing was to make as much trouble for the Lannisters as we could. Backing you does that since from the moment we arrived we've been hearing about how you're curtailing their influence. It also has a rather efficacious upside of leaving you their target for any retaliation instead of me and my family."

Fingers tapping on his thigh, Ranma thought for a moment, then nodded. "All right, would you be willing to take a job, a long-term one? This attack has made me realize that poison is one area of attack that none of us from the North would see coming. Poisoning food like that is anathema to us; there's so little food in the first place, after all."

What was left unsaid was this would let Tyene and Obara into the Red Keep and during their free time they would be able to ferret out any secrets they could. Ranma acknowledged this fact with what he said next. "As long as what you do on your own time does not impugn or otherwise cause trouble for the Royal family or my own, I doubt my father or I would care what you are up to."

Tyene paused for a moment, thinking, wondering if this was what Arianne had hoped would occur. "I will think about it. I'm not certain I would be safe that close to the seat of power, some other arrangement might need to be made, but I would be willing to perform such a duty for your family."

Ranma nodded, then stood up and stretched. "Good, now if you'll excuse me, I have a little girl I need to apologize to."

"She's not so little as all that," Tyene murmured, as if to herself, as she and her sister left the tent. Ranma pretended not to hear, though he had, and wondered what to make of that comment.

Margaery raised an eyebrow and shrugged. "I suppose that having them both where you can keep an eye on them is a good idea and if you're poisoned again, at least we'll know who to blame this time." Ranma rolled his eyes at her but did not gainsay that, and followed the Tyrell girl out of the tent.

Later Ranma did indeed apologize to Myrcella. Luckily, Tommy knew nothing what had occurred and was eager to continue their exploration of the faire. Jaime was assigned to them this morning, as well as Oakheart, and both men followed their Royal charges with faint but warm smiles on their faces, though Ser Oakheart was watching Ranma closely all the same.

The empty spot left by Greenfield was still vacant, with both the King and the Queen having several different candidates but not able to agree on any one. Cersei was simply waiting for an opportune moment to slip another supporter into the Kingsguard, but with Eddard there to back him up, Robert was making it much more difficult than usual. "I'm sorry I did that, Princess," Ranma said quietly, as he held the girl's hand while Tommy ran ahead to a stall that had a small archery competition going on. There were several children already there participating, though Tommen would probably prove to be their better. His hand eye coordination was very good, and his strength was growing every week.

Patting his hand with her free hand, Myrcella blushed at the fact they were actually holding hands and at the memory. That memory would be one of her treasured possessions for years to come. I know you see me as a little sister, she thought to herself looking up at him with adoring eyes, but little sisters grow up and we're not truly related. Maybe if you don't marry Margaery, maybe… She shook her head and said aloud, "It, it wasn't you Ranma. Let's just forget about it and have some more fun. Do you think we can find that stall that was selling small pinwheels?"

OOOOOOO

A few days later, Ranma waited calmly in his tent alone, since the other three men hadn't entered the jousting. Ser Thomas had participated in the archery competition, losing in the semi-finals. Ser Jory had taken part of the wrestling tournament, losing to Prince Oberyn who went on to win the competition, as well as the spear throwing. Mattimeo, with his busted arm, hadn't participated in anything. He stood with the other men from Winterfell and more than half the men from Riverrun, looking on as the final competition began.

Ranma looked over at Fenris, who lay placidly alongside one wall, grateful to have spent so much time away from the stink of the city and with Ranma. He would never understand why his pack leader had to stay in such a place and enjoyed being out in the fresh air, despite the cold rage that now emanated down their link. Fenris knew whatever it was, like the sudden spike in the mating urge he felt a few sunrises ago, his bond mate would handle it.

"I wish I could ride you out there today." Ranma said, allowing his cold purpose to dissipate once more as he ruffled Fenris' ears. Fenris huffed in pleasure, pushing his large head against Ranma's side.

They had actually practiced a few times in the Kingswood, in the past few evenings, but Fenris wasn't quite large enough yet to carry Ranma for very long, let alone into battle. He still didn't like the idea of Ranma riding his back, though he could see the point to it, and the idea of armor Ranma had shared once had a certain appeal. For anyone else, the idea was simply terrifying, as the reality would eventually become.

Ranma sat there for a moment, simply scratching his direwolf's head, letting the silence calm him as much as it could before his name was called. He joined the others for another benediction from the King and the High Septon, then moved back to his tent until his name was called. His opponent for that first contest was Ser Horas Redwyne, a knight from the Reach which had come with Margaery as one of her escorts.

He was a young man in his twenties who had hoped to win the competition in order to gain recognition so that he might start courting Margaery Tyrell, who was among the most beautiful women of all of the Reach. Horas didn't care that House Redwyne was already connected to House Tyrell, all he saw was Margaery's beauty and the size of her dowry. He had been incensed since he arrived at the way the Stark wildling and Lady Margaery seemed to go from flirting to coldly cordial and then to earnest dialogue. The northern lout didn't seem to realize what an honor had been placed upon him be considered worthy of Margaery's hand. He was angry and eager to put the Stark brat in his place, certain that the reason Ranma had entered the melee without a horse was that he couldn't fight from horseback.

In the first pass, Ranma disabused him of this notion. As the two horses charged toward one another on opposite sides of the tilt, at the last moment Ranma moved the balled point of his jousting saber as easily as if it was a rapier. Now it was aimed slightly up and to the side so that it would hit the upper right edge of his opponents shield at an angle. He did this so quickly that the man had no chance of moving his shield to block the new position and, while his own blow struck Ranma's shield square, Horas was flung from his horse with a cry of pain as the strength of Ranma's blow coupled with the angle threw him to the side.

He landed in the dust and Ranma quickly dismounted, then moved to aid him, winning a cheer from the crowd as he escorted the battered knight back to the tents. "Stark, Stark, Stark!"

Horas, despite seemingly taking his loss with good grace, felt his dislike of the Stark heir solidify into hatred. Damn you, Stark. I will have my revenge for this! I will win the Lady Margaery's affections from you, I swear it!

The object of his hatred sneezed as he sat in his tent at this time. Fenris stuck his large head out, looking at him quizzically. "Oh, just someone swearing vengeance on me, nothing big." Fenris huffed in amusement, then closed his eyes as Ranma began to scratch his neck. From there, the two of them watched the remainder of the jousting, Fenris huffing in amusement at the humans, their silly sticks, and their need to use four legged beasts to carry themselves.

The jousting was broken into several different rounds. Ranma had to go out once more before the day's rounds were completed and the winners went on to the next round, which was the following day. The next day, the tournament began at noon. He again handily won both his matches for the day and then had to watch in consternation as Ser Loras and Gregor Clegane tilted against one another.

Like Ranma, Ser Loras had won every match up to this point, handing out a white rose with every victory to pretty girls in the crowd. He had also handed a red one to Sansa, which had made Ranma sit up and take notice. The thought had entered his mind that maybe Loras would make a better husband for Sansa if/when he and his father were able to call her marriage to Joffrey off. Right now, Ranma had no time to think of such things.

The Mountain didn't use any special techniques or tricks; he simply was a Mountain That Rode. He would take all the punishment his opponent could dish out on his massively heavy armor, while hammering back with far more strength than most could handle. Normally this tactic worked but against Ser Loras, who was a master of the joust, the technique failed because he was able to move his shield and his position in the saddle in such a way as to deflect most of the force of Gregor's blows.

Loras groaned at the repeated blows, however, knowing he was going to be black and blue from them tomorrow. Still, he persevered because he had a secret weapon. He had chosen to ride a mare into this contest today and she was in heat, which would rile up Clegane's stallion. He wasn't certain why it hadn't worked, yet, but it would, if he could just hold on.

In actuality, the wind was against him, bringing the stallion the smell of Fenris, which overrode the smell of the mare, danger trumping hormones. This changed when Fenris went back into Ranma's tent to nap, tired of watching the humans at their silly play. Loras lasted another exchange, then, at last, the smell of his mare did its work.

"What, down you stupid AHHH!" the Mountain bellowed as suddenly, just as they were about to hit one another for what he was certain would be the last pass the pretty boy could take, his stallion reared. That threw off his weight so much that he couldn't even get his shield up between him and Loras's blow.

The tip of the Knight of Flower's lance took him high up in his chest, throwing him out of the saddle to land on the turf with a resounding clangor. Loras rode on, forcing his mare away from the stallion, then turned his horse around at the end of the tilt raising his lance in victory. He pulled off his helmet, waving at the cheering crowd with a smile.

Gregor, on the other hand raged to his feet, grabbing his lance from the ground. His temper, only very loosely controlled at the best of times, came to the fore now. He charged down the lane and around the tilt toward the victorious Loras. "RAHHH! You cheated somehow, you ass licker!"

Before he could get to Loras, he was brought up short by his brother and Ranma, who had both jumped into the jousting area to interpose themselves. His brother had his sword in his hand and the Hound was smiling eagerly. Ranma, too, was there, though he held only a broken shaft of a lance as a weapon, taken from a pile of them as he dashed forward. His eyes were dark pools while his smile was cold, yet as eager as the Hound's.

"You lost, Clegane!" Robert bellowed sternly, standing up from his seat in the Royal box. "Leave off!"

The Mountain glared down at his brother and Ranma contemptuously, then around at several dozen men who had also grabbed up weapons. His own men were well away, part of the crowd of smallfolk, and would have to hack through it to get to him. With no other option, he sneered and turned away, his anger festering within him.

As the crowd, which had stopped cheering as the Mountain charged, began to cheer once more, Ranma moved back to stand beside where Loras had just dismounted. "A good victory my friend but you have forced my hand."

Loras looked at him with a raised eyebrow. "Really? And what exactly is that supposed to mean?"

"You'll see after the tourney ends, unfortunately." Ranma said shaking his head. "I wanted to do this the easy way but I guess, like everything else in my life, the hard way it is."

That made Loras's other eyebrow rise to join its twin, but he didn't press, and the two young men turned to watch the rest of the day's matches. At the end of the day, there were only four men left. Sandor Clegane had defeated Renly Baratheon in a surprise upset. Jaime of the Kingsguard had defeated Ser Barristan after a series of bruising exchanges, causing a rousing cheer from the crowd. These two joined Ser Loras and Ranma the next day, the last day of the tourney, and the semi-finals and finals of the jousting competition.

First to go were Sandor and Ser Loras. Once more, Loras won through after a series of passes. But, surprisingly, he declared himself too battered to continue, after this match and the match with the other Clegane. Still, he helped his downed opponent from the field, winning even more adulation from the crowd for this show of chivalry despite visibly favoring his jousting arm. Indeed, his prediction from the other day had born out. Loras was black and blue from mid-chest up and his jousting arm was badly sprained so it was no prevarication.

With that declaration, Jaime and Ranma's semi-final bout became the finals. The two men stared at one another from opposite ends of the field.

Jaime was determined to do all he could to unseat the brat from Winterfell, to demonstrate that he truly was better than Ranma. If Ranma had held back in that match all those months ago and the spars they had since, well, he just wouldn't stand for it. How dare the brat think that he has to hold back against me? Jaime was arrogant, but he also knew himself to be one of the best blades in the kingdom so his arrogance was well-founded. Jaime hated the very idea that someone was so much better than him as to hold back.

Ranma, however, wasn't taking him seriously. Jaime was too arrogant, he had a few tells and little motions that gave his attacks away, unlike Ser Selmy in the few spars Ranma had with the older knight. What was more important, at present, was that Jaime wasn't anywhere near strong enough to match Ranma in a joust.

So rather than ending with another series of momentous exchanges between two tried and true champions, the match ended almost before it began. The two men on their horses charged forward at the signal. Jaime's lance was aimed true as always, slamming into Ranma's shield over his chest with as much power as his momentum and arm strength could deliver.

Ranma flinched only slightly, wincing at the force of that blow, but his return blow caught Jaime straight in his interposed shield as well. Ranma hadn't held back much, just enough to make certain he didn't permanently injure the Kingslayer.

Jaime simply could not stand that kind of blow. He felt himself lifted and torn from his stirrups to be thrown through the air. Seconds of flight later, he landed painfully on his back some twenty feet behind his horse.

For a moment, there was no sound except Jaime's ragged breathing as the crowd looked on, both highborn and smallfolk astonished at what they had just seen. Sir Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer, possibly the best blade in the kingdom as well as being one of the best jousters, unhorsed in a single pass.

Then the raucous cheering began as Ranma circled the tilt, getting off of his horse to go to his fallen enemy's aid.

Jaime smacked his hand away, pulling off his helmet and glaring at him. "How much have you held back, Stark!?" he spat angrily, nearly actually spitting, while one hand reached for a blade that wasn't there.

"A little bit I suppose." Ranma responded easily, pulling Jaime to his feet despite his protests that he didn't need the aid. "Sorry, but you're sort of in the way of what I really want here."

"What you really want?" Jaime said, his anger for the moment driven back by his bafflement at that comment.

"Oh yes. At this point I am on plan B. I don't want the money, I want a witness."

"That sounds truly ominous." Jaime muttered, his anger gone for the moment as he was helped into the tent set aside for healers. Two servants were already hurrying forward to help him out of his armor and Jaime realized he really needed it. Yesterday's match against Ser Selmy had taken it out of him and his little introduction to the mud and dust of the field just now had added to his accumulated aches.

"Really? I suppose that fits." Ranma replied as he helped Jaime into a seat. "You'll probably hear it from here. You should see it, however, especially considering your family has much to do with what I'm about to do."

Jaime stared at the boy, his green eyed gaze serious and angry, searching. But he couldn't match the cold fury in Ranma's eyes as he stared back and it was the Kingslayer who looked away. "As long as it has nothing to do with me or my sister, I don't care." He said finally.

"Good, I wouldn't like to have to kill you today too." Ranma said simply and then left the tent.

As he was helped out of his armor, Jaime determined that, yes; he probably did have to watch this and left the tent despite the protests of the servants who were trying to get him out of his battered armor. It turned out that the shield and his armored arm had actually been mangled enough that he had broken a bone there but he didn't even notice the pain for now, wondering what was about to happen.

Deep within him however, anger began to grow. An anger against Ranma Stark, and his easy assurance of superiority, an anger that would grow.

OOOOOOO

Five minutes later, Ranma stood in front of the King along with the champion of the archery competition (a yeoman from the Dornish Marches), Prince Oberyn, and the other winners of the smaller competitions. Each of them took their money with thanks, though Oberyn's was certainly said in as sarcastic a tone as he could manage when he thanked 'Robert' for his contribution to his nights of debauchery.

The tone and use of his first name caused Robert's teeth to clench but he didn't say anything, merely moving on. He knew the root of that attitude and there was nothing to be done about it. When Robert came to Ranma his good humor came back. With a grin he bellowed, "And now the winner of both the melee and jousting competitions, the overall winner of this tournament, Ranma Stark!"

He waited for the cheering to subside before reaching back to a servant who was nearly trembling with the effort of holding the money stack.

However, before he could do anything, Ranma held up a hand. "You may keep your money, Your Majesty." he said in a loud voice that carried everywhere, to the smallfolk surrounding the tournament's edge and the Royal box. "Instead, I ask a boon."

Robert turned back to him, his eyes suddenly serious, one eyebrow raised. "A boon?" He laughed. "Hahaha, and what would you have of us?"

Ranma looked up at the royal box. "Your Grace, could I ask that you send Myrcella, Tommen, Jeyne, and my sister away? They do not have to witness this."

The Queen frowned, wondering what the young Stark had in mind. She was unable to figure it out, though she had known from her spies' reports that something had happened to change his attitude sometime when he went into the city with the Tyrell girl. She also knew Ranma was a frighteningly direct individual and a shiver of mixed tension and fear went up her spine.

She nodded at two of her maids, who hurried the children away despite their protests but Sansa remained sitting stiffly, unmoving. "I am not a little girl to be hastened aside when serious matters are discussed. I am betrothed to the Prince! If he stays so do I!" she said stoutly.

Cersei raised an eyebrow in some approval of that, then nodded and turned back. Ranma frowned a little but shrugged. "The boon I ask, Your Majesty, is to witness what I'm about to do."

With that, Ranma turned away from the King and stared over at the crowd to where the majority of the day's contestants had gathered, including his target, surrounded by some of his own men. When he spoke it was in an ultra-formal way, that was utterly unlike his normal laid back manner, accenting his words even more, which given their content wasn't really needed. "Ser Gregor Clegane, I call you coward! I call you rapist! I call you murderer! I call you unfit to be a knight, unfit to be a lord, unfit to be a man! I call you to the field of honor and, if you do not face me now, I will hunt you down like the dog you are and kill you where you stand!"

Robert's eyes had grown wider with every word and a fierce light burned in them. He didn't know why Ranma had a bone to pick with the Mountain but Gregor was such a man that Robert would be well rid of him despite the fact that he had done Robert a favor during the sack of Kings Landing. "Are you sure you know what you're doing boy? You can't take those words back."

"I know what I'm doing." Ranma said coldly his voice now as low pitched as the King's as the crowd began to murmur exclamations of shock and surprise. Gregor roared aloud in anger, making to run forward, pushing aside his men and all those around him. "I also know what you refused to punish Clegane and Amory Lorch for, Your Majesty." Instead of being simply an address to Robert's rank, those words came out as an epithet. Robert actually flinched a little at the look of condemnation in Ranma's eyes. "This is justice long overdue."

Robert flared back, and was about to declaim angrily about why should he care about murderous, fucking crazy dragon bloods, when Clegane broke through the crowd, roaring. "I'll gut the little bastard! No man calls me coward!" The rest of it he didn't care about, since it was all true and he enjoyed every moment of it, but the coward part, that he cared about.

"Hold!" Robert bellowed, turning swiftly to face the charging Mountain. "This will be done in a proper manner! Go get your armor the pair of you, and return here within the hour!"

In her box, Cersei had leaned back, pursing her lips thoughtfully. Jaime, limping now from a bad bruise on the back of his thigh and his arm in a sling, came up into the Royal box. He sprawled down in a chair next to her, smirking evilly. "Care to place a wager on the outcome, my sister?"

"No." she answered coldly. Cersei knew that Ranma would win; it remained to be seen how, though. She knew he was faster than nearly anyone she had ever seen and speed against the Mountain would prove deadly to the beast. No, her mind was on what would happen after. "I wonder what our father will think of this when he hears of it."

"Will you shed any tears for that man?"

"Don't be disgusting." she responded sharply. "He's a tool of the family, a blunt, horribly effective weapon of terror, that is all. I'll shed no tears for him, though our father may see it differently. Gregor Clegane has ever been in his service, after all"

While the twins were conferring, other conversations abounded throughout the Royal box and the onlookers. Although they had all seen Ranma dominate in enemies, the legend of the Mountain that Rides was such that most were thinking that they were going to witness the young fool die and some were looking at Lord Stark where he sat, stoic and silent, with sad eyes. He simply sat, however, as if carved from stone, waiting.

Jason Mallister sat next to him, equally grim. He had lost to the Kingslayer in the second day of the jousting and had never gone up against the Mountain that Rides before . Yet he had heard of the man's skill and massive strength. He turned to his friend, his face creased with concern. "I hope your son knows what he's doing, Ned."

"My son has strength he has not yet shown, Jason. Have no fear." Jason looked at Eddard's almost serene expression and shook his head faintly, leaning back in his seat as he turned to watch the field of combat.

Not sharing her father's confidence Sansa was extremely worried, wondering if her headstrong brother had bitten off more than even a direwolf could chew. She now regretted never apologizing about that dratted pet of his and prayed to the old gods and the Seven that Ranma would live so they would have time to mend their fences.

Beside her, Joffrey simply waited in silence, his heart suddenly brimming with a wild, vindictive pleasure. His attack on the Stark heir had failed miserably but this would work even better and be even bloodier too. That would leave him with more resources to use against his other targets. Joffrey was using all his limited self-control to keep a wide, vindictive smile off his face. Ranma's ability to weather the effects of the potion that he had his servant place in Ranma's food had angered him greatly and made him very worried about how else he could strike against Ranma.

Ranma was still glowing too bright, taking too much attention that should rightly be Joffrey's as Crown Prince. Added to this, Ranma's continued support of Tommen was an ever growing irritant given how Tommen and Robert were becoming closer, something Joffrey couldn't stomach. But now the Mountain will deal with the Stark heir and I won't have to lift a finger!

Nearby, his guard dog had a very different opinion. He had dreamed of the day he could kill his older brother, ever since the monster had thrust his head into a brazier when they were children. But this, this was beyond his wildest hopes. A faint, but hopeful smile appeared on his face as he stared at the field, urging the battle to begin.

Prince Oberyn was there and he wondered truly how this would go. On the one hand, he wanted to be the one to kill the bastard but, on the other, this was going to be public and possibly humiliating. He had watched both the melee and the joust with watchful eyes and had made his own assumptions about Ranma skill. If he is strong enough to match Gregor, he might have a chance to win if he does it right.

Elsewhere in the crowd, Princess Arianne and her companions looked on as well, her eyes wide and mouth agape him at the suddenness of this. It was unheard of to not take the King's money like that, unheard of to use him as simply a witness to something like this. The boy was breaking all the rules and she loved it! I have to get closer to him, oh my god, what an asset he would be even if he was a Stark and all that implied. Father was wrong, so wrong! There is much we could gain from an alliance with his family and with him."

Back in the Royal box, Renly was looking on in shock. "You don't think he really has a chance against the Mountain do you? Not one-on-one and on the ground? The Mountain isn't nearly as dangerous in the saddle as he is on the ground and his strength is superlative. No matter how good he is, Ranma is still a young man, after all."

Ser Loras winced slightly as he shifted in his seat. Facing Sandor and Gregor one after another had really done a number on him; he was lucky he hadn't broken any bones. "I think that Gregor will never land a blow, Ranma's far too fast, and unlike, well myself, if I'm honest, he isn't flamboyant. I think this is going to be very quick and that the Mountain is going to find he can't weather a winter's gale." Renly raised an eyebrow at his secret lover's certainty, then turned back to the field.

Behind the Royals, Varys, Petyr, and others had formed their own opinions and were leaned forward eagerly, wondering how this would go. Varys was strangely neutral, uncaring if the Stark boy should die while, at the same time, uncaring of the Mountain's fate.

Petyr was hopeful. After all, one less Stark would suit him just fine, not even taking into consideration how it would throw Ned off his game. While the man didn't have a devious bone in his body, his dogged persistence had already helped the Crown's monetary position far more than Petyr had planned for.

Sansa was an exception to his hatred of all things Stark, he had plans there, but he needed the pot boiling nicely before even hinting at such a move. Margaery Tyrell's lukewarm flirtations had fit in well with his own plans and he was now waiting for the right moment to point Eddard in the right direction of his 'proof'. The day after his firstborn dies due to his own arrogance should do.

Petyr could almost be excused for not realizing how skilled Ranma was. He disdained soldiers and fighters in general, seeing the majority as useful tools but too one-dimensional to be truly dangerous. Added to this, was his disdain for all things Stark and his opinion they were too honorable for their own good. Plus, he had personally been countering Brynden's moves in the city to set up his spy network and Eddard's moves on the small council as much as he could without his self-interest becoming obvious so he hadn't noticed much about Ranma.

Yet, even Loras, even Ser Barristan Selmy, who was watching with a grim smile on his craggy face, didn't realize how much Ranma held back normally.

Soon enough, Gregor strode out of the crowd, his heavy plate clanking. He was an eight foot tall tower of gray steel and muscle, his family's colors, black dogs on a yellow background, visible on his tabard. He already had his helmet on, making him seem even more inhuman. In one hand, he held his massive six feet long blade while he wore a shield on his other arm.

Ranma came forward, the sword he had made for him out and resting along his thigh on one side, standing there in his regular chain mail without even a helm on. His blue eyes were as dark as the ocean as he stared at the dead man before him, his entire body relaxed, calm now that the moment had come.

The King stood between them and stared hard at Ranma's negligence. He shook his head sadly after moment and raised his hands. "This is about honor; words have been said that must be answered in blood. This can only end in death, there are thus no rules save for this: two men fight, one man leaves, and let might decide the right!" With that statement, he moved back to press himself against the outer wall of the raised Royal platform, staring at the fight.

"I'm going to gut you, brat!" Gregor roared, charging forward as fast as he could move, his massive sword raised.

Ranma stood there, waiting. "The King's wrong." he said simply staring at the Mountain as he closed. "This isn't a battle, this is an execution."

The sword came down on his position but Ranma stepped back two paces so quickly that it seemed to the onlookers as if he had moved using magic. His arms flashed forward, sword hand now empty of his blade, which he had dropped to stick out of the ground by his side. His fists caught Gregor's sword blade on the flat side at two points, smashing with all the strength he could put into the blows.

There was a shriek of tortured metal and, to the astonishment of everyone there, the blade shattered, bits and pieces flying off in every direction and leaving Gregor holding onto a sword with only a few inches of blade still sticking out of the hilt.

Gregor was undaunted, gripped in one of his berserker rages. He charged forward, trying to stab the edge of the blade into his opponent. "Die!"

But Ranma simply grabbed his sword arm right behind Gregor's gauntlet, not even moving as he took the impetus of the attempted blow. He held it there, as if his arm was a steel vice. Gregor bellowed again and tried to punch him but again found his arm stopped like it had hit a wall before the blow could land.

With his enemy's arms now in his grip (surprisingly difficult given how thick the man's wrists were covered further by armor), Ranma slowly stretched his arms out, pulling the Mountain's arms out as well.

"Stranger take you RAGH!" Gregor tried to kick out, not understanding at all what was going on. He had never fought someone with enough strength to match him, let alone overpower him like this.

That blow was blocked by one of Ranma's legs before he returned a lightning fast kick directly to the crotch. He had held back somewhat to that blow, just enough so that Gregor wouldn't be lifted out of Ranma's grip, but he still was lifted into the air a good few inches.

His opponent's bellowing roars turned into a scream of agony as his crotch was simply obliterated. His balls burst under the blow and his pelvic bone was not so much broken as pulverized. No amount of healing, medicine, or even the magic that was sometimes practiced in a few of the city states of Essos would ever give him back what he had just lost. "YAAAaaaaaahhhhhh!"

"That was for Elia Martell and all your other rape victims," Ranma said coldly, still gripping the Mountain's arms outstretched easily, despite his frantic attempts to break out of Ranma's grip to cup his demolished privates.

In the crowd, the Prince and Princess of Dorne both laughed aloud at the sheer fitting nature of that blow and looked on with the rest of the crowd, now understanding something that had only hitherto been apparent to a few of those from Winterfell. In terms of physical contests, Ranma had no equal; no one here even came close.

Sandor Clegane also watched, his eyes wide, and a large, happy grin, something no one had ever seen before on him, spread across his scarred face.

The Stark heir proved this further by lifting one foot to languidly press against Gregor's chest where he had collapsed to his knees, trying to bring his arms together to do something to his tormentor, trying to get to the pain that dominated his existence now, drowning even his almost constant fury.

Instead, Ranma pulled Gregor's arms taut. "And this is for young Aegon, Rhaenys, and every other child you've killed or tortured!" There was a trick to this, which he had learned from Genma once when the old man was particularly drunk and had picked a fight with a grizzly. You had to get the right angle and the correct balance of force, which Ranma did.

With a wrench and a roar, Ranma flung his arms back, ripping Gregor's arms out of their sockets. Blood spurted and Gregor's screams became even shriller while many a person in the crowd winced and there were cries and gasps of shock.

Many, especially Petyr and others who had dismissed Ranma's abilities as merely that of skill and talent, wondered how it could have happened at all, given the heavy plate armor that Gregor wore, yet even that had ripped and shredded at the shoulder. After this, the rumors of Ranma's strength would spread far and wide but, for now, the entire crowd, nobles, smallfolk, schemers, and Royals alike watched on, wondering how the Mountain would be put out of his misery. Even his own men, that band of like-minded individuals Gregor had taken into his service, watched on in horror at what was happening to their lord.

Now armless Gregor fell forward, only kept upright by Ranma grabbing him by the front of his helmet. Ranma then ripped off the helmet, throwing it aside. With one hand still keeping Gregor somewhat upright, Ranma's free hand reached down, grabbing up his blade. "I told you this was an execution, Clegane."

His sword flashed out, there was a 'shlick' sound, and then Ranma was lifting the head of Ser Gregor Clegane, the Mountain that Rides, one of the most feared men in Westeros, by the hair as his now headless corpse splattered into the wide puddle of bloody mud that had already formed around it. The head had been severed cleanly, like a man cutting off a small tree branch, blood spurting and flowing out of the gaping hole where his head had once been.

Ranma stood there, holding the bloody head out to one side. He stared out over the crowd seeing where Oberyn sat with the other former tourney participants. Locking eyes with him he silently told the man this hadn't been done for him or to curry favor; that it was about justice, nothing more.

He stared at the Lannisters, clustered in the Royal box, his eyes cold as the coming of winter and only the Queen could meet his gaze for more than a second before looking away. He stared, his eyes piercing the now silent Robert, then moving on to his father, who merely gave small, grim nod of satisfaction. Then his eyes once more swept the crowd, stopping at the clump of the Mountain's men, who all flinched backwards in fear, before tossing the head away and turning to go back to his tent, while behind him, the smallfolk began to cheer.

End chapter

I apologize to those who felt a little icky reading the part with Ranma kissing Myrcella. However I have decided to, outside of Daenerys, leaving the girls who will join Ranma and her up in the air for the moment, so while it will take a lot of time, maybe the little sister really will grow up. Hope everyone liked how I did Margaery, not certain I hit her personality right, but I'm happy with it.

I confess my speech to writing software seems to have degraded this time around, losing some of its notes on my inflection. Even with Jessolt's aid, I don't doubt there are more mistakes in terms of word choice then the other chapters, and I apologize. However, I want to send out an extra loud shout out to Jessolt for his aid on this chapter, it took us a while, but it is still awesome.

Will there be repercussions from Gregor's death, oh yes, but that is what happens with Ranma - he sometimes makes enemies where there need be none – yet he will respond and his terrifying skills and strength will force his enemies to tread carefully. Of course, that is only true of physical confrontations, as this chapter showed. Joffrey took a shot and nearly won the battle; it was only Myrcella, Oakheart, and Selmy being there that stopped Ranma in time for him to gain control of himself. And even if he can trust Tyene (a bit, for now, as he thought) he is still vulnerable in other ways, and even he physically can only be in one place at a time. And, how will Tywin react to the loss of a tool like the Mountain? This also means that castle Clegane falls to Sandor, who Tywin doesn't have nearly as much control over as Gregor…

I say again, that physically, Ranma has no equal, no one is even close at this point save Jon, and to a much lesser extent the wolfsworn. That will change in the future, the Others and others will find ways to challenge him physically, but it will not be easy.

I have some portions of the story of the Wall already written but when I tried to figure out travel times (I know, I know) they didn't add up. The larger the army, the slower it can move. So those portions will show up in the next chapter, after Tyrion and the others have been on the move for a little over two-thirds of a year. Can you tell I didn't want to bother with travel scenes again?

Theon too will have his adventures and there will be a few scenes back in Winterfell that will have been occurring concurrently with the majority of events in this chapter.

Can anyone tell me a few things, though:

Ravens are the method of long range communication but how often are they used? Am I correct in saying that Eddard and his distant family could exchange news once a month? Obviously, nothing Eddard didn't mind other people seeing but if I'm wrong about that, I'll delete that mention from this chapter.

I read a review that mentioned that Arya had become the avatar of the Many-faced god, but I haven't found anything about that in the original. Is it true?

A picture of the katana I based Ranma's blade off is at

newuniquejapan dot com slash a signed 1549 nagayauki dash katana dot com equals swords.

Anyway, thank you for reading and as always please review

In other news, I had an amusing thought for a Ranma/Bleach crossover sort of like this one. Ranma dies (old age, maybe, or Akane's cooking or whatever) and is sent into the resurrection circle, only something happens and he retains his memories. Now with his memories of a past life, Ichigo will strive even harder to live up to his name. – Saves his mother, has adventures well before canon, lots of other changes. No Zangetsu, replaced by a certain redhead and an embarrassing yet all too familiar unleashed mode and a power that has interesting repercussions. No hollow side, though maybe a certain neko will come out to play, and his zanpakto's released form would be a blast from the past. Pairing would be one Espada (Tia), possibly one human, one Shinigami, or two Shinigami. If someone wants to try to write this, I would be happy to help, though if not, I might, emphasis might, add it to my growing list of one shot concepts.

*Chapter 6*: Chapter 6

I don't own A Song of Ice and Fire, I like to actually have my main characters survive thank you, nor do I own Ranma, since I don't like violent tomboys or insane obsessively possessive women.

Thanks go to my favorite harlequin, MilandaAnza, for help with the catfight scene, and Jessolt for beta-ing. I also would like to thank Narsil and Byakugan789 for listening to my ideas.

Sorry this took so long. I got it back from Jessolt a few weeks back, but work swamped me so much I lacked the energy to go over the changes he made and do a final read through myself until this past weekend, and then football happened, and ugh... no motivation...

Some people have mentioned the fact that a Ranma fic without the curse isn't a Ranma fic. I disagree, it was his character, mental and physical development with all those interesting mental issues and strange blank spots in his development that made Ranma, Ranma. The curse part of that yes, but nowhere near the whole, as I think I've proven in Horse of the Dead. Moreover, in this one in particular, the curse would be counter productive. If I put it in, then it would become a major plot point in a lot of negative ways and it would take away from the existing plots, and just be more trouble than its worth. So I am afraid it is just not happening.

In this chapter, we see some differences between canon start to occur, and the game begins to move into its more serious phase.

Chapter 6 War Can Come In Many Forms

From the moment Ranma had asked the King for a boon, Margaery had known it was going to be bad. When he challenged Gregor Clegane in front of everyone, she knew she would have to figure out a new term for how bad this was going to be. On the one hand, as the 'battle' continued she could see the benefits long-term. For one thing, Margaery wasn't blind to the fact that the Mountain's death would make the world a better and safer place for all. For another, it certainly showcased Ranma's martial strength to a wide audience, which would further disseminate it. Rumor was the only thing faster than raven-wings, after all, and she had no doubts that stories about this execution would spread even to the Reach before her own report on it could reach her grandmother.

That last thought was sort of tied into why this had been a very bad idea indeed, the rule of unintended consequences. Margaery brought this up in no uncertain terms when she marched into the Winterfell contestant's tent. "You are an absolute idiot, Ranma Stark! A little boy surrounded by wild animals!" She then flushed a little, noticing that Ranma had been in the process of peeling off his armor as well as his under shirt. But her anger at this whole honor-bound masculine idiocy easily burned through her appreciation of the show.

Ranma finished pulling off his undershirt of chainmail having already divested himself of his chest plate. He was looking forward to getting word that the lizard lion armor was ready, since he knew it would be more much more flexible than this plate armor crap. That hadn't changed from one world to the other; Ranma still thought that speed and maneuverability was much more important than durability. In the case of the lizard lion armor, he would have the best of both worlds.

He glanced down at his hands for a moment as he moved to throw his padded undershirt to the ground. Ranma had wondered if he would feel different after executing a man, His father had always said it was different than killing in the heat of battle. But after ending Gregor, all Ranma felt was a sense of deep satisfaction at a job well done.

Introspection done for the moment, Ranma smirked at Margaery. "Nice to know you care my lady, I'm fine thanks for asking. And if we're talkin' field of animals, exactly what kind of snake represents your family?"

The Rose of High Garden shook her head. "While my family is certainly playing the game for all we are worth that does not mean that Ipersonally am your enemy. I would've thought that was obvious over the past few months. But you, you have just made yourself a very powerful enemy indeed. Lord Tywin Lannister will not take this lying down. Whatever else Gregor Clegane was, he was also a tool of the Lannister family and personally of Lord Tywin. He is an arrogant man and he will take this as an affront on him personally. Whatever your stated reasons, and I have no doubt you believed them to be justified, Tywin will act against you. His pride will require no less."

"Believe it or not, I actually thought about that before, and ignored it." Ranma smiled faintly, moving over to one of the seats motioning Margaery to join him at the small camp table there.

Behind her, Septa Nysterica came in huffing and puffing. The elderly woman had raced after her young charge when she stormed off from the Royal box, her glare clearing a way through the raucous crowd surrounding the tournament field. Seeing the two of them sitting with a table between them was a good thing, in Nysterica's opinion, and she took up a position by the doorway, where she would be able to observe yet not obviously overhear.

She wondered why her charge was so angry and also wondered if maybe Margaery had forgotten her grandmother's injunctions on keeping her distance emotionally from the young Stark while also making a play for Joffrey. She was supposed to play for the Prince more than Ranma if she could but of late that seemed to have slipped her mind.

As Margaery opened her mouth to start in on him again, Ranma held up a hand before ticking off points on his fingers. "One, from everything I've been told, both from my father and uncle, Lord Lannister does not act in haste. To keep using your illustration Margaery, he's a cold calculating sort of lion. It will take him a while to figure out how to respond to this. Two, whatever he does, Lord Tywin is in the Westerlands; it will take three weeks to get a raven to him and back. The time and the distance will work against any fiery response."

Margaery's temper cooled a little at Ranma's analysis of Lord Lannister and she felt a flash of approval working its way through her. Yet at the same time, she was still worried. "So you're assuming his calculating and ruthless aspect will override his pride? I wish I could say that will be the case with any certainty. Unfortunately, I've never met the man personally. I'm afraid that he will respond arrogantly, and that response will come in a way that we cannot expect. Remember Ranma, gold talks here in the South far more than you're used to up north, much more than honor or law, and it is Lord Lannister who has the most gold. Even my father would have to admit that, however reluctantly."

Ranma shrugged. It was arrogant of him and he knew it would eventually bite him in the ass in some fashion. Yet he hadn't met a single person in all of Westeros who could match him physically, so assassins didn't bother him and he doubted Tyrion would force open warfare against the Starks to avenge Gregor's death. As for poisons, even if it gets through our new acquaintances, Fenris can protect me against anything lethal.

I must remember to inform father about those two when we move back to the city, Ranma thought as Fenris padded over to them, approval radiating down their link at the violence a moment ago. Fenris didn't understand most of the reasons why the Mountain had to die but the brutal manner in which his master had gone about putting the large mind-mad two legs down had pleased him.

Across from him, Margaery frowned at the direwolf for a moment. That beast was much more intelligent than any animal should be and Ranma's ability to direct him was astonishing. Fenris's intelligence was even more terrifying considering his sheer size, though thankfully he seemed to be in control of himself. Now if only he would warm to me more than the Baratheon girl…

Margaery shook that familiar thought off and asked sharply, "Have you thought about the reactions from those closer to home?"

Ranma blinked, nonplussed and Margaery sighed loudly. She tapped her chin for a moment then nodded. "I think we can discount the Queen, she won't act against you for this. Her Majesty has never had anything to do with the Mountain so his death won't matter to her." Margaery had also noticed that the woman seemed to be taking a soft approach with Ranma. Although Margaery could have wished that she could say it wasn't working. Ranma was certainly more respectful of her then he was of the King, though whether that came from the fact that she was a woman and her wiles or his opinion of the King, she couldn't say.

"The Grand Maester won't act against me either." Ranma said, seeing what she was doing and smiling impishly, glad to see their friendship mattered to her so much.

Nearby, Nysterica frowned, wondering why Margaery was going out of her way to help the Stark heir like this. It was well beyond what her orders from Olenna outlined. I might have to send word of this to my lady. If Margaery can no longer play the game as House Tyrell wants, then steps must be taken.

Ranma didn't know the septa's thoughts however and went on. "I doubt he has any physical forces to threaten me and mine with and, even if he did, they wouldn't work. Poisons, of course, are a factor but we now have the Sand Snakes to help us there and they both know that we'll be looking to them if anything happens to me." And of course, he thought to himself, I'm not going to tell even you that I can use Fenris to detect anything lethal.

That aspect of his bond with the direwolf was something that constantly surprised him: the nuance of smells that Fenris could detect was unbelievable. Ranma hadn't had much to do with dogs of any kind in his past life, though he'd had to run from wolves a time or two when training with Genma, and it always surprised him how much information Fenris could tell Ranma through their link. Not nearly as much as the direwolf took in, of course, but it was getting slowly better. And Fenris didn't have to explain why Ranma shouldn't eat something, only stop him eating it.

"One reaction you might not suspect is the King's." Margaery warned. "You backed him into a corner Ranma and you acted without any kind of respect for his rank. That will grate on a man like Robert Baratheon and it will affect his interactions with you. I doubt that it will force the King to act against you, given his friendship with your father, but you should be wary of angering him further."

From there the conversation continued while Ranma got ready to head back to the city. The two of them moved through the movers and shakers in the city one after another, trying to figure out how they would all react to Ranma's display, both in the court and in the wider world. They were not alone in this. While the smallfolk and the majority of nobles laughed and caroused at the death of the hated Mountain That Rode, the powers in the realm were considering how this changed things. In particular, the person whose reaction neither of the teens could figure out was the most deeply troubled by this act.

OOOOOOO

Margaery was correct in her assessment of Cersei. The Queen simply took this as a further sign that Ranma was too dangerous to provoke into a physical con front a tion. There had to be other ways of controlling him. She saw his growing relationship with Margaery as one such way, if need be, as well as possibly his sister.

Her youngest son's near apprenticeship to Ranma was another way, which at the very least would make him think fondly of her family if they didn't act precipitously against him and his. Cersei had also used the time during the tournament to remove the book that had turned the former Hands attention towards her children. Without it, and a lot more evidence backing any investigation in that direction, she hoped to weather that particular storm.

She had even taken it further. Cersei ordered her father's main creature in King's Landing, Pyrcelle, to not send him anything just yet, to wait until the furor of this died down before doing so, adding in everything else that had occurred since the King returned to the city. And when Pyrcelle did, she would be sending her own messages to him with the same raven.

Like his sister, Jaime hadn't cared one way or the other about Gregor or his death. Strong Gregor had been but in terms of skill, he hadn't even come close to Jaime's own talent. No, what the Kingslayer cared about was that Ranma had been hiding his abilities. He realized that Cersei had been right all along about Ranma and that he had been blinded by his own arrogance. Jaime was angry, extremely angry, about it and the fact that Ranma was so far beyond him in physical ability. The fact that Ranma had hidden it so well made it worse.

Still, Jaime wasn't so furious as to believe he could overcome that disparity simply by wishing it to be so. Once he returned to the city, Jaime would begin to watch Ranma's training, as well as the lessons he taught Tommen, gleaning from them what he could. He would also up his own training tremendously. This would, to Jaime's irritation, make the time he could spend with his sister disappear but he felt it would be worth it in the end.

Cersei however didn't really notice this absence, being too busy with the game, keeping a hold of the reins of power in the court as well as mitigating the loss of Lannister influence on the small council without seeming to be against Ned's anti-corruption campaign. And honestly, Jamie's visits hadn't been as… fulfilling for her of late.

Joffrey was also worried, though he hid it well thanks to the practice he had been getting lately in hiding his emotions from everyone, even his mother. He was angry at that still but he understood her reasoning better now after seeing Ranma tear apart the Mountain like that. Still, it made Joffrey even more certain he needed to get rid of Ranma somehow. The only question was how. He turned, his mask firmly in place, to congratulate Sansa on her brother's victory, while his thoughts continued to rail behind this facade at this northern wolf's presumption to burn brighter than the Prince himself.

Two others were considering, or rather reconsidering their opinions on Ranma.

Petyr was very worried. There was a difference between a normal fighting man and a monster. Gregor had been considered such but Ranma's sheer domination of the Mountain proved that he was a larger one. Petyr had been planning for the conflict of position and influence to segue into open confrontation between the Lannisters and the Starks ever since Robert had announced he would be going north to bring back Eddard as his Hand.

Even with the men from Riverrun added into the equation, the Starks were still badly outnumbered by the Lannister supporters in the capital so he felt confident in the outcome there, even if he couldn't work his way into Eddard Stark's confidence to undermine him later. It wouldn't even have been hard to create an initial spark to that conflict. The Starks had made enough enemies in their inroads into the cities corruption for him to use any number of go-betweens and Pyrcelle was primed to jump on the wagon.

Now however, he was reevaluating everything he had heard about Ranma Stark's abilities. I need to remove him before I can move any of my plans forward. He thought to himself, trying to think of a way to get Ranma out of the city. Poison might be out of the question as well. Given the fact that the book didn't seem to work on either of them, they might have someone in their employ that can spot poisons. That isn't even considering whatever Joffrey has tried, though one wonders which of the items his agent got from the alchemists he tried. Even my own contact with the guild couldn't tell me all of the additives he obtained.

The book had been planted by Petyr to see what would happen and to point the Starks in the right direction at the earliest opportunity. The poison on it hadn't been the one that had killed the former Hand lord Arryn. That poison had been digested rather than via touch, though like with the book, Petyr did indeed have something to do with that.

Something to get Ranma out of the city or, perhaps, something to distract the Starks entirely? Would that serve my overall plans though? I need the Starks strong enough to weaken the Lannisters, and be a viable threat to the lions so they do not notice my own machinations. The last thing I want is for Tywin to turn his attention on the court and Kings Landing. At the same time, is there something brewing elsewhere of that nature? Or some weakness I could exploit?

For some reason his thoughts turned to the conversation he'd had when Ranma first sat down next to him at the feast the evening of the King's return, how he spoke about his brother Jon and how the Lady Catelyn, his Cat, had seemingly warmed to the boy. Something about that struck him as odd but the next moment he saw Sansa and Joffrey passing by with Cersei, two of the Kingsguard before them, ready to clear a path through the rowdy crowd.

As they removed themselves from the celebration that was continuing in the crowd and in the Royal box, his eyes flicked over to Joffrey once more. I wonder if perhaps I should ally with one lion to bring down both the pride and the pack? Certainly, he would be an useful tool, even if I intend to break his betrothal with Sansa. So much like Cat, she is…

When the Master of Coin followed the royal party, his eyes licking occasionally over Joffrey and Sansa, Petyr in turn was watched by Varys, who was wondering about the sudden tension in the man. It would appear as if Petyr has more irons in the fire than I thought, if he is so angry at seeing the young Stark's abilities. If he is so angry at that, I wonder if he is after more than simply weakening the Lannister's position. And if so, should I remain allied to him? Yet, who else could I ally with that wouldn't interfere with my own plans? Something to think about, as are the young Stark's abilities. I may need to remove him; Ranma is too dangerous as a symbol and as a person. I do not want to weaken the lions to simply let the wolves take their place. Hmm…

None of the people in the Royal box noticed a lone man pushing his way through the crowd and out into the cleared space where the execution had occurred. Oberyn Martell picked up the giant head of the Mountain that Rides and smiled broadly.

OOOOOOO

About an hour later, Ranma, Margaery, and their minder joined the Royals and Eddard to head back to the city. The two younger Baratheons looked at Ranma with more awe than they had before, having heard of what had happened from the servants. Both of them were relieved when Ranma acted as if nothing had occurred, lifting Tommen up onto his horse with a smile for the youngster before giving a smile and a wave to Myrcella as she entered the carriage with her mother.

Ned smiled slightly, reaching down from his horse to grasp his son's hand firmly. Ranma nodded up at him then moved off with Fenris padding behind him. He then noticed Robert's ambivalent stare as he passed the King moving back down the column toward where Tommy sat on his horse. Looks like Margaery was right, he does seem to resent me 'cause I put him on the spot like that. Still, nothing I can do about it, and it's his fault Gregor was free for so long despite his numerous crimes. Right and wrong don't change even if you have a Ser in front of your name or a powerful backer.

Ranma was amused to note however that Joffrey was not even looking in his direction. Good, maybe this will have scared him enough to stop him from messing with me and mine again like he did on the trip down here.

The Queen on the other hand, merely nodded in his direction, her eyes appraising as always. A moment later, the party set off back to the city, while around them, the celebrations continued for a time among the smallfolk, while the other nobles began their own preparations to leave.

The news of Gregor Clegane's death had traveled before the groups heading back to Kings Landing, getting there far faster than the Royal party, which entered the city near sundown of the same day. It caused celebration in the city, so hated and feared the Mountain had been by the smallfolk. It turned into a riot when a few of the Mountain's Men were stupid enough to enter the city to grab their belongings before fleeing.

Without their fearful patron, none of these men, mostly landless knights in Gregor's service because they had similar tastes, had any protection from their past crimes. Robert, in a rare moment of forethought had, immediately upon the death of the Mountain, ordered that any that could be found were to be detained, to either be executed or sent north to the Wall. Most had gotten away in the tumult of the tournament's crowds, however.

Some of them had stupidly returned to the city however, making such an edict unnecessary. When they were recognized, the crowd of smallfolk became a riot, which ripped them apart. The others had fled straight from the tournament before they could be caught. However the next day, Thoros of Myr went after them with a small band of other like-minded individuals, hunting them down within a few weeks before returning victorious to the city. The fire priest might not have been the one to finally lay the Mountain low but he could at least clean up after his death. Not a one of them survived.

When the King's party entered the city, they found that the riot had ended, having run out of steam rather than from the actions of the Gold Cloaks who should have tried at least to keep order. Instead, they had cowered in their barracks and in a few other strong points throughout the city.

Despite the recent bout of violence and the lack of Gold Cloaks, there was much cheering and joyfulness in the air. The smallfolk had never forgotten how the Lannister's men had burned and raped their way through the city. Gregor Clegane had become a symbol of that.

While King moved through the city slowly, with a dozen men-at-arms clearing the way, the crowd subsided, but the shouts for "Young Wolf' and 'Stark" reverberated everywhere, interspersed with that for the King. Most of the small folk had come to the conclusion that Robert had somehow set up so that Gregor would at last die without it being linked back to him officially. Where that idea came from no one really knew, but it was there. This served to mollify the King somewhat from the way Ranma had used him to call out Gregor in such a manner.

Soon enough the party wound its way up to the Red Keep, where it broke up into its separate parts. The Royal family and their entourage made for Maegor's Holdfast while Ranma moved toward the Tower of the Hand. He nodded at servants, who bowed deeply to him, cheerful men-at-arms who nodded gravely, amused at how the news had traveled so quickly.

In the family sitting room, he found Blackfish, a mug of something in one hand, his sword belt hanging of the armrest of the comfortable chair he lounged in. Brynden looked up as Ranma trooped in, followed as always by that great hulking brute of a direwolf the lad called his pet (actually Ranma never called Fenris a pet). "You do know how to stir things up don't you, nephew?" Brynden asked amusingly. "That being said, by the gods old and new, I wish I could have seen it!" He stood up, slapping his young charge on the shoulder before motioning Ranma into a seat close by.

Ranma sat down, smiling faintly at the older man. Fenris immediately sat down next to him, leaning his head over the side of the chair onto Ranma's lap. "What can I say, uncle, it's a gift."

Moments later Ned joined them, coming up the steps with a heavy tread. He nodded at Brynden, then looked over at his son. "That was well done my son, justice long overdue." The death of Gregor had been something that should have happened years ago, indeed Eddard had pushed for it after the war was over and he was proud to have finally seen it. He could have wished that it hadn't been Ranma who had to do the deed but, under the circumstances, Ned understood why it had to happen this way.

"Will this make trouble with the King, father?" Ranma asked, wanting to hear his father's opinion on that matter to see if he agreed with Margaery and him.

"Oh, he'll be stroppy about it for a few days." Ned smiled faintly, pulling up another chair to sit with the other two. "After that, though, he'll get over it quickly enough. Robert tends not to take small things like this to heart, lad, and come what may he knows that Gregor Clegane wasn't the sort he should mourn. He might be short with you as you were, apparently, rather rude to him." Here Ned looked at his son with more censure than before. But he'll get over it.

"For now however, let that lie. Can you explain why exactly there were two Dornish women with us? They slipped in as part of Margaery's retinue, but then they split off, and seem to be talking to the cooks in the Tower."

Ranma frowned as he had not been looking forward to this conversation. Still, he came clean about most of it, about the aphrodisiac in his food, about nearly losing control, and then how the Tyene had helped him. He only left out the part where he had also assaulted the Princess. Ranma still didn't understand that the Princess herself didn't see it as that much of an imposition but he knew it would be bad for it to ever reach the ears of anyone else.

Throughout the tale both older men sat and listened, not asking any questions simply because poisons and aphrodisiacs were things neither of them knew about. Afterwards however they both questioned Ranma closely on anything he had found out about the aphrodisiac itself, as well as the Sand Snakes and their possible intentions. Ned was not happy to learn that Ranma had basically brought them in to defend against similar poisons being used against himself and his family, but understood the necessity. What he really didn't like however was the fact that they would probably be making trouble, small trouble at least, for the Royal family and other Lannister supporters, if they could.

He said so, but Brynden shook his head. "If you want my advice Ned, I wouldn't worry about it. Remember both of these ladies are Oberyn's bastard born daughters. None of the court will take them seriously because of that and their Dornish ways will keep them from making friends with the staff, in the main. They'll have only their own resources, which will limit them. Moreover, if we allow word to leak that we are afraid of being poisoned and that is why we have brought them in, if anything does happen to us, fingers will be pointed directly at them."

Ned frowned, but nodded eventually agreement, and stood up. "If that is the case, I wish to question this Tyene girl closely, see if she can give us any more information on the aphrodisiac they used, see if we can find who was behind that." With a final nod, Ned left, leaving Brynden and Ranma to their talk.

"Do you actually trust either of these two girls?" Brynden asked casually.

"Not a bit." Ranma answered simply, grabbing up his uncle's carafe. He smiled, seeing it was honey mead, and downed half of it before passing it back with a smirk.

"That my lad." Brynden smirked back and, with no news to share this night form his various contacts, stood up to fetch a deck of cards. About half an hour later, they were interrupted from their game when Sansa came up the stairs, accompanied as always by her handmaiden, Jeyne.

Sansa took one look at Ranma and flung herself into his arms, sobbing brokenly. As Ranma rather bemusedly put his arms around her, he and Brynden could only make out a few words among the sobs. Apparently, Sansa had been so worried about Ranma's life facing a monster like the Mountain that Rides, that it had broken Sansa out of her anger at how Ranma couldn't see her point of view about Joffrey.

Now she was apologizing for letting the rift between them fester for so long, apologizing for not sticking up with him about Fenris months ago, as well as avoiding him when she could. Ranma smiled, hugging Sansa to him harder.

Brynden looked on, happy that the two had reconciled, though part of him was also hoping this would drive a wedge between Sansa and Joffrey in the future. Anything that would make them able to pull out of that engagement easier was all to the good, in his opinion.

OOOOOOO

The next day Ranma looked up from his morning jog as a few horses were pulled out of the castle's stables and made ready to go. One of them he recognized as that of the Hound and he wondered where Joffrey-the-ever-irritating was going this morning.

A moment later, Sandor trooped out of Maegor's Holdfast followed by an angry looking Joffrey, who reached out to grab his arm, and a Kingsguard, Ser Blount. "You go, Hound, and you will never have as good a position ever again. What good is a castle to you anyway, especially one that has been run up to this point by your brother!"

"Better by far than to keep following you around, you puling whelp!" Sandor growled, shaking free of the hand and glaring at the bald Blount who had been reaching for his sword. "Don't even think it." he warned.

"What's all this?" Ranma said that jogging up. Joffrey scowled seeing his nemesis.

Sandor smirked, an unusually friendly appearance on him. "I'm heading home to castle Clegane." he said simply. "With my older brother dead, I am now its Lord."

"I trust you'll be a better one than the last." Ranma said with a nod, half amusingly and half seriously.

"Wouldn't take much!" The hound barked, then spat to one side. "My brother was about as good a lord as he was at keeping his knightly vows. It's only because of 'largesse' from Lord Lannister that our land isn't heavily in debt or simply empty of people."

Joffrey continued to stare at the man, unwilling to accept that the idea of being a lord somewhere else had more pull on the man then remaining in Joffrey's service. Despite his relatively new skill in dissembling, Joffrey was still too arrogant to see that anyone else's lives or prospects were more important to them than his needs and wants.

Still, he wasn't willing to make a point about it in public, not when he had already lost the argument in private. Joffrey was continuing to learn more and more about hiding his true thoughts, which if anyone had it a real hint about the depths of his depravity would have terrified many. So instead, he simply shrugged theatrically. "Well, Hound, if you wish to pursue this idea of yours, I can't stop you obviously. It just seems odd to me to remove yourself from the seat of power. Still, if that is what you really want, I won't say anymore about it." This fooled none of his listeners but it wasn't supposed to. It really was only supposed to give him what seemed to be a civil exit.

Sandor and Ranma remained silent as the other two men went back inside the Red Keep. Then Sandor turned to the younger man. "Watch that shit stain closely." he said seriously. "Since we've gotten back, he's had plans within plans and hasn't shared any of it with me. I don't have to tell you that he tried to make trouble for you on the trip down."

Ranma shrugged. "Little dogs bark the loudest." he replied, smirking little. "While I'm concerned about what he can say to others, Joffrey himself seems a little too cowardly to move against me in person."

In fact, Ranma, his father, and Brynden were of the opinion it might have been Pyrcelle who had been the one to try to 'poison' him during the tournament. It was subtle, was in an area a Grand Maester would know about, and had all the feelings of something politically motivated.

The Young Wolf did not understand the depth of loathing that Joffrey had developed for him, unable to see the antipathy growing there under Joffrey's mask. Ranma didn't have any experience in such. All of his enemies in his past life had been blunt objects, simply coming at him physically and he had never developed the talent in this one to the extent needed to see beneath what was obvious.

He knew Joffrey hated him but enough to actually try and poison him? That seemed too much. And as outsiders, none of the men from Winterfell had heard the story of the pregnant cat, or how vicious Joffrey had been in the past.

The older man grunted then looked at him the young Stark seriously. He touched his face with a finger, rubbing at the burn marks. "My older brother did this to me when we were children. I've loathed Gregor ever since, for this and for… other things." Sandor would never share his suspicions about what happened to their sister and the part Gregor might have played in her death, not with anyone. "Many a night I've dreamt of sticking my sword in him. You killed him and in a way that I could never have matched. We might've gotten off on the wrong foot, Stark, and our personalities are too different to let us ever be friends but I'm be grateful for that. You've got an ally in me, remember that."

Ranma looked at the older man for a moment and then nodded his head. Sandor nodded back and turned to mount his horse. Without another word, Sandor trotted off, leaving the castle and city that had been his home for several years without a backward glance. Ranma stared after him thoughtfully for several minutes then turned to renew his interrupted run.

He never noticed the pair of servants who had been close enough to overhear the conversation.

OOOOOOO

Sandor was not the only one intending to leave Kings Landing that day. Oberyn was ready to leave as well and was searching more and more frantically for his wayward niece and daughters. He stopped, however, as he saw his two daughters enter (or rather reenter, though he didn't know that) the Red Keep with two men wearing Stark colors guarding them. However, they didn't seem in duress and he moved through the crowd of the city up the hill in their direction, stopping only when Tyene looked behind them, saw him, and smirked before turning away.

"Ah so…" he murmured to himself smirking before fading back into the crowd of the city. "Well played, how they finagled access to the keep I have no idea, but well played nonetheless." Oberyn looked around again. Now if I were Arianne, where would I be?

At his side, the head of Gregor Clegane clanked gently in its specially made glass and metal case where it hung from his belt. He had gone to the alchemists as soon as he could to get it preserved. He nearly killed two horses getting it back to Kings Landing quickly before too much time could pass and the alchemists had done him proud. They had even captured Gregor's dying face in the amber concoction they used, his face a rictus of pain and fear.

It would make a fantastic gift to his brother and might even stop Doran from being too angry with Oberyn for letting his daughter come with Oberyn on this little trip.

"There she is." He murmured to himself moving up behind where Arianne was peering around the corner of a building up the hill to where his two daughters were making their way into the Red Keep. "Tell me," he said in a pleasant tone into her ear, ignoring Arianne's jump of fright, "how exactly did you manage that?"

After getting her breathing under control once more, Arianne turned and glared at her uncle. "That wasn't kind, uncle. As for 'that' as you put it, we were merely in the right place at the right time to start to do precisely what we decided to come on this trip for in the first place."

"I see. And did it occur to you that you are now without guard?"

Arianne waved her hand expansively. "Obara's only dropping off Tyene. She'll stay there for an hour and come back out to meet me here."

"You sound as if you think I'm going to let you stay here." Oberyn said wonderingly. "Pray do explain that idea, my niece, since the last time I checked I'm still sane and on relatively good terms with my brother, your father, our Prince. Unless I want that state of affairs to change drastically, I will need to return with you, since Doran has no doubt figured out where you are and how you escaped from Sunspear in the first place."

"And leave your two daughters on their own? Tyene, perhaps, could make her own way, but without me here, who knows what trouble the two could get up to?"

It was weak and she knew it. Her uncle's face showed he thought that as well, but Arianne went on doggedly. "You know I'm more politically minded than either of those two, Obara is a blunt instrument who might lash out without someone there to keep a firm hand, and as for Tyene, while she won't lash out, she might act… precipitously."

That accurate appraisal of his daughters caused Oberyn to smile faintly. Arianne continued, knowing it wouldn't be enough. "Besides." she said gesturing down at herself. "We did get that little message from House Stark. If I remain here, I might be able to work out a way to meet Ranma, and seduce him away from Margaery. Scuttlebutt says that they are friendly towards one another but there does not seem to be any great affection or love growing between them."

"Margaery is apparently trying to play for Joffrey's hand as well, though rumor in the city seems to think her heart isn't in it. Still, that is a wedge I can use to get closer to him and you know after the tournament what a force he could be, uncle. A force we could turn to House Martell's benefit."

Arianne wasn't as confident about that as she normally would be. Tyene had told her about the aphrodisiac Ranma had ingested and Arianne had a good idea of how much self-control not succumbing to such a thing would have taken. Still it would be interesting if she could bring it about and certainly profitable, if they could forge an alliance with the Starks.

Inside, she was also considering the match as more than just a tool for her family but as an actual strong match for her. Her father had never truly searched for a proper suitor for her; something she had realized after the seventh elderly lord was presented for her hand. She had no idea why that was, though part of her was still worried about being passed over in line of succession for her younger brother Quentyn. Doran had informed her he had a plan when she confronted him about it but still had never explained said plan to her satisfaction.

Her uncle knew nothing about her inner thoughts and he leaned back slightly, thinking hard. He wasn't looking forward to going home even with the errant Arianne in hand. Returning without her would not be a pleasant experience. In fact, Doran might well throw him in jail for a few fortnights.

But she's right, Seven damn it, he thought to himself musingly. Alone Obara and Tyene would not be willing to work together. They both have my temper, and would egg one another on to act precipitously, possibly in such a way as to bring more Royal disfavor down on Dorne without her here to rein them in. And it's true that Stark could be an ally, though I doubt she'll have much luck in wooing young Ranma to her way of thinking. He said so aloud and added. "That young man is a man of honor. So long as the betrothal between him and Margaery is still sound, he won't have anything to do with you."

Arianne shrugged, not showing her own misgivings in that area. "It's simply a challenge, uncle, one I am eager to try my hand at, though I'll admit I'm still floundering about how to meet him in the first place."

Oberyn frowned, then sighed expansively. "Very well, but you will stay with me and Daemon until Obara returns. And I'm leaving Daemon here to add an extra sword at your back." That would be a wrench in many ways but Daemon was one of the best blades in Dorne and would be much more aid to the girls here than with him on the sea or back in Dorne.

Arianne nodded, smiling slightly. Daemon had been her first lover when they were young, a short, clumsy yet sweet encounter for both. He was also one of the better blades she knew and that was an aid she wasn't going to turn down. "That is fine, but remember I need to be back here within the hour."

Her uncle shook his head again but turned to lead the way through the crowd. He smiled slightly at the continual clink of the casket against his side every time he took a step. It was an ever so pleasant sound on his ears.

OOOOOOO

"Tyrion, my lad, you are a long way from home." Tyrion Lannister had long gotten out of the habit of speaking to himself. Such was folly when every ear could be turned against you in court, even if you were the Imp and the least important of the Lannisters. Yet the sight in front of him really deserved something, if only under his breath. Ahead and above them, not a day's march away, was the Wall and it was possibly the single most fantastic sight Tyrion had ever seen. Not even his normal jongleur's mask could stop his awe from showing.

The march up to the Wall had been somewhat more arduous than he had expected. The roads here in the North left much to be desired and his own ideas of what it meant to be on the march had not included the reality of months of hard travel and even harsher conditions. Still, Tyrion had made it and, beside a few complaints based around his height, without complaint.

The journey had taken them seven months, and even that was an astonishingly good time. Ser Kyle and Daryn Hornwood had led a very well organized march, more so than Tyrion had expected, more than even his father, he suspected, would have been able to. Lord Stark had begun to organize his own men to a high degree after Robert's Rebellion and it had only continued after Ranma came of an age to join in, sharing, though none knew it, what he had gleaned of ancient armies from his past dimension. This had soon spread to the rest of the North, though Tyrion was the first Southerner to see it.

Every man had enough food to go on with. Foraging parties added to the evening meal every night but did not slow the army down. Every man had a bedroll and nearly all of them were able to fit in large tents, twenty men per tent. Daryn had even brought little portable braziers with his men, of which there were only five hundred. All of them were archers, a welcome addition considering the nature of the Wall. In the night, however, Tyrion was happier about the braziers than about the archers.

To further aid the effort to keep warm, the local lords had prepared stacks of wood and even coal in places for the army along the Kingsroad, showing how much effort all of the North were putting into this whelming. A rather humbling thought, since he doubted the rest of Westeros would bother with sending troops for quite some time, if at all, to combat so distant a threat.

"Even seeing it a second time does little to take away from its impact." The somewhat young voice of Daryn Hornwood sounded from next to Tyrion and he looked over at him from his horse. Only the commanders had horses at all and that was only because they were now free from their duties as pack animals. "This place, this view, shows you that there is still magic in the world, as well as showing you what heights man can reach if we dream big enough."

"I can agree with that, just think of what it looks like from where I'm standing!" the imp replied, chuckling. He got on well with Daryn and Ser Kyle, though at first there had been some suspicion in their eyes when they looked at him. Still, they had come around, as had their men, watching the Imp, who had to take twice as many steps as any of them, keeping up on the march.

Ser Kyle was courteous, commanding, and experienced in every sense of the word. Although it had taken him a while to warm up to Tyrion, the two had become somewhat friendly. Many a night the two had sat awake on their rolls as they regaled one another with tales of debauchery. The Cerwyn knight was also more well-traveled than most northerners and had seen many of the places Tyrion had been to further south.

Daryn was a likable sort, yet a very dangerous man. Tyrion had seen him at arms practice every morning before they set out, fighting two or even three on one, and he had never lost. Tyrion had at first thought Daryn's opponents were throwing the matches as would be the case in some places down south. He soon realized they were trying their damndest, yet still were no match for the warrior who was only twenty and three.

He was friendly, self-effacing, and open save for anything that touched on the Young Wolf and the wolfsworn. Seeing the man's skill had convinced Tyrion there was something more going on than a group of young fools choosing a pretentious name, and he was eager to learn more. But Daryn only related what everyone knew; that they had all trained together and with Ranma Stark since they were young every chance they could get, that they were stronger, faster than normal people only because of such hard training.

He said nothing about the training, other than it was hard, and nothing about Ranma or where he had learned to be so good at fighting. He was open to a point about what they had run into on their trip up to the Wall but that was it. Tyrion had attempted to draw him out, but had failed miserably every time. Daryn was one of the cagier members of the Wolfsworn, and despite liking the Imp, didn't particularly trust him.

Ahead of them, they could make out the much smaller keep and barracks of Castle Black, while on the breeze they could hear the horns sounding at their approach. A single flame was lit on a watchtower, signaling them to come ahead, while the horn's sound changed to signal that there were friends approaching.

As they continued on their way, Tyrion said rather whimsically. "I thought there was supposed to be some sort of town a day's ride out from Castle Black. A place with many brothels and other dens of inequity to take the edge off for the good Night's watchmen."

"Sorry, the brothels are all gone. They were split up and taken to Castle Black, Eastwatch by the Sea, and Shadow Tower. Have no fear though; I expect Lord Manderly has rounded up enough willing ladies of buyable affection to send north with the first ships coming up here." Kyle answered with some amusement.

"Can't wait, by the Seven my cock hasn't been used for so long it's about to start a revolt." Kyle laughed at the quip while Daryn merely rolled his eyes.

It took them the rest of the day to reach the headquarters of the Knight's Watch, filled with Kyle and Tyrion trading barbs, while Daryn simply rode on, silent and watchful. He did not notice that Tyrion was also watching him, wondering what the young man knew to make him so edgy. Tyrion would learn exactly what in the future. But that first night, he joined a meeting of the senior commanders.

This meeting was unlike any Tyrion had ever been to down south. Instead of being waited on by servants, the men served themselves. Instead of sitting around a table, the better to show who was important, they all pulled up their hard, wooden chairs close to a massive fire which dominated one wall of the room. Instead of wine, it was mulled cider or very good dark ale, with chunks of fresh bread and hard cheese instead of richer foods. Instead of high windows letting in the days light, the only light came from the fire and a few wall sconces by the door.

Despite the lack of a table, there was no doubt who was in charge of this meeting. The commander of the Night's Watch was a massive man, somewhat bent with age, yet his piercing eyes bespoke his intelligence. He sat closest to the fire, across from Mors Umber, the only one there who was of an age with him. Mors was an equally huge man and still retained the heavy muscles and arms that his house was known for. He wore a chunk of dragonglass in place of an eye he had lost years back, and wore the full pelt of a white bear, its snout covering his head like a hood.

Like his kinsman, Smalljon was a large man, he stood even taller than Mors and was wider across the shoulders. He also wore chain mail and his beard was far more luxurious than his kinsman's. Daryn sat with his younger friend, talking quietly as they waited for the commander to speak. Across from them Benjen Stark sat, a prototypical Stark in Tyrion's opinion in looks, those his eyes were never still, watching everything even here. Next to him sat Ser Kyle on one side with Harrion Karstark on the other.

Harrion Karstark was just shy of thirty-two, too old to have become close friends to Ranma and Jon like his younger brother Edd, though that had more to do with his attitude than his age, since Dacey was actually only three years younger. He was darkly handsome, with black hair swept back that fell to his shoulders, a large trimmed beard, and a silent, considering manner that did not take away from his fierce eyes.

"We have had more sightings of wildlings in the past half year and a bit since your march began." Benjen suddenly began, startling Tyrion, who had been waiting for Jeor to speak. "I've tripled the size of my ranger patrols, yet we've still lost two of them in the past months and one before that. All of them, to a man, killed. These were a mix of my best men, rangers of many years who knew their ways in the woods, plus Norrey and Umber men."

Mors stirred slightly in his chair, his craggy face pinched with anger. "We've lost ten and six men since I arrived up here and we lost more when the youngster here brought his troop of settlers up. Something's stirred up the wildlings for sure, and this Mance Ryder the youngster's prisoner's mentioned is at the center of it."

Jeor spoke up now. "I've held back moving the men about too much until we were all gathered. But now, with your force added to ours, the men of the Wall, and the men from Norrey and First Flint mountain clans, we have over six and a half thousand men here at Castle Black. I'm going to break them into three large groups. One will move to Eastwatch by the Sea, one to Shadow Tower, and one will stay here. Each will have areas of the Wall assigned to them to defend.

"You, Tyrion, have been mentioned as an expert on siege weaponry. Get to work on that, whatever you need, we will provide. You will work out from here toward Eastwatch-by-the-Sea first; the better to make certain our supply route is secure. My men have already begun to make the two nearest forts on either side livable again to aid in the crowding here."

"Once you arrive, Kyle, Mors, I want each commander of the two castles to do the same; you'll work with them on that. Patrols of sixty men will range out along the Wall towards Castle Black with one group of a hundred from each to be sent out to range every month north beyond the Wall. Your men, Benjen, will be used to guide these groups. The wildlings might be able to ambush and slay groups of twenty; they will not yet have the stomach to ambush a hundred. You will range only a four day's march out, no exceptions."

"You're putting us out as, what, not a first reaction force, rather those little birds miners use to make sure there are no poisonous gases." Daryn murmured. "Can't say that makes me feel friendly thoughts toward you, ser. All the same, may I request to lead these canaries out? The last time I was here, I heard about some friendly wildling leader who has built a small fort a week's journey from here. Wouldn't that be a better destination for the first foray in force?"

Jeor frowned thoughtfully. He didn't like the idea of sending men so far from the wall, not when rangers had been ambushed far closer than that, but the intelligence gained could be important. "Very well, you'll head out in a week for Craster's Keep. We'll keep the troops concentrated until you get back with some intelligence."

"I have another idea," Tyrion spoke up. When all eyes were on him, he went on, ignoring the looks in some of those eyes at his Lannister colors. "You use watch towers behind the Wall here to signal that someone has been spotted approaching Castle Black. Set up towers and men to man them to do the same on the Wall itself. Lights can't be seen up there for very far, I suppose, but sound would carry so…" he shrugged.

Benjen nodded in agreement. He hadn't liked the idea of breaking up his men and liked even less the injunction to stop ranging, seeing it as a defensive move where he wanted to attack. But Jeor was right, it was necessary for now. "Good thinking. I have a former bard among my rangers. I'll get him to figuring out what sounds carry best and what signals to use first thing tomorrow."

The Lord Commander nodded. "This sounds like a good plan but for now, it is late, to bed the lot of you, and I will see you on the morrow." With that, the meeting broke up, with Tyrion and the other new arrivals eagerly searching out cots for the evening.

OOOOOOO

Brynden smiled faintly, as he moved through the city to pick up a note from one of the many drop-off points for his various …contacts. He wasn't nearly as organized as Varys or, he was starting to realize, Petyr. But the contacts he had were all over the city, and gave him a good, if general, idea of what was going on.

It was Brynden's job to put all the tidbits together. He was doing an alright job of that, he supposed, though it really wasn't a task he had ever particularly seen himself doing. Yes, he was subtle; yes, he did notice things others missed. However, there is a great difference between that and being a budding spymaster.

It is sort of exciting in a way, Brynden thought to himself. A very strange way to conduct a war, where secrets are the weapons and the goals as well. I'm making some headway, if only it didn't feel as if I was surrounded by lions all the time. That thought brought a lopsided smirk to Brynden's face but his smile faded after a moment. Besides the Lannister's, the Spider and Petyr' many more agents than I expected. I could wish I knew where they stood in this 'game'.

Brynden continued down the street, surreptitiously checking to make certain that his sword was loose in its scabbard. He had noticed someone following him a few streets back. Now that they were moving away from the richer districts and into the maze of alleyways of the somewhat well to do below The Street of Flour, they had closed up.

His eyes narrowed however when he noticed that there were no Gold Cloaks about. This was still an area of the city that they should've been patrolling but as Brynden walked on he realized he hadn't seen even one of them since entering leaving the smell of the bakers behind him. It was hard to notice thanks to the normal crowds of the city but when you looked, it became obvious. Lovely, Brynden thought to himself.

Stopping suddenly, Brynden turned around and moved backwards a few paces, looking around quizzically as if he was trying to figure out where he was going,. He then turned around again and moved on. This was the signal for his own men, five men from Riverrun who followed him from a distance, to close in on him. Hopefully they noticed my tail already and were watching for the signal.

Brynden's men had indeed noticed the tail and closed in quickly. Even so, the crowd held the men from Riverrun up long enough for a band of four men to reach Brynden first. Two of them looked to be sell-swords, their swords sharp but nicked, their mail shabby in places and dented in others but still serviceable. The other two were thugs, plain and simple, with leather Jerkins, hoods to hide their faces, and long shafted clubs in their hands, the kind that would be good to intimidate other smallfolk.

Instead of them falling upon an unprepared enemy, Brynden met them with steel in his hand. He blocked the first blow from the first person who attacked him, one of the thugs whose eyes widened at the speed of the older man. From what Brynden could see underneath his hood, he looked like a callow-faced youth, but Brynden didn't care if for the boy's age, only that he was being attacked. A second later, his belt knife was in the thug's chest, piercing his thin leather jerkin with relative ease.

Brynden ducked when the other thug tried to take his head off with his club, then backed away quickly, losing his knife when he used it to block a slash from one of the sell swords. The sword in his other hand blocked the other sell-sword's blow as well, though it threw him backwards.

Screams began as the smallfolk all around him scattered at the sudden outbreak of violence. But being city folk, none of them tried to aid him, even those who were armed, simply moving back and away.

Two more men raced out of another alleyway further back the way Brynden had been walking from but ran smack dab into the five men from Riverrun, who cut them down quickly. They raced on, the crowd of smallfolk scattering further to get out of their way to fall upon the attackers around Brynden.

Brynden was surprised that the sell swords, at least, didn't immediately surrender. Such men were not known for their loyalty after all. Instead, one of the sell swords fell back into the alleyway in an effort to run away, which failed as two of the men from Riverrun raced after him. The man was fast but didn't know the streets as well as these two, who frequented a whorehouse nearby. That was why they were on the roster to guard their lord's estranged brother today.

The other sell sword might have surrendered but he was cut down too quickly to do anything of the sort. The thug, however, took to his heels and ran away like a street rat born, much too fast for any of the men at arms, who were wearing chain mail as normal, to catch up with him.

Brynden cursed, looking down at his tabard which had been sliced in one of the strikes from one of the sell swords. While that had been an amusing little get together, he had dearly hoped to take a prisoner.

He looked around, hoping to find some kind of minder still watching to see if the attack worked but failed to see anyone taking any more interest than could be considered normal. Sighing faintly at lost opportunities, Brynden quickly moved over to the dead bodies to see if we could find anything incriminating on them and, not coincidentally, taking their money pouches.

When he opened them, he cursed again, shaking his head. Whoever had paid the men had paid them quite a lot but in small coin and there was nothing on either that he could use to trace who paid them. "Still," he murmured to himself as he straightened up, only now noticing that there were Gold Cloaks cautiously making their way down the street towards him, "that plus the fact that there were no Gold Cloaks around for so long before this tells me that someone is feeling the pressure."

OOOOOOO

Brynden came back to the tower in the late evening and immediately asked to talk to Eddard and Ranma. Ranma and Brynden had to wait over an hour before Eddard was finished his work for the evening. The work at digging the kingdom out of debt continued taking up Ned's nearly every waking hour as he poured over the ledgers. Ranma and Renly tried to help him, but, neither had a good enough head for numbers to really take much of the pressure off Ned's shoulders.

Ned had a decent grasp numbers himself and going a good job at it, making the bookkeeping more streamlined, more standardized and actually legible to everyone. But since he could trust no one else to help him, save his secretary, who he had brought down from Winterfell, it was very slow going, a slogging process that ate up his time like a ravenous beast. Petyr kept on offering his services but Ned had decided not to rely on him with this, not until he proved himself trustworthy.

He hadn't even had much time to devote to Jon Arryn's murder or the reasons behind it. Not to mention his finding the book of lineages gone when they returned from the tourney. Still, he had found a way around that, sending a messenger to Old-town, to speak to the Maesters there via his friend Lord Mallister. Some of them would no doubt know about lineage and the various signs of a certain line. Even without that confirmation, Ned was becoming more and more concerned, fearing his thoughts along those lines might turn out to be right.

At last, Eddard joined them and Brynden immediately launched into what he wanted to share with them. "I finally found what the Queen's agents are looking for. She's sending people to keep watch on the King's bastards here in the city. I'm still not certain why." Though I am getting a very terrible feeling, Brynden thought to himself, being certain not to mention that fear aloud, though Eddard seemed to have reached the same conclusion by the grim set of his mouth.

"I have also found out that Petyr has several connections with a few of the thieves' gangs here in the city that are funneling him information. And as I was attacked this afternoon, I think we can take it as a given that someone is getting anxious." Brynden's voice was dust dry as he said this, before going on to describe the actual attack in detail. After that, he shrugged. "And I will say we never saw a Gold Cloak until the bodies stopped twitching."

"I am going to push to remove Slynt from command of the Gold Cloaks again this coming meeting." Eddard said grimly. "I will no longer allow Robert's fear of his replacement being worse than Slynt to stop it. We must clean up the Gold Cloaks from top to bottom."

"I'd recommend getting rid of anyone who has been on the force for more than a year." Ranma growled, his knuckles cracking. He hadn't seen a single Gold Cloak acting like a real peacekeeper since he arrived. They were just another gang really, larger, better organized and outfitted, but they took protection money and arrested anyone who tried to get in their way, just like any other gang. Their official remit only allowed them to get away with more.

"A most amusing dream but nothing more." Ned replied with one of his faint smiles on his face. "Still, that attack on you Brynden is a warning to all of us. I'm going to inform the men not to travel in anything but groups of ten or more from now on, and Ranma, when you and Margaery walk about the city you might want to think about take a visible guard force." He chuckled at his son's scowl. "Next time such an attack occurs though, whoever is attacked should try to take prisoners." He turned to look at Brynden. "Anything else for us this evening?"

Brynden nodded. "Our contact at the 'Flowers of All Colors' left a message at the drop point, saying she had some information to pass on. It sounded somewhat urgent. I have a meeting I need to get to down at the docks, so I was hoping that you could stop by in your 'Rock Hurler' persona and speak to her."

The older man laughed to himself quietly as Ranma flushed. Despite his self-control, with no one here he could sleep with and trust to keep their mouths shut, Brynden knew Ranma was becoming a little pent up, and the young whore in question had gotten under his skin before.

"I'll head out tonight then." Ranma said rather reluctantly. It wasn't like he minded talking to Alayaya, it was simply that she was very attractive and he knew she would have no regrets about doing whatever he wished. While Ranma now felt he could trust her discretion, he was now supposedly affianced to Margaery so it just wouldn't be right.

Late that night, Ranma moved over the rooftops of the city covered in the Umi-Sen-Ken. Occasionally he stopped to throw bricks down at any law-breaking below. These bricks interrupted a mugging, one rape (that one was thrown with extra force shattering the skull of the man attempting to do said act), and one break-in. That last wasn't done by a brick however, but by the simple expedient of kicking the would-be burglar off the roof as Ranma passed. All-in-all a regular evening, he thought sardonically, as he neared the House of Many Flowers.

Soon Ranma arrived, slipping down to the streets quickly, although he had to wait a few moments before a customer came out. He swiftly moved inside, once again finding himself in the glittering and bourgeois boudoir. Ranma had been here once since that first time, to pick up some information on a particularly corrupt twosome of courtiers who had been flashing Essos coinage. It turned out that they had both been taking money for quite some time to relay news to a few factors in Essos, specifically Pentos and Braavos.

When Edd had them arrested, Varys had come forward, saying he had already known of it. The Spider had been using them to funnel information to their backers, false information, or so he claimed. Still, Ned had jailed them both, pending execution or being sent to the Wall for treason.

That hadn't been the first or the last group to be quickly brought to justice like that. Ned was on a warpath against corruption the city, and it was only the fact that Robert was loathe to remove him that the head of the Gold Cloaks, Janos Slynt, still had his head at all. Robert had long been afraid that if he removed Janos, the person he replaced him would be even worse but Ranma's father had reached the point to push for it regardless.

The Lannisters and, though no one but he knew it, Petyr still had far more supporters than the Starks however. In particular the nobles in the city and the court were on their side, angry at how met much of their graft was slowly being worn away. The court was becoming more and more turned against the Starks, though it was a slow process thanks to Robert's approval of Ned as well as the help that Margaery had begun to give them since the tourney.

They were also helped by the fact that the Queen wasn't taking any overt action and had actually stepped on several such. But the attack on the Blackfish earlier that day showed that the Lannisters and the others were possibly ready to strike back, regardless of Ned's influence with Robert.

When Ranma entered, there were no Gold Cloaks this time, but neither was the business of the brothel going on as normal. Everyone in the main area was watching an argument going on between Alayaya. The young black woman was resplendent in a slinky, figure hugging dress, a stark contrast to the person she was arguing with.

Ranma recognized him as the young man who won the archery tournament. He already had two girls on his arms and apparently was going for a third. "I don't care if someone else has bought your services, I can pay you more, is that not enough?!"

"On any other day my Lord, it would be, but not today. Today, as I have said, I have a previous appointment."

The young man scowled, which did nothing for his homely features. His face was a battle between the invading forces of acne and the defending freckles. He was decently built but his looks were against him, and it was obvious the money he had won in the tournament had gone to his head, allowing him to buy time with beautiful women who would not normally look at him twice. Ranma actually felt somewhat sorry for the guy but not sorry enough to put off meeting with Alayaya.

He moved forward while the young man spoke angrily. "If you have a client then where is he? I don't see him here, and if he's not here, then his place is forfeit!"

Ranma smirked, then dropped several gold dragons into a glass set by a station that the madam was standing next to.

Chataya smirked. Alayaya's mother was actually more superstitious than she let on in front of most and, despite not knowing of her daughter's business as an informant for the Hand, had decided that the patronage of a mystic spirit was enough to deal with losing her daughter's income for a few days every month. That, plus the gold that the Rock Hurler paid her was good enough for the matron. "Alayaya, your client for the evening has arrived and already gone up. I suggest you join him."

Alayaya smiled and turned to do so but the archer, whose name was Anguy, followed after. He was determined to have all three of the girls tonight. Alayaya was the only one he had never been able to book before there either, her evenings had to be booked well in advance, but he wanted all three of the most beautiful girls at once, something no other man had ever tried. "I still don't see this man, even if your mother says he has paid."

"Nor would you." Alayaya smirked.

Anguy tried to grab her arm but suddenly hissed as a small stone impacted his wrist with deadening force. He looked around wildly and didn't see anyone. Still, despite not having been in the city long, he had heard the rumors of the Rock Hurler, though up until this point he hadn't actually believed them.

Gulping he backed away slightly. "I-I'm no fool enough to argue with such as that, I know not what magics you use, Rock Hurler, but forgive me and do not hex me." The boy backed away mumbling apologies to join the two girls whose time he had already paid for. After a moment, Anguy actually brightened up slightly, since not having to pay for Alayaya would allow him two weeks' worth of pleasure at a less reputable establishment.

Alayaya smirked as the door to her room closed behind her, looking around thoughtfully. She always got a kick out of the Rock Hurler's visits, above and beyond simply liking the intrigue or the fact that she had made such a powerful patron. Her mother's stories of the jungle spirits were part of it, of course. There was a thrill to having an invisible lover (even if they weren't actually lovers) that was intoxicating. That, and the life of a whore had so little excitement to it she loved what little she could get. "Where are you, my invisible friend?"

"Over here." Ranma said, humor plain in his voice. "Sorry to interrupt." His tone however said he wasn't sorry at all.

"Don't be." Alayaya said with the smile on her face as she moved over, one hand outstretched. She shivered a little as she felt the Rock Hurler's muscled chest under her hand for a moment, smiling wider when she felt invisible fingers take her hand in turn.

Moving in slightly, her other hand quested for his shoulder before Alayaya rested her head lightly against it. "According to the girls young Anguy's frequented, he's a rather poor lover in many ways. His face is not the only part of him that is freckled. We also had to force him to go bathe after he showed up the first time. My mother likes to run a clean house, who knows what kind of disease he could have given the others?" she murmured, her hands now trying to move around him, though being stymied by his.

Ranma gently pushed the girl off him, shuddering a little. Despite his growing friendship with Margaery, it had been a very long few months indeed since his last tryst with Dacey. Since being introduced to the pleasures of the flesh, Ranma had found he was unable to ignore his urges in that direction. The Queen's ongoing subtle teasing, Margaery's flirtations, what happened at the tournament, with all of this, his control was slowly fraying and Ranma knew it.

But whatever the Tyrells might think or even Margaery herself of thier arrangement Ranma would hold to it. That meant not having relationships with anyone else during that period, no matter how alluring, exotic, or gentle the girl in question was. Thankfully, he was also helped in the fact that her profession was abhorrent to him no matter how kind or gentle Alayaya was. "Not that I don't like spending time with you, lady, but you left a message at the drop point. It sounded urgent."

Alayaya nodded, her face now serious, despite the fact that she kept one hand on his chest gently running her fingers up and down his invisible chest. "Yes, it is urgent. This began a few days after the tournament, but I only heard about it this morning, when I went to see a sick friend. There has been a sudden influx of sell swords into the city. Not bands of them, simply ones and twos, here and there, spread out. The total number is unknown but I would guess at least two-hundred or so. Not a lot in a city this size, that's why no one else has noticed them, but whores talk and I have friends among nearly all the other high-class brothels and many in some of the lesser class ones."

What she didn't say was that those ladies were routinely ill-treated and longed for companionship from girls like her who didn't judge them. Many also sought to escape from their current place of work to one where they would be at least protected. "They're being paid very well; else they would not be able to afford the services of some of the brothels they go to, although none so far has wished to pay my mother's prices."

"Worrisome." Ranma murmured closing his eyes in thought for a moment, ignoring Alayaya's hand as it searched for his face. He opened them, gently reaching up to take her hand away from his jaw. "Is there any indication of allegiance to any of these mercenaries?"

"No." The young Summer Island woman shook her head. "The amount of money they have to throw around tells me it's someone with deep pockets, but that's it. Many of them stay in the merchant quarter, most particularly with a few noblemen's factors who are angry at the Hand's crusade against corruption in the city. But that is a majority of them, so that's not much help."

Ranma cursed a little. He had hoped to hear something that connected these mercenaries to someone that they were already investigating. Bringing in troops like that was an act they could respond to but without more evidence, they would have to turn the matter over to the Gold Cloaks. None of the powers-that-be would be happy to know that someone else was bringing in men like that, regardless of who was behind it.

"Thank you lady," he said quietly, yet with warmth. "Your news was indeed very important. Have you seen anyone come by checking on your friend's daughter?"

"No." Alayaya smiled at the concern in the Rock Hurler's voice for the baby. Most men would be unconcerned with the bastard of a whore, even if it was the King's, but it was obvious from his tone and actions that the Rock Hurler actually cared about the baby as an individual.

Last time he had stopped by, they had met once more in the baby room. She had watched, laughing, while he pushed the few baby toys around to the girl's gurgling laughter. It was one of many things that told her that the Rock Hurler, for all that he refused to drop the magic that kept him invisible, was a good man.

"I haven't seen anyone and there's been no trouble recently. I don't think anyone here knows the secret I shared with you save my mother and Baara's mother herself, for which both myself and my mother are truly thankful. She's a good friend, and I would hate to see anything happen to her thanks to the Queen's jealousies, no matter how well founded."

"That's good." Ranma thought for a moment, then nodded. "Something seems to be going on, so we need to set up a way for you to get an emergency message to us quicker. You have all different kinds of colored cloth here, is there any way you could wrap a note in red cloth? That will tell the contact at the Honey Ale place to get it to us immediately, even if he has to break cover to do it."

Alayaya giggled, enjoying the skullduggery immensely, as well as the trust that the Rock Hurler was showing her. "I can do that easily. Though," she murmured huskily, leaning in once more, her questing hand moving from his chest up over his invisible shoulder to touch his neck. There it was stopped by one of his hands, but she leaned forward regardless. "I don't suppose I could interest you in simply stopping by every night?" She leaned in, her fingers having found his lips, and kissed him ardently.

It was all Ranma could do to keep from slipping out of the Umi-Sen-Ken. Even so, his control of it wavered so much he held up a hand to cover the black girl's eyes to block her sight while it wavered. But he could not stop himself from responding. Ranma kissed her back with fervor, one of his arms encircling her waist and pressing her tight to him.

Alayaya moaned a little, trying to draw him further in but Ranma eventually regained control of himself and pushed her back slightly, regaining control of the technique as he did so. Before Alayaya could do anything but murmur disappointment Ranma reached into a pouch then dropped another few gold dragons into her hand.

"I'm sorry." he murmured and he actually was at this point. "I have obligations lady and I cannot…" He shrugged, unseen yet felt. "I cannot do this with you, no matter how much I could wish to."

"I'll take that as a compliment." Alayaya smiled, moving back slightly after letting her hand rub down his chest once more drifting below his stomach to feel the response below his belt. A very nice compliment indeed." she murmured breathlessly, shaking her head and moving away. "In any event, that's all I had for you now."

Ranma nodded, murmured a farewell, and then moved over to the window opening it once more.

A moment later Alayaya was alone, smiling faintly. "I'll get you yet, my city spirit." she murmured in her mother's native tongue, laughing quietly. After that however, she decided to turn in. A quiet evening was something whores very rarely got after all, and she was going to savor this one even if it could've been so much better.

OOOOOOO

A week after arriving at the Wall, Daryn led his first group of scouts out into the wild territories. A hundred strong, they moved in groups of ten through the woods beyond the Wall, each squad within sight of one another. Among these hundred were skilled mountain clan scouts as well as rangers from the Night's Watch. They were good, capable men, who knew the lay of the land easily and directed the troop towards the old man's fort. On foot for a force this size, the rangers estimated the trip would take them two weeks out then two back.

They could've taken horses but the lay of the land was against that idea. The forests beyond the Wall were extremely dense, with a lot of overhanging branches and no trails to be seen. In such ground, a horse made a lot more noise moving than a man on foot and didn't actually move any faster, most especially since there was much more snow on the ground on this side of the Wall then on the other. The ground underneath the snow was still soft but there was a crisp feel to the air that hinted of further snow and it was even colder, if anything.

Even for men on foot it was much harder and, after a fortnight's travel, Daryn pulled his senior officers together. "This is much tougher going than I expected." he confided to them, shaking his head. "There's no way we can make it to Caster's Keep in two weeks, a month might be pushing it. So, do we go on, or turn back before going over the old man's timetable?"

The chief ranger, whose name was Olar Shuent, shrugged. According to rumor among the Night's Watch, he was a Stormlander who had fallen afoul of a lord, wooing the man's daughter successfully and had been forced to flee before the lord's men-at-arms, joining up with a detail of Night's Watch recruiters.

How much of that was truth and how much was rumor, Daryn didn't know nor care, since the man was a veteran ranger who knew his stuff. "We go on. Craster's an old fucker but he could have good information for us at least about what's going on further north. We need that information; surprise is more dangerous to the Wall than mere numbers."

The other two senior men both nodded. Daryn paused a moment, looking at each in turn, then nodded. "Alright, we go on."

The next day, the group was once more up and moving at dawn, groups of ten moving in file through the trees. Daryn strode at the head of one such, men chosen by his father to watch his back, something the men themselves were rather amused by, since Daryn was better with a blade than any four of them combined. Still, training with him during the march up to Wall had made them all better than they had been. Such was the effect Ranma could have on those he trained. The wolfsworn, as Tyrion had noticed, were very dangerous indeed.

At the moment that didn't matter, Daryn was too busy watching his surroundings to realize how even now the idea he needed protecting amused the men around him. Olar and all the other rangers had been very blunt about how good the wildings were at ambushing people on their own ground and any land beyond the wall was their own ground.

Both his and his men's caution availed them not at all two hours later. As they moved through the dense woodland, suddenly all around them appeared a massive band of wildlings, springing up seemingly out of the very ground. They came out of nowhere, straight into his force's front as it was strung out in march formation, their war cries filling the air. Their numbers couldn't be determined in the rush, and the surprise was total.

Yet for all that, Daryn responded promptly. He bulled forward, his shield smashing one wildling to the turf. Its edge caught the man in the side of the neck as he tried to force himself to his feet while Daryn's sword took another man right underneath the bone armor he was wearing, cutting into his guts.

As the man on the ground writhed wildly, his hands scrabbling at his neck, Daryn recovered quickly to smash his blade against another's shattering the flint blade of his opponent and driving on to slice into the man's throat. "Ambush!" Daryn yelled, his voice a trumpet over the growing cacophony of battle. "Odd numbers fall back and use bows! Even numbers stand with me!"

Before leaving Castle Black, Daryn had numbered his squads, giving each group leader a number so that they could respond to his commands in an emergency. He had gotten that idea from Ranma, as well as Lord Stark, who thought it an excellent one and had instituted it in the men from Winterfell, even assigning each squad a leader.

While it was impossible to make a shield wall in the dense woodland, it was possible to create small defensive positions, while the others fell back to start using their bows. At Daryn's command, the odd numbered groups fell back, while the other groups held their ground, linking up as they could to better protect themselves, which wasn't much thanks to the wildlings onslaught and the terrain. Daryn was the rock. He held his ground while around him the even squads held their ground while the odds fell back raising their bows.

The Hornwood heir blocked another thrust to his head with his shield, which was beginning to buckle under the repeated blows, despite the fact the majority of the weapons hitting it were stone or even bone in some cases. Still, Daryn pushed forward, grabbing his current attacker's arm as he tried to lift his large stone axe again, stabbing him under his armor with a knife his shield hand had pulled out of his belt while his sword smashed aside a spear user, throwing him back into his fellows as the spear splintered under the blow.

A chieftain, judging by his better weapon and accoutrements roared out a challenge in the wildling tongue and then charged towards Daryn. He had a rusty but still visibly iron sword, his armor was better, and he carried a shield.

"Come get me then, you fucking mongrel!" Daryn grimly steadied himself, taking the man's charge on his shield and not moving an inch.

The wildling chieftain grunted in shock as the youth simply absorbed his momentum, and then yelled in surprise as he felt Daryn push his shield under his own, lifting him up slightly, and throwing off his stance. He tried to bring his massive blade around but was too slow. Daryn had already pushed his shield to one side and his blade stabbed forward, smashing through the loose wooden scales covering his enemy's chest.

The man gurgled and died, and Daryn kicked his body off the blade, while two men behind him died with arrows in their chests. All around him arrows began to cut the surrounding wildlings down. "Even squads, by the numbers, fall back!"

Off to the side, a squad leader shouted "Two", followed in an even pace by the other squad leaders. Daryn's group was number ten, thus last to fall back.

By this point, he had lost six of his men but he and the three remaining were still fighting hard. The arrows from behind were now taking a deadly toll in the attackers. This allowed his men to open up some space between themselves and their ambushers, joining up and forming a semi-cohesive battle line or, at least, the best line they could form in the heavy woodlands.

Now the wildlings faced a ready force, with the swordsman in front of the archers and the element of surprise lost. Any civilized ambush party would've retreated, especially considering the losses they had already taken. But the wildlings didn't think like that, they kept coming except for a few who were cowardly enough to run away. Even then, many of those cowards were cut down by their fellows before they could retreat.

The wildlings charged forward, their numbers greatly reduced thanks to the arrows of their 'victims', but Daryn and his men met them with a roar. "The Wall stands!"

With Daryn now holding the center of the line they couldn't break through to the archers, who continued to wreak a deadly toll. That signaled the battle turning against the attackers.

Fifteen minutes later, it was all over but the groaning. The entire wildling force had come forward; confident they could break through to the archers and had died against the shaken yet still strong shield line. Daryn estimated there had been over a hundred-and-seventy attackers, more than enough to wipe out a group of a hundred taken by surprise as they had done but the organization and Daryn's calm command had allowed them to recover.

After a moment spent cleaning his blade (and looking mournfully at the mangled bit of metal that had been his shield, a gift from his grandfather on his mother's side), Daryn noticed the men around him looking at him in awe.

He laughed, his beard bristling as he guffawed. "The Lord Stark and his maester were both excellent teachers for tactics, and for the other," he said holding up his blade with a grim smile, "that, you can lay at the Young Wolf's feet."

That won a rueful chuckle from most of his listeners, many of whom had discounted the tales of the Young Wolf's prowess in battle, though several were still looking at Daryn with awe. Daryn alone had probably accounted for at least seventeen attackers, possibly more. All of them also knew that without his quick, controlled response, none of them would've been able to get out of the ambush alive.

The young man clapped his hands hard, trying to break the spell. "Group leaders, check and see how many men you've lost and then assign some men to go around and burn the bodies where they lie. Olar, take some men and form a perimeter. It's evident the wildings have gotten farther south in larger numbers than we realized and I don't want us to be surprised again."

The order to burn the bodies caused the men some confusion but they still obeyed readily.

The final toll was fifty-five dead, nearly two-thirds having fallen in the first few minutes of the ambush, along with another twenty injured, some severely enough to warrant giving mercy. They wouldn't have survived the trek back to the wall and killing them now was better than making them suffer through that.

As soon as the final count was tallied and the wounded were being taken care of, Daryn called in his officers together once more. "All right, we've been hurt but we still have a job to do. I want a group of twelve of the best rangers we have, you'll go forward with me. We'll go fast and quietly; it's obvious the wildlings are out here in force so we'll have to sneak by them if we can."

One of the Rangers, an older Northman named Selrig, spat to one side. "If all we want is a look at the Fort I know a place fer that. There's an overhangin' hill about a half day's journey from Caster's Keep. If we come on it at night, we can head up during the night, stay there during the day, and then head back out the following evening, though it will be tough going from the get go, let alone when we reach the hill itself."

"Subterfuge is the only way forward now." Daryn said nodding. "Selrig, you know our destination, so you'll lead the way. We'll head out right now." He turned to one of the men from Hornwood. "Vander, you're in charge of the group going back to the wall. Head straight back, tell Commander Mormont and the others what we ran into, and tell them what we're up to as well."

"Milord, I don't want to have to explain to your father that we left you behind. Take at least a few of the men from Hornwood with you." Vander begged. He knew he couldn't go, having had his arm broken in the fight, but still his duty was clear.

Daryn exchanged a glance with Olar, who shook his head. "I'm sorry, but they'll only slow us down, Vander. Besides, I should have thought this fight showed I didn't need minders."

Vander frowned, but nodded and went off to reorganize the survivors. Twenty minutes later Daryn and his group left, heading on an oblique angle further north as fast and silently as they could go over the snow covered forest floor. Behind them, the remaining troopers finished tending to their injured, and set off back to the Wall.

Daryn's group continued on, traveling as quickly as possible through the day and on into the night, not stopping, eating on the go. They avoided several patrol of wildlings who were moving through the forest as silently as animals, though what they were searching for, Daryn didn't know.

After a fortnight's forced march, the reinforced squad eventually came upon the area Selrig recommended and made their way forward even more quietly that evening, after hiding throughout the day. Selrig led the way up unerringly. As he had said, it was steep going but after much silent cursing and sweat, they came out onto a small overlook that let them look further north to see the Craster's Fort.

Even in the darkness lit only by the torches of the distant Fort, they could tell it was much larger than before, something that caused all the scouts who had seen it before to hiss in shock. Olar pointed out what they could see in the dark, that the walls had been expanded outwards and there was now what looked like a secondary wall even beyond that.

Everywhere between were barely visible tents, lit by the numerous fires that were everywhere, much more than there should have been even as cold as it was, which had been a problem for the group. Several of them were now frostbitten in places, but that couldn't be the reason behind the sheer number of fires or torches down there.

The next day, Daryn looked over the Fort and was further dismayed at what he saw. Besides the heads of Craster and what according to Olar were possibly his daughters stuck on poles outside, the area was being modified built up into an even larger Fort than had been visible the night before or, possibly, a supply point.

There were at least a thousand tents down there, with hundreds of wooden lodgings already constructed. There was also what looked like a crude dam set up on the river behind the fort and more work going on to expand it in that direction over the other side of the river, a tributary that would eventually join up with the unnamed river that went on to form the Gorge, the western most point of the Wall.

Olar grunted irritably from where he lay prone on the snow next to the young lord. "I didn't believe you youngsters when you talked of a new King-Beyond-the-Wall. Even when your Umber friend got out the name of the supposed King, I didn't really believe. Now I do. Damn Mance, I knew him when he was on the Wall."

"That's definitely a supply point they're building." Daryn muttered, looking at the fort through his spyglass, tilting the end of it so that sunlight couldn't catch the glass. That spyglass was an expensive gift from his father and he had no wish to for it to be the cause of his death. "Look at the buildup at the back, the cleared sections where they've been digging shallow basements in places, the room at the back is far too large for the troops on hand."

Selrig frowned then spat to the side, his spit freezing almost as soon as it hit the ground in the morning chill. "Do you think we could get back to the Wall and get here with a large enough force to destroy it before more wildlings arrive?

"Doubt it," Daryn grunted. "The survivors of that group we tangled with the other day will be found by their scouts eventually, so they'll be ready for us. That fort might not look like much yet, but give it a few weeks and it'll be more formidable. Plus the inner fort would have to be taken as well.

"Look!" Olar growled, pointing. "They're even clearing out the forest to give them clear lanes of fire. Wildlings don't do that!"

"They do when they have a king commanding them." Daryn shook his head then waved his hand lightly signaling them to fall back. "We'll keep watch for the rest of the day, but as soon as it's dark out, you're going to have to lead us out again, Selrig."

"Joy." the scout muttered, shaking his head, but subsided afterward, wrapping his heavy cloak around him, shivering as he lay there in the snow and leaves.

For the rest of the day they watched, while two more groups of wildlings, each about three hundred strong, arrived, bringing with them more supplies, which went into the already prepared longhouses and shallow supply basements. After that, several shallow rafts arrived, coming down the stream at the back of the Fort, carrying more supplies and another group of wildlings.

"Where are they all coming from?" Daryn muttered. "How are they feeding themselves on the march?"

"Herds of elk or deer mostly, fishing in the rivers, there is a soup they make from bark too, though what it does to their brains you don't want to know. They'll have no problems feeding their troops on the march. It's when they stop that they'll have problems." Olar answered.

Daryn frowned, then shrugged, though he was still wondering about a few things. Foremost was why the wildlings seemed content during the day to move in small groups around their fort and through the woods, but at night moved only in large groups beyond the light of their fires, if they left the fires at all.

Could they already be feeling the depredations of the White Walkers? Is that what is driving the wildlings south? The way the wildlings are acting isn't really proof of that, but that might be something we need to keep at the back of our minds.

They waited through the rest of the day and well into the night, a moonless one thankfully, since it made spotting them all the harder, even if it also made the going even worse for them. As before, Selrig led the way, each man barely able to see the one in front of them, as they moved off through the woods. Still, they avoided the large parties of torch bearing wildling scouts easily.

A time or two they saw odd flickering blue lights through the trees, which made Daryn stiffen and ready his weapons for some reason the other men couldn't fathom. Even without Daryn's knowledge of the White Walkers the trek was dark, dangerous, and very, very worrying even for men like these. So it wasn't long before they too began to feel edgy.

During the fifth day of their trex back Olar, who had been scouting ahead came back with word that the straight path back to the wall was being searched by too many wildling groups for them to make it through. The searchers were spreading out among the forest to search, presumably, for them or other survivors of the disastrous ambush.

Daryn frowned, looking at him and Selrig while the group hid in an area of the woods that was even more overgrown than most. "Can we move around them somehow, east or west?"

Olar and Selrig thought for a moment, conversing quietly while the others kept watch. At last, Olar said firmly, "East, the patrols are weaker there and the woods become much denser down that way. We'll have to circle back to Castle Black but we can do that easily enough once we get beyond this lot."

This took them a week out of their way, slowed further by the need to avoid more wildling patrols. Eventually, Daryn and his men left the last wildling patrol behind, moving on a diagonal through the woods from where they had come under the Wall through the guarded gate there. They kept going for several days before at last they came within sight of the wall many days travel east of Castle Black.

The Wall was so massive a structure it could be seen for leagues in any weather looming over the forest. Daryn stared through the branches up at it, then looked over at the two scouts. "How many days do you think it will take for us to get to Castle Black from here?"

Olar smiled faintly, looking around the woods with a smile of remembrance, though Daryn didn't have enough woodcraft to tell this section of the forest from any other. "Another week's travel or so. I know this place of old; it's near the heart tree we use to swear in Northern recruits to the Night's Watch."

At that moment Selrig, who was in the lead of their squad, which had tightened up by this point, paused holding up a clenched fist in the sign for enemies.

Everyone quickly drew their weapons, looking around. "What did you see?" Daryn whispered.

"It's what I don't hear that's tellin' me trouble's comin'." The older man muttered. "There ain't been any sound of bird song for the past while but a group like ours with no other groups around couldn't've scared off all the birds within 'earing distance. Can't believe it took me that long to notice! Might be getting' old for this game."

"You noticed it anyway." Daryn muttered. "I didn't notice anything." They were all tense and ready even as they continued forward, so when the wildlings did ambush them, they were prepared. Just like the previous ambush wildings appeared as if out of the very ground, shouting and charging Daryn and his men.

When a large group of wildling raiders hadn't reported back, Mance, who had taken command of the forward outpost personally, knew something was up. He decided to err on the side of caution because he knew that information was valuable and that surprise would help them tremendously in their onslaught on the Wall. It was on his orders that wildling parties covered the route straight back from his keep with patrols. Then Mance took it one step further, sending out large parties of ambushers on all angles, with orders not to engage anyone coming out from the Wall if they could avoid it, but to ambush any group heading back toward it.

There were only sixty wildlings in this ambush but for a group of twelve that would have been more than enough. Even Daryn wasn't proof against those kinds of numbers. As he quickly surveyed the charging raiders, Daryn felt a moment of despair but he pushed it aside standing forward from the others, shield on one arm and sword in hand. "Righteous in wrath!"

The wildling group was about to slam into them when there was a hail of, "The Wall Stands!" From the southern side of the attackers a hail of arrows slammed into a dozen of the attackers bearing them to Earth. War cries abounded as a large group of Umber and Hornwood men charged forward from their own hiding places among the trees and snow, slamming in turn into the raiders from behind and the side.

Daryn laughed in relief even as his sword flashed out to cut down the first wildling to meet him, while many of the raiders turned to face their attackers. Four however came at him quickly, with a fifth trying to circle behind him. His shield blocked a spear thrust from one, smacking it to the side. A kick took another in the thigh, slowing him down just enough for Daryn to engage the third man sword to sword, throwing him backwards quickly. Turning, he took the fourth man in the throat with his sword point before he could bring his short club down on Daryn's back.

While Olar attacked the wildling wielding a sword, a flint mace slammed into Daryn's shoulder and he grunted in pain yet his armor took it. His shield snaked up, the edge slamming into the man's chin with cracking force, throwing him backwards even as the spear wielder tried to gore him through the chest. Daryn dodged the spear, which grazed his leather armor slightly, but he ignored it. His sword sliced across the spear wielder's chest, cutting through his bone armor and throwing him backwards.

The man with the flint mace backed away even as two more raiders came up. Daryn charged to meet them, cutting the mace wielder down before engaging the other two, pushing one backwards for a second. He lashed out with a kick that caught the other man in the diaphragm throwing him back gasping for air. He knelt quickly, chopping down with his shield's edge before rising up to catch the remaining man's stone flail with his blade, throwing him backwards with a burst of strength. The man was dismayed but not for long as this opened his chest up for Daryn's killing stroke. The man fell, his guts splashing out to steam in the cold snow

Then Smalljon was there, charging through the wildlings with three Umber men at his back along with two men wearing Hornwood colors, orange with a black moose on their surcoats. Daryn recognized one as Vander and both men were hacking grimly at any wildling to come near as they forged their way to the side of their lord's heir.

Smalljon fell into place next to his friend, slapping him on the shoulder with his free hand. Smalljon preferred to use a single claymore rather than the sword and shield Daryn used. Still, he wielded like a single-handed longsword in his hand, the exercises he had done with Ranma raising his strength well beyond normal levels. He cut down four wildlings in quick succession, their bone and wood armor unable to stop his steel blade. "Evening Daryn, have an interesting time of it of late?"

"Informative at least." Daryn laughed, smacking another wildling to the floor with the pommel of his blade before ending him with an economical back hand.

Smalljon laughed. He negligently gutted a spear user who tried to gore him, who had found to his brief dismay that even his attempt to keep Smalljon away at spear point failed given the disparity in arm length and the reach of the Umber heir's sword. The man fell, his neck open from ear-to-ear.

Around them, the wildling's fought to the last man save for a few 'cowards' who raced away through the woods, but Smalljon had anticipated this, and had ordered his archers to fall back to shoot down runners after that initial salvo. Not a one of them would escape.

Daryn reached down, grabbing up a handful of wildling jerkin to clean his blade, looking up at his large friend. "How did you know which way we were coming?"

"Honestly, we didn't!" Smalljon laughed. "This group was spotted a few days ago by one of the ranger companies. They didn't do anything to draw attention to the fact they saw them and we devised this little ambush. Now, let's get you lot back to the wall. I assume you have news to share."

"Oh yes." Daryn replied grimly, looking around and sighing faintly as he noticed his squad had lost four men in that ambush despite Smalljon's intervention. "Yes, I do indeed have some information to share."

OOOOOOO

While Daryn was leading his force out to scout, Tyrion conducted a survey of the siege equipment already on the Wall. He had been impressed by the winch elevator, the enclosed platform that could be taken from Castle Black up onto the top of the Wall. It was well cared for, the ropes were in excellent condition, the construction was solid, and there was no sign of wear on the massive steel wheels and winches.

That had been all Tyrion had been impressed by. Of the forty or so siege engines he surveyed in his first two weeks, just two were in working condition and they looked more like something out of a history text than anything that should be trusted in battle. Evidently, the advancements in siege warfare of the last hundred years or so had not reached the Wall. When asked his opinion about them, Tyrion simply mimed pushing them off the side and smacking his hands together like after a job well done, something that had irritated the few Nights watchmen with his survey team. The Northerners merely laughed and told him to get on with it.

Tyrion did so, making an in-depth survey of each of them in turn. Well he said in-depth, it really only took him about five to ten minutes each to discern if there was anything worth saving, since the answer was almost universally no. In the end, he decided that the two that were working could stay for now, then worked with commander Jeor to decide the spacing of the first batch of catapults they would be creating. After that, with a large team of men with knowledge of wood working, about seven hundred men all told, pulled from the various commands at Castle Black, he set out to the nearest forest behind the Wall.

It took four days to travel to the forest and Tyrion spent the rest of the time Daryn was gone there, overseeing chopping wood, forming it into the different planks and sizes they would need, as well as the creation of platforms for the catapults themselves. The siege engines wouldn't be put together until they were up on the wall but with the elevator, they would be able to get all of this up there with relative ease.

The Imp was back on the wall to witness the triumphant return of the scouting party along with the ambush group that Smalljon had led out and the band under Daryn. There was a lot of cheering going on and Tyrion joined in enthusiastically. Inside, however, he was wondering about these Wolfsworn. Already tales were passing through the men of how deadly both young lords were and he had seen proof of that in Daryn's case on the trip up to the Wall.

But it was only now that he truly saw why these young men were so dangerous. Not only were they leaders born; that would have to be said of most young lords given the training that breed were given by their parents if said parents had any sense. But they were harder, more tempered than the southern equivalent he was so used to dealing with, which had colored his own perception of them. In the south, most of those in their age group hadn't really seen combat or, at least, the Southerners these youth's ages hadn't. They were used to the posturing of a tourney; the play fighting of the melee where it was bad form to kill someone.

In comparison, these Northmen are hard, tested. Where before I thought that hardness made them brittle, I now can see it isn't. Their organization is frankly astonishing, the connections between all the noble families, have formed them into a tight, close-knit faction, and they are far more open to change than I expected, look at the number of innovations they showed on the march up here. It makes me wonder how Ranma Stark and Lord Stark have managed it. It all begins with the Wolfsworn, they are the instrument of change for their families, and through them the rest of the North. But to what end? He thought looking over at Daryn.

"Ho, little lion!" Smalljon boomed, looking over at him and waving him forward from where he had been standing next to a shipment of catapult parts to head up to the top of the Wall. "My friend here has news and the Lord Commander has called for a meeting of the high command."

"I wouldn't make fun of little lions, my Lord," Tyrion replied quickly, smirking up at the much taller young man. "Our bites are still enough to kill any northern dog we come across."

Smalljon boomed out a laugh, clapping him gently on the shoulder leading the way over to the keep.

This meeting was again informal in the extreme to Tyrion's southern views but the mood was even more somber than the first meeting when they arrived on the Wall. Daryn's news went down poorly with everyone there but Tyrion could see the stiffening of spines and a hard look in everyone's eyes. Despite the now certainty of war, these people were ready for it. Tyrion was proud to count himself among their number just then and when called upon to speak about his own project he spoke promptly.

He pulled out sketch he had made back in Winterfell, kept safe throughout the trip up in a beeswax covered leather tube. "This is what I plan for the first few replacements. I've surveyed the forty siege weapons within two weeks ride from Castle Black up on the Wall, and only two of them are useful. Commander Jeor and I have decided to replace the rest but spread out, filling in the gaps as we go along with each successive group so we will have some cover first then more as time goes by. I already have set up a team in the forest nearby, cutting and shaping wood for the new siege machines with another team working transportation." He didn't mention that they would also continuously bring out food supplies to the woodworkers. Logistics and things like that were always necessarily in the back of everyone's mind, even with the wall as a defensive position.

"This is the sketch for the first few we're going to put in." he said, gesturing at the paper. On the paper was a large picture of a modern-day catapult. Anyone who had seen it next to the ones on the Wall could tell the difference, there was far less wood involved in the base, it was a little larger, and the circumference of the arm that would be used to throw its cargo was smaller, which he pointed out but hastened to add, "The winches here and here are more powerful, which will allow you to throw its cargo further. The entire thing will sit on this platform, constructed of a base and moveable section, which can be controlled by these huge gears here. These can allow you to turn the catapult in a set arc."

"The next group of weapons we'll work on are these." The next one looked like a huge crossbow. "These ballista won't be as deadly to crowds of enemies as the catapults would be but they'll be what we use against specific targets we see, such as any siege weapons they try to construct. I've heard talk about gigantic ladders? We won't have as many of these as the catapults, but they can still have a tremendous effect.

He looked over at the other seriously. "I will say that I have no idea if they'll be able to build a trebuchet powerful enough to reach the top of the wall. But they can certainly build ones that are larger on the ground than we can up on the Wall, despite how wide the causeway is up there."

The Northerners looked at the sketches for a moment, talking quietly to one another and asking questions of Tyrion about how long it would take to build each in turn, what other materials would be needed, and so on. It was decided that they would have to send a raven down to White Harbor to have some dedicated carpenters sent up, along with several tons of supplies. The Night's Watch simply didn't have the means to create them, outside the actual wood. Thankfully, by this point Castle Black's ravens had all returned, so that message would be sent off that very evening.

"What news of Eastwatch-by-the-Sea and Shadow Tower?" Daryn asked.

"Kevin and great-uncle Mors left the day after you did." Smalljon replied. "Thanks to traveling along the wall, they were able to arrive there five days ago." That put over two thousand men at all three of the currently used castles of the Night's Watch. Given the natural defenses of the wall, that was a formidable number.

Tyrion shook his head. "Mors took half of the men that were available who knew anything about carpentry. I understand the necessity; we need to enlarge the docking area at Eastwatch. Still, it'll make my work much slower. I only hope that it won't take lord Manderly long to get the new groups of carpenters up to us."

He estimated that each catapult would take three days to construct and that wasn't counting the time spent to get the wood from the forest, where it was being prepared, back to the wall. Even with every horse they had at the Castle Black being roped into that duty, it would still be slow going. The horses of the North were hearty, able to survive on feed that their southern counterparts would have turned their noses up at or just died trying to eat. Nor did they eat as much as the chargers that southern knights were so happy about, even those used by northern knights.

What they were not however was very strong. In the south, this kind of job would be given to mules or some other beast of burden since they were usually much stronger and hardier then horses even if they were slower. But there wasn't a mule or oxen that could survive this far north, especially with the weather getting colder, or a yak that could work at this low an altitude. Tyrion idly wondered how long it would be before the Maesters down south officially declared autumn. He didn't think it would be very long, another half a year tops, before they felt it here. Of course, it would take longer for it to get that far south.

"We'll have to make do." Jeor commented, shrugging philosophically.

Within a day, the Wall around Castle Black was a hive of activity, with Tyrion directing his men in the placement of the first catapult a half day's trek along the Wall toward Eastwatch, and other teams putting up the signal towers, which were really only man high stations with large thieves lanterns. They could only shine in two directions, coming and going along the Wall which would hopefully allow them to remain unseen from those on the ground so far below.

However, that wasn't the only thing Tyrion was doing. With the commander's acceptance, he had written up a note for Kings Landing, detailing everything they had found out so far and asking for some… supplies to be sent to the North along with a few alchemists.

OOOOOOO

Brynden Tully is a rather handsome man, Tyene reflected, and an obviously intelligent one as well. The way his eyes pierce anyone he looks at, it is obvious he saw more than most. It certainly made for interesting meal time conversation when he was around to trade barbs with.

She and Obara had been coming into the Red Keep every day since the tournament, which was two weeks in the past now, for mealtimes, so she could check to make certain that the food wasn't poisoned. Despite this, they hadn't yet made any inroads on making as much trouble for the stags or lions as they hoped. In fact, they hadn't made any, simply because Arianne wanted to wait until the furor of the Mountain's slaying had time to die down before causing any new uproar.

Arianne had also shut down Tyene's first plan, which was to attract the King's attention and then humiliate him by publicly turning him down in the most brutal and demeaning way possible. Upon mature reflection, however, that would not have worked very well. The King was a man who flitted from bed to bed with no concern for those women who turned him away, knowing there were more where they came from. And it would have called attention to her from the queen that they could ill afford.

Still, she had time off at present. She was spending it watching with a small but amused smile on her face while Ranma tried to train Fenris to carry him along with many others.

Ranma looked up, shaking his head from the wall where Fenris had thrown him to the ground as they tried to get used to this whole riding thing "Okay," muttered Ranma groggily, pushing himself to his feet. "So this is going to take more work."

Fenris whined at him, smacking him on the head with a paw. He was not a horse! The idea of letting his bonded partner ride him was intellectually appealing but it really couldn't get through Fenris' own instincts. Nor was he large enough yet for the two of them to look less than ridiculous. He was strong enough to carry him a ways, though not for very long, but it was the look of the thing that bothered Fenris the most. Direwolves were very aware of their dignity.

On the other hand, armor was definitely something Fenris was interested in. Both he and Ranma were hoping that some of the lizard lion hide was still around by the time they got back to Winterfell.

"I must say," Tyene murmured to her sister Obara, "I didn't expect to see a floor show when I agreed to this job."

Everyone watched as Ranma once more tried to get on Fenris's back. This time it looked as if it was working. With Tommen and a few of the watchers laughingly cheering Fenris on, Ranma was carried half a circuit around the training area before he accidentally tried to spur Fenris like he was a horse.

Fenris immediately growled, throwing Ranma again, then decided to make his displeasure known in no uncertain terms. Fenris' head flicked out, his fangs grabbing Ranma's shirt and ripping it off him with a single pull. With the now ruined shirt in his mouth, the direwolf raced off, heading up to their room. That would teach his bonded not to try treating him like a stupid horse.

As the others laughed, Tyene sized Ranma's body up, murmuring to herself. "Oh my, Arianne is in for a treat if she can get her claws into this one."

Of course, to do that, Arianne would need to start actually doing something other than ordering her and her sister about but Tyene was hopeful it would happen soon. Catching a glimpse of Brynden Tully, she smirked a little, thinking. But unlike my dear cousin, I have no need to wait to get my claws into my target…

OOOOOOO

Theon stared at the two pirate ships making their way over the waves while a third retreated from the war galley he was currently on, the Seventh Heaven. They had been under way for a little over three weeks now, well along their way to their target. The pirates must have some informants in White Harbor, he thought to himself, to know when we were going to leave port and our route. He shook his head while watching the galley race on, now under oars in an effort to catch up to the pirates' cogs.

Eldren was one of the better ship handlers in White Harbor, as well as being extremely aggressive. Yet for all that, he had made the mistake of concentrating solely on the first ship that had appeared, ignoring the idea that there might be more just out of sight waiting to pounce below his lookouts line of sight. He was paying for it now as two other pirate cogs, more maneuverable under pure sail than the galleys, raced down on the convoy.

Mind you, Theon thought sardonically, that's rather like a fox jumping out to ambush a squirrel only to find itself facing a group of badgers. The cogs were smaller than the carracks even though they probably had larger crews of around two hundred on each. Still, the defender always had an advantage; made stronger by the fact the carracks had higher sides than the cogs.

Still, the foxes could possibly beat one badger if they worked together. It looked as if the reavers knew it, too. They were aiming for the last ship in the convoy, the one that had been pushed most off course by last evening's storm. It was a good target since that one was out of position of the others and, as sail powered ships, the other carracks couldn't easily come back to aid it. The carracks were simply too large to be rowed, especially against the current, and lacked the sail plans for tacking into the winds enough to turn around in time to aid their fellow.

The other war galley was too out of position, at the front of the convoy. Even under oars it would take them several hours to get back to the back of the convoy, which was much more strung out than Theon was happy with.

This, unfortunately, made only the Seventh Heaven able to defend against all three ships. "Captain, turn us about and get after those other two cogs, we have to intercept at least one before they can catch their target. One of the carracks could defend against one, not two."

Eldren looked a little rebellious, as they were about to come within range of the ship they had been chasing for the ballista set at the front of the galley. Still, he gave the orders and the rowers went to work turning about until the sails caught the wind and pushed the ship towards the other two pirate vessels. "You realize they're going to try to catch us between them now, correct?"

Theon smiled evilly at Eldren's question. "They're going to try, captain." He looked over at the giant ballista on the tip of the ship, smirking a little. "You worry about the ship in front of you; I'll worry about the ship that will be closing behind."

The captain looked at the Greyjoy youth one eyebrow raised, but shrugged and moved over to the steersman. He had been against the idea of the Greyjoy heir coming along to advise his men, as if they needed to be taught how to fight like pulling brats, but Theon had proved his worth from the moment they put to sea. Theon knew instinctively more about wind and wave than any of them. He had a feeling for them that was almost prophetic, a sign of his Iron Born blood coming out.

Theon moved to the back of the Galion, pulling out his bow. He spent a moment working with it, making sure the string was taut and had no damage. Theon had heard a rumor, the only thing to fly faster than raven wings, that the blacksmith back in Winterfell was preparing him a bow made from lizard lion bone. He was eager to try it out but until then his longbow would do enough.

In another universe, the bow used in the Riverlands and the North primarily would be called the English longbow. It was normally as tall as a man, about seventy inches, made of yew, which was really the only thing that marked out an English longbow from other sorts. Theon's had a slight back curve to the ends which added to the draw weight of the bow. In the hands of an expert, the longbow was a deadly weapon.

Theon was such an expert and he intended to show his worth today. He calmly moved over to a stash of arrows he had previously prepared. Theon then waited for some time until he could see the helmsman on the boat coming up behind them clearly. A second later his bow rose, he pulled the string back and he let fly.

That first arrow took the man high in the shoulder throwing him backwards with a scream of agony. Another man tried to reach for the wheel but a second arrow took him in the side of the head. A dozen men brought out their own bows in an attempt to fire back, but they were still out of range.

Theon smirked evilly. His bow might look normal but the pull on it was well above what anyone normal could do. A normal English longbow would be somewhere between ninety pounds and a hundred twenty. Theon's drew at two-hundred twenty-five. Theon might not be the strongest of the Wolfsworn but he was far stronger than most normal people, which allowed him to shoot farther than anyone else could regardless of their weapon. And his aim was superlative to go along with this.

Two more arrows flashed out in ten seconds, catching a third man, once in the hand and once in the side of his chest when he tried to grab the ship's wheel. After that, there was a strange dearth of pirates willing to trying to grab onto the wheel, but they kept on trying to shoot back and even without someone controlling the tiller, the cog's current course would keep them closing on the ship Theon was on unless the wind changed. Eventually, they would be within bow range.

"Not if I have anything to say about it." Theon muttered to himself and moved over to a few specially prepared arrows set by a covered brazier. He stuck one into the brazier for a moment pulling it out quickly as the covered cloth at the end of the arrow began to smoke and burn. He turned back to his target.

Theon noticed a few dawning looks of horror on the pirates' faces but he ignored them. He took aim, not for any of the pirates, but for the rigging of their cog. A second later the arrow flew, catching the cog's sail high up, where no one would be able to throw a bucket of water on it.

Five more fire arrows followed in swift succession and soon the entire rigging and sail of the pirate ship was aflame. Now the crew had something else to worry about other than getting within bow range of the galley and Theon went back to his regular arrows for a moment, shooting down any of the pirates who looked to be giving orders.

Fire is a sailing ship's worst enemy, with all the wood, dry rope, tar, and canvas. A fire on board a ship needed everyone to respond as a group, a level of organization that most pirates lacked. The Iron Born, of course, did have that organization and their longships were not as susceptible to fire damage for various reasons. Theon's assault might not have worked on a boat crewed by his people but it worked well enough now.

Soon enough the entire cog was aflame, falling further behind them as the sails and rigging went up. Given the choice between burning alive or drowning in the ice cold sea of the Bay of Seals, many of the pirates jumped overboard. Theon knew he would make the same choice in their place. Drowning or freezing, Theon wasn't certain which, but either would probably be less painful than burning alive and would send him to the Drowned God that much quicker.

Theon turned with a grim smile at a job well done to see what the Eldren had done with the other pirate ship, only to find several of the crewmen now staring at him in awe and not a little fear. It wasn't often, after all, that you saw single man destroy an entire ship. He smirked to himself thinking, I don't think I'm going to have to pay for my own ale for a good long time.

Eldren and his crew had also done their part. The ballista had fired two bolts straight into the pirate ships side, right at the water line while the Cog tried to come back down towards them. Now they were making for the third cog, which was within bow range of its target convoy ship.

The men onboard saw them coming and the fate of their fellows. They tried to disengage from their target but too late. The Seventh Heaven took them under fire, one bolt smashing into the aft of the cog, taking out something in its steering. With the cog now adrift and unable to make headway, the galley circled it using its own sails, staying at bow range (normal bow anyway) and riddling the ship with fire arrows.

Not an hour later, they were on their way again with the convoy under the galley's watchful gaze heading further north into the cold sea of the Bay of Seals. Theon hoped a damn good beer awaited him at the end of this voyage; the cold was worse than it had been on their trek to the Wall. I'll wager Daryn and Smalljon haven't been nearly as productive as I have, he thought complacently.

OOOOOOO

Far north, far, far removed from even the land of the wildlings, a glacier, which had long been part of the land, found itself an ice floe adrift, heading south.

OOOOOOO

While Ranma was busy down south and Daryn, Smalljon, and Theon were busy having adventures, those left in Winterfell were not idle. Arya and Bran joined in the efforts to prepare the White Knife to be a transport route, with Bran going out to lead various groups on creating systems of winches and pulleys at the many small waterfalls along the way so they could handle barge traffic. Now months later, that project had been handed over to the local lords and Bran had turned his attention to the library, researching something he hadn't yet shared with the rest of his family.

Catelyn had not been happy aboutletting her son and daughter out of her sight but, with her pregnancy progressing, no one had been willing to let her ride out with them and at times Bran had proven to be an invaluable aid on the ongoing projects. She eventually resolved to simply be happy he could take part at all after his brush with death. Bran still had the occasional twitching muscle in his hands plus one of his feet refused to obey his commands as it used to making him rather club footed. But he knew he was lucky to get away with just that.

Lady Stark and Jon had thrown themselves into the preparations as well, organizing, leading, and, above all, remaining a calm presence while Winterfell and the lands of House Stark and its minor houses poured forth their efforts into this and into preparing for the coming of winter. Autumn might not have been officially declared yet, but maester Luwin was confident that it was only another eight months or so at best before it would be and they had to prepare for the coming winter.

Catelyn's main project over that time had been to repurpose the glass garden that was part of Winterfell's castle, warmed by the hot springs that was under the castle, into a small farming area. She enlarged it as well, an expensive and time consuming upgrade, but in the coming years, it would prove to be invaluable as a resource for Winterfell and those living there.

Lady Jonelle had helped with this project before moving back to Castle Cerwyn a month or so after Brandon had recovered when her husband returned from Widow's Watch. She had since given birth to her baby, a daughter who they named Katarina. Now it was getting to the point where Catelyn herself was nearly due, which constrained her to remain in the keep itself doing paperwork.

Jon was busy with several things. One was aiding the ongoing construction. Another was to sit for the fittings of the lizard lion armor that he, Edd, Daryn, and, of course, Ranma could wear off his fitting. Then there was his own training, the need to aid in running the castle, and a myriad other things.

The one duty that took up most of his time, however, was training the men of House Stark and its minor houses in a new way of fighting that Ranma had thought up and sold to their father. Endurance, group movement, and strength were essential, which allowed Jon to train the men in small cadres before letting them train others. So far, he had personally trained upwards of four hundred men, who had gone on to train still more.

With the number of rivals/fiancés/teachers who interrupted class, it would surprise no one that Ranma learned very little in class at Furinkan but military history was an area he had actually studied when he could since he likened strategy and tactics to martial arts. He had introduced a lot of logistics concepts to his father, who had spread it around. The braziers, the shared tents, the need to provide uniformly warm clothing for their men, and several ideas for food on the march had come from the brainstorming of the two of them, though Ned had been the one to come up with the shared tent idea.

Using his knowledge from his past life, Ranma had devised a new concept based around a mix of the Roman and the Swedish models of infantry: short swords and spears for skirmishers and pikes with large shields for the main infantry. Pikes and other polearms were not used in organized formations in Westeros or even Essos, outside the Unsullied, but Ranma knew, and had convinced Ned, that they would be extremely effective against any large force. He had other ideas, too, but there was only so much they could do in times of peace.

The training was tough, since most combat in Westeros emphasized personal ability rather than working with a group. Yet despite this, they were progressing very well, both the infantry and the archers.

Bran didn't particularly care about Jon's endeavors in this department. Despite technically being the Stark of Winterfell at the moment, Bran let most of the running of the castle and the lands to Jon and his mother, throwing himself into his studies of anything and everything.

In this, he found a ready ally in Luwin, as well as his mother's fierce approval of it. Catelyn had no wish to have another warrior for a son; Ranma, Jon, and Arya were enough. He found, in particular, metallurgy fascinating after hearing his brothers and Mikken worked together to create an entirely new kind of steel for Arya's sword.

Bran was looking at that topic from a different direction today. Now, he was looking at how to make a lot of steel quickly. Steel that could be used to make swords, pikes, or even armor. The majority of men-at-arms wore boiled leather armor but what if they could wear steel mail? That would be a major advantage in any fight.

So he was going over some of the notes he had made after talking to Mikken about the best and cheapest type of mixture to make good steel. He looked up as Summer sniffed the air for a moment before locking eyes with Bran. After a moment, Bran shook his head. "I've run from him enough, I think. If he wants to say something to me, he can say it here."

A moment later, the door to the library opened and Jojen Reed walked in. He looked around quickly, then saw Brandon sitting alone a table.

"What can I do for you?" Bran asked without looking up from his notes again. Summer trundled from the side to join his master, leaning against his side softly. Summer and Rickon's Shaggydog were nowhere near the size of Ghost, though they did have some more growing to do.

And Unlike Lady, who was around the same size, Summer was lean and heavily muscled with several scars standing out among his fur he had received during the two attempts on Bran's life.

He was also normally friendly, unlike Shaggydog, who was moody and irritable much of the time. Only Rickon Brandon, and surprisingly their mother were immune to that moodiness. Lady Jonelle had also been immune when she was there. The wolves could tell both older women were pregnant and it affected how they were around them. Summer, Ghost, and even Nymeria obeyed Catelyn like they would a pack alpha while Shaggydog was docile around her.

Bran rubbed Summer's ears, thinking of his new sibling on the way, sad that his father wouldn't be able to get away from Kings Landing in time. The King had promised that Ned would be able to get back for his new child's first nameday but that was well in the future and was probably not worth the air the King had used to say it.

He was pulled from his thoughts by the sound of a chair being pulled up and he looked up to meet the rather disconcerting eyes of Jojen. "You know why I am here." the crannog youth said quickly, almost accusingly.

"No, I don't." Bran said sharply, looking up at him now with all his attention, slapping one hand gently down on the papers in front of him. The paper in question was actually an unfinished sketch of a farming tool that Ranma had thought up that Bran had just finished. With it, farmers would be able to dig out tree stumps more easily, which would expand the farmland of the north tremendously once they began to build them. "I'm rather busy, Jojen, perhaps you could get to the point?"

"You've been avoiding me." Jojen said simply. "You have seen. You have seen the three eyed crow. He helped you back to your body. You know what that represents."

"I think you assume what it represents." Bran replied, one hand on Summer's head the other now playing with a piece of charcoal he had been using to draw with. "I have had dreams." he went on, shaking his head. "Dreams of a three eyed crow and a voice telling me he waits for me. But I am not going to put my trust into dreams."

"You are a warg." Jojen replied sharply. "You can run with your wolf, ride his mind like a normal man might ride a horse but you will not fly until you open your mind fully."

"My brother Jon told me about that the evening I woke up, though I already knew. Apparently, Ranma discovered he could warg with Fenris on their trip up to the Wall and thought maybe all of us could do it too. But what do you mean fly?"

Jojen looked away for a moment, appearing flustered before going on. "I have had dreams all my life, of events that will occur in the future." What he did not say was that they had become more and more disjointed and hard to interpret for several years. Since Bran's fall, which he had accurately predicted, his dreams had become so fragmentary he couldn't accurately interpret much save for one thing. "You have a choice to make, a choice between the green and the builder, between seeking the aid of those of old blood against the coming forces of eternal winter, or of trying to stand alone."

When he spoke, it was with a tone of voice that was so certain it was astonishing, but Bran could still hear a faint waver in his voice, as if he wasn't as certain as he wanted to appear. He heard and wondered why that was since the boy was clearly used to being certain about these dreams of his. But in the end, that didn't matter.

Bran knew he was a warg, in fact he had more of a talent for it than either of his siblings, he knew magic existed. He was also bright enough to understand that the three-eyed crow probably represented something more. But that didn't change the fact he was acting as the Stark of Winterfell.

"Wrong." Bran said simply. "I've already chosen. I may become something else eventually but right now, my duty is here. I am a Stark, I will do my duty." Right now, I have chosen the way of the builder. My other talents may grow later but now is not the time for them.

Jojen frowned then turned quickly, gazing at the silent form of Ghost who had 'ghosted' up behind him. The white furred direwolf hadn't made any noise as it crept up, not even when he nosed open the door to the library.

Seeing his brother's wolf Bran smiled. "No trouble, Ghost, we're just talking." Ghost nodded his head, amusing Bran in showing the intelligence that all of the wolves, save Shaggydog, seemed to have picked up from their humans. Hopefully, Rickon would be able to pass on something but his youth was against him there. Ghost glided forward, moving past Jojen to rest his massive head on Bran's shoulder for a moment before moving off, disappearing through the shelves of the library not making a single sound.

"Unless you have something concrete to say to me, I believe we are done here." Bran said, looking hard at Jojen. Really, the other boy's surly, abrupt, and pushy manner was very off-putting. Why couldn't he be more like his older sister?

Meera fit in here almost as well as family, and had taken on the role of chief huntsman (huntswoman) of the castle. Since Winterfell was still home to some four hundred more mouths to feed than normal, plus their budding preparations for winter, that was an important job.

"I have seen the ocean come for Winterfell, rising and falling, tearing your walls down and leaving naught but ruin. I have seen conflict consume the south and the coming of a wall of ice to put out all fires. When those dreams come true, then you will believe me, and you will gladly take the choice to aid the three-eyed crow and the old children." Jojen stood then, and left the library.

Ghost came back, still treading so silently it was almost like he wasn't there at all. He nosed at the smaller Summer's shoulder for a moment before leaving himself.

Lifting up the paper he had been reading, Bran laughed quietly, wondering why Jon had sent Ghost to him or if it had been the direwolf's own idea. Still, that was neither here nor there and he turned back to his studies with a determined air. Whatever threats circled his family, he was determined to help them have the best weapons to face it that he could.

OOOOOOO

"So you've returned have you? I'm amazed you even know where Bear Island is, given how much you stay at Winterfell. You don't seem pregnant, so that can't be the reason for your return. So what have we done to be graced by your presence, daughter?"

"Hello to you too, mother." Dacey said, leaping lightly off her horse and grasping the older woman's in a fierce hug, not responding to the dig about her possibly being in a relationship with Ranma. "I stayed there to train Arya as well as I could but then Jon and I figured out something else I should be doing and he sent me here to gather some men and talk to you."

"Oh, of course it couldn't just be that you're returning to your family." Maege sniffed, but returned the hug strongly, though not as strongly as Dacey's hug had been. Dacey was actually one of the strongest among the Wolfsworn and one of the better trained as well. "Still, come inside and tell me about it."

Over spiced wine and cold cuts the two talked. Dacey shared with her mother, the head of House Mormont what had been going on in Winterfell from her perspective, as well as sharing the worry that there might be something else going on down south. "But," she hastened to add. "We're not supposed to do anything but possibly prepare our men. That can be covered by the need at the Wall. And we will be doing something in that direction as well but Jon and I feel the House's main strength should be kept at home."

Maege tapped the table with one finger thoughtfully, shaking her head. "I dislike all this political shit." she said bluntly. "The southern court is a cesspit full of pulling whelps who have never known war and oldsters who have never known the harshness of winter, and each of them have their own plans, all of which are more important than the king or the realm. I hope Ned and young Ranma have learned to swim by this point, but you're right, we'll leave that to them for now. What is this job Twinblade and you thought up?"

"Smalljon and his men were attacked in the Gift by a large band of wildlings. He took prisoners and when he got to the Wall relayed what they told him back to Winterfell via raven. One of the prisoners said that they were getting men across the Wall by way of the Frozen Shore, then using boats to get around the Wall from there."

Maege snorted. "Impossible, it's too damn cold up there for wildlings or us to live for long. That's why it's called the Frozen Shore!"

"It could've been a lie but knowing Smalljon and the lengths he would go to get the information, I doubt it." Dacey said, shrugging and not saying anything about the Others, who could survive in that weather easily. "The prisoners did say they lost a lot of men to the cold whenever they went that route. In any event, Jon has asked me to lead a force of our men up that way. We're to meet with a force of Norrey men in their territory along the Bay of Ice and move along the edge there up to the Gorge, which separates the mountains up there from the Wall, then follow it down to the sea. Ambush, kill any wildlings we find and put in a small, what he calls an observation post that the Norrey men will man from then on. I brought along six spyglasses special ordered up from White Harbor for that."

Maege's eyes widened. "That's going to be difficult." she said, understating matters entirely too much in Dacey's opinion. "The weather becomes so cold out there that any part of your body that's open to the elements will freeze quickly. You'll be in danger of dying of the cold no matter how bundled up we can make you, that's why the Norrey clan doesn't use those mountains in the first place."

"Well, do you have a better option?" Dacey shrugged. "If they can get forces around the Wall, they can cut its supply lines, no matter what the smallfolk or the men-at-arms assigned to them can do. We have to stop that happening."

Maege tapped the table some more, thinking hard, then nodded. "Instead of moving up into the Mountains, start From the Wall and move out, assume that if there isn't any way for you to survive, then the wildlings won't be able to. I've no doubt the prisoner lied about the Bay of Ice bit, whatever else. The Gorge now, that I could see them scaling up and down. Figuring out how to stop that will be up to you. I'll send fifty of our men with you as well as supplies, good climbers and woodsmen."

That they all would indeed be men rather than the warrior women House Mormont were known for wasn't said. Maege would never put her people in a position where they had to defend themselves from their own allies and, whatever other men were up there now, the Night's Watch itself was still comprised of rapists and murderers.

"My initial orders from Lord Stark were not to send too much of our whelming up, a fact that, even before hearing your tale, I agreed with. We've been seeing more raiders lately, and we know that House Glover lacks the men to aid us if we run into trouble."

"Has there been much of that since I was home last?"

"A few." Maege shrugged. "The Iron Born have always been a thorn in our side and it's been going on eighteen long years since the Greyjoy Rebellion was put down. They're feeling their oats once more, as it were. The Iron Born are like weeds really." Maege said critically, one lip twisted into a sneer. "You have to keep cutting them back or they'll just keep growing underfoot. Pity we don't have the men or ships to do it ourselves. It's not a serious concern and won't be for quite some time to us here in the North. There are always nicer targets for them down south, after all. Still, it never pays to turn your back on them. Never mind that, let's concentrate on what you'll need for this endeavor of yours."

Dacey nodded, listening intently as her mother went on listing the items of apparel and gear that they would be taking with them, at least three sets of each. One just in case and one for the clansmen they would be meeting, who wouldn't be able to match the quality of the goods that even House Mormont would be able to produce. Dacey kept most of her thoughts inside, after all, it hadn't been the wildling's getting around the wall that had bothered her and Jon…

Flashback:

"What do you mean, you found something disturbing?" Dacey asked, looking around quizzically. While she didn't have anything against reading, it wasn't her favorite pastime and she had never been in Winterfell's library before.

Jon waved at the roll of ancient looking parchment in front of him, being very careful not to touch it. "I've been looking for information about… what we ran into up north every night I can. Not often, but I found this a few nights back."

He wished not for the first time that they could bring Luwin into their confidence but that wasn't his call to make and wasn't necessary, just yet. He felt Luwin would believe them but he wouldn't keep the true tale of what they ran into from Lady Catelyn, who wouldn't. That would be irritating to deal with, especially given her pregnancy-based mood swings. Eventually they would bring them both up to speed on the real threat but, at present, it would be more trouble than it was worth.

"This text mentions several things that are useful to know about the nature of the true enemy but one section in particular caught my eye. It turns out that the Wall has magic built into it to keep the White Walker's magic from moving past it."

That made Dacey's eyes widen in surprise. "But then, how did they set up that attack on us?" She thought for a moment then frowned. "The wildlings can get around the Wall; can the White Walkers do the same thing?"

"That's up to you to find out. You've trained Arya to the point she's good enough to help me train the men so you'll be at loose ends. I want you to head home; inform Lady Maege of what's been going on here." That caused Dacey to snort and Jon smirked a little, knowing how that old woman would react to being called a lady. He pulled out a map of the North, a very crude one admittedly since map makers had never made much headway here in the North. "I'll send a messenger up to the Norrey clan, take some men from your house, and head up there with them to see what can be seen."

End Flashback

So whatever her mother said, Dacey knew they would be heading into the mountains along the Gorge and beyond. The Others had to have found a way around the Wall somehow and it would be up to Dacey to find it and, if possible, cut it off. That was why she also had six dragonglass daggers stowed away in her pack. Old tales told that the White Walkers themselves were immune to wounds caused by normal steel but not from dragonglass and it paid to be prepared.

OOOOOOO

"I mean, look at how he dresses," voice said as Ranma meandered his way into the entrance hall of the holdfast, Tommen close behind. "What's the matter, Stark, can't afford to buy any real clothing?"

Ranma turned with one eyebrow raised to see Lancel Lannister standing there with a few courtiers. He shook his head in amusement. "I can, but unlike you I'm actually busy everyday, I can't go around dressed in tights like those."

"That would explain why you're dressed as a peasant." Lancel snarked back, but Ranma merely shook his head.

These attacks on how he looked had come ever since he and his father had arrived in the city. Lancel in particular liked to bring it up, and it had gotten worse since Ranma's execution of Gregor Clegane. Lancel took that act as a personal attack on his family, even though the queen did not see it as such.

At first Lancel had tried to belittle Ranma's intelligence but that hadn't worked since Ranma was actually quite intelligent. Then he had tried to turn the men and ladies of the court against him by portraying Ranma as an outsider but, while that had worked somewhat in the main for the rest Of the Court, Ranma couldn't care less.

Ranma was an outsider and didn't care who knew it. When this was all over, Ranma would return to Winterfell, with a wife or not was still up in the air, but it wasn't like he was going to remain here the rest of his life. Margaery had tried to get him to care, but it had been an uphill battle. And honestly, so long as he had the Queen and King, if not on his side then at least neutral, none of the other courtiers' opinions really mattered.

That didn't mean he hadn't gotten better at responding to jabs like this, however. "Does her majesty know you're loose and yapping again at your betters?" Ranma replied, looking over at Lancel again.

The man growled and reached for his sword, one of the rapiers that was now somewhat in vogue among the younger courtiers. Ranma thought they looked like new knitting needles. Frankly, he had never seen the point of a rapier back in his old dimension, let alone this one. Good against weak, loose chain mail and unarmored foes but other than that they weren't worth much.

"You have never been my better, Stark." Lancel growled moving forward to stand in front of the other man. "Do not think that just because my aunt has allowed your slight against my family to slide, that I will do the same. Whatever he was, Gregor was a banner-man of my family and the way you murdered him stains my family's honor. A stain I will pay back!"

"Gregor was a mad beast, a rapist, and a murderer and I put him down as such." Ranma said leaning forward. "And I've told you before, if you think that was a slight against your family, why don't you go get a real blade then come back and do something about it!"

A new voice interrupted them before the confrontation could continue. "Enough." It was a simple word but it came out clear and cold and very, very commanding.

As one the two young men turned, bowing slightly from the waist to the Queen as she strode through watchers in the corridor. Cersei stared hard at her cousin. "Is this how my uncle has raised you? To always attack others with words and unfounded anger? Control, Lancel is everything. I would've thought you would've learned that from my father if nothing else."

The younger man mumbled something looking away, unable to meet her angry gaze. "And you." Cersei said now turning to Ranma. "There are other ways to resolve conflict than offering physical violence. I suggest you take more time to speak with that fiancée of yours, I am certain that the Rose of House Tyrell is at least passing familiar with such."

"You speak for me quite well, my Queen." said Margaery's voice from behind her moving forward to look at her fiancé sternly. She had just spent an hour with the Queen, Joffrey, and Sansa, talking about fashion of all things. It was something Sansa was passionate about and her knowledge of it always surprised Margaery.

In particular the gown she had created for the Queen was magnificent, Lannister red with actual lion fur on the sleeves. It looked as if it should be very hot in this weather but it actually wasn't, given the material and the flowing nature of the dress down by the legs. The gift of it had actually put a smile on the Queen's face, a real one, not one of the ones she used to manipulate others.

"Your pardon your grace, I will take your advice to heart." Ranma replied looking at both Margaery and Queen. "I had just finished running Tommen through some exercises and I had come to return him for his afternoon lessons."

Cersei nodded looking down at Tommen who was watching everything silently. She smiled at him and he smiled back, moving over to stand with her. Cersei leaned down slightly to place an arm around her youngest son's shoulders. "Thank you for returning my son unharmed once more from your exercises, young Stark."

"As for you, Lancel," she said turning to her Lancel once more, "The King is preparing to go out on a hunt. It speaks ill of you, and through you, our family, that as his squire you are not already with him. If you are so worried about our family's image, nephew, I suggest you take care to act in such a manner that you, personally, do not shame us."

That had been a major coup on her part a few days after the tournament. She had gotten Robert to take Lancel as his squire, putting another Lannister nearby, one that she could very easily manipulate. It was obvious the boy was besotted with her; Cersei didn't even have to do anything to encourage it. If anything, she had to step on his infatuation a little hard so that he didn't become too obvious about it.

Lancel mumbled and moved off quickly. Cersei allowed a small smile to appear on her face as he looked back, causing him to flush and move away quicker. Internally, the Lannister queen sighed. Frankly, there was no challenge in it with the boy, which took away her pleasure at knowing she had another man under her control.

She turned back to Ranma, who was a much harder nut to crack. She smirked slightly, seeing he was apparently looking at the windows above them rather than at her, since Cersei had not straightened up from putting an arm around her youngest son's shoulders, giving him a glimpse down her décolletage. She did so now, turning to look at Margaery. "I presume I can leave this one's punishment in your hands?"

"Most assuredly, Your Majesty," The young woman replied grimly, moving over and grasping Ranma's hand. "Let us be off." she murmured.

Cersei watched them go for a moment, frowning thoughtfully. Margaery was far too intelligent and that made her dangerous, above and beyond the little voice in Cersei's head that warned her of the 'younger queen' who would supplant her. Moreover, there was a groundswell of affection growing towards her from the entire court, even a few of the Cersei's own followers. Her seemingly kind manner and self-effacing nature appealed to many, though the queen could easily see the intelligence underneath. Thankfully, the Tyrells only had a few dozen supporters in the court, most of whom were tied to Renly and Loras rather than directly to Margaery.

The influence she had on Ranma had mellowed the young man somewhat, though Cersei was thankful to see he was still rough around the edges and therefore somewhat easier to manipulate. Ranma could be controlled, his friendship with her daughter (something Cersei had begun to subtly encourage despite her misgivings about her crush) and his taking Tommen almost as his squire, bound him to the interests of her children and through her children, Cersei's own. Moreover, what he had done to the Mountain told her a lot about his general character. So despite the youth's physical skills and the prophecy of the younger queen, neither young people were the target that she was most concerned with.

No, it's his father that concerns me. Ned had the King's ear, which had not changed since the moment he had agreed to be Hand. Luckily, his job as Hand had foregone his looking too closely at Jon Arryn's death now that he was fully engrossed with trying to pull the kingdom out of debt. And that very drive and objective had made him many enemies that she could exploit or sacrifice, as needed.

Yet for all that, Cersei knew she was becoming more and more vulnerable as time went on thanks to his wearing away her family support. Still, she mused to herself as she led Tommen off to his lessons, the lion hasn't been entirely defanged. I have several more bites in my repertoire that I can pull out at need.

She was still concerned at how badly any physical conflict between the Starks and the Lannisters could go, knowing that Ranma could well turn the tide here in the Red Keep. Luckily, Jaime has woken up to this and is taking to training in a frenzy to try and close the gap between them. Cersei knew her brother and was confident that given enough time he would close that gap. Hopefully enough time would pass to allow that as well as to allow Ranma to continue to get closer to her children. With that at least, they and her would be secure. Cersei was also thinking ahead to the worst case scenario and what pawn to sacrifice to save the queen but hadn't yet come to a conclusion there.

Cersei was so busy with her own machinations that she had no time left to watch Joffrey, which would turn out to be a very bad thing in the long run. Indeed, that downward spiral would begin later that evening.

OOOOOOO

"Young Prince?" said a voice behind Joffrey. "You are out late, are you not?"

Joffrey turned quickly, glaring at Littlefinger, whose voice it was that had startled him. "Where I go or when is none of your concern, Littlefinger!"

"It is if it endangers the crown. You are after all the heir; anything that endangers you endangers the succession and therefore the crown and kingdom." Petyr smiled as Joffrey ate that bit of flattery up as Petyr knew he would. "Still, I will not ask what you are about at the moment, my Prince, only that you walk with me and listen to my own concerns for a moment. Possibly, talking with someone will allow me to work it out."

Joffrey's eyes narrowed but he could not exactly refuse. Here he was, caught coming out of a room where he had met with his servant and with no Kingsguard in sight, something he had worked hard to accomplish, yet was also suspicious. He had no choice but to go with the man or possibly bring even more attention to his own doings.

Still, while Joffrey lacked much understanding of the court, he knew Petyr was not as loyal to the crown as he was to his own position. Still, the idea the other man, who was known as very intelligent, would seek out Joffrey for aid in a problem, fed his ego too much for him to refuse. "Certainly." he said grimly, standing up right and hiding with a bit of actual skill the package he had just picked up. "If you are troubled, perhaps I can help you in some way."

"That is to be hoped." Petyr murmured, shaking his head mentally. The moment I need this inbred cretin's aid in thinking is the moment I lose the game and, no doubt, my life rather quickly. Still, I can start ingratiating myself to the Prince now that his mother is too busy with other matters to guard his every move. And the more I can curry favor with him, the more control I will have over Joffrey's actions. With Petyr leading the way, the two of them moved down the hallway, unseen by any.

OOOOOOO

As the oldest true-born (though that really didn't matter to those in Winterfell any longer) Stark in Winterfell at the moment, Arya had some irritating duties to see to, much like the one she was doing now. Bran should've been the one doing this particular duty, welcoming the Wull, chieftain of the Wull clan, to Winterfell but Bran was off at present with several of the guards to inspect the work being done on an area of the White Knife. This was made even worse by the fact that her impending pregnancy had made Catelyn bedridden more often than not.

So here Arya sat, in the chair that her father normally sat, a stone throne affair that looked very formal, as well as large given her petite frame. For all of her training, Arya was still a young girl, after all, and there was very little she could do about her size. Nymeria lounging at her feet added quite a bit to the impact to the guests she was here to greet, however.

"You are welcome, Lord Wull." she said formally. Despite not truly being a lord, the Starks always called the mountain clan chieftains Lord. "Welcome to Winterfell. For as long as you stay here, our meat is yours, our arms will defend you at need, and our roof will be above your head."

This was the formal way of welcoming a mountain clan leader to a meeting. Much like the rest of the North, the mountain clans kept to the old ways, revering the old gods, and following the laws as set down by the First Men.

In Northern society, once you welcomed someone into your house, neither of you could offer violence to the other. The offer of bread and meat was also in keeping with this. That they had in common with the faith of the Seven in the rest of Westeros, where once food was offered and taken no violence could occur, even between mortal enemies.

Lord Wull was a large man, almost as hairy as the men from Umber were traditionally, wearing studded leather armor, goat fur leggings, and what looked like a bear fur cloak. His eyes were deep set in a heavily bearded face and there was a spark of intelligence in them, though you would have to look closely to see it. All in all, he was a typical mountain clansman and he scoffed angrily. "I come here from our mountain hold and I am greeted by a child!"

Arya scowled, her hand twitching towards where Fang rested at her side, always on her person these days, despite her mother's baleful glances at times. Then she paused. Wait, he's not objecting to the fact that I'm a girl, just that I'm young.

Much like the wildlings, the women of the mountain clans were supposed to be fierce and independent. They weren't supposed to be fighters, not really, but they ran the home and hearth and it was a very foolish clan leader who did not listen to his matriarch.

That thought calmed her down. So long as she wasn't being looked down on as a girl, Arya could deal with people needling her about her age. She smirked, showing her teeth in a not exactly smile as Nymeria stood up, growling slightly on mental command. Arya might not have Jon's way with Ghost, nor did she have the connection to any of the other direwolves that Bran seemed to be able to create so effortlessly but she and Nymeria had practiced long and hard to get to the point where the direwolf could read Arya's mental commands.

The direwolf began to stalk around causing the eyes of the Wull chieftain and the two clansmen who had acted as his guards on this trip to widen. All three shifted uncomfortably, trying to keep Nymeria and Arya both in their sights. Arya's voice brought their attention fully back to her. "Young or old, I am a Stark of Winterfell, one whose Fang," she said tapping her sword, "has tasted the blood of the enemies of my house. Do not look down on me!"

She leaned back now as all three clansmen looked at her with more respect. Much like House Umber, if you met the challenge of their disrespect head on, mountain clansmen tended to respect you more and back off. Since House Stark had guaranteed the mountain clans independence there was no worry about them truly offering offense. Plus House Stark and House Glover traded heavily with the Wulls, which was one of the reasons why it had slowly become the dominant mountain clan. Norrey, First Flint, Burley, and Harclay were, technically speaking, nearly as large but none of them could match the number of armed and well equipped troops that the Wull clan could, thanks to dealing with the lowlanders as they did.

The Wull put this into words, shaking his head with a laugh. "We've known the Starks were tough as old leather for long time, good to know that it hasn't deserted them! Your father lass, The Ned, is a good man and I'm proud ta meet his daughter true!"

Now that the preliminaries were over with, the Wull got down to business. "I was told about the attack, you think you have others that're coming? Is there something more going on than what is happening out beyond the Wall?"

Just as Arya was beginning to panic, trying to think of how to describe things, some of which she barely understood, a new voice spoke up from behind the Wull men. causing all three to turn. "That has yet to be determined."

Jon strode through the doors of the Hall with Ghost padding silently behind him. There was some murmuring at the size of the direwolf, which was quite a bit larger then Nymeria.

When they stopped growing, Lady would prove to be the runt of the litter, as it were, though for reasons beyond her control. Summer and Shaggydog dog would be normal sized direwolves, because neither Rickon nor Bran would build up the ki that would impact their size as Ranma or Jon did, and Arya's Nymeria would only be a little bit larger than them. Ghost, however, when he finished growing would be almost the size of Fenris.

Jon smiled at The Wull, slapping him hard on the shoulder as he moved past them smirking at Arya and rubbing her hair affectionately. "I apologize; I was training with the men and have only just returned from a run." Behind him, Ghost padded back out of the hall, standing outside the door like a sentry as the door closed behind him.

Jon stood at Arya's side. She smiled up at him gratefully then over at their guests. "This is my brother, Jon Twinblade. Our parents have put him in charge of training the troops for whatever might be needed in the future."

All three of the Wull men nodded. The tales of Jon and Ranma had spread throughout the North, as well as the tales of the rest of the Wolfsworn. The Wull however caught the 'whatever' part of that statement. His eyes narrowed and without a word, he pulled up a chair to sit in front of the chair Arya was occupying. "'Whatever might be needed'? Is this related to the attack our men and those of Harclay let through?" All three of the mountain men looked ashamed at that.

Jon smirked and pulled up his own chair, motioning the other two men to join them. "Not directly. Those men didn't know who hired them. The one who did died during the attack, killed by an arrow." He shared a glance with Arya and the two of them began to describe the battle, not going into much detail but giving them an outline of what had occurred, as well as how lucky Winterfell had been to catch the attack away from the keep as they had.

Throughout it, the mountain clansmen muttered and looked at one another. All of them were veterans of dozens of skirmishes against other clans; they understood how tough a fight that must have been. The fact that none of the Starks or even the Mormont woman had been killed during it was astonishing.

Then Jon began to describe what had occurred with Bran, the concern that he might have seen something other than a Kingsguard having a tryst, and the feeling that there was something going on down south with the Lannisters. "We're not certain what their game is." Jon finished. "Whether they're worried about how much influence we could have on the King, whether they're moving against the King himself, or something else but there are storm clouds on the horizon down south and we're preparing for it."

The Wull leaned back. "Have you shared this with the other Lords of the lowlands?"

"We have shared it with Lord Manderly, and Lord Cerwyn. Given our proximity, it made sense to share with Lord Cerwyn and he already had his suspicions in that area. There is a visible rift between the Queen and King, what the cause of it is we don't know." Though, given the King's attitude to his marriage vows, that is only to be expected. "Lord Manderly is a very intelligent man with quite a lot of connections down further south, thanks to his trading fleet."

That was stretching a point, honestly. Lord Manderly had a few connections down south, which then had more connections. But he was also the most politically minded Lord of the North, extremely intelligent and devious. Even Jon didn't know of the escape route Lord Manderly had set up for Ned and his children down in Kings Landing.

The Wull nodded stroking his beard. He and his men had seen a few men-at-arms wearing the battle ax of Cerwyn on their tabards, so it made sense that they would be involved. Then too, the friendship between the two houses was deep. It had to be given the proximity of their seats. If it hadn't been, one or the other would've either absorbed or killed the other off long since.

He also could tell that the Starks were taking him into their confidence to show that they held no hard feelings toward his clan for allowing that attack from remnants of House Bolton and its followers to nearly get through.

He castigated himself once more on that. There should never have been any way a force that size could move through his territory without being challenged and slaughtered. To be sure, a force that size would have been troublesome to challenge right off the bat but the clansmen were experts at hit-and-run attacks and using the knowledge of their territory to their best advantage.

So instead of asking why he was being brought into their confidence like this he simply asked. "What would you have us do?"

It was Arya who answered, this she knew, having been part of the discussion. "Be ready to defend your land against any incursion. Be ready to answer our call when we ask for it."

Jon nodded. "I sent a runner to the Norrey and Flint asking them to prepare for an arriving force from Clan Mormont. We had word that the wildlings might be getting troops down around the Wall, somehow. But your land is too landlocked to make asking you for aid there necessary."

The Wull snorted. The Norrey and First Flint clans abutted one another along the mountains that wound down from the Wall towards the Bay of Ice. The Wull clans were further south than either.

Also, the idea of having to send his men through the Flint lands was simply not going to happen. There wasn't that much bad blood between the two clans these days but memories were long up in the mountains and it wasn't that long ago that the three most powerful clans up there had been having their own private war.

So he simply nodded, then changed the subject. "I'll agree to that. When winter comes, will the town here be open to us?"

"The town and more." Jon said simply. "We've already begun preparations, we might not be as high as your lands but I've been to the Wall and I felt the cold there. Our maester is a pragmatic fellow and, despite it not being official, has decided it close enough to begin preparations." Luwin was at that moment up with Hathan at his holdfast. Hathan had found something up there, some kind of ore that he wanted the Maester's opinion on.

The Wull nodded with a smile. Winter was always harder on the clans up top of their mountains than the lowlanders and, by long-standing tradition, the small town built up around Winterfell was open to them.

The conversations continued from there. The Wull left later that day fully satisfied not just with the fact that his clan still retained the trust of The Starks but that the future of that House was in very good hands indeed.

OOOOOOO

Margaery frowned as she made her way through the garden around the Tower of the Hand to where the training ground for the Hand's men-at-arms was. It wasn't the walk that was making her frown but the fact she had just left Joffrey. This whole trying to ingratiate myself to Joffrey idea is wearing on me more and more with every passing day. She wouldn't say that she was madly in love with Ranma but she was definitely friends with him and physically attracted to him.

The strongest emotion she felt for Joffrey was a growing unease. There was something so… oddly fake about him. He smiled at all the right times, said all the right things, carried himself for the most part like a Prince should. His arrogance was obvious but that was simply a sign of his station. His lack of intelligence grated heavily on her but, in her grandmother's words, that would make him all the more pliable, like his childishness. Yet for all that, the more time she spent around him the more she didn't want to be around him.

There is something in his eyes, just under the surface, she thought. His normal lecherous look didn't bother her. That was something Margaery was all-too-familiar with. More men than not looked at her in that manner. No, it was something else, something she couldn't put her finger on.

Her frown deepened as she noticed that Myrcella had beaten her here, no great feat of course, but the younger girl had obviously been there for some time. She was curled up on top of Fenris, rubbing his ears. The direwolf was rumbling that odd rumble that was the wolf (or dog) equivalent of a cat's purr, though obviously she would never dream of mentioning such.

Fenris held views on the dignity of wolf kind and their place at the top of the food chain. His disdain for cats had been apparent a few times when he had noticed the cats kept in the keep to kill rats. Luckily, the cats were smart enough to stay away from him.

Well that and I suppose that the entire supply of cats in the keep would be barely half a meal for Fenris, at this point. Margaery thought sardonically. There was a reason why he and Ranma went hunting every week after all and it wasn't all for pleasure. Luckily, like wolves in the wild, neither Fenris nor Lady had to eat everyday even if they were growing as Fenris still was.

But it wasn't Fenris who Margaery concentrated on. That was the young Princess, whose eyes were glued to Ranma who was running through one of his unarmed exercises for Tommen, who was also watching intently. The look of adoration and desire in her eyes was easy to see, as was the small towel she held pressed against the front of her dress. It would seem as if it is time to put the little Princess in her place.

With that in mind, she walked up, keeping in sight Fenris's sight, who had raised his head to look at her. The direwolf still hadn't become accustomed to her honeysuckle perfume, apparently, though at least she knew the reasoning behind it now. Hearing the tale of how he had been forced to run away from a bee's nest had amused her and won him some sympathy as well. "Hello, Fenris." she said simply, before looking down at the Princess. "Hello, Princess. I take it your lessons let out early? That dress is lovely, I'm sure you'll grow into it."

Margaery crossed her arms underneath her chest to accentuate her own curves giving the Tyrell girl's words an extra edge. Merry was not blind to this, and she snarled inside her head. Oh, it's on, you High Garden bitch. Still, she didn't let her thoughts show; knowing full well how this game was played. After all, she wasn't the only girl at court. There were several other young ladies who had traded barbs with her like this. And her mother was a past master at this type of warfare.

So she smiled pleasantly and replied in sugar-sweet tones. "Yes, Your Grace, I was let out of lessons early because I finished all the work for the day. And I like your dress as well." Myrcella went on, still smiling but much more thinly. "But I seem to have seen that style of cut before…where was it…oh yes, I think it was on one of the ladies I saw this morning leaving my father's chambers."

That blow struck home and Margaery glared at her for a moment before getting control of her face once again. The speed of that response had startled her but she reposted easily. "Yes, well, trust me when I say that when you have curves to flaunt, you will occasionally dress to do so. I hope that when you do, there will be a man as good as Ranma still out there for you."

"But that is well into the future, until then I can have fun when I have time." Merry replied laughing, pressing her momentary advantage. "Did you enjoy spending time with Joffrey, by the way? You spend so much of your time with him, is it any wonder he finds himself torn between you and Sansa? Poor Ranma, losing his fiancé to my brother. I'll have to console Sansa when my mother prevails on my father and switches the engagement between our houses to Ranma and myself."

"Oh, don't be in such a rush to leap to that conclusion. While I find Joffrey's personality fascinating, he is a little young and unformed for my tastes." Bald faced lie, but Margaery swallowed it and moved on. "On the other hand, I find Ranma attractive on many levels and, similarly, he would obviously prefer to stay with someone who has already blossomed into a rose rather than having to wait years to taste the flowers nectar."

The two girls exchanged pained smiles, while Fenris wondered why he felt the desire to run away. There was some kind of combat going on between the two female two legs (yes he knew they called themselves humans, but those funny legs of theirs always amused Fenris). But what kind of combat was beyond his ken. He let out a brief huff of relief as he noticed Ranma and young Tommen coming over towards them.

Tommy grinned as he greeted both of the girls with a beaming smile while Ranma's smile was smaller but just as welcoming. "Hey you two," he said, ruffling Merry's hair with a gentle hand as he plucked the towel out of her fingers to toss at Tommy's head with the other.

The younger boy caught it reflexively, smiling as he began to wipe his forehead and face of sweat. Under Ranma's tutelage, Tommen had become a small sparkplug of muscle, the baby fat almost entirely disappearing over the last few months. His hands were developing the calluses of long practices with a practice sword.

Ranma smiled at the two ladies, then frowned slightly as he felt the tension in the air between them. "Is… is something wrong?"

"Nothing at all." they both replied.

Margaery move forward quickly, grabbing Ranma's arm and pressing it deliberately against her chest, causing him to blush a little before moving away slightly to take his hand in hers. She shot Myrcella a look before smiling up at Ranma. "I was just wondering if you were free to go down into the city with me."

"Oh!" Myrcella said pouting and emphasizing her cute looks with ease. "I was hoping that you and Tommy would like to play a few sports games with me. I, too, would like to get some exercise in, after all."

Ranma looked between the two girls, wondering where the heck this was coming from and if the tension between them was what he feared. Both of them were trying to do the puppy dog eyes attack on him, with varying degrees of success. He was about to try to come up with some compromise when a voice hailed him from the entrance to the training area.

"Ranma!" said Ser Jory as he walked towards them. "Your father would like a word with you. He needs some help with the books and his secretary has already been sent off on an errand."

Ranma nodded, not letting any of his relief show. "I'll be right there." He looked apologetically at Margaery and Myrcella. "Sorry you two, duty calls and all that." He looked over at Jaime, who had been leaning against the wall next to Ser Oakheart observing the training going on between his charge of the day and Ranma.

The Kingslayer smirked at Ranma, thinking the northern bumpkin had no idea what was going on between the two girls but having himself heard every word of it. When he later related the episode to his sister, Cersei had simply laughed, waving it off as inconsequential while seeing her daughter's affections for him as another way she could control Ranma or influence his actions.

Still, when Ranma asked if the two of them could return Tommen and Myrcella to the holdfast for him, he smirked. "We'll undertake this arduous journey of course, wouldn't want to keep you from the even more arduous journey into the land of numbers and rigged books after all."

Ranma smirked at him, shaking his head. The Kingslayer was an enigma to him in many ways but, in some other ways, they were remarkably alike. Jaime held his martial prowess as the center point of his self-image, much like Ranma. And Ranma knew that Jaime had been challenged by Ranma's easy physical dominance. The other man tried to hide it but he was obviously using Ranma's training methods to train himself and Ranma was interested to see how good he could become. That isn't to say that the training will help him all that much in closing the gap, Ranma thought complacently to himself.

With a final pat on the head for Tommy and a smile for Merry and Margaery, Ranma moved off leaving the two girls to stare at one another. Margaery huffed, then turned away followed by septa Nysterica, who had been watching from nearby throughout the entire exchange. Myrcella also turned with a huff, with Sir Oakheart moving to catch up with her as she walked briskly away.

Tommen looked up at his uncle, head cocked to one side. "Did I miss something there?"

OOOOOOO

There's some kind of tension in the air these days Ranma reflected while he moved down the streets with Margaery beside him, a few days after that incident. And I'm not just thinking about the tension between Margaery and Merry.

That wasn't the most worrisome tension, though it was one Ranma didn't really know how to deal with. Yes, he was technically engaged to Margaery but they had an understanding there and neither of them were going to push things forward until she got the go ahead and Ranma knew he could trust her. He trusted her opinion now and, generally speaking, felt firm in their friendship but she had never tried to hide the fact that she was still playing the game and still under orders from her grandmother. To fully trust her, Ranma would have to trust her grandmother and that just was not going to happen.

On the other hand, his feelings for Myrcella were that of a little sister. Oh, she was growing up to be quite cute but she was still much younger than he was and he had seen her as a little girl since the moment they met. Despite the incident during the tournaments, that hadn't changed. This was added to the fact that in his previous life he had been in a world where a relationship with a girl her age would be seen as unlawful and immoral.

So Ranma had decided to simply stay out of it as much as he could, not seeing any way he could step in without taking sides or, at least, seeming to take sides and thereby cause hurt feelings.

"What are you thinking about so hard?" Margaery asked now, smirking slightly. "I can almost see the smoke coming from your ears."

"Tension." Ranma said placidly, "All sorts. By the way, if we're keeping score, Merry's little victory yesterday puts her ahead of you by one." Merry had scored a hit in comparing Margaery to a flower, the man eating sort, which had caused everyone who heard it to chuckle until Margaery's glare found them.

"I'm not going to even comment on that." Margaery said huffily. Her next words, however, came out much more seriously and she leaned in slightly so that she could talk more quietly, the hubbub of city life going on all around them masking their words further. "But you're right; there is tension in the air, and not just between you and Joffrey. Would I be correct in thinking that your father is continuing to make headway on the small counsel?"

"Yep." Ranma nodded. "Though I wonder if that's all that is behind the tension I'm feeling."

Given his propensity towards acting swiftly, and his friendship with the two younger Baratheons, neither Eddard nor Brynden had shared with Ranma their concerns about the children's parentage. They didn't have definitive proof, just yet, but even without the book, Ned was leaning towards his worries there being fact in at least Joffrey's case.

The only problem was, he couldn't figure out if the other two children weren't Robert's as well. Tommen had begun to act like Robert in many ways but whether that was because his natural Baratheon side was coming out or because of Ranma's influence, Ned couldn't tell. And what of Myrcella? She certainly looked more like her mother but her nature was certainly nowhere near Cersei's. She had even begun to show interest in riding and other pursuits, much like, Ned supposed, a Baratheon daughter would.

That problem was compounded by two other factors, who the father could be and the reasoning behind the affair, if it was one, as well as whether or not it was in any way connected to Jon Arryn's death. They had supposition, they supposed that it might have been the Grand Maester who poisoned Jon but the how of it eluded them, since none of the servants who had served in the castle before they arrived had been able to tell them anything.

Ranma knew nothing of this, yet. "But I don't know if that's all of it. The other bit that could be making the Lannister's angry is still my execution of Gregor. Certainly that little shit Lancel hasn't hidden the fact that he didn't like it."

That was true enough, Margaery reflected. Despite being sat on by Cersei more than once like last week, Lancel was still showing his hatred for Ranma at every opportunity and insisting that, while Gregor was not an individual he particularly cared for, he was still a banner man of the Lannister's and should have been treated as such. Letting the wild Stark boy cut him down as he had in public was a sign of contempt for the family. He hadn't yet gone beyond spouting off however.

"How is your uncle, by the way?" Margaery asked solicitously, changing the subject.

"Blackfish is fine, he's as tough as old nails." Ranma said laughing quietly. "On the other hand, it's to be hoped that they will eventually stop pussyfooting about and come out into the open."

Brynden had once again been ambushed by a group of 'cut purses' the previous night, but this time it was more serious. They lost two men and Brynden had taken a knife thrust to the chest thankfully he had been wearing chainmail under his leather jerkin. Ranma, too, had been nearby watching him and struck down several of the attackers with thrown bricks. Despite this, Brynden hadn't been able to discover who was employing the sell-swords in the city. But now that they had the Gold Cloaks nominally on their side, with Janos in jail for corruption, they didn't have the numbers to bother the Stark faction.

Margaery smiled at Ranma, knowing that Ranma was simply telling the truth as he saw it. Despite her best efforts, Ranma still was a dragon in a hayloft. He could play the political game but disdained it. She worried that Ranma and Ned were stepping on far too many toes but she lacked the control necessary to stop them or the reasoning to do so. And there was the fact that Ned was removing corruption from the city at nearly every level, including actually making the Gold Cloaks somewhat respectable for the first time in centuries.

"There you are, dear sister," said a gay voice behind them as they walked along the Street of Flour. They turned to see Loras walking towards them. Both cocked their heads as one, wondering why he was searching for Margaery. "Ranma, might I bespeak my sister alone for a moment?" the Rose Knight asked, as he walked up to them.

Ranma shrugged and nodded, moving over to look at a display of pastries, wondering which to get Sansa. The two of them were much closer than they had been before Gregor's assassination, and Ranma was always finding excuses to keep his little sister away from Joffrey as much as possible.

Behind him, Loras turned back to his sister his face strangely serious. "There was a raven this morning from High Garden. There is a family emergency and you and I have been called to return."

Margaery frowned angrily, reading between the lines. That was an excuse, of course, one that might pass muster with Ranma and his father, and maybe the rest of the court but what was the real reason? "I presume she said something more?" Margaery didn't need to say who she was, there was no need.

Her older brother shrugged. "She didn't say much but when we return to the keep you can read it yourself. She wrote this odd, sort of sing-song line. 'The brighter the flame, the faster the candle burns.'" Margaery winced, understanding the metaphor and Loras smirked thinly. "Reading between the lines I think that our dear grandmother is afraid that Ranma and his father are going to come under attack shortly and she's removing you from the area."

"There has to be something more to it. Was there any formal notice of a break of the engagement? I know that Lord Stark has been pushing for a timeframe." Ned had actually been hinting that perhaps a wedding for her and Ranma, paid by the Starks and Tyrells, should happen before the marriage of Joffrey to Sansa since the country was still in debt. Neither Ranma nor Margaery had encouraged or discouraged that thought.

"No, though this could just be a move to gain us more time in that area." Loras frowned slightly, looking over at Ranma. "Although, second hand news of the Mountain's demise probably has something to do with it. Grandmother would obviously not risk you near someone who would act so precipitously."

"Tactful as always, brother dear. Secondhand it probably sounds like Ranma's insane! Hmm…I wonder who else is reporting to her."

"Well your chaperone for one." That caused Margaery to look at him, then nod in understanding. Margaery had known the woman was sending messages but the depth of said messages was up in the air. "Perhaps others. But sister dear, there is no doubt about the fact that grandmother wants us home soonest. In fact, we are to leave tomorrow."

"That quickly?" Margaery asked, dismayed. Leaving that quickly meant Olenna really was removing her from Ranma's presence. Could she be worried about how much influence he is having on me rather than the opposite? With a start Margaery realized she hadn't flirted or made time to interact with the Prince at all, ever since her low key war with Myrcella began. Maybe he is influencing me more than I should be allowing but, damn it, between the two there is just no comparison!

Loras nodded morosely himself. Loras knew for a fact they hadn't even kissed yet (he had no idea what had happened during the tournament but that truly was all that had happened between Margaery and Ranma). So while Margaery was leaving only her possible future husband, Loras was leaving his lover behind and probably wouldn't be able to see him again for at least half a year. "Indeed, though why she wants me to return with you is another question entirely."

It didn't occur to either of them that Olenna was angry at both of them for the same reason: that they had publicly chosen sides in the fight between the Lannisters and Starks. Loras, while nowhere as close to Ranma as he was to Renly, did spend a lot of time with him, after all, which had implications for those who wanted to see them.

Margaery looked over to where Ranma was exchanging a joke with the elderly woman who ran the pastry stall he was currently looking at, sighing faintly. Now why can't my grandmother be like that, all smiles and niceness and incidentally, staying out of my business?! Still, I suppose from her perspective I am not performing as well as I should in the task she assigned me. But I dare her to meet the two in person and then tell me Joffrey's the better prize!

Still, such thoughts were immaterial for now and she sighed again, moving over to tell Ranma the bad news. Ranma took it with aplomb. While he was certainly attracted to Margaery, he wasn't madly in love with her, so had no problems with Olenna calling Margaery home, whatever the reason. "Still," he said as they made their way back up to the keep, "I will miss your advice, you've been an amazing help here with the court and politics. And our chess games. I'm still sorry for teaching you how to play cards, though."

Margaery laughed, shaking her head, but wondered why the fact that Ranma acknowledged her advice and council made her smile more than many a flowery word of praise for her beauty had done before.

The very next day, as the sun was rising, Loras, Margaery, and twenty knights of High Garden, along with several other nobles who had stayed after the tournament, left Kings Landing. Ranma watched them go, wondering why he felt this was the start of even more momentous events in the future, whether he liked it or not. A week later, another message arrived, stating that the marriage between him and Margaery was put on hold until the 'family crisis' was resolved.

OOOOOOO

Lord Tywin Lannister was the definitive Lord of Westerlands, one of the most populous and certainly the richest thanks to its gold mines, all of which his family controlled entirely. Tywin barely made gesture of being under the Iron Throne's purview. After all, Robert would not, possibly, be sitting on that throne without Lannister aid, and that didn't even consider the two million gold dragon debt the Iron Throne had fallen into to his family since Robert took control of that monstrosity.

He was a spare man, tall, slender, with somewhat broad shoulders. His head was shaved bald, a sharp contrast to his bushy golden side whiskers. His eyes, green eyes as all Lannister's had, were flecked with bits of gold, a sign, some said, of the main source of his family's power. Of course, they also said other, more derogatory things, but never to his face or where anyone loyal to him could hear. Tywin was not a man to allow such slanders against his person or that of his family.

He had been Hand of the King under Aerys, only to resign in anger when the King allowed Jaime to join the Kingsguard thus removing him from the line of succession. He was a cold, calculating man, who always remembered slights against his person or that of his family and repaid them double. This is what he was contemplating now, after having read a note from Grand Maester Pyrcelle.

His hand crumpled it in a show of anger he would only rarely allow anyone else to see. Turning from his desk, he stared out over Casterly Rock. This was the seat of Lannister power, the almost unassailable keep that his family had ruled from ever since the Age of Heroes. It was a massive castle carved out of a massive stone hill, made even more formidable by tall stone walls and a keep up on the top of it. Tywin's study was set into one of the towers of that keep, letting him look over Lannisport, a sprawling port city, one of the largest cities in Westeros.

Tywin's thoughts were not on what he was seeing but what the message from his agent said. This cannot go unanswered, he thought coldly. Regardless of this wolf whelp's reasoning, Gregor was my tool and any attack on his person in such a manner is an attack on me. What is worse, it means that I have lost control of the Castle Clegane. It isn't the most strategically important but I have invested time and effort into it and the number of men-at-arms there. It is always a good idea to have tools to act in matters that you would not want to get back to you and yet be believable in such a way.

Its war chest was also very large for that same reason and I dislike throwing money into endeavors that will not pay back such investment later on. I will have to send someone to collect it before the new Lord can be invested. Sandor might think he hid his thoughts about me in the past but he has never been as good at that as he thinks. His disdain for me is clear even if he might feel some loyalty towards my grandson the prince. And I doubt his loyalties there, either to my daughter or to her first born, are anything more than skin deep.

But just because he is the last male in a direct line does not mean he is the only one who can inherit. One of the more distant cousins will do much better in my opinion, and, of course, his loyalty will not be in question. Tywin turned back to his desk for a moment, writing out nine, nearly identical notes, orders for a few brigands down in Lannisport to ride out and intercept Sandor.

With that minor task accomplished, Tywin turned his attention back to Gregor's death and what it might be a sign of. The Grand Maester's letter had been very detailed, several pages of tight, concise handwriting, as Tywin expected from one of the men who had served him for so long. Pyrcelle had been his ally while he was the old King's Hand and that had never faded. The notes detailed the way Eddard Stark had been able to cut into the amount of support the Lannisters had in the capital.

It wasn't a personal attack by the new Hand, Tywin was almost certain of that. Eddard Stark wasn't one to attack another family in such a manner without reason and the little disturbance with that fool Greenfield nearly killing his son wouldn't be enough of one to set Stark against Tywin. Not when such would set Westeros at war again. Eddard was an honest and upright individual, one who would simply see getting rid of corruption in the government as part of his duty as the Hand.

But the reasons don't matter, only the outcomes. He is curtailing my family's power and that must be stopped. This death of Gregor, public as it was, was meant to instill fear. There can be no other reason whatever my daughter might think.

He gently tapped the note that had been below Pyrcelle's, snorting softly. He wouldn't believe a word of it, except that the Grand Maester had detailed the way, Gregor had simply been taken apart by the young wolf. This boy might indeed be a throwback to though age of legends but we are not living in battle age anymore, my daughter. Your attempts to control the boy seem to have failed, though I will commend you for the subtlety of the game you have so far played with him to attempt to do so.

Of course, Cersei hadn't actually come right out and said that she had been attempting to flirt with Ranma and use her body to control them but she had hinted at it as well as the idea that it had disgusted her at the time but wasn't a task she was willing to give to anyone else. There was no hint of the fact that Cersei had enjoyed it, and in fact still generally enjoyed it whenever she had the opportunity to see his reactions to her little tricks. Such a thing wasn't anything she wanted to share with her father or anyone else, for that matter.

Tywin was also mildly impressed that his daughter had kept her cool at the very idea of the older Joffrey being passed over for Tommen. She was candid about it, sharing with her father everything she knew about that, though she didn't hint at the reason why Robert was thinking about it other than he seemed to get along with his younger son. A younger son who has been trained by Ranma Stark.

No, it is clear that Ranma Stark is his father's creature and this was clearly a starting gambit in a game against our family. He wants to clean up everything in Kings Landing and remove all of our influence with the King. Such cannot be allowed, and it comes down to two points. One: Ned's ongoing crusade in the small counsel and in the city as a whole. Two: his influence over the King. I am limited in what I can do there, though I will send messages to the Grand Maester to take any and all deniable action to curtail it or to attack him in turn. This cold war between our faction's spies is going to heat up quickly, something I doubt Eddard Stark, or even Blackfish Tully, will be prepared for.

But my daughter is correct. Any physical confrontation in the city, where he could use his strength and fighting skills in point assault or defense, will require Ranma to be removed beforehand. I will send a few specialists to deal with that. They might not be Faceless Men but they are very good at their jobs. And if they do not succeed, I will employ a sorrowful man, almost as good and only half as expensive. However, that would take at least a year to set up, whereas I could get my own agents there in four months' time. Though, even that will be quick work. I'll have to use one of my prepared horse relays, irritating, but necessary.

And if the first fails, the second will switch to attempting to assassinate Brynden Tully. That man is too intelligent to let lose where he can aid Eddard Stark.

He frowned thoughtfully. Cersei and the Grand Maester had different opinions about two areas. One was the importance of the small counsel and influence on that rather than influence with the King but Tywin understood that was simply their different areas of experience. But the other area they didn't agree on was where precisely despite Varys and Petyr were in this ongoing conflict.

Cersei thought that both of them were largely neutral but that Littlefinger was worried about his own pie and might be willing to work with them but shouldn't be trusted. The Spider, however, she said was firmly on their side, with the opinion that she had some dirt on him and vice-versa. Tywin was uncertain of that. He did not know the young Littlefinger as well as he could wish.

Pyrcelle was of the opinion however that both of them were only looking out for themselves, and that no attempt at alliance there would profit. 'Littlefinger hides it well', he wrote, 'but he thinks he is the most intelligent person in the room and, at times, I am afraid I might agree with him. Baelish is playing his own game, a long game. He certainly is not the type to follow another's lead without profit, both in the long and short term.'

Still, neither of them will be able to affect my plans for the Stark boy, unless they find out and warn him of my assassins. Yet, if they are able to do that, then the assassins would not prove worth the money I would pay the men in that event. Remove the Starks and they will either fall back in line or be removed with ease.

He frowned thoughtfully, tapping one finger against his temple as he did so. Things are changing. Our power is being eroded in Kings Landing and in such a way that it must be addressed. I would not be against the idea of the younger Tommen taking the throne over Joffrey as he is part lion as well but the influence Ranma and, through him, his father has over the lad makes that untenable. Plus the fact that they might be close to forging an alliance with the Reach.

(The message he had received had been sent weeks before Margaery and Loras had been recalled to High Garden.)

No, I must take firm and above all well-thought-out action to halt this. The assassins and such will be one arrow him in my quiver but I will need more shots. I am afraid the Riverlands are about to have an outbreak of brigandage. Luckily, Gregor was not my only tool for this sort of action.

He turned back to his desk, writing out two notes. One would be sent to House Lorch, the other to a mercenary company that called themselves the Brave Companions, though everyone else called them the Mummers. They were even now in Lannisport. He always kept such men around, just in case.

They can field three hundred men and are just the sort for this operation, plus their leader Hoat is more cunning then he appears. They will move into the Riverlands disguised as bandits raiding the area along our shared borders. I will naturally respond but my men, under Lorch, will not be able to pin the 'bandits' in place.

Because they will be raiding on both sides of our borders, 'getting through the mountain passes somehow,' the Riverlanders will call to the King for aid. To keep the conflict from spreading, he will have to respond. And who should he send on such but the young man who has proven himself such a warrior? And when he does, my men will pounce on him and whatever force he leads along with the mercenaries, overwhelming them with numbers and surprise.

One-on-one, this Ranma Stark is obviously formidable or even in a melee but from ambush at arrow range? Or the open field? He will find that his brute force powers will not save him.

The letter to Lorch only took him a few minutes to write out. Once word, and rumor was the one thing that traveled faster than raven's wings, reached him that his old compatriot in blood and rapine was executed Amory would jump at the chance to kill the man who did it.

The one to Hoat took longer, since he needed to tell the man how far into the Riverlands he could raid, as well as what he couldn't do and what would happen to him personally if his company of mercenaries disobeyed. With men like that, it was necessary to make certain they knew where they stood.

After that Tywin sealed both messages with wax, but did not stamp either with his personal seal. They would each be sent by a tried and tested manner, such a way that neither man would have any doubt it came from him, but it would not be officially seen as such. Then he created another message, this one to the Reach, and Olenna Redwyne, which he did affix his personal seal to.

Finishing that last message, Tywin then rang a small bell, a manservant appeared, and began to send his arrows into the air. However, other archers were in this game.

OOOOOOO

"Why in the world would your brother ask for that much alchemist's fire, your grace?" asked Petyr, looking over at the Queen where she sat next to the King at the head of the council table after Lord Stark had just read aloud two messages from the Wall, detailing what was happening there.

Normally Robert wouldn't bother showing up for these meetings but he was here today at the behest of Varys, who had remained silent since the messages from the Wall had grabbed everyone's attention. Petyr had a good idea of what the Spider wanted to share and, while it was interesting and he would have to make allowances in his plans going forward, he had his mind on other things. The need to remove Ranma from the city was centermost in his thoughts, and he hoped the news from the Wall would be enough to force Eddard to send his son to the Wall to take command of the defense.

Before Cersei could answer, Ranma, who was part of the small counsel today because his father wanted his input on the missive from the Wall, shrugged. "I'm betting the little man has planned something big with his siege weapons. A little disturbing really, imagining what alchemist's fire could do to an invading army, but effective." Ranma mentally likened alchemists' fire to Greek fire, the weapon that made the Greek fleets so frightening for so long, and he was not far off in that assumption.

"We'll have to be very careful in transporting it, that liquid is extremely volatile, the older it gets, the worse that problem becomes." Cersei said thoughtfully, tapping the raven-delivered note in front of her. She hated to even be reminded of her younger brother, but this was actually happy news for her. It seems as if he is making a place for himself among the northern barbarians. Now if only he would stay there, she thought.

"We can also use this opportunity to empty the prisons of those on death row, unless they choose death, of course. They can all go to the Wall to join the Night's Watch and then we can send them up by ship." Ser Barristan said, speaking up for once.

"I've always thought that was strange, actually." Ranma replied, shrugging. "It might be hardship duty but guarding the Wall is an honor and we give it to murderers, rapists, and thieves? We may wish to look into creating a new order of knighthood based upon guarding the Wall in the future."

"Some other time, perhaps." Cersei said smiling faintly at the younger man, thinking how she could use such an 'honor' to keep Tyrion at the Wall and far away from herself and her children. "Do you think we should send aid immediately or wait for the next scheduled recruiter to stop into the city?"

"I could wish we could send more aid than that. Spend a week or so to gather the alchemist's fire, search for volunteers among the alchemists, and then send them and the prisoners up by ship to Eastwatch by the Sea." Eddard responded for his son, before turning and looking at the king. "Then send messages to all nations of Westeros, telling the ruling houses to send men up to the Wall. This is an invasion, and all the lands must make aid the North in repelling it."

"I still contend that this is nothing that would warrant such a momentous move." Said Varys, pointedly looking over at the King. "The kingdom can ill afford to send men to the Wall given how in debt the nation is still, despite your efforts Lord Stark. And most especially with the murmurings my spies are now reporting, not just in various nations here, but also from across the ocean in Essos."

Robert's face flushed angrily. The Spider had shared several whispers from the Crown Lands, Dorne, and a few from the Vale of lesser nobles suddenly having Essos coins aplenty in their coffers, as well as murmurs of the Targaryens rising once again to return and reclaim their throne. "Have you found the reason for those Dragon lovers moving as they are?"

"I have indeed." Varys replied, his eyes opaque. "News has reached my web that the two Targaryen survivors have found a sponsor in one of the richest magisters of Pentos. Viserys is working hard on creating an alliance with many of the other magisters and is using their factors to contact sympathetic lords here in Westeros. This magister has also arranged for Daenerys to be married to one of the Dothraki war lords in an effort to weld the power of his horde to their efforts…"

'Ours is the Fury' was not just the motto of House Baratheon but also a good description of the line's fiery anger. That anger came out now. Robert roared angrily, slamming his large hands down on the council table so hard it bounced up slightly afterward from the recoil. "I'll not have it! I won't have some Targaryen bitch breeding out little dragons with a barbarian horde at her back to threaten my throne!"

"She's but a child Robert," Ned protested, "and the Dothraki will never cross the ocean. Move against the Targaryen supporters perhaps, prove we know of their dealings, but the two Targaryens are nothing worth bothering about."

"Children grow up and I'll not allow this one to grow anymore!" Robert growled. "No, we remove the little bitch and the conspirators here in Westeros will crawl back into their holes!"

"We could buy the services of a Faceless Man to send after her." Renly murmured. "I understand they are the best of the best when it comes to such."

"We could pay for a dozen normal assassins for the price of one Faceless!" Petyr protested. "Our coffers do not allow for such abuse!"

"She. Is. Just. A. Child!" Ned stated, each word coming out as if hewed from rock. "A child who has probably grown up hearing of Baratheon, Lannister, and Stark ogres from her brother. No, remove their allies here in Westeros, remove this patron perhaps. Let the girl live out her life among the Dothraki, she is not a threat…"

"NEVER!" Robert bellowed, interrupting his friend, his eyes now more red than his normal drunkenness could allow for, both hands pounding the table once more. "Never! I'll not allow the Targaryen's to rise again, not after what they did! We'll send an assassin after this girl and her brother, cut off the dragons head once and for all!"

Ranma had heretofore been silent but as the bellowing continued that very silence made Ser Barristan notice him. The old knight shifted uncomfortably, as he saw the pure, cold anger in the boy's face, wondering what he was going to say, and suddenly feeling rather guilty about not having spoken up himself.

When Ranma spoke, it was in an even tone of voice but that very normality lent his words even more impact as it cut through the ongoing bellowing of the king. "Your Majesty, a month past I executed a rapist and murderer for the memory of the children he slaughtered. And I am willing to do the same to anyone who orders that same act."

The casual way Ranma had threatened the King stopped all thought processes around the table for a moment, and he continued, his eyes boring into the King's. "My father is right; this Daenerys is but a young girl, who has probably been fed on lies and propaganda from her brother her whole life. She had nothing to do with what her older brother Rhaegar or her father the former king did, Your Grace. Do not take out your hate on her for their misdeeds."

The King's face reddened with fury at Ranma's biting tone and his words but Eddard spoke before he could. "While my son was far too combative in his words, his meaning is my own. If you do this Robert, we are through. I will resign as Hand and return to Winterfell, taking my daughter with me. I will never allow her to marry into a house that would condone such immoral methods."

His friend looked at him his raging fury making his stare like that of a bull about to charge. Yet Ned continued, his voice as cold as winter but passionate for all of that as he stared into the King's furious eyes. "I still have nightmares about what the Lannisters did to Kings Landing, the burning of the city, the screams of the men and women, the bodies of the Royal children butchered by Clegane and Lorch. How the blood had soaked through the red of the blankets they used to try to cover the bodies up. I will not, I cannot, be party to the killing of more children, no matter their heritage."

Petyr struck before the King could explode again. It was too perfect, too easy, despite not having been planned at all. "Perhaps we need to think about this, Your Majesty. I know the anger you hold toward House Targaryen, yet it is fact that if you send an assassin after this girl, you send the message that you fear her. That isn't considering the fact that the assassin might fail. And there are Targaryen loyalists among the Crown Lands and Dorne, more than any of us would like to admit there to being. Dorne in particular is a thorny issue."

That won him some nods around the table, even Robert acknowledged that point, calming down slightly. Dorne was truly a land apart in many ways, even more independent than the North from the power of the Iron Throne. What was worse in many ways for the King was that the Dorne were all, to a greater or lesser degree, Targaryen loyalists. They might have lost the greater portion of the forces arrayed against Robert in his rebellion but that had been barely a fifth of Dorne's total military strength. If House Martell rose in true rebellion, then it would mean war once more.

Worse, Dorne was extremely difficult to invade. Even if you got through the mountain passes that protected it, the dessert was a daunting defense all on its own. The only way to conquer it would be to have partisans among the people, and Robert knew he had none of those.

"No," Petyr continued, knowing he had their attention now, even the King despite his choleric expression and furious glare at Eddard, who was ignoring his friend's anger to watch Petyr closely. "There is a better solution. We should send an agent yes, but one to capture and return Daenerys and Viserys if possible to the King's… protection if they are not actively working to come back to reclaim the Iron Throne. If they are not, if they are mere figureheads, then a few vows here and there as well as having them under our power would be enough to insure their loyalty and the loyalty of those who would look askance at more…final solutions. And if either is actively plotting a return through conquest, either through use of the Dothraki or more subversive means, then our agent can take what action he deems necessary."

Petyr's eyes flicked just once over at Ranma, as he smiled thinly. Inside, however, he was crowing in victory. "And I think we have just such a capable agent sitting with us right now. One who has already proven to hold honor in high regard. So what say you, young Stark? Would you be up to the task?"

The King guffawed, some of his good humor returning to him even as Ned and Ranma stiffened. "Hah, yes! That's a fine solution, Littlefinger!" He looked over at father and son, his eyes still showing a spark of anger at the way Ranma had spoken to him. "After all, boy, despite the training you're giving Tommen, you've no real reason to remain here now that your engagement to the Tyrell girl has been postponed during this family crisis of theirs. You've proven yourself a warrior with few equals, you can think on your feet, and I bet you can even sneak around with the best of them!"

His eyes narrowed, showing even more of his fury at the way Ranma had spoken and at the very idea of the Targaryens trying to reclaim their throne. "You'll leave tomorrow. Your mission is to find these Targaryen lizards and, if they are willingly conniving to return to Westeros, to kill them. If it is only one or if they are simply being used to foment trouble, you're to return with the Stormborn bitch as your prisoner, to become a ward of the crown. Is that understood?"

Ranma's teeth clenched angrily and he shot a look at his father, who, after a fulminating moment, simply nodded jerkily. "Good." Robert snarled, pushing to his feet. "All this talk of the fire lovers has put my mind out of joint. I'm off to hunt something."

They all stood as the King stomped out, followed quickly by all the rest of the council. The Queen looked at both Stark men as she stood, shaking her head, though what she might be apologizing for, of if that was indeed what she was doing was up in the air. Ser Barristan paused as well, staring searchingly at Ranma, with something close to regret flashing across his iron face, before he too left.

Father and son sat there for a moment in silence before Ranma shook his head. "I'm sorry father, I spoke out of turn."

"Don't, who could have predicted Littlefinger would make such a suggestion. And what you said was true enough, there is no honor in planning the murder of children, regardless of their lineage." Ned sighed sadly, shaking his head. "Robert is a good man despite his vices, but he is consumed with unreasoning hatred for all things Targaryen."

With another shake, Ned began to lead the way out of the council room. "Come, we need to meet with Brynden and think what this could mean for our plans going forward, as well as prepare you for your trip. And I believe you have two Royal children to say your goodbyes to, as well as your sister."

Ned thought once more about telling Ranma his concerns where it came to the royal children, and after a moment's reflection decided to share his fears solely about Joffrey with him in a ltter once Ranma got out to sea. After all, Ranma's disgust with Joffrey was already plain to see, and his son could be unpredictable about such things.

But until he had proof, in particular knowledge of what line, Lannister or Baratheon, always stamped its mark on the children of that pairing, he would not make the accusation against all three Baratheon children. And he had become fond of both younger children as well, and would not want them to be cast out as illegitimate, which was the nicest thing that could happen to them if that was indeed the case.

Joffrey however, there is nothing in him to indicate he shares Baratheon blood. Though that still leaves the problem of who his father is, and the circumstances behind it. He frowned as he stood up, worrying at that problem for a moment once more before turning to more immediate problems. And Brynden and I need to prepare contingency plans as well.

Ranma groaned at the idea of saying goodbye to the youngsters but nodded and followed his father out.

None of the small council, not even Petyr, noticed Obara Sand, where she had hidden herself inside an alcove while the small council met. As she carefully left the chamber, she mused to herself. Interesting. Very interesting. I need to find Arianne. If she and I can sneak aboard his ship…

OOOOOOO

As the King ordered, the next day Ranma boarded a trading galley bound for Pentos that Varys had supplied the name of. He stood by the railing with Fenris beside him, waving goodbye to his family and the Royals, all of whom, even Joffrey, had come down to see him off.

Myrcella and Tommen in particular looked weepy; his farewells to both had been difficult to say the least. Tommen had made him promise to come back as soon as he could, while Myrcella had stolen another kiss from him as he hugged her farewell. Both of them felt this was a horrible idea on many levels but Myrcella was personally gripped by a horrible premonition of doom soon to come, though she couldn't quite describe where it would come from.

Sansa looked anxious and Ned had his stone face on, while Brynden was simply shaking his head, wondering how this adventure would pan out, not only for Ranma, but for all of them. Next to Sansa stood Joffrey, trying his best not to appear victorious, hiding his thoughts under his mask with ease.

In one pocket, Ranma had a letter from his father, which he had asked Ranma to read as soon as he was out of sight of land, for some reason. Ranma knew it had something to do with his father's investigation, which he had been very careful to keep Ranma away from. Ranma wasn't certain why his father hadn't simply told him what he wanted to share, but he hadn't pushed.

The King and Queen were staring hard at him for different reasons. Cersei wasn't certain what to make of this good luck and how to best take advantage of it, or if she should at all, but she was going to do whatever it took to protect herself and her children. If that meant moving against Eddard now that his son was no longer around, Cersei would do it, if she could be certain of victory.

Robert however was simply glaring. He had been amused by Ranma's attitude more often than not but Ranma had crossed a line yesterday. On the other hand, if he returned with a prisoner or not this would solve the Targaryen issue forever, so he was relatively happy. Despite his anger at the boy, he knew he was an amazing warrior, who could see this mission through. "Take care boy and either bring us back a prisoner or a pair of heads!" He guffawed, turned on his horse and began to move back down the quay, the rest of the Royal party following after.

Ned and Brynden remained even as the sailors began to make sail, pushing away from the wharf. What none of the watchers knew, not even Varys or Petyr, was that in the hold were two stowaways, Obara and Arianne. Daemon had stayed behind to guard Tyene, who also remained to continue her job for Ned and his household.

The two women looked at one another, both dressed as men. This was something Obara pulled off much easier than Arianne, who had to wrap her chest almost to the point of being unable to breathe and pad her waist to hide her figure. "Well, we're away cousin, for better or worse. I hope this idea of yours works out as well as you hope."

Arianne smirked, subtly gesturing down at her body though it was covered with sailor's rags at present. "We will see this evening, won't we cousin?"

OOOOOOO

For once, all the Stark siblings in currently residing in Winterfell were in the same place, outside the lord's bedroom. Early that evening, Lady Catelyn had gone into labor. Luckily, the midwives of Winterfell had long seen this coming and everything was running as smoothly as could be expected in such things. Not that you could tell that from the Stark siblings.

Jon had a firm hand on Shaggydog, who was whining and snarling in turns, feeling the anxiety in the air. Bran held Rickon on one shoulder, Summer pressing against both boys while Rickon looked around anxiously, worried about what was happening to his mother. Arya was pacing, with Nymeria beside her, from one end of the hallway to the other. More than once a maid had to ask them to move out of the way, as they raced in and out with clean linen and warm water.

It felt like an eternity for all of them, but in actuality, it was only an hour or so. Catelyn had always been able to give birth easily and, despite her adventures early on in the pregnancy, this time was no exception. The midwife came out, bearing a small bundle. She smiled at the children who all gathered around her, including Jon who she still thought of as that errant boy who would help Ranma steal apples from the kitchen. "My lords," she said grandly, "may I introduce you to your newest brother?"

End chapter

Hope everyone likes how things are turning out in the court, as well as the sudden skew turn at the end of the chapter. Cersei is still trying to play a soft game but is also preparing for more, while Petyr is willing to do the same so long as his position is secure. But Joffrey hasn't gotten that memo just yet, and has moved away from Cersei's control, though it remains to be seen if Petyr can take control of him in turn. And Ned and Brynden also have plans in place as well, though what those plans are or how effective, we shall have to see.

Also, I hope that everyone liked the view into what has been going on up North. Catelyn wasn't much of a character here but after her pregnancy will once again start to take part in things.

Let me say this about bows. I think, looking back at the history, it wasn't anything about the bows themselves per se that set 'English' bows apart, except possibly the size. What made them different, and so effective, was that the English saw them as battle winning weapons, rather than the weapons of the cowardly peasant. I get the impression, and tell me if you disagree, but the general idea in Westeros is the same sort of idiocy– cavalry is the king, while archery isn't seen as important except in sieges. To put it bluntly Ranma is not of that opinion.

I really enjoyed the stuff about the Wall, though I still don't know if I'm doing Tyrion's character justice there. If you're a fan of the Imp, tell me what you think of him.

Something about the Others: yes, the Wall blocks their magic but they can move around it. However, what Dacey and Jon have theorized is what they think; it could turn out to not be the reality.

And whatever you are thinking is going to happen in Essos, probably won't be what actually happens. I could have continued to pile on more in this chapter, but the Essos/Daenerys section couldn't be added without including a cliffhanger, which I am loathe to do. Next chapter will see a lot of Daenerys and Ranma as well, with the attention shifting to them, and to King's Landing and other events in the south now that the Northern picture has been painted as it were.

Hope everyone liked reading it, have a happy Christmas, and as always, review please.

*Chapter 7*: Chapter 7

I don't own Ranma or George R. R. Martin's work. If I did, let's just say the first would be very different and by this point the second would be done... and no, saying that never gets old.

I have looked into the majority of fics revolving around Daenerys and Robb (not pairing just one of the other as a main character) and found them sorely lacking. In fact there was only one or two that were any good, by which I mean not getting caught up in the drama/angst. I would like to read a story that concentrates on the warfare side of things as well as being Robb centric, but haven't found one, so if anyone has one they can think of, PM me the name of it. Mind you, I have pretty high standards for combat and warfare scenes/setup LOL. They are the scenes that come easiest to me, oddly enough.

Speaking of which, I was amused by how many reviews mentioned my impression of the longbow. I assure those worried about it that I don't think the longbow is a war winning weapon (except in the old game Lords of the Realm 2, heh), and others that I do know how good a weapon it truly is, I was more arguing that it is the tactics and strategy that wins, not a specific weapon's use. Also I wanted to make the point that cavalry is not on its own as effective as many people think. The roman infantry and combat engineers carved them an empire, which their later use of cavalry could not enlarge much. And whatever else, charges against prepared heavy infantry, that is infantry wielding polearms, have never worked unless the infantry formation was already broken. Cavalry has its place, but there is a reason infantry are called the kings of the battlefield, men on foot are simply more adaptable, and much less expensive, a horse eats more than a man after all, and cannot be grazed on the land and perform at their peak. In Westeros, the point is made several times that even among the Northerners, the cavalrymen were seen as 'more important' than the infantry, because many of them were nobles and knights. That will not be the case going forward.

A combined arms force, which uses all the disparate units under its command as a unified, organized force, is far more dangerous than an enemy that relies overmuch on one tactic or one arm of their army.

I also got my first flame for this story! It was from a nameless guest, and basically said the story had turned to shit, then said the protagonist was dickless and an idiot. Wow. Someone put in a lot of work to come up with that. Really. LOL. So, yeah, dude, your review was deleted with prejudice.

I would like to give a shout out to Jessolt for his beta-reading. Without him this chapter, like my other works he has looked at, would not be nearly as good as they are. We are both human which means we no doubt missed some mistakes here and there, but it would be much worse without his efforts.

Warning: Bad things start to happen in this chapter, warning you all now.

Chapter 7: The Pebbles Start Falling

"You had best have a convincing reason for my daughter not being with you, Oberyn, or else I may have to do away with the only remaining sibling I have." Prince Doran's voice was level, yet dangerous, his eyes locked on his hotheaded younger brother, who, for some reason, was carrying something covered by a cloth under one arm.

"Ah, but first, brother dear, I need to get you into a better mood to hear me out." Despite his brother's icy anger, Oberyn's voice was jaunty, full of good humor. "Ah, even the two week's voyage from King's Landing hasn't diminished my pleasure in this. There is nothing, nothing at all like a vendetta fulfilled!"

He went on, his voice suddenly becoming much more serious as he moved the box from where he had been carrying it under his arm, holding it with one hand underneath as the other gripped the loose cloth that covered it. "Doran, may I present… the head of the Mountain that Rode!" With that, he removed the cloth with a flourish, presenting the preserved head of the hated Ser Gregor, preserved in the blue fluid the alchemists had prepared to his brother.

Doran's eyes widened. His lips, which had been locked in a thin frown now quickly formed a grin, such a grin the likes of which he hadn't shown since boyhood. He leaned forward, taking the glass container from his brother reverently.

Turning it this way and that, he examined the head inside minutely, part of him almost certain this was a trick. After a moment, he looked up at his brother once more. "As an opening gambit to keep your own head on your shoulders, this would indeed take some beating, Oberyn." There was even a hint of true humor in Doran's voice but he had some control of himself again, which showed in his sharp old eyes. "It seems as if we have more to talk about than just my wayward daughter. What exactly is going on in King's Landing?"

"That will be quite a telling, brother, and all of it centers around Ranma Stark, his father, and the effect they are having on the halls of power." Oberyn chuckled, shaking his head. "And that in turn is tied up with what your daughter is up to presently."

From there Oberyn went on to describe what he had seen occurring in King's Landing, not only about Ranma and his execution of the Mountain but all that he had heard or seen for himself. He didn't know everything, not having made any contacts in the court but he knew about Eddard's anti-corruption campaign and how many enemies it was winning Lord Stark.

He also knew that while there seemed to be friendship between Ranma and Margaery, the Rose of House Tyrell was also playing for the Crown Prince. And he had seen the friendship, almost the squire-ship, between the youngest Baratheon and Ranma. Oberyn had also noticed how unlike their father any of the Royal children seemed in countenance, though how alike in spirit they were he had no way of knowing.

Through all this, his older brother listened silently, asking no questions. Occasionally, Doran could not stop his eyes from twitching over to the head in its container, but he always turned away. He was a Prince, the ruler of his kingdom. He could not allow himself to be swayed by something like that, no matter how long his hatred for his sister's butchers had simmered. In that, Doran was utterly unlike his hotheaded kin.

Doran also knew things, plans going forward that he had long since made with allies both in Essos and Westeros that made any idea of allying with the Starks premature. Let the wolves beard the lions in their den and weaken both families. A scorpion knows how to wait, to plan, and to hide until it is in position to deal a fatal blow.

Oberyn finished by saying. "And so brother, I think Arianne is on the right track. Influencing the Stark heir can influence young Tommen, killing two birds with one arrow, let alone gaining us an ally. Tyrell has overreached badly. If we can but take advantage of their arrogance, step forward with our own offer, a real one, to House Stark, then we will gain much influence over the usurper's own household."

"You think we should prioritize our vengeance against the Lannisters over House Baratheon?" Doran said coolly. "Remember it was the Usurper's war that allowed the Lannisters to betray their rightful King and all that happened to our sister and her children. Do not forget that the Starks stood beside Robert, though their reasons, even I will admit, were better than most. Yet even so, I will not ally with the House of honorable fools. You said it yourself, House Stark is making enemies in King's Landing, and even a direwolf can be pulled down by enough hyenas. Let the wolf and lion savage one another, we can wait."

"I am sick to death of waiting!" Oberyn shouted, standing up suddenly and smashing his fist down on the small desk Gregor's head rested on at present. Luckily, the desk was a sturdy affair and withstood his blow. "Wait, wait, wait, that is all you ever council, Doran! We have done nothing but wait for far too long! Dorne is seen as a joke now, a barbaric land with a coward for a ruler! We must risk something to gain anything, brother."

"Besides, the Baratheons without the Lannisters, or even with the Lannisters badly weakened, will be much easier to destroy! Robert is a drunkard, drinking himself into an early grave. Joffrey is a buffoon, arrogant and egotistical, and, as I said, if we influence Ranma, his influence on Tommen could turn the family into an ally for us. Renly is a fop, a toy knight who knows nothing of war outside the tourney and Stannis is so cold, I doubt he could muster enough humanity to rally more than a few of the Stormlands' lords to him."

Doran kept his cool with the ease of long practice in front of his brother's bluster. "And Tywin? What of him? He is no fool, and he has undoubtedly already taken action against the Starks for their daring to remove one of his best tools. You make the error of seeing their influence in King's Landing as the source of their power. Brother, I assure you it is not. So long as Tywin lives and has control of the gold mines in Westerlands, his power will remain unchanged. No, I will send a message to one of my factors in King's Landing to find and remove Arianne and your daughters from the city as quickly as possible. Regardless of how good you think this Ranma is, he cannot be everywhere nor is he proof against arrows or other means of attack."

He paused for a moment, staring sternly at his oh-so-much younger brother. Such happened when all the children between the youngest and oldest of a family died but it was at moments like this that brought it to his attention. "There are plans in motion, Oberyn, plans that have been moving for years now, plans that have just recently begun to bear fruit. I will not act precipitously when waiting a little longer may bring us an ally with which we can have our justice in full."

Oberyn scowled but saw Doran wasn't about to share more details of these plans with him he nodded abruptly. He stalked off angrily before he could say anything they would both regret, leaving Doran alone to contemplate the future, his plans, and the head of one of his House's enemies. Let there soon be many more heads beside this one. The winds of change are blowing; one only needs to know how to harness them…

OOOOOOO

Almost at the same moment, Oberyn was speaking to Doran, two weeks before Ranma left for Pentos, another Lord Paramount was contemplating the news of King's Landing. Though in his case, he knew quite a bit more than Oberyn had been able to discern, right from the wolf's mouth, so to speak.

Despite his body failing him, Hoster Tully's mind was still sharp and could discern the most important bits from the news Jason Mallister had just imparted to him. The Lord of Seagard had stopped in Riverrun on his way back to his demesne, to speak to his ruler about his grandson and what was going on in King's Landing.

"Ned's overreaching." Hoster said after staying silent for several minutes, so long Jason was afraid he had fallen asleep as old people were wont to do without warning. "He believes that his friendship with Robert will be a shield against his enemies while he does away with the corruption in the capital and searches for why Jon Arryn died so abruptly. He is wrong, Robert is not the man he once was, he is far too easily swayed in many ways and distracted in others. I'll send another hundred men to augment the men I've already sent. Hopefully, they'll help keep the stiff-necked Stark alive when things go badly."

"Hah!" Hoster laughed suddenly, a hacking, sickly sound despite the humor in it as he switched his gaze over to where his son Edmure was leaning against the wall. "I'll send you as well, Edmure. You could not do better than look to Ned for a teacher, in many ways, and this Ranma sounds fascinating, above and beyond his martial prowess. Perhaps he can help you liven your ideas up, boy! A friendship between you would also strengthen ties between Tully and Stark."

Edmure scowled a little, irritated at the idea that the younger Stark heir was somehow brighter or a better heir than him. Hoster knew his son thought himself a fine lord but he was untried, too full of the vain glory of the tourney when it came to matters of war, and disinterested in the management of his lands. Edmure had also not settled down yet, too busy wenching, something Hoster was always irritated by. But he lacked the desire to estrange another family member by coming down on his son too hard about it or by attempting to set up a marriage for him.

He had hoped Edmure would grow up on his own but he hadn't yet. Hopefully the example of Ranma Stark will start that process, Hoster thought. It's high time that boy settled down and begot some brats to secure the line of succession and if he doesn't by year's end, well, I'll have to take the plunge and set one up for him. "I'll let you in charge of choosing who to take, Edmure, though I want you on the road within the fortnight, so you best start now."

Despite knowing his father simply wanted him out of the room to talk to Lord Mallister alone, Edmure went gladly, eager to be off on this jaunt despite the reasons his father had for sending him. King's Landing and the pleasures found therein, called to him. Edmure also thought if he could prove himself an able leader of men on this job then it would show his father he needed no further training to be ready to take over the lordship of Riverrun and the Riverlands.

The moment his son left, Hoster turned back to Jason, his rheumy eyes hard. "Eddard is too focused on finding the reasons behind Jon Arryn's death to see the real threat coming. Tywin may reply to the death of the Mountain in some fashion, though in what fashion I know not, but regardless, once word reaches Tywin of the changes being wrought in King's Landing, he will react to correct his family's loss of influence in the court."

"I would not think he would care over much for the graft being so diminished." Jason replied, one grey eyebrow raising in surprise.

"It isn't that!" Hoster said sharply, pushing himself more upright in his bed. He had been confined there for a month, his body slowly giving out with age, his legs having gone first. "You're making the same mistake Eddard is making! No, it is the influence over the Baratheon children that will concern him. If, as you said, Eddard is preparing to push for Tommen to be named heir over Joffrey then that will be a disaster for Tywin's influence. Tommen will look first to Ranma and Ned, not to his grandfather who he has rarely met. The Lannisters, even with the Queen playing the game as well as she is, will lose the ear of both the King and the future King. Tywin will not allow that to happen without a fight and I am worried about what method he might use to offset it."

Jason chuckled a little despite the seriousness of Hoster's words. At his lord's interrogative look, he shrugged. "I would honestly think that Tywin could look to influence Ranma in turn by shoving young Myrcella into Ranma's arms. Certainly it wouldn't take much of a push, the girl was besotted with him, even I could see that the few times I saw them together."

This caused Hoster to chuckle as well but he shook his head. "No, he won't trust the girl to be able to guide Ranma, not when he has had no hand in her rearing. He'll act in some fashion to remove Ranma and Ned or force them to be called back to Winterfell. And it is that action we must be prepared for."

"What do you think he will do?"

"That I do not know. Tywin is prideful but intelligent and pragmatic. Whatever he does, it will be calculated, yet what he will do I cannot say." Hoster paused, thinking hard then nodded his head. "I just feel as if there is a storm coming, one we need to be ready for. I will call up my men and prepare Riverrun for open war. That is the worst case scenario, though I doubt it will come to that and cannot ask my lords to do the same without proof of coming troubles rather than my own feelings on the matter. None, save the Freys, have deep enough pockets to weather the expense of such a move if it proves unneeded and I do not trust the Freys farther than I could kick their blasted castle."

Jason's eyes narrowed, making him look like the hunting eagle on his family's crest. "If he wants to draw Ranma and Ned away, then Tywin could make overtures to the Ironborn. They've been restless lately and I doubt the Starks having a hostage truly matters to them at all. They could strike the North or Seagard and the western holdings of the Riverlands. I will prepare my lands for such, in any event. I can cover the costs of ordering up my men for several months, at least, without aid from the Riverlands coffers."

The trade they got as a seaport and transportation hub through the Hag's Mire to Fairmarket and thence down the Blue Fork, made Seagard a rich holding in comparison to most of the Riverlands lords. Though not large in area, since it abutted into the mire on its southern reaches and Frey holdings north and east, Seagard itself gave House Mallister both some industry and a decent population to call upon.

The two lords looked at one another, wondering if this would be enough, and somehow knowing it would not be.

The next day before he left Riverrun, Jason made use of one of the castle's ravens that was set to the Citadel, home of the order of maesters, down in Oldtown, in the Reach. With it, he sent the sealed message Eddard had asked him to send, unopened of course. Jason had no idea what the message contained, some suspicions were too terrible to speak of until they could be proven and this was one of them. The return message would be marked as if it came from Winterfell so no one in the Red Keep would be concerned by it.

OOOOOOO

A week before Ranma sailed from King's Landing, Illyrio and Viserys looked up from their conversation as the door to the sitting room opened. Daenerys stepped through. She curtseyed to Illyrio while ignoring her brother, who scowled at that act of defiance, yet smoothed it away from his features quickly.

After all, the girl is just trying to get a rise out of me. Illyrio's right, she's doing all she can to get out of marrying the barbarian. The thought brought Viserys some mixed feelings, irritation and anger, of course, but some approval as well, which was surprising. It was the first time that his younger sister had shown the will that he expected from someone of their house. Daenerys' disdain for physical wounds and her actually trying to get him to wound her further in an attempt to put off her marriage showed she had some Targaryen will to go with her looks.

Yet, it ill-suited their House's purposes for him to continue to fall to her games and Daenerys still had no idea of the big picture, obviously. Otherwise, she would embrace the opportunity to bring such a force into the fold. She still had romantically foolish ideas of gaining popular support in Westeros, which was foolish in the extreme. No, Viserys thought to himself, not for the first time, his eyes taking on a glittering aspect even if he didn't know it. The only way to return our house to power is through fire and sword!

Illyrio knew nothing of his prince's thoughts, of course, though he could read some of it from his face. Still, he stood up, light on his feet for all his weight, bowing grandly to the Princess, his florid beard flouncing forward. "Your highness, I trust you are feeling better?"

"As if the nurses you have set upon me had not already informed you." Daenerys said smiling thinly. "I am well enough, at least to once again take part in discussions. What have I missed?"

Her brother would probably not have told her anything but Illyrio spoke up before Viserys could send her away. He filled her in on what the two of them had been up to, gathering support among the other powerful merchants in the city, paying for a fleet of hulls to be set down to carry their forces across to Westeros, making further overtures and inquiries to various lords in Westeros for their aid when the time came. There they were not having much headway, not yet at any rate. "Dorne remains the only land that as a whole is waiting for us to make our move."

Viserys smirked as he thought about that. He was looking forward to seeing if the stories about the licentiousness of the women of Dorne was accurate and with that marriage, he would bring Dorne in on their side.

"What of the Riverlands?" Daenerys asked, looking at the two of them. "You've mentioned the Vale, Dorne, and the Crownlands. The Stormlands obviously won't welcome us in the main, though I think our continued search there for one or two lords that might at the very least be willing to pass on knowledge is a good idea. But you haven't mentioned the Riverlands or the North."

Illyrio smirked, his beard twitching. "The North is completely devoted to a new issue your highness, one that has only recently been confirmed. You recall that Jorah Mormont told us of a rising threat, the new King Beyond the Wall? I've talked to a factor of Lord Manderly here in the city. He was asking around for mercenary bands that would be willing to travel to the Wall to help defend it. Unfortunately, he hasn't found any takers here in Pentos, though I would assume that other factors might be having more luck in the rest of the Free Cities."

For just a moment, Daenerys shivered and didn't know why, feeling a cold bite in the air for a brief second before she shook it off. "Are we certain that that will occupy the North's entire military strength? We know that Lord Stark is loyal to the Crown and is, I would not doubt, an effective Hand at present. Surely, the North would send him aid in some fashion? And, if he is removed or called home, who would replace him?"

"It's almost certain he would not be called home at all; his son would be sent instead." Viserys said shaking his head with a laugh. "The tales we've heard from Domeric about him make that almost certain. Even if only half of them are true, that move would be a good thing for the entirety of the kingdom and…" he said rather grudgingly, "Illyrio has an idea there."

Daenerys cocked an eyebrow at Viserys and then looked over at Illyrio, who smiled blandly. "Eddard Stark is probably making a lot of enemies, going by what Jorah has told us at least, which are simply waiting for the right opportunity to drag him down. By the time we are ready to invade, he might already be dead and his son fighting on the Wall. If so, sending overtures to the North saying that we will aid them on the Wall in return for their remaining out of the War against the Baratheons and the Lannisters could well gain their neutrality, if not their aid to avenge him."

Daenerys actually nodded thoughtfully at that seeing, it could make sense, though she didn't agree that Lord Stark would be gone by the time they were ready. She had talked extensively with Domeric about House Stark and both Lord Stark and Ranma struck her as survivors. On top of that, they were honorable men, who took their duties seriously, though where that might take them was beyond her ability to predict. Certainly, Eddard would not go down without a fight, at the very least. "And the Riverlands?"

"We have several powerful agents there, just waiting for an opportunity." Viserys scowled a little. "They're not bound by honor or loyalty to us, unfortunately, so they'll probably have to be removed in the future but they can serve our purposes until then."

"A treacherous blade is ever one the hand that wields it should fear." Daenerys said, nodding, as she sat down. The conversation continued from there. Daenerys fully participated in it, interjecting what she could, trying to plant the seeds of doubt in Illyrio's mind as to which Targaryen child he should back.

In this, she was successful. Illyrio retired that evening rather wistfully wishing that he had decided to invest more time in Daenerys when he contacted the two initially. An accident could easily have been arranged for Viserys and, with some careful molding, Daenerys would've been an excellent leader. Now, he couldn't get out of it; his personal word was on the line now with Khal Drogo and the next time Drogo stopped by the city, Daenerys would have to be presented to him. It would win them the swords they needed to conquer Westeros. No single other act would bring them as much strength.

OOOOOOO

Since Jorah's arrival, Domeric had found himself being slowly pushed aside as a source of information on the Westeros. He was still called upon for his expertise on the Stormlands as well as the Reach and the Crownlands, where he had spent the majority of his time since leaving the North, but that was all. No longer did either Viserys or Illyrio call upon him for his opinion on other matters nor did they ask him for any new information about general goings on there.

He still showed up occasionally with tidbits of information but for now Domeric allowed himself to be pushed to the side. Indeed, he seemingly only stayed out of a desire to see what was going to happen firsthand, as well as the various lovely ladies on Illyrio's staff. He put some effort into that image and did not attempt to grow close to his fellow Northerner. The man had been a slaver and, despite his time in Essos, Domeric still looked upon that practice as abhorrent in the extreme.

Of course, this also allowed him more time to get to know the guards. Domeric could be regularly seen in the guard house singing songs, admittedly mostly bawdy ones for them as they bought him drinks and they shared tales of wenches they had known.

He also finished making his key to Illyrio's strong room and found out when the guard on it was weakest. None of the guards actually believed that the watch on Illyrio's strong room was needed at all since to get to the strong room one would have to get into Illyrio's house in the first place and the watch on the walls was as strict as always. So during the dark of night, two youngsters, the newest members of Illyrio's guard, a pair as yet not blooded in any kind of battle beyond training, had been forced by their fellows to take this watch.

Other aspects of their planned escape had not been going nearly as well. For one thing, Daenerys and Domeric both knew that Daenerys could no longer incite her brother into attacking her. Not only was Viserys showing more self-control lately, as if he had cottoned on to Daenerys' plans there, but Illyrio had taken the precaution of hiring several female guards, massively muscled women who looked almost like extremely strong men, to stand guard over Daenerys at all times. Any overtures in their direction were firmly rebuffed and they only answered to Illyrio. They almost reminded Domeric of stories of the Unsullied, but not quite, and they seemed immune to Daenerys' charisma.

That meant talking to her about their plans going forward had become much more difficult. They had gotten around this by creating a system of hand signals to tell one another simple information but there was only so much they could convey that way. The news elsewhere wasn't good either. None of the captains that Daenerys felt could be enticed to help them escape the city had put into port.

Checking on that was what Domeric was actually doing now. He sat in a dockside bar speaking to another bard, exchanging news. "Captain Costanzo won't put into any port ever again." the man said shaking his head, talking about one of the captains Daenerys had mentioned. "If you're waiting for him you'll wait in vain. Costanzo's ship was sunk about ten days ago. It looks as if the Ironborn are acting up again or, at least, a few of their captains are at any rate. There've been several ships that have gone missing recently, all of whom were plying the straits between Westeros and here."

"Ironborn? They are far afield then, aren't they?" Domeric asked cocking his head, remembering his time fighting those bastards when they tried to rebel. He was also trying hard not to curse, since that meant the two most likely captains to be sympathetic to Daenerys' plight would not be available, no matter how long they waited. This would force them to find one they could appeal to with only what they could steal from the magister, a chancy business at best. "Their islands are on the other side of Westeros!"

"True, but that doesn't matter to the Ironborn. They go where their ships can take them and this isn't the first time they've been able to sail straight around the Dornish Peninsula and through the Stepstones. It's the first time in a few years, true, but it isn't all that unusual. The merchants and captains here in Essos consider them more of a nuisance than anything, simply because they are unpredictable and fractious."

"And you're sure it's Ironborn, not some kind of pirate band questing out from the Stepstones?"

"Positive." Was the firm reply. "The pirates who ply the waters around Essos know they can only take so many ships every month and know what ships not to take."

"Are you telling me that piracy is also part of the game here?" Domeric scoffed. He had never even heard a hint of that before.

"Indeed." His fellow bard said, laughing. He was an older man with the slight accent of Norvos in his voice. "The cities of Essos are ruled by gold, my friend, and their money can buy many things, including the pirates keeping their hands off certain ships. And if the pirates act up, a city could buy enough mercenaries and ships of their own to go in and clear them out, as has been done before."

Domeric nodded, he knew that of course. Westeros had mounted such an expedition during the Ninepenny Kings war.

His fellow bard continued. "That's what makes the Ironborn so irritating. They don't play the game. They aren't willing to be paid in gold, mouthing on and on about their 'iron price'. Worse yet, they don't take prize ships. Pirates always do that, and they can be bought back later. No, the Ironborn always sink their victims. That kind of thing could ruin some of the smaller merchant houses, let alone the loss of the actual cargo."

"Interesting." Domeric murmured. "Tell me more."

For the next few hours, he plied his fellow bard with questions and returned with this news to his employers, which interested Viserys and Illyrio greatly. After all, if the Ironborn were getting restive, that would hopefully draw off the Westeros fleet to deal with them. If so, their own moves would be made that much simpler.

Unfortunately for Domeric and Daenerys, he had been unable to find any news that would help them. Both went to bed that day with anxiety slowly growing in them.

OOOOOOO

Littlefinger was not one to leave anything to chance. Despite this, the sudden nature of Petyr's convincing the King to send Ranma out of the city on this mission to find the Targaryen siblings had forced him to use common footpads to make certain that Ranma would never came back, rather than a single specialist as he would've preferred. These two were former sailors, able to fit in easily with the crew of the trade caravel that was carrying Ranma to Pentos.

That was part of why the two had been chosen but it was offset by their eagerness to get the job over with and the fact that they had no idea about Fenris. Used to the way Fenris was around Tommen and Myrcella as well as how Lady was all the time, Petyr had overlooked the direwolf, considering him a pampered pet. This was, to put it mildly, a false assumption.

That evening, the first evening out from port, Ranma was asleep against the railing at the back of the ship. While he had been given a cabin, for now Ranma simply wanted to enjoy the sea air for a time, clear his senses of the stink of politics mixed with the actual odor of King's Landing, which he had never gotten used to despite the amount of perfume he used. Fenris, however, was awake keeping guard and could move almost as silently as his brother Ghost despite his somewhat larger size.

The deck was empty of other observers that first evening save for a few men on watch at the front of the ship and some men up high in the rigging. None of them were near enough to make out anything occurring on the deck, however, nor were the men on watch even facing the right direction.

"A'ight." whispered one of the would-be assassins to the other, his lowborn King's Landing gutter accent thicker even than usual. He pulled out a long stiletto from a belt scabbard, which had been specially oiled. The knife, too, had been darkened so as not to reveal itself by any chance gleam of moonlight.

Despite his lack of education, there was nothing wrong with his survivor's instincts, so even as he prepared to kill the wolf heir, his thoughts were on his own health. "Let's da this quick-like, and then ahh 'tink it best dat we stay in Pentos. Assassins who gulch lardships never live long if'n they be stupid enough ta return ta tell such."

"Truly, I'll agree ta that." his companion said, his own accent far less pronounced. He frowned for a moment looking behind them. One of the hatches to the crew quarters had opened, but at night, with only a few men up on deck for the few hours of deep night, there shouldn't have been anyone coming up onto the deck. After a moment, no one appeared and he nodded. "If we're going ta do this, best we do it now." With that the two of them moved forward silently across the deck.

Halfway to their target, there was a sudden growl behind them. One of them had a moment to turn and whimpered in visceral terror as the direwolf, who they had been told was some kind of neutered pet, loomed up out of the night. Before either assassin could raise their weapons or even scream, Fenris was on them. His jaws closed on the head of one, ripping it off with a 'shluck' sound that disappeared in the background noise of the ship at sea. At the same time, his foreleg flashed out, catching the other man in the jaw and snapping his neck.

Waiting for a moment to see if the sounds of combat had carried, Fenris glared at the two men he had just killed, wondering why they had been trying to stalk his bonded human. With a shrug of his large shoulders, Fenris pushed that thought aside. And wasn't that fun, the ability to actually think was a treasure to Fenris and his siblings.

For now, Fenris ducked his head down and got to work cleaning up, whining a little at the smell. The man had voided himself right before his death, which made this even worse than it would have been.

Moving quickly to the side of the ship Fenris tossed the body overboard with a swift flick of his head. Fenris padded back to the other body but stopped just as he reached it. Two more humans, both female (despite the way they were dressed he could smell the difference) had just come up from the interior of the ship and were now staring at him.

Arianne stared at the gigantic direwolf. Standing on his four feet, he was nearly tall enough to look her in the eye and far heavier looking. "There is something decidedly unnatural about that creature." She said looking at her cousin who was gripping the hilt of her short sword, hidden under her sailor's smock. "And I'm not just talking about his size; it's his intelligence that bothers me. When I look at him, it is obvious he is looking back at me and seeing far more than an animal should."

The direwolf huffed in amusement, taking that as a compliment. And if the humans, other than his master and those bonded to his littermates, didn't realize they had all been able to understand much of human speech even before Fenris left the home place, all the better. He stared meaningfully at the human female who was pawing at one of the metal claws the humans had. So amusing that they could hide them like that or take them off at all, yet also sad that they needed such. Why, their fangs were practically nonexistent, too.

Obara stepped forward lifting her hand away from her hidden sword. "You haven't been around him every day for the past few months." she muttered out of the corner of her mouth. "Unnatural is putting it mildly." With that, she turned back to Fenris holding out her hands in token of peace. "Hello Fenris, I don't suppose we could wake up Ranma? We wish to talk to him."

Fenris looked the two females over, then shrugged his massive shoulders and turned away. He kept one eye on them while he disposed of the second assassin's body, causing both girls to start, not having noticed it before behind his bulk.

"I don't suppose you have any reassurance to give me about this?" Arianne said, waving her hand a little and moving slightly away from the large direwolf. "He's not going rabid or anything?"

Fenris spared her an irritated glance at that insult but continued his way carrying the dead body easily before tossing it over the side. The direwolf then came back to smack the man's head, which he had spat out after ripping it off (skulls were horrible eating and humans were unhygienic in the best of cases), over the side to join the body. Job done, Fenris padded over to the two women, looking at them again before moving towards Ranma. He nudged him in the side, growling lightly.

Under his familiar's gentle nudging Ranma awoke swiftly. He glanced around and towards the two newcomers cocking his head. "Obara? What are you doing here?"

While saying this Ranma what had stood up and was poised for trouble, though his stance told nothing of that. Despite interacting with them on and off since the tournament, Ranma did not trust the Sand Snakes and seeing one of them here on the ship that was to carry him on his hunt for the Targaryen siblings made him even warier of them.

Obara shrugged. "I'm here sort of as a bodyguard. Ranma Stark, be known to Princess Arianne of Dorne."

Ranma looked at the other woman, his eyes widening in surprise.

Arianne swept her covering cloak and hood back, revealing her face. Her dark hair, which Arianne had let loose from her initial disguise, cascaded down the back of her neck and down the back of her cloak, her eyes luminous in her face. The rest of her disguise, alas, was not so easy to remove nor was Arianne willing to reveal her gender entirely, not at least until Ranma took the two of them under his protection.

This crew, after all, was not beholden to her father or, indeed, to any other noble. It was simply a trade vessel, one of the more than three dozen privately owned ships that traded almost constantly between King's Landing and the various free cities. That was why it had been chosen, after all. Nothing about it would indicate that its passengers were anything special until they arrived and disembarked, at least. That meant that she wasn't about to trust the sailors as much as she would her own.

"As my cousin said, I am Princess Arianne of Dorne, heir to the lordship of Dorne." Arianne said, bowing her head slightly never letting her eyes waver from Ranma's deep ocean blue ones. He really was quite handsome, with that Stark stern sort of manner, though it was much softer in his case. It was not the softness of easy living, for if there was an inch of fat on his body anywhere she couldn't see it. No, it was the softness of kindness, which went well with what she had heard from her two cousins and seen for herself, albeit from a distance.

That also meant her task here might be easier than she had hoped. "I have a proposal for you, Ranma. Did you know that your mother, Lady Catelyn, sent us a raven asking for the two of us to meet as you and Margaery of House Tyrell have?"

"I did." Ranma nodded, but his tenseness did not go away even as he leaned back against the mast. "I also know Prince Doran declined it. I'll even say that some of his reasons, which my mother sent us in a missive after receiving his reply, made sense. The fact that Dorne and the North are so far apart and so different socially makes any such union not nearly as good in real life as it seemed to my mother on paper. But how does that tie into you being here aboard this ship?"

"Ahh, but that was without having met you." Arianne murmured, coming forward to stand close to him, undoing her cloak a little further. The sailor's clothing I'm wearing doesn't do my body enough justice for this, she lamented a little, but needs must. She had taken the time before coming up on to the deck to undo her bindings around her chest and she knew that Ranma was getting of very good glimpse down her shirt at her large breasts. "And did you really think that your mission would remain a secret for very long? I know what you are about, Ranma Stark and I want to talk to you about other… options, both for your mission and for your marriage prospects."

Ranma groaned. Not another one. I'm getting tired of women who try to use their body to try and influence me! He moved back quickly, his eyes hardening. "None of that, lady. You will not find me as easily swayed by such impulses as you might think."

He shuddered a little internally, wondering if he would've been able to muster the will to ignore stuff like this back in Nerima, if he knew what the hell was going on. Ranma thanked his lucky stars that he hadn't had to. Shampoo would've had me wrapped around her little finger and that would've been in many ways a fate worse than death. Maybe Ukyo as well, come to think of it, she was a looker too. Although, I might have realized what I was feeling for Kasumi, too… He shook that thought off and stared hard at the woman in front of him.

For moment, Arianne was nonplussed by this but then she smiled. "Very well," she said, redoing her cloak and moving forward again but keeping well enough away to make Ranma think that she wasn't about to attempt any further seductions. She, however, kept close so they could keep their voices down. Despite Fenris prowling around the three, she wasn't about to assume that they could be overheard. What you know about my country, Ranma?"

"I know that Dorne had close ties with the Targaryen Dynasty, even before your aunt, I believe it was, married into the family. I know that your family still has a somewhat unfriendly relationship with House Lannister and Baratheon. Historically, you don't get along well with The Reach, either, though that has since stopped because the lands that were formerly causing that dispute are now counted among the Stormlands. Did I miss anything?"

"Not much." Arianne shrugged, still smiling faintly. "However, you do not understand the totality. You may say the words that Dorne is a nation apart but you don't understand. We are Dorne, unbowed, unbroken, unconquered! The Targaryens could not subjugate us, we did not, like your ancestor, bend the knee to them." She went on, ignoring his sudden growl, sounding very much like his pet, who had come suddenly to stand beside him to stare at her. "The desert and the terrain is a better deterrent than any martial force. If the Targaryens couldn't conquer us, Robert Baratheon certainly couldn't."

"But neither do we have the forces to fight an offensive war against the other nations of Westeros. So there is an uneven sort of peace between us. You know of the rising power of the Lannisters. Tywin, their Lord, is not the sort to allow any nation to remain aloof from the power of the Iron Throne. Even with the help of your family, Robert's position is precarious and that of his sons, as well. The Stormlands are the weakest in terms of men and money of any realm, save the North, which means Robert's power base was small to begin with and, as King, he has left the running of that land to his brothers so he doesn't have even that to call upon as his own. If either of his sons comes to the throne, it will be their grandfather who truly rules."

"I think you overestimate the strength of the lions at court." Ranma said smirking. "My father has been doing an excellent job of pruning back their fangs, not just because of the corruption but because he saw the downside of their rise to power as well as you do. Robert might not be my favorite individual or even a good king but he is strong of body, at least, and should last another five years or so."

"I don't know about that one." Arianne murmured shaking her head. "I think he's drinking himself into an early grave. I have seen such things a few times and it happens much more quickly than most would suggest. That is neither here nor there, your influence over the young Tommen is fine but you haven't any influence over the Crown Prince and, if he comes to the throne, his grandfather will rule all seven nations behind the scenes. Do you want the man who allowed Gregor Clegane to remain a lord and knight to become that powerful?"

That struck home she could tell, and she closed quickly, now attacking Ranma's thoughts from another angle. "And you said it yourself; Robert isn't that good a king. What has he done for the kingdom since claiming the Iron Throne? No new laws, no new building projects, all he did was put down the Greyjoy Rebellion, and what good has that done the rest of Westeros? Oh, the Ironborn are no more threat but they weren't before the rebellion either, which only happened because they thought Robert was weak."

"Robert was an excellent general." She went on staring at him earnestly. "But that does not mean that he is a good king and he set a very bad precedent. Even if the Baratheons are distantly related to the former ruling line, his kingship boils down to 'might makes right'. Can you truly say that a nation built on that ideal is a safe one? Your former fiancé Margaery must've told you about her family's misgivings? Their concerns about what might happen when Robert dies. What about Stannis, will he allow a young, untried boy to take the throne or even Renly? How many will try to claim the throne?"

"Get to the point, lady." Ranma said crossing his arms and staring at the woman belligerently.

"You know Robert will have both the Targaryen siblings put to death, if not in the near future then in a few years' time, when he thinks he can get away with it. Do you want their lives on your conscience, the lives of the true heirs to the Iron Throne?"

Arianne licked suddenly dry lips, somewhat put off by the predatory look in Ranma's eyes. Whoever thought that Ranma was some kind of northern bumpkin or dunce was far off the mark, she thought. The mind behind those eyes was clear for her to see and, now that it came to it, she wasn't certain at all that she could pull this off. His completely ignoring her body and sexual nature had thrown off her stride, taking away her most potent weapons and leaving her with only her words.

Still she pressed on gamely. "If the Targaryen siblings die in Baratheon custody, Dorne will rise in war. And despite your fathers influence, the Baratheons are on the decline and Lannister gold has bought many allies. But if you find Daenerys and Viserys Targaryen and return with them to Dorne, they can be kept safe. If needed, they can make a vow before the Seven to never seek the throne but alive they can still be married into the line to the ruling line, strengthening its legitimacy.

"And also give Dorne a powerful tool against Lannister and Baratheon power." Ranma replied dryly, shaking his head. "I might be a neophyte at this politics crap, lady, but even I can see that. I will say this for your… concern for my conscience. I never had any intention of murdering the two surviving Targaryens. The only reason I would do that is if they were already showing signs of Targaryen madness and I doubt they could gather any support, even in Essos, for their return to power if that was the case."

Really, how could someone think I'd be willing to do that, no matter how much a threat they are, right after threatening Robert about giving that very order!? "No, I'll decide what I will actually do when we get to Pentos."

Though he hadn't said anything about it for months, Ranma hadn't forgotten about the real threat building in land of always winter or what weapons had been used against such in the past. He didn't know if the Targaryens still had it in them but he was willing to take the chance to see. And if that proved to be the case, and he had to anger Robert fucking Baratheon to keep one of them around in the North, well that was just tough. Still, we'll see when we get there.

Arianne looked at him, every part of her stance screaming at Ranma, begging for more information but Ranma merely waved her off, laying back down against the railing. "Now, it's late and I'd like to get some sleep in the fresh air here before tomorrow. You two can take over my cabin; sleeping with the rest of the crew would be asking for trouble. I'll tell them you're under my protection tomorrow, if you want, but for tonight, let me get back to sleep."

The Dornish women looked at one another but realized they weren't in a position of strength here and that Ranma wasn't about to tell them more than he already had. They backed away, turning to go as Fenris curled up next to his master, both of them closing their eyes once more.

OOOOOOO

Tommen sighed dejectedly. It had only been a few days but he was already missing Ranma. He hadn't realized until Ranma wasn't there how much of his time was taken up with the Stark heir, training and simply hanging around with him, being treated as a younger sibling.

But that was it really; Ranma had seen him, not Tommen the youngest Prince, Tommen the young Baratheon, or Tommen the baby of the family, just Tommen the boy. He would never tell his mother this but she tended to treat all of her children almost as extensions of herself at times, simply assuming that they liked to do the same things she did and ignoring all evidence to the contrary, while everyone else in the court was worse, even the master-at-arms and others.

Over the last few months, Ranma had instilled in Tommen a need to train, which was why he kept on getting up early despite not having their exercises to look forward to. So here Tommy was, running around the castle grounds which Ranma had started him on a few days before his departure. Then he would go through exercises with the practice sword, swinging it twenty times per each form to build up his muscles, after which he would perform calisthenics exercises designed to keep him limber.

He was halfway through those sword practices when he noticed Lord Stark walking into the exercise area, stripped down to an undershirt and padded leggings, holding his own practice sword. The older man moved up to Tommen and smiled his slight public smile at the young Prince. "As my son is no longer here to instruct you, I hoped to take over the position."

Ned looked around as if checking to see they weren't going to be overheard and leaned down. "Between you and I, Your Highness, I also need the exercise. The rich food here at court and all that sitting I've had to do going over the books has had a marked effect…" he patted his stomach suggestively.

If Caitlin had been there, she would've sighed and shaken her head with a fond smile. It was moments like this, where he let his inner warmth and good humor show, that had caused her to fall in love with Ned in the first place, despite all the issues they had faced.

The droll tone this was delivered in caused Tommen to chuckle a little and he replied in the affirmative. He soon found that Ned was a somewhat sterner teacher than Ranma and, yet, he noticed certain things that Ranma seemed to take for granted.

For instance one of the exercises, a group of movements with six strikes and two parries all made to be done while on the move, had been giving Tom fits. Eddard paused him mid-form and then gently tapped one of his feet back into another position with the end of his own practice sword. "Try again." he ordered. "Keep your front foot thusly, facing at an angle from your opponent, which you had correct, but not that far forward, while the other is ready to move or pivot at need."

With his feet now corrected, Tommen moved much more smoothly through the form. He cocked his head quizzically as he finished.

Ned smiled faintly again. "My son is a genius when it comes to anything related to combat. However, geniuses often overlook the fact that other people aren't so quick to notice little things. He neglected to correct your position on that form from what he showed you to address your shorter stature. Now, why don't you show me a few of the other forms giving you trouble and we'll go through them?"

Tommen nodded eagerly and the two of them spent the rest of the morning together in this fashion.

Later, Ned watched Tommen walk out of the training area up with a faint smile on his face. The time spent with the young boy had reminded Eddard of the time he spent with his own children up north. It had given him a pang of homesickness, though that hadn't been the real reason why he joined the young boy in exercising.

Part of the reason was indeed he wanted some exercise but the other part was the fact that Ned wanted to see if the changes Ranma had wrought in the young child had stuck. Over the past few days they seemed to have, which was a very good thing his opinion. It will make transferring the position of Crown Prince to him all the easier, he thought shaking his head. Regardless of what he discovered about their parentage, Ned was becoming more and more convinced that Tommen would become a much better candidate for the position of King than his older sibling Joffrey was turning out to be.

He sighed as he moved up the stairs of the Hand's Tower, then was almost bulled over as he finished ascending the stairs into the family area by Lady, once more decked out like a doll. "Oh, dear." Ned muttered, shaking his head. "I'd apologize for my daughter but I think that you wolves knew precisely what you're getting into in some fashion when you entered our household."

Lady huffed, seeing her escape route blocked by her bonded's patriarch and then turned leaping through the open doorway to Ranma's room, quickly turning and closing it behind her with a flash of that intelligence in the direwolves that was so startling to people who weren't used to their ways.

A second later, Sansa and Myrcella came out of Sansa's room. "Don't run away lady!" Sansa ordered, angrily looking around. "We're just having fun."

"Sometimes, daughter, one person's fun is another person's torture." Ned replied with a faint smile on his face in a dust dry tone.

Myrcella quickly dropped a curtsy to the northern Lord, although Sansa simply sighed with a nod. "I suppose. I was just trying to cheer myself and Princess Myrcella up. It worked… for a time anyway."

Both girls looked a little disconsolate. Since Sansa had made up with Ranma, the two of them had spent at least an hour a day together. It was only now, with Ranma once more gone, that Sansa realized how she had enjoyed that time.

She was still enjoying her time here in King's Landing as a whole: the Queen was magnificent, Joffrey was her Prince whatever that bitch Tyrell girl had tried, the court was lovely, the dresses were amazing, and she loved being treated like an adult. But without her oldest sibling here, there seemed to just be a bit of a spark gone out of the place. She still enjoyed it of course, since she spent most of her time around Joffrey, who, to her admiration had not been effected by it but could not help feeling melancholy sometimes.

Myrcella on the other hand had been quietly miserable since Ranma had left. Not only had Joffrey stepped up his bullying of her, though thankfully not Tommen from what she could tell, but Myrcella had come to realize that the few 'friends' she had cautiously made in the court were not really her friends but were merely hangers on. Thanks to spending time with Ranma and Sansa, she could tell the difference. And while Sansa was lovely, she was besotted with Joffrey.

In contrast, Ranma's presence had simply lit up her life. I should've gone after him harder after Margaery left, she groused to herself now, keeping her thoughts off her face with the ease of long practice. Myrcella didn't know what was behind Margaery's suddenly being recalled to High Garden but she should have taken advantage of it, regardless of her mother watching her like a hawk, for the little time that had been between that and Ranma himself leaving. She had actually developed some curves, after all, and she knew Ranma enjoyed spending time with her, so maybe…

Ned smiled faintly, reaching down to pat the girls' heads. "I think you should leave Lady alone for now and find something else to do, perhaps a walk across the gardens or something else. Call for Ser Jory or Mattimeo if you wish to go into the city and they will provide an escort for both of you along with your primary guard." He looked over to Ser Oakheart, who was leaning against the wall by Sansa's bedroom, smiling. The two men nodded at one another and, with a final pat to his daughter's head (unheeding her pout at being patted so like a child), Ned entered his room.

Alone he smiled quite a bit wider than he would have in public, shaking his head with a chuckle. Myrcella would probably be appalled to know how easy it was to see how infatuation with my son but it still was amusing. He frowned then shaking his head. Neither girl has even a hint that I might be canceling the engagement to Joffrey. If they did their reactions would be entirely at odds with one another, I'm sure.

He smiled even wider when he saw a small raven carrier roll with the mark of Winterfell on it on his bed, left there by Ser Willowtree, who Ned had assigned to watch the raven's tower and pick up any messages from Winterfell. Ned didn't trust any of the servants assigned the task of taking care of the ravens; they were all Pyrcelle's men, after all. Reaching forward Eddard picked it up, pulling out the note and smiling tenderly at the familiar flowing script of his wife

He began to read the message but was interrupted by a bellow from outside. "Ned!"

With a sigh, Eddard opened his door to see his old friend standing there, his rather pudgy now that Ned can come came to notice it, face formed into a grin. "Ned, the huntmaster has told me of a stag of six tines being sighed in the Kingswood! I already have the horses prepared!"

"And?" Ned said coldly. "What is it that you wish of me, Your Majesty?"

Robert frowned at the 'Your Majesty', and glared at his friend. The past few days had not been pleasant ones to those that were around the two men. Where before there had been an easy comradery, built on an old friendship and mutual adventures when they were young, now there was a cool distance between them. "Are you still on about that, Ned? Give over! Who cares about the Targaryen bastard and bitch?! Your son will see to the two of them one way or the other."

Lord Stark carefully did not roll his eyes. Honestly, if any of the small Council thought that his son would kill either of the two surviving Targaryens, they should have their heads examined. Oh, that was what the King had ordered, if they were a threat take them out, but there was no chance of Ranma following that order. He would probably return with both of them and hand at least one over to the Baratheons as a ward of the crown or some such. But the only way he would put either down was if they already exhibited the madness that had shown so up often in the Targaryen line to the detriment of all around them. If that was the case, Ranma would put them down like mad animals but he would take no pleasure in it and he would only do so as a last resort.

All of which Ned was fine with. He had not been lying when he said he still had nightmares about what happened in King's Landing during the rebellion, the sight of those bloody sheets covering the tiny bodies of the children, the baby not even a year old. No, some things could not be born. "I regret to inform you, Your Majesty, that I have a lot of work I need to do today, the running of this kingdom doesn't happen by itself, after all."

"Damn it Ned! Why do you care so much?! They're just dragon-fucking scum! Don't you remember what they did to us!?"

"That is the difference between us, Your Majesty." Ned replied coldly, shaking his head. "You have extended your hatred of Prince Rhaegar and Aerys to the rest of the family, I never did. I hated the King and I hated the Crown Prince, but I never allowed that to splash over to the rest of the family. Vendettas like that are pointless."

Robert flushed angrily but Ned shook his head. "I can understand your anger and I can even accept it, in part, but I will not condone such a dishonorable act as sending assassins after them. Such is not the act of an honorable king or man."

Robert growled but with an effort of will contain his anger and shook his head. "Well, that's why your son was sent, after all."

"Indeed…" Ned sighed letting go a bit of his own anger in turn.

There was no point to getting angry at Robert. He certainly wasn't going to change his ways and the worst of it had been deflected thanks to Littlefinger's suggestion. If only I could figure out if that had been done for the good of the Kingdom and of the Crown or, in some fashion, for his own good.

Despite the several months they had been hearing King's Landing, Ned was no closer to figuring out where Littlefinger or the eunuch stood in relation to the Lannisters or the Baratheons or even their loyalty to the Crown itself. He suspected that Varys, at least, was loyal to the Crown, though that didn't necessarily apply equally to the person wearing it. Stability was what the eunuch wanted, though where that would take him, Ned did not know.

He sighed again shaking his head. "I really do have work, Robert." he said, making that little overture to patching the breach that had opened between them. "I might be able to get some time off in a week or so but we're going through the books for the Reach for the next few days. Renly and I are having issues with a few of the Lords down there. I might be sending out a few tax collecting parties if what we seem to be finding the books are accurate."

"Ha!" Robert guffawed. "Well, at least I don't have to deal with those paper pushers. All right, but I'll hold you to that, mark you. By the way," he went on slightly more serious. "I noticed you were training my boy up this morning. What you think of him?"

Ned saw that line for what it was and stared into Robert's suddenly serious eyes. Inwardly though, he was amused that Robert had called Tommen his son, something he had never done for any of the children before, they were always the 'queen's brats' before Tommen began to change thanks to Ranma's tutelage. "I think we should have that discussion in a few days as well." he murmured

"Good." Robert said firmly, nodding his head. He guffawed again. "Tommy might not look it, but he's certainly beginning to act more like a Baratheon should." He clapped Ned on the shoulder and, turning quickly, descended the stairs. Ser Selmy, as always guarding the King's back, stood there for a moment bowing his head to Lord Stark before following his King, a faint but noticeable smile appearing on his face as he turned away.

OOOOOOO

Elsewhere in the Red Keep, Littlefinger soon heard of this conversation. His one spy in the Hand's Tower had begun to act as the Jane-of-all-trades in the Tower, an act of forward-thinking that proved she was a very valuable agent indeed, one he would have to be careful to keep from harm.

"Now," he murmured to himself, "should I share this information and with whom? Or should I sit on it for a time?"

After a moment's thought Littlefinger decided to sit on it for a day or two, and then he would share it with his newest…pet project. It would be interesting to see the Prince's reaction after all.

With that decided, he turned back to writing out a few notes to send his factors in Dorne, specifically those anywhere near the castle Starfall, home of House Dayne. Something was nibbling at his mind, something about Jon Snow, the bastard Stark boy, and he had decided to find out who the bastard's mother had been.

He also made time that evening, to seek out the young Prince. After all influencing just one of the Princes was silly, especially with the way the winds were blowing. Regardless of what happened to his machinations to incite open violence between the Lannisters and the Starks, he wanted to be in a position to still have the heir's ear.

OOOOOOO

Ser Jorah looked up from exercising with a few of the guards as Daenerys Stormborn came out of the mansion, holding what looked like a large, well-made knife. It wasn't the first time he had seen her but all sign of injury was gone from her face now and her sheer presence took his breath away. "Your Highness," he said moving over to her quickly, "can we help you?"

Daenerys looked up at the giant bearded man. He was easily a foot taller than Domeric and wider in the shoulders to boot. "I wish to get some exercise; I have been sitting down or laying down for too long. Multiple convalescences will do you that to you."

She smiled thinly and Jorah winced. He had heard about what had happened between Daenerys and her brother soon after he arrived. Still, looking at the girl you would have to look closely to see any marks from her two beatings and, indeed, her beauty was incredible. More than once, Jorah had to stop himself from simply staring at her face from afar. Her body too, despite now being covered in an exercise mock (probably cut down from one of her guards-women's for her use), was also showing signs of what would become a magnificent womanhood.

Jorah was eager to see that, though he had to clench his teeth when he thought about her married to the Dothraki Khal. Even if she hadn't been, he knew that he was not even in a position to woo her. Still, he could watch from afar and he agreed with the plan Illyrio had thought up, in general. The Dothraki number and the speed of their armies would be impossible to stop.

Of course, Jorah had never been a field commander and, indeed, had only fought in a few battles so his perception was quite a bit skewed. Nor did he really understand tactics as a whole, the difference between light and heavy infantry, or what heavy cavalry could do to light cavalry like the barbarians. After all, most of the Dothraki didn't believe in wearing armor other than leather Jerkins nor did they train with or use lances for battle.

He watched as Daenerys moved over and began to do some calisthenics exercises, joined by Domeric who patiently walked her through how to hold her knife and how to use it. He would wait a while before teaching her how to use a sword, letting her muscles build up before that.

Domeric didn't notice Jorah's stares but Daenerys did and decided to keep her distance from the man. While she knew that many women would have been willing to use their bodies to gain an ally in her position, Daenerys was not. She would win allies through personality, friendship, and the rightness of her cause; she would not try to woo them with her body. Such was beneath a Princess and she was a Princess of the House of Targaryen.

OOOOOOO

Margaery sighed faintly in relief as High Garden finally came into view on the horizon. Her party was still several hours away but the end of the journey was in sight, at last. And what an interminable horror this journey has been, she thought to herself. Margaery had no trouble roughing it, as it were. She had gone on many horse riding expeditions when she was a young girl, after all.

No, what she objected to was the fact that Horas Redwyne had taken nearly every opportunity to try and sing her praise, or insinuate that Ranma wasn't worth her hand. He most certainly was, in every sense of the word, and this fool wasn't. For one thing, her grandmother was a Redwyne, which meant they were far too close to wed in terms of consanguinity, at least to her anyway. For another, there was no point. Redwyne was tied to Tyrell already and would remain so. And for another, the man was an idiot, who only saw her beauty and body, rather than her mind.

No, if I marry my husband needs to see more than my tits and ass, no matter how fantastic they are. He'll need to see my mind and appreciate that view as well. She thought sardonically to herself. Such terms should never have entered her highborn head of course, addressed so crassly anyway. But in the privacy of her mind, Margaery allowed herself such language at times.

Her thoughts were also much tarter these days because she was irritated with the knowledge that she was leaving Ranma behind where Myrcella could get at him. That little girl had far too much influence over her betrothed as it was.

Margaery still thought of Ranma as her betrothed, despite hearing word that her grandmother had called off formalizing said arrangement for the present, while their 'family crisis' continued. She hoped to persuade her grandmother to end that state of affairs, because, in her opinion, Joffrey was not only not going to be the Crown Prince for very much longer, if Lord Stark had his way, but was also not exactly a catch.

Beside her, Loras laughed, shaking his head, brunette locks bouncing in a way that many a maid would envy. "Are you that eager to see home, little sister?"

"Eager to get away from Ser Horas the Halfwit." She quipped, having already made certain that the man was out of earshot. "Have I thanked you lately for how often you have come to my rescue there?"

"It is a true knight's duty to rescue a lady from any harm she might come to. Even if that harm is simply having her ear talked off by a well-meaning, yet foolish young man."

"You have been working on being better at the diplomacy thing, haven't you?" Margaery murmured wickedly, shaking his head. "Who would've thought it?"

"Well, I am of House Tyrell, we're known for our words as well as our deeds, you know." Loras said, bowing from the saddle toward her causing Margaery to laugh. She looked down the road as the sound of horses hooves reached them.

Her guards closed ranks around her, but it turned out to only be her oldest brother. "Willas!" she cried happily, kicking her heals against her horses side, urging him forward.

Willas rode forward slowly, his lame leg always paining him on horseback, worse at higher speeds, nor was he anywhere near as comfortable as his siblings in the saddle. But he was still hale and hearty, and was among the kindest men that Margaery had known, despite his somber appearance, with a dark beard and deep-set, thoughtful eyes.

He folded Margaery into his arms kissing her on the cheek lovingly. "Welcome home, sister." He murmured. "You have been away for a while and from what I've heard." Willas went on, pulling back and looking at her. "Things in King's Landing are decidedly odd."

Margaery looked up at him shrewdly, standing back as well and the two of them moved over to the rest of the party, where her younger brother reached over to grab Willas's arm affectionately. "Brother." he said simply, smiling.

All the younger siblings had a great amount of affection for their oldest brother and respect as well. Even Loras, who really only had interest in martial endeavors, respected him. Willas was educated, insightful, calm, and, above all, kind, always making time for his younger siblings, though it was well known that he had a special soft spot for Margaery. As should be the case. The Knight of Roses thought amusingly. One daughter among all of the siblings? Of course she'll be the apple of all our eyes.

"So…" Willas said in his soft tones, looking at his sister and waving away the other knights, indicating he wanted to talk to his siblings alone. As heir to House Tyrell, he was of course obeyed, even by the knight who wished to make himself seem presentable enough to earn Margaery's hand. "From your perspective sister, tell me what has been going on in that chamber pot of a city."

"That's a loaded question." Margaery said, looking at him closely. "Is this for you or are you simply prepping me for our grandmother?"

Willis laughed quietly, shaking his head. "In part I suppose, but even if I prefer to spend all my time with my hawks and dogs, and my horses of course." He patted his horse on the neck affectionately, making the magnificent roan wicker in pleasure. "I do know that I have duty to prepare myself to take over from Father. Though I do hope that time is far in the future of course."

Actually, Willas was well thought of by his grandmother, despite the fact that they sometimes disagreed on political matters and even other things at times. Olenna Redwyne was and had always been of the opinion that her son-in-law wasn't very intelligent and certainly wasn't that good of a leader but her firstborn grandson, at the very least, had the makings of one.

"Where to begin..." Margaery muttered, stroking her chin thoughtfully as the party continued. "I suppose I should begin by saying that Ranma and Lord Stark are not… quite what I expected. Yes, Lord Stark is rather a stiff-necked individual, especially when it comes to matters of honor, but he's also quite cagey. Did you know that he had asked for the Blackfish to join them in King's Landing?"

Willas's eyes narrowed. He had met Brynden Tully at one point, before the disastrous tourney in which he had maimed his leg falling under his horse after being deposited on the dirt by Prince Oberyn's lance. While not as well read as other people might be, Blackfish was able to discern things about people far more quickly than most would've liked. "Interesting. That speaks well of his planning, at least. Go on."

"I wasn't able to truly earn their confidence, though I think it was coming close with Ranma, at the very least, before I was called away. But they definitely think there is something going on, something suspicious about the former Hand's death. What that could be I don't know nor did they truly seem to be have any clear idea."

"And this Ranma fellow? What did you think of him?"

Margaery went into detail about Ranma, emphasizing his blunt manner as well as his extreme intelligence before going on to his martial skills. At that point, she handed the conversation over to Loras, who went into greater detail on that topic. Through it all, Willas asked few questions but spent most of his time simply searching his siblings' faces, frowning faintly, not worriedly, but contemplatively.

That interview was somewhat easy for Margaery. Her meeting with her grandmother later that evening did not. She sat across from Olenna on a small stool made more for a child than a young woman, while Olenna reclined in a soft stuffed chair.

Her grandmother's wrinkly face was almost hidden by the shadow of the torches set into walls behind her in Olenna's private study. "You were supposed to entwine the Crown Prince with your vines, my dear." she said, coldly. "You were not supposed to be enchanted in turn by this Stark boy."

"What makes you think I was, grandmother?" Margaery said scoffing.

"The fact that you only spent a few hours a day with Joffrey, even at the very beginning and increasingly spent as much time away from him as you could. The fact you spent so much time talking about this Ranma fool right now and that we have not heard any hint of the Queen, at the very least, pushing to change Joffrey's marriage from the Stark girl to you!"

Margaery frowned angrily. "It's true that the more time I spent with Joffrey the less I wanted to be around him but that alone should have told you something." Margaery looked to her side to stare at Septa Nysterica where she sat on a much more comfortable chair, wondering what the other woman had told Olenna.

Nysterica stared back defiantly. She had done her duty to the family that she was sworn to. It wasn't her fault that Margaery had forgotten her own duty.

"Regardless," her grandmother growled, "you put us in a dangerous position girl, seeming to join sides with the Starks against the Lannisters."

"I don't know about that one." Margaery said truthfully, shaking your head. "The Queen certainly wasn't interested in pushing for her son to wed me rather than Sansa. Oh, I think she might've been open to it at first. But she was too deeply involved in whatever is going on the Small Counsel to really spend time pushing the King away from his position on that marriage, which, I learned, is something of a dream for him, his homage to the memory of Lyanna Stark."

That caused her grandmother's eyes to narrow. "What can you tell me about that? How much influence have the Starks gained and the Lannisters lost?"

"Hasn't Loras reported anything? His friendship with Renly should at least have told him something." Margaery asked, giving her some time to think.

"Nothing beyond the normal power struggles that go on whenever a new Hand is chosen." Olenna scoffed, waving her hand. "Stark's overreaching, he doesn't have enough men in King's Landing nor the right sort to protect himself if things go to pot, and they will. Still, tell me what you can."

"I can only speak from what I have seen, grandmother." Margaery warned, before going into detail on what she had seen of the power struggle going on. She ended by saying "And while Lord Stark might not truly know friends from enemies just yet, it would not surprise me in the slightest if he had more resources on hand then his enemies know about."

Olenna nodded thoughtfully, having asked a few questions here and there, but mostly taken her granddaughter's words in silently. "Hmmf, well no one has ever said that as a general he wasn't decent, at least, but this isn't his kind of fight. Regardless, you'll be safe here."

"Safe from what?" Margaery exclaimed, angrily shaking her head, losing her normal self-control for a moment, the better to get her points across. "Who in their right mind would risk angering House Tyrell by harming me, let alone could get through the guards I had and Loras too! All you did was remove one of the most important of our House's political pieces from where I could do the most good! I was influencing Ranma, not the other way around. Yes, I didn't want to get close to Joffrey. Yes, something about him bothers me! You haven't even met that boy, grandmother. There is something wrong about him! That is as plain as I can put it! There were rumors. I know you don't want to hear about them but if they had any substance to them…" she shook her head.

"All the more reason for you to have played them both off against one another." her grandmother growled. "Besides…" she shook her head. "Like I said in my message, the brighter the candle, the faster it burns out. This Ranma Stark is heading for a burnout, as is House Stark in King's Landing. Whether that will spill over to the rest of their House I don't know, but you are well out of it now."

Margaery sighed, sagging back on her stool with a shake of her head. "I think you're wrong but I obviously can't change your opinion. I will say, however, that any physical confrontation with Ranma will end horribly for the opposing side."

"She's right." Loras nodded from where he was leaning against a nearby wall. He never came near his grandmother if he could help it, her opinion of him and his being a knight was acidic at best, but he couldn't get out of not being here at all. "You didn't see him utterly destroy the Mountain, grandmother, it was staggering. Jaime Lannisters may be the best known swordsman in the land but he is no longer the best and I don't think he's even within spitting distance."

"The Seven save me from fools!" Olenna growled. "Then the solution is simple, you young idiots." She went on, lifting up a message from one of her agents in King's Landing. Simply remove the boy and place him on something that can be destroyed easily."

"What do you mean?" Margaery asked, going cold inside. While she would have scoffed at the idea of her being madly in love with Ranma or anything of that nature, she was firm friends with him, with more very possible in the future, and any threats to him like that was not something she wanted to hear.

"Your Ranma Stark has been sent on wild dragon chase, apparently. It was a closely kept secret so obviously it only took a few days for it to be noted by practically everyone but he was sent after something in Essos. And unless he can swim hundreds of miles, I daresay that something dangerous will happen to him and the ship he's on."

Mace spoke up now, for the first time of the evening. He had been content to let Olenna talk, for the most part, but this he was more interested in. "Besides, Tywin is ready to move against the Starks. I've read reports and I think he's going to try to break up 'the pack' so to speak, kill each of them in turn. Hah, but he doesn't want to face us at the same time and has taken steps to make certain we don't move against him since he knows we could smash him in the open field! Specifically," he tapped another missive, a formal raven tube with the sigil of Casterly Rock on it, "he has opened talks between House Lannister and House Tyrell to marry you to his heir, Tyrion."

To her credit, it wasn't the thought of the Imp's well-known deformity or his japery that made Margaery blanch. No, that was caused by how good a match that was from her family's perspective. It was with a sinking stomach that she realized she was well and truly boxed in and had lost any way to help her friend.

"Ah, it's just a delaying tactic." Olenna cackled, having watched her closely. "After all, if Tywin removes the Starks, he'll no doubt 'accidentally' have something happen to Sansa; such a shame the girl got caught up in her father's machinations but…" She shook her head again. "Pity, she's a valuable piece but one too likely to turn in the hand. No, the marriage will be cancelled one way or another, regardless of Robert's feelings about it. Heh, we might be able to put a crown on your head eventually, girl!"

Margaery carefully kept her scowl off her face but silently vowed to kill Joffrey in their marriage bed if such a thing came to pass. There were some things that she would never do, even for her family.

Olenna could tell her granddaughter was unhappy about that and shook her head mentally. The girl had obviously more feelings for the Stark boy than she wanted to let on but Olenna had no doubt she would do her duty. "That is all: leave me now, both of you."

From his position by the window, where he had been looking out over the castle while still listening to everything that went on, Willas turned to watch as his two younger siblings left, then looked at his grandmother and father. "While I think you are correct in removing Margaery from King's Landing, perhaps we should think about sending Loras back."

He held up a hand calmly as Mace seem to ready to explode on him. "Regardless of what else is happening, we could use a person on the ground there and our friendship with House Baratheon through Renly is strong. We should be there to back him up, at least, and take what advantage we can if the worst comes to pass. Robert's friendship with Lord Stark is strong and there is no way to know what he will do if open combat occurs between Stark and Lannister nor how far Tywin is prepared to go to regain his House's influence in court."

Mace frowned thoughtfully and his grandmother nodded sharply. "Loras will go back in two days, and will remain there while we think about what to do with Margaery's hand."

Mace left soon after that, leaving Willas alone with his grandmother. "There is one other point I feel should be said, grandmother, one you and father both missed, even Margaery missed it. As impossible as it sounds, what if House Stark survives? What if the wolves are able to win out? They'll be in a stronger position than ever and they won't forget that you, that House Tyrell, pulled away when it seemed that they might be in danger. Their honor will compel them to never trust us again and we will have missed a massive opportunity."

His grandmother scowled at that but it was thoughtful scowl and she tapped one finger on the table, thinking hard, while Willas bowed his way out.

OOOOOOO

The village was small, with nothing to denote it from any other hundred or so small villages scattered hither and yon over the Riverlands, a true one horse town, or so it would be called in another dimension. Unfortunately for its denizens, it was also near the border between the Riverlands and the Westerlands, as well as defenseless.

This made it a perfect target for the Mummers, who had descended upon it like a horde of locusts, if locusts came to pillage and rape rather than merely eat you out of house and home. A few hardy villagers had escaped but not many. Of course that too was part of the plan, after all to bait the trap you had to make the prey aware of the bait in the first place.

OOOOOOO

"Damn it, it's like the Kingswood Brotherhood mad Aerys had to deal with! Well, I'll be damned if I let a bandit army operate so openly like this!" Robert pounded the table in front of the small council, irritated beyond all reason by the messages that had reached the Red Keep from the villages and small holdings along the border between Westerlands and Riverlands, reports that had demanded a very early meeting of the small council, including the King himself. "Where did they come from, by the Seven, they must know the mountains between Riverlands and Westerlands like the backs of their hands to move so many men around without using the main passes!"

"My father might have been slow to respond to the threat but I have no doubt that forces are already on their way to deal with these bandits if they remain on the Westerlands side of the borders. My father has short shrift with such men. Though we also must respond, especially if these bandits keep working the border like they are. What they plan to do in the long term I don't know but such men seldom think that far." Cersei frowned from her place, her face a mask of cold fury at the idea of these bandits, though in reality she knew precisely what they were.

Indeed, she had been given her marching orders to say that very thing. Cersei hated being ordered around like that but at least her father had given grudging approval for what she had been doing of late, even if he ignored her advice in that same message by acting in such a manner to redress the loss of Gregor and their continuing loss of influence.

"We'll have to squash this, true." Robert groused. "We don't want other bandits popping up with the same idea elsewhere. How many men can we pull from the garrison here in King's Landing?"

"We could pull some six-hundred easily enough." Ned said after a moment, the various nobles and knights here could easily muster that number. "That plus any forces coming out of the Riverlands and whatever Lord Lannister sends should be able to run these bandits to ground, no matter where they hide."

From his place, Littlefinger frowned, wondering if this was an overt move, a prelude for a larger, bloodier game against the wolves or if it had been made merely to draw Ranma out from the city to where he could be overwhelmed, removing his influence on Tommen before moving against the other Starks. If so, Lord Tywin missed the mark but I can use this just as well as the Lannisters can. It isn't Lord Stark that is most dangerous one here at the moment, at least to me. That would be Brynden, who is getting dangerously close to realizing how much true influence I have throughout the city. If he finds the dummy merchant houses where I've laundered the money I've taken from the loans from the Iron Bank, it will go poorly for me rather quickly.

"We should think of who to command them carefully." he murmured. "You're right that the force will be large enough to do the job but the commander will have to be someone all portions of the force can respect and who is diplomatic enough not to step on any toes. Might I suggest the Blackfish?"

Eddard very carefully did not jump on Littlefinger hard for that suggestion. Once again, he didn't know if that suggestion was just a suggestion with Petyr simply trying to look out for the best interest of the kingdom. After all, Brynden was truly an able commander, an expert scout, and leader of light infantry and cavalry. He also wondered if Petyr was beginning to feel the pressure from something Brynden was doing.

Beyond that, Eddard was resolved not to lose his ally. "I don't think so. After all, he would be seen as a representative of the Riverlands. No, we need to stamp a Royal signature on this, though I will send ten of my own men and twenty of the men from Riverrun led by Ser Desmond Grell to serve under whoever we assign to the command."

At those words, Petyr subsided, knowing he couldn't push farther without bringing more suspicion on him.

Robert grunted in acknowledgment and thought hard for a moment before nodding. "I'd love to go myself but I get the impression I won't be allowed to." He pouted outrageously. "I never get any fun." he muttered.

A polite chuckle made its way around the table but Ser Selmy spoke up seriously. "We cannot afford to lose you, Your Majesty, and no one is arrow proof. The chaos of war respects no crown."

"Then I think Ser Thoros and Ser Dondarrion should go." Robert said swiftly, as in his element here while talking about battle and commanders as he wasn't talking politics or anything else. "Thoros is a good friend, an able warrior, and known ally of the Crown, while Dondarrion is an upcoming blade of the Stormlands known to be well thought of in court. Experience on one side and diplomacy on the other. Both of them will have the King's Remit as well, and will be able to command whoever is sent by either the Riverlands or Westerlands."

The small counsel thought for a moment then all of them nodded one after the other. "I would prefer to send one of the Kingsguard but, of them all, only my brother and Ser Selmy have real command experience. The commander obviously can't be sent and my brother would, despite his positions as a Kingsguard, be seen as representative of the Westerlands." Cersei said. "If you believe Ser Thoros and Dondarrion can handle this, I won't suggest anyone else."

And neither will be missed either, she thought to herself. Cersei was still hopeful of playing a soft game but of late she had decided to put into place her own plans, just in case. With her father's missive open warfare seemed a much more certain thing.

She looked slightly past the King at her cousin, sighing internally with revulsion as she thought of one particular scheme she had thought up as a contingency. Hopefully, it won't come to that. After all, even if, as I am almost certain will be the case, Joffrey is passed over eventually and Tommen is named heir, he is still my son and Ned seems more and more certain that he is Robert's true heir. That will protect me and I can sacrifice someone else, if push comes to shove, to cover myself in Joffrey's case. Regardless, he will live as my son and I can make some sort of deal there to keep my oldest cub's head on his shoulders.

This thinking was part and parcel of the Queen's greatest fault. She loved fiercely but it was a possessive love, a controlling love and, alas, she did not realize that the tools and the people she loved might have their own plans. Nor did she realize that her own needs might not be as important as their own.

At the moment it didn't much matter and the King snorted as if the Queen's impression of fighting men or commanders was worth anything, sneering at the very idea. "In that case," Robert said getting to his feet, "I'll find Sir Thoros and the rest of you can get to organizing the expedition."

The small counsel rose as one to bow to the King as he and the Queen left, Cersei not having anything to contribute to such a discussion. That discussion didn't last long. The logistics, thanks to the city, its stores, and storehouses was easy enough and within two days, a force of six-hundred, mostly mounted light infantry and heavy cavalry in the form of knights and their retainers, marched out of the city.

OOOOOOO

The Queen frowned as she strode off, having left the King while he went in search of his drinking partner, Thoros. Though just this side of a roaring drunkard, there was no doubt he was an able commander of men, so long as he remained sober. Still, how likely that was, she didn't know. Of course, the 'bandits' are only part of the problem he'll face. I wish my father hadn't taken this step, though from his perspective, it makes sense and, if Ranma were here, it would possibly have even worked out well enough to…remove him from play.

That thought made Cersei's frown deepen slightly but she pushed that to the side. She could not allow her thoughts on Ranma Stark and how much she actually… liked the boy, despite being a Stark, to color her responses to her father's actions. Cersei knew why he had set this in motion and agreed with the need to curtail House Stark's growing influence. Still, a part of Cersei was thankful that Ranma would not be caught in this trap. She doubted that anything Ranma ran into chasing down the Targaryen siblings would be nearly as dangerous as the trap Tywin had laid out.

And it still removes a few of the King's most staunch supporters. Cersei reasoned. Both of them would certainly back Robert's chosen Hand should anything occur here in King's Landing. And it well might. I know Eddard is still looking into Jon Arryn's death and, though I have no idea how close he is to finding out how Jon died, I know Eddard is suspicious of how unlike their 'father' my children are. Ranma was actually a help there. With him taking an interest in Tommen, he's changed him enough so that my little cub seems to be a stag.

Entering the Royal suites in the holdfast, Cersei looked up as a maid, one of the ones assigned nearly full time to her daughter, came up to her. The maid's expression was a mix of the normal servant's mask, amusement, and a hint of what Cersei could only think of as commiseration. "Your Majesty, the Princess requests your presence in her room." She moved close and went on in a whisper. "Her highness has had her first bleeding this morning."

Cersei nodded, her face a mask, though she now knew where the amusement and commiseration in the maid's face came from. Cersei's thoughts however were much more serious, wondering if this would add to her current troubles, not matter at all, or aid her in some fashion.

OOOOOOO

"Our main target is no longer in the city." one man murmured to another as they were forced, as if by happenstance to share a pillar of in upscale whorehouse in the capital.

"True." said the other man thoughtfully, tapping his glass, his eyes quickly moving from place to place, making certain that none of the highly paid concubines in this brothel could overhear the two men. After all, the best way to keep his secret was for no one to know about it. And despite the fact that they were whores, that didn't mean they didn't have ears. "We missed him by at least a week."

"So, change targets to the secondary one?" The first asked lifting a mug of wine to his lips.

"Yes, I believe we should." the second said. "Tomorrow?"

"Well, the secondary and tertiary will be meeting in one of their safe houses the day after tomorrow. That will do nicely for me."

"Indeed, I on the other hand, will need to wait and watch for a time."

The two professional assassins nodded to one another. After a moment, one moved over to a sofa vacated by a whore and her client while the other sighed sadly making his way over to the matron of the place and paid his shot, shrugging his shoulders as if to say he had run out of free time.

Neither man had noticed that one of the whores had stopped in the doorway leading to the kitchenette area behind where they had been leaning against the pillar. I think Alayaya will want to hear about this.

OOOOOOO

Two days later Ned and Brynden were down at the Mountain Honey, meeting with a rather swarthy looking sailor in the backroom of the alehouse. He was a former Valeman who had migrated north and joined up with a crew out of White Harbor. He was the go-between with the captain of the ship that Lord Manderly had sent southward to provide a ready escape for Ned and his family if needed. The fact that it also had a crew of a hundred and eighty men aboard, all of whom, despite being sailors, were also men-at-arms was a bonus.

The ship's reason for remaining in port was a simple one and easy to understand. It was a chartered vessel, but the captain's current employer had yet to pay him for their last job, and the captain refused to leave on the next until they were paid.

If anyone looked into it, they would find that the lord the ship was chartered to, a middling level Vale lord, was in debt and couldn't pay for it. But the captain had no way of knowing that, going by the correspondence he regularly received from his current employer, whose pride would never allow him to say he was penniless..

Ned and Brynden were filling the man in on some failsafe plans to pass on, verbally, to the captain when they were interrupted by the tavern master knocking on the door in the signal for a serious business. In his hand, he held a note wrapped in red cloth. Both Ned and Brynden's eyes widened at that, and the man passed over to them quickly before leaving.

Ned waited several minutes before opening the note. He smiled faintly at the rather rough script. While the whore Alayaya could read and write, thanks to her mother teaching her so she could help her with the books, her writing style left much to be desired. Still, it was legible enough, nor was there a problem with the mind behind it. 'Two assassins were seen talking to one another about a target being out of the city and switching to a secondary target. Since this was only a week after Ranma left, we might assume it mean you. Be on your guard, Hand.'

The two men looked at one another, then left quickly. The sailor would wait another few hours and then exit the inn in the company of one of the barmaids.

As they passed through the public drinking area, Brynden made a specific signal, holding his pinky and forefinger with his thumb and wiggling his hand in the direction of the table where several men from Riverrun had been waiting for him to leave before following him as usual. The squad of six quickly stood up and made their way over. "There might be an assassin or possibly two looking for myself and Lord Stark." the Blackfish said quietly. "Be on your guard; we will be heading back to the Red Keep now."

"And from now on," he said looking over Lord Stark, "you're going to stay there, Ned."

"Agreed, unfortunately." Eddard replied with a grimace. This world of assassins and shady dealings was foreign to him but he was becoming adept in moving through it. I just wish I could convince myself that was a good thing.

Despite these precautions, one of the assassins had already moved into position near the Mountain Honey alehouse, high up on the roof of a nearby tanning hall. It was a little over four stories tall and allowed him a vantage point down into the road that led from the Keep down to the alehouse.

Seeing his targets come out, he sighted down his specially made crossbow, a very expensive one, whose use and his own skill with it was why he could command such high prices. Of course, his fellow assassin was almost as good with his little knife but given the fact that both of their secondary and tertiary targets tended to wear armor most of the time, the sniper believed he had a much better shot at fulfilling their task in the capital.

He frowned suddenly, noticing the six men with Riverrun colors circling around his targets. Still, they didn't have nearly enough of an angle to block him from shooting down at the two men. He closed one eye again sighting down the line of his crossbow; waiting until the tip of the bolt was pointed directly at Ned Starks face, then moved slightly forward, leading him along the road. He waited a moment as he got used to his target's pace, allowing him to correctly estimate his position. He breathed in, then out and then fired.

One of the men from Riverrun was named Ernest. He had particularly good ears and large ones; it was a point of japery for his fellow men-at-arms. They were always making fun of him for having 'the most honest ears in the country'. At this point, however, they served him well because he heard the faint twang in the air of a crossbow being fired over the general hubbub of the city. Decided to err on the side of caution, he pushed both his Lord's brother and Lord Stark down to the ground, throwing his body over them.

Even as Ernest's fellows gaped in shock at his sudden action, the crossbow bolt smashed into the paving stones after passing through where Ned Stark's head would have been. Two of the men-at-arms immediately turned and traced the quarrel's trajectory. Looking up at the tanner's rooftop, they could see a man moving away quickly. Both of them raced towards the building, one towards the front of the Hall, the other to the back in an effort to cut the man off.

"My thanks, Ernest." Brynden said, pushing himself to his feet after Ernest moved off him.

Ned, too, got to his feet, nodding in thanks to the man who had just saved his life. "What do you think the chances are that they will be able to catch that man?"

"Off of the main streets, the city is a warren. If the man knows where he's going, I doubt they'll be able to catch them." Brynden replied sadly.

"Damn." Ned said shaking his head. So, someone with a lot of money wants my son and I dead? I wonder why… Lord Stark suddenly snorted slightly, shaking his head. Spoiled for choice really, just wish there was some way to figure out which of the reasons apply. He shook his head, wondering what his son was doing just then and how long it would take a message from the Tower to get back to him. All he knew was that this was only the beginning.

OOOOOOO

Ranma ducked under a lunge from his bonded direwolf, who skittered along on the wooden deck for a moment before his claws found purchase. Fenris turned, his teeth bared as he lunged again. The two were roughhousing at the moment, Ranma not really having much of anything to do aboard the ship. Even though he had offered to help, Ranma didn't know enough about sailing so he had been turned down. Apparently, you needed a lot more knowledge then could be taught in a few days to be a help rather than a hindrance.

Ranma thought he probably could've learned enough to be of help but he wasn't about to push it. He didn't really trust the crew, not after Fenris had killed those two assassins or whatever they had been. However, he had made it known that the two girls were under his production, which had allowed the both of them to come out about their sex, much to the relief of Arianne who had been suffering quite a bit thanks to her given disguise. There was only so long she could have gone wrapping her chest the way she had to.

The thought of the Dornish Princess brought a frown to Ranma's face even as he grabbed Fenris in a headlock, then began to noogie the direwolf mercilessly until he was lifted off his feet and thrown through the air with a growl. He laughed, landing easily on his feet before he was pounced upon by Fenris and borne to the deck.

Even as he wrestled with his direwolf, Ranma's thoughts remained on the Princess. The girl had not stopped in her attempts to use her body to influence his thoughts, always asking Ranma what he was going to do with the Targaryen children, never ceasing in her daily attempts to get close to him, to flirt with him. With his protection of her and Obara, they had both gone back to wearing their normal clothing and this had allowed Arianne to use her charms. Arianne didn't seem to understand that very insistence and the way she was so open with her sexuality, drove Ranma off.

It wasn't like with Alayaya who was equally beautiful but preferred simple closeness, more of a soft sell than an overt one. Alayaya had simply been looking for a good time and, though Ranma might have imagined it, he thought she might have simply liked Ranma for himself and the sheer mystery of the Rock Hurler persona he had taken on.

It was also different from Margaery who, after getting to know Ranma, didn't make a point of her good looks, simply befriending him. She never used her body to try and get something out of him, save for a few times jokingly during chess games. Myrcella, for all her crush on him (Ranma was still of the opinion it would fade in time), would never think of using her body in such a manner.

And although Cersei had, she never acted so obviously. But like the Queen, Arianne wanted something from him and was using her body as a weapon to get it, yet far more directly and more, well, seriously than the Queen. Cersei seemed to have simply seen it as a game after their talk at the inn, knowing nothing more could come from it.

Arianne on the other hand didn't know enough about him to like him as an individual, she simply liked the fact that he was powerful and could help her ambitions and that of her family and had already done so by killing the Mountain. She made no bones about the fact that act had been the one to really get her interested in him.

Frankly, she sort of reminded him of a mix between Shampoo and Kodachi, though why he couldn't quite say. Maybe it was the mix of her sexual nature and imperious attitude when dealing with the sailors. Kodachi could be like that, he thought to himself, always sure of herself and her so-called noble family.

Ranma was suddenly forced to take his fight with Fenris a little more seriously when he found himself almost on his back with Fenris gnawing playfully at his shoulder. Fenris had long gotten used to the fact that his human was quite a bit more durable than most and that impacted what he could do during their play. So Ranma put aside his thoughts, simply enjoying his time with Fenris, the sun and the sea, and the moving waves around them. Despite missing Myrcella, Sansa, Tommen, Brynden, and his father deeply, the time away from the court was just what the doctor ordered.

Two days later, this idyllic time was interrupted by a hail from the lookout up in the crow's nest. "Sail ho!" A moment later his voice came back, now sounding almost terrified. "Ironborn! It's one of their damn longships, can't mistake that shape!"

Ranma stood up quickly, heading towards the room that had been given to him that he had turned over to the two women, though he still left his weapons there. He passed by the merchant captain and asked quizzically, "I thought the Ironborn had given over their raiding and isn't this rather far afield for them?"

"They go where the waves can take them, the black hearted bastards." The Captain grunted, looking worried, though he smiled at Fenris and Ranma for the first time on this voyage. He hadn't liked the big beast since it had boarded his ship and the northern prince also worried him in some way. But now they might just prove their worth. "I trust we can call on you to help aid us when they try to board us?"

"Sure." Ranma said with a shrug. "Though, if they come close enough, I might be able to stop them from boarding at all."

Seconds later, he was in the room where Arianne and Obara spent most of their time aboard the ship. Obara was asleep until the door banged open, causing her to jolt awake quickly, her hand going to her short sword, laid out on the bed next to her. "What?"

Arianne had been sitting at the small table, one hand using a brush on her hair as she stared at her image thoughtfully. The fact that she was wearing a white silk negligée that showed off her body to great effect was not lost on Ranma but he ignored it. I'm getting as good at that in this lifetime as I was in the last, he thought to himself amusingly. Only this time it's actually on purpose!

He quickly made his way over to the sea-chest where he had stored his gear, pulling on the greaves and chest plate of his armor. He scowled a little as he flexed his shoulders irritably. The plate armor was simply a little too cumbersome for his tastes and he debated taking it off but decided against it. Then he reached in pulling out his two katars, sliding them into the special sheaths at his lower back, before looking at his katana, before shaking his head and leaving it where it lay.

"What's going on?" Arianne asked quickly.

"Ironborn. You two should stay here unless you have a sudden hankering to become sea wives, I think they call them? Raping, slaving bastards." He said grimly shaking his head. "Never understood why Theon thought that was such an honorable occupation."

"Theon…" Arianne muttered, even as she raced over to her own sea-chest pulling on her most practical clothing, which incidentally covered her body completely, also hiding a few small holdout knives. "That would be that Greyjoy heir that was taken to Winterfell to ensure the Ironborn did not rebel again?"

"That's him." Ranma nodded. "He's a friend but he had some truly odd ideas of what was honorable and what wasn't until I sorted him out."

"And how did manage that?" Obara asked looking up from where she had just pulled on sailors pantaloons. "From what I know of the Ironborn, they have nothing but disdain for anyone else and their idea of 'paying the iron price' is a central part of their culture."

"By dangling him out a window as we talked philosophy." Ranma said, shrugging. "It worked."

Both women gaped at him for a moment then laughed as he turned away, racing back out of the room. "You might not be making much headway in influencing him but at least it's been an amusing trip." Obara muttered, shaking her head.

Arianne shrugged. A few days ago she would've said it was only a matter of time until she broke the young man's self-control down but Arianne had been thinking the past day or so that it simply wasn't going to happen. Something about the way she was going about it seemed to put Ranma off, though she couldn't figure out what. She was simply acting as a woman of Dorne would when trying to woo a man and she had never run into a man who would be unwilling to give in.

And then there was her fear of Fenris. Something about him touched off a deeply hidden fear in her; the giant wolf was simply too smart and far too large. Thankfully, Fenris didn't seem to care one way or another about her or her flirting with his master. Still, Arianne was beginning to think she might need to look out for other opportunities when they arrived in Pentos.

Outside, Ranma had quickly joined the crewmen who were being handed out weapons from the weapons locker. He grabbed up a bow and a bundle of arrows tied together by twine, noticing that none of them actually had quivers; there weren't enough arrows on board for everyone to have one. Still, he moved over and looked at the incoming Ironborn ship, stretching the bow out and getting a feel for the pull of it.

It was a hell of a lot lighter than he would've wanted. Even Edd, who was the weakest of the wolfsworn, would've turned his nose up at it and Theon would've used it for kindling rather than an actual weapon. He looked over at the captain and shook his head. "You should probably fire whoever bought you your weapons. These are pathetic."

"Most of the Essos city states frown on free traders being heavily armed. If you need protection, you pay for one of their galleons to escort you to and fro or join a merchants' guild." the older man growled. "These are the best I could get away with."

"Lovely." Ranma muttered, pulling back on the bowstring with an arrow already notched as he sighted along it at the incoming ship. He couldn't fire at the distance he wished to and, despite what Theon thought, Ranma had almost as good an eye for this as Theon and was far stronger. But the bow simply wouldn't be able to withstand the strain.

He frowned further as the Ironborn longship came into range, pulling up their sail, going to full oars. Like the Vikings back on Earth, the longships of the Ironborn were low to the water in comparison to a trade cog, slim and fast moving through the water under either oars or sail. Despite the captain's best efforts they were not going to out run them, the cog could not move under sail as quickly as the Ironborn longship could under oars, nor could it move under oars itself for any length of time.

That didn't mean the captain was going to make it easy for the reavers however. He was able to keep away from them for an hour, but then the Ironborn ship was within Ranma's range. He let fly at the lookout who was still perched up in the mainsail, his bow, despite his best effort at controlling his strength, snapping under the strain. The man gave a choked off cry and fell to the deck below, Ranma's arrow in one of his shoulders. "Damn and I was aiming for his head."

OOOOOOO

Turom Myer was an Ironborn captain of middle age, with a flowing beard and deep-set, beady eyes in a face that showed the wear of a life spent at sea. Like most Ironborn, he disdained the normal sailor's fear of drowning and wore heavy chain mail along with a large helmet. At his side, waiting for the action to begin, was a large hafted spear. His family's coat-of-arms, ten nooses on a shield of white marked by a blood red edge, was painted proudly on his ship's sails.

He was the younger brother of the head of his house, whose name was Jon. Though Turom was a better fighting man than his brother, he knew he was nowhere near as smart. Turom had long chaffed under the fact his house was a vassal to their old time foes, Harlaw. He, like his brother and their sometimes ally, Euron Greyjoy, wished to return to the days of glory, when the Ironborn took what they willed when they willed.

That was why he and his personal ship, the Undertow, were here. The trade between Essos and Westeros was rich, the women of Essos made good salt wives, and the rest of their goods were valuable as well. Plus, the Essos city states didn't seem willing to chase him so long as he stayed well away from their fat, useless cities. This would be the fourth ship he had taken since arriving in these waters and not a one of them had put up much of a fight.

He looked up in surprise as his lookout felt out of the crow's nest with a cry, landing with a splat on the deck. He laughed. "Looks like the soft Essos pussies have found someone with a spine, boys! Let's see how well he can do when we feed him a foot of steel!"

His crew roared back at him in agreement, both the men readying themselves for the initial push onto the other ship and the half working the longship's oars. Once they had a few grapnels in the other ship, the oarsmen on that side would join their fellows first, followed by the others while the two ships were tied together. Everyone would have a chance to bloody their blades and win some glory.

He laughed as more arrows fell, most of them missing, others being blocked by the shields of his men, though a few fell. All the better, the portions of the spoils would be more for those who survived and death in battle, even by arrows like this, were worthy deaths in the eyes of the Drowned God.

He continued to laugh as the first grapnels flew out, then there was a cry, one that he hadn't heard since he and the other Ironborn rose in rebellion against the Iron Throne. "Winter is Coming!" And suddenly the easy victory Turom had envisioned disappeared.

OOOOOOO

Ranma didn't wait for the Ironborn to come fully alongside, seeing the Raiders ready their grapnels he raced to the back of the ship where the Ironborn were coming from. Knocking aside a few of the grapnels as they came in Ranma then leaped across the five yards of open water to land aboard the Ironborn ship, his hands both holding one of his katars. "Winter is Coming!"

The nearest Ironborn spent a few precious seconds gaping at the man who was performing this acrobatic act, then charged him as he landed aboard their ship. Four of them died before they could even raise their swords, his katars punching through their chain mail armor with ease.

The next few were better prepared and came forward with their shields high and their swords lashing out. Soon, Ranma was in the middle of a melee on the deck of the Ironborn ship but despite his best efforts the ship was still being propelled forward by the rowers on either side of the longship and coming alongside the caravel.

Several more ropes were hurled across to tie the two boats together so that the Ironborn could pull the ships into contact, their oars on that side pulled in expertly at the same time. But before they could finish this maneuver, Fenris followed his master. With a snarl, the giant direwolf leaped across the space between the ships, slamming into the shields of the few Ironborn from the initial group ready to board the caravel that hadn't already been pulled into combat with Ranma.

When their blades struck Fenris, they found to their shock and dismay that his coat turned their blades. Ranma had spent every evening he could teaching Fenris how to armor his fur like Ranma could his skin. He had been able to learn to do it, though he couldn't do it for very long.

For this battle, it would be enough. With a howl, Fenris was in and among the humans before they could reform their shield wall, snarling and lashing out with paws that smashed aside men and jaws that could bite through mail. A few tried to move up behind him, only to find that his hind legs were just as strong as his forelegs, a kick lashing back quickly and smashing faces or bodies as he leapt around.

For his part, Ranma was simply too fast. He was nicked in a few places but that was all. While his katars couldn't match the range of the Ironborn's longswords, they allowed him to use his full range of mobility. Even in the middle of battle, a few Ironborn had first looked at the odd weapons quizzically but that quizzical state passed quickly as they saw the somewhat short, triangle shaped blades slamming point first through chain mail easily and even once finding the eye-opening of a helmet.

The men aboard the caravel had not been idle. They were shooting into the ferocious melee occurring on the Ironborn ship, aimed fire now that they could fire straight over the shields that the Ironborn put up on the sides of their ships to protect the crew somewhat while they closed. Despite none of them being trained archers, they hey killed many of the outriders of the melee before they were attacked by several Ironborn, who split off from the battle occurring around Ranma and Fenris to assault the free trader, pulling the ships into contact with one another, then throwing themselves across the gunnels with a roar. Whether that was eagerness to get into the fight or because they were running away from the two monsters in their midst was debatable.

More men poured out from the longship's hold, and soon the entire crew of Ironborn was engaged in either attacking Ranma and Fenris or attacking the crew of the caravel but Fenris had done his job even better than his master. Without the force necessary for that initial rush onto the other ship's deck, the Ironborn found themselves matched against two or even three defenders at a time and were unable to break through the defense of the caravel.

With Ranma and Fenris firmly ensconced on the longship, breaking up any attempt to create an actual wedge to drive onto the other ship, the battle was slowly going against the Ironborn. They didn't realize it at first, being too busy trying to fight off the two insane monsters in their midst, but the sailors of the trading ship could feel it, and it heartened them despite their own losses.

Turom himself tried to spear Ranma, slamming his spear forward toward what he hoped was a weak point in the creature's armor; no way could this be a human, after all. But Ranma ducked aside, one katar slashing out to cut into the shaft of the spear, slicing through it and continuing to slice into the captain's shoulder.

The man grunted in agony but his other hand quickly pulled out his short sword and he tried to stab Ranma. Ranma blocked it with his other katar even as his leg lashed out at another Ironborn, catching him and throwing him into two more. He then spun away from another spear thrust, still with one katar locked with the other man's sword.

The captain tried to head butt him but Ranma also wore a helmet and slammed his own head forward with as much strength as he could. The captain flew backwards, his neck broken and his helmet smashed from the force of the blow.

"Winter is Coming!" Ranma shouted again with Fenris now howling in support. That howl seemed to break something in the remaining Ironborn, touching a very primitive part of their brains and invoking terror. Now they were no longer trying to fight back against Ranma and Fenris. No, they were hacking at the ropes tying them to the caravel, trying to get away. Fenris and Ranma, however, were still there, still fighting, still killing.

The crew of the caravel sensing the turn of the tide finished the Ironborn on the trading ship's deck then charged over the gunnels themselves. They hacked down the Ironborn who had been trying to chop away at the ropes then began to push the reavers back.

Nevertheless, the Ironborn did not give up. They well knew what awaited them caught in the act of piracy like this and it was better to go to the Drowned God in battle then to be executed or sold into slavery in one of the Free Cities. Several of them decided to offer themselves up personally, tossing themselves over the side of their ship, sinking quickly thanks to their armor.

About twenty minutes later the battle was over. The last Ironborn fell to the deck, gutted by a particularly swarthy sailor who grinned as he went about his work.

When the last Ironborn fell, Ranma sighed, looking around at the butchered Ironborn crew. In this kind of battle, Ranma knew he'd had basically every advantage above and beyond his own skill and strength. He had better weapons, although the Ironborn's swords had given them better reach but their shields had offset that by hampered their mobility and his armor and ki techniques to strengthen it had allowed him to take far more punishment. He was more mobile in an enclosed space like the deck of the ship, which was also too small for anyone to create any kind of formation against him, and far too small to get away from him to use bows.

Worse, the Ironborn, for all their ferocity, weren't really trained as Ranma understood the term. Oh, they had learned how to use their weapons well enough. They might even have been decent against a comparable force but they didn't know how to work well as a unit together, they fought as individuals, getting in one another's way a lot of the time once they were on the defensive.

Then Fenris was added into the deal. His size, ferocity, and his immunity to their weapons had terrified the Ironborn, who would've stood undaunted against Ranma by himself.

Though his ki-enhanced toughness hadn't lasted for the entire fight. Ranma could tell he had taken a few slashes and one on his side, in particular, looked like it might leave a scar and he was favoring one of his back legs, where he had taken a blow from a maul.

Fenris shook himself, covered with blood and ichor, lips wrinkling in distaste as he licked away some blood along his mouth. He moved gingerly over to his bonded master, nudging his head against Ranma's shoulder, whining lightly. "Yeah." Ranma said, shaking his head. "It's kind of always like this after a battle."

The two of them left the cleanup to the crew of the caravel, all of whom were now staring in mixed awe and fear at the two of them. He stalked through the ship to his room, Fenris padding after him. The door was barred and only opened when he said "It's me." in a loud voice.

Obara opened the door quickly, looking at him and Fenris in shock of the amount of blood splattered over them. "You won?"

"Yeah." Ranma said shaking his head as he moved past her, ignoring Arianne even as he stripped off his armor, dropping it to the ground not noticing the rivulets of blood seeping out of his clothing and trailing from the armor where it landed. All Ranma wanted right now was a bath and to forget, for a time at least, that the last hour or so had ever happened. "We won."

OOOOOOO

Edmure stretched his shoulders as he dismounted from his horse, keeping tight hold of the reins of the stallion as it tried to jolt away from him. It had been a gift from his father and Edmure had trained it himself but the animal still had a fractious attitude, made worse by the pace they had set. He and his men had used barges as often as they could, cutting down on the time to King's Landing a lot, but he had still set a hard pace when they were on horse.

He looked up from doing that as Lord Stark and his uncle came towards them smiling in welcome. "Uncle!" Edmure said happily, moving forward to pull the older man into a hug. "It's good to see you."

Whatever problem lay between the Brynden and Hoster had never stretched to the children. That problem had begun decades ago when Brynden had refused his father making a match for him with Lady Olenna Redwyne. Now, with Olenna having earned the name Queen of Thorns, that seemed like a very good idea indeed, at least on a personal level.

Politically, it would've been a major advantage for Riverrun, which was why Hoster had made it, but Brynden had always maintained that his older brother had no right to make his marriage for him. In their youth, both men were hotheaded and words were said that could not be unsaid during that confrontation. Brynden had left Riverrun and had not spoken with his older brother since.

"Edmure." Brynden replied. "We weren't expecting you, any particular reason for this visit?"

Despite his youth and headstrong nature, Edmure had a decent idea of how the game of politics was played, so said in a loud voice. "Well my father has been sort of irritated with me lately, says I need to liven up my ideas." He scowled theatrically, which he would be remonstrated for later. After all, there was no need to be a ham about it. "So he sent me here so that Lord Stark and the King could be examples for me."

He went on in a much quieter voice. "I'm also supposed to meet with Ranma and see if we can become acquaintances. While your marriage to my sister makes you family to us, Lord Stark, a stronger bond between Riverrun and Winterfell could only be a good thing."

Ned nodded, and waved his hands towards the Hand's Tower. "Let us get some food, and we can set your men up in the barracks."

About five minutes later, Edmure sat down in the family area of the tower with his uncle and Lord Stark. "How many men did you bring with you?"

Edmure grabbed up the glass of wine in front of him, sipping at it for a moment before answering. He frowned, looking around and down at the staircase leading up into the family area, one eyebrow raised. Ned nodded and made his way over to make certain that no one could be listening from the stairwell. After that, he came back and Edmure answered quickly. "I brought another hundred men from Riverrun. My father thinks there's going to be trouble here, and sent us to aid you, however we may. I had them enter the city over the past few days with myself and the thirty men with me coming last."

"Good thinking." Brynden grinned slapping the younger man on the shoulder. With those men, they made up the men lost to the punitive expedition and many more besides. "We may need you and them here before long." The two older men exchanged a glance.

When Eddard spoke, he sounded almost reluctant to share anything but he was willing to share enough to put the younger man on his guard. The central accusation against the Queen was too terrible to share with anyone, not until it could be proven. "The corruption in King's Landing was utterly appalling." he began, shaking his head. "The kingdom is still in debt despite my best efforts this past while and we still don't know precisely how but we're leaning towards someone stealing money from the treasury when and how they could. We haven't cleared anyone of that accusation yet, up to and including the Queen."

That made Edmure blanch but Ned continued. "The Lannister influence in the town is still much too great, in my opinion, though we've done a good job thus far in trying to cut that back. However, it may well come to a physical confrontation eventually, even with the Queen not willing to take part. She is not the only Lannister here nor is she her father's representative."

Edmure looked dubious; surely influence like that would not be enough to cause open conflicts to break out in the city. Ned could understand his dubiousness but if the accusation about the children or at least about Joffrey was true, the Queen would face death for treason and desperate people often act irrationally. "Surely, the Gold Cloaks would help you, you're the Hand, you speak for the king!"

"The gold cloaks are still full of corrupt officers and other men, despite my getting rid of their commander." Ned smiled, he had managed that, at least, and Janos had gone with a ship full of new Night's Watchmen up to the wall, along with another ship full of Tyrion's cargo and the alchemists to tend to it. "We're not certain who they would answer to in a crisis, though they should respond to the King's call for aid."

"And the King himself? What does he think of all this?"

Loath as he was to speak ill of his friend, Eddard had to admit the truth. "Robert doesn't care for politics or the small counsel. It's all I can do to make him care about the kingdom being in debt at all, which has somewhat curtailed his antics, at least. He spends most of his time hunting and carousing, that's pretty much it."

Ned was no longer willing to turn a blind eye to his friend's faults, not since Robert had agreed to send Ranma away at what could be a wild dragon chase. He could now see what had become of Robert once he put the Crown on his head and did not like it. Still, he was the King and, as such, was the center of the government. The Queen's influence over him was minimal, at best, but her control of him, her ability to steer him was extremely well honed.

He said so and Edmure scowled. "I hadn't known his carousing had gotten to that point. It's no secret that he jumps from bed to bed. The Queen is both a figure of pity and japery for that but I didn't realize that he had pushed all of his duties on to you, Lord Stark."

"According to Robert, this is what the Hands does, shoveling the shit so that the King can smell the roses." Ned said dryly, causing both other men to laugh. "I doubt I'm the first Hand to say something like that, anyway."

"Regardless, we're here to help if it comes to it, though it's a wrench. I had hoped to be told to just keep going and meet up with the men heading out to fight the damn bandits raiding out from the Westerlands." Edmure said, shrugging his shoulders. "Still, if you need us here, there's no arguing with it. But what have you been up to, uncle?"

"Oh, quite a few things." Brynden replied smiling thinly. "We'll be getting you up to speed as quickly as possible, and then…"

OOOOOOO

That evening, Ned Stark smiled faintly as he leaned back, swishing the single glass of wine he allowed himself. He normally wouldn't be that abstemious but watching his old friend drinking himself into an early grave these past months had impacted his own preferences greatly. "Off on another hunt, then?"

"Soon as we're done here." Robert answered nodding his head. "That stag is still around, my huntsmen says. I'll run it to ground eventually!" He guffawed loudly. "Best fun I've had in weeks! And it'll be another month or so before we hear back from the expedition forces sent out against those bandits raiding across the borders between the Westerlands and the Riverlands so I've naught to do for a time."

"True, but that is not what we are here to talk about is it?" Eddard asked looking at his old friend smiling still faintly, not willing to point out there was indeed a lot of work the King should have been working on. They had healed the rift between them somewhat, though they remained a little more distant than previously since Ranma had been sent off. They simply didn't talk about such subjects but it remained between them unspoken. Still, Robert knew that he could trust Ned's loyalty to the Crown and to him.

The King nodded. "I'm ready to make my decision about that, yes. It's been a week and a half now and Tommen hasn't shown any sign of backsliding. Oh," Robert waved his hand airily. "He spends too much time with his books, sister, and mother still but that can be fixed over time."

He laughed, shaking his head. "He's certainly a better fit for the Crown than Joffrey is! That boy's older but he's not wiser, and…" Robert shook his head cutting the thoughts off. He hadn't seen any sign of his oldest son going back to the cruel ways he had as a child but they still remained in Robert's mind whenever he looked at the boy. "That," he said, looking up at Ned, "and the fact that he will look to you as a guide as well as to me. Joffrey looks to his mother too much."

Robert had never liked the way that his wife coddled all three of her children but at least Tommy was trying to step away from her shadow, whereas Joffrey seemed perfectly willing to lean on Lannister men for everything. Robert had also continued his ham-handed way of getting close to his youngest son and had succeeded, for the most part. They were now much closer than they had ever been before and Robert was now actually happy to call Tommen his son.

"Good." Ned nodded. "I don't wish to say anything about your oldest but by this point in his life, Joffrey should at least have some knowledge of logistics, land management, and so on, rather than how to move in court, how to dress, and how to conform himself in parties. Those are important, I suppose…" Ned said almost as if he was forcing the words out, which caused Robert to guffaw, though he agreed with the sentiment. "But he simply isn't ready to be King or even the leader really. Tommen, on the other hand, shows promise and is young enough that we can start teaching him what he needs to know in time for him to take over from you when you pass on."

"Hah!" Robert laughed. "I'm not planning to pass on anytime soon but you're right, Tommy will respond better to further learning. Joffrey is too set in his ways by this point. I'll make the official announcement in a few days' time, though I'll have to beard the lioness in her den first."

"Agreed, it would be best not to spring this on Her Majesty. Far better all-around, I think." Ned replied nodding his head, not mentioning the fact that the wine and ale his friend was even now sloshing down his throat would kill him before long unless he cut back. But Robert was also too set in his ways, something he had in common with Joffrey, though Ned wasn't going to point that out.

Moments later, the King left for the hunt once more. Ned headed up the stairs to his desk, sighing as he girded his loins once more to battle with the dreaded paperwork.

Neither man saw the servant who had been listening at the key hole. She had previously been a scullery maid in the kitchen of the tower, but had since taken up other jobs as needed, which had allowed her run of the Tower.

OOOOOOO

Numb. That was all Daenerys felt, just numb, leeched of all emotion for the moment. She had tried so hard to think of a way to get away from her older brother's mad plans and her upcoming marriage to Khal Drogo. Yet, it had all come down to this. The Khal was one week's ride away from Pentos and she was to be presented up to him upon his second day in the city. They were to be wed immediately or as soon as could be contrived, considering that the barbarians insisted on having their own ceremony out on the plains. She was out of time and no opportunity to escape that presented itself.

Over the past two weeks, Daenerys had been going out of her way to try and ingratiate herself to Illyrio, trying to show that she was a better candidate for queenship than her brother was for kingship. Unfortunately, Illyrio knew that they needed more men and that the Dothraki could be their main force, if she married the Khal. Therefore, he was unwilling to even think of changing that plan.

"I know it's a hardship," Viserys said consolingly as he lightly stroked her arm, though the smirk on his face went poorly with his tone. Of course, he had been the one to come and tell her about the Khan's upcoming arrival. "But think on this, sweet sister, you will be doing your part as best you can for our cause. With the Dothraki behind us we will sweep any open field and, with the connections we've gotten elsewhere, we will have an infantry army to take any castles we need to."

His eyes shone with fervor as he exclaimed, "With the ships we've ordered, we can have a force of barbarians in King's Landing within a month and when King's Landing falls the rest of Westeros will bow to us or face our conquering hordes!"

Daenerys shuddered a little at the light in his eyes, as well as the touch on her arm. "I'm sure you think so, Viserys. Yet, if there is one thing I've learned since studying here in Illyrio's library, it is that warfare is never so simple as those who have not experienced it believe. And there is no such thing as certainty in that kind of chaos." She said coolly trying to move away from him but his touch on her arm suddenly became a grip on her bicep.

Viserys scowled a little at her negativity but then smiled, leaning forward. "You know," he murmured looking down at her body lustily, "you don't have to go to this barbarian with no knowledge of the carnal arts. Even though your brides-head needs to stay intact, I could give you some sweet memories to hold in your heart as he ruts with you, sister."

While this comment was mostly a continuance of Viserys flirting with his sister, as he had done most of their lives following the Targaryen tradition of incest, it was also fueled by Daenerys' body. She was well on her way to what would be an astonishingly beautiful womanhood. Her breasts were more than a handful already and her hips were that of a dancer. Pale of skin, wide luminescent purple eyes, a gorgeous face with high cheekbones, small, yet pouty lips, framed by the silver colored hair that was another mark of their family.

There was not a mark or blemish on her, save for one or two scars that Viserys had given her, one above one eye, and another on her bare forearm. When he looked at them, Viserys found himself feeling proud of that. His sister might be going off to be wed to give him the force he needed to reclaim his throne but when the Khal made her bleed, she would already bear the marks he gave her.

"I think not." Daenerys said moving back again and Viserys' face went from a smirk to a scowl. His other hand made to come up and touch her breasts despite her protests causing Daenerys to flinch back.

Thankfully, at least in this instance, Illyrio's forward thinking work in Daenerys' favor. One of the massive women that guarded Daenerys stepped forward. Viserys might have put on some weight and he had been training extensively with some of the guards in swordsmanship during the mornings but he was nowhere near the weight of these women. The woman gestured him away from Daenerys, one hand dropping to her heavy, almost cleaver-like blade at her waist.

The Crown Prince of House Targaryen glared angrily at the woman but released his sister, thrusting her away from him. "In a week's time you'll wish you had such memories to bolster you, Daenerys." he said laughing coldly. "The barbarians think themselves horses in truth, they don't make love with their wives; they just mount them!" With a laugh he turned, leaving Daenerys to shiver and shake for a moment.

The door remained open after her brother flounced out and, looking through it, Daenerys saw Domeric moving past her the doorway. He nodded solemnly at her. Daenerys took a deep breath, gaining control of herself and waving off the massive woman who was looking at her sternly.

Daenerys straightened her shoulders, visibly throwing off the effect of her brother's visit and then tapped three fingers as if it was a nervous tick against her thigh before moving further into her room. Three nights, no more, and, come what may, Daenerys was going to try to escape. Without any of the captains she knew in port, she didn't have much hope of them getting away but she was still bound and determined to try.

OOOOOOO

Jon ducked, using his sword to block before bring up his free hand to grab Arya's elbow when she failed to recover quickly enough. He slipped his foot in between her own, then heaved, throwing her to the ground with ease. Before she could rise, his sword point (he was only using one at present since she had disarmed him of the other in a rather neat parry) was at her throat. "Don't over extend. You're too small and too weak to go for all that over the top crap. Economic movements, constantly moving from place to place, that is the way you need to fight. You got overconfident when you disarmed me of one of my weapons, don't make that mistake again."

A moment later, he had retrieved his blade and smirked over at her. "Again!" he said, stepping back, raising both swords in a stance that Ranma had taught him, one sword pointed forward held waist high, the other in a guard position higher up his chest.

Arya pounded the ground with her free hand but rose quickly to her knees and, moving up faster than most would've thought she could, bounded towards him. At the last instant, she ducked aside, avoiding trying to go sword to sword with Jon, her own sword, a practice blade made to be as light as Fang, flicking out at Jon's legs. Jon was forced to dodge backwards and before he could set himself, Arya was once again on him, flicking this way and that, using her mobility and smaller stature to badger him from all sides as best she could.

Jon laughed and nodded. "Yes exactly, that's it! Keep moving, don't stand still, don't try to go sword to sword with me again." But with his twin blades, Jon was able to fend her attacks off, moving her this way and that, until once again she made a mistake. One of her feet was just barely out of position to allow her to dodge if Jon went on the attack.

He did so ruthlessly, now hounding Arya in turn. She couldn't get herself set again, and after a few more parries Jon smacked Arya's blade off to one side, his other practice sword coming up to smack against her inner arm, causing her to drop her sword. A shoulder smacked into her chest, tossing Arya once more onto her rear.

"Much better." Jon laughed thrusting his twin swords into the ground before reaching down to lift Arya up easily. "Well done. If you can keep up with me for that long, you're almost as good as any of the wolfsworn." That was a bit of an overstatement, actually. It would be at least another few months before Arya could make that claim but Jon knew if she could hold out against him, she was well down that road.

While Jon knew he didn't come close to Ranma, after all, the cheater had an entire other life of experiences to call upon, Jon felt he was probably better than any of the other blades of the kingdom possibly even Jaime Kingslayer. He wished, sometimes wistfully, sometimes eagerly, for the opportunity to put that to the test at some point in the future.

Arya grinned and hugged her brother fiercely. She loved this! Now that her mother was busy with the new baby (who wouldn't be named until their father came home), there was no one to stop Arya from hanging out with Jon as much as she could, exercising and training with him and the men-at-arms he was training.

The first two 'echelons', as Jon called them, had been trained already and had moved out in small squads to train the men of the minor lords who looked personally to House Stark as well as those of House Cerwyn. Arya didn't know the totality of the numbers or why the training had been decided on, with its emphasis on endurance and working together. But she was slowly coming to the understanding that Jon, her father, and her other favorite brother, Ranma, had made plans for this kind of training long before and Jon had simply jumped on the opportunity offered by the troubles up north and possible troubles down south to implement it.

"What's next?" she asked eagerly almost bouncing in place.

"Next," Jon said sternly, "you have some lessons with Maester Luwin to get to. After that, you can come back and you and I will go on a bit of a hunting expedition." He smiled, looking at her disconsolate face. She brightened up immediately and he laughed. "Mikken has already finished the bows. Apparently working with the bones of the lizard lion was much easier than working with the armor. You and I can try ours out before I send Theon his."

Jon smirked grimly. A message had arrived a few days ago from White Harbor about how Theon had already proven his worth to the convoys going up to the Wall. The gift of a new bow made from lizard line bones would fit the archer of the wolfsworn quite well.

Arya nodded and the two of them silently moved over to put their practice swords away. Around them, sixty men who had been watching the exercise of the two Starks, moved forward to take their places, going through strength exercises. Half of them were wielding large pikes, practicing thrusting them forward as a group and moving in formation. After that, they would go on a march for the rest of the day wearing heavy weighted packs.

The others were being taught by several others on how to fire a bow. Of course, they all knew how to do this already. Most northern smallfolk hunting on the side for their food but there was a difference between using a bow for hunting and using it in battle. While hunting, you needed an archer's eye and the skill to find your target. In battle, speed was more important than specific targets. This put much more strain on the bowman's upper body, which needed to be built up.

As they were finishing up, Arya looked up at her bigger brother. "Jon," she paused and looked much more like a young girl than she normally did, her wild nature suddenly in abeyance, "do you think Father and Ranma will be all right?"

Jon finished putting his own swords away in the practice bin before he answered. "I don't know. Things are… different down south and the threats there aren't nearly as easy to see as they would be in a physical battle. All we can do is prepare the men here for whatever happens and trust that Ranma and our father will be all right. Besides" he smiled suddenly. "I don't think anything the Southerners can do to him would matter much to Ranma. It would take a giant's strength to take him on." Jon said with authority, having seen that exact thing. The memory of the broken arm Ranma had gotten in that battle against the frost giants or whatever they had been had stayed with Jon afterward, even if Ranma had healed from it.

Arya nodded and went inside, a little more somber than she had been before she asked that question but also a little happier with Jon's response.

Jon stayed outside the training area for a moment, gazing south past the walls of Winterfell, hoping that his father and brother were all right as he had said. Then Jon turned his gaze north and his eyes hardened noticeably. By this point, Dacey should have arrived in mountain clan territory and begun working her way northward, though that journey will no doubt take a while. Still, I wonder what she'll find, and what is going on down south. We've done all we can to prepare for whatever comes, but is it enough?

After a moment he shook off his maudlin thoughts and turned to go inside Winterfell, not knowing that the avalanche he had been preparing for was about to begin.

OOOOOOO

Cersei smiled slightly as Joffrey pulled her chair back for her at the breakfast table. "Thank you, my dear."

Joffrey smiled at his mother, bowing slightly from the waist in a regal manner before taking his own space, while Myrcella and Tommen waited until their older sibling was seated before sitting themselves.

The servants came forward with the meal and Tommen began to regale his mother with what he and Ned had been talking about that morning in a loud voice. "So we talked about how rivers and stuff are important for carrying goods and stuff like that, and then he quizzed me on my maths before he taught me this new exercise for my legs, they kind of hurt now, but it's a good kind of hurt you know? Where you know you've pushed your body to the limigahhh"

At that noise, Cersei looked up from her meal where she had been smiling faintly at the deluge of information coming from her youngest. Her eyes grew alarmed as she noticed her youngest clutching at his throat, making gagging noises. "Joffrey!" she ordered standing up and moving towards him, "quick, he's choking on something!"

Myrcella, however, had already moved around the table, grabbing up her younger brother, who was actually a little heavier than she was now after putting on some decent muscle. She placed her fist underneath his chest, trying to pull back and pump his stomach like she had seen done a time or two to get him to spit out whatever was bothering him. But nothing came out.

"Give him to me!" Cersei pushed her daughter away, taking her son and trying to do the same maneuver but, again, nothing came out, though he still was making gagging noises. "Send for the Maesters!" she said quickly looking around at a servant who had been looking on with a shocked expression. Knocked out of his stupor, he nodded then quickly raced off.

"Jaime!" The shout brought her brother from where he had been standing guard with Ser Oakheart outside the dining hall. Seeing what was going on, he moved forward quickly, trying to do the same thing but even with his strength, nothing came up. "It's not anything in his throat!" he reported. "He's having some kind of reaction!" Jaime put the young boy on the table then began to pound on his chest with one fist. Nothing happened, though the boy bounced lightly up from where he lay on the table.

Myrcella stumbled back in horror as her brother began to thrash where Jaime was trying to hold him still on the table. Oakheart began to thump on his chest, trying to get whatever was causing the reaction out, but nothing came up.

Pyrcelle arrived quickly, pushing aside the guards and servants, laying one hand on Tommen's throat. The boy looked over at his mother, his eyes pleading with her to help him before rolling up in their sockets, his convulsions ending with the suddenness of a guillotine.

The Grandmaester frowned grabbing up the boy's wrist. Finding no pulse, Pyrcelle's frown deepened horribly and he shook his head sadly. He opened the young boy's mouth, scowling in rising fury at the site of the bright yellow tongue that greeted him. "Poison!" he muttered shaking his head.

"Do something!" Cersei shouted tears now running down her face.

"There is… nothing I can do, your grace." the Grand Maester said, sighing faintly. "He's already gone."

"No!" Cersei shouted the word, pushing him to one side to clasp Tommen up into her arms with one arm smacking his face with her other hand, as if to wake him up from a stupor. "Tommen! Tommen, open your eyes, my little cub! My babe, can you hear me!?"

The maester looked past her at Jaime and shook his head, motioning Jaime to come forward and separate the two. Jaime did so but his sister fought him like a wildcat, trying to move forward to grasp her baby boy to her chest again. After a moment she suddenly wilted, throwing her arms around her brother and sobbing into his breastplate, as Jaime stared at the body, his face a rictus of horror and rage.

The servants milled around uncertainly, not certain what they should do as Cersei sobbed and the Princess fell to her knees in shock and horror, staring at her younger brother's body. One moment he had been alive and vibrant, talking excitedly as he always did and the next, dead!

Eventually Cersei got control of herself for the moment, pushing away from her brother. "Poison!" she growled angrily, the light of grief-stricken madness in her eyes now. "Send for Littlefinger and the eunuch!"

Then she looked over at her youngest son's body and shook her head visibly stopping herself from crying once more. "Th-Then send a runner out to find the King." That thought seemed to anger her further. The King was once again out and about, ostensibly on a hunt, but Cersei knew he had stopped in at one of the brothels in town last evening and had not returned to the Red Keep yet.

The two thus asked for arrived quickly. Only someone very good at noticing things would have seen Littlefinger's eyes widening just a little bit more than shock should have allowed for, before he pasted a look of shocked horror on his face.

"What has happened?" Varys asked quickly, looking at the little dead body and away. Unlike the others, he didn't seem to show much emotion, shock yes, but no grief. This was not the first dead child he had ever seen or the worst body, either. Indeed, part of him was thinking it more along the line of poetic justice, though of course he kept that thought off his face.

"Poison!" Cersei hissed. "Poison most foul. You know where that Sand Snake bitch lives in the city, find her now! Search her premises!"

"We have no evidence to link her to this crime, yet," Littlefinger said, trying to calm the situation.

But Cersei would not be quieted. "My son has been poisoned! I will have whoever was behind this, I will have my justice! Go!" she said now looking at her brother.

Jaime nodded, his own eyes hard and his face grim. He looked over at the master of whisperers, who sighed and gave him an address. Within minutes he and two other Lannister men were racing into the city, accompanied by one of Maester Prycelle's students.

With that done, Cersei looked down at the body still lying there on the table. "Find out what the poison was in, Pyrcelle." she said coldly. "Then, then prepare, have the servants, have them see to his body." At that, she broke down again, collapsing into a chair nearby sobbing into her hands.

At this point, Myrcella also lost control and rushed forward, burying herself into her mother's side, while Joffrey moved over to his younger brother's body and closed his wide staring eyes. Only Myrcella and Littlefinger noticed the very, very small, yet triumphant smile on Joffrey's face before it disappeared under a mask of grief.

Petyr shook his head mentally. I had not intended this when I told Joffrey about Eddard and Robert thinking of passing him over for being the Crown Prince. I had expected him to try and liven his ideas up, or to go to his mother and whine about it, further deepening the rift between the King and Queen. And maybe he did, Cersei has been especially cagey of late, unwilling to further risk her position. Still, to willingly become a kinslayer, even if he just did the planning…

The Master of Coin shook his head. There were some things even he would not be willing to do. Of course, Petyr didn't have any kin but if he did he certainly wouldn't be willing to plot their murder. The boy's viciousness is far worse than I had expected, which I will need to account for in my plans. If he cannot be controlled, my… aspirations for Sansa, if I cannot have Catelyn, will be much more difficult to prepare.

Myrcella knew none of Petyr's thoughts, she had simply seen Joffrey's small smile and suddenly had begun to wonder in gathering horror how far her older brother would go to get what he wanted.

OOOOOOO

Tyene and her bodyguard Damien still roomed in the same inn that Arianne had found for the trio of Dornish women. It was in an understated, yet very good part of the city, home to merchants who specialized in small but expensive goods, who relied on one or two very good guardsmen and anonymity. The room itself followed similar lines, with simple but well-made and comfortable furniture, a heavy oak door, and a private stair leading up to it from the inn's grounds.

At the present moment, however, Tyene was more concerned that the bed was large, fluffy, and comfortable than anything else. The evening before, she had been consoling herself with Damien's help on not being able to get close to her personal target. Her pursuit of the Blackfish had not amounted to much, the man was cagey and experienced. He was quite willing to flirt with her but kept his distance beyond that. That only made Brynden more attractive to her, easy prey was never worth the chase in her opinion.

Still, a woman had physical needs and Damien was a young man with that breed's wondering eye. He and Arianne had a brief affair when they were younger, which had been sweet and tender, something that recommended him to Tyene. It was clear however that Damien had learned since then, coupling eagerness and earnestness with actual knowledge rather than curiosity and a fast recovery time.

That explained why they were both naked when two men-at-arms in Lannister colors burst through led by Jaime Kingslayer in his white enameled armor.

"What is the meaning of this!?" Tyene shouted drawing the blanket up to her neck. Damien, on the other hand, had quickly rolled out of bed, coming up with his sword out of its scabbard from where it had been leaning against the bed table.

Jaime's blade also flashed out of its scabbard and he stood there grimly, none of his normal insouciance in his face or tone. "You two are under arrest for the poisoning of Prince Tommen Baratheon. Search their belongings." he ordered the other two men.

"What!?" Tyene exclaimed, her normal self-control gone, the accusation and the sudden intrusion impacting her harshly. "Why in the world would I try to poison… you can't…"

Before she could protest further, the two men in Lannister colors had moved forward, dumping her belongings out onto the floor from the chest. Pyrcelle's student came forward, sifting through the potions and ingredients quickly, looking for the poison his maester had described to him. He scowled angrily, picking up one particular potion, which was a green goop with black specks here and there.

He opened it quickly, bringing it to his nose and taking a single sniff before holding it at arms-length. "This is it." he said grimly. "Devil's Blood, there's no reason for anyone to have this on their person, it's a poison through and through, can't even be diluted to anything useful."

"I've never seen that before in my life!" said Tyene but cut off as the two men moved forward grimly.

"Take them." Jaime growled, his eyes hard.

At that point, Damien had had enough. He darted forward, his sword slamming into the hazily raised blade of the first man throwing him backwards before twirling away to bring around his elbow into the other man's unarmored temple, who went down like a sack of bricks.

But then Jaime was on him. Despite the fact that he wasn't close to Ranma's level, Jaime was one of the best blades in the kingdom, if not the best. Damien was marked as a good swordsman, one of the best in Dorne but in comparison to Jaime, he was barely at the journeyman level.

He blocked the first few blows desperately but could already tell that Jaime had begun a series of moves, ones Damien never seen before. A thrust, then a shoulder slash, followed by one to the other shoulder, then to Damien's surprise there was a slight opening in Jaime's defense. Too late, Damien realized it was a feint and before he could recover, Jaime had stepped backwards lightly, his weight having already been on his back foot, then the Kingslayer's sword was suddenly flicking down, avoiding Damien's clumsy attempt to block it.

Jaime's sword came down in a short economical stroke that bit deeply into Damien's unprotected thigh before Jaime pulled it out just as quickly, the blade having not bitten into the bone, just enough to make the leg useless to bear weight. Then his blade smashed Damien's sword from his suddenly nerveless grip.

The younger man screamed, going down to his knees, both his hands trying to staunch the flow of blood from the crippling injury in his thigh. He looked up and the sword thrusting quickly towards his chest was the last thing Damien saw.

Jaime kicked the dead body off his sword and looked over at the bed. Tyene's eyes had widened in horror at seeing Damien so dispatched, without care and so easily. She just lay there as the two Lannister men moved toward her.

"Clothe her first, you idiots, my sister wants her for questioning, we're not here for your pleasures." Jaime growled, cleaning his blade on the bed sheet by Tyene's feet. Under the Kingslayer's watchful eyes, the two men forced Tyene to dress, then tied her hands together before leading her out the door.

OOOOOOO

Ned and Brynden had been in the city again when the news of Tommen's death reached them. Both of them immediately gave over what they had been doing to hurry back to the Keep. In the Blackfish's case, he had been trying to figure out a way to follow the money trail his agents had found several weeks ago.

There were several of what Brynden had come to call dummy houses, merchant houses with only a few people in them, who were laundering money in some fashion, though where the money originally came from was what Brynden was interested in. If it was just a Lord who dabbled in merchant mercantilism in such a way as to be somewhat illegal, such as the sale of drugs from Essos, that was one thing. But if that gold actually came from the King's coffers, Brynden might be able to follow that link to someone who had a hand in putting the kingdom so far into debt.

He gave it over the moment the news reached him however and arrived back at the Keep about an hour after Lord Stark had arrived from his own task, surveying a few of the docks, which were, according to the books, due to be repaired but didn't actually need it yet.

Ned had immediately questioned the Sand Snake, but unfortunately, with Damien dead Tyene could produce no witness to where she had been last night. Worse was Obara's absence and Tyene's reticence on saying where she was.

The poison being found on her belongings was damning evidence, in itself, but a servant, well known to be loyal to the Royal family, had come forward, saying she had been in the Red Keep late the night before. Cersei was pushing for Tyene's execution immediately.

Her grief was palpable as Ned entered the room where the Queen sat with the body of her son several hours after first returning. The boy's body laid out on a bed in his best clothing. The servants had done their best to make him look, if not noble, then peaceful, but there was only so much they could do. The young boy's body looked unnaturally pale and all the energy and strength that had marked Tommen of late was gone as his body lay there. Ned stared for a moment, bowing his head in grief of the young boy who had died before he ever truly had a chance to live his life.

"Your Majesty." he said softly, bowing his head to her even though Cersei had not turned to see who had entered. "My deepest condolences for your loss. I know how hard it is to lose a family member, I… I cannot imagine the pain of a mother that is forced to bury her son."

"No." she said loudly looking up with her tear streaked face. "You cannot, so spare me your empty platitudes, Stark!" In her mind, Cersei was wondering if this was the start of the prophecy that she had been given by that old wise woman back in Lannisport. Will I be forced to outlive all my children? But where is the young queen that was supposed to be my downfall or the brother?

Her thoughts were all of a jumble and she was having more trouble thinking clearly than had been the case for many, many years, clouded with growing rage and a deep, bone wrenching grief.

Ned remained silent in the face of the Queen's spitting fury. He moved forward, laying his hand gently on the dead boy's face sighing sadly again. Eventually, after several silent moments of shared grief, he looked down at Cersei. "Had His Majesty shared with you the knowledge that we were planning on naming Tommen the heir over Joffrey?"

Cersei looked up, her eyes widening in shock. She had known that was coming but had thought that Tommen's age had given her time to possibly counteract it, if she found it necessary, knowing her father's concerns on Stark influence over her little cub. "No, I didn't know. When did you decide this?"

"Barely five days ago and I would've sworn that no one could have known of it." Ned said now a little colder than before as he gazed down at the dead body of a young boy who might have lived to become a fantastic king in time.

Even through her grief, Cersei was a political animal and she nodded thoughtfully. "You believe the person behind his did this more because they thought they could influence my firstborn rather than my youngest?"

"Possibly." Ned nodded. "And, though I hesitate to bring this up, even with the poison being found on her, there is not enough evidence for me to believe that Tyene had anything to do with this, since we lack even a hint of a motive. Moreover, she has been at the Hand's Tower many times when Tommen was there, and even shared food with us several times. Tyene had ample opportunity to act if she wanted to do him harm and I had not seen even a hint that she wanted to. Besides, what could she gain from such an act?"

"Perhaps something changed, or she was merely the hand carrying out someone else's order!" Cersei growled angrily. "Prove her innocence or…"

They were interrupted as the door banged open and Robert strode in, his florid face a mask of grief. Behind him, Ser Selmy bowed his head, his own faced ravaged by sadness. For once, Robert and Cersei were united and the king moved forward laying a hand on her shoulder while he stared down at the boy. The only one of his three legitimate children who Robert was starting to become proud of calling his own was now dead. "Who did this!?" he growled angrily. "Who murdered my son?"

"We've arrested the Sand Snake Tyene for the crime." Cersei reported shaking her head angrily. "Lord Stark here believes that there might have been some other person behind it but I am uncertain. The poison was found among her possessions, and we have a witness who said she was here in the holdfast late last night."

Robert growled angrily. "Of course, Dorne! They might well have taken any opportunity to strike back at us!"

"But why now?" Ned asked, trying to calm matters. "As I just finished saying to Her Majesty, Tyene had plenty of opportunity before this to attack Tommen if she so wanted. And Tyene herself says she was in bed last night with Damien Sand, one of her guardians."

"They might think they might be able to move someone in to influence Joffrey." Robert said, waving his hand. "The Princess of Dorne isn't married yet and you keep on pushing back Sansa and the brat's marriage. I agree with your reasons, at least on the surface, we do need to pull out the kingdom out of debt before we pay for an extravagant wedding. Yet, it leaves the possibility that the Princess of Dorne could marry my eldest open, despite her being older than him."

"It matters not! What matters is we have the murderer in custody and the poison found on her. Question the Snake bitch closely, find out if there were any other hands in this, then I will see her executed for the death of my son. I will have my blood for this Lord Stark, if you cannot find out who was behind this, then Tyene will die for it!" Cersei said hotly.

Robert nodded angry agreement. Seeing their united front, Ned bowed his way out leaving the two Royals to their grief. He immediately went to the keep's jails, finding Tyene there. She hadn't been ill-treated, not yet, but she was shocky and scared. Ned wished he could comfort her but the only way to get her out was to find the real killer and Tyene was no help there.

Ned questioned her over and over but with Damien dead it was her word against the servant's and the poison found in her belongings, which was damning since she could give no explanation of how it came to be there. She and Damien had been in the Hand's Tower as usual the day before, so hadn't been watching over their belongings for much of the day. Yet no one could be found to say that someone had entered their room during that time that could have planted it. Her position wasn't helped when she admitted that Obara had gone after Ranma, having overheard the mission he had been sent on. Even now, Tyene would not speak of Arianne.

That unfortunately was enough to make Robert see red and assume that Dorne, while still unwilling to do so openly, wanted to weaken his family for their Targaryen masters. It was all Ned could do to keep Robert and Cersei from declaring open war against Dorne for it, and that was a near run thing. The entire small council united to help convince the Royals, themselves acting in concert for once, that doing so with no real evidence linking House Martell and the rest of Dorne to the crime was beyond the untenable. Robert and Cersei unwillingly backed off, but it had been a near run thing..

The servant who had come forward saying he had seen Tyene in the holdfast late the night before Tommen's death checked out, unfortunately. A Lannister man, he turned his hands to anything that needed doing in the keep and was well respected by those who noticed his presence at all. He was the most non-descript man Eddard had ever met, but that wasn't a crime. His words were clear, concise, stood up to Eddard's questioning and were utterly damning for Tyene.

Two days of frantic searching went by, with both Cersei and the King now demanding Tyene's death. After those two days, Eddard could not stop them despite all his efforts and Cersei's ultimatum was born out. However, thanks to his efforts Tyene was merely to be executed, not tortured first to force her to give up any other conspirators.

Tyene's mouth was gagged and her eyes wild, wide, and disbelieving as she was lead, still fighting to get away up to the executioner's block. Waiting for her was the executioner, Ser Ilyn Payne. She scanned the crowd, looking, hoping for a sympathetic face, an act of the Seven, anything to get her out of this, wishing with all her heart that she had never agreed to come with Arianne on this 'adventure' of hers, that she had left with Obara and Arianne, that she was anywhere but here. Yet, the grip of the guard on her shoulder propelled her forward and she knew there was no escape.

Ned was there, unwillingly watching this travesty of justice knowing, even if he couldn't prove it, that the girl was innocent and deserved someone there for her. Tyene's gaze found his, trying to accuse him, but all she got in turn was a sad, sympathetic expression, and his lips moving in prayer. Next to him Brynden too was gazing at her, compassion and sadness etched on his features. Yet both were powerless now, and could only watch as Tyene was dragged to her doom.

Myrcella did not attend. She had been spending as much time as she could in the tower with Sansa, being comforted by the other girl, yet also feeling safer there than anywhere else. When she wasn't with her mother or Sansa, she would spend time with Brynden Tully or Eddard Stark. Doing nothing but simply sitting in the same room reading or knitting. After her younger brother's death, and her own, admittedly wild and unprovable supposition as to who caused it, the young princess needed that sense of security now more than ever before.

Her face still a mask of grief and rage Cersei watched as Tyene was led to the executions block. She had urged the king to simply execute the bitch, but Robert had been unwilling to overthrow convention like that, even in a case like this. So when Tyene reached the executions platform placed at the front of the prison's courtyard, he stood up from his chair on a nearby dais.

He looked over the crowd. The smallfolk and court alike had heard the news about Tommen's death over the past few days, and there were literally thousands here to see justice be done. Tommen had been a virtual unknown to the smallfolk, they were merely here to see an execution. But Tommen had been looked on with fondness by many of the nobles, including many who feared Joffrey would be a disaster for the kingdom. Now that hope was gone, and they glared hatefully at the woman they blamed for it.

"Tyene Sand, you have been found guilty of treason for the death of Prince Tommen Baratheon, for which you are to be executed today. As per ancient custom, you are allowed to say your final words before us, your executioner and the Seven above." Robert intoned the formal words, glaring at the woman hatefully before nodding at one of the guards who removed her gag. "Say your piece now, or go into the ever dark silent."

Tyene glared back at him fearfully for a moment before looking around at the crowd. The uncaring masses stared back, wanting the show to move forward, while others were hoping for a bit more drama for their entertainment. Only Eddard, Brynden, Edmure and the men-at-arms around them showed sadness.

Something about Eddard's face made Tyene's back stiffen. She spoke then, her voice cracking with fear of what was about to happen, yet her words came out with as much force as she could give them. "Before the Seven and the people of this city, though I know it will not matter, I declare my innocence. I did not kill the prince, nor do I have any clue who did. You kill an innocent today oh great king, though you and your queen I don't doubt have practice enough."

She spat on the ground, her eyes moving across the crowd. "Yet innocent blood will be paid for, mark my words! You will rue this day's work Robert Baratheon, you and all with you."

"So be it." Robert growled, ignoring the murmuring of the crowd, many within having been moved by either the girl's vitriol or her actual words. He nodded at the executioner, then sat back down. Moments later he watched, his face hard as the executioner went about his business.

On the Queen's other side, Joffrey sat. Joffrey's face seemed blank, yet, if you knew that boy well enough, you might have seen a tiny bit of a smile in his eyes, as the sword came down on Tyene's neck.

OOOOOOO

It was that time of night where even a city like Pentos had gone to sleep when Daenerys stealthily got up from her bed, though, despite how quiet she was, the one guard that watched her during the night still noticed the movement. She came forward from the doorway looking at her charge, quizzically cocking her head to one side. "Toilet." Daenerys muttered quickly.

The guard nodded and waved her through the doorway, following quickly. As she entered the bidet, which was situated at the far end of the hallway, Daenerys slipped, falling backwards. Her guard quickly caught her, then gasped as Daenerys whipped out her small dagger and plunged it backwards, catching the woman right underneath her armor and into her guts. Before she could think about it, before the woman could scream, Daenerys had pulled her knife back out and slashed the woman's throat open.

As the woman collapsed on her, Daenerys looked down at the blood on her hands and forearm in shock. At that point Domeric came out of the bathroom quickly, catching the body by the shoulders and dragging her in before doing the same to Daenerys. He stared down at her with something approaching admiration mixed with shock. "I thought the plan was for me to deal with her?"

"You…" Daenerys stammered. "Y-you couldn't have done it quietly or quickly. Better I do it." Her hands began to shake in reaction and Domeric carefully reached forward, taking the small yet exceedingly sharp knife out of her hand before dragging the younger girl over to the washbasin to wash off the blood. The first kill was always traumatic, no matter how well trained a person was, and Daenerys, despite having trained to get back into shape, had never been trained to kill. Indeed, despite how rough her life might have been the past few years, this might have been the first time she had seen death up close.

After a moment Domeric spoke, both to get her mind off what she had just done and get them moving. "Do we still stick to the plan, raiding Illyrio's treasure room for things to sell off? Or do we just try to run for it?"

"How are you going to distract the guards at the gates?" Daenerys asked, trying desperately to move on.

"I'm not. There's a guard on the eastern wall who's a drunkard. He almost always drinks while on watch and I gave him some extremely potent spirits earlier this evening before his shift. He should be out like a light by now and I have a good stout rope we can use to get over the wall."

"Good thinking." Daenerys said, regaining control of herself. Her hands were still shaking a bit but she took her now clean knife from Domeric and then motioned to the doorway. "Lead on."

Domeric nodded and the two of them moved through the darkened household, lit only by a few guttering torches here and there in wall sconces. However, the area right in front of Illyrio's treasure room was well lit by three such torches and guarded by the two young, untried armsmen that Domeric had known would be here. He waved Daenerys back into cover, then steeled himself, slowly drawing out his sword from its scabbard as silently as he could.

The two untried guards hadn't heard anything, their lack of alertness showing their inexperience and the general belief that guarding the strong room was unnecessary. They were engaged in a discussion about a barmaid that one of them had flirted with when Domeric charged around the corners straight towards him. Before either could raise an alarm or their weapons, he was on them, sending one to the floor with an overhand strike that opened him up from shoulder to crotch before whipping his sword around to take the other across the throat.

The man on the floor tried to gasp through the agony of the blow across his chest, his studded leather armor having taken some of it, but before he could do more than take that breath, Domeric's sword once again flashed, cutting into the man's neck from the side.

Domeric sighed sadly, shaking his head. Neither man could have been older than seventeen or so, not even old enough to shave regularly, and had deserved a better death than being cut down like this. Still, now was not the time for such thoughts.

Behind him, Daenerys came forward, touching his shoulder briefly, understanding what the man thought in a way that she would not have been able to as little as an hour ago. The Targaryen Princess knew that she would have nightmares about her murdering her bodyguard. Yet, it's better to have nightmares in my head than to be living one, she thought grimly, then moved towards the doorway.

Domeric reached inside one of his pockets and pulled out the key, putting it into the keyhole quietly. He knew noises at night tended to carry further than you would think. The deaths of the two guards had made some noise, as well, so now they needed to hurry.

The door opened soundlessly and they moved forward, with Domeric taking up the torch from outside.

Inside was a very organized little area, about sixteen feet squared. The walls were lined with several different sized shelves and a small table set in the direct center of the room. There were some bags of gold coins here and there but the majority of things on display were small figurines of gold, silver, and other precious metals; a few bags of gems; and, in pride of place on the table three large, multicolored gems bigger than Domeric's fists pressed together.

They were each laid out on a pillow of purple silk, each gem a different base color with hints of others. One was black with hints of scarlet in ripples and swirls here and there. The middle one was a deep green with sprinkled bronze flecks catching the light of the torches set into the wall outside the strong room. The third was a stunning pale cream color, streaked with striations of gold.

Domeric gasped at the sight of them, wondering what kind of gems they were but Daenerys' breath had caught in her throat and she looked almost faint. "Dragon eggs!" she exclaimed, forgetting to whisper at present.

"Are you sure, they look just like gigantic jewels to me?" Domeric asked, motioning her to lower her voice.

"I am positive. Viserys used to read me stories about what they looked like when we were younger." she replied, now moving forward, one hand gently stroking the cream colored egg. It felt slightly warm to the touch and she gasped in delight. "Domeric, we must take them!"

At the utter certainty in the young girl's voice, Domeric's eyebrows rose in surprise but he still jumped to obey her, quickly opening up the large sack at his side. Reverently, Daenerys put all three of the dragon eggs in it. This didn't leave a lot of room for anything else but she still piled a few in. After only a few moments, they were done and she nodded at him. "Let's get out of here."

As they raced out of the room, someone raised an alarm elsewhere in the compound. Evidently, the body of Daenerys' guards-woman had been discovered in the bidet and now the guards were being roused to the danger already within the mansion grounds.

"Make for the eastern wall." Domeric said, looking around.

Daenerys paused, shaking her head. "Give me the pouch." she ordered. "If we're forced to fight, you'll need both your hands, you can't be weighed down." Domeric didn't try to argue, pulling it off his shoulder and passing it over to her.

They didn't get out of the compound and out onto the grounds before they were surrounded by guards. Illyrio was not among them, being a deep sleeper it would take an hour at the very least before he could be roused. But Jorah and Viserys were there. Viserys had his slim sword in hand and he scowled angrily at seeing his sister and the bard who he had come to despise. Without him there, Daenerys would simply have been a meek, though intelligent bookworm, but with Domeric's aid, she had begun to show a spine that ran entirely counter to what he wanted. "And what are you up to it this late at night, sweet sister? Trying to run are we? Still trying to defy your fate?"

"My fate is my own!" Daenerys shouted, a sudden rush of anger putting aside the lingering remorse she had felt for killing her guards-woman and her panic. "I will make it with my own two hands, brother, and I will not let you decide my fate for me. Your mad dream of using the Dothraki horsemen to carve your path to our former thrown is a fantasy and I will have no part of it!"

"My lady." said Jorah softly from where he stood next to Viserys, glaring angrily at his countryman who was part of this farce even as he tried to reason with the princess. "You need that force if you are to even try to take back your throne. I realize it might be abhorrent to you but marriage to Khal Drogo is the only way you will be able to get those forces."

"Never." Daenerys said drawing her knife and holding it along her forearm as she had been taught. "I will never marry him. Besides!" she said, laughing suddenly and reaching into the pouch that she had along her side at present. She pulled out one of the dragon eggs. If these hatch they can give us all the strength we need!"

Viserys gasped in shock and then his eyes widened in fury. He could put two and two together. The two would-be escapees were coming from Illyrio's treasure room. He must have been hiding these. "Give them to me sister. I am the heir to our dynasty, I will figure out how to hatch them."

Daenerys put the egg back in her pouch and stood back to back with Domeric who had been silent throughout this exchange, ready and waiting as he faced the majority of the guards that had come up from behind them. "If you want them, brother, come and take them."

A fierce light had been kindled in Daenerys' eyes, gone was her shaking from her first kill earlier and in its place was a fierce desire. A desire to be away from her brother and his control, a desire to be away from Illyrio's cunning schemes, and the Bears desiring looks. As she had shouted a moment ago, she would forge her own fate and ride the wind as a dragon rider.

Jorah still looked like he wanted to try and talk her out of it but Viserys waved his sword angrily. "Take them. Kill the Bard but my sister must not be harmed."

Domeric bounded forward suddenly, cutting down a guard before he could raise his own weapon. "This way!" he shouted pushing another guard out of the way when their blades locked before kicking him between the legs and racing after Daenerys. Hampered by their large shields, the guards couldn't run as fast as they could. Their progress stalled further when Daenerys raced through a doorway at the far end and locked it behind them.

They ran down a corridor towards the kitchen, with Daenerys knocking the torches to the floor as she passed. The kitchen was dark this time of night. The cook would arrive in a few hours to begin breakfast but until then there was no one here.

"Keep going!" Domeric ordered. "I'll hold them off here; they can only come at me one at a time."

Daenerys shook his head, looking around. "No not yet, we need a distraction. Something to pull the guards off chasing us and block them from chasing us directly."

She rapidly moved over to a few of the cabinets, having been in here a time or two before Viserys assaulted her to ask for snacks. Quickly, she pulled out the cooking oil, smashing the jar of it onto the ground in front of the doorway leading into the kitchen from the rest of the household. Several other bottles followed, spread out everywhere, and she also took two bottles of different liquors. Then she raced back to the entrance to the hallway, throwing more bottles at the torches she had knocked to the floor. They were already beginning to sputter, but when one of the bottles crashed down close enough to one it burst up in a flare of fire.

"Give me the candle." Domeric passed it over without a word. "GO!" she ordered. "Try to clear us a way towards your escape route."

Domeric stared at her, then nodded abruptly and tore out of the doorway out onto the grounds. She waited for him to get well ahead of her and then tossed the candle into the oil at the foot of the open entranceway. The oil immediately caught fire, springing up and around, filling the doorway with fire and smoke, joining the fires already flaring up out in the hallway. It also quickly spread back into the kitchen, moving faster than she had expected, consuming the puddles of oils and expensive liquors that she had created moments ago.

With that done, she turned to race away but Viserys, trusting in the Targaryen bloodlines immunity to fire, had come ahead of the guards. Just as she turned away, he burst through the doorway, coming out with only his clothing on fire.

Viserys tackled Daenerys slamming her into the wall where she grunted in pain, her breath pushed out of her by the impact. "Oh, no you don't, sweet sister!" he said, his voice deep and angry. He pulled back a hand to slap her but Daenerys kicked out, catching him in one of his legs and forcing him backwards a little. He scowled angrily, trying to grab her throat with his hand but Daenerys brought up her knife, cutting deeply into his arm. He screamed, reeling backwards in agony as he looked at her in startled amazement. She had never tried to fight back before, never, and now she had done it twice!

"I am a Targaryen too, brother!" she shouted angrily into his face.

That enraged Viserys further and his sword flashed out smashing her knife out of her hand leaving her hand numb and shaking from the impact. He stalked forward, his sword flicking out, catching her lightly in the side, causing blood to flow down her side and actually into the sack she wore at her side. Viserys pressed Daenerys back against a cabinet where the fire had now spread up the wooden furniture, burning merrily. Daenerys' clothing caught on fire, as did the carrier she had been using.

"You will know your place!" Viserys roared but then doubled over in agony as Daenerys brought up her knee into his privates, her hand flashing out to smash into his face forcing him away. She scrambled on the floor for her knife, coming up with it as he charged forward again, stabbing it desperately at one of his legs. She only nicked him but he screamed, jerking away and taking her knife with him, caught in his leather pants.

Daenerys gasped as she noticed that the sack was on fire and falling apart, the items inside now pouring out as it came undone. She looked at her brother, once more making his wary way towards her. With a sudden sob, she reached down, grabbing up two of the eggs, the greenish one and the creamy one. With the two eggs in hand she turned away with a sob, racing out the door out into the mansion's grounds.

Behind her Viserys scowled at his sisters escape, but looking down at the black egg he stopped his chase. Sheathing his blade, he reached down to pick it up with his good arm, then began to laugh wildly.

Racing outside, she found Domeric by the wall, waiting anxiously for her. At his feet was a dead guardsmen, and another's body was halfway in a bush nearby. One of his arms was hanging limp by his side and he seemed to be bleeding from that arm. Despite this, he still looked at her in shock as Daenerys ran up to him, her clothing almost burned away entirely and now just carrying two of the dragon eggs in her arms. "Princess, are you alright?! What happened?"

"No time!" She exclaimed, while behind her the fire in the kitchen spread along the wooden floorboards and wall panels. "While they are all dealing with the fire, we must get away!"

He looked down in shock at the two now visibly pulsing eggs that Daenerys held in her hands. "Show me this rope of yours and let us be off!"

Before they could attempt to climb the rope, which they might not have been able to do in any event, given Domeric's wounded arm and Daenerys holding the two eggs, seven more of Illyrio's men-at-arms came upon them. The commander had broken up his command, leaving four men on the gate and sending seven on a walk around of the mansion. The rest raced to create a bucket chain to help put out the fire, which was now almost out of control in the first floor of the mansion.

The men on patrol came upon the two escapees and quickly circled them but were unsure what to do since, the last they knew Daenerys, at least, was an honored guest and ally of their employer. Domeric they weren't as clear on. Even if they knew him well enough and were friendly with him, his status in the household had been ambivalent, at best. Still, they were ready with weapons out and had pinned the two against the wall, surrounding them in a half circle.

Just as Daenerys and Domeric were beginning to despair, there was a flash of movement above them in the night sky.

Ranma had arrived that very evening in the city. After waiting as the captain went about his business, Ranma had slipped off, had immediately hidden under the Umi-Sen-Ken as he and Fenris, with some help From Ranma, took to the rooftops. Fenris couldn't perform the Umi-Sen-Ken but he could move silently even over the rooftops and had refused to stay behind, going so far as grabbing Ranma's arm in his teeth when he tried to leave.

Despite needing to help Fenris up onto the rooftops initially (the direwolf couldn't quite jump high enough to make the jump himself), Ranma hadn't argued. He wanted to finish this job quickly and get back to King's Landing. Being away from his family like this was giving him an uneasy feeling. With Fenris watching from the rooftops, Ranma soon found people willing to give him directions to Illyrio's mansion. The name of the magister backing the Targaryen siblings had been among the information Varys passed on, though that was nearly all the information he had save the plan for Daenerys and the Dothraki.

When he finally caught sight of the mansion, Illyrio's home was on fire. Figuring this would only make his job simpler, he continued on. He arrived on a nearby rooftop overlooking the mansion's wall just as several guards ran two fleeing individuals to earth, pinning them against the inner side of the wall so they could not escape.

By the light of the fire Ranma could see that one of them was a woman whose hair was silver-blond. The other's face looked somewhat familiar in the fire light. It took a moment for Ranma to recognize it but when he did he shook his head. "What are the odds?" he said to himself. "Still, if Domeric is here and helping that one, who I guess would be Daenerys, that's a mark in her favor at least. One is better than none, though I wonder what they are carrying there, pretty large for gems." With that, he jumped forward, easily clearing the wall to land among their attackers.

The guards looked up in shock as someone (they couldn't make out much of his features in the fire light) seemingly jumped from beyond the mansion's wall to land in their midst. A hand flashed out, on the end of which was some odd looking large triangular shaped knife or something. The blade slammed into the ring mail protected chest of one of the guards, bursting through the armor and into the man's chest killing him instantly. A kick sent another guard flying backwards through the air to land in a broken heap several yards away.

The guards turned and charged this madman that had appeared in their midst. At that point Domeric quickly grabbed up his blade, slicing one of the men in the back as the guard rather stupidly turned away from the bard. After that however, his contribution to the skirmish was over.

Instead, Domeric gaped in astonishment at their savior who could be no other than Ranma Stark. Even years later, Domeric could recognize those features and those bright blue eyes, lit as his face was by the light of the fire from the house. Ranma Stark? He barked a laugh, shaking his head incredulously. "The old gods move in mysterious ways."

Within seconds, the men were down and their savior turned to them. "Daenerys Stormborn, I presume?"

Daenerys looked at him in shock for a moment, then reflexively caught the shirt that had just been tossed to her with only two fingers of one hand, trying desperately to hold it and the two eggs. She very briefly handed one of the swiftly warming and now actually rippling eggs to Domeric, as she pulled on the shirt one arm at a time. "You have me at a distinct disadvantage, Ser. Who are you, and where did you come from?"

"He is Ranma Stark." Domeric said looking at Ranma, his eyes still wide even as he held the moving rock that he had previously thought was some kind of gem. He looked down it in shock as he felt something inside the egg move. He was more than happy to hand it back to Daenerys when she finished pulling on Ranma's shirt. "I can never forget that face, though why he is here, I don't know."

Across from them, Ranma laughed quietly to himself. Here she's standing there with her clothing in burnt tatters, using those dragon eggs, if that's what they are, to cover her modesty, battered, wounded, and probably exhausted, and yet, she's still poised and in control. What a woman! My father was wrong; this is no girl but a woman in truth.

Ranma reached forward and taking the egg from Domeric before Domeric could pass it over to Daenerys, smiling slightly as he felt the heat coming from it and realized they were not just fossilized eggs after all. Daenerys glared, but stilled as Ranma turned to her, tugging at the hem of the large shirt she now wore unconsciously for some reason. "Right now, I think we need to get out of here. Unless you can tell me that no one else is going to be chasing after you?"

Daenerys nodded with a jerk of her head, looking over Ranma's shoulder worriedly at the fire that had spread throughout the large mansion's first story. Most of the guards would be busy trying to contain the fire but the fire had already attracted a lot of attention from the rest of the city and guardsmen from the other mansions nearby and even the city watch would be hurrying towards it to aid in putting out the fire.

There was nothing organized about it; it was pure self-interest at its finest. After all, a fire that got out of control of the city wouldn't care who burned to death, rich or poor, and the damage to houses and merchandise would be even worse.

Still, she wasn't about to go unquestioningly with Ranma, no matter how he had arrived on the scene to rescue them just in the nick of time. "How do you suppose we do that?"

"I have a ship waiting for me in the harbor. The captain's been paid to take me both ways."

Domeric shook his head, looking around worriedly. Thankfully, the eastern section of the mansion's grounds was at the back of the mansion, away from the well, but they were still too close to the mansion for his liking. "We'll never get to the port. I don't doubt that the magister will have already sent a runner to close it against us."

"Then it will go badly for anyone who tries to stop us." Ranma said still looking down at the dragon egg he held. He smiled grimly as he handed it over to the Targaryen princess.

It would appear as if this foolish mission the King sent me on has a major upside, though not for him. That thought nearly came out as a snarl in his head. No, the dragons and their Princess will be much more useful on the Wall then holed up somewhere in King's Landing at Robert's pleasure. And that, of course, supposes that Robert would be able to stop himself from killing her or them on sight, something I'm not exactly sure of.

"You haven't told me why you're here yet Ranma Stark, nor why you are willing to help me." Daenerys said backing away now that she had both of her dragon eggs in her hands. A pang went through her again at having to leave the third behind but she couldn't have taken all three, she only had two hands after all. Even so, it had been hard leaving it behind in her brother's hands and she knew trouble would come of it.

Next to her Domeric nodded along with her words, though he trusted Ranma somewhat. They hadn't exactly been friends but Domeric trusted Ranma to do what he thought was right, and Domeric still retained his loyalty to house Stark and to Ranma personally for his rescue all those years ago. And if he wanted us dead, he would already have attacked.

Ranma smiled approvingly at Daenerys. "Good to know you still have your head on your shoulders even during a crisis like this." Before she could say anything to that, Daenerys found herself lifted into his arms, eggs and all. "Unfortunately, explanations can take a while so unless you want to wait until your pursuers arrive to hear it…"

The Targaryen Princess ignored that. She was busy trying to figure out how to slap him for his insolence in touching her while still retaining her hold on her dragon eggs .

Instead she let out a squeak, though she would later deny it, as Ranma rocketed up into the air to land on a rooftop nearby. There she found herself staring into the face of an enormous wolf. She never seen a wolf in real life but there was no denying what it was. She inched backwards against Ranma's chest for a moment before she got control of herself and hurriedly moved away when Ranma set her on her feet. "Wh-what?"

Ranma looked at the wolf for second and the direwolf, for at that size it had to be one of the almost mythical beasts, part of her mind gibbered to itself, laid down on his stomach and she felt herself being moved to straddle it's back. "You'll have to hold on with your legs if you don't want Domeric or I to hold those eggs."

Daenerys immediately clutched the eggs to her chest, glaring at him. Coming from a sixteen year old girl in her current predicament it should have been a cute or possibly angry expression, but on her, it was somehow more imperious than anything else despite the state of her clothing. Ranma chuckled lightly. "Thought not. I'll be right back."

A second later, he returned with Domeric, who looked as frazzled by the experience as Daenerys had been.

"Sorry we don't have time to look at that shoulder of yours, Domeric, and you and I are gonna have a little chat about a certain song of yours but now isn't the time for it. Let's get moving." Ranma said and Fenris stood up with Daenerys on his back. Daenerys lost hold of the greenish dragon egg as she automatically tried to clutch at the direwolf's fur with one hand but Ranma quickly moved to catch it.

He looked at Daenerys, who glared back, holding out one hand, her violet eyes locked commandingly on Ranma's own. Ranma grinned in mixed approval and admiration, then passed the egg over before moving slightly behind her. His hands lightly touched her thighs and buttocks, moving her forward slightly along Fenris' back. "Grip here with your legs, Daenerys, and lay forward as much as possible. That might let you use Fenris's back and your own chest to hold the eggs to free up a hand."

Daenerys shivered and not, she was surprised to realize, in revulsion at Ranma's touch on her bare skin. She hesitantly did as suggested, which did indeed allow her to free one arm to wrap around Fenris' neck. Turning to look at her the direwolf made a huffing sort of sound which blew his breath into Daenerys' face, but all Daenerys could see in that face with those fierce golden eyes was curiosity and amusement. For some reason that which made her feel more at ease.

While Ranma had been helping the Stormborn settle herself, Domeric had pulled off his belt, using it to tie his arm around himself to try and keep it still so as to keep from further aggravating his injury. When Ranma turned to him, he nodded, understanding that Ranma would have to carry him since Domeric lacked the skill to make his way over rooftops, as seemed the plan. He wondered how Ranma had learned that skill, as well as how good the direwolf was at it but, for now, he pushed aside such thoughts. Getting away was paramount.

Ranma picked Domeric up in his arms once more, taking a moment to glare down at him. "If you make up a song about this, I will hurt you, worse if you change your part into a woman again. I hate to tell you, I don't swing that way." Domeric winced, not looking forward to that conversation, as Ranma nodded over at Fenris. "Let's go!" With that, he raced away, moving easily over the rooftops, jumping from roof to roof with astonishing ease to his passenger.

Fenris followed, with Daenerys clinging to his back like a limpet. Even so, she exulted in the speed with which the direwolf moved after its master, wondering if riding one of her dragons would feel similar. Soon Fenris caught up with Ranma, in time to hear Domeric ask. "I had heard that the Starks had found direwolves from Ser Jorah, though I hadn't realized how big they could be."

"Ser Jorah?" Ranma asked looking down at him. "I remember that name, wasn't he the one who ran off to avoid execution for slavery?"

"The very same. He showed up here a few months ago to offer his services to the Targaryen. He brought a lot of information, though he was also promised a captaincy in whatever army we put together."

Ranma frowned. "I wonder if he was the one to tell the Master of Whispers what was going on here."

"And is that why you are here?" Daenerys asked looking over at him. Despite the exhilaration she was feeling at getting away from Viserys and their present mode of transportation, her mind was still working. She was quickly becoming aware she might have merely changed one type of prison for another.

"Robert and Varys certainly seemed to think so." Ranma said laughing aloud and looking over at her before looking away. This girl is gorgeous! Yep he thought to himself, competence and personal courage are definite turn-ons for me.

He shook his head to get rid of that thought, now was not the time for it. "The King heard what you and your brother, apparently, were planning, and wanted to send some assassins after you." Ranma shrugged even as his two listeners stiffened. "Needless to say my father and I would not have anything to do with it but Littlefinger, I don't know about him, the Master of coin, he outmaneuvered us. At his suggestion, the King ordered me here to find the two of you and return you to him. He thinks that I'll put you down like dogs if you are a threat but frankly I'm no assassin and I would not follow such an order."

"In my brother's case that might be a pity." Daenerys said, shaking her head then had to spit out a few hairs that got into her mouth thanks to the wind in her face. "Yet, that does not tell me what you plan for me. If you do not wish to return me to King's Landing, what do you plan?"

"That will wait until we are aboard the ship." Ranma said a little grimly. "I'd like an idea of what happened here before I tell you anything about me, milady. Regardless, we might need to know everything you can tell us about your brother and his schemes to appease the king, but you personally will be safe, you have my word."

For a moment, Daenerys balked at the idea of selling her brother out to the Usurper let alone what else Ranma might ask of her. But then one of the draklings actually started to make noises in its shell and she felt something bump against the outer membrane of her egg. For her children, she would wait until she heard what else Ranma had to say.

In an astonishingly short amount of time, they had crossed the entire city and were now overlooking the wharf area, where the rooftops gave way to the docks. The business of the city did not stop during the night. Daenerys could see dozens of men still working, so it didn't surprise her when they looped around slightly to come to a place where no one was working for the moment.

There Ranma and Fenris dropped from the roof into an open area between several large crates and some kind of warehouse. With Ranma leading the way, followed by Fenris still carrying Daenerys, and then Domeric, the group with made their way through the docks to the waiting ship at the end of its quay.

The two guards on duty gaped at Ranma and his guests. Though they were simple sailors, even they knew the traits that denoted one of House Targaryen. That and the eggs they were carrying, which were now rocking and moving violently in Daenerys' arms, was enough to tell them who this young woman was.

The moment they were up the gangplank, Ranma barked out orders. "You two, raid Fenris' portion of the food locker for some meat, dice it small, then bring it to my room in a bowl."

Beside him Fenris looked a little miffed for a second, pulling in his tongue and baring his fangs but then shook his head and moved over to Daenerys. Daenerys had moved away quickly from the giant wolf the moment that they were on firm ground but she stilled as the creature snuffled at her and her two eggs. She actually giggled when the creature licked her side of her face then nuzzled one of the eggs, which was already cracking. The drakling inside stilled a little and began to make a cheeping noise of some sort, almost as if it was curious.

"What else will we need?"

That question brought Daenerys' attention back to Ranma, and she frowned, thinking hard. "A brazier of some kind. We'll need to keep them warm once the shell breaks until their first layer of scales begins to harden. After that, all those who are not of Targaryen blood will have to stay away from them. They will attack anyone else who comes near and, though they won't be able to breathe fire yet, they'll still bite. Daily feedings of meat for now, later we will need to change their diet when they start breathing fire, but for right now the meat will do.""

Ranma nodded, looking over at the two sailors who nodded back rapidly before rushing off. With that taken care of, Ranma led the way down into the ship to his room. Opening the door and looking around he frowned, his eyes narrowing.

Seeing Ranma's expression, Domeric asked. "Were you expecting someone to be here already? And if so, who?"

"I was, yes, but they snuck aboard. I assume that they can handle themselves and they aren't my main concern right now, just wish I knew what they were up to." That sounded a little callous when he said it was the truth.

He looked back as the egg that had already begun to crack was broken further, and a mewling sound was heard as a small greenish reptilian snout poked out, capped by a horn of bone, which it must have used to break its way out. Daenerys laughed aloud in delight, reaching down to stroke the little snout, which caused it to retreat for a moment before it began to make more mewling noises, either in pleasure at the touch or for food..

Behind them, the door was still open and one of the sailors that had been on guard came in holding a plate full of small chunks of meat.

Daenerys quickly pointed to where she wanted them, going down on her knees next to the plate on the ground, she reached forward to grab a piece with her fingers and gently fed the drakling, holding the piece over the hole it had made in its shell. At first, the baby dragon was wary but the smell of meat got to it quickly and its snout appeared to take a bite of the meal.

Further cracking and more mewling announced that the other dragon had begun to break out of its shell in turn.

The two sailors looked in shock at the dragons and Ranma pushed them both out of the doorway. He turned to Domeric. "Lock this after I go. I'll get us under way, then we can look at that shoulder."

Domeric nodded wearily, he had lost a bit of blood, and his shoulder was really paining him. But he didn't turn away from the sight of the two draklings struggling out of their eggs to get at the meat in Daenerys' hands, which she had held further away with each bit, urging them to come further out of their shells.. Such a sight hadn't been seen in hundreds of years and the bard in him was ecstatic to be here to witness it.

He quickly found the captain who had been roused by the guards at some point and the man shook his head. "I didn't think you'd do it, lad. I thought for sure you'd simply have killed the two Targaryens. I take it that this one, at least, is peaceable?"

"That remains to be seen but she was running away from the other one." Ranma said seeing no point in not sharing that. "What happened to Princess Arianne and Obara?"

"They left about an hour after you did." The man replied, shrugging. "They watched as we sold off some of the cargo we had in our hold, though I'll tell you now I didn't sell off more than half of my stock. I'll demand recompense when we returned to King's Landing. After that, they went off, I don't care where. Since they snuck aboard my ship, they sure as hell weren't my responsibility."

"I'm sure you'll be paid at some point." Ranma said with a shrug. "Right now, cast off and get us out of here."

The captain scowled. "I don't like leaving in the dark like this. Ships can be banned for that kind of thing in the free cities."

"There are other ports, captain." Ranma said, looking at him now sternly. "And what exactly about what I just said made you think I was giving you a choice?"

The captain glared a little but knew better than to push it. He and his crew were still rather terrified of the Stark heir. The Memory of the battle that had occurred with the Ironborn and the amount of carnage Ranma and Fenris had handed out saw to that. "Alright, but what about the so-called princess and her servant?"

Ranma shrugged again. "Arianne and Obara can handle themselves. They were here for a reason. If they didn't want to stick around and wait for me to return, then it's obvious they had other plans already in mind. What those plans might be I don't know but it's out of my hands now."

The captain, whose name Ranma had never bothered to learn, scowled a little but nodded. With that he will went below again to browse his crew and Ranma moved quickly to the side of the ship facing the port, one katar out and ready, while his other hand held his katana. If they were boarded by the low slung cutters Pentos used for its port guards, the extra range would allow him to strike further down the ship's side rather than wait for the boarders to get onto the ship's deck.

Moments later the crew, roused by their sleep and grumbling about it, came up and got to work. Luckily, the captain hadn't allowed any of them to take shore leave that first day, needing all hands on board for unloading. Now they set to with a will, despite knowing that they were being forced to leave. The story of two dragons had spread among them quickly and not a one of them was willing to see who could be chasing after the Targaryen girl.

The ropes tying the ship to the quay were released quickly. The punters pushed them further out to sea until the sails could catch the wind. Then they began to make their way out of the port, slowly but surely.

Ranma stayed where he was, staring back of the city to make certain they weren't being followed. For an hour, he stayed there as the ship cleared the port. Just as they were exiting the harbor, several guardhouses on the outcroppings of rocks that denoted the entrance to Pentos' natural harbor lit up behind them.

"Too little, too late." Ranma said shaking his head and smiling now. Inwardly though he was wondering what the other Targaryen would do now and what Arianne was up to.

He waited another thirty minutes and then, when it was clear that no one was following them and that the wind was helping them along as much is it could, Ranma went below.

He found Daenerys, one shoulder leaning against Fenris, singing something gently to the draklings. The brazier she had ordered was set nearby and the heat was somewhat oppressive in the room to Ranma's northern sensibilities. Still, he wasn't about to argue as the little dragons probably needed it. Fenris lay still next to her and the little dragons were curled up along his side between him and the Targaryen Princess.

The sight made Ranma pause for a moment for several reasons. First, Fenris never took to people so quickly, becoming comfortable with the girl that close in so short a time. Children yes, like his master Fenris had a soft spot for youngsters. But Daenerys was in no way a child, whatever Ranma and his father had thought initially. She had the body of a young woman, an incredibly beautiful young woman.

Which brought him to the second reason he paused. Daenerys still wore his shirt, though her side seemed to also have some bandages wrapped around it, covering the shallow cut she had there when they first met. The shirt had fallen off the shoulder of the arm she hadn't thrown over Fenris' back. Her bare knees showed where she had crossed them under the bare remnants of her skirt, burned almost to uselessness in the fire, and the bottom of his shirt. Her hair was splayed out over the direwolf's as Daenerys nuzzled into his fur, her eyes half-closed in pleasure of the feeling while she kept on crooning gently to the draklings beside her.. There was something astonishingly primitive about the image yet it was powerful all the same.

Ranma shook that thought out of his head, ignoring how good she looked in his shirt, how it made her look… his. Yep, courage, self-control, and competence are definite turn-ons for me.

When he regained control of himself, the singing had stopped. Ranma found Daenerys looking up at him with those violet eyes of hers, though they were still soft at present thanks to the two draklings beside her. "I take it we have made good our escape?" she asked, her voice low.

"We have." Ranma said nodding and talking quietly as well, looking over at where Domeric was leaning against the wall nearby. The man had his sword out and looked ready for trouble.

He shook his head no when Ranma looked at him. "Just in case." he said, sheathing his blade. Ranma nodded before calmly removing his sword belt containing his katars setting them on the bed along with his katana. Then he moved around it to sit next to Fenris, placing the direwolf between him and Daenerys.

"I have to thank you for your aid, again." Daenerys said looking at him, though the words came out as if they were painful. "But now that we are safe, I believe you owe us an exclamation as to what your plans for us going forward are."

"You first." Ranma said, smirking a little, causing her eyes to flare in anger but he shook his head. "Calmly, lady." He leaned over to look at the two draklings. One of them, almost as if it had been roused by her anger, was awake now and moving about, looking up at them. "Why don't you explain why you were running first, then I will explain to you what I plan for you and your little dragons."

Daenerys glared at him some more. She had not come this far just to bow willingly to someone else's whims but when she caught his eyes they were deadly serious, filled with a grim purpose whose origin she couldn't guess at present.

. After a moment, she relented. She told him about all that had happened since they had entered the city, about how she had begun to chafe under her brothers control, of how Viserys had slowly changed over time, going from the kind, gentle brother who was always looking out for her to this insane madman who didn't care how many lives he ruined as he trampled his way towards the throne.

"Do not mistake me." Daenerys said earnestly, her yes capturing Ranma's again. "I desire to sit on the Iron Throne as much as my brother. It was the right of our family to do so, whatever my father the Mad King did, or even our oldest brother, Rhaegar. But I will not build a mountain of corpses to get there. "If we cannot rally the people to our cause, then our cause is obviously not just enough."

Ranma nodded, then looked over at Domeric. "Is this Viserys mad or simply uncaring and ambitious?"

"I would say is quite a bit closer to mad than merely ambitious. Daenerys wasn't exaggerating. He will literally carve his way through Westeros to earn the throne if he can."

Ranma's eyes narrowed in thought processing what it said about Viserys while also, wondering what the hell Arianne was up to. He hoped that wouldn't turn out as bad as he feared down the line with her near such a man. But even Ranma couldn't have fought an entire city, which was what he would have had to do if they had waited long enough for him to hunt the two missing women down, if he could have found them at all in a foreign city.

"And now it is your turn." Daenerys said firmly. "What do you want from me and what is your price for my freedom?"

"How much has Domeric told you about the legends of the North?" Ranma asked, leaning against Fenris.

He stuck his hand over the wolf's side, gently waving his fingers at the drakling. It snapped at his fingers , catching one of them in its jaws, then seemed surprised when its teeth couldn't pierce Ranma's skin.

Gotta love ki strengthening, he thought to himself, shaking his head when Daenerys looked a little surprised at that as well. Ranma flicked the little creature with his other finger causing it to let go with a squawk, then stroked its head with the same finger before Daenerys could calm it.

"Precious little." Domeric said, having watched the little exchange and shaking his head in surprise. Evidently, the Stark heir had a way with animals that went beyond his giant direwolf. And the fact that the direwolf and the two dragons got along so well was astonishing in and of itself.

"That makes the explanation a little more difficult." Ranma said his free hand scratching at his pigtail for a moment. "Have you heard news of the King Beyond the Wall?"

"Yes." Daenerys said nodding her head. "We were all thinking that it might be enough reason for you to be called home from King's Landing. I take it, by the way, that your courtship with Margaery of House Tyrell didn't go forward?"

For some reason, that thought made her smile. It wasn't simply that Ranma was handsome or that he had helped her. There was this air of solidity about him, coupled with a cheerfulness that she liked, and he was good with her dragons. Indeed, even now, one of his hands continued to play with the cream colored drakling, causing it to make little warbling noises deep in its throat as it tried, with all the tenacity and lack of coordination of a newborn, to pounce on Ranma's fingers.

Ranma ignored that question, not certain exactly where he and Margaery stood. Yes, he knew her family had postponed a formal arrangement and even called her home to halt their 'courtship' but where he and Margaery stood was up in the air. They hadn't been romantically involved but there was a chance for that to occur in future, though that wasn't something he wanted to think about, at present. Not when Daenerys was looking at him with those enticing violet eyes.

"Historically speaking," Ranma went on slowly, "there have been other threats beyond the Wall, though they have not been seen for ages, literally. I'm certain as a bard that you are familiar with some of the ancient legends?"

For a moment, that line went over Domeric's head while Daenerys frowned. "I know of many legends from beyond the Wall, tales that say the forest children might still reside somewhere there, tales that speak of giants and other creatures that have never been seen on this side of the Wall."

"What about White Walkers?" Ranma said, interrupting him, finally just stating it.

Domeric's eyes widened. "Th-those are myths." he stammered. "Tales told by fireside, there has not been a single sighting of a White Walker in eight millennia. They are dead and gone!"

"No, they're not, are they?" Daenerys said shaking her head. She was watching Ranma's face and saw something there that worried her. "This King Beyond the Wall, he isn't the only threat is he?"

Ranma nodded grimly. "They're real enough. Though I have never seen one of the White Walkers themselves, I have seen their creatures." He began to describe the skirmish that had occurred with the wolfsworn against the forces of endless winter, how Ranma feared that a true winter was coming and with it the ancient enemy.

"So you see…" he said looking over the side of Fenris to the now sleeping drakling, curled up with its still sleeping sibling. "Whatever the reason, I'm ecstatic that you found these two. After all, dragon-fire was one of the most potent weapons against the forces of winter."

Daenerys nodded thoughtfully. "So in return for your protection against the King and anyone else, I must help you and yours up on the Wall? Is that it?"

"Yes, that's pretty much it." Ranma nodded with a small smile. "Not such a bad deal is it?"

"And my ambitions?" Daenerys asked, looking at him somewhat coldly. She agreed that such an evil needed to be faced, but she still desired to sit on the Iron Throne. "What of them?"

Ranma frowned. "Protecting you from Robert is a long way from helping you overthrow him." He paused, thinking of the message from his father he still kept hidden in his pocket, unopened. He felt that if his father wanted to tell him something, he could tell it to Ranma in person. He knew it was irrational, but a part of him feared what the letter might tell him, merging with the growing concern of what might be happening back in King's Landing while he was away.

"I do not think your name will garner you as much or the sort of support you want nor would I be willing to allow you to try if doing so shattered the unity of the kingdom. We need to stand together against the forces of winter. After that, well, you could always marry the King's son and become Queen? That would get my sister out of the chore, in any event, and would get you close to that torture device you all call a throne." Ranma smirked at that point.

Daenerys actually laughed, shaking her head, sending her silver hair flashing in the light of the brazier. The noise struck Ranma to the quick, like bells sent to tinkling by a wild wind. "Ha, no thank you. I can tell from your face you have a reason to get your sister away from him so why would I wish to take her place?"

She went on more seriously. "But you have to admit that Robert Baratheon set a dangerous precedent with his war against my family? We've heard tell of the battles for influence between House Stark and House Lannister. Your unity might already be fractured."

Sighing, Ranma stood up, moving over to Domeric, who had bandaged his arm as best he could on his own. "Again, lady, there is a vast difference between might be and is. We will see what transpires for now, making plans too far ahead is never a good idea. Now, let me see that arm Domeric. While I do that you can explain to me, Domeric, why you made your part in our meeting into a woman in that damn song and why I have flowing locks after you promised not to use such in any song with me in it!"

At Domeric's pained expression, Daenerys again laughed, thinking that regardless of anything else, knowing Ranma would interesting, at the least.

OOOOOOO

"Let her go." Viserys said, smiling faintly as he looked down at the black skinned drakling in his arms, ignoring the apoplectic face of Illyrio for the moment. The man had just informed him that a ship had managed to slip out of the port before his order to have it closed could reach the harbor.

The creature had bit him at first but Viserys had refused to give in, simply staring the creature down, and it eventually let his finger go lapping at it apologetically before chewing down on the bits of meet that Viserys had ordered prepared for it. Now it was sleeping off its food induced torpor but he couldn't leave it alone, what it represented and what it meant for his plans was simply too important.

"Tell the barbarians whatever you want, that she was stolen away by a rival or even that someone from Westeros came and took her because the Usurper feared their union. We might yet be able to convince him to loan at least some troops that way, especially considering the damage to your mansion makes it look as if that was indeed the case. But that isn't important anymore. With this drakling, with my Balerion, we can conquer Westeros, as my ancestors did with the original!"

"Even if your sister has two of the dragons with her?" Illyrio asked, calming down somewhat. Having his mansion burned as it was, losing so many paintings, tapestries, and other priceless items had hammered his control badly. Still, the sight of Viserys with the dragon gave him hope, though the u chewing out the Prince had given him for hiding the fact he had the dragon eggs and not told Viserys about them had been unpleasant.

"That is what assassins are for." Viserys said coldly. "The moment she left here, my sister became just another enemy and, without the traitor, those dragons will become wild and uncontrollable, more of a danger to anyone around them then they would be to their enemies." The fact that his sister gotten away with two of the creatures was appalling but he could bear the shame for now.

"We are still investigating how they actually escaped from my property. There is evidence that she had help. Seven guards were found dead by the wall and, no matter how good he was with a blade, the bard couldn't have done that. Added to damage to my mansion, the deaths among my guardsmen and your Balerion will be enough to offset the anger that Khal Drogo will feel at once more not being presented with his gift. Indeed, your plan on blaming the Usurper has merit." Illyrio said thoughtfully. "Do it well enough and maybe he'll be willing to try to get over his people's fear of the water and still join with us."

"Sir." said a guard, interrupting the two of them from where they had been talking near a table that had been set up by the gateway into the magister's grounds. The mansion itself was still smoking in places, the fire that Daenerys had started in the kitchen and the hallway had spread widely. Illyrio's love of wooden floors and the sheer amount of oil and alcohol that Daenerys had used caused it to spread quickly.

"What is it?" the magister asked looking up at the man.

"There are two women here to see you, they insist on seeing you now, and say they have information you and your guest will want to hear."

"Send them in." the magister said and his eyes widened. He could recognize both came from Dorne but the one in the lead…

The woman in the lead was short but beautiful, with olive skin, large dark eyes, and long, black hair that fell to the middle of her back, seemingly just washed. Her dress, which was made of flowing silks of red and tan, hugged her impressive figure and she wore several pieces of jewelry that looked like they wouldn't have been out of place in his strong room.

The women stared at the little dragon in Viserys' arms, then the first one smiled, licking her lips. She had been dismayed at first to see the damage done to the mansion, which had made her question the wisdom of leaving Ranma to his own devices. Yet, she hadn't been making any headway influencing him. She had hoped to get here before he did, having no clue how fast Ranma could travel via rooftops, but evidently something had happened here anyway, though she didn't know if Ranma was involved.

Now however, seeing Viserys Targaryen holding a young baby dragon in his arms, she knew she had made the correct decision, whatever else had happened. "It looks as if this plan at least has succeeded somewhat. Greetings, Your Highness. I am Princess Arianne of Dorne. I believe we have much to discuss."

OOOOOOO

As the ship carrying Ranma and Daenerys made its way back to King's Landing, a message was on its way, a small Raven from the Maester's Citadel marked, strangely enough, like it had come from Winterfell. In Westeros, it was often said that fell news flew on black wings. In this case, that would be an understatement because the events this message would set in motion would shake the entire world to its core.

End chapter

And now, as I said, bad things have begun to happen. I deeply regretted Tommen's death, but with the way Joffrey is, he would not allow even his younger brother to take that which he sees as his by right away from him, and would not turn from any act to keep it. Before you ask, yes it might well have happened this way even if Ranma was still around. After all, he didn't eat all his meals with Tommen.

Sorry to everyone who wanted Daenerys to have her own adventures, though I will tell you that, obviously, Ranma's plans for Daenerys and her dragons won't really occur the way he wants them to. Essos and its people will still figure in the background, but now the action heats up in Westeros.

I could have kept going, I have a few scenes for what happens next in king's landing already written, but this was the only place that felt like a real chapter ending, rather than a huge cliff hanger.

Oh, and some people may think I am overdoing the whole 'women using their wiles' thing, remember both Westeros and Essos are strongly patriarchal in nature. Women need to use any tool they can to get their way or protect themselves. It just isn't a tactic that works well for that purpose on Ranma.

And for those who think I am painting Cersei in too kind a light, wait until next chapter, where she proves that she is still the queen bitch.

*Chapter 8*: Chapter 8

I do not own Ranma or ASoIaF. Damn pity, one would have a better female lead, the other would be done by now. Again, never gets old.

OH, a reviewer says he only finds the Ranma sections of this story interesting, sorry bud, but you are going to hate this chapter.

My thanks go out to Byakugan789 for being there to answer some of my questions and give me his opinion as well as for editing.

For those of you wondering, the next chapter of ATP will be out next week, but my muse was kicking me in the back of the head to get this chapter done, and some of the scenes in that did not come out the way they needed to.

Want to give a shout-out to serpentguy, for his story Nine Minutes. Was in a mood for One Piece, but the anime is going almost as slow as DBZ (just make a filler arc people, come on) and went back and reread it. It is so rare to find a good, lengthy One Piece story, especially one that doesn't get bogged down in East Blue, that isn't yaoi (far too fucking much of that in this genre!) Not my normal style, but the characters are well done, and Robin/Luffy is done perfectly. If anyone else knows a story that changes so much, and has Luffy/any girl but Hancock, that is written as well that is current, I would love to see it.

Now on with this oh so bloody show.

Chapter 8 How swiftly Comes the Avalanche

Daenerys woke up when the light shining through the small porthole set into the side of the room hit her face. She smiled, stretching luxuriantly for a moment, then winced as the wound in her side twanged, causing her to remember the events of the night before. Ignoring her injury she sat up quickly in the bed in Ranma's room, looking around wildly.

She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw the two draklings. The cream colored one, whom Daenerys thought she might call Sunfyre, after one of the most gorgeous dragons to ever live, was curled up on a pillow right by her head. It was awake and snuffling at her hair, but still seemed a somewhat torpid. Fenris was laid out next to the bed with the other drakling, the green scaled one, still asleep on his back.

Once certain her little ones were safe, Daenerys looked down at the bed, frowning a little wondering how she had been moved. She remembered falling asleep against the direwolf's side the evening before after talking with Domeric and Ranma for a time until the last of the adrenaline left her and she slept the sleep of the exhausted. With that thought Daenerys lifted the sheets to look at her body, breathing a sigh of relief again at seeing she was still clothed in the overlarge shirt Ranma had given her.

With the important matters out of the way, Daenerys could concentrate on how she was actually feeling. I feel good, by the gods that was one of my best nights rest ever! Is that because I was so tired, or that I feel safe now for some reason?

She frowned however as she noticed two large stew bowls piled up with the first one from the night before. A soft voice spoke up from near the door, answering her unspoken query. "After we put you to bed the two little ones woke up hungry once each. Kind of reminded me of when my younger siblings were babies. All they did was sleep, eat, and well, you know."

Ranma had set himself up right in the small entranceway by the doorway. It was cramped, but he had slept in worse conditions, and this way no one could enter the room without first waking him up. Domeric was curled up with a few spare blankets in a hammock hung rather haphazardly on the back wall. He was still asleep, while Ranma had woken up quickly when he heard Daenerys moving around. Now he stood up, cracking his neck explosively before he smiled at her.

The Targaryen princess smiled back at him, somewhat whimsically. "I don't have any experience with children so I wouldn't know, but going from my readings about them that it is normal for my little ones." She laughed as the cream colored one crawled up into her lap. Thankfully she wasn't getting any sense of it being hungry at present, merely inquisitive, exploring it's environment. "Were you ever put in charge of your siblings when they were younger?"

"Oh yes, several times, especially little Arya. You'd like her I think. She's a wild girl, much more at home with a blade in her hand then a needle or paintbrush." Ranma moved over to the bed, patting Fenris on the head in passing as he explained the deal he had made so many years ago with his mother about Arya, causing Daenerys to laugh at how stubborn the girl was. He went on more seriously. "I know even with all you shared about him, it could not have been easy to leave your older brother."

"It was actually much easier than you might think to take that last step. I think it was simply the culmination of things, too many negative feelings and conflict, too much abuse. He wasn't Viserys my brother anymore, the years of having to fend for ourselves and his burning ambition changed him, and not for the better." Daenerys sighed faintly.

Ranma nodded then looked down at the green scaled dragon, which had woken up and was now looking at the space between Fenris' back and the bed as if calculating the distance. Ranma helped it along, picking it up underneath it's belly when it tried to jump, placing it on the foot of the bed. The drakling made a halfhearted attempt to bite him, but once again Ranma's ki toughening technique was more than up to the task of stopping its teeth from penetrating, something the little creature realized after only a few seconds of useless chewing. "Do you have any plans on how to train these little ones? And have you thought up names?"

"This one is Sunfyre." Daenerys replied, rubbing the head of the cream colored drakling who trilled a little under her caress. She had read that dragons often acted out or were capricious, but right now, she didn't see it. "And I think that the green one I'll name Rhaegon." She watched Ranma closely when she said this, but Ranma merely smiled.

"That might bother other people lady, but I have no issue with you showing respect for your brother like that. Until he kidnapped Lyanna there hadn't been even a hint of Rhaegar falling to the Targaryen madness. I have heard people saying he was a fine man, and a fine knight."

Daenerys smiled at that then frowned as his response highlighted something she needed to do. "I have to apologize for my attitude last night Lord Stark." she said formally. "I realize that without you I would never have escaped, and I was remarkably suspicious despite that. Yet even so, I cannot get over my fear over what will happen to me when we arrived in King's landing."

"Nothing will happen to you milady," Ranma said simply smiling a little. "And I didn't take it personally. I didn't exactly catch you at yer best, y'know?"

That actually won a small chuckle from Daenerys, though she also flushed slightly remembering how she had been practically naked when Ranma first arrived. Not noticing her flushed cheeks, Ranma went on more seriously. "I won't let you out of my sight until the King guarantees your safety, and even then I doubt I'll let you go far without at least some of my family's armsmen with you. Frankly I don't want us to spend much time in King's Landing at all. Just enough time to check in with my father, tell the King what we can about your brother, the magister and their plans, then move on to White Harbor."

That caused Daenerys's eyes to narrow. "You are truly worried about what might be happening on the Wall, aren't you? I do not know much about these White Walkers, but if they are the same as in the old legends, would they not need to wait for Winter to truly begin before launching any assault?"

"That's true, but they can act through their undead agents before that. Besides, we can train the little ones in safety in the North, without having to watch every shadow for strangers armed with nasty toys. And I'm worried about what might be happening in Westeros while I'm gone milady, not just on the Wall. You told me that you had heard about the power struggle between my family and the lions, well that barely scratches the surface. I won't tell you everything, but suffice it to say that my leaving King's Landing to find you was good for you Daenerys, but it might be just as bad for the family members I left behind there."

"And you think your presence could have that much effect? You are a good warrior Ranma Stark, but that good?" Here Daenerys was fishing for information. She had seen how Ranma dispatched the magister's guards, and he certainly seemed to have an amazing set of physical skills, but was that the entirety, or was that just scratching the surface?

"My presence might have kept the political confrontations from boiling over into physical ones at least." Ranma said with a shrug. "I expect that you will see more of my abilities as we go on, so you won't have to fish for information, Danny." He grinned at her, and she shook her head wryly, raising a finger like a Braavosi water dancer signaling a touch.

There was a moment of silence as they both wondered where to take the conversation. Before either could decide the draklings began to make noises, and Daenerys realized that they were hungry again.

Ranma laughed. "Definitely like little babies, though they make more noise than most of my siblings. Rickon was a little noisemaker though, always whining and wailing unless we were paying attention to him, or crawling around and eating things he shouldn't. Though that could be laid at Bran's feet too." He moved over to grab up the bowls from the draklings earlier feedings. "I'll be right back, wake Domeric up and lock the door behind me would you?"

"You don't trust the crewmen?" Daenerys asked, her eyes narrowing.

"They're not beholden to my family or Lord Manderly. This ship was chosen 'cause it was going in the right direction and the Master of Whispers had previous dealings with the captain. Not a comforting thought, especially since I was attacked on our first night out. Fenris," Ranma nodded his head over to the giant direwolf "dealt with them, so I don't know what was behind it, but still. And besides…" Here Ranma looked a little uncomfortable as he went on. "They're sailors and they've been away at sea for the past few weeks, despite our little stop in Pentos."

Daenerys flushed a little when she got that implication but nodded firmly. When Ranma left closing the door behind him Daenerys, wincing as her injury was disturbed by the movement, got out of bed.

She moved over to Domeric and woke him up, before moving over to the doorway to lock it. Domeric winced in turn, his injured shoulder paining him severely despite the work Ranma had done on it the evening before. Still, he held his sword in his ready hand just in case.

Now that they were alone Daenerys asked him. "Can we trust this Ranma Stark? I realize he's helped us, and I think I can trust his word, but how much control of over our fates will he really have when we arrive in King's landing? Surely his father would side with the King?"

"Not about your welfare Lady." Domeric answered promptly. "If Ranma realizes what is going on in the far North, then his father surely does as well, and that young man was correct, dragon fire was one of the best weapons against the forces of winter, when they could be caught in the open at any rate. I could wish that more information of the White Walker's had survived, but I can't remember anything but they liked to attack at night."

He went on in less grim tones as he watched Daenerys stroke the drakling's heads with gentle fingers. "Of course your little babes will have to age until their scales can keep their warmth inside before we take them to the Wall, but Ranma will understand that as well as we will."

"We haven't heard a hint of this from any of ours our spies, have we?" Daenerys asked, still looking for problems, though she was rapidly coming to the opinion that Ranma had played it as straight as he could with her. "Why wouldn't the Starks tell the king about this?"

"Proof." Domeric shrugged. "Robert doesn't even believe in the Seven really. From what I remember he only believes what he can see or touch, and if they didn't have hard evidence then the Lannisters at least would never be willing to send men up to aid along the wall. And even now, I doubt any of the other nations will send anyone to combat the King Beyond the Wall. Not with Robert's position on the throne so tenuous, they'll want to secure their own positions first."

He smiled thinly. "If the King really did try to send assassins after you, I don't doubt that his relationship with the Lord Stark has already taken a major blow. Lord Stark would never condone such a thing nor will he condone any attack on you while you are under his House's protection."

Daenerys nodded, but was really of two minds about that. She wanted to be in a position to secure her own protection, but until her dragons grew up, and possibly not even then, that was impossible. Still, it was better than being at her brother's mercy, or having to marry some Dothraki barbarian from the plains. And Ranma's a rather handsome fellow said a small, oft ignored, portion of her mind.

She shrugged that thought off quickly. Ranma's looks was not what she was interested in, it was whether or not he really could protect her from her enemies in Westeros that mattered.

But that was part of the problem, she realized. She wanted to like Ranma. For some reason, be it his smile or his general manner Ranma was simply a likable fellow, and Daenerys hadn't really dealt with likable fellows other than Domeric for quite some time. All of her instincts were screaming that there had to be something underneath that, yet she could detect no hint of it.

Daenerys decided to put it aside for now. The voyage to and from Westeros usually took two and a half weeks, depending on weather, so she had plenty of time to get to know Ranma, and to decide if he really could back up his claims. What Daenerys could do if she decided he couldn't however was a depressingly short list, nigh on empty really.

At her request Domeric exited the room, standing guard outside while she got dressed. Thankfully Fenris was able to watch the younglings as she did, and they were busy crawling around the room under his watchful eye. She wondered idly if there had been interactions between dragons and direwolves before that were this amicable, then simply enjoyed watching her little ones crawl around.

Their little wings seemed to be giving them issues, but they would work it out in time she was sure. Their ancestors have been doing it for millennia after all, she thought then frowned a little. Where did the magister find their eggs anyway? I doubt they were from my family, so where'd the eggs come from?

Her eyes close in pain as she remembered having to leave the third egg behind. No doubt her brother had already begun bonding with the dragon within. That will cause trouble in the future, I do not doubt. Though I wonder how they will get on together. My brother doesn't exactly have a caring personality, or much patience...

She shook that thought off, then picked up the knife that Domeric had left in the room for her, one of several from his collection. It was a stiletto, a thin blade about as long as her two fists put together with an equally small handle. She wondered where she should put it, then frowned looking at the remains of her skirt.

Daenerys was measuring the knife against her inner thigh, wondering if she should put it there when voice from behind her said "That is an idiotic place for a knife of that size. You'd never get at it quick enough if you wear a skirt, and you can't exactly hide it there if you wear leggings, unless they're really baggy, and you'd still be unable to get to it quick."

Daenerys turned quickly, cursing her beating heart which was pounding in her chest at the sudden shock, while the two dragons looked up from where they had been playing. To her chagrin however they were not responding to her sudden moment of distress, but the smell of the meat that Ranma, who was the one who had spoken, was holding in a large stew bowl.

He set it down in front of the little dragons, then turned to her with a smirk. "You should have remembered to lock the door after Domeric stepped out. I have some leggings if you wish to wear those instead of that skirt lady, I'm afraid it looks rather on its last legs."

Daenerys scowled a little realizing he was mocking her, but after a moment the scowl disappeared when she realized he wasn't doing it maliciously. "Where would you put the knife then? And yes, I think leggings would be best."

"That's not the kind of dagger you want to use as a holdout, it's too large, though the blade looks a good choice. It could be used even against someone in chain mail and could penetrate boiled leather easily enough if you're strong enough." Ranma said moving over to his sea chest. He pulled out a spare set of leggings tossing them over to Daenerys. "We'll probably have to take them in at the waist, but for now they'll do."

Daenerys held them up to her legs critically. "Length too. I am a bit shorter than you after all." Actually she was about two feet shorter, she was short for a woman and Ranma was somewhat tall for a man.

She looked up at a flash of white and reflexively caught the shirt Ranma just threw at her. "That's actually clean, I bet the shirt you're wearing still has the smell of smoke on it."

He looked over the draklings as they were trying to tip over the stew pot to get at the meat inside, smiling faintly. "I'll wait outside, knock on the door when you're done."

He came back in a moment later when she had finished, and showed her how to wear the knife all along her side, hidden slightly under the shirt but not so much as to be a true holdout dagger. Then he reached for his own belt buckle and pulled out from behind it a very tiny punch dagger almost palm sized but very sharp looking.

When Ranma passed it over to her, Daenerys noticed there was a very small loop at the end of the blade for her fingers, showing it was supposed to be held by two of her fingers rather than held in her hand,. "This is what a real holdout dagger should be like, small, very sharp, easy to hide. You can have this one. I think every lady should have one really, though where to put it on when you're wearing a dress without a belt, that I'll leave up to you."

Ranma smirked. "I even got my sister Sansa to agree to wear one, though I don't know if she still is. I hope she is, but…" shrugged.

I take it your other sister Arya didn't have to be talked into it? Did she complain it was too small?" Daenerys quipped.

"Yes actually." Ranma laughed, helping her to tuck the dagger under the belt buckle. The belt was now cinched tight as it could go, and the leggings were very still loose on Daenerys, while the shirt was quite tight. Something Ranma did not notice at all… "If Arya had her way she probably would clank whenever she moved."

Daenerys laughed again, and Ranma looked up at her face from where he had been finishing with her belt, only just now realizing how close their faces were. From Daenerys's startled expression she had just realized it too, and for a moment blue and purple eyes stared at one another from less than a few inches. Ranma moved back quickly then proceeded to tell Daenerys a story about Arya from when she began her training.

Shaking her head momentarily to get rid of that moment Daenerys moved over to the drakling. She gathered Sunfyre into her lap, reaching forward to pick out one of the pieces of meat from the pot, holding it up above his head with her other hand. Rhaegon pulled himself into her lap, making Daenerys grateful she had put on the leggings already.

Finishing his tale, Ranma looked at the two draklings, who were now eagerly taking the meat from both of Daenerys' hands. "Speaking of training, what are you going to do with those two?"

"I read every book I could get my hands on about dragons when I was younger, they were part of my heritage after all." Daenerys said flicking Rhaegon on the nose when it tried to take a bite out of the chunk she was holding out for Sunfyre. "None of that." she scolded. The suitably cowed drakling subsided, waiting its turn. "They are supposed to become as intelligent as animals can be later on, but we have to start imprinting with them now hence why I'm handling them like this."

Ranma hummed thoughtfully scratching at his ponytail for a moment. "Would you care for some advice?" He nodded over to Fenris who was watching the proceedings with an amused air, if Daenerys was guessing his expression correctly. The direwolf had an almost human ability to get his opinions across even without words, and a very wide range of expressions.

"I don't think there's much parallel there other than both species being predators." Daenerys said frowning for a moment as she turned her head to look at the dire wolf. "Exactly how intelligent is Fenris?"

Fenris huffed irritably, never liking being spoken about as if he wasn't there though he understood the upside to that as well. Feeling his irritation through their link, Ranma smirked. "Quite a bit more intelligent than most people think. Can I ask you to try something?"

Daenerys's eyebrows rose and she nodded her head slowly.

"Close your eyes, and…" Ranma pause thinking of how to explain this to someone who hadn't heard old Nan's ghost stories. "Think of one of the dragons, imagine it in your mind, then… sort of see if you can feel what it's feeling…"

Daenerys opened her eyes to look at him quizzically. "What exactly am I trying to do here?"

"You'll understand if you can get it, I'll explain after."

"I'll hold you to that." Daenerys said feeling rather fully should the moment. She could get some impressions of the dragons, but surely that was simply her projecting onto them, not a reality.

Still, Daenerys closed her eyes and did as requested. She concentrated on the Dragon she had named after her brother, Rhaegon, since he seemed to be a little more inquisitive than the other one. She got some feelings of hunger, muted somewhat now, and something else…

"Anticipation?" She said aloud looking over to the drakling who had rounded Fenris and was now about to leap onto the wolf's tale. Fenris however was well aware of the drakling's intention, and moved his tail quickly out of the way before flicking it back to smack the drakling in the face.

Rhaegon let out a squawk, then a huff of air as he tried to pounce again. Now Daenerys was getting feelings of enjoyment and pleasure. With a startled oath, she pulled her consciousness away. "Wh-what is going on?" she asked, stammering.

None of the books I read said anything about being able to feel a dragon's emotions! A few written by members of her own House had hinted at being able to understand their dragons, but there was a vast difference between that and being able to feel their emotions.

"That's what I was wondering." Ranma said nodding. "Have you ever heard of warging?" When she answered in the negative he explained what a warg was then said "I had wondered since I'd heard about the dragons of your family if that was one of their secrets. From what I remember from my history from old Valyria they couldn't use their dragons as well as your family could, and there were several riders that controlled their dragons like I'd expect a warg to be able to in the Dance of the Dragons war."

During his explanation Daenerys had gotten over her shock and was now on to more practical matters. "So this will help me train them quite a lot I would assume, how intelligent can they become with this connection between us?"

Ranma shrugged. "I don't know. Fenris is obviously much more intelligent than most of his breed, no offense Fenris." he said looking over the wolf who looked only a little mollified at that before he put his head down again to stare at where Rhaegon was still trying to pounce on his tail. Hunters these two were not, but they were young yet and could learn. "Whether that will be the case for dragons you'll have to discover, but I don't see any reason why they couldn't become just as intelligent in time."

"Again you have helped me Ranma Stark, thank you." Daenerys said smiling up at him happily. "Do you have any specific ideas for their training?"

"Well," Ranma laughed as Sunfyre scrambled up Daenerys's side to perch on one of her shoulders, hitting her in the face with a furled wing in the process. "First, we'll want to find a leather jerkin for you rather than my silk shirt. And I'd try to not let them get into the habit of doing that. Eventually they'll be much too large, and you don't want them trying it after they can nearly crush you under their weight."

He looked out through the porthole at the sun which was high in the sky by this point. "Let's go above, your draklings might like a chance to explore a larger area, and being cooped up in here can't be good for them or you. You still need some sun." He knelt down reaching out to touch the little mark on her above one eye that her brother had left her with a gentle finger. "You could use some sun too, though it won't do anything for that, I'm sorry to say. Pity I couldn't stay long enough to introduce your brother to my boot."

"I'd have liked to see that too." Daenerys murmured, shivering slightly under his touch. When he pulled back she grasped his hand and was pulled to her feet with Sunfyre still on her shoulder. Rhaegon clambered up on Fenris' back before the giant wolf stood up, following his master and the Dragon Lady.

The princess squinted as they came out onto the deck, noticing with amusement that most of the work around the deck had stopped as they came up, and nearly every sailor in sight was staring at her and her dragons. Domeric had followed them and noticing the same thing smiled faintly. "The shock value of my little ones is quite immense." she quipped, nodding over at Ranma. "They might eventually beat out your direwolf in that area."

"In a few years maybe." Ranma laughed, leading them along the deck. They moved to the back of the ship, where Sunfyre scrambled down from Daenerys's shoulder then down her leg to peer out through the railings down and the ocean.

"He won't try to jump will he?" Daenerys asked reaching forward for the little drakling.

"Call it milady," Ranma said touching her shoulder gently. "It's a perfect time to try out your ability to connect with them. Warn them away from the edge, send to them feelings of danger connected with the railing."

Daenerys looked over at him and Ranma smiled encouragingly. With a deep breath Daenerys reached out through her connection to the draklings, warning them, trying to tell them that the edge of the railing was dangerous. To her shock it seemed to work as both of them backed away slightly though they also seemed fascinated by the moving water far below.

Or Sunfyre did at any rate. Rhaegon lost interest after a few moments, and went back to Fenris. Realizing what the cub wanted, Fenris lazily began to move one of his front paws around. The drakling tried to pounce on it, a seeming smile on his tiny reptilian face as he made happy sounding warbling noises.

Daenerys laughed gaily, looking at both of them and pushing out a wave of affection, that was the only way she could describe it, towards the two draklings who both looked up at her before going back to what they had been doing. "I always hated reading about how dragons had to be chained down even when they were young. Growing up I realized it was simple fancy to think the chains weren't needed, but look! No chains necessary now!" Daenerys laughed again shaking her head.

She looked up however at Ranma who sat across from her leaning against Fenris's side as she was the railing, a sudden fear filling her. "Do you think you could reach out to them?"

"Maybe." Ranma said with a shrug. "I won't try without your permission of course. And I doubt I could get as much out of them as you could. They imprinted on you after all, and I already have Fenris."

"Well technically, they imprinted on me and Fenris." Daenerys laughed a relieved.

"How does it feel to be a mommy Fenris?" Ranma asked amused.

Daenerys laughed again when Fenris smacked him in the head with his fluffy tail. He turned back to Daenerys. "Now, in terms of specific training…"

That conversation went on for a while, the two of them exchanging ideas, with Daenerys gobbling up every idea she could about training from Ranma, though some of the specific training exercises wouldn't work. Yet by the end of the conversation Daenerys had a very good idea how she would be training her draklings.

From there the conversation segued into amusing moments from Ranma's own training with Fenris, as well as his own personal training and childhood. Daenerys replied with her own stories, of when she was younger and later on. When her stories turned darker Ranma replied with his own, telling Daenerys about when he met Domeric from his own point of view. They sat there throughout the rest of the day, simply getting to know one another, not even noticing the passage of time until the dragons began to whine once more for their dinner.

OOOOOOO

In King's Landing Ranma's father sighed faintly, putting his signature on yet another piece of paper the king really should have been taking care of. But given their relationship at present, Eddard couldn't really say that he was unsurprised that Robert had removed himself still further from the actual running of the kingdom. After Tyene's execution Robert and Eddard had once more fallen into frosty neutrality rather than the easy friendship they had once enjoyed.

Ned was firmly of the opinion that someone else had killed Tommen, that Tyene had no motive whatsoever to do it, and that she should not have been executed so quickly. He understood why the Queen had pushed for it, it was obvious a mother's grief had destroyed the queen's common sense. But Robert should've been able to keep his emotional distance. Finding who was really behind the plot was more important than persecuting the red herring, as Ned thought Tyene had been.

That didn't even take into consideration of how Dorne was going to react once they heard. Prince Doran might not be willing to do anything for the murder, and that was how those in Dorne would see it, of a bastard girl-child. Oberyn, the girl's father, was the leader of their armies, and if he reacted badly, the results could be another war even if Doran tried to do nothing.

But Robert didn't want to hear it, and Tyene had been put to death. Compounding matters further, after Tommen's death Robert had fallen into even worse drinking and whoring habits than before. Now he was barely in the keep at all for one day of every seven, spending his time hunting and whoring, away from responsibility and duty and trying to mitigate the damage the execution would do to their relationship with Dorne once Prince Doran received word of it. This had put the final nail in the coffin of Ned and Robert's friendship.

While their reactions differed, both royals had retreated entirely from the running of the kingdom, which, much as Ned wanted to say otherwise, was more surprising in the queen than the king. Cersei had slipped into a deep depression. She no longer took part in the Small Council, a pity considering that when Cersei spoke she had some good ideas. Nor did she take part in the court itself any longer, retreating entirely from her public persona. Cersei wore the black of mourning even now a week and a half later, with only a circlet of red and gold brocade to denote her family allegiance.

That dress had actually been made for Cersei by Sansa, who also wore more somber clothing these days. The two of them had become somewhat close since Tommen's death, with the queen almost leaning on Sansa as a friend in her time of grief. And to Ned's disgust, Joffrey and Sansa had become even closer. In fact he'd had to speak to Sansa rather sharply a few times about being seen with Joffrey without a chaperone other than one of the Kingsguard.

Myrcella too was grieving her younger brother's death. She had practically moved into the tower, bunking in Ranma's room. Yet for some reason Ned thought there might be more to it than merely wanting to be in a place where she had only happy memories of her brother like the Tower. No, there was something else there but he couldn't put his finger on it.

Still, Ned was happy to add her to the tower's security, which he had tightened after Tommen's death, no servants save those brought down from Winterfell were allowed in anymore, not even under guard. The Tower's foodstuffs were also under 24/7 security.

In the court, reactions from both the death of Tyene and murder of Tommen were extremely varied, though none of them were good for Eddard or his people. There was a portion of the court that was as sad as Ned and the two royals, having seen the possibility of Tommen being named as heir over Joffrey as an extremely good thing in the long run. Now they were very worried, but not enough to join forces with the Starks. Many of them had simply left the city entirely, which weakened House Stark's position in King's Landing.

Others in the court seemed to be of the opinion that the poison had been meant for Joffrey, though where that rumor came from Ned didn't know, much like the idea he was an ineffective Hand. This group seemed to think that it was a prelude to open war pitting the Targaryens and their Dornish allies against the rest of Westeros, an idea that had no basis in reality as far as Ned could see. But that didn't seem to matter much to the courtiers who believed it. Worse, all of them felt that Eddard was simply unwilling to do what needed to be done to protect the peace of the realm.

There was a third faction, small but vitriolic in assaulting Eddard for allowing Tyene access to the Red Keep, pointing the finger at him saying it had been simply part of a plot to gain him the throne. This group had no evidence or even logic on their side, yet that didn't seem to matter to them.

A fourth faction, the queen's, had rallied around her in her grief, and hatred of the king for how he was 'handling' his own grief made them almost rabidly anti-Baratheon. Joffrey was often connected to this faction, yet had come off as more of a moderating influence between all the different cliques, the boy showing himself in as good a light as he could. This wasn't all that good for those who knew him, but many of the courtiers were unable to look beyond his public persona to see if there was any depth there.

Renly had lost much of his own backers to the first two camps, and now was almost as isolated as Ned, and Renly knew it. Loras' recent arrival with thirty armsmen had been a godsend for him, bolstering his security force by half again.

Eddard sighed, stretching his muscles thinking hard, wondering who really had been behind Tommen's murder, and what their next moves would be. If they had wanted to disorganize the court further, they should have followed up with something other than these rumors. Rumors will die down, and grief will fade, their window of opportunity to capitalize on Tommen's death is disappearing. Unless it was really to put someone close to Joffrey in order to influence him, as the queen thought, Robert's belief this was done to somehow help Dorne's princess to marry Joffrey is so much hot air. But who could it be?

Enough for now, Eddard thought, standing up from his desk. Time to get some exercise.

OOOOOOO

Unbeknownst to Eddard, Petyr, Varys and Pyrcelle were the sources of many of his present problems. Varys had decided the Starks no longer represented long term stability in the kingdom and had subtly spread around the idea that Ned should be held accountable for what had occurred to Tommen. Not because he was connected to the actual murder, that would never stick given how everyone knew how honorable Lord Stark was and he had no clear motive. But Eddard could be painted as too trusting to be an effective Hand because he had allowed Tyene, a mistress of poisons, to have access to the keep.

For his part, Pyrcelle was fanning the flames Eddard's campaign against corruption had brought him, while also keeping the court faction that wanted to pin him as the mind behind Tommen's death boiling nicely. That was difficult since anyone with half a brain could see it was simply untrue. Still, he had gathered eleven other noble houses to the Lannister cause, adding another hundred and fifty men and fifteen knights to their forces, which would be useful when the conflict became open warfare.

Outside the court, Petyr was readying his mercenaries. That was difficult, considering how spread out through the city they were, and how many contacts Brynden had made in the city. The clandestine warfare had heated up in the back alleys, with Petyr's, Brynden's, House Lannister's and agents of the Master of Whispers ambushing one another nightly. Bodies were beginning to be found even in the richer districts.

Surprising Pyrcelle, Varys and Petyr, Ned had done a good enough job in clearing out the corruption of the Gold Cloaks that many of them had begun to actually work to keep the peace rather than keeping the smallfolk down. They were keeping the violence from boiling over into the daytime, but everyone with a working brain could tell that someone was moving against the Starks. No one could prove it yet, but it was there and everyone was walking on tenterhooks.

Alayaya was no exception to this rule. She rarely left her mother's brothel now, even to meet her friends. Instead she asked them to come see her, not wanting to be out on the streets. She had heard a rumor that someone had realized she was passing information on to the Hand, and with the city the way it was right now that was almost a certain death sentence unless you had men to protect you, which she didn't.

Today however she had been forced to head out, accompanied by one of the brothel's guards. One of her friends had some information she wanted to pass on, and the importance of that information had forced Alayaya out to meet with her when the friend couldn't get away from work. This way was saying she was a veritable slave to her pimp, but at least the man in question treated her reasonably well despite not letting her go anywhere without him.

The information was worth it though. It turned out that the whore in question worked in a whorehouse where two suspicious men with Lannisport accents frequented. One of them had a very expensive crossbow that he never let out of his sight, and was now wearing the colors of Master Pyrcelle. The other had begun to show up wearing the tabard of a gold cloak. The men had no obvious connection, but they always made time to talk after doing their business with the house, and always arrived at nearly the same time.

Dixie, Alayaya's friend, had gone even further. She was able to give the Summer Islands girl a description of the one who was now working with the Grand Master. This made the trip to see her a very profitable one, yet very dangerous as Alayaya found out on the way back to her brother's establishment.

The black woman had been walking along, her guard at her side when she looked up, frowning as she noticed that the guard had stopped. Looking forward Alayaya saw two men step out of an alleyway, barring their path, both wielding heavy cudgels, the crowd flowing naturally around them. She backed away quickly putting two houses between them when she realized they were looking at her over the heads of several other people, while all around them the crowd began to fade away quickly.

She looked up over at her guard, one of the six bouncers that her mother employed, only to see him backing away his hands held up non-threateningly.

Before Alayaya could process this sudden betrayal, two more men appeared behind her, gleams of steel in their hands. She looked around wildly, trying to see a way out of this. The courtesan was about to bolt towards a nearby alleyway, not really having any hope of reaching it before she was caught when there was a shout from the end of the street. "Ho there!"

The men turned, seeing seven men in Riverrun colors hurrying towards them, swords out. One of the men with knives reached for Alayaya even so, but she ducked underneath his arm, racing towards the newcomers. The two knife wilders tried to catch up to her, but six more men from Riverrun came out of another alleyway nearby cutting them off and cutting them down before they could retreat.

The bouncer and the two men with cudgels gave one look at this reversal of fortune and legged it away through the nearest alleyways. The men of Riverrun did not pursue.

Alayaya gasped, going to her knees as the nearness of her escape hit her in front of the men from Riverrun. "Th-thank you all! If you hadn't arrived when you did I…"

"Lord Blackfish sent us um, lady." said the one hesitating on the 'lady' part there. He knew Alayaya's profession after all. But still the information she had passed on had been of immense value, and Brynden wasn't one to let those who helped him and his family die if he could help it. "We received word from one of our other agents that you were going to be attacked. I'm afraid it might not be wise for you to return to your mother's… establishment.."

"Seeing they bought one of our bouncers, I agree. I'll send her a message, if that is alright, but where will do you think I should go instead?"

"We have orders to take you to the Hand's Tower lady, you can work as a servant there to pay your way for now."

Alayaya frowned, not having much training in that area but she supposed she could cook at least, or wait on one of the other ladies. That wouldn't take much training after all, since she knew about fashion at least and could sew very well. But it would remove her from most of her own contacts throughout the city, and from where she learned most of her information at her mother's whorehouse. Still, Alayaya thought philosophically, I'll be safe there, and maybe I can get to the bottom of a minor mystery of my own. Who exactly is the Rock Hurler?

Alayaya found herself being escorted directly to the Tower in the Red Keep, not even pausing in the outer areas of the keep. She was ushered immediately up through the castle to what she was told was the family area.

There she didn't find Lord Stark or even Lord Tully waiting for her, but a young blonde-haired girl who looked like she had been crying hard for many days pouring over a book. "Are you all right?"" she asked immediately looking at the young girl. Crying was something all whores did on many occasions, and they were always helpful to one another in times of distress, the good ones at least.

Myrcella looked up from her book startled by the unknown voice invading this safe area, and frowned as she saw the black woman and the clothing she was wearing. The princess easily recognized what this woman was, and her presence in the Tower angered her. Yet the expression on the black woman's face was merely concerned, so she answered the question calmly enough. "I'm well I suppose, simply dealing with my grief at my brother's passing if you must know."

Across from her Alayaya gasped, finally realizing who this young girl was and kicking herself mentally. The clothing should've given you a clue you idiot. She curtsied quickly, showing all the poise and control that her mother had drilled into her as one of her highest earners. "I apologize for not recognizing you at once your grace, you have my sincere condolences about the death of your younger brother."

"Thank you." Merry said rather stiffly, looking at her then up at the men from Winterfell who had escorted her up the Tower. "Might I ask why she is here?"

They exchanged glances but Alayaya answered first. "I'm one of the Hand's informers in the city. Unfortunately, someone else found out about me, and I only escaped with my life thanks to Lord Blackfish sending some of his men to help me."

"I'm just glad they got there in time." said Brynden, coming out from the Hands office with Eddard. "The information you've passed on to us as always been good. I only regret the fact they found you out will prevent you from passing along more."

"I was able to find out something right before the attack came my Lord." Alayaya said quickly, curtsying deeply to both men then glanced over at Myrcella. Ned understood the glance and waved her into the office.

Behind them Myrcella stood staring at the closed door with a scowl on her face. "If you keep on scowling like that your face will stick in that position you know." Brynden said smiling faintly at the young girl. Though at 12, and having had her first cycle a few weeks ago, she was now technically a woman, able to be wed. Still, to Brynden at least she was just a young girl.

Myrcella huffed a little, but didn't bother to take any umbrage at the older man's familiarity. He was much like Ranma in that area, the more he knew someone the more familiar he was with them. "I can't say I approve of her profession." she said coldly.

"Nor should you." Brynden said smiling faintly. "I imagine that your father being the way he is that reaction is even more understandable. However you shouldn't hold her profession against her. Alayaya's mother was a whore before becoming the mistress of her own whorehouse, you could say Alayaya was born into it. And with what little interaction with her I've had, I've discovered that there is a very gentle, true soul underneath that exterior."

Myrcella huffed again but nodded. "I'll try not to hold it against her."

"Are you returning to the holdfast tonight milady?" Brynden asked, changing the subject, watching Myrcella's face closely.

Myrcella shook her head violently. "No, I would rather stay here. Am I… am I imposing?"

"Not to me." Brynden said looking at her with that keen gaze of his, causing Myrcella to look away. "I'm just curious. You're here even more often than Sansa these days, and many times when she is not here to spend time with you."

"I feel safer here." Myrcella replied shortly, hoping Brynden would simply drop the subject. It wasn't as if she could prove her beliefs after all.

"I can understand that, but why would you feel not safe in the holdfast? According to your mother at least the poisoner has already been found, and I know that Grandmaster Pyrcelle has ordered his acolytes to okay every dish the comes out of the kitchens."

"I don't have an opinion on my mother's belief in Tyene's guilt, and even if she's right, the mind behind it is still out there. Who knows what else they might be able to do, if poison is no longer a weapon they can use." Myrcella said getting up quickly. "Now if you'll excuse me Lord Tully, I wish to go see if Sansa is free."

By free she meant no longer waiting on Joffrey, but that wasn't something Brynden would call her on. He exchanged glances with Ser Oakheart who had remained in the corner since Myrcella had arrived earlier that afternoon. The Kingsguard member returned Brenden's glance blandly, not giving any hint of his own thoughts as was proper. He bowed his head slightly been moved to followed Merry down the stairs.

With a sigh, Brynden moved to join Ned in his office.

OOOOOOO

Unfortunately for Myrcella, Sansa was still with Joffrey in one of the sitting areas of the holdfast working on a painting as he told her about some of the royal family's holdings in the crownlands. Even more unfortunately for the golden haired princess, she couldn't then bow back out graciously when Sansa asked her to join them, not having a readymade excuse. She was forced to stay and listen to Sansa simper at her brother for the next hour. Really, I do love Sansa, but it's as if being around Joffrey destroys her ability to think clearly.

Her own problem with her brother of course wasn't based on gushy feelings. She watched him constantly, looking for any sign of his vicious streak coming out, but with Sansa around there was no sign of it. Yet even being in his presence like this was making that moment when she saw his smile burn in her mind. For the first time in her life she was feeling the sort of Baratheon fury that her father had shown a time or two, or perhaps her mother's lioness like rage. So when Sansa excused herself to prepare for lunch, with septa Mordane following, Myrcella couldn't stop herself from blurting out. "You killed our brother didn't you?"

Joffrey looked at Myrcella in surprise. "I have no idea what you're talking about, dear sister."

"I saw that smirk on your face when Tommy was lying there, dying." Myrcella said, finding courage somewhere inside to confront her tormenter, her fists shaking in fury. "You were happy! You somehow knew that he was going to be named heir over you, and you couldn't stand it, could you!"

That touched a nerve and Joffrey's mask fell away as if it had never been. "I am the heir!" he shouted, no shrieked, standing up and stalking over to her. "The crown is mine! Mine by right! I am the eldest, it falls to me! Tommy had no right to it!"

"And so you poisoned him." Myrcella growled, sounding like the lion of her mother's family banner, standing up as well.

"Ah, but there's no proof of that, Myrcella." Said Joffrey now close enough. His hand lashed out, catching Myrcella by the throat and almost lifting her off the floor. "And I would keep that close to your heart if I were you." He breathed pulling her close so he could whisper in her ear. Merry tried to fight back, but she was no Tommy, she hadn't trained and lacked the strength to push him away. "If I can kill one sibling, what makes you think I would balk at two?"

Myrcella spat in his eye, rage still overriding her fear despite the hand around her throat.

Her older brother raised his free hand to wipe away the spit from his eye, then raised it again in a fist.

A knock on the door behind him however halted that, and the door opened to reveal Ser Oakheart. Joffrey quickly moved away from his sister. "Such accusations," he said coolly now. "Are dangerous, you'd best to remember that." With a final sneer at his sister, Joffrey stalked out.

OOOOOOO

"I disagree," Ranma said, smiling slightly across at Daenerys while she tossed a small chunk of wood rounded to look like a ball toward the two draklings, then commanded Sunfyre mentally to go and get it before passing it to Rhaegon. "I think your ancestor's decision to create the position of the Hand was one of the things that weakened the royal family. It created an almost separate power structure. While technically answering to the king, the Hand truly wielded more power when the king wasn't strong enough to take it back."

"That's nonsense." Daenerys scoffed, waving one hand. "All power resides in the King, that's the entire point of a monarchy. The position of Hand was simply there to well…" she blushed. "Shovel the shit."

"Power might come from the king, but power is not the same as responsibility. One of the things that has bothered me the most since coming south was how little work the King actually did. I watched my father going gray from the moment we set foot in King's Landing. And if the king it is not responsible for anything, what kind of King is he really? How many poor Kings have there been, because they didn't have any understanding of power meaning great responsibility?"

Daenerys paused before replying, smiling at Rhaegon who had just trotted up with the little ball Domeric had made them. The draklings loved the games that she had developed for them, and they were becoming better and better at responding to her mental commands. For more serious ones she still had to verbally command them however.

For instance, she had to stop them from attacking one of the sailors who had rather stupidly come into the room to stare at them. Or her, his babblings afterwords were not exactly coherent. They responded best to Valyrian commands of course, though the reasoning behind that wasn't one she understood, since they certainly couldn't have ever heard the language before. But it was good from her perspective considering she couldn't accidentally give them a command in common conversation while around them.

That would be… bad. Despite the fact that Ranma seemed immune to their bites, the dragons showed all of the normal irritation at non-Targaryen Dynasty members that always marked the breed. They had stopped trying to bite Ranma, but Domeric still had to be wary around them. Yet even so, Sunfyre and Rhaegon were much more docile then young dragons normally were, at least according to the books Daenerys had read. Not once had Daenerys had any inclination to chain them up, which had been of course the norm for millennia.

After throwing the ball again, this time over to Fenris to bat around for the two youngsters, she turned her attention back to her and Ranma's conversation, frowning thoughtfully. "I'll concede that the Hand concept was flawed. It needed to have severe checks on its power, especially since the Hand often came from powerful families on their own. The Crownlands alone can't raise an army the equal of even the Stormlands, and its economy isn't as rich as Westerlands, nor as robust as the Reach."

She paused thoughtfully, looking at the two draklings. "I think that was a major issue after the dragons disappeared, without them my family didn't have enough power in themselves, which forced them to woo already existing power structures. Still, even taking away physical force, the king definitely needs to have a set of duties that only he, or she" She smiled, thinly, yet whimsically, making Ranma's lips twitch in turn. "Can perform, certain powers that only the king can use."

"Okay," Ranma said agreeably, "Like what?"

"The power to make war for certain. The power to make new laws is a possibility, so long as they affect all of Westeros rather than groups of individuals or different nations within it. The powers of the central government needs to be larger than each of the disparate parts, or perhaps all the Lord's Paramount tied into the power of the whole, rather than just one or two through blood and honor. I am uncertain how that could be done right now, but it's something to think about."

Ranma nodded thoughtfully. This discussion had started when Ranma described the work his father had been doing as Hand, and Daenerys had simply said that much of that was unimportant work that the king didn't need to spend time dealing with, which Ranma had disagreed with. His arguments had carried the day for the most, but Daenerys had argued him down on several points. This made Ranma realize that someone was forcing his father to do work that one of the other small council member's should've been doing.

For now there was nothing he could do about that, so he simply concentrated on the current discussion. "I understand your point about needing to centralize more power and how the dragon's disappearance had damaged the power structure. For the rest though, you're talking about sitting down and creating some kind of charter. I don't think that's ever actually been done, not in Westeros anyway. That would take a lot of work."

"Have I ever said or done anything over the past few days to indicate that I am scared of hard work?" Daenerys asked, smacking him lightly on the shoulder with a smile.

It was a week and a half since they had left three city behind them, and the two young people had grown close over that time, bonding over the draklings' training, and simply being two young people with no one but themselves to talk to. Domeric spent most of his time either watching the dragons with them, or sleeping. His shoulder wound had almost gone bad, saved only because Fenris had noticed the smell. Ranma cleaned it out, but Domeric was still weak from the procedure, though he would eventually regain full use of that arm.

Unfortunately, the weather had been against them. They were only just now reaching what the captain, an experienced man who had plied this route for most of his life, could tell was the halfway point between Pentos and the start of the Blackwater Bay. They had been becalmed three times, and hit heavy storms twice. Several of the sailors had been muttering about it. A few of them had even mentioned that it was because they had the Targaryen princess aboard, that the Seven weren't in favor of her returning to Westeros.

Ranma's presence stopped them from even attempting to do anything about it, but their fellow crewmen would have stopped them in any event. Besides the draklings, Daenerys possessed the ability to draw others to her, charisma on a level few could match, and a caring nature that shown through to everyone who interacted with her. While Ranma had not been in the right mind for this entire mission to bother, she had charmed nearly the entire crew, turning them all into Targaryen loyalists.

To one side Domeric sat watching the two young people, a faint smile one on his face. He wondered if the two of them realized how obvious their attraction was to anyone who saw them. It wasn't just lust, he could tell that simply by the amount of time they spent talking rather than simply looking out of the corners of their eyes at one another and sighing like star-crossed lovers from some of his songs. No, their attraction was built on how alike they were in many ways rather than anything physical. Though, he laughed to himself quietly as Daenerys flushed watching Ranma stretch, his shirt riding up to reveal a chiseled stomach. The physical obviously doesn't hurt.

Domeric was worried about the future however. He was worried what about what would happen when they returned to King's Landing, he knew it would not go as well as Ranma hoped. Oh, Ranma would certainly keep his word, but how much could he do in the face of royal displeasure? It was an area Domeric was deeply concerned about. But right now, as he watched Daenerys laughing while Ranma used one of his hands to wrestle with Rhaegon, while the other drakling looked on from his seat on Fenris' back, Domeric couldn't hold onto his concerns. With these two allied to one another, they might just be able to do anything…

OOOOOOO

Five days after Alayaya's rescue Ned sat once again in his chair in his office, rolling a small message tube in his fingers. Part of him had been anticipating what it could contain for weeks, the rest of him was dreading it. "Thank you Adam. Could you find a messenger to send to Brynden, I want to speak to him immediately. Are my daughter and the princess in the tower at present?"

"I believe so my Lord, they are down in the dining hall with Alayaya working on some tapestry or other." Ser Willowtree shrugged, smiling slightly at his lord's use of his first name. He doubted very many lords would know let alone be willing to use their guardsmen's first names, but the Starks had always been closer to their men than most.

Ned smiled faintly despite his present concerns. Alayaya had fit in well in the tower, joining Jeyne in waiting on his daughter and Myrcella when she was in the tower. Alayaya's mother had protested the girl being in the tower rather than working for her, but it was only a token one. She knew that if the brothel was attacked she could not protect her daughter, and it would be disloyal to her other girls to even try.

Knowing what his wife would to do him if she ever found out, Ned had refused to pay for the girl's services from his own pocket as if she were still working as a courtesan, instead putting her on the tower's payroll as an actual servant. She had some problem with a few of the guards, but Eddard had made it known that she was no longer a 'working woman', and that if she wanted to sleep with someone it was now her choice.

Half an hour after Willowtree left Brynden arrived. He was wearing the armor of a common Riverrun man-at-arms, and was wearing a cloak with a hood on his back. He also seemed to be somewhat soot-stained as he came in and when he dropped the cloak on to a nearby chair it puffed slightly as the ash covering it dissipated in the air.

"There was a fire in the city, a very suspicious fire one that almost spread to the Mountain Honey. Thankfully we were able to stop it. We still lost four men though, one informer and three of my men from Riverrun after the fire began. Someone thought it a good idea to hurl bricks at us when we began to fight the fire. We caught about ten of them and the crowd tore them to pieces. This 'game' is becoming increasingly deadly." Brynden growled.

Ned frowned a little, but really didn't have much of a problem with that. Yes it would've been better if they had gone to trial, where he could have tried to get them to confess to who was giving them orders. But if they had been caught in the act of attacking someone who was putting out a fire in the city, they would've been tortured beforehand by the Gold cloaks in any event unless he put his own men to guard them and there was no way he was going to spread his forces even more thinly. A fear of out of control fires was the one thing that every person living in King's Landing had in common.

"I see." He said simply, before holding up the message. "This arrived a few hours ago, so this conflict might be about to get even worse."

Brynden moved swiftly back to the door, opening it to find Sir Jory already taking position there. He nodded at the man before returning closing and locking the door behind him. "I take it that's not from Winterfell, it's a reply to your message that you sent with Lord Mallister? You took a risk there, I hope it paid off."

"I trust Jason enough not to let his curiosity get the better of him." Ned replied dryly. "And I assume that its presence here and wearing the mark of Winterfell rather than the Citadel is a sign that it has, for better or worse."

Brynden pulled up a chair as Ned opened the container at last, pulling out the message which was written in an unfamiliar hand. Yet the writing was small and very detailed, citing births and some other information to back up the writer's answer. That answer was exactly what Ned had long feared. "Baratheon colors are almost always dominant when they marry other lines. Four times Lannister and Baratheon have married, and in over a dozen children not one has been golden haired. The seed is strong indeed." Ned murmured, remembering what the last words of John Aryn had been according to Robert. "This coupled with all of Robert's bastards looking so much like him, you know what this means."

"I would not have thought it of the Queen." Brynden replied honestly. "That there is little love between her and the king is obvious, but to actually break her own marriage vows, despite the way he has? To pass off her own bastards as legitimate? This has the potential to rip Westeros apart."

He cocked his head, looking at Ned. "If Tommen was still alive, what would you do?"

Ned winced. "You do not ask a simple question. The boy had potential whoever his real father might have been, and who knows, he could have been the first trueborn without Baratheon features…" He said before falling silent.

The fact was Eddard really didn't know what he would've done. This had the potential plunge Westeros into civil war again. Would he have felt duty force his hand anyway, even if Tommen had been named heir, or would he have kept silent, knowing Tommen would make a good king and the tremendous amount of damage to the country coming out about it would have done. "And even now it might well be disastrous, especially to Myrcella."

He said that last aloud, and it was Brynden's turn to wince. While he hadn't become nearly as close to the girl as Ranma, both the older men had come to like the young princess, seeing in her many of the good qualities Cersei possessed, with none of the bad. Of course she was young yet, she could develop those bad qualities, but there was no sight of them yet. "I do not envy you having to tell her," he said honestly. "Would you be open to suggestions?"

"Of course." Ned replied looking a little lost. Despite his concerns about Joffrey, he hadn't truly anticipated that all three of the queen's children might not be legitimate. Stop that he ordered himself sternly. They are illegitimate. The records do not lie, nor does the fact that Robert's bastards all have the same features as he does, while none of Cersei's children have anything physicallyto show they are related to him. Just because the truth is unpalatable does not change it.

"I suggest that you consult with Renly. He might have some good ideas, and certainly would help to break it to the king in such a way that he will believe it more than coming from just you." The fact Ned and Robert were no longer close was well known. Robert's desire to send an assassin after the young Targaryen girl, his agreeing to force Ranma to go instead, his refusal to do the work of a king, the travesty of justice that was Tyene's death, it had all added up. "We should also prepare our forces for open combat."

Ned glanced at him in surprise and Brynden shook his head. "Think about it man! Whatever else once we confront her, Cersei will no longer be the Queen! Robert will have no choice but to set her aside with cause, something that neither she nor the other Lannister supporters in the city may be willing to tolerate, even discounting Tywin's eventual reaction. I don't have any idea how she will react, if we guarantee her children's safety Cersei might actually concede gracefully, I don't know."

The Blackfish wouldn't have bet on that before actually coming to the city and interacting with Cersei, but one thing that had he had come to respect about her was that Cersei cared deeply for her children. If proof was needed the grief she had shown since Tommen's passing was more than proof enough.

"You and I both know we wouldn't be able to guarantee any such thing." Ned said harshly. "Roberts temper is chancy at the best of times, this will throw him over the edge and you know it. Moreover, the law will be on his side, adultery is a hanging offense at the noble level, at the royal…" Ned shook his head.

"Possibly, but we could try. And I notice you're not saying no about preparing our troops for battle?"

"No that just makes good sense. I'll have a word with Jory this very afternoon and devise some emergency plans, in particular for the children, some we'll be adding to their daily routine. In particular I want them to be out of the Red Keep at least once daily. On the martial side, have Edmure start to gather the Riverrun men that are scattered throughout the city, and I will pass on a message to the captain of the Fish's Scales. As far as we know no one knows about him and his men just yet, they can be our hidden blade in case of conflict."

Brynden nodded grimly, and left to begin the process.

Ned was about to stand up and follow him but he stopped to smile slightly at his daughter and Myrcella who were playing some kind of board game using both chess pieces and checker pieces, while Alayaya walked them through the rules. The sight stabbed him through the heart, knowing that come what may Myrcella at least would be deeply affected by the coming days. No longer a princess, a trueborn, or a Baratheon, what will be left for you, child?

OOOOOOO

Ned found Renly in his solar sitting and chatting with Loras while they shared a bottle of wine and some little delicacies of some kind while Renly made notes on a parchment scroll. The Northern Lord Paramount had been stopped at the door by one of the men from High Garden, which had allowed Renly and Loras to move apart from their embrace quickly rearranging themselves to look as if they had simply been talking.

Renly waved one hand airily. "Lord Stark, to what do I owe the honor? If you're here to ask for that survey of merchant houses from the Stormlands that are still using outdated letters of accreditation, I'm nearly done it. Give me another day and…"

"I am not here about that." Ned said grimly then flicked his gaze to Loras. "I would speak with you alone, Ser Renly."

"I have no secrets from Loras, whatever you want to say you may say in front of him." Renly replied still not taking Ned seriously.

"Even if it about something that constitutes treason to the crown?" Ned said softly.

That finally woke Renly up, and he nodded at Loras. "Guard the door, and see that we are not disturbed." The handsome knight nodded sending a surreptitious wink his lover's way as he went.

That nearly caused Renly to laugh aloud, but he refrained, seeing Ned's expression. The full on Stone Face of the Starks was on show at present, those dark eyes boring into Renly's, causing him to shiver a little. He gestured at the seat across from him and said formally. "What is this about Lord Stark?"

Anyone else might've come to the point slowly in a roundabout manner. But Eddard was a Northerner, who preferred blunt speech, so he simply came to the heart of the matter quickly.

He first went into what Jon Arryn's last words were, then his and Robert's growing concern about Joffrey, about how they were days from declaring Tommen the heir before he was killed. He told Renly about his investigation into Jon's death, the evidence Ned had found pointing to how Jon had been researching the House Baratheon and Robert's bastards in the city and elsewhere, all of whom shared the same dark hair and facial structure of Robert.

Renly began to see where this was going, and he gnawed on one fingernail worriedly. Part of Renly wanted to speak up and stop Eddard from continuing, but he couldn't get out the words before Lord Stark finally finished by summarizing the missive he had received, and the confirmation that in all the former marriages between the Baratheons and the Lannisters, not one child had been born with the golden hair of the lions rather than the brown hair of the stags.

"So you see, the Queen has broken her marriage vows, and has passed three bastards as legitimate children of the crown." Ned finished. "A treasonous act, and one that we must address."

Renly rubbed both of his hands across his face. "This is a nightmare. "What do you intend to do Lord Stark?"

"I intend to tell the King of course." Eddard replied as if it was the simplest thing in the world. "If you would go with me to offset Robert's and my current estrangement, if both of us present this plus the evidence, Robert will have to take it seriously. Then we will move against Cersei with an ultimatum: if she steps aside, both she and her children will not be harmed. They will be removed from the royal family of course, but they will all be allowed to return to Casterly Rock."

"She'll never go for it!" Renly exclaimed looking askance at the northern Lord. "How can you be that naïve?"

"Not naïve." Ned said shaking his head. "Cersei loves her children, it's one of her best qualities. To ensure their continued health she may step aside, and with Robert confronting her, she will lose a large amount of her power base. Nor is it as if I do not have other plans in place just in case she doesn't."

Renly paused for a moment then nodded. "She might," he conceded. The woman's grief since Tommen's death had been something to see. It was obvious to all that Cersei cared deeply for her children. "And if we guarantee that the truth of the matter will not come out, we can say that she was raped and refused to name her rapist for some reason or something, that will save her from further issue. We can even say that Tommen was a natural born, that will save further face for her."

Ned frowned at the duplicitous idea, but nodded. He was already feeling guilty about what this would do to Myrcella, he would not besmirch Tommen's memory as well. "Let Tommen be known as a new true born heir then," he said smiling faintly. "We owe the lad's memory that much considering that it might've been Robert and I being ready to name him heir that got Tommy killed."

"Of course," Renly said moving on. "That means that Robert will need a new queen quickly. One that brings a sufficient power to bolster the throne when the Lannisters withdraw their support."

"And I suppose you have a suggestion? We should also recall Lord Stannis. As the eldest of the two of you he is Robert's heir until Robert begets a true born child."

"That would be a nightmare." Renly retorted coldly. "My middle brother is a hard, cold man Lord Stark, he's not changed overmuch last time you and he spoke, only becoming more demanding and set in his ways, more taciturn and unfeeling. If he was named heir and something happened to Robert before he could beget a child, it would be a disaster. No, the moment the Queen is removed, I will send for Margaery Tyrell. House Tyrell and the power of The Reach will more than make up the loss of Lannister support. With them on our side, Lord Lannister will have no choice but to accept his daughter's removal."

"You realize you are speaking of my son's possible fiancée?" Ned replied coolly.

"Margaery was recalled, and that relationship never made official." Renly said calmly. "And I have no doubts that Lord Tyrell will jump at the chance to put a queen's crown on his daughter's head. I'm sorry if you think your son had feelings for her, but this is politics at its most basic form."

"Which is why my gorge is rising right now." Ned said, his voice still wintry. "Very well, if you think that is a good idea, then we will do so, but for now we need to concentrate on current events rather than the future, we need to make plans and ready our men as much as we can without being obvious about it, just in case. Robert isn't in the city right now, we can send a message to him, but I don't doubt any messenger we send will be ignored."

"Truly my brother does love his little pleasures." Renly said, a smile on his face despite Ned's disapproving gaze. "You're right there, we'll have to wait until Robert returns, and we can use the time to our advantage."

Lord Stark was suddenly very tired of this southern lord, King's Landing, the 'game' of politics, all of it. All I wish, he thought to himself sadly, is to return home to my lady wife and my children, to spend my days overseeing my land with Cat at my side and my family around me. Is that too much to ask?

He shook that thought off quickly, the stern demands of duty settling around his shoulders like a mountain. "Very well, the moment Robert returns we will front him together. Agreed?"

"Agreed. Renly said nodding his head formally. "I will gather what supporters I have, and tell them to be ready, will you do the same?"

"I have already begun so." With that Ned bowed and left, leaving Renly to call Loras back in.

OOOOOOO

In a hidden alcove set directly under Renly's apartments, Petyr moved his ear away from the small hole he had been listening at. He replaced the piece of rock that normally obscured it from view in the far corner, nearly covered by the rug Renly had brought in to liven up the suite. The sound had still carried through thankfully. The keep was riddled with such small alcoves, and he, and Varys, that miserable gelding, knew most of them, though Petyr thought he might know more than the eunuch.

While Petyr no longer had even a single agent inside the Hand's Tower, that didn't mean he couldn't post people to note who came and went from the Tower. One of his watchers among the staff had warned him that Lord Stark was heading towards Renly's apartment, and Petyr had gotten there just in time to listen in on what the two were saying.

Petyr sighed faintly, smiling viciously. At last the conflicts he had envisioned seemed about to commence. "And so it begins. I think the Queen should be warned that someone is on to her, though of course I won't do it myself. I will instead pass this on to the grandmaster, he can pass it on to her in turn, couched however he will. But how to position myself to protect sweet Sansa is the real question. A pity that Ned proved to be so untrusting of me, yet I can still position myself to protect the girl, and then be rewarded later, when Joffrey is forced to set her aside."

Over the past few months, Petyr's hatred of Lord Stark and his entire house had not abated, indeed it had deepened. Every time he heard about Cat's monthly messages to her husband, saw the love he and Ranma bore her, had been a dagger in his heart. Yet at the same time, he had seen Sansa, sweet, unsullied Sansa, so like her mother it was astonishing, move around the Keep her manner and bearing a delight to watch. If Catelyn was so happy to bed with wolves, then she was not the woman Petyr had loved for so long. Her daughter however, was everything Catelyn had been in her youth, yet untainted by the touch of the northern barbarians, so Petyr's obsession with Catelyn had slowly begun to change to Sansa. The thought of the young girl, so innocent and so ripe, caused his smile to widen. Petyr moved off through the hidden passageways of the Red Keep, whistling a jaunty tune.

OOOOOOO

Clenching her teeth, Cersei took a moment to compose herself before she nodded her head thankfully to Pyrcelle. "Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Maester Pyrcelle," she said her voice barely a whisper as her heart pounded. The time had come, and she found that she wasn't nearly as ready for it as she had hoped to be in her own mind.

So many plans can no longer work, she thought to herself, so many ideas and hopes. I had hoped to possibly defend myself and Joffrey alone from this accusation, I even had the scapegoat ready and waiting for when Stark approached me. But with Tommen dead… That thought once again stopped all others, and she had to force her grief down and away.

The Queen was a Lannister in all things, she loved fiercely, dearly and possessively. Burying one of her children was the hardest thing she had ever done, made worse by the memory of that old-wise woman's prophecy about her. Yet the promised younger, more beautiful Queen hadn't appeared to overthrow her, unless Margaery had really been that Queen, but that made no sense.

Enough, she thought shaking her head of out of that thought. With my little cub dead and without his growing 'Baratheon' attributes to offset things, I can no longer assume I can protect myself or my children from this accusation without violence. That changes my plans dramatically, but I can still deal with it.

She reached over to a table, pulling writing tools toward her before looking up at the Grandmaster. "Send a servant for my brother, I believe he is still training at this time of day. Then send a runner in, I want to send a message to my cousin…"

Jaime arrived first, his tunic over one shoulder as he wiped the sweat from his body. He smirked, hoping is sister had sent for him to take advantage of the king being out of the city, but the look in her eyes killed that idea, and he sobered somewhat. "Is there a problem sister dear?"

Cersei explained what was going on, and then what they would need to do to protect themselves and their children. Ned still hadn't found any evidence to suggest Jaime was the father of Cersei's children, but he didn't have to, the idea they were illegitimate alone would be enough to see Cersei executed and her children disgraced utterly. Jaime sighed, then shrugged his shoulders, and agreed to do whatever he had to protect his sister.

OOOOOOO

"Can I ask you a question?" Daenerys asked, watching as the two draklings were roughhousing on an open area of the deck marked out by several small crates. She sat on one, dangling her feet below her into the play area, and half of her mind was making certain that the two of them didn't injure one another accidentally. But such playing was necessary for any young predator. Whatever they looked like now, however ungainly they sometimes seem to be, dragons were predators and they needed this.

"You could always ask, I reserve the right to not answer though." Ranma said laughing lightly as he looked up from where he was hauling in a net that the crew had flung over the side. They were trying to augment their food supplies since they had been becalmed again and couldn't make any headway. Several dozen wriggling fish indicated that the trawl net had actually worked this time, unlike the first three times they had tried this.

Daenerys smiled, leaning back slightly as she enjoyed the sun on her face, then nodded politely at several of the seamen who moved by her touching their forelocks respectfully toward her. "How did you get so good? I mean I've seen you work out with Domeric, and he was known as a decent swordsman, one of the best in the city, but you handle him like he's well…" she glanced at Domeric apologetically "a bumbling child."

The bard waved his hand airily. "I don't take offense. After all, I saw him in action up close and personal years before, and it's obvious he only has gotten better since. Still she's right, your skills are astonishing. How did you come by them?"

Ranma was silent for a moment as he continued to haul in the net doing alone what would take ten men to do normally. Daenerys watched him frowning slightly despite the fact he was shirtless at present, giving her a magnificent view of his chest. She had gotten to know Ranma well over the past few weeks, so much so that she could read him quite easily. Right now she could tell he was carefully thinking what he wanted to say. But Daenerys was patient, she knew eventually Ranma would bring her into his confidence, it would just take time for him to get used to the idea, as it had her.

"I have been training since I was around three." he said after a moment. "And by training I mean real training, not just playing or trying to swing a sword or anything like that. Leg exercises, muscle exercises, endurance exercises, then actual training later."

Again Daenerys frowned slightly, knowing that wasn't even a quarter of the answer. Ranma really was hiding something there, but she hadn't really asked the question to probe his secrets. "How long would it take you to train me? I know I won't ever be as good as you, but could you at least train me well enough to defend myself against someone well, normal?" she quipped, a smile on her face.

Ranma paused in his work to look at her head cocked to one side. He wasn't about to question her desire to be trained, he felt everyone should have some training, and had always been rather irritated with Sansa that she refused any such. It would be a vast relief to him if Daenerys could handle herself in at least a one-on-one situation, such as an assassin or someone trying to assault her.

He looked over her body, not sexually, simply trying to figure out how good a fighter she could be with her body type and what sort. After a moment he shrugged. "I could teach you some tricks I suppose, and of course I can teach you exercises to get your strength and endurance up. But really you're a little too old to become as good as you could be."

"No offense," he hastened to say at her upraised eyebrow. "But to get the most out of my training you really do need to start young or at least with a lot of martial training already under your belt... Speed exercises would be your best bet. You don't have the body type to really build up heavy muscles, and it will take months maybe even a year before you build up enough strength to match even a normal warrior. Still, we can do something. I'd certainly feel better if you knew how to protect yourself. But it will take away from time training with the draklings," he warned.

That caused Daenerys to pause in her response. Priorities she thought to herself, my bonding with my babes is going exceptionally well, but is that because of how much time I'm putting into it, or because of my warging with them?

In the end however she shook her head. "That'll be okay I suppose. My draklings won't be up to actually protecting me from much for at least a year, until then I might have to protect myself at times."

"And you'll have me and Domeric of course." Ranma said smiling slightly.

Daenerys nodded her head at them both, but then smiled eagerly. "So when do we begin?"

OOOOOOO

Stannis stared across the dining table at the woman that the small folk had begun to call the Red Witch. It certainly fit her clothing, and that hair. The Tully women were supposed to all be auburn-haired beauties, or at least Catelyn was, her younger sister never amounted to much in the looks department. But Catelyn couldn't hold a candle either in looks or in sheer redness of their hair to Melisandre. Her body was one that could stand up even to Cersei in beauty, and her face, when it wasn't twisted into a sneer or alight with religious fervor, was among the most gorgeous he had ever seen.

Yet all of that was simply the trappings, it didn't matter to him at all. What did matter was what she could do, but right now Stannis was doubting even that. "What did you just say?"

"I have seen it in the fires." Melisandre said sternly. She didn't like repeating yourself. "The Dragon Queen is approaching on a ship from Essos. She must be captured and sacrificed, her blood will give us powers beyond your imagining."

Not reacting to her tone, Stannis calmly poured himself some wine. At this point Melisandre had proven that she did have certain powers, but not enough to make Stannis take her word for everything, and certainly not enough for him to convert yet to the religion of R'hllor. "Precisely why is she there, and why should I stop her? House Targaryen cannot call upon enough men to matter in the coming struggle alone. All Stormborn has is a name, and there are very few even in Dorne despite their posturing, that will go to war for such."

"She comes bearing two dragons, guarded by a Wolf who stands like a man. He brings her to King's Landing, and from thence he wishes to take her up to the North." That Wolf had often appeared in her scrying, and she knew he was a prominent figure in the future.

Both him and the Dragon Queen now, who had at first been obscured to her sight was now even as prominent as the Wolf, a power rising to shape the future. Yet the power of her visions had been growing of late, and now she was able to see her at last, and knew how important she was to the future. Their alliance would stave off the True Enemy, and would have an effect on the coming war against the rest of the unbelievers.

But neither was Azor Ahai, and as such all of their efforts would fail. It was predestined that only the Chosen of R'hllor could stand against the forces of winter, could lay claim to the throne of swords. And that was Lord Stannis Baratheon of Dragonstone.

How else to explain who much more powerful her spells were these days? No longer did she need to augment her magics to appear more spectacular. Her fires were hotter, her visions clearer, she could now control her shadows to a degree she had never even dreamed. Her ability to dominate those around her was far higher as well. Lady Florent, Stannis' wife, was now nearly a mindless puppet, as was her daughter, and several others in the court, though Stannis, as Azor Ahai, was seemingly immune to it.

Stannis frowned wishing; not for the first time, that he could get up to date news on what was going on in King's landing, but he had few agents there. He had lost many of them when he retreated to Dragonstone after helping Jon Aryn discover Cersei's perfidy. The ones he still had could only pass messages over land, and even then rarely, the five navy galleys ostensibly under his command stationed there unable to leave their posts save under orders of the king. Stannis was lucky to get a single message from them every month.

He had heard what had occurred in the tourney. Stannis had actually smiled with grudging respect at the Mountain's death. But he hadn't heard yet that Ranma Stark had been sent on a mission to find the two Targaryen siblings so was at a loss as to explain what was going on there.

Still, the wolf was easy to connect to House Stark, and if agents of that house had somehow captured or coerced the Targaryen girl to return with them it could strengthen the Stark position. Yet what can I do about it? As long as my brother is sitting on the throne, my ability to act is limited at best, lest I appear to be raising arms against the crown. No one will rally to me then, I have to wait. Still, I might be able to do something.

"I can send a lone ship out into the bay to see if we can find this ship of yours, but if it isn't marked in some manner, finding one ship out there is a difficult proposition at best, Melisandre. The bay is large even at the nearest point with Dragonstone." Stannis was an accomplished naval commander, and knew how easy it was to hide a single ship out in the vastness of the ocean. Even in Blackwater Bay it was extremely tough to find a single ship, especially if it was unmarked.

"Send me," Melisandre replied, leaning forward. "I can deliver the Dragon Queen to you, and I can deal with the Wolf. That one will never join you, will never see your right to rule, and the older Wolf will be dead shortly." That, Melisandre wasn't actually certain about, but she knew for a fact that the younger Wolf would take power from the old one. If the old one died before that she couldn't see, her visions of late were becoming more and more disjointed even as they became clearer to actually see, but her belief in them was unchanging.

Most seers distrusted their visions, simply because most were self-fulfilling. Melisandre trusted hers wholeheartedly, she saw them as proof of her devotion to R'hllor, and as such never questioned them. It was only her interpretation that was faulty, not the visions themselves, for she was human and thus fallible despite her faith. Only in proving her faith by burning his enemies would she retain R'hllor's favor.

But she didn't have enough influence over him yet to convince Stannis to just let her go. "No," Stannis said coldly. "You have convinced me your magic is real, you have convinced me that your visions are accurate at times, but you have not convinced me that I am this chosen champion. You promised to do so, and you cannot do that if I simply let you go off on this errand. Besides as I said, finding a ship would be much tougher unless I send the entire fleet out, which I can't do unless we have some proof for my captains to see. And even if this Dragon Queen, the Stormborn, is aboard, if she's being returned to King's Landing as a prisoner there is little I can do to lawfully detain it."

"Your brother will be dead within the week." Melisandre said smiling, her eyes alight. "The hidden fang of the lion will bring down the stag as the stag hunts the boar. Even now the wolves and lions circle one another waiting to strike."

Stannis looked at her sharply, not trusting the curious timing of that statement but all he saw in Melisandre's face was sincere belief. "Very well, I will send a ship to apprehend this Queen and to kill the Wolf you see with her. But I still will not send you lady. Again. prove I am this chosen one of yours, and I will convert my faith to that of your God."

Melisandre smiled victoriously, even though she would've preferred to go with Stannis's ship. Still, it should be sufficient. An unfamiliar feeling went through her at that, but she ignored it, not understanding what it was. It was a tiny shiver of doubt, something Melisandre had never felt before.

Instead she simply stood, smiling thinly. "Then let us go to the Hall of the Seven, and I will show you my power and the power of my God."

OOOOOOO

"We've startled a boar out my lord!" said the huntsman, grinning up at the King where he perched on his horse. He wore Lannister colors, but the news made Roberts customary scowl at those colors disappear. "The boar is at least sixty stone my Lord! The largest I've ever seen in this area of the Kingswood!"

"HA!" the King slurred. He had been drinking steadily since waking up that morning, since this was the last day of his hunting expedition that he could get away with before Ned, damn his honorable heart, sent runners out to drag him back by force if necessary. Their relationship wasn't so solid now that Robert could ignore that. In point of fact he was deathly afraid that Ned was going to desert him and head back to Winterfell any day now.

But dammit, he was the king! He could do what he wanted! And his grief over Tommen's death was real, making his bad habits even worse. Moreover, and in a sign of understanding that would surprise most, Robert knew he couldn't be around Cersei in her grief. Soon enough the blame game would start, which neither of them would win, both of them accusing the other of having done something or not done something that led to Tommen's death.

"My Lord." Ser Barristan said from where he rode behind the king, looking at the other man worriedly. "Perhaps we should let someone else take the glory of this one? After all, I thought you wanted to take a stag this trip."

Robert belched then bellowed, "Nonsense! We've had no sport yet on this trip, I'll be damned if I let anyone else bring the first game we've seen down! My spear boy!" He shouted looking contemptuously over at another Lannister, only this one was his squire, apparently. Cersei had foisted her cousin off on him, and the king had agreed. It wasn't worth it, it wasn't as if he was doing all that much knightly crap these days after all. The boy was useful for lugging his gear, mostly his drink and weapons along, anyway.

The mealy mouthed boy nodded, holding out a spear.

Robert took the spear from him, almost missing the shaft of it he was so drunk. For just a moment the thought occurred to Robert that maybe Barristan had been insinuating he was too drunk to do this, but then he shook it off.

"Now, let's go find that boar!" he roared, spurring his horse forward into the woods. Behind him the other in the king's hunting party followed. None of them spotted the look on Lancel Lannister's face. For just a moment his face showed a mix of apprehension, delight, fear and anticipation.

OOOOOOO

Ranma frowned, standing next to the captain as they both watched a sail coming nearer over the horizon. Blackwater Bay was despite its size still a bay, so it wasn't that unusual, especially near the entrance like they were now, to see another sail. But this one seemed to be coming towards them, which was unusual. "Your orders Sir?" the captain asked looking at Ranma.

"Keep going." Ranma replied, frowning. "Add more sail or whatever the term is, do it slowly so this guy doesn't realize that were tryin' to run away from him. But we have an appointment in King's Landing, and we're late enough as it is."

The trip to this point had taken three and a half weeks, far more time then had taken Ranma to get to Pentos in the first place. Going to Pentos the weather had helped them every day on their journey, coming back, well, if Ranma was a superstitious sort he would've thought that the gods were against his returning. He knew for a fact however that at least one group of gods didn't have any reason to do that, so put it down to bad luck.

The captain nodded, though added a clarifier. "That's a galley out there, even from here I can tell that by the shape of their sails. If they're willing to put themselves under oars for long enough though, they'll catch us anyway."

"Just make them work for it captain," Ranma said, still frowning. "I have no idea what these guys want, but I doubt it's good."

The ship kept going, with their pursuer still following them, closing the distance slowly. He was being much too persistent for Ranma's peace of mind. Several hours after the approaching ship had been sighted, Ranma was once again standing next to the captain. "How long until we can see what colors he's flying?"

"It'll about another three hours I think, unless we slow down to let him catch us sooner."

"No, keep going for now." Ranma ordered. "I'm going to go below for a moment." Entering his room he found Daenerys and Domeric both looking anxious.

Daenerys had both dragons on her shoulders, tense and ready. It was a martial picture, but it didn't match the reality at all. In a fight the little dragons would be a major distraction, not an aid. If they could control their little spurts of flame maybe, but they couldn't, not yet. And while they were strong for their size, that wasn't saying much, and they couldn't exactly bite through chain mail or anything like that. Still it showed willing at least.

Domeric on the other hand was a slightly more serious proposition. His shoulder had almost healed, but it hadn't been on his dominant arm in any case, and he had honed his skills through sparring with Ranma many times over the past few weeks once he recovered. He also wore Ranma's armor. It didn't fit well, he was a bit, well more than a bit broader in the waist than Ranma, and slightly thinner in the shoulders, but it was still armor.

"Still following us." Ranma reported shrugging his shoulders. He looked over at Fenris, who stood up at his silent command padding over to the doorway. Ranma pulled out his katana, and the belt with his katars on it. "We'll try to talk our way out of this whatever it is, but if we can't you two need to stay here." He sighed faintly. "Fenris and I have done this dance before, don't worry."

Daenerys winced. She and Ranma had talked once about the battle with the Ironborn that Ranma had before arriving in the free city, and she knew that he was actually quite guilty about that one sided slaughter. She thought it was ridiculous, the Ironborn had been the attackers after all, but Ranma likened it to battling so many children. The Ironborn just hadn't really had a chance, and so many deaths had weighed on his mind.

"I hope it does not come to that." She said, moving over to him and touching his arm gently after he finished up buckling on his belt.

Ranma nodded, taking her hand in his squeezing it lightly before exiting the room. Daenerys watched him go, worry in her eyes, and then looked over at Domeric who shrugged. "If anyone can see us through this, that young man can."

That did not make Daenerys any less worried. When she heard the shouting being outside, she steeled herself, then marched out, pushing Domeric's arm aside when he tried to stop her. Even if Rhaegon and Sunfyre weren't ready to fight, there was still something she could do.

Ranma moved back up onto the deck, taking up position by the wheel next to the captain staring at the oncoming ship.

The captain now was nervously pulling at his beard. "They're the Royal Navy colors, though the marks underneath the flag indicates its out of Dragonstone. That means it might be answering personally to Lord Stannis, Master of Ships."

Ranma frowned at that, unable to think up a reason why a Royal navy ship would be approaching them, unless it was just bad luck and this was some random inspection or something. He asked the captain if that could be what this was, but the captain shook his head at that, looking astonished at the very idea.

At that, Ranma shrugged. "I have no idea what this ship captain wants, but we're for damn sure not answerable to him or to Lord Stannis of Dragonstone. Unless they come on orders of the King I'm not going to let them board."

"Are you sure you can stop them?" the captain said. "I'm not going to order the crew to fight them, this isn't like the Ironborn, these are actual royal authorities. I could be banned from the ports of the Bay for not obeying them."

"I'll try not to let that happen." Ranma said with a sigh.

Soon enough the boat was close enough, and a man with a blow horn at the front shouted. "Heave to and prepare to boarded!"

Ranma cupped his hands, needing no foghorn. "On whose authority!"

"Lord Stannis Baratheon, the lord of Dragonstone and Master of Ships!"

"I am Ranma Stark, heir to House Stark." Ranma bellowed back frowning as the ship kept coming closer, now making to pull alongside, the oarsmen in view now. "And I'm returning from a task for the king to King's Landing! Unless you've got royal authority we won't heave to and if you try to board us you'll be delayinga royal mission!"

The man was silent for a moment, before shouting back. "I have my orders! If you will not heave to and prepare for inspection, then I will be forced to board you."

By this point the ship was close enough, and Ranma looked over at Fenris for a second, sending orders down their link before launching himself into the air. The men aboard the galley gasped as he cleared over four dozen yards of open water in a leap that none of them would ever have imagined possible.

One man, a youngster who had been fiddling with his bow and arrow nervous about what could be his first battle hastily raised it and fired before anyone else could stop him.

Ranma saw the arrow coming. Swiftly raising a hand he smacked it to one side using the momentum of that to flip himself in midair, still moving forward. The move however had dampened enough of his forward momentum forcing him to land lightly on the stern railing of the ship.

He stared down at the men gathered to board the merchant vessel, while behind him Fenris made the same leap to land on his four feet heavily in front of him to one side. Ranma stared around at them all, his eyes narrowed. "Who is in charge here?"

The captain quickly forced his way through his troops to stand in front of Ranma. He was an experienced man, who had served with Ser Davos Seaworth at one point. The onion knight had been a good teacher, and he was a fair captain and decent leader. He had also met Lord Stark during the Ironborn rebellion, and could recognize the features of the family in Ranma, so nodded his head cordially, but firmly. "Lord Stark, as I said I am under orders. Could you have your captain heave to please?"

"Captain, I'm under orders from the King himself. Last time I checked Lord Stannis is his Master of Ships, not the other way around." Ranma said looking sternly at the man.

"There are rumors that the King is dead Sir. Your orders then would fall to the heir who is Lord Stannis."

"Joffrey, is the heir." Much as I loathe the little prick. "Why is Stannis declaring himself the heir, and where did this rumor of the king's death come from?" Ranma asked quizzically.

"Joffrey's not legitimate, Lord Stannis has proof of that, though I haven't heard it myself, and the rumors have been flying for days. Sir please, I am to return to Dragonstone with the Stormborn."

Ranma's eyes narrowed. How the hell did Stannis learn that Daenerys is aboard? I'm getting that 'I'm dealing with magic feeling', damn haven't felt that in this lifetime outside of dealin' with the White Walkers. No way would Stannis work with them though, so who?

He shook that thought off, hands twitching as he stared hard at the man. "Until I return to King's Landing with my charge, I don't recognize Lord Stannis's authority over me." Ranma said formally his eyes narrowing. "So if you want to board my ship, you're going to have to do it by force in which case we might as well start the party right here."

His hand flashed faster than any of the men around him could follow. One hand his hand was empty, the next his katana's point was pressed against the captain's jugular. "Are we going to have trouble captain?"

Ranma didn't really like doing this. The captain was just doing his job, and if Stannis had proof that Joffrey was illegitimate, that changed things immensely. But the King being dead was just a rumor apparently, so in his mind Ranma was in the right here. And there was the fact Stannis shouldn't have known he had Daenerys aboard at all, which made himself suspicious

And he would've hesitated even if he wasn't to turn Daenerys over to Lord Stannis. Ranma had given his word that he would've been protected, and he would see to it that she was. The fact that he had come to like the girl, even possibly in a romantic way, was wrapped up in that of course.

The man gulped, blustering. "I have over two hundred men aboard!"

"Yeah, but that's not the point, the point is pressing into your throat right now." Ranma chuckled grimly, the katana not moving even as the men behind the captain began to reach for their own weapons. "Let's face facts captain, I'm in the right here. As far as I know, the King is still alive, you haven't given me any proof of his death, there has been no official notification that came in to Dragonstone about it or you'd have said that. It's only Stannis's word about that, and that Joffrey is illegitimate, as much as I'd like to believe that. Until I return to King's Landing, my authority supersedes yours."

The man gulped again, feeling the tip of the odd looking sword against his throat. "I-I can understand your position Lord Stark, I will let your ship go."

"I'm glad we could be reasonable." Ranma said, sheathing his blade. Fenris however remained ready for anything, and if the people watching him thought Ranma was relaxed they weren't looking close enough.

So when he stood back and the captain jumped back, shouting "Get him!" Those were the last he would ever speak. Ranma's sword was again out and slicing forward as he jumped after the man, slicing his stomach open despite his cuirass.

The katana whipped back into a guard position. Ranma waited a bare second, hoping that the crew, with their captain so easily dispatched, would grow some common sense. But they didn't since normal common sense, which Ranma didn't actually understand, would dictate that one man would have no chance against a full crew, whatever the size of his wolf.

Instead after a second of horror the nearest men charged at him. Ranma sighed, then charged in turn, one hand holding a katar while his right hand held his katana. Right before the first men could reach him, he leaped up, grabbing a hanging rope from one of the sails, flinging himself into the center of the boarding party rather than the front.

His weapons flashed out, katana cutting into the shoulder of one man while his katar punched through another man's helmet to slice his head open. Three more men died in similar manner as Ranma remained in the air, using their spear shafts and heads as springboards. It confused the men around him, allowing him to move above them, killing as he went with relative ease.

This was a deliberate choice of style on Ranma's part. He hoped that doing so would demoralize his enemies, forcing them to think about surrendering, which would let him win without actually killing them all.

Unable to take to the air like Ranma, Fenris barreled forward, glowing with his own life energy. Swords, spears, axes even a warhammer shattered against his fur. One of the things that he had been training on hardest was his chi-strengthening. He still couldn't use it for long, but he could use it for much longer than before.

Fenris' flashed his jaws downward, ripping a man's arm off, before twisting his head to one side, biting into another man's chest, ripping him in half. His legs lashed out, sending men flying. Men began to scream "Monster!" and pull back.

Arrows began to land among them, and Ranma took a second out of his leap between one man's head and the next to see that the crew of the merchant vessel were lining the side, firing arrows into the crew of the navy galley. Though she was out of sight, he also heard a female voice shouting "Concentrate fire on the rowers!"

Over a dozen men went down from the sudden arrow hail. But the crew hadn't replaced the arrows lost against the Ironborn, so they only had a few arrows each, and their accuracy hadn't gone up either. Still at this point they could hardly miss.

Better however, it gave Ranma an idea. With a thought, he sent Fenris at the rowers as well, not to kill the rowers particularly, but to destroy the actual paddles. Ranma took the other side, smashing aside men now, not actually killing many, simply bashing them aside to get at the oar. The two juggernauts shattered every oar they saw, only actually killing one out of four men trying to fight them now.

Aboard the merchant caravel Daenerys realized what Ranma was doing, with delight. He's not trying to kill the crew, Ranma's going to destroy their ability to come after us! She quickly turned, grabbing up a bow and staring across at Domeric. "Fire arrows, can we make them quickly?"

"I don't know, why?" Domeric asked, wincing as he tried to fire a bow. He missed, he wasn't an archer, and he decided to let that lie. Yet he couldn't quite turn away from the action on the other boat, watching Ranma bound around, dance almost in midair as he went. I feel another song coming on. The 'Dancing Wolf' or perhaps 'the Flying Wolf', no, those sound too much like mummers acts, something to think about when I have leisure.

"Keep up man! Find some fire arrows or make them, then aim at the sails!" Daenerys said, slapping his good shoulder to get his attention.

Back on the navy galley, Ranma had finished destroying the oars on his side. Fenris was nearly done, but he had gotten snarled up in several nets, slowing him down enough that the crew of the ship had been able to fully circle him, though they weren't having much luck in actually hurting him just yet.

Instead, the men manning the nets were being thrown around like ninepins smashing their fellow armsmen around, killing several before they too died and let go of their hold on the nets. Fenris then rushed forward, grabbing the net in his teeth, tearing it asunder easily, his teeth glowing blue for just an instant.

Ranma arrived at that point, having just jumped over several dozen armsmen, smashing feet first into a man aiming a spear at his Fenris' back. Katana and katar flashed cutting and chopping into heads and shoulders. Again he remained in the air, using their arms, heads and even the edge of their thrust up blades to balance himself as he went, a feat that was both utterly astonishing to everyone who watched, and demoralizing to the crew he was currently fighting.

Fenris roared out of the last vestiges of the nets, once again looking nicked around the edges, but nothing life threatening or even anything that would later leave a scar. He was having a more difficult time of it then his bonded, yet he had finished the destruction of the oars on his side of the galley.

Glancing up as he heard a 'fwoosh' sound, Ranma saw several makeshift fire arrows hitting the canvas of the sail above him. the crew had kept the sail open even as they added oars to close the distance to the caravel, since the wind was helping them along, but now it came back to bite them.

More of the fire arrows missed then hit, they weren't prepared ones, so their ability to actually fly was limited to say the least, but enough hit both the rigging and the navy galley to incite panic among the crew. More than half of them threw down their weapons at that point, rushing down into the hold to grab up buckets of sand and water to put out the fires they could.

"Ranma, come on!" Daenerys shouted, gesturing for him to hurry with one hand, while the other was keeping a firm hold on Rhaegon who was trying to flap off her shoulder, the sight of the fires exciting him. Sunfyre was much more sedate, simply watching everything from her other shoulder.

Ranma could see her point. The captain of the caravel had pulled some of his crew away from the side of the ship and they were now making full sail, getting away from the naval cutter now that it didn't have sail or oars.

At his mental command, Fenris leaped toward him through the tumult of the deck, and a second later both of them leaped toward the retreating caravel. Ranma quickly sheathed his weapons midair, and was barely able to grab onto the back railing of the ship with his outstretched hands. That was enough for him though, and he flipped himself up over the railing, before grabbing up a long line of rope, tossing it over the side to where Fenris had hit the water of the bay.

Fenris grabbed the rope, holding it tight in his jaws but not cutting it and Ranma began to heave him out of the water. The direwolf's paws scrambled at the back of the ship for a second, but Ranma was able to heave him aboard quickly.

"We won!" Someone in the crew shouted, and there was a rousing cheer, mixed with cries of "Stark" and more than one shouted "Stormborn!" There was a lot of back slapping and general joviality before the captain regained control with a single bellow. The rest of the crew went to work quickly under his glower.

Daenerys walked through the crew toward Ranma meeting him halfway, with Fenris padding behind him, shaking himself every other step. Water, Fenris decided, was fine in moderation, but the humans could keep this 'sea' thing.

"I thought I told you to stay in your room." Ranma asked, making it more of an ironical statement than a question. He was smiling, shaking his head at her as she walked up to him.

"Hah! And where would you be if I had meekly obeyed you now, hmm?" Daenerys scoffed, looking him over for wounds then reaching out to scratch Fenris's head. On her shoulder Rhaegon had settled down again, watching both humans avidly, while Sunfyre fluttered the few feet down to land on Fenris' damp back. Her silver hair blew in the wing, her violet eyes were alight with delight at the fact her plan had worked, as well as Ranma's survival.

Despite the battle he had just fought, despite the fact she still wore his shirt and leggings, Ranma thought he had never seen a more beautiful sight in his life. He shook his head slightly, reaching out with one hand to push a bit of her hair back behind her ear. "You took a major risk, and those men on that ship know you're here now. But thank you, all the same."

And for more than figuring out how to stop the ship from being able to board us without my having to kill them all, He thought, more sternly than the moment would match. I'm a lord's son, I can't just rush in, I need to remember the overall battle as well.

Daenerys blushed at his touch, and their eyes locked for a moment. For a moment there on the deck everything else disappeared, and it was just the two of them staring into one another's eyes, seeing the growing feelings there.

The moment could not last, and thankfully for both of them Sunfyre took that moment to start making the little snarl noises that indicated he was feeling hungry. Rhaegon immediately followed suit, surprisingly followed by Fenris. Using his life energy took a lot out of the direwolf, and he had no patience for the silly two-legs mating rituals.

Ranma laughed softly, the moment was broken and the two young people turned their attention to their animals before heading down into the ship. Behind them, the naval galley floundered where it was, the fires out, but no way to move after them or back to port. Ranma took a moment to glance back at the galley, worry crossing his features for a moment as to what this attack meant, and what he would find in King's Landing.

He shook his head, getting rid of the thought for now, but it would return many times over the coming days. Even so, and even after reading the notes his father had given him with his worries, at that point not confirmed concerns about Joffrey, his fears would not match the reality.

OOOOOOO

"What do you mean my brother is dead?" Renly asked coldly, a flicker of fear going through him.

"The, the kings dead my Lord, gored by a boar while on the hunt!" The beast took him right through his stomach when his spear broke." The man stammered. He was a Baratheon man, loyal to Renly as Lord Paramount of the Stormlands, and he had raced ahead of the returning hunting party to bring him the news, though he wasn't the only one.

"This changes everything," Renly muttered, rubbing at his forehead. He felt some grief at his brothers passing, but right now he needed to concentrate on his own welfare. With the king dead, there was no way the Lannisters would back down, it would come to open combat now. "How many men can we call upon?" He asked looking over at Loras.

The handsome Knight of Roses frowned thoughtfully, before shrugging. "Not many. The forty men I brought with me from High Garden, the hundred guardsmen in Baratheon colors here in the Red Keep, that's about it. We could nominally call on a few of the Lords and their retainers from court, but their loyalty would be suspect at best. Of course there's Lord Stark's forces, he's got a little under a hundred and twenty personally, and another hundred or so supporters."

"And the Lannister forces in the keep alone outnumber them four to one…" That actually wasn't the case with the ones who were dressed in Lannister colors, but their supporters in the court had always outnumbered the Wolf supporters, and the remaining supporters of the king, those that hadn't been sent out with Ser Thoros, had shrunk even more after Tommen's death. That had only become apparent to Renly in the past few days unfortunately, or he might've called in more men from the Stormlands to offset it, but it was too late now.

Renly began to pace about, thinking hard. If I know Ned he will move to have himself named as regent until Stannis can be sent for, at that point things will go bad quickly. As far as most people know Joffrey is still Robert's heir, and now it will be simply the Cersei's word against Ned's, without the King there to decide one way or another. The Queen will respond, calling up her troops if need be, and Ned won't back off, even though we're so badly outnumbered, stupid, stubborn fool! And if I'm here when it happens, the Queen will have me killed as well. She'll have to suspect that I know the truth at least about her children, and even if she doesn't, Stannis and I both represent a threat to them and her control.

"Prepare the horses." He said abruptly turning to Loras. "For all of us, your men and mine. We're getting out of here."

Loras frowned, not liking running from a fight, but knew that this fight was lost. The numbers were simply against him and he knew that Renly's life was in danger if Cersei suspected he knew the truth about her son. "I'll see to it."

If he had known that Lord Stark had more forces on hand then anyone suspected, he might well have tried to convince Renly to stay, but he didn't. A fact that would have an impact both in the short term and in the long term.

OOOOOOO

Petyr and Varys entered the king's council room, with eagerness and trepidation respectively hidden under their habitual control. Sitting at the head of the table, Cersei looked at the two 'neutral' members of the small council with scant favor, wondering what plans the two of them had going for them, wondering what they would do when she laid out what was going to happen, and how far she could trust them. Or for how long, belike.

She looked over to Jaime, who had just closed the door and now stood next to it, smiling thinly, one hand on his sword hilt. Several other armed men from different houses loyal to House Lannister for various reasons were also there, awaiting instructions.

He nodded at his sister, and Cersei began. "You have heard that the king is dead, gored by a boar on his latest hunting expedition. It has come to our attention that Lord Stark means to name himself regent, and then to send for Lord Stannis. His reasoning for this act does not matter, this cannot be born, and is an act of treason against the crown. As such, he will be arrested, jailed and tried, before being given the choice of taking the black or execution. Now, I have to ask where you two will stand."

Jaime deliberately smacked his pommel against the stone wall behind him, smirking. Both men looked over their shoulders at him, then at one another with even less favor than the Queen had given them both.

The Master of Coin however was smirking internally. He had expected this summons, and was ready. "I am loyal to the crown your highness, and would more than willing to put myself at your services. Indeed, I have certain forces of my own in the city, that will aid you if need be. I also have connections with the gold cloaks, and know people who are angry enough at being passed over for higher positions in them that they will back you if you guarantee to remove Lord Stark's appointments there."

"Very well." Queen said. "You will retain your post as Master of Coin, your forces will be added to ours. We will discuss remuneration for your aid after Lord Stark has been dealt with." The Queen looked over at the master of whispers, one eyebrow raised.

The eunuch sighed. This wasn't the way he wanted things to go, and he could see it going even worse than he feared all to easily, but right now he didn't have a choice. "I am on the side of the crown of course Your Majesty, and on the side of peace and long term stability. Lord Starks decision to set aside Prince Joffrey would set a very bad precedent long-term, and Lord Stannis would be a nightmare as a king. I have no martial forces to add to yours, but I will not make issue with your moving against Lord Stark."

"Good. Lord Stark is presently in the city, I want him arrested and brought to the keep immediately. You Baelish, will take command of a force of gold cloaks from their garrison here in the Red Keep to do this."

Looking over at her brother Cersei went on, ignoring Petyr's protests with royal disdain. Forcing him to act openly like this with her family would burn any bridges he might think he could use to save himself if things went sour somehow. "Jaime, you will take command of our forces and gather up the men from Riverrun that are in the city. They represent a large amount of Lord Stark's forces. With them out of the way he won't have enough men to win this. Designate someone else to take command of the forces here in the keep to besiege the tower."

Jamie nodded grimly, tapping one finger on his sword hilt, anticipation rising within him,

In contrast Cersei was a bundle of nerves inside. She had tried desperately to keep open conflict from occurring, knowing it was so chancy, and while she had faith in her brother as a swordsman, she didn't know how well he would fare in directing a battle in the city. Nor did she know how Ranma would react when he returned. That he would return was something Cersei was certain of. It was as simple as night following day to her, but now the die was cast, and to save herself and her children there was nothing Cersei would not do.

Petyr frowned heavily, trying to think of something he could say to dissuade the queen from forcing him to do this, but looking at her cold, watchful expression, he realized what she was doing. It would appear as if Cersei is more subtle than I had thought, damn it. I will need to remember this lesson in the future. For now however, I am stuck with this, and will need to make the most of it.

Nodding her head mentally as Petyr stopped protesting, Cersei turned to look over at Ser Detmer Gaunt, of House Gaunt. House Gaunt was an almost eternally poverty stricken minor Crownlands, who Cersei had been loaning money to for some years. "Take as many men as you need, you know what to do."

Detmer bowed, then left without another word, while Petyr frowned slightly, discerning the man's task with ease. He knew Detmer as a man large of shoulders and small of morals, which coupled with Cersei pouring money into his coffers made the man a blade she could use for dark deeds. If I have to guess, the number of royal bastards in this city is going to fall drastically soon. Petyr was proven correct in this guess the next day. But for now, he had his mind on other things.

Several hours later, as Cersei waited for news with all the calm she could muster, until she was told that her daughter was missing.

OOOOOOO

When the news reached him about his friend's death Ned was meeting with Brynden in the Mountain Honey once more. After Tyene's death he had taken to eating as many meals as possible out of the castle, more wary about poisons than assassins, which only increased after Alayaya helped them find the crossbowmen.

He was listening Brynden describe several places in the city where the mercenaries of unknown allegiance they had initially learned about from Alayaya were gathering when a runner from the Dragon Gate.

Hearing the news about Robert, Ned frowned angrily, sad yet also very worried. Their friendship had become so strained lately that the sadness he felt could not override his worry about the coming days.

For a moment Eddard wondered if this had been the awaited second attack from whoever had killed Tommy, or if the Queen had gotten wind somehow of what was going to happen when Robert returned. Still, he mused, I owe it to young Merry and to Tommen's memory to at least try to deal gently with Cersei if I can. But that does not mean I need to be an idiot about it.

He turned to Brynden. "Gather the men, I'll want our forces ready for open conflict within the hour. Send in a runner before you go, I wish to send a message to captain Woolfield."

"We won't be able to bring his men into the keep," Brynden warned. "Not unless you're willing to openly declare your regency immediately. The Lannisters and their supporters wouldn't allow us access if we came back with that large a force."

"I wouldn't bring them into the Red Keep in any event, the Lannister forces and those loyal to them would still outnumber us. No, we'll rally at the main Gold Cloak barracks. They have the men we'll need if this goes wrong, if we can trust them."

"Your work with them has been very good." Brynden admitted. "I think you could trust nearly all the new recruits frankly, the older hands will go the way the money pays them to. Who will you send to rally them while our own forces get ready?"

"Edmure, give him ten Riverrun men and tell him to go. He can speak with authority as heir of the Riverlands as well as my representative." Ned replied crisply, staring at the map laid out between them, nodding his head at the plan he had come up with. It would be a gamble, but if they ran into opposition, but it might work.

"Are you planning to confront the Queen?" Brynden asked softly his face showing his opinion on the matter easily.

"I owe it to young Merry and to the memory of Tommen to at least try." Ned said harshly. Plans made, he stood up picking up Ice, House Stark's Valyrian greatsword, from where it lay on the edge the table. "Honor demands it."

"Honor demands you stay alive!" Brynden said angrily, standing up himself and reaching forward to poke Ned in the chest over his armor. "Cersei is used to being Queen, if you remove Joffrey from power, if you name Stannis as heir, even if nothing else happens, the Queen will lose that power, and she won't stand for that."

"I still have to try."

"And if we return to the keep and find it closed to us already?"

"Then we will retreat to meet up with Edmure, and with the gold cloaks aid take the keep." Ned replied grimly. "I cannot in good conscience let the men and servants in the Tower there to be butchered at the Lannister's leisure."

The two men nodded, and over the next hour gathered their men from around the city, as well as interrupting Edmure in his playtime. The heir to the Riverlands had taken to visiting a different brothel every week. He had been helpful despite this penchant for the ladies in leading the training of the gold cloak recruits, those men who had joined up after Eddard had begun to clean up the city watch.

All told by the time Ned was ready to return to the Red keep he had seventy men with him. They were a mix of Riverrun and Winterfell men, but all of them were veterans, and all of them were loyal. Ser Jory led the Winterfell contingent, while Brynden led the Riverrun men.

Unfortunately the queen had her own plans. Their march was interrupted when a band of gold cloaks and shabby mercenaries came down the street towards them, about a hundred men all told. At their head rode Petyr, wearing the tabs of a Gold Cloak commander.

All around them the smallfolk began to scurry indoors or run away through the alleyways of the city, fearing what was about to happen though not yet knowing the cause. Others stopped as soon as they were off the main street, watching from corners or windows to see what was going to happen.

"What is the meaning of this?" Ned growled, pushing his way to the front of his men. Why do you block my way back to the Tower, Baelish?"

Petyr sighed faintly, keeping his real thoughts off his face with the ease of a lifetime spent in court of one sort or another. Damn it, I wish Cersei hadn't insisted I do this, I am not one for open warfare of any stripe, let alone this close to the front. Still, I was hardly in a position to refuse.

"Lord Stark." He said aloud, voice carrying to the watching crowd as well as to his own man and those following Lord start. "I am to apprehend you on charge of treason, to be brought before the Queen Regent. You have been found guilty of sowing sedition against the crown, of allying yourself with foreign influences, and plotting to take the crown yourself."

Eddard's eyes narrowed, and he loosened Ice in its sheath at his side. "You know," he said almost conversationally. "I never did trust you Littlefinger, I knew after hearing the details of what happened between my brother and you that I could never trust you, and everything Brynden or I have seen since coming to this pestilential city has proven that. Now here you are, betraying the crown and the law, all so you can bend over and kiss the golden ass of the Lannisters."

A wild, fey feeling had surged through Ned Stark. Now that open conflict was inevitable a part of him was eager for it to begin. His time in the world of politics had frayed his self-control even if he hadn't realized it before this, and Ned was eager to deal with something simple and easy to understand for a change. "I am going to march up to the Red Keep, and I am going to arrest the Queen." he said coolly. "If she had gone quietly, I would've been willing to prevent her dirty laundry from airing, but she has made her choice, and so have you. If you wish to stop me Petyr come ahead and try!"

"And what of your daughter? Or the lives of your retainers in the Tower of the Hand?" Petyr asked softly, still trying to play the part of a loyal man doing an odious task. "What of them?"

Petyr had expected that threat to completely disarm Ned, but instead Ned laughed harshly, his eyes hard and cold, knowing he might be consigning his people in the tower to death, but unwilling to be swayed away from his duty. Moreover, his daughter and perhaps the princess as well would be somewhere in the city now. He and his men had set that up well in advance, taking both of them out into the city once a day after Ned had received the news from the Citadel.

"The keep is ready for a siege, and has been for several days. And my daughter is none of your concern. I say again Petyr, either disperse your men, join me, or try to follow the queen's commands." Ned replied grimly.

Petyr sighed faintly then moved back through the column waving the men forward.

But Brynden and the men of House Stark hadn't been idle. Though they didn't have many archers with them, those they did had strung their bows while hiding behind their fellows. Now they raced forward past them, aiming down the street quickly loosing their arrows into the front column of Petyr's men from barely four house lengths away.

The first two ranks with Petyr were all on horse, but all this did was make them even easier targets for the archers, despite their desperate attempt to close the two house lengths between them and the archers. The first rank of them went down, mostly with horses shot out from under them and the second rank crashed into the downed men and horses, further tangling the column. The front four ranks of Petyr's forces didn't have time to reorganize themselves before the Northerners and Riverlanders hit them like a hammer.

Ned lead the charge, his cloak opening to show plate armor covering his chest and leggings, with a helmet on his head now which he had pulled on while the archers fired. Ice flashed out, cutting a gold cloak down before driving into a mercenary's chest, the steel of the blade easily punching through the other man's boiled leather armor. A backhanded sweep sliced into a mounted man's leg before he could lower his shield to block it, and that man screamed, falling off his sorely wounded horse, who bounded away.

Behind him Brynden speared another man, before cutting down a fourth while the street began to run red with blood. At the back of his column Petyr's eyes widened, backing away quickly, turning tail and leaving his men there. There on the streets of King's Landing, the battle for the crown began.

OOOOOOO

Unfortunately for Ned, he had not reckoned on his daughter's willful nature coupled with the depth of her infatuation with Joffrey. She had indeed been scheduled to leave the keep with Alayaya and Myrcella that afternoon but had refused to go, saying she wanted to spend lunch with Joffrey. The men Ned had left behind had been unable to come up with a reason to force her to go, since Ned had been careful to not even hint to his daughter the real reasons behind these daily excursions. They had still tried but Sansa had put her foot down, and ordered them all to leave her alone. They had however rung out of her that she would return to the Tower once the meal ended.

So it was that Alayaya, Myrcella, Ser Oakheart and their guards went into the city alone, none of them knowing the real reason behind these excursions. But Sansa was back in the tower when the Lannister men came calling mid-afternoon. Worse, thanks to Petyr's connivance and his own forces, the Lannisters had been able to concentrate their forces in the Red Keep on the tower of the Hand.

Ser Willowtree cursed as the door to the Tower was caved in by a hammer blow from a small battering ram. They hadn't expected that, really they hadn't expected the Lannisters to be willing to pay in lives what it would take to assault the tower rather than starve them out if it came to an open battle, but evidently the Lannisters had decided they had enough men to win through.

"Pull back!" he ordered, gesturing to his man, around forty men from Riverrun and every man from Winterfell that hadn't been with Ned. About sixty swords, but the Lannisters alone had over four hundred men in the Red Keep. He knew they were going to go down, it only was left to see how hard they went.

"I could wish I had gotten the servants out at least." He mused as he gripped his sword, racing after his men up the stairs to take position on the next landing, jumping over the first of many barricades of various sizes. "Or that Sansa had not proven so foolish! Stupid girl, she's going to get herself killed, and I can't do a damn thing about it!" While he had heard about secret passages in the Red Keep as a whole, the Tower didn't have any to the best of his knowledge, which was a pity, since he would have jumped at the chance of using them to get his lady out of here.

He barked a laugh, causing the men around him to look at him quizzically but he waved them off smirking through his beard. Ha, if I'm busy wishing for things, might as well wish that more of us were trained archers, or there were more of us at all! He only had about 15 men trained his archers, they would harvest a horrible toll if he could protect them, but…

Willowtree's thoughts broke off abruptly as the first of the Lannister men came up the stairs.

"Gut the Northerners!" the lead man roared, before falling back down the stairs, an arrow through his eye.

Willowtree nodded at the archer who stepped back promptly, pulling out another arrow from his quiver. "Good shot."

"Only fair" the man replied. "At this range I could hardly miss, now could I?"

That death seemed to dishearten the Lannister men for a few seconds, but then they came on all at once with a roar. Bowstrings twanged again from both sides, though the Lannister men couldn't shoot over their own troops or the barricade at the top of the stairs very well, while the men from Riverrun and Winterfell had moved through their own men for a moment. Ten men died under their arrows before they had to retreat backwards, and they took a position on the staircase leading upwards getting just enough headroom to shoot over their own men.

Ser Willowtree's sword bit into a man's chest, then he was nearly pushed off his feet by another man behind that one. There were more behind him and more racing into the tower.

"Die hard boys!" He yelled aloud, bringing his sword up into the gut of the second man before kicking him off into the body of a third while he brought his shield up to slam into the face of another man who had taken out the man standing in line next to him. "Die hard! Take as many of the gold fuckers with you as you can!"

OOOOOOO

Up in the tower Sansa shivered, staring around in horror. She had heard the outcry from several minutes ago, calling on the men from Winterfell to surrender, that her father was a traitor, but she couldn't understand it! The thought of anyone, anyone! Calling her father a traitor was beyond her understanding. It was as if they were simply talking a different language, or asking the sun to not shine. Her father was the most honorable man in the world! Why would anyone think he was a traitor?

But the Lannister men seemed to think so. She shivered, hearing the sound of combat echoing from far below. She clutched Jeyne's hand tightly, her friend doing the same to hers. Jeyne's face was just as white and terrified as Sansa's. Across from them sat septa Mordane, who had pulled out a long, wickedly sharp looking curved dagger from somewhere.

Royer Overton was an older man who had served in Winterfell for as long as Sansa could remember. Normally his jolly face and warm smile was a source of comfort, but now his face was grim as he stood by the top of the staircase leading into the suites at the top of the tower with two other men, the last line of defense for their lord's daughter. "I wish you had gone with the Princess, milady. We'll do our best, but…"

"I wish I had gone with them too Royer." Sansa said, her voice cracking.

Beside her Lady paced, growling continuously as the sound of battle reached her sensitive ears. Normally Lady gave off an almost dainty, pampered air, but that was in abeyance now, and she sharply reminded Sansa and Royer's men of Fenris just now, despite being barely a third the other direwolf's size. She was clearly ready to fight for her mistress, a sight that heartened the Northerners, though not enough to make them think that they would survive this.

OOOOOOO

Edmure was not well-pleased by the summons that pulled him out of the brothel he was currently 'assessing', until he actually read the message, that is. Then his irritation faded quickly, replaced by seriousness as he pulled on his sword belt. Pulling on his leggings Edmure mentally went over a map of the city, or at least the portions he had personally explored. I am about a good fifteen minutes jog I think from the nearest gold cloaks barracks. But isn't that one of the smaller stations, should I go for one of the gate posts, or try for the Red Keep's garrison?

He thought about it a moment as he pulled on his boots (priorities after all), then shook his head. Mud Gate and Dragon Gate are both under our control for the most part, we haven't weeded out all of the less desirables there, but we've done the majority of the job, and the men in command are Eddard's appointees. My brother-in-law has done a magnificent job there I have to admit, never thought I'd say it. But the gold cloaks in the Red Keep are too close to the Lannisters. So do I go where I can rally the troops easily, or where our men might need some stiffening?

By the time he pulled on his boots he had the answer and there were reports of open fighting having already begun in the city. Striding out of the brothel Edmure nodded to the ten men waiting for him. "You two," he ordered, looking at two men he knew used to have running contests back in Riverrun. "Split off and head to the gold cloak garrisons at Mud and Dragon Gate. Tell them that the Hand has evidence of treason by the Queen."

The full perfidy of the woman wouldn't be believed so quickly, but the Hand's supporters had been primed for something like this from the Lannisters or the vice faction for a while. "Tell the commanders to ignore any orders coming out of the palace, or from anyone but me. I'll be heading to the Garrison on the Street of the Sisters, then back to them with the garrison there."

That was the largest garrison of gold cloaks anywhere in the city, fully five-hundred men were stationed there at all times to keep the peace in the richer districts around it, centered around the Great Septa of Baelor the Street of Steel and other rich streets. With them plus the Mud gate and Dragon gate garrisons, each of which comprised another two-hundred men, Edmure would have nearly half of the gold cloaks in the city under his command, then would move on to each of the other garrisons one at a time to add them to his number.

So long as my uncle and brother-in-law can keep from being skewered long enough, I can bring in the forces to end this in our favor. With that he strode off quickly breaking out into a trot with the eight men that remained behind him.

He arrived in the Street of the Sisters quickly, running through that entrance to the garrison before the two guards always on duty outside could stop him, breathing deeply but easily. He was in decent shape, his father had never had anything to say to him about not training his body, just what else he used his body for. "You." he said pointing at a random gold cloak. "Take me to your commander."

Two minutes later he stood in front of Allar Deem, the current gold cloak commander. He was a supporter of the old commander, Janos Slynt, who had been sent to the Wall several weeks ago along with the consignment of death row inmates, and several hundred containers of alchemists fire and seven alchemists. Ned hadn't been able to remove him from command however, because they hadn't been able to pin anything on him, unlike Slynt.

Despite this Edmure didn't trust Deem, and kept one hand on the hilt of his sword as he explained the situation. "So I'm commanding you to prepare your men to march out, we're going to rally the gold cloaks, and then we're going to arrest the Queen."

Allar Deem nodded gravely. "Very well, I'll get the orders out right now." he nodded to two men nearby, who ran out the door while Allar stood up, pouring himself a glass of wine from a very expensive looking decanter. "Would you join me in a glass to celebrate our impending victory?"

Edmure shook his head, everyone in the Tower had become very leery of taking anything from anyone they didn't trust, most particularly food or drink. "I'll drink to our victory after we've actually won."

"Suit yourself." Allar replied, gulping back the extremely expensive wine like it was so much swill. He then put it down, and made for the door with Edmure following them.

"I'm glad you responding so promptly." Edmure said, watching the other man closely.

Allar Deem slowed, smiling thinly. "I must say I was ready for something like this for a while, and I know what side of the bread my butter is on."

Edmure frowned at that, but couldn't put his finger on what about that statement was setting off warning bells in his mind. Soon they had exited out into the training yard of the garrison, where the garrison had gathered, armed and ready.

Yet Edmure saw something else that stopped him cold, his hand whipping it to his sword. He turned, his blade out and seeking Allar's throat, but he had already dodged away to the left after locking the door into the garrison's interior behind him. "Traitor!"

"That would be you, actually, I have a royal proclamation stating that as fact." Jaime Lannister said smiling thinly from where he had been leaning against the wall of the training area, with twenty Lannister armsmen around him. Without further warning he darted forward, trying to close with Edmure but Edmure backed away quickly, and the men behind him pulled out their own weapons and circled around protecting them from all sides.

From several yards away, Allar Deem smiled thinly drawing his own sword. It didn't look nearly as well cared for as Jaime's, but it was still sharp enough. "I told you I knew which side of the bread my butter was on, I even told you that I had been ready for something like this for a while. Did you really think I would follow the Hand over the Queen?"

Edmure looked wildly around for an escape route, but instead he noticed a lot of frowning faces on the gathered garrison, which suddenly gave him an idea. "Men of King's Landing!" he bellowed, pointing his sword past one of his guard's shoulders at Jaime Bannister. "That man and his sister have committed treason against the crown, Prince Joffrey isn't legitimate! The Queen hasn't given birth to a legitimate heir to the throne!"

Jaime scowled, racing forward with his armsmen behind him.

But Edmure backed away, letting his men do the fighting as he appealed to the watching gold cloaks. "Will you allow that to stand?! Will you allow the family that sacked King's Landing, that have betrayed not one but two Kings to retain their power?! Will you let things go back to the way they were before Lord Stark began his crusade here the city? Do you like being reviled by the very people you are supposed to protect? Or will you make a stand, and began to win back the honor that those cloaks on your back should show?! Stand with us!" he bellowed.

Then Edmure was forced to defend himself from Jaime, who had cut two of his men down with ease. Edmure backed away, he was only a decent swordsman, but he was quick and light on his feet and he was able to duck aside for now, using the larger melee around them to keep his distance from the Kingslayer.

Many of the gold cloaks looked at one another, and several dozen of them raised their weapons. Two were struck down by their fellows, who were quite happy for things to go back the way they were, but a surprising amount of the others took this is as a sign to pull out their own weapons and begin to fight one another. This pitted new recruits against old hands, Lannister followers against house Stark supporters, in the smallest, and one of the bloodiest civil wars in history.

Soon enough the melee became general. As packed as they were in the training area, several hundred died in the next twenty minutes. While this was going on Edmure continued to evade Jaime, trying desperately to get away, using the crowd of gold cloaks as obstacle. The last of his men wasn't so lucky. He went down to join his fellows, struck in the back by someone wielding a mace.

Edmure didn't make it to the set of double-doors leading out into the city. Jaime forced his way through the melee to the other man trapping Edmure against the wall. Jaime smashed Edmure's sword aside with his own before bringing the flat of it around slamming into the side of Edmure's head. Even wearing a helmet that blow concussed Edmure, sending him boneless to the ground.

"Damnit." Jaime muttered. "I didn't expect Edmure to think that fast on his feet." He looked around growling angrily before grabbing Deem with one arm. "Get your men under control damn you!"

Allar Deem now looked a little frightened by the violence all around him, but nodded his head, more frightened of the Kingslayer. He started to bellow commands, slowly bringing order back with the help of the Lannister supporters killing any of the Stark supporters inside. Three dozen of them however clumped together either by design or chance were able to win through to the exit of the Garrison and out into the streets, rushing to spread the word about what had happened.

Jaime shook his head Looking around, seeing dozens, hundreds of dead bodies everywhere. The garrison training field had become an abattoir in the past half-hour as the gold cloaks turned on one another with a savagery he had seldom seen before. "Damn Deem, he should've been able to control his men better. There goes any chance of winning this quickly…"

OOOOOOO

it was no secret that there were several dozen men in the Tower of the Hand among the armsmen and servants that had become infatuated with Alayaya and not the kind of infatuation where they would like to buy her affections, but would actually like to win them. Mattimeo was one of these, and he was one of the least 'experienced' as well. He became tongue-tied and there was a perpetual flush on his face whenever the former courtesan was around him. So this assignment as leader of the princess's bodyguard as she went into the city had been sort of a mixed blessing.

Alayaya thought it cute, but Mattimeo wasn't nearly as confident as she liked her men to be, nor quite frankly as intelligent. She wouldn't have minded laying with him, he was a decent looking young lad, but she was making a efforts to leave that world behind, and so did never did anything that encouraged or discouraged him. Made fun of him lightly, yes, but that was at all in good fun.

"I don't know, while red might be the color of your mother's family Myrcella, I'm just not certain it will favor your complexion in the future." She murmured holding up a dress against her body, deliberately not looking at either of Arys Oakheart or Mattimeo who were standing behind her at just that moment, no doubt imagining the rather short and low-cut silk dress on her.

Really whoever thought celibacy was a good idea for a fighting force was an idiot, she thought to herself looking at Oakheart's expression in the large, very expensive mirror this shop boasted. She could easily see where his eyes were concentrating, the same place they did every time she gave him the opportunity. I know I have, what did that one rather crude but sweet client from several months back put it, an 'ass that could launch a thousand ships', but still, this is a little too much.

"The Queen might be naturally pale, but you already are slightly more tanned than she is, that could become permanent in the future. We need to find something that mixes Lannister red or gold with Baratheon black or yellow in such a way that it matches your own complexion."

"That sounds more like something Joffrey would want to wear, I'd rather wear something completely unrelated to either family if I can get away with it, making political statements in what clothing I wear gets old over time." Myrcella replied, smiling politely at one of the dressmakers who were measuring her, who smiled back. She'd recently begun a growth spurt, and had actually begun to develop a real chest! She hoped it would continue to do so, and that by the time Ranma returned, which Myrcella had no doubt he would, she would look the part of a young lady rather than a young girl.

Still, a man working in this establishment had struck her as bizarre when they arrived, but Wade was apparently an up and coming couturier in the city, and 'as bent as a banana' according to a few of the guards, whatever that meant. Still, he didn't seem to look at her as anything more than a breathing mannequin, which was actually reassuring to the young princess.

"I wish Sansa had decided to join us, I love these little trips, this is so much more fun than staying in the keep." Her lessons had been rather boring of late, and there was the fact that she didn't want to be anywhere near Joffrey, which meant she couldn't be around her mother either.

Joffrey is playing the dutiful son so very well these days, she thought to herself rage and grief warring in her mind. If only mother could see it, but no one will believe me, no one will believe what I've seen in him, what he admitted to me. That thought was foremost in her mind practically every day, she wanted to confide in someone, but who? I need Ranma back dammit, he'd know what to do!

That was a familiar refrain, but at the present moment there was nothing she could do about that except worry, and she actually had come to enjoy being around Alayaya. The former courtesan had a truly wicked sense of humor, and no man was safe from her pointed comments, yet she was also kind and gentle, and performed her duties as handmaiden admirably. She also had a sense of fashion that even Sansa respected despite the Stark girl's misgiving about her low-class birth, and was a very good seamstress as well.

She spent a nice time with Alayaya trying on various dresses, ordering several sets to be delivered to the Red Keep later that day. When they exited the shop however Mattimeo stopped, frowning and looking around as did Ser Oakheart and Mattimeo's four men squad. Myrcella looked up at Arys quizzically. "Is something wrong?"

In the distance some town crier was shouting. "The King is dead! The King is dead! The Queen Regent declares martial law! Lord Stark and all his men are considered traitors!"

The man from Winterfell looked at one another in shock, wondering if this was possibly why the princess and Sansa had been encouraged to leave the Red Keep on a daily basis. They had all been told to expect something the past few days, and what to do in case anything should actually occur while guarding Sansa and the princess, but the King's death? That came at them out of left field.

Damnit, Mattimeo thought. He wasn't an officer, nor was he a knight so he hadn't been let in on the fact that Ned had evidence that the Queen had committed treason, or that he might be moving against her soon. Ned had hoped to handle it quietly as possible, simply removing the Queen and her children in a manner that would save face, so hadn't told many people about the evidence against Cersei so as to keep the rumors down. But Robert's death had thrown those plans out the water.

"What is this about?" said Oakheart, his sword in his hand and pointing at Mattimeo as he glared around at the other armsmen. "Is this why Sansa and the Princess have been going out every day, so you can get them away from the Red Keep?"

Mattimeo held up his hands. Yes that had been the reason, but it was only supposed to be a preventive measure, so he didn't see the point of saying so right now. "Hold on, we have no idea what's going on, but do you honestly think that Lord Stark would commit treason?"

"Of course not!" Myrcella said sharply getting between the two men and staring her bodyguard down. "Put up your sword Ser Oakheart, these are good men, and Lord Stark has been nothing but gentle and honest since the day I met him. The idea of anyone accusing him of treason is simply idiotic!"

"Even if it's your own mother doing it as that crier said?" asked the knight looking down at her sternly, but Myrcella could tell that he was wavering. More than a Kingsguard, Oakheart had become her guard, only very rarely spelled during the day by Sir Moore or her uncle Jaime, and Myrcella fondly imagined that she had a greater connection to him than any of the other Kingsguard had to any of their royal charges.

"I don't think my mother would do that, I can't say that someone couldn't do it in her voice however. But regardless we need to deal with our own situation. Do you think we should head back to the Red Keep? If Lord Stark is being accused of treason there might be open fighting there, should we find someplace else?" Myrcella asked, trying to think of what to do in as mature a manner as possible.

A sudden shout at the end of the street caught all of their attention, causing Oakheart to turn away from Mattimeo though he still held his sword in his hand. Several men had gathered at the end of the street shouting at one another, arguing about what was going on while the women and children hustled inside all around them. The small folk of King's Landing had all too much experience in what could happen in the wake of a king's death.

"Hah! Fancy anyone believing that Lord Stark would commit treason! He's a rock, the honor of the Starks has been trusted for centuries even here in the South! Hasn't he done enough to prove himself in this city? No, it has to be a Lannister plot!

"I hear there's open fighting over on The Winding Way, and Gold Cloaks were seen fleeing from their own garrison near the High Sept of Baelor. It'll spread, mark my words." Said another man. "The king's dead, that means scum of all sort will be coming out of the woodwork."

Ser Oakheart sheathed his sword shaking his head. "We need to get the Princess back to the keep, I don't know what orders you have in case of emergency, but that is the only thing I will willingly do."

Mattimeo frowned, then shrugged. "We can try, but if we can't, we'll need to think of another plan". If Sansa was there, he would have simply taken command and forced them to follow the actual strategy they had been ordered to, which was to make their way down to the docks, but she wasn't. And there was a chance, no matter how slim, that they could get back to keep and find that everything was over by the time they got there. Plus Oakheart was sort of a friend, and Mattimeo didn't want to fight him, not if he could help it.

They barely made two blocks before they ran into a large gang of smallfolk, breaking windows and attacking a small band of five gold cloaks. "Down with the Lannister, no more burning! Not again!"

Before the group could back away and try another route they were spotted. "Look!" one of the rioters shouted pointing at them. "It's one of the royals, the little Lannister bitch! Get her!"

"Shit!" Matt muttered pulling out his sword and pulling his shield off his back. "Your highness, Alayaya, get behind us!" He looked around pointing it towards an alleyway. "Thomas, check if that has another exit, move backwards but don't run, not yet."

The man so named ran over to the alleyway while the rioters surged towards them. One of Mattimeo's other men raised his crossbow. Clifton Snow was a bastard from near the border between Cerwyn and Stark lands, and had a decent eye for anything long range, be it a thrown spear, sling, or bow. The crossbow had cost a month's pay, an expense to be sure, but he wanted to see if a crossbow was any better than a bow.

Clifton's first bolt took the foremost rioter in the neck, throwing the man backwards in a welter of blood. His fellows roared in anger and came on even faster.

The armsmen fell back, and the others readied themselves while behind them Myrcella clung to Alayaya, frightened by the look in the oncoming man's eyes. Something about it reminded her of Ser Trent, only far worse, and there were so many of them…

Thomas came back shouting. "It's got another exit, over here!"

"Good, Clifton at the back with me and Arys, everyone else in front, the ladies in between, move!" Mattimeo turned quickly pushing Myrcella and Alayaya towards the other man.

They barely entered the alley way in front of the first of the rioters, who came on, their targets still in sight. Thus began an interminable hour of simply running away, the armsmen always placing themselves between the two girls and their pursuers as they raced through the jumble of alleyways that was the majority of the city. They killed several rioters when they caught up a few times, and eventually were able to throw the whole band off the scent.

Finally Mattimeo called a halt, pulling up level with Myrcella and Alayaya, who was surprisingly fast on her feet. "Do you know where we are?" he asked, gasping. He wore boiled leather armor as all of his men, so the run hadn't been that strenuous for them, no, his gasping was more because Alayaya had sweat quite a bit, and her clothing was now sticking to her body like a second skin in some places.

Oakheart however was gasping because he was already tired. He was clad in the uniform of a White Cloak, which was medium plate armor. Still he was in good enough shape and would recover quickly if given the opportunity.

Alayaya looked around, before ducking to the side through a small cut made between two houses that looked as if they had fallen into one another from the second floor down. She moved through it, then around two buildings before getting back to a main street she recognized. She looked around then raced back. "We nearly went in a full circle, we're near to the main market district, well away from a straight line route to the Red Keep."

Mattimeo cursed. "Not good, those rioters might be anti-Lannister, but I bet that most will be more looters than anything else. The merchant district will attract them like a lodestone attracts iron."

He tried to imagine a mental map of the city, without much success alas. He hadn't made any attempts to explore it, not being one of the men who reveled in the pleasures available here. "Do you think you can lead us to the wharfs?"

"We need to get back to the Red Keep." Arys said sternly. Having caught his breath, he was now eyeing Mattimeo and the others suspiciously. "The wharf will to take us well out of our way. Why do you want to go there anyway?"

"I was thinking we could appeal to one of the Navy cutters there for sanctuary while all this blows over. Let's face it, we don't have enough men here to forge our way back to the keep if rioters like that are everywhere." Mattimeo lied glibly.

Oakheart frowned but eventually nodded.

"That's actually a good idea." he said nodding his head in apology for his tone.

"Alayaya?" Mattimeo asked looking back at Summer Island girl.

"Yes I can, it won't be easy, we'll be moving through an area that's almost as bad as Flea Bottom in its own way, but we can do it."

"Lead the way." said Oakheart, nodding his head over to Myrcella who nodded as well. She had taken to running in the mornings as exercise, so this hadn't actually been that difficult for her just yet. It would, however, get much worse in the next few hours.

OOOOOOO

Ned watched the runner go sprinting off through the city with mixed feelings. He hoped the runner made it, but at the present moment he couldn't quite say that he had much expectation of that. Still, captain Woolfield was a good man, and would no doubt be ready for anything, so his plan, his desperate gamble, had a chance of working.

With the Queen preempting him like this, and with no word coming back from Edmure about the gold cloaks Ned had been forced to assume that the gold cloaks at the very most were no longer a factor for either side. That meant he would have to rely on his own forces, including the men about the Fish's Scales. Still, if the Lannisters don't know about them and I've never seen any sign that they do, those men will come as a nasty shock to them and might well win the day.

He finished cleaning Ice from the ichor of the latest battle and looked up at Brynden. "Ready to move out?"

The older man nodded, looking at the men around them. They haven't lost any in that initial clash, something that Brynden put down to their training and the fact that the Winterfell men had led the way. Some of them were very damn good warriors, certainly far better than gold cloaks of the run-of-the-mill mercs at any rate. Training with my nephew seemingly has paid quite a few dividends. He mused, nodding his head over at the squad leader who was in charge of the five men who were leading the way at present. "Move out."

The group made their way through the city, sticking to alleyways for the most part, forcing their enemies to hunt them.

Soon however one of the squads on their back trail sent a runner up to where Ned and Brynden were in the loose column. "Sir, we've sighted several dozen mercenaries trying to close with us from the side. But our squad leader has found a place where we might be able to ambush them, should we do that or just try to outrun them?"

Ned didn't hesitate. "All squad leaders are to act as they can offensively. I have no idea where we are or the layout of the city so I'm going to have to trust your eyes and ears." He said formally looking around at the men around him at present all of whom smiled and passed the word along.

Five minutes later they had assembled about half their men, hiding behind several broken down carts in what looked like an area that had just begun to be used for refuse. Over three dozen men wearing the makeshift armor and the lean, hungry look of down on their luck mercenaries raced through.

With Brynden and Ser Jory sitting on him Ned was forced to back away from the ambush site, so again he had to leave it to his men to decide when to spring the trap. Jory timed it perfectly, leaping up over one of the down carts to slice a man's back open, shouting "Now, up and at them!"

The men surged up and over the carts, coming in close and cutting the mercenaries down before many could even raise their weapons. It was almost too easy how quickly they went down, but that was what surprise did for an attacker when a properly executed trap was sprung.

Afterwards Ned looked down at the bodies nodding grimly. We'll need to kill as many of these men as we can, and the city is made for the small ambushes. He looked over at Brendan. "We need to keep moving in a circular fashion towards the wharfs, but I want us to kill as many of these men as possible, while we do it, so if any squad leader finds incoming enemies or a place to set up an ambush, we will take advantage of it."

"We'll start lose our own men soon." Brynden warned.

Ned's face was carved from stone, matching his voice. "I know."

OOOOOOO

Willowtree grunted, his sword almost getting stuck in his opponent's chest for a moment before he was able to wrench it out. His arms felt like lead. Despite all the exercise they had been doing and despite before the fact that they had been able to rotate their troops thanks to the relatively narrow confines of the tower's stairwell, he and most of his men were near to exhaustion right now.

On the other side of the scale, they were taking a bloody toll on the Lannister forces. Willowtree estimated that he had lost about half his men so far, and they had accounted for at least four times that many attackers possibly as much as five. The narrow confines of the tower, the better training of the defenders, the fact that they had fallen back into prepared positions (makeshift barricades and small firetraps) it had all added up.

"And it's not going to be enough." he said to himself sighing resignedly. Maybe if our full complement had been here, we could've held out at the bottom, but the moment they pushed us to the third floor there were other stairwells up for the next two. Willowtree had lost maybe a third of his dead when they were forced to retreat to another position on the sixth floor, which only had a single stairwell leading up. That continued for the rest of the Tower, thankfully, so they would be able to bleed the bastards even worse from now on.

Yet even so, while this wasn't their last line of defense they no longer had access to the kitchens or the larder, though they had managed to herd most of the servants ahead of them. If the Lannisters only held where they were, they could starve the Northerners out. Of course, he thought to himself shaking his head, they don't seem to have the patience for that. And they've still got more than enough men to finish us off.

He looked up as he felt a hand on his shoulder and found his friend, Lucas Lake staring at him. Lucas Lake had been his friend nearly since the moment he joined Lord Stark's guard, the fourth son of that family, which held lands along the western border of House Umber. He was a large man, who was habitually silent, but he spoke up now. "You've done your best. All we can do is our duty."

"I know, I just wish that Sansa wasn't here! If not, we might have possibly tried to break out get to the horses and out of the keep entire."

"We would have been cut down in the open if we tried. Besides, I doubt we…" Lucas broke off as more Lannister men pounded up the steps towards them.

OOOOOOO

Out in the city after that initial clash, the battle had begun to be one of ambush and movement rather than the grinding warfare that was occurring up in the tower.

Jaime was a decent tactician, and had devised his initial tactics well. His first attack had captured Edmure killing his Riverrun guardsmen and though he hadn't intended it, killing many of the gold cloak recruits who would have responded to the Hand's request for aid. It also cut off Ned from any attempt to advance on the keep lest he be encircled. He now controlled the keep and many of the high-class areas of the city, at least in name.

That however was as far as his grasp of strategy and tactics could take him. Jaime had never commanded a battle in a city before this, and as anyone would tell you, city fighting was among the bloodiest and worst fighting that anyone could see. Numbers tended to be mitigated in the war of small alleyways, hidden doorways and shanty houses of the poorer districts.

Worse, he couldn't pin Ned down. Eddard and Brynden were moving through the city rather than trying to stop in any one area, and they were doing it better than Jaime's forces. This problem was made worse by two things. The first was that his troops didn't have the same level of organization that Ned's did, though he only had a vague idea of how badly he was outmatched there.

Like the Winterfell and Hornwood men Daryn had led in the ambush the wildlings sprang on him, the men of Lord Stark's personal guard had been organized into five-man squads, with each looking towards a squad leader who relayed commands and kept order. They all worked together smoothly, with very little need after a few hours to even check in with Eddard. This had led to several of his squads being mousetrapped, boxed into alleyways that didn't allow them to use their superior numbers by much smaller groups of Northerners.

Eddard had taken it further. As they were moving through a city if one group or another saw either that they were about to walk into an ambush or a place to set an ambush, Ned had given them leeway to do so, so long as they checked in first.

Coupled with their individual training which Ranma had seen to over the past few months this made the Northerners and their allies equal to any force three times their size. None of the Riverrun men were as good as Ser Jory and the contingent from Winterfell that had trained with Ranma back home as often as they could, but they were better than the normal run of armsmen. Eddard He was using the men from Riverrun as runners and extra shock troops feeding them into any battle where he needed them, leaving the scouting and most of the combat to his Winterfell armsmen.

The second problem was even worse than that however.

In large areas of the city there were roving gangs of smallfolk, many of whom were simple looters using this chaos as an opportunity for profit. But many were not, instead they were looking for anyone with a Lannister uniform or anyone else. They couldn't battle larger groups of troops, not in a straight fight anyway, but they could harass, throwing bricks or anything that came to hand, and had picked off dozens, possibly hundreds of his men, disappearing in the chaos of the city.

It hadn't even been twenty years since the city had been sacked by Jaime's father and his forces when they turned on Mad King Aerys. There were places still bore the marks of that battle, and there were thousands of families in the city that had lost people to the swords of the Lannisters. Normally the smallfolk would be too downtrodden to act against the Lannisters, especially since they were connected to the king, who despite being a drunkard was well thought of by most of the smallfolk, who credited him with getting rid of the Mad King. Now however, these people rose up to back the Hand who had done so much in the city to cut back on the noble's abuse of power in the city.

The entire city was embroiled in chaos now. There were very few safe zones, and Jaime was close to losing the bubble entirely, losing control of the flow of the battle. The navy crews had all pulled up oars and moved away, retaining the neutrality that was their calling card without the Master of Ships or the King around to command their loyalty.

And the gold cloaks were no help at all to either side. While Jaime had shut down the largest gold cloak garrison in the city, the rest were in the midst of a civil war of their own. Those who backed the anticorruption reforms of Lord Stark were fighting desperately against the old hands who wanted everything to go back to the way they had been.

Surprisingly in the rank-and-file the ones backing Lord Stark outnumbered those who wanted the old order to return, but they were not as well led or organized. That battle was seesawing back and forth in nearly every garrison, and was very bloody, with a lot of old and new scores being settled.

In the Mud Gate however, Jaime had been forced to send the men from this garrison under Deem to combat the men there. Jacelyn Bywater was an honorable man who had long hated the amount of corruption in the gold cloak ranks, a veteran who had earned his knighthood from Robert in the Greyjoy rebellion. He had command of the Mud Gate, and nearly the entire garrison would have gone over to the Starks if Jaime hadn't boxed them in with Deem's men. That battle was probably the bloodiest in the city right now.

Jaime had no idea how it would go, but he felt his family's supporters had the edge overall. Along with sending Deem to the Mud Gate he had sent Gundar Pyle, Lord of the minor House of Pyle in the Crownlands, with two knights and twenty armsmen to aid his side in the other garrisons, moving from one to another, adding the men in each to his ready forces.

He rubbed his face angrily. "Dammit, this isn't the kind of fight I'm built for." He had warned his sister this might happen if they didn't wait until Lord Stark had returned to the keep. Yet Cersei had feared Stark's ability to rally the Gold Cloaks, a fear that had been justified apparently. That left the single largest (numerically speaking) force in the city out of it. Though the second largest seemed to be following his orders, though its presence hadn't been something he even had a hint of before the battle began.

"And that's something we're going to talk about later, Baelish, you little snake." Jaime murmured to himself, looking at a map of the city.

It was a decent map, at least it marked out all the major roads and quite a few of the alleyways in the upper sections of the city, but it was nowhere near complete. On it was marked where his patrols had run into issues with the smallfolk, as well as where they had reported clashes with the men under Lord Stark. There were also several marks where mercenaries who, according to them, answered to the Master of Coin had joined in even without his first ordering them.

I don't know how Lord Stark is doing it, keeping control of his troops as well as he is and still moving through the city! But Petyr having such a large force on hand in the city is dangerous as hell, he must have had at least a thousand men all told! Not very good mercenaries for the most part, but a thousand is still a thousand. Though thankfully, that number has shrunk badly over the last few hours.

Jaime smirked at that. He had been pushing the mercenaries into the battle every time he could, and their losses had been much worse in those of his own men or the Lannister supporters outside of the gold cloak barracks, which again Jaime looked at as an expendable resource.

Of course, our losses taking the Tower will probably make up for that. Jaime thought sardonically looking over to where the Red Keep loomed above his command post on the Street of Sisters. I do not envy our men trying to pry the Starks out of there.

He growled angrily, pushing away from the table as he stood up abruptly. "Enough, I'm not doing anyone any good here! You!" he growled looking over at one of the men who had been bringing in reports. "Where was the latest sighting of Lord Stark?"

After being told the answer, Jaime left with a band of fifty Lannister men, heading in an attempt to try and circle around Ned's position. He just missed a messenger coming down from his sister about her missing daughter.

OOOOOOO

The battle for the tower was over. Ser Willowtree knew it, and that knowledge was bitter in his mouth despite the fact he had seen it coming even before the battle was joined. Now only Adam, Lucas and four others remained alive outside Royer and his men on the top floor. Nine men were all that stood between the daughter of their sworn Lord and the blades of the Lannisters.

It was a bitter thought, made worse by knowing that the servants of the Tower that they had been protecting had probably been slaughtered by this point as they were forced to retreat to stay between the attackers and the top floor. He had personally seen several of them, including Vayon Poole, the majordomo, cut down.

The old man took his killer with him though with a massive meat knife he had taken from somewhere, slamming it into the soldier's neck even as the man's sword took Vayon in the guts. That had filled Willowtree with pride, but the screams of the maids had nearly overridden his self-control. He had lost five men at that point who had raced down to battle the reavers, and been surrounding and slaughtered in the Hand's council room.

"But we cost them." Lucas said, as if reading his mind. "We cost them sore, Adam Willowtree and no man could have asked for better."

A younger Riverrun man standing nearby scowled irritably, twanging the bowstring of a bow he had picked up along the way. "I just wish that bastard Joffrey had worked up enough courage to come forward! I'd only need one shot!"

They had seen the crown prince a time or two as the battle went on coming forward to harangue his troops, though it was possible he had been there all along, or even ordered the all-out assault in the first place. He never came near to the front, but made certain that everyone could see that he was there and 'taking part'.

"Tough luck on that lad," growled another man, a grizzled veteran from Riverrun. He was holding one arm awkwardly, and was bleeding from somewhere underneath his chain mail, but then again all of them were dealing with various injuries. "That little waste of shit doesn't have the courage to actually join the fight. He might break a nail or something."

That caused a rough round of laughter among the others, and the younger man smiled. "I just wish I was going to be around to see Lord Stark storming up here."

Adam said nothing while the others agreed with that, he had his own ideas about what was going on in the city at large. He had taken the time during one of the lulls in the action to look out a window and had seen fires in the city. Whatever had happened it was clear that their Lord was busy. No help was going to arrive to save the day.

He turned as the noise from the staircase leading down signaled that the Lannister men were coming up again. The survivors of the battle up to this point had become veterans of storming up staircases into defended positions. They came in groups of seven men with space between each group.

The first seven men ran up in step wearing plate armor heavy helmets and with shields above their heads to protect against blows from the top of the stairs. Their job was not to kill the defenders, but to push or hack away at the makeshift barricade at the top of the stairs. Four of the seven men died doing it, but they hacked the large table that was the centerpiece of the barricade into chunks, letting the next wave of attackers hack at the barricade or the defenders on the other side. This method had worked before, though as always losses among the first groups of attackers was heavy.

Adam found himself pushed back by the rush of Lannister men, barreling the remains of the barricade backwards so they could clear the staircase. He saw that interspersed with the swordsmen were others, who were now wielding truncheons. Even while he ran one through with his sword, that sight caused Adam to frown.

To his left a truncheon slammed Lucas to the floor with an overhand blow to the head which dented his helmet and sent his man senseless to the ground. They're trying to capture us now! Adam realized with a start. But why the sudden change? For some reason he knew it wasn't a good sign.

He twisted quickly, trying to evade a sword thrust toward his stomach. It skittered along his chain mail leaving a bruise to add to his collection but not penetrating. Around him the last of his men fell unconscious or dead he didn't know. But the Northern knight fought on, killing two more Lannister men before a whirling piece of wood slammed into his face knocking him senseless to the floor. The last he saw was the same man raising his club again to bring it crashing down on his head.

OOOOOOO

The sound of combat had gotten closer and closer as the day wore on, and Royer had ordered the girls into Ranma's room, along with Lady. The direwolf hadn't wanted to go, but Sansa had convinced her, tears in her eyes at the knowledge of how many men, men she had known all her life, were dying.

Royer and his men stood by the staircase, waiting grimly. They knew that the battle below was over, and they knew that meant Ser Willowtree and all the others were dead. But they were determined to do their duty as best they could.

The barricade here was less impressive than most, the furniture of the family suites having gone to earlier barricades. Because of this and there only being four defenders, the initial rush was almost able to clear them away on its own, but not quite. More Lannister men fell, with Royer talking the first man's head clean off, but the damage was already done. The men of Winterfell found themselves losing ground almost immediately.

Royer and his men were fresh, determined and well trained, and they wreaked a bloody toll on the exhausted attackers. But the Lannister armsmen still outnumbered them five to one. Once out of the staircase's confinement, the battle ended quickly, with each man isolated, then cut down or knocked out.

Royer had lost his helmet, but he had a thick head, and shook off the blow of one man's truncheon to take his arm off at the elbow in return. The pommel of his blade then hammered into the face of another man, before he found himself tackled a third. He brought the side of his shield down on that man's neck right below his helmet, breaking it, but he still lost his feet under the man's rush.

He kicked out, trying to take a man in the knees, throwing the dead man's body off him at the same time, but a blade snaked in, taking him in his side and punching through his chain mail there. Royer flailed his blade, catching a man on the leg, causing enough damage to cripple him, while around him, his men went down, dead or comatose. A second later, another blade caught him in the face, and Royer knew no more.

When the last defender fell, there was a sudden moment of silence as the survivors of the assault looked at one another, all of them weary nearly to the point of collapse. One of them, a knight of House Lannister, rubbed blood from his face wearily, shaking his head in bemused wonder. "If this is victory, Seven save us from losing." He had no idea how many men they had lost in this battle, but he didn't doubt they had lost possibly two-thirds of the men they had started with.

Another man in Lannister colors snarled. "I thought the princess and the Stark bitch and their little whore were supposed to be here. Where are they?"

A third man wordlessly pointed to the closed and presumably bolted door leading into one of the bedrooms. All of the men there looked at one another, as if debating who would open the door. After a moment one of them, the youngest there who was a little more hotheaded than the others, strode forward. Setting his shoulder against the door he slammed his body into it.

Unlike the doors further down the Tower, the ones in the Hand's quarters had never been intended to stop someone forcing their way in. It only took him five body slams to smash the door open. That however was when things went wrong for the young armsman.

The moment the door had been forced partially open, Lady, worked into a frenzy from the sounds of battle the smell of blood in the air and her bonded's fear, pounced. Her jaws latched onto the young man's throat, tearing it out as she bore him to earth. Not lingering on her kill she jumped away, taking another man by the leg and mauling it badly before she had to fall back from the sword points of several others.

"Just kill the unnatural thing already!" shouted one man, waving his sword back and forth to ward off Lady when she turned her head to keep him in sight.

"NO!" Sansa shouted, rushing out and trying to get to her pet, leaving Jeyne behind. "Don't kill her!"

"Why the hell should we listen to the daughter of a traitor like you, you little wolf bitch!" said one of the men, reaching forward to grab her.

"You take that back!" Sansa snarled. Suddenly her anger at all this overrode her fear, and she lashed out, catching the unwary man with a kick to the crotch that sent him gasping to his knees.

Septa Mordane surprisingly joined the battle too, moving quickly with her curved dagger to plunge it into the side of an armsman who had turned to grab Sansa. She was killed almost instantly though by another man running her through with his sword. At the same time another man grabbed Sansa from behind, raising his truncheon to pummel her to the ground.

He in turn was borne to the ground by Lady, her jaws searching for his throat. But the direwolf wasn't able to get away fast enough to avoid a sword thrust into her side. She snarled in agony, turning quickly enough to catch the swordsman's arm, biting it clear off at the elbow, but another sword came down on her neck, cutting deeply into it. Her spine severed by that blow Lady collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut.

"NO!" Sansa yelled in anguish, rushing forward, again, only to be grabbed by another man and flung to the floor.

Jeyne now tried to run forward to help her friend, but found herself grabbed similarly by two men. "Hah, at least we can end the battle on a high note!" One of them laughed, then began to tear off her dress, causing her to scream.

"That's enough!" shouted a voice behind them, more shrill than commanding, but it was a voice all of the men there knew. Joffrey strode up the stairs with Ser Trant, Ser Moore and Ser Blount. The young man's eyes were alight with something Sansa could not make out, but his gaze was stern as he looked at the men who had ahold of her. "Whatever her father has done, Lady Sansa is still my fiancé, and Jeyne is her handmaiden, you would all do best to remember that."

The men all grumbled a little, but let the two girls go. "I am sorry about all this," Joffrey said looking at his bride-to-be. "You are looking well, despite this unpleasantness." He looked over at the wolf, hiding his delight in the beast's death easily. "I am sorry I was not in time to save Lady."

The words brought Sansa some comfort, though for some reason Sansa felt uneasy in Joffrey's presence for the first time. She stared at Lady's corpse, the direwolf still in its death throes, feeling as if something inside her had died with the wolf.

She didn't resist when Joffrey pulled her to her feet then into a hug, kissing her cheek. "Don't worry." He murmured. "We'll get to the bottom of this, whatever your father has done has nothing to do with you."

Sansa pulled back sharply, those words shocking her out of her grief, but she couldn't escape his arms where they encircled her waist. "Surely you don't believe my father could betray the King!"

"The evidence is damning, but again do not worry, you at least will be safe." He caressed her side gently, moving one hand up her skirt to touch her breast and she squeaked pulling back again, her eyes wide and horrified. "Your highness, this is hardly the time or place…"

The grip around her became tighter and Joffrey pulled Sansa close. "You're in no position to argue milady." Joffrey said harshly, his mask slipping fully for the first time in Sansa's presence.

Joffrey knew he held all the cards now. Ranma wasn't in the city, Lord Stark was, but his uncle would deal with him, and he was KING! Finally, he could act on his desires without fear of even his mother censuring him.

His arm tightened around her and he leaned in for a kiss while Sansa tried to lean backwards away from him, her eyes widening in horror while he pawed at her chest. The act and the fact there were so many men around, all of them grinning obscenely, terrified her.

Thankfully for Sansa, a welcome voice interrupted proceedings. "Your highness, you shouldn't come so near the front of a battle without the full guard around you." Ser Barristan stood near the staircase, looking around sadly at the blood and gore splattered everywhere.

He nodded coolly to the Prince. "I was sent to find you and see if princess Myrcella was here. The queen has been unable to find her."

Joffrey scowled a little, but Sansa used the opportunity to escape from his arms, hurrying over to the knight. "The Princess and Ser Oakheart went with a few men from Winterfell into the city early this afternoon. I believe they were going to go to the dress makers, and the jewelers today."

Barristan and several of the older men paled, but the Kingsguard Commander nodded. "Very well, I will deliver you to the queen milady, that was the other half of my orders. Then myself and Ser Moore will head into the city to find the princess."

Sansa nodded, noticing out of the corner of her eye the scowl on Joffrey's face at the mention of Myrcella. She decided then that her father and Ranma had been right about him, too late to do anything but lament her stupidity.

OOOOOOO

Ned groaned tiredly, Ice point first in the dirt of the alleyway, cracking his neck and rubbing one of his shoulders. While Ned hadn't taken part in a lot of the fighting after that initial clash, he was no longer a young man. These constant small actions were beginning to tell, both on him and worse on his men.

He looked up trying to figure out where they were. Noticing it was nearly full night now Eddard shook his head, the compression of combat astonishing him anew. "How close are we to the port?"

"Maybe ten blocks or so." Brynden replied from next to him, looking around wearily. He too was leaning on his sword, and he was older than Eddard. "This better work, we're down to about forty men I think." He scowled angrily. They had started the day with about seventy, and the fact that only lost thirty was amazing, but still hard to take.

"I know." Ned shook her head. "I didn't expect the Lannisters to be able to call upon that many of the other nobles in the city, or for there to be so many mercenaries."

"My fault there." Brynden scowled, his eyes flashing with anger. "I thought I'd found most of them but I don't think I even found half. They've paid for it, though."

The mercenaries had lost possibly as much as five-hundred men in bits and pieces throughout the day battling the Stark forces, and the smallfolk, who Brynden had witnessed attacking them as well. The Lannister supporters had fared little better, under attack from the smallfolk and unable to bring their numbers to bear against Eddard's men. His men were also organized, disciplined and trained beyond the forces they had been fighting.

Of course, we've only been facing Crownlands men and lords, along with the mercenaries. Petyr's men have been doing a lot of the dying, which I bet is deliberate on Jaime's part, I doubt Ser Barristan would be willing to command this action, so it must be the Kingslayer. But his use of their supporters and the mercenaries freed up his family's men to assault the Tower. Our men there are probably already dead, curse it! But Sansa and the other children are out of there at least. Ned thought grimly.

That worry had been niggling at the back of his mind for several hours now, but there was nothing he could do about it. All he could do was carry on, and hope his new plan worked like he hoped it would.

Both men looked up as a runner came towards them. "My Lord, we've spotted a large Lannister force moving towards us, about a hundred and fifty men all told. They're wearing various colors, but have fifty Lannister men at their core."

That caused both older men to wince, but Ned nodded again. "Squad leaders to me!" He called in a loud voice, made hoarse by bellowing commands over the clamor of battle.

It took about twenty minutes for his officers to arrive from out of the maze of alleyways in the darkening gloom of the city. This section of the city was poorly lit at night at the best of times, but they were close to several of the main thoroughfares down to the docks, which might be lit by torches. The docks for certain would be lit. Even with the battles occurring elsewhere commerce would continue as long as possible. Ned had also not heard of any of the galleys in the port throwing their men into the conflict.

When the men were all assembled, Ned looked at them all one by one, staring into their eyes one after another. "This is it; you know what's at stake. We need to push forward towards the port, and then the lions and their men will be getting a bit of a surprise."

They all nodded grimly, if tiredly. Exhaustion hadn't quite set in, but all of them could feel the specter of it. It had been a hard day of on and off fighting to get this far, but all of them were grimly determined to see it through to the end. "We're with you Milord." said Ser Jory, cracking his knuckles where they lay on his sword's pommel.

"Good. Then at the trot, let's move." Ned said simply and turned leading the way with Brynden down the streets.

They didn't make it four blocks before the Lannister force was on them. This time Ned couldn't in good conscience stay back and let his men do all the fighting. He, Jory and Brynden slotted into the line facing the largest street, down which the majority of the attackers were coming, trying to cut them off from the port, where Ned supposed Jaime assumed he was trying to commandeer a ship or something. Jaime didn't know Eddard that well unfortunately. Running was the last thing he was looking to do.

Behind them the few remaining archers began to fire, but quickly ran out of arrows, which they had been scrounging for since near the beginning of this conflict. They dropped their bows, picked up blades and rushed to join the line.

His scouts having spotted Eddard and his men, Jaime had hoped to hit them from all sides at once. Unfortunately, this didn't work nature of the city cutting into Jaime's organization as usual. A few of the attacks coming out of the alleyways to either side of Eddard's line of advance came in too quickly. They were wiped out with the Starks losing only one man in the process.

This allowed two of the squads to switch from the side of the advance to the front, where Eddard was. So despite the main assault coming from that direction, they continued to press forward.

Two more blocks, and five men were down. Anther squad had been cut off from the main force and surrounded, lost for all intents and purposes though they kept fighting. The Lannister supporters and mercenaries were paying for every Winterfell and Riverrun man that went down, but all of them could tell that the opponents were on their last legs.

Ned found himself separated from Jory and Brynden, though he still had several of his other guards still around him, so wasn't worried just yet. He cut down a man in House Cressey colors, Ice opening his guts to the nighttime sky. Turning to his next opponent Lord Stark found his blade locked with that of the Jaime Lannister.

"You almost got away Stark," Jaime said almost conversationally as he parried the older man's blow. "Too bad."

"Too bad for the kingdom." Ned snarled back, straining against the younger man, pushing him back a pace. "Your sister has committed treason Kingslayer, as have you for backing her! Joffrey has no right to the crown!"

Jaime smirked. "I would say that Robert committed treason against my sister first, but I don't suppose it matters at this point." Setting his feet he pushed the older man back before moving into a series of cuts and thrusts He found to his surprise that Ned was able to parry or dodge all of them, even the final blow towards his leg, a trick Jaime had come up with that had never failed to cripple his opponent.

He grinned wildly. This was what he lived for, fuck politics, fuck leading the battle. He lived to fight, and this would let him see what Eddard, who was reckoned a good blade himself, had learned from his son. "Try to make its at least interesting for me old man!" Jaime laughed moving forward even faster.

Ned had trained with his son Ranma and Jon often back home in Winterfell, and had kept up his exercise regimen as much as he could even here in King's Landing. He wasn't as fast as Jaime, or as strong, nor even his skilled, but he was close enough in all three to make the fight almost even. He also had tricks of his own, both taken from Ranma's training and his greater experience, and his weapon was far better than Jaime's.

This was proven when he cut Jaime's shield, hacking a large portion of it away with Ice before backing away from Jaime 's follow-up attack, nearly disarming the Kingslayer with a swift strike of his own before Jaime could recover.

The battle had moved into the well-lit area of the warehouse district by the docks, which allowed the warriors to see what they were doing, but came with it's own dangers. This was proven when someone nearby knocked over one of the large metal lamps lighting the area. The fire quickly spread, the smoke and fire confusing things further.

Not enough however to let Ned break off from Jaime. Still, even with the Kingslayer pressing him hard, Ned had the energy to smile grimly. "You were wrong you know," he growled when their blades locked again.

"Oh?" Jaime grunted, trying to push the older man back. But he nearly lost his footing when Ned danced backwards, Ice flickering out to thrust, almost taking Jaime in the face before he jumped backwards in turn. "About what?"

"I wasn't trying to get away."

Over the clamor of battle he had heard a new warcry. "The White Harbor! The White Harbor! Lord Manderly for Lord Stark!"

Jaime back away, getting enough distance between him and Ned to take in as much of the battle as he could see from there. A new force had arrived on the scene, and judging by the way they were cutting into his men from behind they weren't on his side. Worse yet, they seemed to be well rested which was telling against his own, semi-exhausted men.

Captain Woolfield had timed his assault perfectly. The Lannister supporters were in just the right position for his men, one-hundred and fifty Manderly armsmen, to take them from behind and the flank.

All of them had been cooped up in the bowels of his ship for months now, Eddard being unwilling to let them do anything that might give them away. So the men had only been able to go out in small lots to get away from one another or see the city. Thus all of them were angry and very willing to hit things at this point.

This was proven in those first few minutes of their assault, where they cut down nearly their own number of Lannister supporters. After that, their own disorganization bogged them down slightly among the warehouses. But the battle had definitely turned.

Realizing this Jaime scowled angrily, but pushed forward. If he could cut down Stark the heart would go out of the opposition, and this new force wouldn't matter.

Ned understood Jaime's reasoning, but didn't try to back away, knowing Jaime had to either die of be capture to truly break the queen's forces. Instead he stood his ground, matching the Kingslayer blow for blow for a few moments as the man of Manderly got close, almost breaking through to him several times before being pushed back.

Moments later Lord Stark found himself fighting with his back pressed against a wall of a warehouse. He ducked underneath a blow from Jaime, throwing himself into a roll underneath Jaime's outstretched arm. Ned came up on his knees twisting around quickly to bring Ice up to cut into Jaime's back.

For just a moment there Jaime knew he was going to be cut in half. Surprised at the older man's sudden acrobatics while wielding that massive blade he hadn't turned fast enough to block the blow. And Ice was Valyrian Steel, it would cut through his Kingsguard issue plate armor easily.

One of the Lannister men nearby however had dispatched an exhausted Riverrun knight just at that moment. Seeing Eddard concentrating on Jaime he turned slamming his mace down on Ned's shoulder shattering it. Ned grunted in pain, his stroke going wide. The blow still landed, Ice cutting through the back part of Jaime's chest plate easily enough, leaving a long gash in Jaime's back. But it wasn't deep enough to cripple the Kingslayer.

He turned scowling angrily at the fact that someone else had interrupted them. Even worse was the realization that said interruption had saved his life. "Still," he said raising his blade and moving forward. "All's fair in love, war and all that, Stark!"

Ned grimly backed away. The mace user tried to move forward too quickly, and his stroke took the man in the stomach. But he couldn't back away further before Jaime was on him, his strokes coming quickly, forcing Ned to use both arms to parry them despite his mangled shoulder. The pain was getting to him, and he was slowing down quickly.

Soon the inevitable happened. One of his attempts to parry wasn't quite strong enough, and he was thrown backwards off balance by Jaime's blow, opening himself up to the return stroke which caught him in the side. Ned's desperate twist meant the blow didn't kill him outright, but cut into his chain mail, deep and bloody.

The older man fell backwards to go down to one knee, one hand holding his side where he was bleeding profusely through his chain mail. Ice still held in one hand his eyes still defiant as he glared at Jaime.

Jaime sighed, holding his blade up in a salute. "Good fight." he said respectfully before darting forward, ready to finish his opponent off.

"RAAHHHH!" Suddenly through the smoke and chaos of the melee around them Ser Jory came roaring, holding a spear he had taken from somewhere as if he was trying to gore a boar. The spear shaft was missing its head, but the blunt end of it slammed with all the force Jory could put into it into Jaime's side.

The Kingslayer grunted as he felt his ribs crack under his armor from the impact. The blow actually lifted him off his feet, throwing him backwards and away from Ned. Behind Jory came others most of them wearing Manderly colors, along with Brynden, who went to one knee beside Eddard.

Getting his feet under him, Jaime growled angrily. His sword lashed out, cutting the spear shaft in two before flashing up to attack this new opponent.

Jory scrambled, letting go of the spear and bringing out his own sword to block the blow desperately. "Take Lord Stark and go!" He shouted. "This battle is lost!"

While Eddard had been dueling with Jaime, more Queen's men had arrived. Lord Pyle had finally ended the gold cloak civil war. He had split his forces into three, sending a small portion to reinforce the Red Keep just in case, then sending two hundred men around to try and start to get control of the middle class portions of the city. Lord Pyle himself then led his men and three hundred gold cloaks towards the port, where Jaime had gone. Not well trained or armored, there were still too many of them coupled with the remainder of Jaime's men.

Now it was the men from White Harbor who were in danger of being flanked. Dozens of them had already been cut off from their fellows and subsequently cut down. Worse, the men from Riverrun and Eddard's original guard had been nearly wiped out in the last hour and a half of combat. Realizing this and unable to find Ned, Brynden had commanded the men to fall back towards the ship. Then he spotted Ned battling the Kingslayer, and, from his vantage point on top of a large pile of crates, pointed Jory in that direction with the few remaining Winterfell guards.

Jory ducked under Jaime's blow, his fist coming up to slam into Jaime's side while his spear had impacted. The Kingslayer grunted, before Jory brought an elbow around into his face forcing Jaime back with a broken nose. Jory grabbed his sword arm by twisting his own sword arm around it, holding it in place wrestling with Jaime now rather than going sword to sword. "Go!"

Behind him two men in Manderly colors grabbed Lord Stark, dragging him away as Ned finally gave into his injuries, falling into blackness. The surviving guardsmen Eddard had brought down from Winterfell, all six of them, grimly stood their ground. Holding there they were a small roadblock, holding back the tide of reinforcing gold cloaks from pushing on after their injured lord.

"FALL BACK!" Brynden cursed internally while he directed the retreat, his voice almost gone now from continually bellowing orders. Ned's gamble would've worked if the damned lions hadn't had so many men! Or if they hadn't been able to call on so many mercenaries! He thought to himself savagely. If we had just the Lannisters and their supporters to deal with we might have won this despite the gold cloaks. But not with the mercenaries throwing their weight in and our losses against them throughout the day.

The men from the ship were still a fighting force, and they weren't as exhausted as the rest of the fighters on either side. But the gold cloaks arrival had turned what would have been a close fought victory into a running retreat. "Form up on me! Defend Lord Stark!"

OOOOOOO

Myrcella and her group had continued through the city as the noise of battle and actual fires and riots got worse all the time. They'd taken the time before leaving the merchant district behind to grab two cloaks to hide Alayaya and Myrcella's faces from view, but they were still visibly women despite that, and the bands of rioters could see that easily enough. As Evening began they had lost Eaton and Richard, Riverrun men who had come to the city with Edmure. They fell fighting a particularly nasty group that ambushed them, but they were nearly to the wharves now.

They entered the warehouse district and were making their way around its edges towards the closet docks to where Mattimeo knew the ship with the men from House Manderly was moored, a less used area that was mostly unlit. Thankfully this was also the area where one of the naval cutters was moored, so Ser Oakheart hadn't questioned him yet.

There were close to breaking out of the warehouse district onto the actual docs when a shout went up. "Look it's a group of those damn wolf lovers! Get them!" Two dozen men raced for towards him, all mercenaries save for a few very shabby looking gold cloaks.

Ser Oakheart turned with a frown and looked down at himself realizing his white enameled armor now was much stained with soot and blood, its original white enamel almost invisible. His cloak was gone as well and he lost his shield in the last battle. He strode forward shouting "I am Sir Oakheart of the Kingsguaaahh!"

That was as far as he got before a brick slammed into his face. He went down gasping as he tried to breathe through a shattered nose wiping away the blood from that and his ruptured eye, which had been caught by the corner of the brick. The thrower had been one of the gold cloaks, who snarled aloud, his eyes lit with madness. "Kill the traitor!"

Merry gasped and would have gone to her knight's aid if Mattimeo and Thomas hadn't grabbed him up, each one taking an arm. "Move!" The young man bellowed, and Merry and the others obeyed save Clifton, who knelt to his knees, sighting down his crossbow. His bolt took the brick thrower in the chest, killing him, then he fired two more shots, the last bolts he had while the others retreated before dropping the crossbow and springing after them.

In the dark lit only by starlight and the waning moon they were soon lost, but their pursuers were able to keep them in sight this time. Alayaya led the way with Myrcella running behind her, but they both skidded to a halt in front of a rickety wall about seven feet tall. "Seven damn it!" the black girl cursed.

Mattimeo and the others caught up to them, Arys able to move under his own power now, if groggily. The young armsmen stared in dismay at the wall, estimating how long would take them to cut it down while behind them they heard the shouts and screams of their pursuers, like hounds after a fox. He looked at Alayaya. "How far to get to the docks from here?"

Alayaya gulped looking around, knowing full well what would await her and Myrcella if they were captured by such men, regardless of their supposed allegiance. "We're at the back of a warehouse that uses this area as extra storage space, I recognize the warehouse because I've been here with my mother a time or to buying bulk foodstuffs. The wharves should be right on the other side of this wall."

Mattimeo nodded, reaching over to pick up Myrcella easily and hoisting her up to where she could grasp the top of the wall. "Pull yourself up and over." he ordered.

Myrcella looked down at him with wide eyes. "What about you?"

"Do it." Mattimeo ordered, not answering. Myrcella hesitated for another second then did so, pulling herself up and over landing with a grunt of pain as her ankle twisted when she landed on the other side, her dress torn even further than it had been after so many forced sprints.

Mattimeo turned to Alayaya while Oakheart looked at the wooden wall then around them as the men who had been pursuing them rounded the corner of the warehouse. Even through his pain from the throne brick Arys understood, and he nodded in approval while Thomas and Clifton formed a very makeshift shield wall at the narrowest point of the alleyway.

He raised his sword and shouted, spitting out blood from his nose and eye. "Remember me fondly little princess, and run!"

Mattimeo hoisted Alayaya into his arms, lifting her up to go over the wall as well. He took a moment to lean in, kissing her hard on the lips. "I wish we could've done more." He murmured. "Make for the ship that will be flying the House Stark colors, and if you see someone dressed in the colors of house Manderly, white on a light blue background, tell them the 'merman serves the wolf' and they should help you and the Princess."

So saying he didn't give her time to reply, hoisting her up to the top of the wall the wall with a grunt of effort. Alayaya scrambled, and then with a final push on her rear which caused her to squeak a little she fell forward over the wall, quickly covering her head with her arms as she hit the ground.

Myrcella was hammering on the wall, screaming. "Come over too! You can make it!"

"Not in armor I can't." Arys replied. "Get out of here little princess. Look after yourself, because I'm no longer going to be there to do it!"

Behind him the first of the rioters slammed into Clifton and Thomas. Clifton nearly went down with a spear to the guts, but he dodged it enough to let it graze his side, killing the man who wielded it with a thrust of his sword, before having to pull back quickly to avoid a mace swinging for his head.

"Run!" Mattimeo bellowed, and jumping forward with Arys as Thomas went down, tackled by two men even as his belt knife took one of them in the throat, his sword having been knocked out of his hand. "RUN!" And then neither man had time for more words.

Alayaya pulled Myrcella away sobbing. Myrcella tried to fight, tried to run back towards the wall, but Alayaya's grip on her arm was too strong and Alayaya pulled Merry away her own eyes wet as they raced on. Luckily Alayaya had been correct in her guess that simply boosting herself over the wall had put her onto the docks and she ran down them, looking for the ship with the flag of House Stark on it.

Soon they saw men in chain mail and strange tabards patrolling the area. One of them looked up and saw the two women running and shouted "Ho, stop there you two!" Six men converged on them quickly looking at the two women quizzically.

"Both of you should be hiding somewhere." One of them said assuming these were two merchants' wives or something of that nature that had gotten separated from their minders at some point. "Where are your menfolk?"

"Dead behind us." Alayaya said choking back a half sob. She looked at them, barely able to make out their colors in the light of the fires raging through the warehouse district, and said simply "The merman serves the wolf."

The man who had spoken stiffened. He was the lieutenant of the ship and had been left to guard the docks, more to make certain that the Navy galleys didn't put into sure than anything else. This area of the city was relatively quiet, since most of the merchant crews had simply upped anchor and moved away from the docks and those that didn't had forted up where they were. "Who are you two?"

"I am Alayaya," the black girl gasped. "An informer for the Hand. And this is the Princess Myrcella Baratheon." Myrcella pushed off looked up at the man from where she was now clinging to Alayaya's hand like a lifeline, her eyes wet with tears.

The man looked at the two of them it with wide eyes wondering how the hell they had gotten through the madness that was the city to here, but thanked the Seven that they had. Detailing one of his men to take over the patrol he hurried them back towards his ship.

As they went however, more men broke out of the warehouse district, all wearing Manderly colors and moving with purpose, especially a small group that were carrying a makeshift stretcher. "Lord Stark is down!" Several men bellowed as they saw their few fellows scattered around. "Back to the ship! This battle is lost!"

Myrcella's breath caught, and she raced forwards towards the ship meeting with the men from the battle just as Brynden came backwards still organizing the running retreat. Aboard the ship a dozen archers had been kept back for just this purpose (and the fact they wouldn't have been useful in the maze of warehouses) and they began to lay down a withering hail of fire aimed thanks to the fires in the warehouse district, allowing the men from White Harbor to gain some separation from their pursuers.

Brynden looked down at the princess happy to see her yet also concerned by who he didn't see. "Myrcella you're here, does that mean Sansa is as well?"

"Sansa refused to come with us today, she wanted to spend lunch with Joffrey, I'm sorry." Myrcella replied, her voice cracking as she tried to cling to her need to be polite in the face of so much upheaval.

But in the next instant she lost it. "My Lord Tully, what has happened!? One moment everything was fine, the next we come out of a shop and we hear that my father is dead, and someone has accused Lord stock of treachery! Then we hear that Lord stark has proof that the Lannisters have committed treason, what's going on!?"

"That would take too long to tell right now Myrcella." The man said waving her aside for now, though Myrcella could see his face had seemingly aged ten years after hearing her news about Sansa. "Lord Stark is sorely wounded." He looked up at captain Woolfield, who had just come towards him through his men as they bunched up near the plank leading up onto the ship. "Does this ship have a surgeon?"

The captain shook his head. "I'm afraid not."

Myrcella looked at the men as they brought Lord Stark aboard biting her knuckle as she looked at the man who had so often been kind to her, been that had become her rock when Ranma was no longer around. She spoke up hesitantly, current worry overriding her grief. "I-I have some knowledge of healing, do we at least have a stock of herbs and medicines? Alayaya, do you think you could do the stitching?"

"I could try, I suppose," Alayaya murmured looking at her benefactor as well, her eyes wide in both memory of recent loss and shock to see such a strong man laid low.

"Good. You men, get Lord Stark down into one of the beds, then heat water and find the smallest needle you have aboard this ship. We'll do all we can for him, I promise." Myrcella said taking command in a way that astonished those around her. Still they obeyed with alacrity, though later would be hard-pressed to say why.

Brynden smiled down at her rubbing her head affectionately. "Do what you can, I need to direct the battle."

Myrcella nodded. "I will however require that explanation of what in the Stranger's name is going on at some point Ser!" She said looking up at him with all the stern hauteur she could muster after years at her mother's knee. With that said she then hurried after Lord stark's makeshift gurney, determined to do what she could for the man.

Brynden took a moment to stare after her shaking his head. "I hope to put that off as long as I can lady, and I hope you can handle it well when it comes."

OOOOOOO

Scrambling on the cobblestones, Jaime tried to get loose of the madman who had a hold of them. But Jaime couldn't get to his sword, and without a sword Jaime wasn't nearly as formidable. He tried to twist away, but the man, who had dropped his own blade, held him down while scrambling for his belt knife. He reached it, but Jaime was able to get a foot between them kicking him away.

Jaime grabbed his sword from where it had fallen, bringing it up just in time to smash the knife away when Jory tried a desperate lunge. Jaime in turn tried to cut the man down quickly and hurry after Stark, but Jory jumped backwards, grabbing up his own blade wearily.

"For Winterfell and Lord Stark!" he shouted charging forward. Jaime met him, but Jory wasn't as good as his lord. He was younger, but even more exhausted than Stark had been at the start of his duel with Jaime. Five parries, and suddenly his blade went flying, his fingers cut off where they had held the hilt. Before he could try to grab his sword up with his off-hand, Jaime's sword ran Jory through, punching though his chain mail over his stomach in a welter of gore.

Kicking the man off his sword, Jaime scowled angrily, staring down the street towards the harbor. The street was blocked end to end now with men wearing Manderly colors, holding off the reinforcing gold cloaks, whose lack of armor and formal training was telling.

They had to have been hiding on some kind of galley. How Varys and Petyr missed that I don't know but I'll be having words with them both later! The men there were now in good order, retreating but not beaten.

"Harry them!" he bellowed, his voice hoarse from smoke inhalation and pain from his ribs and his back. "Harry them, Seven damn you!"

But it wasn't to be. The gold cloaks lacked the ability to break the Manderly men's line, Jaime's men were too exhausted, and the mercenaries had no wish to throw themselves into battle again.

The mercs had lost more than four fifths of their number through this day of blood and carnage. Petyr had started the battle with about a thousand bought men, spread out over the city in penny-packets. About three hundred never actually joined the battle at all. They were picked off in small lots by roving bands of smallfolk all over the city. Thanks to Jaime forcing them to the fore of the battle, the constant small scale battles against Lord Stark's force throughout the day had cost them even more than that, and the final battle had killed more.

By dawn Petyr would find he only had a force of about a hundred bought swords remaining to him, the difference made up by those who had decided he had no idea what he was doing, and had decided to leave for greener pastures with the money they had already received. The Lannister supporters had fared better thanks to Jaime's forcing the mercenaries into the hottest fighting, but they were exhausted and disheartened now that a new force of Northerners had arrived.

An hour later, Jaime was impotent to do anything but watch as the men gained the wharves, moving quickly to a galley moored there, stuck between two others in such a way that no port-master would've approved of. He kept staring while the ship, actually scraping against another merchant vessel as it was pushed off the dock, sailed away into the bay.

OOOOOOO

The Queen, Varys, Joffrey and his captive Sansa, were waiting in the King's Counsel room for news of the battles in the city and the search for Myrcella. Cersei had questioned Sansa closely, almost desperately, about the whereabouts of her daughter, but Sansa had been unable to tell her more than she had Barristan. Cersei hadn't been nasty about it, only worried, but refused to answer Sansa's questions in turn about what had happened to spark this insanity, merely saying she would answer that question when her daughter was safe.

Cersei had sent Barristan immediately along with Ser Moore and ten men of House Lannister, including her cousin, into the city to find Myrcella. Lancel had wanted to talk to her alone, but Cersei had put him off. Now was not the time for his… payment, not when her daughter, her little lioness, was out there in the madness of the city. So here Cersei sat, her fingers tapping a nervous beat on the table in front of her, waiting for word.

She glanced at where Joffrey sat, seemingly composed as he whispered instructions of some kind to Ser Trant, while Sansa sat silent and unmoving next to him. The sight of her son made a proud smile form on Cersei's face. Though she hadn't known it until after, Joffrey had taken command of the battle to take the Tower, and he seemed to have done admirably.

Actually, besides ordering the initial attack the only thing Joffrey had been in command of was the final few clashes in the tower, when the battle had been all but won. Although he had been the one to demand they start to take prisoners. And he had saved Sansa and Jeyne from death and rape.

At least for now; Joffrey had his own ideas in that direction, as evinced from the scene Ser Barristan's arrival had brought to an end. Something Sansa was all too aware of, which added to her reasons to be silent, topped only by the shock of Lady's death still reverberating in Sansa's mind.

Several hours after the battle in the Tower ended they were still waiting for news when Petyr entered, nodding his head to them all. Inwardly Littlefinger cursed seeing Sansa there. He had hoped to get back in time to secure Sansa's wellbeing himself, he knew a passageway into the tower of the Hand that he could have used to get her out, and he could have easily hidden her among his staff for a time.

But Cersei's demand he take part in the initial attempt to confront Lord Stark, and Jaime's refusal to let him go after the battle began, had put paid to that idea. Now he was left scrambling, trying to think of a way to get Sansa under his power in some way.

That was for later though, right now, he had to deal with Cersei. He bowed formally to the queen and heir before giving his report. "The battles between the gold cloak factions have been decided. We now have full control of their remaining forces. I've ordered them to start quelling the worst of the fires in the city. We need to start getting order out there. We've also captured Edmure Tully. At Ser Jaime's orders, I've transferred him to the prison here in the keep."

He sent an apologetic seeming look at Sansa, where she was sitting by Joffrey, though now that he had time to look, Petyr saw that Sansa didn't seem as if she wanted to be there any longer. Perhaps the boy's mask cracked already, Petyr thought.

Cersei's voice brought his attention to her quickly. "Is there any news of my daughter? What of Jaime, has the actual fighting died down?"

"Your daughter?" Petyr asked, blinking in actual surprise. "Your majesty, I never received any news about the princess. If you sent runners out, they might have been killed before they found me. A single person wearing Lannister colors, or even a single nobleman traveling through the city right now would die quickly."

That made Cersei swoon for a moment, but she got control of herself quickly. "My daughter apparently went into the city earlier today before this all began, with Ser Oakheart and a few of the Hand's men and one of his maids." Cersei had not heard about Alayaya's past, Myrcella not having shared it, nor had Lord Stark or anyone else seen fit to mention it to her, so that was all she knew.

"I'm sorry your highness, I never saw any sign of the princess." Petyr replied, and he actually was sorry too. It would have been simple to use his finding Myrcella to gain further favor from the Queen Regent, something he could have used in many different ways.

Cersei waved him away before rubbing at her face wearily, her normal arrogance in abeyance for the moment. But only for a moment, and she straightened up quickly, staring at Petyr. "Grab the lords and the retainers here in the Red Keep that remained neutral, get them out into the city to help quell the fires and chaos, we can't let the smallfolk get used to acting like this."

Bowing, Petyr left to give those orders, just as Lord Gaunt entered. Cersei's face and eyes hardened, and she leaned forward eagerly. "Well?"

"It's done." The man said simply, his voice gruff. "I lost fifteen of my men doing it though, we were attacked several times by bands of smallfolk. But we were able to find them all." Nearby Varys frowned, wondering what that was about and fearing he had an all too accurate idea.

"Good, I'll double the agreed upon payment for this Gaunt, you have my word." Cersei said earnestly, now smiling slightly. She waved him off, and Detmer left the room without another word.

About an hour's anxious waiting later Lord Pyle came in, going to one knee before the queen creaking in his armor. "Enough of that!" She snapped. "What has happened? Where is my brother? Has there been any news about my daughter?"

"Your daughter? Majesty, I haven't heard anything about the princess. Ser Jaime was injured your Majesty, he is with the healers right now. It isn't serious." He said quickly, looking up at her face which had started to go white, "But it was extremely painful. Several cracked ribs, and a large cut that needs stitching."

That caused Cersei to breathe a sigh of relief. Jaime had such injuries before after all, and he pulled through easily enough. "Very well, if Jaime is alright and you don't have anything to tell me about my daughter, tell me what has been going on in the city. When can we expect Lord Stark to be brought before us?"

The man gulped. "Lord Stark escaped my lady. We were winning the battle, Ser Jaime had finally pinned the traitor down in the warehouse district, but Lord Stark had more men, men we had no idea he had, in reserve. All of them wore House Manderly colors. They hit Ser Jaime's forces and it was only my arrival with my force of gold cloaks that saved the day. Even so they were able to win through to the ports and boarded a ship, which put out to sea immediately."

At those words Sansa felt both elation and despair. Elation that her father had gotten away. Despair at what it meant for her.

"And Lord Stark escaped!?" Cersei said her voice rising with each word as Joffrey scowled, clenching his hands.

"S-sorely wounded, your Majesty." Lord Pyle hastened to say, shrinking in on himself. He was a middle-aged man, who was rather submissive in personal confrontations. It was well known he spent so much time in court because he wished to stay away from his wife, and he reacted visibly to the female voice of anger. "Lord Jaime fought him sword to sword, and nearly took his head. I, d-doubt that he'll live through his wounds. He's not a young man anymore after all."

Cersei's eyes narrowed that last comment, since she was only three years younger than Ned, but she ignored it for now. "Still he escaped. And the Blackfish, what of him?"

"Went with them your Majesty, uninjured, so far as I know." Lord Pyle replied, wincing.

Cersei leaned back sighing faintly as she rubbed her forehead right above one eyebrow. I do not share this belief that Ned will die by his wounds. So there will be at least two who know about the fact that Joffrey is not Robert son. Will they be believed if they declare it? Please, this is the oh-so honorable Lord Stark, of course his own Lord's will believe him, and others.

With a wave of her hand she dismissed the man, while Joffrey turned to glare at Varys. "Well eunuch, what do you have to say? Stark having more men that we didn't know about, it sounds as if your little birds have failed you."

"I have no excuse your highness." Varys said, bowing his bald head. "I have no idea how Lord Stark could have kept such a force secret, but will assign several of my agents to look into it."

Of course, many of his informers were child whores, and if men didn't visit them, the number of agents he had in the city fell sharply. Worse, very few of them could discern the difference between a Valeman and a Northerner's speech.

After ten more minutes, Petyr returned, having turned over the duty of working with the gold cloaks to Ser Balon Swann, a knight of the Stormlands House of the same name. He was a tough, tested young man, well thought of by his peers, who had stayed out of the conflict that had suddenly roared through the city only because he couldn't tell which side to believe. Now that the battles were dying down however, he would willingly do his part to restore order and law.

The queen filled Petyr in one what Lord Pyle had told them, then looked at her two 'advisers'. "Is there any chance we could send a ship after Stark?"

"I'm afraid not your majesty. None of the Naval galleys in the city have responded to our orders from the start, and I received a report just before returning to the Red Keep that all five of them have pulled up their anchors and have left the port." Petyr replied apologetically.

Again the feeling was real, though only the tip of a hate-filled iceberg. How did Eddard survive! Damn it! His vengeance against House Stark had not gotten off to the start he had hoped. After a moment's reflection though, he felt this might be the best in the long term, a whole House Stark would be able to weaken the Lannisters further so both could be finished off easier.

"I too do not think we can count on hope that Lord Stark dies of his wounds. We must assume that he will live, the question is what will he do? There is the King Beyond the wall pulling away much of the North's strength, nor can the North field a large force even at the best of times." Varys murmured, one perfumed hand tapping his baby-bare chin. "The North may be large, but it is also sparsely populated, and their roads are abysmal."

"Are you an idiot, or merely incompetent?" Cersei scoffed. "If Lord Stark declares that my son is not legitimate as he claims, there will be fools who believe him for their own reasons. Stannis for one, he has always hated the fact that Robert had sons removing him from the line of succession. Renly for another, he's ambitious as well, and would leap at the chance to name himself king."

Joffrey twitched at that, as did Sansa. Neither of them had heard that before. Joffrey had merely been told Lord Stark had wanted to reign as regent rather than allow him to take the crown, which had been more than enough for him. Now rage filled him at the very idea of someone thinking Robert wasn't his father, the very idea was ludicrous! Sansa on the other hand was now doing her best to seem invisible, not wanting anyone in this room to realize she was still there.

"We need to battle rumor with rumor your Majesty, spread the word that Eddard is connected to the Targaryen siblings possible return. And we need to prepare our forces." Petyr replied.

Cersei nodded. "I will send word to my father. I have no doubt that he already has forces in place to combat the 'bandits' around the borders between the Westerlands and the Riverlands. He can march into the Riverlands, and with an army already in their territory and with Edmure in our custody, the Riverlanders will not rise against us. I can also send messages to the Crownlands calling their men up."

"We could send to the Vale and have them attempt to run the ship down, it might be possible though I don't know how likely." Petyr said hesitantly.

"Unless you have connections I don't know about, that's not likely." The Master of Whispers said dryly. "The Vale might have a small fleet, but with it's Lord Paramount dead and Lyssa Arryn acting so irrationally since her husband's death, I doubt she would listen to any orders from us, or that her lords who have ships would listen to Lyssa in turn."

Cersei scowled, rubbing her for head even harder as she felt a headache coming on. She looked over at the drinks cabinet along one wall, then resolutely turned her back on them. She would never fall to the drink that as Robert had, and she needed her head clear now.

Turning back, her eyes flashed over Ser Trant and Blount, the two Kingsguard who hadn't gone with their commander into the city. Cersei decided then that she needed to do something with the white cloaks. Both in skill and loyalty she thought to herself coldly. I know that they are loyal, but loyal to my son and I, or loyal to their positions and the money that my family has paid them. Men bought like that can be bought again, I need to remember that. They've been useful up to this point, but there are enough empty slots now that I can find men of ability and honor to fill them rather than just bought swords. Something to talk to my brother about later.

"So you're just saying we have to let the traitor get away free like this!" Joffrey said, smashing his hand down on the table, like a child having a tantrum.

Petyr spoke before Cersei could. "He's already escaped your highness. We have no ships to send after him, none of the navy will answer to us. We need to deal with the reality of this rather than our anger at it."

"Find whoever should have discovered that Stark had this extra force on hand, I want them executed! Them and whoever was in charge of the battle that allowed him to get away."

"Your uncle was in charge of the battle in the city." Cersei said coolly looking at her son, who quailed slightly under eyes, though not as much as he once would have. "He nearly killed Lord Stark personally, but he could not do everything." She looked back at Varys. "I agree that the lack of intelligence is something that needs to be addressed, though that is a conversation for later."

"What do you think of this, Sansa?" she asked looking over the girl, her eyes narrowed. "What do you think of your father's accusations?"

"If my father has been led astray by someone as to spread such rumors your Majesty, the-then he has indeed turned traitor." Sansa replied, keeping her voice level and not meeting anyone's eyes. "I, I cannot predict what his actions will be now."

Cersei smiled internally. The girl was good, but you could tell that she was distraught, and didn't know what to believe, really. That didn't matter, she would still be a good bargaining tool. "Very well, one of the servants will show you to Myrcella's room for now. Until this conflict is resolved, you will remain a guest of our hospitality."

The girl curtsied her way out, still shocked and numb at what had happened. Joffrey however was still furious that Lord Stark had escaped and decided that Sansa needed to pay for her father's perfidy. He bowed to his mother. "I trust that you will be handling things in the city mother? When can I expect to be crowned?"

Cersei smiled at her son fondly, for the moment forgetting her concern for her daughter's safety. "Tomorrow my little lion. You may retire now, you'll have a busy day starting early." He nodded to her, then left quickly, but he did not head to his room.

As the door shut behind her son Cersei turned to Petyr, her eyes narrowed. "You mentioned Lord Stark backing the Targaryens twice now, is there any reason behind that accusation?"

"I knew Catelyn Tully when we were young Your Majesty. When I learned from Ranma that she had welcomed a bastard into their family, it got me curious, though at the time I couldn't put my finger on why. She is a proud woman, so to allow her husband's baseborn bastard into her house… While she would not argue against her husband's decision if he was honor bound to take him in, she would certainly not make the boy welcome. Yet that seems to be the case. It has taken me months of research, but I have determined that John Snow might not be who he seems to be. I am waiting for evidence of that before saying what I suspect but…"

Petyr shrugged eloquently. "And it is fact that both Ranma and his father seemed to place more value in bringing the Targaryen siblings back rather than killing them. Yet their deaths would've been better for the kingdom as a whole."

Cersei frowned thoughtfully, wondering what to do about that. She could see what Petyr was insinuating, but proving it was another matter. "I've seen the boy, he's pure Stark. There is nothing of house Targaryen in him, if that is what you are implying."

"There doesn't have to be your Majesty, and it doesn't have to be believed by Lord Stark's people, or even those who would side with him for their own reasons, but our own people and that of Stannis and Renly."

"True. Very well, prepare proclamations to that effect, and send out men to find Ser Barristan and my daughter!" Cersei snarled the last sentence, getting worried every minute that Barristan didn't burst in with her daughter with him. "Leave me!" she shouted, looking at both men, before falling back into her seat.

She rubbed her face wearily, letting her concern and fear for her daughter show now that neither of her so-called advisers were there. She knew what happened in this city at the best of times, and was deathly afraid of what could have happened to her daughter in this time of chaos.

Just then there was a sound of booted feet outside. Cersei quickly straightened up, her face hardening into her normal expression of cool hauteur. Ser Barristan walked through the door, his normally resplendent white cloak and armor splattered with blood and soot, his helm gone, and a cut on his cheek. Ser Moore was not with him, nor, to Cersei's rising fury, was her daughter. "Where is my daughter!?"

Ser Barristan had faced more than one angry royal in his time, but he had rarely stood before one to report failure, and it galled him to do so now. He was more angry however at some of the things that had been shouted at him when they went through the city in search of the missing princess. "Your majesty, I regret to say we lost Ser Moore and several others, including Lancel. He was struck down in one of the fights we ran into."

Cersei waved that off, glad she wouldn't have to pay her cousin in the coin she had promised, having no family feeling toward him at all. He had been useful, but his lust toward her, which he had fondly thought was love, had been disturbing, despite her ability to manipulate it. "I'm sorry for the losses of course, but where is my daughter, Ser Barristan?"

"We were able to find smallfolk who were willing to tell us they had seen a small party of the Hand's men and two girls with a white cloak. We found Ser Oakheart, dead, your majesty, his head was caved in by something, along with three other men wearing Winterfell colors and over a dozen smallfolk who were armed with various weapons. After that, we questioned several sailors from the ships in harbor who had forted up told us they saw someone matching Myrcella's description boarding the ship."

Cersei's bit her lower lip so hard it bled.

OOOOOOO

Sansa sighed to herself looking around Merry's room. She'd had quite a lot of fun times here, but she knew that time was over. I hope she's all right part a part of Sansa thought to herself, while the rest was too busy with self-pity and recrimination to have much room for anyone else's problems. How did this all happen? Why do they think my father would tell such lies?

But, another part of her mind said, is it a lie? If Joffrey really is illegitimate, then he isn't the heir to the throne, he isn't the Prince, he isn't even a lord. Baseborn bastards cannot be heirs. If so, your father was in the right, not that it matters now. You might be forced to marry him anyway. A thought that even yesterday had been her fondest joy was now revealed to be a nightmare.

Sansa sighed, pushing that thought aside as she contemplated the number of men that had died to this day, many that she had known all her life. She would never see Ser Jory again, never see mister Vayon smile at her like a proud grandfather, or even the younger men of the guards. Never hear about their latest training practice, never see them bow to her as they did, with smiles and their eyes and on their faces back in Winterfell, never hear them call her 'the little lady' again or laugh as they tried to vie for a scarf or something else she had made. Never be scolded again by the septa, which hit her harder than nearly all the rest.

Tears welled up in her eyes again, and she brushed them away quickly. She sighed looking down at herself, then decided to get ready for bed, it was late, and it had been the longest day she could ever imagine. She needed sleep.

Behind her the door abruptly banged open, and Joffrey, Ser Blount and Ser Trant came in. Sansa quickly held her bodice which she had been about to pull off back up to protect her chastity, and squeaked "M-my Lord?"

It was taking all her self-control not to shriek at them, but Sansa knew that wouldn't help matters. She had to stay calm, had to play the dutiful fiancé. She needed to try to appeal to Joffrey's good nature rather than the 'Baratheon' anger that seemed to have risen within him since this all began.

Joffrey smiled thinly stalking forward, his eyes alight with eagerness. "You know, your father might have escaped, but someone has to pay for his crime. And if I can't get to him, well you'll have to do." His hand flashed out catching her in the mouth and sending her to the floor.

Sansa cried in shock, holding one hand to her cheek cursing the fact that she her hold out knife had been taken from her. The sight of the two Kingsguard members laughing at her pain drove that thought out of her mind though. Even if she could have protected herself against Joffrey, and she wasn't certain she could have, the two of them would've dealt with her easily enough.

Above her Joffrey wrung out his hand, wincing, then smirked. He clicked his fingers at Ser Trent. "Blount, hold her down, and you Ser trent, I want you to flog her until I say to stop."

The men did so, and Sansa, tears once more threatening to fall from her face, simply let them position her for the flogging. A deep wellspring of anger however had begun to make itself known however, and even exhausted she had decided she would not allow Joffrey the victory of seeing her tears. The men jeered at her near nakedness, but she kept her eyes closed, concentrating on not crying.

The flogging went on for several minutes, leaving large, painful welts on her back and shoulders when it was interrupted. "This is unseemly Your Highness, said a stern voice from behind them.

They turned to see the door open again and Petyr there with Sir Barristan. Barristan looked weary, but his eyes were hard when they flipped over his fellow Kingsguard, and both men flinched, backing away.

The older man sneered mentally. Paper shields, he thought sarcastically. Jaime's the only one amongst them who could fight me, even now I could cut through the rest like they weren't even there.

Barristan walked forward before the other man could holding out a hand towards Sansa who took it and was helped to her feet, while her other hand again held her bodice up.

The Master of Coin looked over at Joffrey. "This is an unseemly way to treat your wife-to-be your Majesty, or has that changed since I last heard?"

Before Joffrey could speak he went on in a soothing tone. "Moreover, we have just learned that the princess has been kidnapped by the Starks, no doubt they will use her as a hostage for our good conduct of this lady. Your mother would not be pleased to hear that you did anything to Sansa that could cause the Starks to hurt her daughter in turn."

Joffrey ground his teeth angrily at that. First Tommen, now Myrcella, both of them thorns in my side! Why can't mother see it any longer, I'm the heir, I will be king tomorrow, I'm the only one that matters!

Yet he had enough self-control to know his mother wouldn't take lightly to that, and may even be against him beating Sansa at all considering his father's treatment of her at times. "Very well" he said angrily looking at Sansa. "So long as this one knows her place I won't do more to her." A sudden thought occurred to him and he smiled evilly to himself. Not physically at least.

With that he stalked off followed by his two cronies, leaving Barristan and Petyr there. "My thanks my lords." Sansa nodded to them both, still leaning on Barristan's hand. "You are a true knight Ser."

"I'm no longer certain of that as I once was lass," he murmured shaking his head. "You need a healer?"

Sansa nodded weakly, and Barristan quickly moved to the doorway to call for one. Once the older man left Petyr moved over quickly to whisper in Sansa ear. "Keep on playing their game for now, I may be able to manage your release from this hell eventually."

Sansa looked up at him, her eyes a little colder then she would normally have allowed them to be. "And why would you be helping me Ser?"

"Your mother and I were good friends when we were younger. In her memory I would not let her daughter be treated in such a manner." Petyr replied smoothly.

Sansa nodded, seemingly taking in his words wildly inside her head she screamed, If you were such a good friend to mother why did you help the Lannister's against my father?! Do you take me for a fool? On her face however she simply smiled and said. "Then I will try to keep from letting Joffrey get to me and wait for that day."

She shivered a little as Petyr gently stroked her cheek, something about it sending a stab of panic deep into her mind, but she remained still as he did so before bowing his head again and exiting the room. Sansa shivered again. Enemies all around me, and not a friend in sight. Lady, I should've treated you better my brave wolf, Jeyne, what have they done with you? Now alone a Sansa fell on the bed sobbing, and was still sobbing when the healers arrived to see to her bruised back.

OOOOOOO

Cersei had been correct that Joffrey would have a very busy day the next day. He was crowned that very morning. The Queen wanted that done as soon as possible to further strengthen their hold on the throne. She had also sent out a raven late last night to her father, detailing the events in the city, though not detailing the rumors that Ned had begun about her for children being illegitimate. It would come to Tywin's ears eventually, but with no evidence to back it up, he would never believe it, simply seeing it as a ploy for the Starks to seize power.

She had detailed the action in the city, as well as their capture of Edmure, and asked him to march into the Riverlands to make certain that they would not rise in war, as well as warning him about how Stannis and Renly might react. Renly had escaped the city unfortunately, well before she had even sent out Ser Gaunt, and Stannis already seemed to have plans in motion.

Cersei knew that her father already had an army, not a large one but still an army on the border waiting to crush the force sent against the so-called 'bandits', so his move from there into the Riverlands wouldn't take long. His arrival here in the city however would take months. Until then they would have to do what they could to bolster their defenses.

From her position at the bottom of the dais with the Iron Throne Cersei smiled thinly as she watched the crown set gently on her son's head feeling pride in her boy. Her daughter not being here was like a hangnail worrying at her mind, but at least her son was now king as he should've been. She wouldn't have cared which son, but Joffrey was her personal choice, and it was good to see it happen.

The courtroom wasn't as full as normal, even in comparison to the days leading up to Robert's death, but everyone there cheered and clapped as Joffrey stood up from the throne wincing occasionally from the cuts the swords had given him. The thing was more of a torture device then a throne really, all those blades would nick anyone who sat there, making certain that no king could sit comfortably.

With the actual ceremony over however Joffrey could transfer to a much more comfortable seat at it's base and he did so now. "Now, to business" he said clapping his hands and smirking. "I believe we have warrants of treason to sign? I know we talked about it last night, but could we try at least to catch up to Lord Stark?"

Petyr shook his head from where he stood nearby, moving forward with the other small council members as the rest of the court tears slowly dispersed. "We have no naval assets to do so your Majesty, we could ask some of the merchant captains, or even take them over, but I don't have any idea if we could catch up to them. Not with a full nights head start, and besides…" he shrugged. "We have no one who has any experience in naval combat."

"We need to bolster the gold cloaks and the Kingsguard." Cersei said quickly. "We lost several more members of the Kingsguard, and we haven't even filled the place that we lost in Winterfell."

At the mention of Winterfell Joffrey smirked. Not being privy to the messages that Ned and Cat exchanged every month he had no idea that his little mission there had failed. It was a pity, he reflected that he couldn't have told his father about it before the man's death, perhaps that would've made him proud of Joffrey. After all, what was the difference between hunting and sending in assessing? Joffrey couldn't see it.

"Actually speaking of the Kingsguard, I have an announcement to make. Uncle." He said looking over at Jaime.

Jaime was looking a little pale, his ribs were hurting something fierce, and the cut to his back had painful to sew together. Still he stood there in his armor, resplendent in his armor.

"Sir Barristan." Joffrey went on looking at the older man. He too was resplendent, standing ramrod straight, his eyes watchful. Nothing in his manner hinted that he was still quite tired from last evening's work.

"You have served the crown faithfully for years, I feel however that it is time for a change and that you have earned your retirement." Joffrey smirked. "I release you from your oath to the Kingsguard, you may go. Uncle, you are the new Kingsguard commander. I would like to see it be brought up to full strength within the week."

Jaime nodded his head, not trying to hide his shock. The Queen too frowned. Yet a part of her also whispered that Barristan had failed her, not being able to bring home her daughter last night. Because of that, she stayed silent.

Barristan ground his teeth. "You cannot dismiss a Kingsguard, we serve for life your Majesty." He said making the words ironic in a way that made Joffrey's eyes narrow.

"You serve at the king's pleasure" he smirked at the older man. "You have failed two Kings, and you don't seem to be as enthusiastic about my rule as I would've liked. Therefore you may go. Begone." his smile thinned abruptly "Ser Blount, Ser Trant remove his cloak."

"Don't bother." Barristan snarled backing away stood one step his hand going to his sword. He stared at the three surviving members of the Kingsguard, shaking his head. "The Kingsguard has been going downhill since the Aerys died." he said glaring hard at Jaime. "Be it by oath or by skill or will, none of you are worthy of the cloaks you wear. I could cut you all down here and now, and bury this sword in your heart false King." he said staring hard Joffrey.

The Queen growled angrily, surging to her feet but was mailed to her place by a stern look from the older man. "You're not worthy of that crown you wear, but I'll be damned if I'll let your to puppets here take my cloak." He pulled it off himself and threw it at the King's feet. "There it is, the rest." He said tapping the armor he wore. "Well, that stays with me. Call it a trade for my back pay if you want."

"So dramatic!" Joffrey said internally grinding his teeth but he knew that with his uncle injured the older man actually could go through with that threat. Trant and Blount were loyal, at least to the coin, but they weren't actually very good, even he knew that, hence why he had liked it when his mother found the Hound to serve him. "I suppose we can allow you your dramatic moment, but do remember to be gone from the Red Keep within an hour. After that," and his smile thinned again. "You will be detained at our pleasure. You've spoken your piece, just be thankful that we don't name you traitor with Lord Stark."

Barristan Selmy, the oldest serving Kingsguard, the last survivor of the last kings guard, sneered at that, then left without another word. Where he would go or what he would do he didn't know just then, but he first wanted to get out of this cursed city.

After the man left, Cersei turned to her son. "While I agree with the appointment of my brother as commander, it was foolish to dismiss Ser Selmy entirely like that. Ser Barristan adds credence to anyone naming himself King, he is seen as the one of the most honorable knights in all of Westeros, and is a extremely capable commander."

"Then we will have to see that he doesn't declare for anyone else." Joffrey smirked and looked over at Petyr. "Send some gold cloaks to see to that would you?"

Inside his head Jaime rolled his eyes, questioning his 'son's' intelligence at this point. Sending gold cloaks against Barristan Selmy was like setting so many sheep on a bear, it just wouldn't work. Still with his own wounds he wasn't about to go after the old man. He would've liked to, Jaime would've really liked to. Barristan was another man who could give him a hell of a fight, but with his wounds he knew he would lose at the moment.

With that taken care of and nodding her head at her son's forethought the queen went on to other matters. "Returning to the matter at hand, the gold cloaks as I said, need to be brought up to full strength and then some. We also need to send to the nearest crown lands Lord's, and tell them to start mustering their strength. We are vulnerable here with our losses in yesterday's fighting, and…"

OOOOOOO

It was early afternoon when Sansa was roused from her rather torpid sleep by a maid knocking on the door. "Your grace, his highness requests your presence within the hour. I am to help you prepare."

Sansa groaned opening her eyes and looking around, feeling a vague moment of disorientation despite the somewhat familiar environment as the memories of last night clouded through. "Very well," she said frowning as even talking made the wound on her face hurt, and she just knew moving would be painful. "I will need help to make myself presentable." she said grimly.

OOOOOOO

Joffrey smiled pleasantly as Sansa was led to him, guarded by Ser Blount. He sat on the raised dais in an area of the keep's open grounds which had been set aside for executions. In front of him was a long table, on which sat seven plates, with a piece of red cloth covering something on the middle most plate.

Normally executions would happen down at the prison, where the smallfolk could gather to see justice being done, but his mother had vetoed that. The city right now simply wasn't safe. Still, she hadn't told Joffrey he couldn't have his fun. She was too busy organizing the gold cloaks and sending messages to the Crownlands lords, so didn't really care what her son was doing so long as it didn't make her tasks any harder.

"My Lord," Sansa said curtsying formally to him.

"Ah my dear fiancé." he said waving his hand to indicate she should sit in the chair next to him, smiling slightly. "I trust you had a good night's rest?"

"Yes my Lord." Sansa said, bowing her head once more respectfully.

Joffrey peered closely at her face smiling evilly. He could make out the faint marks on her face from his initial blow last night, but Sansa and the maid who had helped her head done a decent job trying to cover it up. Good, it would hardly do to make people think that the girl had been abused after all, rather than simply… chastised in her father's place.

"May I ask why you have sent for me, Your Highness?"

"Ah but I so enjoy your company." Joffrey said taking her hand in his. He loved the small tremor that went through her at that, it made him smile even wider. It was so good not to have to wear his mask any longer. Now he could act as he should've acted all along, as a true King should, taking what he wanted and punishing those that opposed him.

"Your here to see justice done my dear." he went on. "I told you last night that someone had to pay for your father's crimes. Who better to start that process with than the men we captured?"

Sansa's eyes widened in horror at what she was about to see, and for just a moment she contemplated trying to kill Joffrey right there.

But the sight of the two Kingsguard right behind them dissuaded her. She watched horror stricken as several of the men that Joffrey had taken captive were put to death in front of her over the next hour, starting with Ser Willowtree, who had surprisingly been taken captive, the first to die.

The knight showed no fear nor remorse when he was led to the executioner's block. He simply stared straight ahead, his eyes flicking over Sansa for a moment, a faint smile on his lips at seeing her still alive, before he stared with loathing at Joffrey. He continued to do so until Ilyn Payne, the royal executioner, took his head. This seemed to embolden the others, who all went to their death with the same amount of bravery.

It was all Sansa could do to not break her vow of not giving Joffrey the satisfaction of seeing her cry. Nor did it get any easier. By the end of the hour Seven men had been put to death.

Each head was placed on the plane in front of them, three on either side of the plate that already held something. Joffrey said pointing at them, a wide, almost gleeful smile on his face, as his hand reached for the cloth covering the middlemost plate. "This is what will await your father unless he renounces what he has said of me along with his title."

He pulled back the cloth and Sansa couldn't stop herself from crying out in denial. On the plate was Jeyne's head, her face a rictus of horror and pain. She could feel the tears running down her cheeks, but she couldn't stop them, this was the final straw, and her heart could take no more.

Joffrey laughed then, reaching out to touch Sansa's cheek. She couldn't stop herself from flinching away as he touched the mark on her cheek. "This is what awaits anyone who becomes my enemy my dear, you would do well to remember that. I would hate for your head to join them."

With that Joffrey stood up and left waving his hand to the guards who took Sansa back to her room where she collapsed sobbing.

OOOOOOO

Ranma frowned, staring hard at the flag flying from a ship passing about forty leagues away from them from where he was standing next to the steersman. He could barely make out, but… "Make for that ship." He ordered pointing at it.

Daenerys standing beside him looked at him quizzically. "We're almost within sight of King's Landing, why are you so interested in that ship?"

"Because it's flying my father's flag, and there is only one ship in King's Landing that would fly that flag. And only a few reasons why it would be." he added grimly.

Ranma ordered Fenris to join him at the front of the caravel clearly visible to anyone with a spyglass. Soon enough his ship was spotted from the other deck, and they could see him soon after that. The two ships made for one another, and Ranma smiled as he saw uncle Brynden waving at him, though he wondered where his father was. An icy shiver of fear shot through him at that, but he pushed it to one side for now. "Ahoy there!" he shouted waving one hand it at his uncle.

"I see you've returned." Brynden said calmly when the two ships came close to one another, his voice not giving any hint as to what had occurred in King's Landing just yet. "Successfully?"

"Well, half successful." Ranma gestured to where Daenerys was standing well behind him, her dragons on her shoulders. She stepped forward imperiously, her hair flying in the wind, to smile across at the older man. "But you could say this is the best outcome for the North personally, even if there are loose ends out there." Ranma said dryly.

Soon enough Ranma and Daenerys stood on the deck of the White Harbor ship. Ranma said formally. "Lord Brynden Blackfish, be known to Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen. The little ones on her shoulders are Sunfyre and Rhaegon. Don't get too close to them, unless you wish to lose a random chunk of flesh."

"I wouldn't dream of it…" Brynden said, his normal calm intelligence deserting him for a moment at the site of the magnificent creatures. There hadn't been a dragon sighting in over a hundred and forty years, and now there were two little dragons sitting upright as proud as cats on the Targaryen girl's shoulders. He shook himself after a few moments of staring looking at both young people.

Brynden could see things other people missed, often coming to conclusions that would take other people several minutes of observation, and he could tell almost immediately that these two were interested in one another. It was in how close Ranma stood to Daenerys, how he seemed unconsciously to be standing between her and the crew who were all gaping at Daenerys, how at home the little dragons and Daenerys were with him being so close.

It was in how Daenerys looked at Ranma as he did the introductions, not at Brynden, the way she smiled, the way their hands gently brushed. Good grief, they are besotted with one another. I wonder if this is a good thing or bad in the long term, especially with what occurred here.

"Nevermind my story, what's happened here?" Ranma said looking around at the Fish's Scales and the men, both sailors and armsmen, who were watching them. He frowned, not seeing any of the men he had known from their bodyguard in King's Landing, not even Ser Jory. "And where is my father?"

That thought broke Brynden out of his momentary amusement at the two young people, and he frowned sadly. "You had best come below…"

OOOOOOO

"He'll live, but that's about all we can say." Brynden sighed, shaking his head as he looked at the bed where his brother-in-law lay. "Merry and Alayaya did all they could, the rest is up to him. If we had a maester here there might be something one of them could do better but Merry's book learning is the only reason he's still alive." The man shrugged though Ranma couldn't see it, too busy staring at where his father lay, unconscious in the bed.

In his lap lay Merry, who had barreled into him hugging him for all she was worth the moment he appeared in the doorway to Eddard's room. Through her sobs and Brynden's calm, purposefully detached words, they told Ranma what had happened in King's Landing. Now Merry was asleep, safe in Ranma's arms, safe in a way she hadn't felt since confronting Joffrey and utterly exhausted from the past two days.

His mind could barely grasp all the changes that had been wrought in King's Landing since he had left. His eyes were wet with unshed tears at the memory of the young boy who he had taken under his wing, the boy who he had become an older brother to, who he would cheerfully have called king in the future. "Tommy dead, open warfare between our house and house Lannister. I can barely believe it…" he murmured. "I know Cersei didn't think highly of the King, but to do this, to commit treason like that!"

"We don't know who she laid with, or what she was thinking at the time, though if she suddenly remarries someone we might have a better idea." But there's no doubt that all three of her children weren't legitimate you're right about that, and Cersei will crown her bastard son king or may already have done so by this point." Brynden replied, speaking quietly so as to not wake up the grief stricken young girl, who was the only reason Ned was still breathing. Whatever else, that act had won his respect, and she was entitled to her rest now.

"And Sansa is a prisoner among them, possibly along with your nephew, my cousin, or he's dead." Ranma frowned heavily beginning to pace.

"Don't forget that Stannis is already readying his forces for war. How the hell did he get the news so quickly?" Daenerys said, from where she was leaning against the wall. She hadn't wanted to intrude on Ranma and his grief or his reunion with the royal girl, though she had felt a stab of mixed anger and jealousy at that. Anger at her looks, which looked far too much like the Lannister butchers for Daenerys' liking. And jealousy at how close she seemed to be to Ranma.

Yet when she looked at Ranma or his father, all she felt was sadness. House Stark might have been instrumental in Robert's victory against her family , but after interacting with Domeric, and even further with Ranma, Daenerys had long ago realized that they had no choice in the matter. And her growing feelings towards Ranma had easily buried the little bit of residual anger she felt toward the Starks.

"What are you talking about?" Brynden asked, looking over at her, then back to Ranma.

Ranma briefly explained about the ship that had attempted to board them, causing Brandon's eyes to narrow. "I have no idea how Stannis could get the news that quickly," he said seriously. "We had thought to contact him, but the king's death forced our hand before we could. But his being ready to move might explain why the crews from the navy galleys didn't take part in the fighting on either side, they would answer to him as master of Ships after all. You're certain that the captain said there was a rumor going around that the king was dead?"

"Positive, he was quite open about it before the battle actually began." Ranma said, not taking his eyes away from his father's face, which was pale and pasty looking, far removed from his normal stern seeming expression.

"That's damn odd, even a raven couldn't travel from King's landing to Dragonstone so quickly, we're only two days out ourselves. How many days ago was this?" Ranma told him and Brynden's frown deepened. "If I have it right, that would be barely a day after, there's no possible way he could've gotten that news so fast."

"No earthly way my lords." Daenerys murmured shaking her head, voicing a thought Ranma had as well, though for different reasons. "Or no way that we know of, but that isn't the most important thing right now at any rate. What we need consider is what we do now."

Brynden smiled at the girl, though other people would have been irritated at her presumption there. "We keep going, we trust to the size of the bay, leave Dragonstone as far on our left as possible when we exit then turn north toward White Harbor. I'm almost tempted to say we should stop in the Vale at some point to spread the word about the queen and Joffrey, but we can't chance it, not with Lyssa acting so irrationally."

Brynden shook his head sadly. "That hurts to say, given my relation to Lyssa, but it's true. She was paranoid before this, she'll be worse after hearing what has happened in King's Landing. No, we need to get home as quickly as possible, to start marshaling our forces, though with Edmure captured, the Riverlands is in a precarious position."

Ranma sighed, gently stroking Myrcella's head where it lay against his chest. He hated what this would do to Merry when they told her, let alone Tommy's memory. Both of them deserved better, but when was the last time the world was a fair place? For now however he kept his mind on something more serious. "We, I can't let Sansa in the crown's custody. She's my sister, who knows what Joffrey would be willing to do to her to get back at us? And even putting that aside, she would be a hostage against our good conduct. I refuse to let that stand."

"Lad, we can't fight our way through the city just to get to Sansa, that's just not going to happen. We need to march back down with an army at our back, that's the only way."

"We can't." Ranma said with a small smirk, "but I can."

Alayaya looked up at him one eyebrow cocked from where she had been bathing Lord Starks forehead with water. "What do you mean?" The two of them had only spoken a few words to one another since Ranma arrived. Alayaya not being willing to intrude on Ranma's grief for his father or for Tommy, but his voice was once she recognized, and she was eager to see if her guess was right.

Ranma actually smirked at her. "You know damn well what I mean lady," he said then turning back to his uncle. "I'm not talking about trying to force our way through, I'm talking about sneaking my way through."

"It's still too risky. Someone might see you, and alone even you would be overwhelmed Ranma." Brynden said shaking his head. "And even if you could somehow sneak in, there's Stannis to think of now, we can't afford to stay here and wait for you. No, I can't allow this."

"Uncle," Ramos said as he concentrated, "they won't see me." Within one second and the next Ranma had pulled the Umi-Sen-Ken around him, disappearing from their senses for a moment, causing all three to gasp.

OOOOOOO

Ranma raced along the shoreline heading towards King's Landing, moving faster than any save Jon could have even followed with his eyes, let alone kept up with on foot. Even Fenris wouldn't have been able to, but Ranma had left him behind on the Fish's Scales. This was a one-man job, and Fenris couldn't use the Umi-Sen-Ken. It seemed as if the direwolf simply couldn't grasp the maneuver mentally, despite Ghost having come up with his own, much more subtle version.

Luckily it had been early evening when the two ships met up, but he only had until dawn to get his sister out of there. Once the sun was up, he would be easy to spot carrying Sansa, he couldn't extend his technique to cover her, and even Ranma would have issues if they tried to surround him and shoot him full of arrows.

There was also the concerns about Stannis, Brynden had been right about that. He had told them to give him to dawn, but after that, they would have to pull out without him. But Brynden had no idea how fast Ranma could run. Jon and the others who had come with Ranma from Hornwood to Winterfell had some idea, but even they couldn't guess that even on that last spurt he hadn't been moving as fast as he could.

Even so, it took him the rest of the evening and well into the night to cover the distance. He spent the time making plans and grieving for Tommen. If his sweat had become somewhat more salty than usual, there was no one around to comment on it.

Sneaking into the city was easy, the gates were always open and the city itself was still dealing with the aftermath of the battles. All the fires had been put out, but people were still leery of going out at night, and the city was rather dead because this. Even sneaking into the keep was not exactly a challenge.

Figuring out where in Maegor's holdfast Sansa would be staying was very difficult however and in the end he just had to guess at it. He first tried the guest rooms, knowing where they were on the first and second floors below the royal apartments on the third and figuring that Cersei would want to keep her hostage close and in some comfort, especially if she knew that they knew Brynden had Merry with him. But he couldn't find any sign of her there, forcing him to searching silently from one room to the next, climbing silently along the outer walls of the holdfast to peer into each room.

Surprisingly he found Sansa asleep in a bed prepared for her in what he recognized as Merry's room. The two girls had enjoyed several sleepovers together since they arrived in the city. Yet to find his sister still being treated this well was surprising.

That thought remained in his head until he was close enough to see her face by the moonlight, whereupon he noticed the bruising. Ranma's teeth clenched in anger, but he kept it under control for now. Getting Sansa out of here was a priority, revenge could come later. He knelt by the bedside, quickly covering Sansa's mouth with one hand shaking her gently. "Sansa, wake up."

The girl did, gasping a little but Ranma's hand over her mouth covered that, and the fact that she knew that voice kept her from screaming. She looked to her side, astonished to see Ranma there. He smiled at her he murmured. "I'm getting you out of your little sister. let's go."

Sansa nodded wetly, looking torn between crying in joy and simply crying. She reached out quickly, pulling him into a tight hug, before getting up out of bed while Ranma moved back, watching the door warily. She looked up at him as she changed into a skirt she used for riding, a bit less frilly and more form fitting than most she owned, wincing with every movement. "R-Ranma, they, they killed Jeyne. And, and they k-killed Ser Willowtree, and old Royer! They, Joffrey, he, he made me watch! Why did this have to happen?!" She said, each word louder than the last.

Ranma close his eyes, his teeth clenching even more, his hands twitching with his fury. "I'm sorry you had to see that Sansa, but we don't have time to…"

That was as far as he got before the door opened and the night guard peered in. "Who are you talking to Gah!" He fell back, one of Myrcella's combs stuck in his throat, which Ranma had picked up from the nightstand and thrown at him.

Unfortunately he wasn't the only guard on duty, and the second one didn't bother trying to rush into the room, instead he shouted "Alarm, the prisoner is escaping!"

Thanks to being part of the royal suites, there were dozens of guards nearby even this late at night, including the remaining members of the Kingsguard. Before Ranma could turn back to grab up Sansa, several of them had charged in, swords drawn.

Once they saw who was there however the men hesitated. The story of Ranma's prowess had spread before his utter destruction of the Mountain that Rode, after that the tale had taken on a life of its own. This was only helped by him being here in the first place, here in the holdfast with no one having seen him come in or even known he had returned to the city.

Ranma smirked at their caution, moving into the center of the room staring at the men clustered around the doorway. "Such a pity, I don't see Ser Selmy or the Kingslayer with you, their presence could at least have made this a fight rather than a farce. What happened to the Lord Commander, has he finally realized that serving a dishonorable king is the same as dishonoring yourself? Where is Jaime, I owe him for what he did to my father, or are his boo-boos still hurting him?" He ended in a taunting tone, his smirk turning dark.

The men still hesitated, none of them wanting to be the first to charge forward.

Ranma and glanced sideways at his sister. "Which of these assholes was the one who beat you Sansa?"

"S-sir Trent" she said from behind the bed. She had no desire to show her body to these men, and they had burst through just as she was trying to pull on a vest over her bruised back.

Trent's eyes widened in horror and he tried to move backwards to hide behind his fellows, but it was too late. Ranma took two steps forward, faster than any man there could track, there was a brief flash of steel in the air then he was back where he had stood before, flicking his blade sending blood spattering on the ground.

Ser Trent breathed a sigh of relief, I'm not feeling anything for a moment. Then blood began to seep from his neck, and his head slowly slid off his body falling to the ground in neatly severed bones and all. Cries of horror abounded all around, yet no one stood forward, unwilling to be the first to attack the Stark heir even more now than before. Certainly Blount wasn't willing to, at the other knight's death he looked as if he was going to piss himself.

By this time Sansa had finished dressing. She was sprinting out from behind the bed heading towards the window when the Queen pushed her way through the assembled armsmen. She had obviously been roused from bed by the commotion, she still wore her silk negligee, and Cersei's hair was sticking out every which way. Yet her crown was on her head and despite how she must have looked, her eyes were clear and her face composed as she stared hard at Ranma. "Where is my daughter?"

"Your Majesty." Ranma said bowing his head, no irony in his tone. "Myrcella is safe, you should know that I would never hurt her." Ranma paused looking at the mother before him. And right now Cersei was a mother, not the queen. The queen would've been more worried about losing the bargaining chip that was Sansa, the mother was worried about her daughter. And there was something else he needed to say. "My deepest condolences on Tommen's death. Whatever his true parentage I think I might've been proud to call him King, and he was someone I had come to love."

The earnestness of the young man's voice, the fact that his face looked puffy, his eyes red-rimmed in the glare of the armsmen's torches, completely disarmed Cersei for a moment. She stood there, lost in her grief once more, sharing that grief with the young man in front of her.

Joffrey had arrived on his mother's heals, and his teeth clenched angrily as he saw his powerful magnificent mother simply standing there when his deadliest enemy was right in front of her. Even dead you haunt me Tommen! He yelled angrily, laying about with the flat of his blade. "What are you all doing, take him, he's just one man you idiots! Don't let him escape with my bride!"

Prodded like this, the men in the back pushed those in front forward towards Ranma. He grinned in anticipation but a 'Eep' from Sansa reminded him of his priorities here. "Dammit. Stay behind me Sansa, stay with the window at your back."

The first few men now having no choice raised their weapons and attacked. Ranma's weapons flashed, parrying, blocking, thrusting, killing five man in as many seconds before his katar got caught in one man's armored plate. He cursed, letting go of the blade and kicking the man's body into two of his fellows before pulling his other katar out, hurling it through the press of bodies towards Joffrey.

One man however unfortunately got its way, taking the knife straight to his armored head, flying backwards with the impetus of Ranma's throw. But his furious defense had cleared enough space for Ranma to turn, sheathing his blade quickly unmindful of the blood on it, before he lifted Sansa in his arms. "Hold tight!"

With that Ranma leaped out of the window, ignoring his sister's shrill squeak of fright.

He landed easily on the ground, as the men he had left behind began to shout in shock, having never expected him to jump like that. Cersei knew then that there was even more to Ranma's skills than he had showed, and that he could probably get away. She pushed through the men crowding the window, staring down Hard at Ranma as he switched Sansa to his back, just in case he hat to defend them.

"STARK!" She shouted. Ranma looked up at her, as did Sansa, and Cersei smiled sadly, thinking so many what-might-have-beens that she could hardly get the next words out. "Take care of my daughter."

Ranma bowed his head to her. Unlike Brynden or his father, Ranma could see past her actions to the woman underneath, so had no issue with taking her words at face value now, regardless of the fact they would be facing one another across a battlefield soon enough. "I will, your majesty."

With that he turned, racing over the Red Keep's ground with Sansa now clinging to his back like a limpet towards the outer wall of the keep, not stopping as he leaped up landing on the battlements easily before leaping further out to land in the road leading up to the Red Keep.

Sansa had buried her face into his neck the moment Ranma had switched her position, and she clung even more desperately now despite Ranma having both arms underneath her legs as he raced on. He took to the rooftops occasionally, but the Red Keep couldn't get out the word that Sansa was escaping fast enough to catch up with him and he escaped the city easily, leaving behind chaos and a very worried queen and a furious king.

It was several minutes after they had escaped the city that Sansa finally had the courage to lean away from Ranma. The speed they were moving astonished and somewhat terrified her despite her clinging to Ranma, but Sansa had to concentrate on the here and now. "W-what about the others?"

"What others?" Ranma asked looking over his shoulder at her. He leaned forward to kiss her forehead gently trying to calm her down a little.

Sansa smiled faintly, remembering times when she was just out of her toddler years. When Sansa had hurt herself falling she would cry, which would get her minders attention. If he was watching her, Ranma would kiss her forehead just like that then sing this little ditty about the pain flying away.

It had always made her feel better, but nothing could make her feel better now. Childhood was over, never to return and the horror of what she had seen was still vivid in her mind. "Joffrey captured about a dozen men from the battle in the tower. He, he made me watch as that horrible Peyne executed several of them, but there were still more there. And what about cousin Edmure?"

"Uncle Brynden didn't know about the men, but we figured that Edmure had been captured or killed. I'm sorry I never met him, he sounds like he was a good man." Ranma shook his head sadly. "I hate to think about what Joffrey will do to them, especially since I was able to rescue you, but I couldn't have rescued them all Sansa, I only have one back, and Fish's Scales can't wait. There're more enemies than just the Lannisters, and we need to get out of Blackwater Bay as quickly as possible. Even this was a risk, but I couldn't let you there."

Sansa nodded sadly, traveling into his back and telling him about what had happened since the battles had taken place. Despite it having only been a single day, it felt like years to her, years filled with fear, horror and pain as she came to see the true Joffrey under his façade.

Ranma ground his teeth so hard it was audible in the nighttime air at what his sister had gone through in just a single day with Joffrey, and vowed that the young monster's death would be the stuff of legends if Ranma ever got his hands on him. But it had been the same problem as when he had rescued Danny, Ranma couldn't protect Sansa and take on an entire castle full of enemy troops at the same time.

"Is it true?" Sansa said after another twenty minutes of silence while Ranma kept running down the shoreline. "Is Joffrey, Merry and even Tommen all illegitimate? That's what they're saying our father was trying to spread around, but no one believes it or at least no one will say they believe it now."

While she had nothing of Joffrey's pleasure for inflicting pain on his victims, Cersei was utterly ruthless. She had shown that in a brutal purge of the city's power structure, getting rid of anyone who might have been tempted to believe Eddard Stark's 'lies'. After only two days of this and the fact the gold cloaks and others were once more able to keep the peace in the city, no one was willing to speak out against her. A true carrot and stick approach, as it were. {does that make sense?}yes

"It's true. Our father wouldn't have said it if it wasn't, though I haven't talked to him personally. He was badly injured… he'll live!" He hastened to say as he felt Sansa start to shake, but he's still comatose from his wounds."

Sansa still teared up a little at the thought of their father being so badly wounded, but she kept her mind on what Ranma had said. "Were you telling the truth, is Merry really with you?"

"Yes, and so is Alayaya, though how they got to the docks is a story and a half. Ser Oakheart is dead, as is Mattimeo, both of them fell defending Merry and Alayaya."

"I'm sorry!" Sansa sobbed, clutching at his back now. If only I had gone with them, if only I hadn't been in the Tower!"

"The servants would have still been there, and you would've still had to fight your way through the city. Nor did anything you did affect what happened with our father and his men." Ranma said shaking his head. "Don't blame yourself for everything Sansa. It's true I would've preferred you to see Joffrey for what he was earlier, and yes, it might have been your presence that made the Lannisters attack rather than try to starve our people out of the tower, but they would still have had the prisoners in the Tower themselves. And our father would still have been wounded, and the battle would still have gone against our forces. Don't blame yourself for everything, don't denigrate our people's sacrifice like that." Ranma said again, staring ahead of them. "Simply know that you made mistakes, learn from them and move on."

Sansa nodded jerkily, falling silent. She simply clung to Ranma's back as he raced on through the night, more tireless than the direwolf that was part of their House's emblem.

To say the crew of the small boat resting on the shore were astonished at Ranma's return was a gross understatement. They had honestly thought that the young fool had been going to his death, not knowing anything about Ranma's special abilities. But they were loyal man of Lord Manderly, and they would obey Lord Stark as their Lord Paramount and Ranma spoke for Lord Stark.

"Damn son," the bosun said shaking his head. "I didn't think ya could do it."

"Your grace" he said bowing his head towards Sansa. "Er, pleased to see you safe and sound, milady." With the hard task of speaking to the noble born lady over with, the man quickly hustled Sansa and Ranma aboard.

"I won't feel safe or sound until were back in the North, Ser," Sansa replied with all the poise at her control. "When I step foot in White Harbor is the moment I will truly be safe."

That made every man there to sit up straight, squaring their shoulders with pride. Ranma smirked a little at how easily Sansa had made her trust in these men plain while also challenging them. "Will get you there milady," one man said as he began to pull on his oar strongly. "Have no fear of that."

Ranma nodded grim agreement at that leaning back and looking up at the stars as the first flush of dawn appeared in the sky. The ship that had tried to take Daenerys away had gotten off lightly, and Ranma was in no mood now to play Mr. Nice Guy with anyone that tried to stop them getting home. If he had to break out some more of his bag of tricks, so be it.

Soon enough they were being hoisted up the side of the Fish's Scales. Daenerys was there waiting for them with Brynden, who was shaking his head in bemusement that Ranma had actually pulled it off. Daenerys however was unsurprised, smiling in welcome with Rhaegon on her shoulder. Ranma smiled back, and, as Sansa stared at the slightly older girl in front of her, introduced them.

Sansa was in awe of the dragon princess. Even by the light of the lamps here and there on the ship she could tell the other girl was a rare beauty, and the shimmering of her silver hair was mesmerizing. Then there was the drakling on her shoulder, sitting up as proudly as any cat, yet easily recognizable as a dragon, its, wings unfurled slightly behind it for balance.

"Lady Sansa, your brother has told me a lot about you." Daenerys smiled, though it segued into a prankster's smirk after a second. "Mostly embarrassing things it must be said. Did you really try to sew your sisters to her bed when she ripped up one of your dresses?"

Those listening laughed at that, while Sansa went red and began to smack Ranma's shoulder, the ice well and truly broken.

About forty minutes later Sansa was put in the same room with Merry, the two of them sharing the second of only two beds aboard the ship. Daenerys refused flat-out to take it herself, allowing the younger girls to have it. Instead she had a few of the crewmen rig up two hammock for herself and Alayaya. Alayaya had looked a little askance at the hammocks, but resigned as well. Merry was still out of it, not even waking up as Sansa fell into the bed next to her.

The Fish's Scales continued on, under full sail as dawn began to break, speeding along as quickly as they could. After settling Sansa down, Daenerys and Ranma removed themselves to watching over Eddard, whose condition had not changed in the hours since Ranma had left.

After a moment Daenerys spoke, her voice low so as to not disturb the two asleep draklings, Rhaegon having joined Sunfyre in the overlarge basket prepared for them in the corner of the room. "I'm sorry this happened to your family. At least I know my family was wiped out because of the actions of one of our own. Your's has nearly been ripped apart simply because it refused to play the 'game' of politics. I also wish I had been wrong that the unity of Westeros was a fiction, barely covered by a lie, but the Baratheon's rule was never going to be stable enough to last, not when it was undermined from within and built on so feeble a foundation."

"I know, Robert was never strong enough on his own to keep the crown, and he wasn't really suited for it either. But I never thought the queen would have done what she did." Ranma actually had hoped that his shows of force, and the rumors about it, would keep a lid on the shifting balance of power, but it hadn't worked out that way. He sighed, slumping against the outer wall of the room, rubbing at his face tiredly.

The two of them were silent for a time before Daenerys asked. "So what will we do now? And how is this going to effect your plans for me?"

Ranma looked up at her, his face amused. She smiled as he reached out to pull at her hair, gently urging her to sit down next to him. "I think we both know my plans for you changed well before we spotted this ship, don't we?"

"So, then what now?" Daenerys asked, her face flushed at the teasing tender note to his voice.

"Now?" Ranma's face firmed up even as he took her hand in his, squeezing it gently. His mind however was all on the business of the moment. "Now, Joffrey sits on a throne that shouldn't be his, Stannis has seemingly declared us an enemy, the Lannisters hold my uncle prisoner, and the Westerlands will no doubt be marching into the Riverlands soon. Now, we travel north, we return my family to Winterfell. Then? Then we prepare for war."

End chapter

Whoo! What a chapter to write out. I hope you all enjoyed the flow of the battle, if not the outcome. Sorry, but there was just no way after Edmure was captured before rallying the gold cloaks that they could win, the numbers were simply too against them, though they came a lot closer than anyone on the other side would ever have imagined, and both sides paid for it.

In regards for the budding romance between Ranma and Daenerys, I've always thought that public perception and the pressures of those around them would hurt any courting going on regardless of the individuals in question. If they didn't have the needs of their families to worry about Margaery and Ranma would have developed romantic feelings rather than friendly ones toward one another very quickly. Beyond the older man Domeric, Daenerys and Ranma really had only one another to talk to on this voyage, they were attracted to one another from the start, they had the draklings to bond over, and simply a lot of time to sit and talk with no real ulterior motives. Is Daenerys ambitious? Somewhat, but it isn't the central part of her character, that is her deep and growing love for her draklings, and her desire to make her family a proud, honorable one again. Not the same thing.

For those wondering, yes, Joffrey will die in a spectacular fashion in the future, but right now, he and Viserys are both a sign of what I would call the inevitable escalation of enemy forces to match Ranma's ability and the changes he creates. Magic too will have been effected by his presence, as will be shown in the future when I do some Melisandre scenes (ugh, hate her, just as much but in a different way than Joffrey).

So, the civil war has begun, and the sides are set. What will happen next? And what has been happening up North all this time?

Thank you for reading, and as always please review.

*Chapter 9*: Chapter 9

A moment of silence for the passing of Terry Pratchett. He was an amazing writer, a truly fantastic personality, an inspiration both with his writing and in the rest of his life. The world is a slightly colder, more serious place without him.

I don't own A song of Ice and Fire, if I did, I would commit seppuku for how long it's taken for me to finish the series. Nor do I own Ranma 1/2, I would have killed Kuno and Genma in Martineqsue ways if I did.

And my flamer is back! Or another one has taken his place, uncertain since they are both guests, though not the sort I'd welcome into my home, ya know. I'm sorry dude, but calling Ranma a faggot for showing human feelings and sympathizing with Cersei's recent loss of Tommen, who Ranma had come to care for as well, despite the battle that occurred between their factions is not what I call a review. Your little hate-blurb has been deleted with extreme prejudice. Let me state now, his sadness over Tommen's death won't stop him from killing Cersei if he has to, he doesn't want to, but he will.

A special shout out to EleazarJ, for answering some of my questions about the expanded world of ASoIaF. Thanks also go to Crossfort for taking on the task of beta. Jessolt alas has retired from being my beta, but so everyone should thank Crossfort for stepping up to the plate for this chapter. If you think you are up to spotting small mistakes, word choice issues and other things, PM me please, since I need a specialist in that area both for this story and ATP.

Chapter 9: Divided, United

Jaime Lannister rubbed his face tiredly, looking down at the reports that covered the desk he had commandeered in the gold cloak garrison in the Street of the Sisters. He wasn't someone who was naturally good with paperwork but as the senior Lannister Commander in the city it fell to him to reorganize the city's defenses. He had been working on that since Joffrey had promoted him to the position of Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, a task made worse for having to deal with his injuries.

This, along with the dozens of carts devoted to removing bodies throughout the city, had woken Jaime up to the reality of the losses they had taken in beating off the Starks. Nearly crippling losses when you looked at both their supporting houses and House Lannister's own troops. Several houses had even lost their heirs or lords.

Lord Staunton would never return home, nor would any of his men. Lord Thorne was also dead, leaving only his second son and heir, a whelp of only ten and two to lead the family, minus the fifteen armsmen who had been with him. House Manning had been gutted, losing both their lord and two younger sons along with forty armsmen. Jaime doubted they would ever recover. Nor were those the only names on the battle's butcher's bill, just the worst. All these deaths would no doubt have political implications in the future, but Jaime would let that in his sister's capable hands.

The Lannister forces themselves had started off with a little over four hundred men in the Red Keep. They had been used almost exclusively against the defenders in the tower, who, they knew precisely having had to remove the bodies had numbered fifty-seven men. The price Jaime's House had paid there was almost worse than the fighting in the city. Ninety-two men had survived that fight, just ninety–two! The Winterfell and Riverrun men had used every trick in the book, and their training, their organization, and their prepared defense in depth had been just as deadly as their blades.

The fighting in the city had killed another hundred and ten men who were nominally under House Baratheon, but had been bought off by Lannister gold or were loyal to Joffrey as heir of the King's Landing branch of that House. Not all of them had died in the small, brutal skirmishes against Eddard's forces, many had been pulled down by smallfolk rioters.

The gold cloaks were even worse off because of that issue and their own civil war. Several garrisons had been shattered in the fighting between factions, with bare handfuls of men having lived through the bloody battles fought in the close confines of those garrisons. Two garrisons had in fact been burned to the ground. The Mud Gate garrison had burned their own barracks as they retreated. Its commander, Ser Jacelyn Bywater had been a staunch reformist and put up a spirited defense before eventually being overcome by superior numbers. That battle had been why Lord Pyle had taken so long to get to him to with the reinforcements. All told, a little less than six-hundred men of their original two-thousand remained.

Worse, his house's practices of paying for loyalty had left them with the dregs, those men who were more interested in lining their own pockets rather than fulfilling their duties to keep order in the city, which made what would have been a tough job nearly impossible now. The city was not really safe for any of the upper class outside of the richer districts and some other sections that hadn't been the target of much rioting. The rest of the city was pretty quiet, but it was a surly sort of quiet. On the surface the city seemed on the mend, but that was only surface deep, and the Lannisters were even more reviled now than before.

I know Cersei mouthed the words in that meeting of the council where I was elevated, but I don't think she understands how badly we were mauled. Still, she's done a good job pulling the remaining neutral lords on board, though if we can actually trust them I don't know.

Those neutral lords were the ones providing much of the stability in the city at this point. They also helped remove the bodies which were burned or tossed in the sea depending on where they were found. But even those nobles who didn't take part in the battle were finding scant welcome among the smallfolk. There was no sign of an outright rebellion, not yet, but the city made Jaime feel like he was standing near Mad King Aerys again; like danger could come at any time with no warning.

He looked up from the piles of paper when the door opened, showing a messenger from the keep. "Ser Jaime, her majesty has asked you to report back to the Red Keep."

Jaime nodded, standing up wincing from the pain from his wounds. They weren't serious, but they would take many weeks to heal fully, Jaime had cracked ribs before this, so knew how quickly they healed, and the slash in his back was debilitating as well, the stitches pulling every time he moved. Still he could walk at least. Soon he was back in the keep, standing before the doorway to the queen's conference chamber, a smaller, but even more opulent chamber than the kings.

He shared a nod with Ser Balon Swann, who was standing guard outside. He was a tried and tested knight, youngish, but grim of face, honorable and a decent blade by Jaime's reckoning. Truth be told, he was easily better than the two Kingsguard who had died since their journey up to Winterfell, and more honorable to boot. He had performed well returning order to the city since the Lannisters won against the Starks thus proving their legitimacy, and Jaime had made him his first appointee to the Kingsguard.

Balon opened the door for his commander, and Jaime's sister smiled at him as he entered. "I have good news brother. We have heard back from a few of the nearest Crownlands lords, they are prepared to answer my call for aid." She scowled a little. "Grand master Pyrcelle and I nearly emptied the keep of ravens to send messages out to all the lords I wanted to reach including our father and some who I hoped to overawe, but I think it was worth it. Ravens arrived from Rosby and Stokeworth this morning. In total two-thousand, seven-hundred men will be arriving here in a matter of weeks from those noble houses and their minor houses."

She waved Jaime into a seat across from her at the small table. "I want the Kingsguard and the gold cloaks up to full strength before they arrive. We cannot be seen to be weak, these men may be loyal to us since we retain the throne, but I don't doubt that they will just as soon kneel to anyone else who seems strong enough to take the throne from us. Once they bleed for us though they will be tied to our cause."

"That is a tougher job than you might think." Her brother answered, sighing wearily. Jaime then filled her in on the troubles he was running into in that area, listing the number of dead lords and heirs that had fallen in the battle in particular, and also mentioning how the city was still tense.

After a moment Cersei nodded. "I hadn't realized how bad it had been among our allies save in the gold cloaks. Still there is nothing we can do about it now save blame the Starks when the families learn of their losses. Name three more names for the Kingsguard, then concentrate on rebuilding the gold cloaks, and think up ideas for defense of the city. Maester Pyrcelle will be working on that as well. I'll let Joffrey fill out the rest of the Kingsguard, it will give him something to work on while I…"

The two siblings were interrupted as the door banged open and Joffrey stomped in, his entire body screaming out petulance. "Have we discovered my fiancé and her brother yet?! I want his head on a pike at sundown and Sansa returned to me immediately!"

The Queen sighed while her brother cocked an eyebrow in question. "As I told you this morning my son, there is no chance of us finding Ranma or Sansa. They were out of the city before our message could reach the outer walls of the city. I do not doubt he can run as quickly as that direwolf of his for a time, and I doubt carrying Sansa would bother him at all."

"What's this?" Jaime asked. "I've been neck deep in Stranger-be-damned paperwork since the meeting yesterday, when I wasn't with the poxy healers. Did something happen last night?" He had been given some sleeping droughts by the healers to help him sleep with his wounds, and had taken to leaving the keep early in an attempt to get as much work done as he could each day, so this was the first time he had heard this tale.

"Ranma Stark snuck in late last night to rescue his sister. He escaped with her, killing eight armsmen and three knights including Ser Trant." Cersei replied, shrugging slightly. "Evidently there is much more to Ranma's abilities then we knew. He survived jumping down from the royal apartments to the ground outside the holdfast with ease, and then was able to get out of the keep before our men on watch at the walls could be warned. I doubt they could have stopped him in any case."

"You seem… awfully calm about this sister…" Jaime said, looking at her in surprise, himself being not happy about the fact to have lost yet another of the Kingsguard. 'Even if he wasn't worthy in the first place' he thought, rather amused. Trend should never have been elevated to the white given his skill set, let alone his moral fiber. And that's without some of the looks I've seen him give Merry and other young girls, no the world is a better place without him.

"It is an affront against the dignity of the crown!" The young King growled out before Cersei could reply. "I want my fiancé back now! It's impossible for one man to just escape so fast. He must be hiding in the city somewhere and I want them found now!"

Jaime was amused to see that 'his son' actually stamped his foot in a fit of pique.

"Yet evidently it can be done, if the person has the skills of a hero from the Age of Legends." His mother replied coolly while watching Joffrey through narrowed eyes. "Ranma could have made it his mission to kill you my son, or any of us, and gotten away with much less fuss than his rescue of Sansa. Ranma is not an assassin, he doesn't think like that."

Indeed the Queen saw his heroism as something to admire, his love of his sister striking her in the heart, as had his grief over Tommen's death which she had seen in his face and eyes. And Cersei knew she could trust him to watch over her daughter. "We have lost a political tool, nothing more, and I know Ranma well enough to know he will guard Myrcella with his life, something the mother in me is thankful for."

Joffrey ground his teeth in rage, knowing now that his mother's acceptance of Ranma's escape had more to do with insuring her daughter's protection than anything else. Damn it, both my siblings should have died stillborn, it would have been better for the crown if they had. They are always taking attention away from me, and now my mother's love for my sister has clouded her judgment.

Before he could continue his tantrum however, Pyrcelle and the others entered the room. The Queen nodded to them all, gesturing at the table to indicate they should all be seated, looking at their expressions closely, but she couldn't tell how they had taken last night's events. Yet Joffrey was not the only one who was mortified and chagrined by Sansa's rescue.

Petyr's reaction to Sansa's rescue mirrored Joffrey's save he felt even more hate and loathing for Ranma Stark. His rescue of Sansa meant that the Master of coin had missed his chance to ingratiate himself with Sansa, which would have been useful on many level. She would have been a perfect wife, a surrogate for her mother who had obviously been so sullied by the barbarian Starks as to enjoy it. Petyr could also have used her to create a connection with House Stark so that whoever won he would be well-positioned to take advantage afterward. Now Baelish had to think of some other way to seem at least neutral in this conflict, or he would be forced to work so that the Lannisters come out on top.

Face facts Petyr, no one of the Stark's faction would ever believe you had no part in how the battle here went, Petyr thought now. Not unless they were so desperate for aid they couldn't turn anyone offering such away. Eddard and Ranma would have to die first at the very least, possibly Jon Snow as well, all in such a way that the blame was placed on the Lannisters, or simply the random luck of battle. So, how to make that happen…

The moment the three men sat, Cersei told them her news then looked at Varys. "Do you have any of your 'little birds' in Dragonstone? Stannis will be the first to move against us, he will receive the news of the king first since Dragonstone is only a week by boat away, and he is an ambitious, prideful man."

And I have some suspicion on who helped Jon Aryn in his initial investigation. Stannis might have known about Joffrey's illegitimacy well before the events in King's Landing.

Varys looked a little worried, or perhaps the term disturbed came better to describe what his fat, florid face was showing. "I am afraid not your highness. I used to, but they stopped reporting to me about a month and a half ago. Their last messages all spoke of a woman in red who preached the religion of R'hllor. Apparently Stannis' wife has been converted to it, as have others. The Dragonstone maester is also dead, though the reasons for his death were unknown to my agents. "

"Odd… I wonder why Stannis has allowed this priestess such leeway, he isn't known as religious or tolerant of such." Pyrcelle mused aloud.

Cersei however smiled thinly. "Inform the High Septon of that would you, Pyrcelle? I think we can spin that easily to make this a religious matter, and that may force him to open the Great Sept's coffers to fund the defense of the city."

"An excellent thought your majesty." Pyrcelle responded enthusiastically, a smile on his somewhat florid face. "We need to prepare the seaward defenses for certain. We'll need to build siege equipment. The walls too, might have weak points, and the port itself needs to be defended. This will all take money, of course, and the Great Sept's coffers are very deep."

"Hmmf." Joffrey scoffed, hiding his fear of Stannis under bravado. He had never gotten along with either of his uncles, not liking how Renly didn't seem to understand how important he was, and he had hated how Stannis looked down on him the few times they were around one another. "We should just take the merchant vessels in the harbor out and meet him. Surely we can pull enough men from the city and the gold cloaks."

"The gold cloaks are a bare shadow of what they were before the battle against Eddard's faction. And even if they weren't there is no chance of us using them as an offensive force." Jaime said, shooting that plan down harshly. "They aren't even as well trained as common armsmen, and you need special training to fight aboard ship. Footwork and working with others in enclosed spaces becomes much more important, things armsmen don't learn normally."

Joffrey subsided for a moment, scowling at his uncle speaking to him like that, but Petyr spoke up before he could fire back, looking at the queen. "Besides appealing to the High Septon, where can we raise more money? Can you use your family's name with the banks in the city?"

"I can for now, though for anything over a hundred-thousand gold dragons I would need to have my father's approval. The bankers will take my word on that approval coming however. But my brother raises a good point. The gold cloaks and our noble allies alone might not be enough to defend the city. We need to garner public support, turn the citizens against Stannis, to get them to throw in their lot to help the defense of the city. The High Septon's backing might help, but we'll need to do more. Varys, we'll use your network to spread rumors about Stannis throughout the city: how he will be a cruel king, how he doesn't care for the common man, this new religion, anything you can think of."

Varys nodded, agreeing that the idea had merit, though for his own reasons. Varys hadn't really wanted open conflict to break out, but now that it had, he wanted all the Lords Paramount weakened, ripe for conquest by his backer.

"Besides Stannis being so close, we have time if we can rebuild the gold cloaks at least on paper. Our father will not receive my missive for five days, but will no doubt move quickly after that. Where does everyone see threats appearing long term? Also Varys, I want to find out the outcome of Ranma's mission. It could prove disastrous if he actually did come back with the Targaryen siblings. Find out if the ship he sailed to Pentos on came back and followed the Northern ship up North, or entered one of the other ports in the Bay." Cersei concluded.

Pyrcelle smiled thinly. "Before the Starks attempted their coup I received word from some of Lord Lannister's agents in Sunspear. Prince Oberyn has been jailed by Prince Doran to stop him from leading the army of Dorne against us for what they see as the murder of Tyene Sand. This is another sign that the Dornish Prince is too cowardly to pose an offensive threat. The Vale is rapidly disintegrating. Lysa Aryn may be its nominal leader, but she has little to no control outside the Vale of Aryn itself. The mountain clans are nearly in open revolt, and the lords are bickering amongst one another. The Riverlands will not challenge us either so long as we keep Hoster Tully's heir as our hostage. It is to the Reach and the Stormlands we need to look to."

"What about the North?" Joffrey asked indignantly. "You didn't mention them, and it is the North and that Seven-damned Eddard Stark who began this strife along with his son. I cannot understand why we don't simply march north to reclaim my fiancé from her barbarous family, and torch Winterfell as a pointed reminder to the rest of them who their masters are!"

"That isn't really an option I'm afraid." Varys said apologetically, an easy mask for him. "We named Eddard Stark a traitor from the beginning of this conflict. As king, you need to marry to a house that will bring power and prestige to the crown. Marrying a daughter of a traitor would bring neither. Nor could we simply march an army north. It would take months to arrive there with any appreciable force, and they would know of the armies coming well in advance of its arrival."

"I'm afraid he's right my son." Cersei said apologetically. "If Ranma hadn't absconded with her as he had we might have gone through with the marriage, but as it is, no. Instead, I will send a message to lord Tyrell to offer your hand to Margaery, you liked her didn't you?"

Joffrey now felt torn, he had indeed liked the look of the Tyrell girl and it would be great to steal away the fiancé of that cursed northern barbarian. Though she seemed to think she was clever, a failing in any woman really. Even his own mother thought that, and look at the mistakes she was still making because of her female sentimentality. Nor did Joffrey like the idea of giving up anything he saw as his by right, and Sansa was his, there was no doubt of that in Joffrey's mind. Still, I understand their points, and House Tyrell would indeed bring in a lot of men, men I could use to crush my uncles and then march on the North. But I wonder if there is a way to have my sweatmeat and eat it too…

"What news of Renly?" Jaime asked.

"I sent two score of my men out to try and detain him, but he was too fast to flee the city for them to find him, and he stayed ahead of our pursuit until they could no longer find the trail." Petyr said, shrugging. "He's no doubt halfway to the Stormlands by now."

"Would he not go to the Reach instead? They could field a larger army, and the majority of his guards at present came from house Tyrell." Varys said. "If so, your offer of Joffrey's hand to the Rose of Highgarden wouldn't be as welcome if they could marry Renly to her instead."

For just a moment the image of Margaery with a crown on her head filled Cersei's brain. She shivered in fear at the idea Margaery might be the young queen from the prophecy from old Maggy that had told her she would outlive all her children and then be replaced by a younger, more beautiful queen.

But then a sudden burst of joy wiped away her fear. With Ranma protecting my daughter, my sweet little lioness will come to no harm. If she doesn't die, that will invalidate old Maggy's predictions, even after Tommen's death! "It will still muddy the waters, and may force them to consider other options." She said, then frowned. "I just wish there was something more we could do to make certain the Stormlands would not answer either brother's call to rise against us."

"Now wait a moment." Petyr said. "I think his highness has a point." Joffrey sat up straighter at that, forgetting his own plans and desires for a moment. "I think if we strike quickly against the North, get to and through the Neck before they can get word of what happened here, we would have a much easier time of it later on. Once Moat Cailin has been cleared we can hold it, and then bring in more troops once we finish off our more southern opponents."

Both Varys and Jaime shook their heads at that, but it was Cersei who spoke up. "That isn't an option for many reasons. For one, we don't have an army to send just yet, and it would take months as I said to get an army up there at all. Plus you never saw the work being done on Moat Cailin Littlefinger. It doesn't need reinforcement any longer."

Jaime nodded, shuddering at the idea of going up against the Moat. The Rock might be more defensible, but the Moat's defenses would massacre any army that came against it. "Could we make overtures to the Ironborn? We could have them attack the North in our stead with the promise of more freedom under the crown, or a slice of the Northern pie."

"I wouldn't trust an Ironborn further than I could throw this table," Cersei replied tartly. "We'll need to wait for the Lannister fleet to be in a position to help our forces get around the Neck."

"Then I have another suggestion." Petyr said, smiling thinly. "Why don't you send me on a mission to the Vale? If we can get them on our side it will be a major boon. They might only be able to field a small offensive army, but they have closer ports for an invasion around the eastern side of the North through the Bite, and excellent defensive positions. I also suggest we send messages to House Sunderland. The smugglers of Sisterton can be brought to our side by the promise of gold, and should be able to assault Lord Stark and the Northerners before they reach White Harbor."

The Three sisters were three small islands set in the Bite about two weeks (because of weather and the Bite's sailing conditions, not distance) from White Harbor. It had originally been home to pirate kings, before they grew too bold and attempted to gain territory in the North, which caused the North to invade them in turn. In desperation the 'kings' of the island had bent the knee to the Eyrie of the Vale, and the two kingdoms had gone to war over the islands. The war may have ended a thousand years ago, but the men of the islands still remembered and would no doubt jump at the chance to kill Northmen with crown approval.

"That's a good suggestion, but we won't send you to the Vale, Littlefinger." The Queen scoffed. "You have duties right here as master of coin. Nor do I see how you could get the Vale on our side, unless you have something to tell us?"

Petyr subsided with a self-deprecating shrug and the meeting continued. Joffrey tried to interject his opinion a time or two, but for the most part was willing to let his mother carry the conversation, which she did fairly well, with Jaime and Pyrcelle aiding her. Joffrey knew his time would come in battle of course, much like his father before him, so had no issue allowing his mother to take the lead now despite his being king. He would make his name the same way Robert did, by remorselessly cutting down his enemies.

Later that day Joffrey followed that idea by going down to the Street of Steel to by himself a new blade. Surrounded by a force of fifty, Joffrey still heard the mutters of the smallfolk and one or two thrown bricks impacted his guard's shields. But after killing the one too-brave idiot who threw one, the crowd grew more respectful in his opinion, melting away. Upon arriving at his destination, Joffrey was surprised to find that master smith Tobho Mott had died in the rioting that had spiraled out of the Stark's attempted coup, along with his apprentice, who was already considered a very good smith.

After a moment spent staring at the burned out ruins of the smith's shop, he shrugged, turning away to rejoin his retinue of Kingsguard and Lannister men. He would need to settle for second best for now. He didn't even look at the cart carrying their bodies away. One of the dead bodies was an old man who would have still looked hearty if he had been alive. The other was a young man around the prince's age, with broad shoulders, dark hair and eyes set into a wide face.

The trip back to the castle however was when the crowd began to reappear. It wasn't anything planned or anything like that, it was simply that the news the Lannister king was in the city had spread, and a crowd of smallfolk with more hatred than common sense to put it bluntly had begun to arrive. They began to circle the king's party, tossing refuse, a few bricks and anything else that came to hand. "Down with the yellow king, down with the burners, the rapists! Down with the gold fucking Lannisters!"

Ser Swann urged his horse forward, gently nudging Joffrey's steed behind him. "Your highness, I think you should move back." Balon raised his shield just in time to catch a brick thrown at his head, whipping out his sword. He turned to the rest of the party. "Flat of the blades only, we don't want a bloodbath here." The others all nodded, knowing the real reason, that there were far too many smallfolk for them to break through if the crowd became any more unruly, which it would once blood began to flow.

"What! I am the king, this scum need to be put in their place!" Joffrey snarled. At that moment a wine bottle was hurled over the intervening guardsmen, smacking into Joffrey's horse. The beast shied, but Joffrey regained control quickly, looking around in sudden fear.

"At a canter, make for the Keep!" Balon yelled, charging forward. The throng hadn't crowded them enough to stop their horses from gaining speed, and the front of their column slammed into the crowd blocking their path to the Red Keep easily, laying all around them with the flat of their blades.

The crowd gave way, some fearfully others reluctantly, but with the momentum and size of their warhorses Balon and his men forged a path through the masses for Joffrey. Now that he knew things had returned to the way they should be, Joffrey rode forward at the center of his guards, thinking of how best to remind these uppity smallfolk that he was their king. The same mind that had tortured Sansa now turned its attention onto a larger playground, staring around and noting the faces of particularly loud rioters.

Thankfully for the smallfolk, Cersei well knew they needed public opinion on their side, and curtailed many of Joffrey's excesses in the coming weeks. But eventually, her ability to control Joffrey would fade, and he would begin to earn the name that he would carry to his grave: Joffrey the Vile.

OOOOOOO

Elsewhere in the city the former, though he was still getting used to that bit, White cloak commander Ser Barristan Selmy began to hide the bodies of the three armsmen that the Lannisters had sent after him. They had come upon him just as he exited the slums, having stayed at a rundown inn whose owner owed him a favor there. "Of course the little whelp would send someone after me, did they think they would catch me unawares? I'm almost insulted." He shook his leonine head, continuing talking to himself while piling garbage on the bodies, an easy task here in the slums. "Still, that doesn't help me much now. I still need to get out of the city, and then decide where to go…"

Barristan paused as he heard a murmur of voices coming somewhere in the maze of warrens that made up the slums. "I tell ye, the Stark girl's gone! Me mam's a servant at the keep, and she said she saw the stark boy, the one who gulched the Mountain right proper. 'e just 'peared outta nowheres, leapin' up the wall wit' his sister on his back. An' there were a few deaders bein' dumped outta the keep this morn."

"Bah, yer mam's seein' thins, she been at some lordlin's alc when she were up there? Ain't no way no mortal man could jump 'at far, no way, even the man who un-armed the Mountain. Get it? Un-armed? HAR!"

In his hiding place Barristan frowned thoughtfully. I've always suspected that Ranma Stark was hiding some of his abilities. How he got into Maegor's holdfast in the first place I don't know, but if he's really returned… For a moment, he considered all he knew about the Stark heir, then went over that meeting with the small council when he was assigned the mission to find the two Targaryen siblings. Unless they were truly gripped by the Targaryen madness the Stark boy would have returned with the two siblings if anyone could, and that he returned at all tells me he succeeded in some fashion.

Yet this brought up another question he had been asking himself since his unlawful expulsion from the Kingsguard. What claimant for the Iron Throne has the best claim on the throne, and is therefore worthy of my sword? Barristan stood up, pulling his utilitarian cloak around him, hiding his white enameled armor from view. He stared up at the sky, nearly obscured by the walls of the hovels around him. He stood like that for several minutes then nodded sharply, before striding away purposefully.

OOOOOOO

Ranma and Daenerys woke up the next morning in that same position, slumped against the wall of Lord Stark's room aboard ship with Daenerys leaning her head on Ranma's shoulder as they slept, the two draklings curled up in her lap. Fenris was nowhere to be seen.

Knowing by smell somehow that Sansa was in distress the large direwolf had bedded down outside the girls room, growling at any sailor that came by. Worse, he felt a hollow feeling inside ever since seeing Sansa. Where the connection to his prissy, too domesticated female packmate should have been there was an emptiness now, telling Fenris Lady was dead, though not the manner of her death.

Ranma woke up first and after cracking his neck he looked down at where Daenerys was leaning on his shoulder, a smile playing across his face. Ranma didn't really understand how to describe husband/wife love in words, but after watching Ned and Catelyn he certainly understood what it was. He knew that was what he felt for Daenerys.

He'd felt affection for Dacey, but their friendship was more important than anything else, their physical relationship had simply been an addition to this, and he had willingly given it up when he went south to meet Margaery.

For a moment he felt a spark of guilt at the memory of Margaery, but Brynden had told him that the Tyrells had officially called off the courtship between them, and it had never gotten to the point where he was actually in love with her. From the very beginning neither of them had been able to enter into the courtship wholeheartedly thanks to the pressures of her family's plans and Ranma's desire to remain distant from her. Oh, there had been a moment where he had been very attracted to Margaery when they first met. Then Ranma had seen her flirting with Joffrey, and that feeling had died instantly. Despite that inauspicious beginning they had become firm friends, though Ranma didn't know if that would survive Loras choosing to not support his father in the battle against the Lannisters. Still, Ranma was honest enough to realize their friendship might have become love eventually if they had given more time or didn't have her family mucking things up.

But that feeling was a summer breeze in comparison to the storm he felt for Daenerys and Ranma knew it wasn't simple lust. He respected Daenerys more than he had Margaery for one. He had seen Daenerys at her weakest moment, when she had tried to get away from the magister's mansion. That moment, her glaring around her, using the dragon eggs to shield her chest, still defiant despite her plan coming to pieces around her, was one Ranma would never forget. Margaery had never been tested like that. Daenerys was intelligent too, shown in their conversations over the past month or so, and had a gentle nature under her fierce willpower that was astonishing. That gentleness, the fact she actually cared about people, merged with an incredible amount of charisma, making people gravitate to her naturally.

As intelligent as Margaery, as fearless as Dacey, as kind and strong-willed as both combined, Daenerys Stormborn had taken his breath away over the past few weeks. He wanted to spend the rest of his life with her, to kiss her every day, to wake up next to her, to talk about their problems together and face any trial that came their way side by side. A feeling beyond anything he had felt for Dacey or allowed himself to feel toward Margaery.

Now I know what my father and mother feel about one another. Yes, I will marry this girl, my Stormborn lady. She might only bring the dragons but that's a very big only, and… he frowned thoughtfully thinking of the future. She'll bring other allies I suppose in the future.

In Daenerys' lap the draklings began to cheap imperiously for their morning meal, waking Daenerys up. She yawned widely, then mumbled something about her back bothering her before she looked up and realized where she had fallen asleep. Her eyes locking with Ranma's Daenerys smiled up at Ranma, taking one of his hands in hers and squeezing it between them for a moment, leaning up to kiss the underside of his jaw. She smiled a little impishly at Ranma's surprised look of her action, evidently not having expected her to be that playful so soon after they had admitted what was happening between them

Standing up, Daenerys allowed the two draklings to climb up her leggings and her leather jerkin, which had been resized from one of the sailors on the caravel they had been travelling on before. It was a necessity since Rhaegon and Sunfyre both loved climbing up and down from her shoulders for some reason. She idly hoped that Ranma's prediction about them still having that habit when they were larger did not come true, but for now, Daenerys rather liked having them so close.

She stretched her arms from side to side working on her shoulders, accidentally thrusting her chest forward as she did. Daenerys smiled faintly as Ranma watched her, preening a little under his gaze. Exercising with Ranma actually started to put on some muscle on her, and while she would never have thought it given her reaction to being looked at by Viserys or Jorah Mormont, Daenerys positively loved it when Ranma looked at her like that. Where their looks had made her feel dirty, Ranma's made her feel simply desirable.

Unlike Ranma, Daenerys had never been in a relationship of any kind before, but she understood where their feelings were taking her. While neither of them had said the words yet, their affection was out in the open now, and Daenerys saw no need to lie to herself about her growing feelings for Ranma Stark.

Ranma stood up, and reached out to take her hand, bringing it to his lips and kissing it lightly before looking at the two hungry draklings. "Let's feed these little monsters then speak with Brynden and the captain." Daenerys nodded with a smile, slipping her hand into his. They left the room like this, leaving behind a smiling Domeric to watch over the injured Lord Stark.

They found the Blackfish already awake and talking with Captain Woolfield staring out over the ocean as the ship continued to make its way through the waters of Blackwater Bay. Brynden smiled at them, but his smile froze on his face as he saw the two of them holding hands. Ranma simply cocked an eyebrow at him, daring his uncle to comment but Brynden simply smiled and bowed his head slightly for now.

Eddard had told him about the plans that Renly had come up with to marry the rose girl to Robert to produce some more heirs to the throne, and he didn't doubt that that house would jump at the idea of marrying Renly himself to Margaery, poor girl. So there was no honorable previous engagement in the way, and the draklings on the Stormborn's shoulders were a show of power even the Tyrells would have trouble matching.

"We need to talk about what we're going to be doing." Ranma said bluntly looking at the two men and holding out his hand to clasp arms with the captain. The two of them had greeted one another when Ranma came aboard, but they didn't know one another very well. Woolfield was a house that Ranma hadn't encountered personally, but he knew enough about their history and their loyalty to house Manderly to trust the man. "Captain, how likely is it that we can get away without someone from Dragonstone being able to run us down?"

"It depends on how many ships Stannis can spare milord." the man said with a shrug. He was a medium sized man with a full beard that was turning to gray slowly, though that was the only sign of age. His arms were bare showing heavy corded muscles, and his right hand rested on a belt where a heavy cutlass rested. "They'll know these waters better than us of course, but even though it's called a bay, finding a single ship isn't that easy. Even if they do find us, I didn't lose many of my men before were forced to pull back due to Lord Stark's injury. I have a hundred and forty men aboard fit to fight."

Daenerys nodded. "That's good to know captain. However I think that rather than fighting our way through we need to sneak through. Recall that Lord Stark is indeed down with injuries, and there are women aboard. Any battle can go badly if we are careless." She smirked at Ranma, making him remember the time she had stepped in to direct the battle against the ship Stannis had sent to capture her.

Ranma laughed squeezing her hand before letting it go when she moved over with the draklings to the stewpot that had been brought out for them. It was a heavy meat stew with some mushrooms and other vegetables in there, and Daenerys smiled at the cooks who smiled back looking almost in awe of her.

This was not an isolated feeling towards House Targaryen in Westeros. While the Lords Paramount and the larger noble houses had moved on rather gleefully from the days of the Targaryen Dynasty, the smallfolk and the minor houses still retained their awe of the family, and of their dragons. This would be important in the coming days, though unfortunately not as much use as it could have been were certain circumstances different.

Watching Ranma watch Daenerys walk off Brynden laughed, clapping the younger man on the shoulder, causing Ranma to look at him. "Your lady mother will be very angry. Catelyn will think that the young lady doesn't bring enough to the table for you to wed her, after all the Stormborn doesn't bring any men or swords or even land, and will bring out a lot of old prejudices among the other powers, plus removing one of your house's largest diplomatic tools. The two dragons might convince her though, we'll see."

Brynden smiled softly at his nephew, already knowing what the two young people felt for one another. Indeed, he had the feeling of, not destiny not quite, but of greatness whenever he looked at the two of them together. "For my part I will simply wish you well."

Reaching out to grab the other man's shoulder in turn Ranma laughed quietly. "Little early for that, but it's definitely a thought in my mind." he said, flushing a little bit. Despite his experience with Dacey, he wasn't actually experienced about actually talking about such things, and he moved on quickly. "With Edmure captured, what do you think Lord Tully will do?"

Brynden sighed sadly. "My brother is old, and dying. Even before all this began I didn't think he had more than a few years left, he doesn't have the strength for war. With his heir captured, there will be little he can do."

"How fast can the Westerlanders march into the Riverlands?" asked Daenerys coming back carrying a large bowl of stew from which her draklings were feeding while she walked from the perches on her shoulders. "I confess I don't have as good a grasp of distances in Westeros as I would like, but there's no doubt that Lord Tywin is the most dangerous of our opponents."

"And if word of the treachery of the queen gets out, how will the rest of the lords major react? I don't doubt Stannis has already begun to spread that news considering he knew about it nearly right after the fact." She said tartly, remembering the battle they had with the galley out of Dragonstone coming into the bay. "How will the Riverlands lords react, or the Stormlands lords? As one, or will they be divided? These are questions we need to think about going forward, gentlemen."

"My question is how the Freys will react." Ranma said shrugging his shoulders. "They're the family nearest the North, and they're one of the most powerful if not the second most powerful house in the Riverlands. Charging their damned tolls has made them rich, and I remember my mother mentioning a few Frey's had married into House Lannister. Worse, Edmure's helping my father can already be seen as an act of treason by itself, and Lord Lannister and the Queen won't let that stand."

For all his respect for Cersei, Ranma didn't delude himself on what the Queen would be willing to do to protect her son's life or their grip on the throne now that it had come to this. "He could strip Lord Tully of his title, and add their lands to someone else's, though whether that would stick without violence I don't know."

"That, my brother would have to fight." Brynden said sadly. "If they go with that kind of maneuver I have no idea what my brother will do but he won't simply bow to their demands. Even if his son's life is on the line Hoster won't allow anyone else to hold Riverrun if he can help it."

"And he's family." Ranma said reaching down to rub one finger over Rhaegon's green-scaled head. "I won't allow my grandfather to fight that fight alone."

Daenerys smiled approvingly at that. Her smile widened as Ranma went on looking at the other two men and then her. "But it won't be a large force. The Neck and Moat Cailin might protect our landward defenses from any invasion coming up from the south, but we are still very vulnerable by sea most particularly by the Ironborn. Worse, winter is coming."

Woolfield chuckled, and Ranma smirked at him. "I'm not just repeating my family's motto. Those words are as true for us as they are true for every other man, lord, knight or smallfolk, and we need to prepare for it. I haven't spoken to a maester recently, so I have no idea how long we really have until winter truly comes, but I've been to the Wall. I felt the cold there, it is coming. And then there's the King Beyond the Wall and other issues north of us we'll have to deal with." Woolfield looked quizzical at that while the other two simply nodded while Ranma went on. "We cannot, I will not allow us to neglect the defense of our people. We'll need to help Lord Tully and see justice done for the queen and her family, but our people cannot be the ones to pay for it."

Daenerys nodded, looking at him with shining eyes. Few Lords indeed would worry about their own people like that, but Ranma does. That tells me more than anything else what kind of a Lord, what kind of a man he truly is. Or possibly a thought entered her mind, what kind of future King he is. "I trust you would be leading such a force?" Daenerys asked raising one eyebrow.

"Oh definitely." Ranma replied, already thinking of the size and makeup of such a force. Ten thousand men would be the maximum he would allow to be pulled from the ready forces. Ideally he would like to field two thousand light cavalry/scouts, a thousand heavy cavalry, three thousand archers, three thousand heavy infantry and a thousand light infantry, but that was in an ideal world. Ranma knew that would probably be impossible.

Still, that number would certainly let enough force in the North to deal with any normal threat. The fact he would have to go south rather than to the Wall irritated him, but he hoped they had enough time to reunite Westeros before dealing with the White Walkers. "Do we have a map?"

Captain Woolfield went to fetch one and they all went back down into the ship to Eddard's room, letting the crew go about their business. Once there, Woolfield marked out the route they were going to follow north before looking up at Ranma. "We're currently moving through this area here, we shouldn't run into any trouble in terms of weather, at least I hope not. This part here," he tapped the map down by the marks for the island of Dragonstone and Driftmark. "Will be where we're most likely to run into opposition. But it's always possible that Stannis wants us enough to send enough ships to run us down even on open water even after we leave the bay."

"I doubt Stannis will bother sending ships after us once we leave the bay. He'll concentrate on rallying his forces." Daenerys said firmly with Ranma nodding agreement. "Stannis is not Lord Paramount of the Stormlands; Robert passed him over for that in favor of his younger brother Renly. He'll have to gather men to him by persuasion or force. The fact that precedent says he is Robert's legal heir will not matter in the face of their well-known mutual dislike. If he knows the truth about Joffrey he'll be able to rally some lords with that but his position as master of ships would've given him something like six thousand men all told? Not enough to take King's Landing if the defense is prepared and I have no doubt that the Queen and the Kingslayer at least will push as hard as they can on that front."

Ranma scowled angrily cracking his knuckles as he thought of Jaime Lannister. The man had nearly succeeded in killing his father, and Ranma very much wished to return the favor.

"What I'm surprised about." Ranma said shaking his head to get rid of his rather bloodthirsty thought. "Is that there hasn't been a response from Dorne about Tyene's death. I met Oberyn, and he was an emotional sort of man. I have no doubt that he at least will want take some kind of vengeance."

Domeric shrugged from where he had taken up position on Daenerys' other side. "While the roads in Dorne are better than the ones in the North, they have even worse logistics issues than us northern louts normally." Ranma and Woolfield grinned at one another while Domeric continued. "I've travelled there, and trust me, water in particular is a major issue for any army marching through Dorne's territory. Not only would it take them time to gather their troops in large enough numbers for a foray into the Marches, but it would take them longer to get there. Nor do they have any naval power to speak of."

"That is one point that I particularly think we need to keep in mind Ranma, one which made me very pleased that you remembered the need to keep some of our forces at home." Daenerys said frowning thoughtfully as she looked at the map, tapping the Iron Islands, not even noticing Ranma's smile at the phrase 'our forces' or Brynden and the others reactions.

"The Ironborn will use this opportunity to return to their old ways." She said firmly. "The use of a hostage will not stop them, if the Greyjoys do not do it themselves than the other major houses among the Ironborn will do it anyway. They're reavers and rapist plunderers, they've probably been waiting for an opportunity to slip the leash again."

All four of the men nodded agreement, and Ranma replied dryly that was why he wouldn't be taking a large force from the houses on that side of the northern territories.

"They could still strike Moat Cailin from behind." Daenerys said worriedly, working her lower lip in such a way that made Ranma want to kiss her. "If they join forces with the Lannisters and take the Moat away from us, the Lannisters can then simply march through the Riverlands to deal with us first before picking up the pieces there."

Ranma laughed shaking his head. "Not going to happen, Daenerys. Trust me, you haven't heard of the changes we've made to the Moat. What's more, my family has known that something was going to be coming our way since before I left Winterfell, and we've been preparing for the worst." He smirked. "Ravens are such useful birds, and I believe that the preparations already in place will surprise you."

"I hope in a good way." Daenerys said smiling faintly as she flicked her fingers lightly against Ranma's arm. Her smile widened as Ranma took her hand in his holding for a moment as they turned back to the map. Their discussion continued from there for another hour before they were interrupted by a cough from nearby.

In the bed nearby Ned awoke to the sound of their voices. That he awoke at all was a shock to Eddard. While the wounds themselves were not immediately mortal, he had been prepared to die from the one in his side at least. He took a moment to just lay there in peace, enjoying the feeling of being alive, before coughing to get the attention of those in the room with him.

Despite the weariness and pain stamped across his features Ned's eyes were clear as he looked at the group which rapidly crowded around the bed locking on Daenerys and the two dragons on her shoulders. "Legends come before me in many forms it seems," he said, his voice a bare shadow of its normal commanding tenor. "Lady Daenerys Targaryen?"

"Milord." The platinum haired girl nodded her head formally then decided to try humor, it worked often enough with Ranma. "I would curtsy but…" she gestured at the leggings she was wearing.

Ned smiled slightly, but didn't seem to have the strength for more. He looked around at them all. "Who do I have to thank for the minor miracle of my life?"

"Myrcella, apparently." Ranma said smiling broadly, reaching forward to grasp his father's hand. "She's been studying medicine apparently, and she and Alayaya were able to stitch you up. You're still weak, and I'm afraid there wasn't much they could do about the shoulder save to tie it in place and hope it heals, but you're going to pull through. Still, I don't want to hear about you trying to lead from the front again father, that's a younger man's job!"

"I see. And it is good to see you too my son, both for its own merits and for that very reason." Ned replied, smiling faintly but warmly at his son. "But tell me, how long was I out, and what has happened since? How did your mission go besides the obvious? Are we sailing for Dragonstone?"

Ranma exchanged glances with the others then told his father what had happened to him and Daenerys as they came towards King's Landing, and about his rescuing Sansa. Ned looked at him in shock at that, but then bowed his head in true thanks, squeezing his son's hand again as hard as he could, which alas wasn't very hard at the moment.

He and Brynden both then filled Ranma in on the battle in the city in greater detail than Brynden had before, going into detail on the evidence that the maesters had sent him to prove the queen's infidelity. Ranma, his mind on a certain young lady, looked at the names of the children and noticed something, which he immediately brought up.

Eddard frowned, but nodded and acquiesced to his point for now before turning back to the topic of Stannis and what was going on now. He looked at them all shaking his head. "So the world changes, and in ways I did not expect or can understand. Legends come among us again, the direwolves to my family the dragons to yours milady, a King beyond the Wall and more, treason in the South and Stannis Baratheon having access to some kind of magic that allowed him to learn of his brother's death a mere day after the fact." He leaned back, closing his eyes and the others thought he might've fallen asleep but he opened them again now staring searchingly at Ranma. "So, what will you do my Lord?"

"My Lord?" Ranma said his eyes wide. "I, um, I had hoped to convince you to send of me and a smallish army south father, but um… my Lord? What…?"

"A crippled Lord cannot be a Lord in the North, you know this." Ned said simply moving his shoulders very slightly, wincing at the pain of the crushed bones in his one shoulder. It was all he could do as exhausted as he was, but it brought to Ranma's attention to his wound there, and then Eddard tapped one leg with a hand. "I can't feel this leg." Ned said simply. "Even if my shoulder repaired itself, I don't think I'm ever going to be able to ride to war, or to defend my honor in single combat as a Lord must if called upon to do so. That makes you Lord Stark my son, and Lord Paramount of the North."

He sighed sadly, shaking his head. "And I have made too many mistakes of late, too many errors in judgment. I should have known that Cersei would have heard of the King's death, if she didn't plan it herself, and made plans well in advance of the news reaching us for such an eventuality. I should have done more to prevent Tyene's death, or Tommen's! By the old gods, I should never have come south at all, nothing good has come of it!"

Eddard looked at Ranma and Daenerys, who was standing close by, her shoulder barely touching Ranma's as they crowded around the bed. He smiled faintly, wondering what was going on there but not wanting to push for the moment. Possibly nothing at any rate. "You are ready for this my son, I know you will do me proud."

Ranma and the others looked at one another and after a moment Ranma shrugged. "I knew this time would come, but at least my father is alive, which was one of the ways it could have come."

He patted his father on his good shoulder before moving away from the bed. "We were talking about problems in the future and had covered Dorne. What of the Vale or the Reach? The Stormlands will answer Renly's inevitable call to war of course, or Stannis possibly, one of the two. The Crownlands will answer the crown, at least most of it and the River lands we talked about earlier."

"The Reach will march with Lord Renly," Ranma continued tapping it thoughtfully. "Their strength from what I've seen reported to the crown is something like sixty-thousand men? Possibly more if they neglect the defenses." He ground his finger into the map over the mark for High Garden angrily, remembering what Brynden had told him about Renly and Loras having fled the city before the battle even began.

If Loras and Renly had stayed with their men and the men they could rally from the few remaining neutral lords in the court, his father might well have won the battle in the city. But no, instead of helping, instead of doing the honorable thing, the two 'knights' had run, taking their men with them. That act of cowardice would cost them, and it would cost them dear. Ranma wasn't prepared to name House Tyrell or Renly among their enemies just yet unlike Stannis. But they certainly weren't among his friends, nor would he trust either man again.

He wondered what Margaery and their family were making of all this beyond the obvious, but decided in the end he didn't care. House Tyrell tried to play the game of politics rather than solidify the arrangement between me and Margaery. Fine, I have a new 'arrangement' now. Let them try wringing what they can from the cluster fuck that's about to begin, right now I've my own plans to make.

"The Vale is leaderless," Brynden said striking his head. "Lysa won't listen to anyone, she'll stay on the defense and be a non-factor until well after the war is over. At that point we can remove her and her child from power if need be."

Brynden's leaving the Vale had been rather acrimonious. Lysa had called him a traitor for leaving to help Ranma and Eddard rather than stay to guard Lysa and her son. She went so far as to say if he left Brynden was no family of hers. The Blackfish had tried to keep calm, but words had been said on both sides that could not be unsaid. And Lysa had been acting irrationally long before that, something Brynden had noticed even removed from the Eyrie as he was in his role of Defender of the Gate.

The conversation continued from there for another hour with Domeric joining in now before Ranma leaned back satisfied. The numbers he had worked out for the North matched with what captain Woolfield thought was accurate, and Brynden and Daenerys's knowledge of the Riverlands was also very good. Daenerys proved herself invaluable in her knowledge of the Reach and Stormlands, knowing nearly every house there and having a shrewd idea of their force strength and how they would react to the coming conflict. Ranma had only studied the most powerful houses, and them poorly outside the Lords Paramount.

They calculated how long they had before the Lannisters could get a force up to the Neck, how long it would take them to go around it by sea. Their analyses on what the various reactions of forces would be and how large the window was for them to start marching down into the Riverlands well as what forces they would have to retain at home were less accurate but close enough. It was enough for now for Ranma to call a halt to their planning session for now, looking over at captain Woolfield. "Do we have some way to send word ahead? Is there a raven aboard?"

"We have a sea-hawk milord. They're not as intelligent as ravens but they can be trained to travel back to their home. They're fast and very hard to train but good for messages back to White Harbor. But they won't be able to contact us, finding a ship at sea is impossible." Captain Woolfield said.

Ranma and Daenerys put their heads together for a moment composing the message, based off a plan that Daenerys had thought up. That this allowed Daenerys to run her hand up Ranma's thigh for a moment was just a bonus, as was his return kneading of her thigh. Though when she began to move her hand in a 'mischievous manner' and Ranma felt himself begin to respond, he was forced to grab her hand and move it away, much to her hidden amusement.

Despite their little under the table games, Daenerys still kept her mind on the task at hand. Indeed, at least one idea that would be mentioned in the note was something that Ranma wouldn't have considered even if he had at one point thoughts along similar lines in regards to the Wall and the Night's Watch. Still, from what little he knew of the man Tyrion would jump at it, removing The Imp as a threat and possibly strengthening the Wall for centuries to come if it went as Daenerys hoped. If not, Tyrion would still be removed as a threat.

The final message was brief since sea-hawks couldn't carry as much weight as ravens (they were very different flyers), but covered a lot. It read 'Bringing the Wolves home along with the Stormborn. Treason in the South, Joffrey is illegitimate. This must be answered. All lords to gather at Winterfell. Send for Theon and the others to bring Tyrion to meet us in White Harbor. Lannisters are not to be trusted. Lord Ranma Stark.'

"I think that's enough for now." Ranma said handing the message over to the captain who would affix it to the special carrier for the Seahawk. "I think it's time to go see if the ladies are up, and tell Sansa and Myrcella what is going to happen." He sighed heavily. "And for us to tell Myrcella what we suspect about her parentage."

Daenerys nodded. She nearly laughed aloud when she stood up and watched Ranma remain sitting for a moment, visibly getting control of himself before standing up in turn. Ranma mock glared at her, but Daenerys merely smiled back impishly. For some reason knowing she was having that large an effect on him was empowering in a way she had not anticipated. I will need to think about that in the future. For now she put aside such thoughts, taking Ranma's hand once more, allowing him to lead her out of the room.

OOOOOOO

Sansa had woken up but decided to simply stay in bed for a time. She was still bruised and battered from her beating two nights ago, and despite Ranma rescuing her, a part of Sansa was still hopeful that the past few days had all been a bad dream. Sansa knew it wouldn't be, but she could dream about it being a dream couldn't she?

This rather convoluted thought had just meandered through Sansa's head when it was knocked out of her mind by her current bed partner rolling around and smacking Sansa in the back accidentally with one hand. Sansa hissed, the sound waking Myrcella up with a start.

"Wh-what?" the blond haired girl asked blearily looking around. Her eyes immediately lit on Sansa as the girl curled up a little from the pain of having her sore back hit like that. "Sansa?! How did you get here? Oh, I'm so glad to see you! Did I hit you when I turned over, I'm sorry."

Sansa waved that away turning awkwardly to face Myrcella. The two of them had shared a bed many times on sleepovers, so there wasn't any kind of awkwardness between them. Myrcella glanced around not seeing Lady. Her face fell and she looked back at Sansa. "Lady?"

The northern girl's eyes tear it up, and Myrcella wordlessly reached out for her and the two girls hugged one another tightly. In fits and starts they both shared what they had faced since separating the morning before.

Sansa cried when she heard about Mattimeo and the others. Mattimeo had been one of the youngest guardsmen, and one of Sansa's personal favorites. He always had funny stories to tell much like Ranma's, only sometimes better because most were about his older brother and how he had bumbled his way through courting his wife. Clifton Snow had been another armsmen she was fond of, one of the younger men who had trained extensively with Ranma. Indeed he had been chosen for the trip down to King's Landing by her brother. He may have been a Snow, which given the late septa Mordane's beliefs about baseborn children and her influence over Sansa should have immediately made Sansa look down on him, but thanks to Ranma and his influence that hadn't happened.

Both of them cried for Arys Oakheart, who Sansa had thought was a worthy knight, not on the same level as his commander, or Ser Jaime or the Rose Knight but still a kind and handsome gentleman. Sansa however did not share with Myrcella what she had heard about the reasoning behind the Queen suddenly turning on her father. She would let Ranma or someone else tell her friend that. That may be cowardly, but right now Sansa just did not want to think about that or her friend's reaction to it.

"I should've listened to you." Sansa said instead, taking Myrcella's hands in her own. "You were right to try to guide me away from Joffrey like you tried to, I can see that now, and Ranma and my father were both right about him. He's a monster!" she spat this viciously through her tears. "A complete monster. He killed Jeyne, and then he, he made me watch as, as some of the other prisoners were, were executed by that horrid man Payne."

Myrcella nodded grimly, pulling her hands free from Sansa's clenched hands, once again hugging her gently, making certain to not touch the other girl's bruises. "And he gave you those bruises?"

"He ordered it." Sansa said mumbling a little as she leaned against the smaller girls shoulder. While Myrcella had begun the track to womanhood, Sansa was almost finished that journey, and had about three or 4 inches on her. Even laying down like they were it was still noticeable despite the princess' growth spurt over the past few weeks. Sansa remembered that time herself, she needed new clothing every other week, and it seemed as if her sense of balance and poise had deserted her. Myrcella didn't seem to have that last problem, not that Sansa was jealous or anything.

For a moment after that they were both silent, simply taking comfort in one another's presence, then Myrcella moved back looking at Sansa, her face set. "Let's see if I can do anything for that back, I made up some salves for your father and the other men, they should work."

"Tell me the truth…" Sansa said as she painfully sat up so that she said could swing her legs out of the bed. "Will my father live?"

"I'm not really a fully trained healer." Myrcella said cautiously. "I've read a lot of books, and Alayaya's stitching was incredible, so we were able to stop the bleeding. But I can't tell you that with any certainty if that was enough given the damage to his side. I think it's up to Lord Stark. And… and even if he lives, your father could still be crippled."

Sansa took in that statement with a stoicism that would have surprised her even so much as three days ago, yet couldn't stop a shiver of fear going through her at the thought of never seeing her father alive again. She knew her father wasn't immortal, and then meant he could be killed, but Sansa had seen so much death lately she was just tired of it.

"Let me help you, your grace." Alayaya said, making her presence known from the nearby corner where she had been sleeping in her hammock until the girls began to talk to one another. She had made no attempt to join in, knowing that a good cry was often very therapeutic.

Sansa nodded thanks of the offer, and allowed the older, and even Sansa had to admit beautiful, woman to help her pull off her dress. The two of them had issues initially, not that Sansa had thought that she had been brought in to ply her trade or anything. But the septa had colored Sansa's worldview and had little truck with such people even if they were trying to reform. Brynden had set her down sharply on that, telling her about the girl's work as a spy for them, though not the particulars.

At the sight of the bruises on Sansa's back Alayaya and Myrcella both winced. So busy where they with helping the northern girl none of them had noticed the door open, and they all jumped when someone spoke up from behind them. It was Ranma's voice, normally a very welcome one for all three even if Alayaya was more at home with calling him the Rock Hurler, but this time it sounded different. There was a timbre there that none of the three had ever heard in his voice before, a sort of growling note. If a hurricane could speak it would sound like that, a fury fit to tear down mountains. "If I had known that bastard had done that to you Sansa, I would've made time to kill him properly before we escaped."

"By the Seven don't do that!" Sansa gasped pulling her dress up a little to hide the front of her body from view. Myrcella who was simply gasping a little holding her chest nodded agreement.

Alayaya stood still, trying to still her hammering heart. "So it wasn't only your invisibility trick that allowed you to become the Rock Hurler, Lord Stark?"

"He likes to do that, you wouldn't think it given his personality but Ranma is actually quite good at sneaking around. I think he likes to startle people, or at least girls." Daenerys said moving around Ranma to look at the three girls, frowning deeply at the marks on the northern beauty's back while Ranma allowed himself a very faint smile at her quip, still staring at his sister's bruised back. "We'll wait for you outside, we didn't realize you were changing." she said looking over at Ranma pointedly and nudging him back towards the doorway.

Ranma nodded, but his hands were still clenched, and there was a rage in his eyes that Daenerys knew she had to do something about.

The three girls turned back to one another, then shrugged and got on with business while outside Daenerys began to question Ranma about his rescue of Sansa forcing Ranma to realize that he couldn't have stayed and killed Joffrey, not with so many armsmen so close to Sansa. He would've had to fight his way through them to the doorway and probably through more in the hall while Joffrey retreated, and it would only have taken one man that he missed to get to Sansa to either kill her or use Sansa as a hostage against him.

Ranma nodded reluctant agreement, turning around when the girls exited their room. Sansa moved forward quickly, her arms going around Ranma. "Thank you again for rescuing me, Ranma…" she breathed.

Her older brother chuckled, a familiar sound that added to the feeling of safety that having his arms around her shoulders gave Sansa. "That's what older siblings are for sister, to protect their little siblings, it's why we come around first."

Sansa giggled wetly and Ranma nodded over at Myrcella. "My father's already woken up, he looks as if he'll pull through. But he has something to say, and you need to hear it Sansa." he said turning back to his sister was still in his arms as he continued to hug her very gently around the shoulders being very careful to avoid the marks that bastard Trant had left on her back at Joffrey's order. Oh yes, Joffrey is going to die. Maybe cutting him into pieces while he's still living and feed him to Fenris? No, it'd be just like Joffrey to give Fenris terminal poisoning or something. Huh, do they have piranha in this world? Something painful, and possibly slow anyway, will need to think about that.

As soon as Sansa let him go, Ranma moved over to Myrcella, enfolding her in a hug in turn. "Thank you for saving my father." He said, his voice almost a whisper, though everyone in the corridor could hear him. "Without you and Alayaya he would've already died from his wounds."

Myrcella hugged him back, burrowing into his stomach a little. Suddenly Ranma realized with a start that Merry had grown up quite a bit since he had left King's Landing. It wasn't actually surprising given her age, what was surprising and what was making him rather uncomfortable was the feel of her small clementine (he was guessing there) sized breasts pressing into his waist right above his crotch. His control had been badly frayed from the past months of forced celibacy, and Daenerys' earlier flirtations had weakened his control further. Ranma could actually feel himself reacting to Merry's hug and it was mortifying.

For Ranma anyway, Merry's reaction when she felt it through his leggings and her dress was quite different. First she stiffened in Ranma's arms, letting out a nearly inaudible gasp. For a moment Ranma thought she was going to pull an Akane and slug him where it hurt. But to his surprise Myrcella then hugged him even tighter, moving her shoulders around, deliberately moving her chest against Ranma before moving back.

When she looked up at him, Myrcella had a light flush on her face, but a look of triumph in her eyes, and Ranma groaned under his breath, knowing she had not only felt his reaction but liked it. He knew this might make her crush on him worse, but he was at sea about that issue anyway, so Ranma resolved to continue ignoring it as much as possible.

To his side Daenerys looked amused, but her eyes were locked on Myrcella, taking note of the flush on the younger girl's face, wondering if the girls crush really was just a crush or something more serious. Only time will tell if I have a true rival or if the Lannister girl is simply a young girl enchanted by an older boy who has treated her so well. For now, I have more pressing concerns.

After a moment of embarrassment Ranma turned away from Merry with a strained smile, before leading the way through the ship to his father's room. When they arrived Sansa barely stopped herself back from running at him, seeing her father sitting up in bed. Having asked Brynden to help him sit up Eddard smiled faintly at seeing Sansa safe and sound.

It took a moment for Sansa to pull her attention away from her father, sitting there looking so wasted and weak, not tall forbidding and implacable as he should be, to notice that there were other men in the room. One wore the colors the Woolfield family, a minor but rather important house who looks to Lord Manderly as their overlord. She curtsied cordially to him, and he bowed gravely from the waist before she turned to the third man who she didn't know.

He looked slightly familiar, as if she had met him once before. He stood next to Brynden, who smiled at her stepping forward for his hug. Sansa met him eagerly, and resolutely did not cry again feeling another family member's arms around her, ensuring her safety. She'd done enough of that lately

Once Brynden let her go Sansa cocked her head quizzically, looking at the man leaning against the wall behind Brynden. "You look familiar ser, but I cannot place you."

"I would be surprised if you could, milady." The man said bowing far more flamboyantly than Captain Woolfield had. "We only met once, you were around ten or so I think. It was many years ago, regardless. Only a few months after your brother here rescued me from durance vile. I am Domeric Snow, bard of the harp."

Sansa nodded her head still cocked to one side. "Are you the one who wrote that song, 'the Wolves of Winterfell', about my brother rescuing you from the Dreadfort? I thought you were a girl."

Domeric looked sheepish for a moment, trying not to look over at the suddenly the glowering Ranma while the other men in the room laughed, even Daenerys joining in. "As I have repeatedly told your brother in the past few weeks I took certain dramatic liberties with that story. It makes much better telling if it is a woman being rescued, rather than another man. Much more dramatic and emotional that way, adding a, well a romantic element even if there is no romance actually mentioned in the song."

"I see…" Sansa said looking a little dubious, though her eyes were actually twinkling faintly with humor. "Well in any event perhaps you could play it for us later, I've never been able to hear the entire song in one sitting."

At Ranma's pout the others laughed again, but Ned spoke then, drawing all their attention back to him. "While this is amusing, and I realize that laughter is the best medicine, there are serious matters we need to discuss."

"I agree." Myrcella said, curtsying to the man she had saved. But her eyes were now hard as she looked around at them all. "I for one would like to know what by the Seven happened! One moment all was peaceful, the next…." She stumbled over her words as the memories of that horrible race through the city came back to her. "The next I hear people shouting in the streets and… I don't know who to believe or what is going on!"

Daenerys strode over, putting one arm around the girl's shoulders, who welcomed the support even if it came from a near total stranger. Daenerys knew what it was like to be surrounded by enemies or people who might be enemies, to not be in charge of your own fate. It made Daenerys feel rather sympathetic to the girl, despite how Lannister she looked. She looked over at Ranma and Eddard, silently urging them to simply get it over with. The longer she went on in ignorance, the more Myrcella would began to doubt their words when they finally did tell her.

Before Eddard could speak Ranma held up a hand, signaling he would do it, making Eddard and Brynden both sigh unobtrusively in relief. For his part, Ranma it would be best for this news to come from him, since Ranma knew that Myrcella trusted him more than his father. "Myrcella… There is no easy way to say this so I'm just going to have to blurt it out. Your mother, well you know your father isn't the most… wasn't the most faithful, um in, um, in regards to his marriage vows?"

Myrcella was not stupid, nor was she slow. She made the connection quickly and gasped looking at them all. "You…you think that…" The blond girl gathered herself and said coolly. "I presume you would not believe that my mother did the same without evidence? Do you have such?"

"We do not know who Cersei laid with." Eddard said bluntly, taking up the tail. "But in the end that hardly matters. We… we do have proof that you and your siblings were not legitimate. Robert is a Baratheon, and they are known for having strong blood as it were. Their features black hair and light blue eyes, as well as certain mannerisms are always passed on to their children. They have married into the Lannisters four times before, and in over a dozen children all have favored the Baratheon in looks if not in temperament. And Robert has had at least fourteen other bastards, and all of them have favored him in looks."

"My son…" Eddard glanced over at Ranma. "Has brought up the point that none of the names of the children we have seen of those previous unions between your family and the Baratheons were those of daughters. Whether or not the Maesters that worked on this for me felt they were unimportant and simply did not include them, or if those pairings did not actually have daughters I do not know. Until we do know that, your own status is up in the air. I'm, I'm sorry."

Myrcella Baratheon, No I'm not a Baratheon am I? She thought to herself, a little disjointed by the shock of it, backed away from the other's pushing Daenerys' arm Myrcella got the feeling that they were telling the truth, but it hurt so much. She knew her mother and the King, she guessed no longer her father though he hadn't had much to do with rearing her after all so that wasn't much of a stretch, hadn't gotten along. But for mother to respond like this? There is a certain poetic justice to it but it's also high treason! Is that why she always called us her little lions when we were alone?

The others gave Myrcella a moment to collect herself for which Myrcella was very thankful. Finally she simply nodded and spoke with as much strength she could muster. "I can understand, I understand both why my mother was so terrified as to begin open conflict between her family and yours, and I can understand what you must've been thinking or trying to do. Though if you are trying to figure out who Joffrey's real father is, I am afraid I can't help you. I never saw my mother spending much time with anyone save my uncle Jaime."

A horrible thought struck Ned at that statement, making him shiver before he shook it off. There was no proof of that, so he would not even try to bring it up.

Myrcella continued regardless. "However I will not believe this in my own case or Tommen's whatever proof you show me. In Joffrey's case it would be almost a relief to not share at least one parent."

That caused Eddard and the others, even Sansa who had met Joffrey and knew what he had done to laugh grimly. Ranma and Daenerys both also nodded in approval of the younger girl's poise after having her world view shattered.

Ranma however answered before anyone else could. "If we could keep it quiet, we could say that you and Tommy were both legitimate, and ask the maesters to not share any further evidence. Say it was only Joffrey that was illegitimate but we probably won't be able to. Stannis is already moving against us, he attacked the ship Daenerys and I were on a day after Robert died and the captain of that vessel said that he already had evidence that all three of you were illegitimate. He'll probably spread that information as far as possible to strengthen his own position."

"Words cannot hurt me Ranma." Myrcella replied, smiling faintly at his concerned tone. "I just wish they couldn't damage Tommy's image in people's minds."

Ranma nodded. He didn't know what his father would've done if Tommen was still alive, but if it had been up to Ranma he probably would've simply met with the queen and talked about it, then removed Joffrey from the succession and family entirely. But somehow he got the feeling that it would prove to be all three children that were illegitimate. That would be the ultimate payback for all the times Robert had cheated on Cersei, for Robert loving a dead woman more than Cersei herself. He could also tell that Myrcella feared that too, but didn't say anything to take away her hope that it was untrue.

She rubbed at her eyes, wiping away the tears that had formed there as the realization of what this could mean hit her. Bastards had very limited rights after all, and as a bastard of the queen, Myrcella was a living, breathing act of treason. She was almost afraid to ask, but Ranma's kind, gentle gaze gave her the courage to go on. "M-May I ask what this will mean for me in your care?"

"Nothing." Ranma said promptly smiling at her. "You're still under my protection Myrcella, my family's and my personal protection. We'll still call you a Baratheon for now, until we get in contact with the Citadel and make certain one way or another. But even if the worst occurs, I won't let anything happen to you."

"Then I am much safer with you then with my brother, or even my mother. She always took his side, and she would continue to do so even if I was there." She looked at him, then suddenly could contain it no longer, and blurted out what laid on her heart so heavily. "And… and Joffrey has killed one sibling already." That sent a jolt through everyone in the room, and a little malicious part of Myrcella was grateful to return the favor.

"Are you certain?" Ranma said sharply, getting over the shock quickly, followed by his father, who looked rather skeptical as did Daenerys though for different reasons. "Are you certain? He really killed Tommy? He poisoned him personally?"

"I don't think he carried it out personally." Myrcella said shaking her head looking apologetically at Sansa. Sansa however simply looked back at her and then shrugged slightly. Her opinion of Joffrey had reached negative numbers, so she didn't have any issue with seeing him as a kinslayer. "But he admitted it to me, used it as a threat when I tried to confront him. I'll admit that wasn't the most intelligent thing I could've done, but I was just so, so angry at the time."

Ranma smiled a bit at that. "Now that kind of temper you could get from either side of your family Merry!" he said softly, reaching out to rub her head fondly.

She blushed under his touch, ecstatic that it really didn't seem to bother him that she might not know who her father was, that she might not be a Baratheon. She looked over at Daenerys who also didn't seem bothered by it for some reason, though that was because of a kindred feeling she felt for Merry's current circumstances. Ranma simply ignored blood status for the most part, something Merry should have realized given how close he was to his brother Jon.

"Could you tell us what Joffrey said exactly when you confronted him, Merry?" Brynden asked.

Myrcella did so word for word while the others listened quietly. After she was finished, she looked at them all, trying to see if they believed her. Sir Woolfield shrugged his shoulders after the princess finished, not having met the boy he didn't know what Joffrey was capable of though he was getting a very grim picture here from this and what Ranma had shared of Sansa's ordeal. Brynden looked thoughtful, but he wasn't one to make a snap judgment one way or another. Sansa too looked ambivalent, though she didn't question that Joffrey would do something like that if he could get away with it. Domeric simply looked uncaring one way or another. She turned back with some trepidation to look at Ranma.

"I believe you." Ranma said simply, and it was as if a tremendous weight had been removed from Myrcella's shoulders. Those simple words meant the world to her, even more than Ranma's accepting her still despite the possible issue with her birth.

Ranma went on. "Joffrey, he has nothing but being the heir to the throne. He's never tried to be anything else, has never excelled at anything else that could give him worth. He's a cruel little bastard, and I can definitely see that he would do something like that after hearing what he put Sansa through."

"But to kill your own kin?" Ned said shaking his head. "Even now, even knowing what he did to Sansa I can't…that is the ultimate taboo! Worse than killing a guest after breaking bread with him! Kinslaying is a horrible crime in any religion, any religion I know of at any rate. The gods both new and old will not just turn their backs on a kinslayer but work to strike such down."

"For my part your grace, I can easily see how someone could fall to that level if what you based your entire life around was going to be taken away from you. I'm thankful that you don't know what depravity humans can reach. My brother was willing to whore me out to gain an army so I can understand how siblings can come to hate one another, as well as ambition." Daenerys said, smiling slightly at the younger girl, who smiled back, despite beginning to have some concerns about the Targaryen girl's relationship with Ranma.

"No, I agree that your brother could come up with the idea but planning it out? From what Ranma has told me about him, Joffrey doesn't seem capable of planning that well, especially not finding a scapegoat as he seems to have in Tyene Sand." Daenerys finished, looking at them all with one eyebrow cocked in query.

"I don't know." Myrcella said seriously looking over at the older and, she was forced to notice once again, very beautiful girl. The Stormborn's silver-blonde hair cascaded down her back, and despite the fact that she was wearing men's clothing her curvaceous form was easy to notice. Those violet eyes set into her pretty face that didn't have a single blemish were both striking and commanding.

However at the moment the question mattered more than the bit of jealousy Myrcella felt at the girls appearance. "Joffrey was, well I wouldn't say close but he seemed to have some kind of understanding with Petyr the days after Tommy's death and I certainly don't know anyone else who would try to help him kill our younger brother."

"And what about carrying it out?" Daenerys asked.

Myrcella had to think hard about that but she eventually nodded. "House Lannister sent several dozen servants to serve my mother and us, and there are one or two that serve Joffrey personally. One of them… I'm trying to recall his name but I can't think of it, he's such, well, he blends into the background so well…."

Frowning in sudden thought Eddard raised a hand to hover above the bed. "Short, about this tall, brown hair, brown eyes, has the sort of face that would disappear into a crowd? Well thought of by the rest of the servants?"

"I don't know how the rest of the servants think about him but that's the one I was thinking of, yes." Myrcella replied honestly.

"He was the one who gave testimony against Tyene." Brynden murmured, nodding over at Ned. "You're right, he's very hard to think of, it's almost as if he slides away when you try to concentrate on him."

"Whoever did it, Joffrey seems to have planned it." Ranma said bringing them back to the present discussion. "If Petyr helped him plan it, that's one thing, but I don't know if he could or would do that. It's a rather big step for him isn't it, I mean he was trying so hard to keep neutral between our families. He failed obviously." He said laughing a little with Brynden and his father, though Eddard's laughter broke off into a rasping cough. "But still I don't think it matches his personality."

"You might be right about that big brother." Sansa said. "But Petyr is hiding something." She described what happened between her and Petyr, what he had said about being Catelyn's friend when they were younger, and the way he looked at her.

Ned growled in anger. "He must still be holding a grudge about that, how even after my older brother died Catelyn's hand was simply transferred to me rather than the arrangement broken off entirely."

"Or he wanted the daughter of the woman he was so entranced by when he was younger." Ranma said growling. "Again, if I had known that, I would've taken the time before finding you to give him some attention."

"Regardless I'm going to put him down on the 'needs to die list'." Daenerys said laughing lightly at Ranma's look of anger. She nudged Sansa in the shoulder lightly. "You're very lucky to have such a protective older brother. As I said mine was at the other end of the spectrum to say the least."

"It wasn't nearly as much fun when I was growing up." Sansa replied honestly. "Oh, when I was younger it was great fun, but then I discovered boys, and Ranma discovered I discovered boys, and suddenly the boys realized that and ran off faster from him than Septa Mordane."

"Good times." Ranma said with a laugh remembering several boys he had run off both noble and not after finding them sniffing around his sister.

"Father." Sansa said changing the subject before Ranma could go into detail on those 'good times'. "How are you feeling, really I mean?"

"I will not die if that is what you are worried about." Ned said smiling faintly at his oldest daughter. "However I am stepping down as Lord Paramount. A lord in the North cannot be a cripple, and my shoulder and my leg are both crippled. Despite Myrcella saving my life there are limits."

Sansa nodded reaching over to take her father's hand and looking up at Ranma. "I am sad, but I know you'll do a good job Ranma. I just…" she paused, and all of them could see tears in her eyes before she straightened her shoulders and womanfully banished them. But her voice still came out plaintively. "I just want to go home." For just a moment Sansa sounded like the little girl she had been a few months ago, in Ranma's memories at least.

Both Ranma and Eddard nodded agreement, and Eddard squeezed her hand gently. "I think we all do."

Sansa looked over at Fenris, who was curled up next to the bed around the two young draklings, who were still sleeping off their after-meal torpor. Sansa was very interested in the little creatures, but she had more serious business right now. "I'm, I'm sorry, Lady died. She'd died protecting me."

The large direwolf stretched his neck up slightly to lick her face before pressing his nose against Sansa's shoulder consolingly, making the younger Stark stumble a little. She wasn't nearly as bulky as Ranma nor as strong even as her younger sister. Moreover Fenris was much larger than Lady, and his entire massive frame was muscle. Despite this, Sansa threw her arms around his giant head, hugging the direwolf tightly as she had to once more fight back tears.

After a moment, Ranma touched her shoulder gently. "Why don't you three go get something to eat, then we'll see what we can do to make your quarters a little more comfortable. We've got a long voyage ahead of us before we reach White Harbor."

Alayaya had remained by the door, silent as possible as the lords and ladies talked, but now she moved forward, gently taking Sansa by the arm. She curtsied to Lord Stark, sent a sultry look toward Ranma then led Sansa and Myrcella out of the room.

Brynden smiled faintly, shaking his head. "If I was going to remain as your spymaster, I would like to make Alayaya my assistant. As it is that won't happen so what will you do with her or Merry?"

"I've been speaking to the crew on and off since we boarded." Domeric spoke up, having been silent for most of the discussions today, not having anything to add other than helping in figuring out distances and travel times. "The crew is impressed by Merry, she not only saved your life Lord Stark, but several others, and even helped one man with a bad facial burn."

"Alayaya's stitching is incredible, the sail master has already asked if she can help him work on some of the spare sails." Captain Woolfield added. "For now, both of them can be useful on board, and don't worry about the crew acting out. There might be some isuess with Alayaya, but none with the young princess, not after how she saved Lord Stark."

"Squash any such problems quickly please." Daenerys said, though the sentence came out with all the authority of an order, and Woolfield nodded his head before he even realized he had responded. "That will do for now, and when we get to White Harbor I can use them both as handmaids. I may need them when we go south."

Domeric and Ranma both simply nodded, though Ranma was smirking at her slightly, which Daenerys returned before looking at the others who looked surprised. "My dragons may become an asset faster than we thought, and I may be able to use them and my name to garner us allies. And Ranma might need my advice as well. You didn't think I'd allow him to go off on his own did you? Who knows what kind of trouble he could get into?"

Eddard surprised everyone by bursting out in laughter for a moment, before subsiding into a cough. "Jon will appreciate the help…" he gasped out between coughs, causing Ranma to laugh as well, remembering the many times Jon had said the same thing.

While Eddard began to tell Daenerys some stories of the trouble Ranma had gotten into with Jon, Woolfield excused himself to send off the message, and Ranma found his mind travelling before it. By the old gods I've missed Jon and the others. I hope they weren't exaggerating about the preparations they've put in place.

OOOOOOO

In the Chamber of the Painted Table, Melisandre very carefully concealed her triumphant smile. Normally she would've let it show, but right now was not the time. Things had been going very well, so well that she knew that R'hllor was pleased with her. The sword she had pulled from the rubble of the statues to the heathen 'Seven', which had been smashed by her magics not the hands of men, had proven that.

The Lightbringer of Azor Ahai in the Age of Legends was a flaming longsword, made by quenching the blade in the soul of the maker's wife. It was made to be a weapon against the Great Other, the leader of the Others, those who came with darkness and eternal winter. Melisandre had only hoped to create a blade that would showcase the power of R'hllor in a minor way, a small glamour that would make it seem on fire.

Instead because of the strength R'hllor had given her it blazed with a hard orange and red flame, a real one that gave off heat every time Stannis pulled out of its sheath. The cutting edge was also phenomenal. Stannis had tried it out on a small piece of the wreckage of the relics that hadn't burned, a piece of rock of some kind. He had cut through it easily.

And it had certainly worked for her purpose. Stannis had renounced the Seven immediately and bowed to the will of her god without further reservation in her power.

Since then Melisandre had been converting other nobles, the ones around Dragonstone as well as the captains of the Westeros fleet. House Celtigar, House Velaryon, and the new House Seaworth had all acquiesced to the conversions easily, having seen the proof, the new Lightbringer and her own R'hllor given magical abilities winning the day. She wasn't certain if she believed Davos Seaworth had truly converted or given lip service, but his loyalty to Stannis was such that it wasn't truly necessary. Sunglass had not, and its lord had been imprisoned for denouncing Stannis. With their lord in Dragonstone's dungeons, the house had joined Stannis, but they were hardly trustworthy.

Moreover, some of their maesters and of course all the septas and septons in the nobles castles however hadn't, and she had gleefully sacrificed many of them to her Lord's fire. This had impacted how the smallfolk viewed her, and they weren't converting in as many numbers as she could have wished, but that was fine, since the real power lay with the nobles and their armsmen, who were converting slowly but surely outside of Sunglass and Rambton, a minor house sworn to them.

But what was making Melisandre have to hide a smile now was that her visions had once more cleared again, a sure sign that her R'hllor was happy with her. Composing her face appropriately, she turned from her viewing fire to Stannis, who had been sitting at his desk, sipping from a glass of campaign water as he read through several messages. "The old Wolf, the young Wolf and the Dragon Queen come back this way. The Lion's victory in King's Landing was not complete, they are weak, badly weak, the old wolf pulled down many of their supporters. But this gives us another opportunity to take and sacrifice the Dragon Queen."

Stannis stood up from the table, marching back and forth thinking hard, more counting than thinking actually, while staring at the table that gave the room its name, which had a detailed map of Westeros carved and painted on it. I have access to some forty ships docking here and on Driftmark, they each have around two hundred men, plus another seven or so within distance of the signal lights on top of Sea Dragon Tower. Say five days to ready them for war, then approximately a weeks sailing to get to King's Landing from here. By which time the Crownlands lords nearest the city could have reached it with their own forces, upwards of four thousand, my estimates of their houses military strength is accurate anyway. Plus they could always conscript the populace of the city.

"I want to strike at them now." he said aloud, shaking his head, his face twisted into his habitual scowl. "But they will have time to be reinforced from the nearby lords before we get there." He leaned forward, marking off distances making sure he had been correct about the timing.

"If we could have gotten to King's Landing within say three days, that would've been a different thing. But no, a week, if that." The winds were almost always against going into the interior of Blackwater Bay rather than out of it, an oddity of weather that would hinder his plans. If I could get a message to the cutters I stationed in King's Landing when I pulled back from court all those months ago that would be a different story but better to concentrate on what I can do.

"Have you seen what my brother is up to?" He asked looking over his shoulder at the Red Witch before going back to pondering the map.

Melisandre frowned faintly. "He escaped, like a coward he fled before the battle began. He goes towards the Reach, though he has sent messengers and messages into the Stormlands. But that's not important, we must take the Dragon Queen!"

"Hmm…." Stannis murmured something as he thought. "So my brother is going to the Reach? A bold move I suppose, if he's wishful to rally troops. But he isn't their Lord Paramount. He's not going to Storm's End?" he asked to make sure.

"No." she said sharply. "He is not. Again however it doesn't matter! Right now the Dragon queen is the closest of our enemies."

Stannis frowned at her tone, but nodded. He didn't want the Targaryens to return either, though Stannis was surprised that the Starks seemed to be backing the idea. Ned was an honorable man, and if Robert was still alive there was no doubt that the Starks would have bent the knee to me. But what will they think of my attacking their ship before official word has spread about my brother's death? That will probably have turned them against me, something I should've thought about before.

He waved one hand in a calm down gesture, something he wouldn't normally do but the Red Witch seemed a little put out that he didn't automatically agree with her. "I cannot send my entire fleet out on this chase of yours. I will send two ships, and you can send your … creatures along." He said the last words with some discomfort, not liking to think of the creatures Melisandre's magic had created.

"But I will need you with me. If Renly is not going to the Stormlands personally, that gives me the opportunity to rally them instead. Many of them will not look to me as their Lord Paramount, but my actual physical presence may persuade some of them, and your magic and what it says of my cause will do more."

Melisandre scowled but was forced to concede that the man made good tactical sense, and that she would be worth far more in the short term going with him then capturing the Dragon Queen. And there were indeed her shadow-bound to consider. "Very well, I have no doubt my pets will be able to succeed in this."

Despite his habitual self-control Stannis couldn't stop a look of revulsion from crossing his face thinking of those things again. Still, the woman seemed to have them under control. And they surely would prove valuable if this Young Wolf was as formidable as the Red Witch seemed to think. "Send them all to make sure. You… you can always make more when we reach the mainland, after all." That statement actually won him a smile from Melisandre, a sight that was both arousing and terrible to see.

OOOOOOO

Illyrio waved one hand grandly at the damage to his estate, the other keeping a scented handkerchief on his nose as he spoke to his guest in the Dothraki tongue. "The proof of what I said is all around us great Khal, there can be no doubt that the King of Westeros feared you. We did all we could to stop them, but the warrior he sent still absconded with the woman that was to be your gift."

Khal Drogo was a tall man, copper-colored skin, black hair, and black eyes like most Dothraki. His muscles and upper chest would normally be on display among his own people, since they traditionally, only wore leather leggings and painted jackets and when he moved his body showed all the self-control of an expert warrior. Since he was in Pentos, he wore a silk shirt of exceptional quality, yet on Khal Drogo it looked out of place, like a dress would on an armored warrior, almost but not quite hilarious in its attempt to cover the warrior beneath. He had a long, drooping moustache and a long braid down to his thighs that was hung with tiny bell. This symbolized his status among the Dothraki as an undefeated warlord.

For all that he truly was as barbaric as his face and hair suggested however, Khal Drogo was also a warlord, and a shrewd observer. He looked around the house, then said something in the Dothraki tongue far too fast for the magister to get to one of his men, his bloodriders, men sworn to his service who filled the role of brothers, guards and close companions.

The other man, who wore similar clothing to Drogo and looked just as ridiculous in it as he did, nodded then answered in a single fast sentence. The magister could only make out two, maybe three words in the sentence, something about fire, something about future, he didn't understand the last one he thought it might have religious overtones though.

The man finished his answer by gesturing at a blood platter on the ground by the outer wall. That was where Illyrio and Viserys suspected Domeric and Daenerys had met up with Ranma Stark in their escape from the grounds.

Arianne Martell had been very helpful in identifying their helper, and Illyrio had grabbed that and ran with it in his explanation to the Khal. He painted Ranma not only as a lord but one of the most dangerous warriors in Westeros, which, judging from what Arianne had told them about what she had seen personally, wasn't an exaggeration, sent to spirit off Daenerys to keep her from marrying Khal Drogo in fear of his might. The idea of such being sent to spirit his 'gift' away, might be enough to keep Khal Drogo from demanding and getting Illyrio's head handed over to him.

If he did, the other magisters would cheerfully hand him over to the Dothraki warlord, since the alternative would be the death of the city. The Dothraki couldn't have taken the city easily, but they could have destroyed all the farms that fed it, cut off their inland trade, and then siege the city easily enough, though it would take a while since they couldn't well cut off the port trade. But without the farms around it, the city would eventually starve, and all the magisters knew it.

Several of the others bloodriders who had come with the Khal were crowded around Balerion, who was tethered to the ground with ropes, sleeping off its after-meal torpor, the only time Viserys let the creature out of his sight. That was a good thing, since only Viserys could even be near the beast without it trying to bit them. Luckily it showed no sign of developing the fire breath of its breed just yet, but the fangs and claws were enough to make everyone else stay away, which Viserys was quite happy with.

Watching the Dothraki as they stood around the creature, Illyrio thought it was interesting that the barbarians were obviously fascinated with the young dragon. They had been told that if it was awake Balerion would attack any of them who came near, something which seemed to amuse them when he said it.

Illyrio looked between Khal Drogo and the unintroduced bloodrider, trying to follow the conversation they were having, but unable to figure out more than a word for every six they were talking so fast. They were seemingly still discussing the battle that had occurred here though, if their gesturing was anything to go on.

After a moment the barbarians exchanged another sentence, this time with the words 'Vaes Dothrak' in there, which Illyrio knew was the name of the single real city the Dothraki called their own. The bloodrider nodded emphatic agreement, and at last Drogo turned back to address Illyrio. "It is understood. No dishonor will remain on your name, though this would not have happened if the gift had been prepared when it should have been initially."

The barbarians dark eyes pinned the magister in place, and he shivered a little, but Drogo said no more about that, certain his point was made. After a moment Drogo went on. "However, because this was caused by you putting off the gift-giving for so long, no dishonor accrues to us either. We will go. There'll be no exchange of gifts between us at this time. You may go, and we may go on our ways untied to one another."

In point of fact, Drogo was not at all certain what to do in this instance. It was true that Illyrio had been in the wrong by putting off the giftgiving, but Drogo knew even that had been because the gift, the Stormborn who was to be his wife, had proven clumsy and hurt herself several times trying to become fit enough to become a Dothraki wife.

Needless to say, Illyrio had created a worth lie out of pure nothing to cover Viserys beating of his sister. If he hadn't Viserys life would already be forfeit for marking a woman meant as the future wife of the Khal.

But it also looked to be true that the Stormborn had been spirited away by a third party. In any other circumstances, that would have been an act of war, and Drogo would already have vowed to lead his khalasar against Westeros. But this was mitigated by the fact the giftgiving had been postponed for so long and that to follow them, the khalasar would have been forced to cross the ocean.

There was more to the Dothraki fear of water than the city-dwellers realized. Yes, part of it was the fact they were very superstitious, and feared and loathed any water that a horse could not drink, horses being the true center of every aspect of the Dothraki culture. This tied into the other reason why a sea voyage was impossible for them to truly think about.

The Dothraki went everywhere on horseback. If you could not ride, you were less than a man, a slave or a eunuch, the only exception being the women in childbirth, the very young or very old. To go across the ocean would mean to travel by boat, thus travel by means other than a horse, an unthinkable thing for any Khal. Even if Drogo could have done it, his khalasar would have revolted against him at the very idea of going so far without being able to ride, and well they should.

No, for right now he was willing to pull out of the agreement between him and the merchant before him. In the long term however, he needed to consult with the Dosh Khaleen to decide if honor demanded more of him in this case. The wise old women, all wives of former Khals, served his people as seers and masters of tradition. Since Drogo had never heard of anything like this occurring in the history of his people, he would consult them and see what they saw in the future. If they decided he needed to ride down this Westeros King, with their backing his khalasar would follow him even across the sea despite the dishonor inherent in that, but Drogo hoped it would not come to that.

The magister nodded, knowing that was the best outcome he could expect from this debacle. Moments later, the Dothraki left, riding out of his manse on their horses and then out of the city rejoining the khalasar quickly.

That evening, Illyrio shared the details of that meeting with Viserys and Arianne when they returned form their own tasks for the day. At first, Viserys was contemptuous of the magister's efforts to bring the Dothraki to their side, but after Illyrio painstakingly explained the Dothraki position he simply shrugged. "Well, if we can no longer count on Dothraki aid, at least the day was not a total loss. My wife and I have had a much more profitable day then you Illyrio."

Illyrio looked between Viserys and Arianne. Viserys had turned away after saying that, heading out to train with Balerion before giving the black scaled drakling his evening feed. The training consisted of running Balerion around on a halter, giving him treats of specially spiced meats if he obeyed without fighting back, and a few exercises designed to build up his flight muscles.

This left Arianne to answer Illyrio's questions, which the new wife did with a smile. "We have talked to representatives of two mercenary companies today, and agreed to contracts with both the Company of the Cat and the Stormbreakers. The Stormbreakers will arrive by ship in a matter of days, while the Company of the Cat will arrive overland in another week. That will give us some five thousand mixed infantry, and about five hundred light cavalry."

She smiled, reaching for the food on the table, a new purchase like much else since the fire had ravaged the first floor of Illyrio's manse. It wasn't technically time for the evening meal just yet, but she'd had a busy day, and felt she deserved a snack. "Another two thousand men, mostly infantry themselves, will also be joining us, some mercenaries, some slaves, others from the city guard or individual guard troops."

"And who will be paying for these mercenary companies pray? I do not have enough liquid funds for that."

"The two thousand mixed men and the Stormbreakers are going to be paid entirely by the other magisters in the city. They will also pay the Company of the Cat until such time comes when we are actively making war. After that, they will find their own payment in loot and booty, or I will be forced to pay them on credit on my father's name."

Arianne frowned at that, she wasn't in favor of such for many reasons, but the Company of the Cat was their largest contingent of troops, and they were organized and very experienced, both factors in her aiding Viserys in convincing their factor to sign with them instead of allowing the man to leave port for Yunkai, which was where he was going next. Their current contract was nearly up, and they needed a new contract, hopefully one, in the man's words, where loot and plunder was guaranteed.

She wasn't looking forward to what that would do for discipline in the field, but right now, they were a worthy addition to their forces. Besides, she had no doubt her uncle and her father could contrive to feed the mercenaries into the battles before Dorne's own loyal men, which would help them in the long run.

"Ahh… I take it Viserys was his normal convincing self then?"

"Oh indeed." Arianne replied, coming back to the here and now at Illyrio's question. "Viserys was able to convince the other magisters to aid us by pointing out what had happened with Ranma absconding with Daenerys was an affront to all of their dignity, and an attack on the very sovereignty of the city. After all, they couldn't let any foreign government think they could get away with sending agents into Pentos to kidnap those under the protection of a magister, now could they?"

Illyrio's eyebrows went up in surprise, but then he nodded thoughtfully. Arianne elaborated slightly. "None of the magisters added a lot, but little bits here and there from all of the other merchants large and small added." Of course, Arianne's presence and what it said for Viserys cause also helped open up the magisters purses.

She nodded at her cousin Obara, who had just come back from placing their horses in the manse's covered stables, which had survived the fire Daenerys had started. The other woman's surly return nod amused Arianne somewhat, Obara wasn't nearly as happy with being here with Viserys as Arianne was, having been, well, rather terrified if she was honest by Ranma's martial abilities.

Arianne wasn't sanguine about facing Ranma across a battlefield either, which was something she wanted to avoid if she could in the future. That was doubtful, but possible. And if not, there is little he could do to stop himself from being immolated by dragon fire once Balerion can fly high enough to remain out of bow range and is large enough to breath fire. She thought complacently.

In many ways, this had been the best outcome Arianne could have hoped for. Whatever they might have thought, the Targaryen Dynasty's real strength always lay on their control of dragons, and here she was, married to a man who was bringing back one such dragon, once more joining the house of Martell to House Targaryen. Daenerys and her two dragons was a fly in the ointment, but one that could be overcome with judicious use of assassins, as Viserys had said.

That was politically however, emotionally she wasn't so happy about things. For one, she was rather angry at her father for never telling her that she was promised to Viserys, which he had shared with her almost immediately. At least now she know why Doran never put forward any real suitors for her hand. Those he had were merely to placate propriety and she vowed they would be will having words in the future. The second is she would have liked to put off marrying Viserys if she could, but he had pointed out that they needed that solid bond between them before he could trust her with his plans going forward, and her hand had been promised to him after all. Those plans were good, risky but still good, so even that was a minor irritant.

As a lover Viserys had the tools, but not the stamina or interest in her pleasure. Those could be overcome eventually, and at least he had an inventive frame of mind, and a willingness to experiment.

As a husband, Viserys was arrogant but not blind to Arianne's importance as an advisor. He could be dismissive at times but she had been able to get him to agree with many of her ideas, including making certain the mercenaries always had minders once they arrived in Westeros, and to use them as shock troops as much as possible in the future.

Yet there seemed to be an edge to Viserys, not madness, but something that could all too easily become it, that made Arianne remain somewhat unhappy with being tied so tightly to him. Still, there was nothing she could do at this point but put her best foot forward, and practice using sex as a control lever on him, of course.

"How long until the fleet we've commissioned is built?" Arianne asked, turning back to Illyrio and doing just that.

OOOOOOO

At the sounds of a drum somewhere beyond the torch light Tyrion looked up from directing his work crew to finish up work on the trebuchet, the seventh they had emplaced since beginning the project. His men did as well before racing over to where they had placed their weapons on the massive cart they had used to bring up the equally massive parts of the trebuchet. The entire area was lit by the lights of several braziers and torches, which allowed them enough light to both work and grab up their weapons.

Tyrion beat them there, grabbing up his blade and a bottle of wine, staring one way and another trying to localize the sound. In the night sound carried a little too well up here on the Wall. But this wasn't the first nighttime raid warning he had heard, and after a second Tyrion pointed down the Wall westward from his current position. "Over there!"

The men behind him nodded and raced in that direction, with Tyrion first at their head, then falling behind due to his deformities. Spry, agile and almost acrobatic Tyrion was, a gifted runner he was not. His men soon passed a small, covered wooden palisade set into the center of the causeway. Up on top of the palisade two men were beating on a massive drum sounding the alarm. One of them shouted down to Tyrion and his men, pointing further westward. "Sounds of battle westward two signal towers down!"

Tyrion nodded up at him as his men raced on, passing two more palisades about two thousand paces apart. These two were manned, and they directed Tyrion and his crew on.

A few dozen paces after that they arrived on the scene of a wildling assault trying to get up the Wall. They were being held back by ten men from Castle Black, one of the patrols that walked portions of the Wall, moving from Castle Black in both directions along the Wall like their fellows in the other castles. Two of the twelve men squad were down, one dead, the other with a mangled leg, but the wildlings were not getting past the rest, and had lost seven men already trying to force their way away from the edge of the wall.

The patrolman who had been carrying the torch was their one fatality. Worse, there was only a sliver of moon out, making vision bad all around. Still, Tyrion could see the grapnels attached to the top of the bulwark.

Tyrion and his work force hit the wildings from their side of the Wall like a hammer, bellowing out a myriad of war cries, throwing the wildings back over the wall. Tyrion slew one of them, his sword going under his opponent's studded leather back plate before the man even knew he was there. "Destroy the ladders, destroy the ladders!"

Several of the Northmen heard him, and one of them had enough presence of mind to grab of the patrols sputtering torch, tossing it down onto the massive ladder that had been placed against the Wall's northern face. It was actually a series of massive ladders, no one ladder could ever reach the top of the Wall. But each set of ladders constituted weeks of preparation for the wildlings, as well as being the only really fast way a large group of wildlings could scale the Wall.

The torch struck right in front of a wildling climbing up the last leg of the ladder and he howled in pain as some of the sparks got in his eyes. Then his howl became a scream of agony as Tyrion threw the bottle of wine he carried at the small flickering torch flame. The fire spread quickly, now fueled by the wine and the tar that was splattered on the sides of the ladder in places to keep it from freezing against the Wall.

Tyrion ignored the man's scream, dodging backwards from a female wildling wielding a club studded with sharp bones. The wildling bitch only had that one chance to attack him before she was taken in the side by a spear from one of the patrolmen.

After that, the fight was over, and all the men gathered around the edge of the Wall to look down, watching as the light of the flames worked their way down the ladder. Far below, the wildlings who were waiting to make their way up retreated quickly, while other wildings scattered here and there on the ladder either retreated down it quickly or if they were too high up, were left with a deadly choice to make: face the fire or jump to their deaths.

Two Hornwood men who had been assigned to the patrol, both archers, pulled their bows from their backs and began to use the light of the burning ladder to pepper those far below. That was enough for the wildlings, who retreated away from the Wall back toward the safety of the tree-line.

Around Tyrion the men gave a cheer, and the Imp left it to them, staring out into the night beyond torches of the Wall thoughtfully. For the past week or so the Night's Watch and the rest of the forces on the Wall had been dealing with probing attacks like this, night raids that were more designed to get a feel for their defenses than actually win through. The wildlings were very good at night attacks, but they had been stymied at every turn by the readiness of the defenders.

Reports from Eastwatch by the Sea and Shadow Tower indicated they saw at least two such attacks per night. The commanders of those castles were both very worried, feeling vulnerable since they knew the wildlings could get around them in various ways to possibly attack them from behind. Lord Commander Mormont was worried however that the numerous probes against the two widely spaced towers might be a feint designed to draw the defenders away from the center of the Wall and Castle Black itself.

This would have worked if the Night's Watch hadn't been so heavily reinforced, so much so that the two castles could watch out for themselves. Of course given the size of the Wall they could still use more men, but they had enough to hold for now, thanks to the organization of the defenders and Tyrion's own work on the ballistae, which hadn't seen action just yet.

A communication network had also been set up at Daryn's behest, a series of covered palisades that doubled as warming areas for the patrols. The Northmen had long used horns to signal in battle, but drums were easier to learn, made even simpler since there were only a few signals the men had to learn. The sides of the first story of every palisade were covered by hardened leather. A brazier was set in the center with room for four men to gather. The heat from the brazier also kept the two watchmen up top with the drum from freezing.

The coldness of the Wall hadn't become a major issue yet, but they all knew it would soon. Even Tyrion, who had never seen snow before coming north, could feel the sharpness in the air increasing with every passing month. Yet that wasn't all he felt here on the Wall, evinced by the men around him slapping his back and shouting his name.

He laughed at their enthusiasm then bellowed "All right you Northern louts, that's enough of this little pleasure jaunt, back to work the lot of you!" There was some grumbling at that, but it was good natured. The men in the patrol laughed as well before moving on their way. This was an example of something Tyrion had been noticing ever since he arrived here on the Wall.

There were no jokes about his size or deformities, or at least none that were meant to actually hurt, and there was no sense of his name being more important than his own contribution. While Smalljon, Daryn and a few of the other lords still very obviously saw him as a Lannister, the majority of men didn't care, or at least looked past it. He had won their respect as Tyrion, the Imp, not Tyrion Lannister. This was a first for him, and he liked it, he liked it a lot.

OOOOOOO

Four days after his rescue of Sansa Ranma stood with captain Woolfield at the front of the Fish's Scales in the early morning. He stared ahead through a dense fog that had rolled in last night at two oncoming vessels which hadn't been there moments before. Already they were almost within bow range. Behind them the crew were responding, grabbing weapons out of the lockers and preparing for battle.

The other man shook his head, scratching at his beard thoughtfully. "As I've said before lord, the navy crews know these waters better than we do. One of 'em must've been shadowing us forward, then met up with the other ship. They knew this fog'd be coming in, letting them ambush us without letting us a chance to get away or even draw it out. Look, they've caught us in a pincer movement, we can't turn away unless we go to full oars backward, and that would take us too long anyway."

Ranma shrugged. "It doesn't matter how they did it captain, all that matters is that they did." He frowned looking at the ships. "Continue to get your men ready, I'll tell the others."

He found Daenerys with Domeric and Brynden in his father's room pouring over the map once more, the two men trying to teach the Dragon Princess how to discern travel times in Westeros, which she was still having trouble with. On the other hand she had a firm grasp on the logistics and the general rule of Army movement which was the larger the Army is, the slower it can move.

They all looked up when he came in, and Ranma sighed. "The lookout was right; there're two ships out there making for us, both of them flying flags that show the mark of Dragonstone. Stannis really wants you for some reason Daenerys. We don't have much time before they're on us."

Sansa, Myrcella and Alayaya had been tending to Eddard in his bed, and they all gasped, looking at one another fearfully. Myrcella feared what would happen to her if she was brought before her uncle, if he really was her uncle after all. Sansa of course simply was frightened of the impending battle, while Alayaya knew all too well what could happen to women after a battle.

Daenerys however merely nodded. The two dragons who had been curled up on Fenris who had been lying next to her woke up, scrambling up to her shoulders quickly. "What is the plan?"

"Like I said, they're too close to escape. We can't back away and try to take them down one at a time. Brynden, Domeric, you'll lead a group to defend the hatchway leading further into the ship. Captain Woolfield will concentrate on defense of the ship. We'll use fire arrows on one as they approach, the captain has a few dozen in the ship's stores but not many. I'll take the fight to the other one, take it out and then turn on the next." Ranma shrugged. "That's about all we can do."

"You say that in so blasé a manner." Myrcella said shaking her head, looking at Ranma worriedly. Though to her credit it was obvious it was more worry for Ranma than the overall battle. "Are you certain that you're not overestimating yourself?"

Daenerys and Ranma both chuckled. "I see Domeric hasn't set the first battle we had with Stannis' forces to song yet, good." Ranma mock-glowered at Domeric who chuckled wanly but continued to pull on his sword belt. "Trust me, this is an accurate statement of my abilities."

OOOOOOO

Aurane Waters, so-called the Bastard of Driftmark, was a bastard of house Velaryon, half-brother of the current lord of that house. He had the looks of a Targaryen, wiry, with a thin, somewhat handsome face framed by semi-silver hair, and an odd eye color that mixed brown with violet, looks which had helped him in many a conquest in foreign ports. On Driftmark or Dragonstone however his looks were not exactly unusual. Many of the smallfolk could count bastards of that family in their lineage, thanks to how long the Targaryens had ruled there.

He was technically a sellsail, a mercenary/free trader who sailed as an auxiliary of the Westeros Navy. But that was only technically, given his connection to house Velaryon, one of the most powerful houses of the Narrow Sea houses. His house had been the first to bow to Stannis as King, and his brother had already converted to the worship of R'hllor, which was why Aurane's ship had been one of the two chosen for this mission.

At first, Aurane had been proud to be given this assignment by Stannis, seeing it as proof that the king was one to overlook baseborn status in competent individuals. Hunting down the traitorous Starks and the Targaryen Stormborn had also seemed an honorable pursuit. But that had been before Melisandre had delivered to his ship and its fellow the two almost but not quite crates, apparently designed to protect those within from the sun's rays, which contained her creatures.

The Red Witch called them Shadow Warriors. They were as tall as a man, though they stooped all the time, and their arms were far longer, thinner than a man's much like their bodies. Each in some fashion looked like the sacrifice that had died to give them life, though not really, as if the details of their faces was being seen through dark, distorted glass, or as if the entire creature was made of such material, since you could for the most part see through them. Each Warrior also wielded a sword made of shadow, seeming as immaterial as the rest of the warrior, but in their hands those blades could cut open the finest armor.

Aurane had only a vague idea of how they had been created. Some rumors said that Melisandre had burned a dozen people alive to create enough magical power of whatever to create each Shadow Warrior. Another one said that she had slept with Lord Stannis, fucking him on the pyre of the sacrifices, then had given birth somehow to each warrior in turn. Another, far simpler one was that she simply ripped the soul of the dying sacrifices out, merging them with the smoke and the shadows of their own funeral pyres to create the Warriors.

Whatever the case, the Shadow Warriors were horrible, and if it were up to Aurane, he would have tossed their cages over the side in an instant, but he was too terrified of Melisandre to try that. They seemed to live for nothing but to kill, and even in their specially prepared cages they had killed two men who had gotten too close, ripping them to pieces. He did not doubt that the story was the same on the other ship, which had an equal number of them five in each cage, ten per ship.

The Red Witch had promised that they would bring Aurane victory this day, then disappear after seeing their captive in his hands, allowing him to return with the prize alone. She had even done some sort of ceremony that was supposed to have made him the only one they could hand the Targaryen girl over to. Yet even so, Aurane hated and feared them with every fiber of his being

Now time for them to earn their keep. Arrows had begun to fall among his crew, showing him that the men aboard the other vessel had apparently decided not to try to parlay. The sooner he could loose those things the better. He turned to his second-in-command. "Make the signal to the other ship, then move the cages to either side of the boat facing the side nearest the target."

OOOOOOO

Captain Woolfield's men were not sailors. They were armsmen who just happens to have enough skills to play at being sailors, with a handful of few real ones along to really direct the others. Woolfield himself had sailing experience, hence why he had been given this task, but like his men, he was just as good with a sword in his hand as the ship's steering wheel. They were also all very proud of the fact that Lord Manderly had handpicked each of them for this mission, and were grimly determined to get him at his family home. The words of Sansa to the boat crew had spread, and it was with pride and determination that they took their posts. Suddenly the sides of the ship bristled with shields, two stern battle lines prepared to repel boarders.

Those who looked at Ranma also found there courage bolstered further. He stood unarmored, having handed over his armor to Domeric who stood with Brynden and a few men chosen for the purpose, blocking the hatchway leading down into the ship. Instead Ranma stood with only a leather shirt, one hand holding his last katar, the other his katana. Fenris too patrolled the deck, waiting with all the patience of a master hunter.

Ranma ignored his direwolf and the men around him though, staring ahead through the fog that was still clinging to the ocean's surface toward the two attacking ships. They were close enough now the archers had taken one of the ships under fire, their prepared fire arrows tiny flashes in the fog. That ship fell back, its rigging on fire but the crews were experienced, and would soon put it out.

Still, that might be enough to let Ranma and his fellows defeat the first ship, or at least kill a large portion of its crew before the second ship could rejoin the battle.

Soon enough the second ship was close enough to make out details of the men on its deck. Ranma frowned seeing two cages set in the dead center of the ship. For some reason the sight of them filled him with sudden foreboding. He shook it off quickly, and when the other ship was close enough leaped outward over the intervening water, howling his warcry. "Winter is coming!"

He landed near the front of the other vessel, and as he had said a few days before, Ranma was in no mood to take prisoners or be gentle at this point. He had his wounded father to get home, his sister to look after, Myrcella and Daenerys both under his protection. He struck, and there was no mercy in it, no attempts to hold back. In fact he tried to put the fear of god, whichever they worshipped, into these people, letting loose entirely.

Twelve men died in fewer seconds, and Ranma moved on, killing. He jumped up into the air from the forecastle, using one hand bouncing off the hanging jib boom or whatever it was called throwing himself forward. Every slash from his katana killed or crippled, every thrust punched through helmets or chain mail, every kick shattered bone, flinging men aside like ragdolls.

While Ranma's sudden assault had actually taken the crew of the ship so assaulted aback enough they hadn't even started to throw grapnels over, luck of battle however had worked against the Northerners overall. The ship that the archers had first taken under fire had been Aurane's ship, which would matter soon.

Right now, Ranma's sudden assault had terrified the captain of this vessel, and he turned, smashing open the cages holding the Shadow Warriors. All ten of them bounded out, their fell blades raised as they stalked towards the attacker, the captain's body collapsing in a pool of blood behind them in the instant they had been free. Within seconds they cut through several men to get to their enemy, and soon Ranma came face to face with these terrors.

Ranma backed away quickly, nearly losing his katar in the chest of one of his victims when a length of pure shadow formed into a sword tried to cut into his forearm. He really did lose it when it another blade tried to take his hand off where was holding the knife, the Shadow Warriors astonishing in their speed, not up to Amiguriken levels, but almost as fast as he was normally. Quickly pulling his hand back he cursed as he lost his second katar, the first having been lost when he threw it at Joffrey's head. Hurriedly Ranma brought up his blade to block the next thrust from a third Shadow Warrior, while all around him the regular troopers made way for them.

Faced with trying to join that battle or taking the fight to the other ship, the choice was obvious. Under the surviving officers, the men aboard the navy galley began to toss across their grapnels at the Fish's Scales. Soon they had enough across to pull the ships into direct contact, the hulls of the ships scraping together.

With a roar the men tried to charge across, only to be met by a wall of shields and swords from the crew of the other vessel who were waiting for them. The men of Lord Manderly were not nearly as well trained as Lord Stark's retinue had been, not having trained with Ranma or John Snow. However they were organized, and had shields, plus the caravel was slightly taller in the water than the two naval galleys.

This difference in height and their defensive position allowed the Northerners to hold back the impetus of that initial charge. Battle began in earnest there between the bulwarks of the ship, but it looked like the Northerners would be able to hold the line for now. The fire arrows had gained them enough time for the crew to concentrate on the first ship, and they were not going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

For his part Ranma was too caught up in his battle against the Shadow Warriors to help repel the regular attackers. There were ten of these Shadow creatures crowding Ranma now, their weapons seeking his life, and they also used their hands to try and grab him. Ranma suspected that his ki-strengthening technique would not wholly stop those blades which made him dodge around as much as possible.

Worse, at first his own blade went straight through the Shadow Warriors, which Ranma found out when he tried to stab one of them through the chest. The damn thing ignored his blade sticking out of its chest, while trying to cut his head off with a vast overhand blow.

Ranma leaped back, watching as his blade actually fell through the thing as if it had no substance now that he wasn't holding the blade where it had been.

"Alright change o' tactics." Ranma channeled ki into his hands, which began to glow blue and gold. He ducked under one blow, kicking off the deck quickly to dodge to one side, his hand flashing out to smack a Shadow Warrior in the side, before kicking another in the head with a foot also glowing blue-gold with the energy of his ki.

The Warrior he kicked screamed, his head disappearing, the substance that made up its head vanishing under the impact of Ranma's life-force. The other was thrown back, but it evidently wasn't a killing blow, they had that much in common with still living opponents anyway.

The men at the back of the crowd trying to push their way aboard the Fish's scale noticed this and gasped in shock. Some of them lost their will for the fight at that, backing away. The reaction from the Northerners was the opposite, they all had been frightened by the sights of the Shadow Warrior beyond the melee they were involved in, but now took new heart, seeing the things die under their lords oddly magical blows. Some of them began to Chant "Stark, Stark!"

Questions about Ranma's abilities would come later, though not many. The men of the North had long been accustomed to thinking that Ranma and his brother Jon were at the very least superhuman. Having some kind of body-related magic wasn't that far a stretch. Indeed, the idea that their Lord had such abilities would convince other Northerners further of the rightness of their cause. After all, the old gods would not have given Ranma such skills if they were not totally behind his cause.

The death of their fellow Shadow Warrior seemed to take the others aback, and they hesitated for a second, which allowed Ranma in turn to roll away. Grabbing up his blade from where it had fallen to the deck he concentrated for a bare second. Then it too began to glow with his ki, and Ranma grinned viciously. "I have no idea what you fuckers are, but if you can die that's good enough for me!"

He charged forward with a howl. The shadow Warriors hesitated another few seconds before charging to meet him across the deck, losing another member quickly before the others could change their attacking style to match their opponent's ability to actually kill them. They began circling Ranma like hyena, their speed making them dangerous even to him. If Ranma charged one that one retreated and the others closed in from behind. If he leaped into the air they all backed away, waiting for him to land, taking away one of the major advantages of his style. The battle became a stalemate, however Ranma was keeping the remaining Shadow warriors on this ship fully occupied.

He killed four more over the next twenty minutes, taking a few shots in turn but his Ki-strengthening technique sustained him while the rest of the battle went on. This had given Aurane enough time to put the fires on his ship out and move back in. With the archers so busy firing at the enemies their fellows were already engaged with, they didn't have enough archers or fire arrows to force his ship was away again, and Aurane skillfully brought it along the other side of the Northerner's ship.

Woolfield however was rather cagey. He had kept four dozen men still along that bulwark, forcing them to remain there while their fellows battled along the other side of the vessel. They were still there when Aurane's men threw across their grapnels, pulling the two vessels. Once more the strange torturous sound of wood grinding against wood sounded out through the fog of the bay. At captain Woolfield's shouted order, another dozen men pulled back from the battle against the crew of the first ship, moving with Woolfield at their head to engage the attackers from the other vessel with the men already there.

Unlike his fellow captain however, Aurane had devised a way to use his shadow Warriors from the very beginning. He ordered the two cages containing them to either side of his vessel and then concentrated his men in the center. When the two ship sides were scrapping along one another, he shouted "Release the cages! Fall back and let them break the Northerner's line!"

None of the other Northerners had Ranma's ability and before Woolfield, his face a rictus of horror, could order them to fall back the Shadow Warriors cut through his line in a matter of seceonds. He lost nearly half his men before they burst through, heading onwards to the hatchway leading into the ship. Woolfield fell too, his sword uselessly carving through a Shadow Warrior as the thing's blade took him in the side.

As the defensive line collapsed Fenris was on them in turn. He howled, the sound actually pulling many of the Shadow Warrior's attention away from their task. the nearest on to Fenris died quickly, his fangs crunching through it glowing blue-gold. Six of the remaining Shadow Warriors turned, circling Fenris while the others raced on.

"At them now!" Aurane shouted, leaping forward onto the Fish's Scales. With the shield line broken on this side, dozens of duos and one or two trios gathered around one another, trying to defend the backs of their fellows holding off the first attacking ship's crew for now, but with limited success. If not for the swirling, chaotic melee between the Shadow Warriors and Fenris taking up the center of the ship, the battle might well have been lost.

Brynden held seven men together from the melee all around them. They drew men who got around fenris and his battle down on them, protecting the backs of the rest of the crew. He saw Aurane, and recognizing him as the man in charge, charged forward, his sword up and questing, smashing against the other, younger man's blade, throwing him backwards slightly. "Hold the line, let Ranma and the other lads do their work, we can still win this boys! Keep heart!"

Domeric and the men chosen as a final guard of the hatchway leading into the interior of the ship had been picked out from the best swordsman aboard the vessel. They had all already noticed that the Shadow Warrior's couldn't be stopped by normal blade. To combat this they kept their distance, flashing forward when they could to hack at them, not expecting to kill them, just holding them up as much as possible, keeping their attention on them rather than doing anything else. The Shadow Warrior's speed was incredible, but they weren't truly trained, nor were their reaction times very good, so in a battle like this, they showed a few disadvantages.

"That's the way lads!" Domeric shouted as he ducked under a blade questing for his unarmored face, stabbing his blade through the leg of the Shadow Warrior attacking him through the top of its knee and down through where its leg bone should have been. Such attacks seemed to slow the creatures down. He raised his shield to block a blow from another Shadow Warrior, pulling out his sword and backing away, leading the two of them away from the hatch. "Hold them here until Fenris can deal with the ones fighting him, and come to our aid!"

If any of the men around him found it odd to be looking to a direwolf for salvation they certainly didn't have the time to voice such thoughts. But they went about their business grimly, and with as much skill as they could muster against warriors who fought in a manner none of them had ever imagined, with bodies they could not injure, merely hinder.

Suddenly in a odd moment of tactical thinking one of the Shadow Warriors turned from fighting Fenris, forcing most of Domeric's men back and away from the hatch lest they be cuaght from both sides. Two of the ones already fighting Domeric's men pressed them further back, cutting off many of the men from the hatch while the other three turned away.

Domeric, seeing what they were doing grabbed the men around him, pulling them around and away toward the hatch. "Fall back into the ship, we'll try to hold them off in the confines of the passageway below!"

He hoped that this way he could negate the Shadow Warrior's sudden numbers advantage, but he hadn't figured how much thier greater speed would matter more in an enclosed space. Domeric lost two men in the hatchway itself before he and the last man fell back into the hall, retreating desperately.

Domeric gasped as one of the blades nearly cut through the armor Ranma had given him, almost opening up his stomach. He had backed away just enough to stop from being skewered, but his fellow swordsman had fallen back into the doorway leading into the crew quarters. He was fighting one of the Shadow Warriors, the door closed enough so the creature could only engage him with his sword, but that left Domeric facing two, trying to keep them from pushing on down the hallway. And he simply couldn't do it. While he was able to hold off one of the Shadow Warriors, the last one darted by him down the hall, heading toward where it somehow knew its true target was.

OOOOOOO

Inside the vessel the girls had all remained in Lord Stark's room. Sansa and Alayaya were huddled together by the bed. Sansa could all too easily remember her brush with battle after the fall of the Tower, and wanted no more of it, the very idea terrified her. Alayaya too was nearly paralyzed. She had seen women who had been taken after battle by the winning side, their minds broken by the ordeal. One of her hands was playing with where she had a tiny holdout knife, and she was very well aware that it would be better to use it on herself and Sansa than let that fate befall them.

Myrcella was anxious as well but also fighting back a growing anger at all this. Her world had been shattered, recently and all she wanted was some peace and quiet, a week before the next crisis occurred, was that too much to ask? It made her angry, and the anger kept the fear she felt from finding a purchase in her as it had in the other two.

She had taken the little knife that Ranma had given Sansa upon learning that his sister had lost hers. Myrcella didn't know how to use it, but thanks to her medical studies she had a good knowledge of human anatomy, so knew where to stick her very sharp knife to cause the most pain.

Daenerys was waiting by the door, a short sword in one hand. She wasn't very good with it yet, but she was determined to fight for herself. She stood in a low crouch with the sword waiting to be thrust forward, a small buckler that one of the cabin boys apparently used on one shoulder.

Behind her the two dragons also waited, tensed to spring at anything threatening their mistress, their tails the only thing on them moving. They could feel their mistresses' distress, her anger and fear, and were waiting to attack whatever was coming in Daenerys' defense despite their being so young.

Even though she had been waiting for it when the door actually crashed open it was still a shock. The door banged open with a massive "Crash!" and Daenerys backed up slightly then backed up further as behind her all three of the girls gasped in horror at the eldritch horror stalking towards her.

The thing looked as if it had been me out of shadow and smoke, solid looking, but how it could be so was a question since they could vaguely see the deck and the doorway through it. The blade it held however while just as oddly translucent looked sharp.

Daenerys snarled, sounding almost like one of her drakling for a moment, save even more menacing. "I know not what horror has spawned you, but you will have neither my children nor me!" She darted forward, and the thing's blade came around crashing into her own, sending Daenerys stumbling backwards to land on her rear.

For a moment she thought her arm had been broken by the impact of that blow. But she could still move it, and she rolled to one side, before darting back in attacking the thing again as it stalked forward.

The draklings charged forward now, biting and trying to claw or scratch at the Shadow Warrior's ankles. But they did not have the ki ability of Fenris, and could do nothing against the shadow with fang or claw. The Shadow Warrior merely ignored them, not even bothering to smack them aside.

Myrcella darted forward, trying to distract the thing from its single-minded attack on Daenerys, only to gasp as the Shadow Warrior's blade sliced sideways almost too fast for her to follow. She raised her small knife desperately to block the blow, catching it. But the blow threw her back, shattering the knife in her hand. The slivers of the knife went everywhere especially backward from the point of impact, her hand and arm was now a bloody mess from the bits and pieces of the knife cutting her skin, and Myrcella crumpled to the ground, holding her arm in agony against her chest.

Daenerys used the opportunity Merry's sacrifice had brought her to try to dart forward. Her short sword took the thing in the side, but unfortunately it did no damage, and it was all she could do to recover when the Shadow Warrior's blade came up around towards her after smashing Myrcella away.

Her blade did not shatter like the younger girl's knife had, but it was still thrown out of position. Another overhand blow smashed Daenerys down to one knee. Daenerys' desperate attempt to raise her buckler was just enough to turn the next blow away. The buckler however slammed into her forehead and she slumped nearly senseless to the ground from the blow

The Shadow Warrior raised its blade once more, prepared to cut her down. While their orders had been to kill the wolves and all the others and allow the Dragon Queen to be captured, at this distance the Red Witch's control of the Shadow Warriors was tenuous at best. Worse, they had felt the deaths of the others of their shadowy pack, they knew they faced creatures that could kill them, and it was making them go into a frenzy, nearly forgetting all their orders let alone the most complicated.

Daenerys's dazed eyes focused on the thing as it brought it's blade up, ready to cut down. For a moment she thought she was going to die, and her last thought was about the little ones, hoping that Ranma would look after them.

Then her violet eyes widened as the thing stumbled, letting out a loud scream, the only sound it had made yet as Ice appeared slamming out of the Shadow Warrior's chest from the back. Whatever magic sustained it could not stand against a Valyrian blade, and with that final despairing wail it dissipated.

Eddard gasped, leaning on Sansa and letting his sword fall once more to grate against the wood of the deck beneath him. Standing had been difficult, wielding Ice with one hand even more so. Ice was a great sword, five and a half feet of Valyrian steel designed to be wielded with both hands, though Eddard had wielded it himself in one-hand thanks to his own size, strength and the fact Valyrian Steel was lighter than any other type. Still doing so now had nearly sapped all of his strength. He had waited, urging Sansa to be quiet until the Shadow Warrior's back was to him then had ordered Sansa and Alayaya to help him out of bed, before moving forward to take the thing from behind with his daughter's aid.

Now he slumped against Sansa even as Alayaya raced forward to help Myrcella. "Are, are, you huh, well, lady?" Eddard asked gasping, his one good leg shaking under him.

Daenerys was still rather dazed, but the two draklings had moved in quickly, climbing up onto her shoulders and nuzzling their heads against her face in reassurance. Sunfyre was making this crooning sound, trying to comfort his mistress, while Rhaegon was feeling fiercely protective, emitting a continual growl of sound much larger than his small frame would suggest.

Suddenly Daenerys could feel them through their mental connection reaching out to her for the first time. Love, affection, fear for her welfare, and a fierce protectiveness thundered through her from them. She could tell Rhaegon was the one who wished to protect her, while Sunfyre was slightly less… belligerent about it, just as defensive, but more concerned with her wound and making certain Daenerys knew he loved her. What was coming from both of them though was something else, a hot, fiery anger that they couldn't do anything to the shadow creature that had threatened their Mother/Queen, as they thought of Daenerys.

She raised shaking hands to them, gently scratching their necks and snouts to reassure them as she stared up at Lord Stark. "I am well for now my Lord, thank you for the timely intervention." The words though formal came out in a stilted manner, as if she was concussed. But she wouldn't say her currently fuzzy thoughts was because of that. No she was awash with the feelings of her draklings channeling to her for the first time. And suddenly through that haze Daenerys knew what she had to do.

Lord Stark nodded, then as then Daenerys stood, reached out with one weary hand to take her own, placing it on Ice's hilt. "Take my blade to my son, he is out there fighting I know, I don't know however if he has found some way to kill those things. But they cannot stand against Valyrian steel, is seems."

"I hope that it is not the only thing they cannot stand against my Lord." Daenerys murmured, taking the blade in both of her hands. It was as tall as she was, and despite being surprisingly light for its size, there was no chance she could actually wield it. But she could at least drag it along. Daenerys had other plans however. Without another word she moved forward nodding to Myrcella and the others. "Take care of her wounds." she ordered Alayaya, "I'll be back."

The three girls watched in awe as Daenerys turned towards the door, the draklings on her shoulders now looking as tense as springs, her feelings having soothed them, but also warned them of more to come, that she was going toward the danger now. They approved, and were tense and ready to defend her. Blood was coming down from the cut her own buckler had made on her forehead, matting her silver hair in blood. The battle had already caused Daenerys to start to sweat, and she was looking a little wobbly on her feet, staying upright only by pure will and by using by the massive blade in her hands as a staff. Yet for some reason all three girls felt they had never seen a more regal, commanding figure.

Outside in the corridor Domeric had fallen, smashed to the ground by the flat edge of a Shadow Warrior's blade, his own blade having barely turned it so that it didn't cut into his unarmored helmet, having lost his helmet earlier to a grab by another Shadow Warrior. At the time, it had been his helmet or his head, a trade Domeric had been willing to make, but now he paid for it. His head slammed into the wooden floor of the hallway with punishing force, and Domeric could already feel his consciousness fading.

The last sight he saw was Daenerys coming towards him from the doorway into Lord Stark's room, her face hard, her eyes blazing with fury, and her dragons once more on her shoulders. The site of Domeric down, a Shadow Warrior above him ready to run him through filled Daenerys with rage. For only the third time in her life she felt that unrelenting fiery wrath that had marked the Targaryen Dynasty.

Her connection with her draklings was still crackling in the back of her mind, vibrant, more colorful and deeper than ever before. Daenerys reached for it, picturing in her mind the fire, the flame that made the dragons so very dangerous. She then pointed a finger from where she holding the hilt of Ice at the thing. "Dracarys!"

For a moment she feared that the draklings were still too young to create the flames that had truly made them so dangerous, but after a bare second both Sunfyre and Rhaegon's heads jerked forward, spitting out tiny fireballs. The heat of them washed over her face despite being behind their elongated necks yet she still grinned in fierce triumph.

They tiny balls of flame weren't as hot or as powerful as they would be later of course, but they were still dragonfire, that odd mix of innate magic and natural flame that made the dragon's weapon of choice so much more dangerous than any natural fire. Eventually a dragon's fire could become so powerful, so hot as to literally melt stone.

Even in this youthful version the Shadow Warrior couldn't withstand it. Their magic could protect them from physical harm, but the magic of the fire of the draklings negated that. The thing standing over Domeric screamed as it burned, dissipating into mots of shadow and smoke.

As the two dragons pulled back their necks, recovering from the new, strange exertion, Daenerys strode forward, stopping to reach down to touch Domeric's throat. She breathed a sigh of relief when she felt his pulse, thready but there. "Wait my friend, we will see to you soon."

Daenerys stood up, looking at the two draklings still perched on her shoulders. She sent a surge of approval and pride down their link, followed by a question. After a second, she got back in affirmative, the drakling indicating they were ready for more. With that done Daenerys Stormborn moved forward again down the hall, her eyes bleak slivers of violet stone.

OOOOOOO

Ranma gasped as one of the shadow blades slammed into his shoulder. Luckily his ki-strengthening technique had held up under the Shadow Warrior's blade. So once more though his shirt was sliced open yet again, the skin underneath was merely badly bruised. In return Ranma's ki-covered katana skewered the thing's chest, causing it to shriek as it dissipated before Ranma leaped into the air, twirling to kick the head off the last Shadow Warrior closing behind him, its sword out to stab him in the back. The thing didn't even have time to scream before it dissolved into motes of shadow and smoke.

For just a moment Ranma stood still, gasped in lungfuls of air. That fight had been tough from the get-go, and he had the bruises to show it, but that was all. The worst wound he received had been an ugly bruise to one side, where he had taken two blows from the Shadow Warriors' blades, one on top of another. He might have a cracked rib under there, but Ranma was still good to go.

After another second he turned, smashing a blue-gold foot into the side of the naval galley's main mast. With a shriek of breaking timber the mast shattered at the point of impact causing dozens of men still trying to break the weakening shield wall of the northerners to turn in horror.

Dropping his katana, Ranma grabbed up a mainsail, the long wooden spar that stuck out of the mast tied to the sail. With that in his hands he raced forward with a wordless roar. "RAAAHHHH!"

Using the large piece of wood like a battering ram he slammed into the backs of the men trying to break his fellow's line, and suddenly the fight went out of the men. The Shadow Warriors were gone, and the mystical warrior that had killed them was now turning his attention to them. With no leader to rally them and not having made much headway in getting aboard the northerner's vessel to join the melee there, the men broke. Dozens of men broke from the battle, throwing themselves into the water, throwing weapons down and trying to surrender, or retreating into the interior of their ship. Unfortunately for them the Northerners were in no mood to take prisoners, and the men trying to surrender were cut down like the rest.

Captain Woolfield had fallen in the initial charge of the Shadow Warriors, leaving Brynden to organize as many as many of the men as best he could. But the battle had become spread out across his vessel, and he had simply become one more combatants. Even so he had quickly singled out Aurane, and the two of them had been dueling for most of the battle, ignoring all of the others around them.

Fenris ripped apart the last of the Shadow Warriors that had surrounded him, then shook his mane free of blood rapidly to keep it out of his eyes. The unnatural creatures man-fangs hadn't been able to penetrate his fur very far, but he was still covered with little slashes. Not so many bruises thanks to his fur, but more slashes than Ranma had after his own battle. After taking a second to look around him, Fenris turned racing towards the entrance down into the vessel after the others.

Behind Fenris, Ranma join the melee spread out over the rest of the ship, jumping over the area still being held by the beleaguered shield line of the Manderly men. He aimed to land among a large group of them that were attempting to roll up the defenders line, the last of the defenders protecting their fellow's backs having fallen or forced to retreat out of position lest they become surrounded. "Hey, look up assholes!"

Two of them actually heard him over the din of combat. They had a brief moment to gape in shock before his feet slammed into the face of one of them. Ranma used the impetus of that to flip himself up in the air, landing slightly on a surprised man's shoulder, his hands lashing out, killing two more, smashing one straight over the edge of the Fish's Scales to land in the ocean, the other slammed senseless into the center of the deck, his helm so badly mangled he couldn't even see out of it.

The man he was currently perched on tried to thrust his sword straight up to skewer Ranma but by that point he had leaped away. The man had just a moment to wonder how the hell the northern man had been standing on him like that without pressing down on him, when a foot slammed into his head, ending his questions forever.

With the crew of the first Dragonstone ship broken, more and more men broke off from fighting them, turning to help their beleaguered fellows. Ranma saw this, and he laughed wildly. "Form up on me! Push the shadow lovers into the sea!" Admittedly he had no idea where the Shadow Warriors had come from, but despite that it made for a good rallying cry.

The men responded, twenty men of the crew forging toward him, using his position as a fulcrum to create a new battle line and begin to push the men of the second naval galley backwards across the deck of the Fish's scales. The crew of the first ship were so badly demoralized by this point even more men turned from defending against them, and suddenly the whole battle turned. The defenders could tell too, and responded with a roar of their own. "The Mander! Manderly for the Wolf!"

With the Shadow Warriors nowhere in sight, Aurane embroiled in his one on one contest with Brynden, and having seen Ranma at work already the men of Aurane's ship began to pull back. They weren't as demoralized as the first ship's crew just yet, but it was getting there quickly.

Elsewhere on the deck Brynden barked out a laugh, his blade once more locked with that of the captain of the attacking vessel. "Hah, my nephew's returned and you are fucked!" Thanks to his experience Brynden was able to feel the flow of battle around him and the renewed shouts of "Stark, Stark!" was a hint as to what was going on.

Aurane could feel it too, and began to back away, but Brynden wouldn't let him. He charged forward, his sword flitting in and out with suddenly renewed energy. Aurane had been on the attack most of their duel despite his inability to get in a killing blow, but now found himself backpedaling. He realized with a sinking sensation that Brynden had been holding back deliberately, knowing his endurance wasn't what it could be, and lulling Aurane into a false sense of superiority.

The Bastard of Driftmark couldn't deal with the sudden shift, and he found himself flatfooted, his strokes becoming wilder with every blow the two exchanged. Moments later, his sword was battered just too far to one side for Aurane to recover quickly enough. Brining his own sword back quickly, Brynden ran his opponent through his chest, sword plunging through the other man's chain mail to find his heart. He turned then, slashing his sword across the open face of another man's face, charging forward to join up with a Manderly man who had been pushed against the mast.

Behind him, Ranma and the other's continued their push, and the clumps of combat around Brynden began to resolve themselves as the attackers fell back trying desperately to link up. From the hatchway leading into the ship, the attacker's final doom approached.

OOOOOOO

Below in the hall of the ship Fenris raced down the small staircase, crashing into the side of a Shadow Warrior, biting through the back of it. The thing dissipated with a pained wail. The man it had been dueling with, the last armsmen who had been with Domeric, had been desperately trying to hold the doorway to the crew quarters. Now he nodded, at the wolf, leaning against the doorway and gasping in air, his arms nearly dead from blocking the Shadow Warrior's blows. Fenris grunted in some sort of reply before bounding on.

He spotted a Shadow Warrior several feet further down but before he could attack it the creature screamed and burned under the attack of two small fireballs hitting it from the direction it was facing. Around the bend of the hallway came Daenerys, stalking forward with Sunfyre and Rhaegon on her shoulders, the greatsword Ice in her hands, the tip of it dragging along the deck beneath her. Nodding at the direwolf, she smiled slightly, despite the pain from the cut on her forehead. "Hello Fenris, having fun?"

Fenris huffed in amusement, moving forward to nudge the shoulder of his bonded's alpha mate, even if they hadn't actually become so just yet. Silly two-legs, always so slow about the things that actually mattered. Courtship? Simply hunt down a deer, drag it back, eat it together, then mate, done.

Daenerys' arm trembled as she let one hand briefly leave Ice's hilt to rub the ears of the massive Direwolf, who was taller at the shoulders than she was. After a moment she sighed, once more placing both hands on Ice's hilt, dragging it along behind her as she continued her trek. "Come, we have a battle to finish."

The giant direwolf followed her willingly, as did the man who Fenris had saved. The trio emerged out onto the deck of the ship about a minute after Brynden had finished off Aurane.

The sight of the draklings and the return of the monstrous direwolf unmanned many of the remaining attackers, who began to turn and flee back onto their own vessel, hacking away at the ropes and trying desperately to push them out away. The men of House Manderly however fell on them from behind cutting them down mercilessly while Daenerys moved forward, Fenris at her side.

Leaping over a few clumps of still fighting men Ranma landed next to her and Daenerys, quickly handed his family blade over. "Take it, that thing is heavy!"

Ranma nodded wordlessly, taking the blade in one hand and lifting it quickly, charging into the battle. "Winter is coming! Push them into the sea men!"

Behind him Daenerys stood in place, Fenris guarding her as her eyes closed. Suddenly she flung her arms up into the air, and at her signal both draklings leapt into the air from her shoulders. She road with them, feeling the wind under her/their wings, the exaltation of flight taking their conjoined minds for a moment. It was intoxicating and it nearly made her forget her purpose, but with the iron will that made Daenerys Stormborn who she was, she kept rigid control of both draklings even through their shared exultation, directing them into the attack.

While Ranma and his crew were beginning to wipe out the men who were still aboard the Fish's Scales, the two draklings attacked the rigging of the second vessel, the second one's mast already down. It being their first flight, the draklings couldn't sustain themselves in the air for long, but they were able to get into range, spit out their tiny fireballs at the tied down sail of the other vessel and return. By the time they landed only about two minutes had passed, but even so both draklings were drooping with exhaustion, and hunger began to dominate all the other feelings coming through Daenerys' link with them.

That was the final straw. Faced with the fire on their own ship and the renewed push by the defenders, the men of Aurane's ship broke utterly. They retreated entirely from the defense of their own bulwarks, turning their attention on trying to stop the flames now engulfing their sails and rigging.

Brynden looked around and shouted, "The ropes, cut the ropes, they've had enough."

Ranma took up the shout. "Leave off, the bastards are running now, let's get out of here before that fire can spread!"

The Manderly men set to with a will while the fog around them at last began to dissipate under the heat of the sun. While Ranma and a few others cut down the few remaining attackers on their ship, most of the others began to cut at the ropes tying the three ships together. A dozen men then grabbed up several long oars, pushing at both ships then began to row away from the two naval galleys.

Neither vessel's crew had the numbers or the will any longer to do anything to stop them. Soon enough the Fish's Scales was far enough away for the sail-master to take over, bellowing commands to unfurl the sail. This was a sign for the armsmen all around to let loose a cheer at their success. It was ragged though, as the men looked around and realized how badly the victory had cost them.

For now Ranma ignored the dead lying everywhere, his eyes instead on Daenerys. He moved over to her reaching out gently to touch the cut on her forehead with the hand that wasn't holding Ice. She winced slightly as his fingers traced the wound gently. For just a moment she could feel something flow from Ranma into her, before she shook off the notion as silly. "You need to stop doing this." He said gently. "This whole charging into battle thing is going to get you killed one of these days."

"I'll agree to not take part in battles the moment it is no longer necessary, I promise." Daenerys replied dryly, leaning into his hand lightly now that it had moved from her cut to her cheek. The two of them stood there like that, taking comfort in one another before Brynden coughed getting their attention. Both young people sighed, then steeled themselves and got back to work.

OOOOOOO

Even though the shadow assassins she had made were much more independent than any other she had conceived (literally before the jump in her power she attributed to R'hllor's growing favor) Melisandre still had a connection with them, tenuous though it was.

Melisandre was in her room, mediating naked as the day she was born in front of a small pillar of flame, sweat beading her magnificent body. The sailors hated the fact she had a seemingly uncontrolled fire in her room every night, but they were ignorant of the control R'hllor gave his faithful over his fires, so could be forgiven that.

In her meditation state Melisandre felt the deaths of her shadow warriors, some killed by the odd blue-gold fire, something she could sense was of the body but not, and others who had fallen to the fire of the young dragons controlled by their queen. As the last one died she came out of her trance and began to curse, rather inventively it must be said, in her native Asshai dialect.

Currently the ship was carrying her and Stannis to the Stormlands. At their back were fifty other naval galleys. They would make port in a few weeks' time at the nearest point along the shore of The Narrow Sea with Haystack Hall, the seat of House Errol. They controlled a third of the most fertile land of the Stormlands. With them allied to Stannis' cause, he would be able to feed his army in the field.

It would be a hard sell, since most of the Noble Houses of the Stormlands were happy with Renly's governance, even if the houses minor, landed knights and smallfolk were ambivalent about it at best. Still, if Renly had indeed retreated to the Reach rather than the Stormlands, it might allow Stannis to rally the Errols and others to his cause.

While twenty galleys had remained behind to guard Dragonstone (and spy on any naval movement in Blackwater Bay) a further ten had been assigned to head to Sharp Point then Stonedance in the Crownlands under Stannis' most capable captain, the Onion Knight, Davos Seaworth. The houses of those castles, Bar Emmon and Massey, historically had strong ties to Dragonstone, and Stannis had long cultivated those relationships. Both of them would probably rally to his cause quickly, which would give him a start on building an army.

At the moment Melisandre could not care less about that. What she cared about was that the Dragon Queen and the Wolf shaped man had escaped once more. While it would not matter in the short term she could feel, like a wind across her skin, that in the long term it could prove disastrous.

She scowled. "I should have gone myself, the wolf would not survive against the fires of R'hllor wielded first hand. I let myself be swayed by materialistic, worldly arguments rather than following the path R'hllor set for me. I will burn twenty heathens in recompense for now, but I must act against the Dragon Queen and her Wolf Lord the moment I can." With that Melisandre turned, grabbing up her silk dress before heading out to find the Azor Ahai to tell him the bad news.

OOOOOOO

The aftermath of the battle was pretty horrible. Along with Captain Woolfield, more than half of the ship's crew had died, and at least a quarter of the survivors were injured in some fashion. This left the bare minimum necessary to man the ship, but luckily the rigging and sails hadn't been damaged in the battle, Aurane having not been interested in sinking the vessel since his orders were to capture the Dragon Queen alive. Better, none of the actual sailors had died, having intelligently stayed put in the crew quarters until the battle was decided. The sail-master, who was the one actually in charge of most of the actual sailing, also knew their route, and could navigate them to White Harbor.

Myrcella, Alayaya and surprisingly Sansa got to work on the injured, using the tiny hold as an infirmary. Daenerys, despite her protests went first, and under Myrcella's direction she placed a small poultice on her head covering the cut there. Her eyes were still barely tracking however, and the little princess sent her to bed down with Fenris and the draklings, taking with her food for all three.

Myrcella's own wounds weren't serious, the gashes on her arm weren't deep though many of them had required stitching, which Alayaya had done as the battle wound down. With Myrcella instructing her Alayaya stitched up what wounds she could, and the princess's poultices helped others, and together the three girls saved several men who would otherwise have died without a ship's surgeon.

Despite their aid however, eight more men died through the day, loss of blood and the severity of their wounds carrying them off. That evening, Ranma stood by as the bodies of the dead, which had been laid out on the deck, were consigned two at a time to the ocean as the rest of the men watched.

Outside he looked grim and somber, but inside his thoughts were not on the men who had died, but those who had lived and what they had run into. He was worried about Merry, but she seemed to have grown up not just in body since he left King's Landing, but in heart and mind as well. The death of Tommy had hardened her heart to mere physical discomfort. Her work with the wounded was excellent, and he was happy to see that too. Daenerys as well had come through the battle as well as could be expected given her injury, and seemed quietly ecstatic that the draklings had breathed fire for the first time.

Sansa had not been hurt thankfully nor had Alayaya or Eddard, though his strength had been sapped once more, and his leg was definitely crippled, as well as his arm. His father's leg wasn't dead entirely, but he couldn't feel it, or bend it at all, the leg just refused those commands from his mind. Domeric had a concussion, and a broken forearm. Brynden had come through the battle with only a few nicks, the worst being a gash on the back of his off hand. Fenris too was nicked up, but nothing life threatening.

The majority of Ranma's thoughts however were not on his family or the girls, but on the Shadow Warriors, those strange creatures of smoke and shadow. They had caused at least a third of the crew's casualties, including captain Woolfield, despite the fact that Ranma and Fenris had occupied most of them. Without the two he was sure the enemy would have surely won the day even with the fire of the draklings.

By the old gods, where did they come from? I've never heard about anything like them before, not even in the tall tales I heard as child from Maester Luwin, and none of the books in Winterfell ever mentioned anything similar. Could they be an example of magic, I remember hearing about the city of Lys having a reputation for some kind of magic, but then, who created them? Who has Stannis allied himself with, and why? Is the man so ambitious that he would turn to any means to gain an advantage? And what's that mean for the war to come?

Looking down at his bruised arms and side, Ranma knew whatever the answers to most of those questions was, the answer for the last was 'nothing good'. For now however, he put that thought aside, turning to the sail-master who had taken over as captain for now. The sooner they left Blackwater Bay and got far away from Dragonstone the better.

OOOOOOO

At the same time that Ranma was dealing with the aftermath of the battle against Stannis's vessels, the news of the battle for King's Landing had begun to spread.

Thanks to the queen's 'largesse', Hoster Tully heard the news of what would be called The Battle of Two Truths and of his son a mere five days after the battle ended. The news that his son was languishing at the king's pleasure nearly gave him a heart attack. If it wasn't for the fact his maester had stayed after giving him the raven's message, he might well have died then and there.

Measter Vyman shook his head leaning back gratefully as he finished examining his lord. And friend too, he had after all served here since becoming a maester, and Hoster was the only lord he had known in that time. "My lord, you do not need me to badger you to tell you this but…"

"I know old friend, I am old, and I am dying." Hoster said the words somewhat philosophically. He had led a full life, and had been sick for over a year now, one could only see the end coming for so long before losing fear of it. "I had hoped to live to see Edmure return, having finally come into his own at last. But that is not to be. How long do you think?"

"At best… I would say another half a year, possibly less." Vyman said sadly.

"So little time left, and so much to put right." Hoster sighed sadly, looking down at the missive in his hands from Queen Cersei fucking Lannister, thinking about what he could do, and what he had to do. "I cannot in good conscience let my son being held captive force me to forget that I speak for all of the Riverlands, not just Riverrun. Yet I cannot bring myself to act in such a way that would endanger him."

He leaned back against the pillows of his bed closing his eyes, thinking. Hoster recalled the talk he had a little over two months back with Lord Mallister about what might be coming, and knew they had both been badly understating the storm that was coming.

After a moment he opened his eyes and looked at Vyman. "Gather up writing material old friend, I have several messages I wish to send off. To House Piper, both branches of House Vance, Seagard, House Whent and House Ryger."

Vyman's eyes went up at the list of houses, all counted among the most powerful noble houses in the Riverlands for one reason or another, be it land, men under their command, or the position of their castles, like House Whent, which in other ways was the weakest listed. "Not the Freys my lord?"

"No, I do not trust Old Walder further than I could walk these days." Vyman laughed at the weak joke, since Hoster had been unable to walk for months. He smirked suddenly, though there was no humor in it. "Also prepare one to Winterfell. I wish to send a message to my daughter."

OOOOOOO

Nor was Hoster the only one to be contemplating the outcome of the battle in King's Landing. Thanks to Cersei having sent off a message as soon as the battle ended, her father received the news almost as quickly as his fellow Lord Paramount despite the greater distance between Casterly rock and King's Landing in comparison to the distance to Riverrun.

Tywin frowned down at the raven carried missive in his hand, thinking hard. Cersei has done as well as she could given the Stark's power grab. Hah, for all their vaunted honor, the Starks are as ambitious as any other family. Making a grab for the crown once the heir who they had the most influence over is dead, I wonder how they would have kept it after? Or did Stannis and Eddard have some agreement between them? Or Renly perhaps, though that doesn't make as much sense. This idea of Littlefinger that Cersei and Pyrcelle mentions is interesting, but I can't see any truth in it. Yet it will do for now, though I wonder how the Starks would have justified removing Joffrey from his position.

For all his intelligence and insight, it never occurred to Tywin that the Starks were simply following the dictates of their own sense of honor when removing Joffrey. Nor would he even consider the blandishments upon Cersei and her children that Renly and Stannis spread as more than the two justifying their actions. This was a combination of two things. First he was projecting his own ways of thinking onto the Starks, believing Eddard's honor a front, it would never even occurred to him he was telling the truth about Joffrey's heritage, which neatly tied into his second reason for dismissing it. He simply didn't care if it was true or not, all he cared about was his family's influence that was all.

The news of Tommen's death however means there is another player in this game. Varys perhaps, or his mysterious backer? He is the one I would assume would truly be connected to the Targaryen siblings, though I won't order Cersei to try and come up with another reason behind the Starks actions. Or is it someone else entirely, Eddard was right about one thing, from all accounts the Sand Snake Tyene had ample opportunity but no motive to kill Tommen.

Someone worried about Stark influence? But that implies they are not worried about our own. Perhaps they think they can influence or predict our actions, where they could not do so with the Starks? That is worrying, yet until evidence comes up to point at who was really behind young Tommen's death, there is little I can do, save prepare for open war, both against the Baratheon brothers and House Stark, but against everyone else.

With that thought Tywin summoned a servant to prepare messengers to send out, as well as to call Casterly Keep's measter. He had a goodly number of messages to send. Tywin Lannister, Lord Paramount of the Westerlands, was calling his banners to war.

Once they received his messages, the minor houses that looked directly to his house for lordship and the city of Lannisport gathered their forces at the Rock, along with the men of his own house. Within a fortnight, he was marching with a force of twelve thousand pulled from his family's lands, the city and those of the minor houses around them.

Tywin left his brother Kevan, who was grief-stricken at the death of his son Lancel in the battle in King's Landing, behind to rule from Casterly Keep with four hundred men of his house as a garrison. He left orders for the family's navy to be brought out of dock and placed on a wartime footing and the Lannisport city watch strengthened.

The ships would be manned from conscripts from the city, but would be kept in a defensive stance for now while they were trained up. After that though, Tywin wanted them ready for operations against his enemies in the Reach or Riverlands, or even the Iron Islands, who Tywin fully expected to see this chaos as an opportunity to revolt again.

The city watch in contrast was comprised of volunteers. These men were better trained, led and equipped than the gold cloaks, and would be strengthened further while Tywin rode to reinforce King's Landing.

OOOOOOO

Thoros of Myr was a red priest of R'hllor, though he wasn't a fanatic like Melisandre by any means, nor had ever exhipited the powers she showed, assuming they were a sign of the favor of R'hllor. Really he was more known as one of the king's drinking buddies than a religious man, as well as a fairly good warrior. Still, though he would possibly have counted himself as an atheist more than anything else these days, some of his beliefs were still the same now as they had always been, and he hated rapists or child murderers. Which was why, several days after the events in King's Landing had begun to spread, his eyes were boring into the man across from him in the command conference.

Amory Lorch was a fat, choleric knight who had been Gregor Clegane's companion when they scaled the walls of the Red Keep and slaughtered the Targaryen royal family. He had also taken full part in the sack and rapine of the Red Keep. And like Clegane he had not been charged afterward. Unlike Gregor though, Lorch had the presence of mind to stay well away from King's landing so had not been present for the tourney where Gregor had met his end. But he had been chosen to lead the Westerlands portion of the anti-bandit force, which might have been a subtle warning by Tywin that the man was under his protection.

The man had brought 400 and then with him, adding half again to the forces Thoros and Lord Dondarrion could command against the wily bandits. But that didn't change the fact that Sir Thoros despised him with every fiber of his being. In his mind this man was just as complicit as the Mountain That Rode (and oh was it pleasant to mentally change that to the past tense) in the rape and murder of that horrible day.

He and his force had already been here, searching for the bandits on the Westerlands side of the border. There were several long crags and a few tiny trails that led to the other side of fortresses like the Golden Tooth and others, which guarded the only large scale entrances between the Riverlands into the Westerlands. The back trails and mountain passes couldn't allow a large force through them, but the bandits seemed to be managing very well by filtering smaller groups in or out one at a time, and Lorch and his men seemed a little ragged around the edges. But they had been able to confirm the bandits had not crossed back into the Westerlands, and had put smaller blocking forces in place to keep them trying to cross over again without battle.

It had taken them several days to even find the bandits, despite the size of the bandit's forces. They had been able to get to the border between the Riverlands and the Westerlands relatively quickly thanks to having brought along extra horses for every man even their infantry, so it had only taken them three weeks to get here. But it took six days since arriving on the border, their scouts slogging through the mountains and woodlands to find the bandits, who had retreated from the more populous areas for now into the mountain range but not across them.

"All right, we've finally found these bastards. I want no fancy tactics or strategy, simply encircle the camp and wipe them out." Lord Dondarrion, the overall leader of this mission stated.

The bandits had occupied the burned-out village they first sacked and had even repaired it to a certain degree. Beric wondered why the hell they had bothered creating a permanent base like this at all as it only gave their pursuers a target. Yet he wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. Besides, bandits weren't exactly known for thinking ahead. This group probably figured thanks to their recent round of successes that they were unbeatable. He said so aloud, then added grimly, "let us disabuse them of this notion." All the commanders nodded grimly at that.

The following day the battle began at dawn. As soon as there was light to see by the archers, about a hundred all told, considering there haven't been that many in the city to begin with, began to pepper the hold with arrows. In response the bandits rushed out en-mass. Waiting with the cavalry Thoros was surprised to see how many of them there were, he wouldn't have thought they'd be able to put that many people into that small a holdfast.

He smirked however as they crossed the distance they had cut out of the surrounding woodlands and the burned-out houses. "Sound the charge!" At his command two-hundred mounted knights and their retainers broke cover, lances couched as they charged the force of bandits. Their job was simple, break the bandits charging line of infantry, then let the infantry in.

The bandits however surprised Thoros, quickly breaking off their charge and retreating into the burned-out ruins around their fortress, which hampered his cavalry's ability to get at them. He scowled, pulling up his horse and wheeling away.

From where he was standing with the infantry Lord Dondarrion scowled. "Bring up the infantry. We're going to have to go in and dig those bastards out."

Nearby Thoros slid off his horse, grimacing as his stomach flattened against the horses side. I'll have to go on some kind of diet or something he thought to himself irritably. Getting too fat for this. Yet despite his weight the red priest moved lightly on his feet after the infantry catching up with Lord Dondarrion w easily. "House to house fighting in a burned-out village." Lord Dondarrion said shaking his head as Thoros joined him. "This will not be pleasant."

"It's a small village." Thoros replied. "Won't be as bad as you think lad, there're too many of us, we can simply attack them from all sides as we wanted.

The bandits hadn't even bothered retreating to their Fort, simply making a makeshift shield wall within the burned-out rubble of what must've been a prosperous inn of some kind before the bandits' initial arrival, nearly as large as the small holdfast itself. With the rubble of that and the holdfast guarding their flank and back they were able to concentrate their forces on two sides, and force his men to come to them only from those directions.

Arrows began to hit the attackers from the holdfast and Beric cursed. These bandits were fighting far better than he expected, far more organized. "Bring up the archers!" he shouted

At his side Thoros frowned looking around in the mass of infantry as they surged forward despite the arrows falling among them. There didn't seem to be as many infantry as there should be, and Thoros began to feel uneasy.

Moments later he found out why. The runner Dondarrion had sent to the archers arrived back gasping looking over his shoulder in shock. "Lord Dondarrion, the Westerlanders, they…"

A sudden shout from behind him came, and the Westerlanders roared in from behind cutting into the Rverlanders and King's men.

Thoros didn't have time to wonder why the Westerlanders had suddenly turned on them. He suddenly knew that the archers were all dead, cut down from behind by those that should've been their allies. None of them had even worn more than simple leather armor, in hand-to-hand they wouldn't have stood a chance against the armsmen from Westerlands, all of whom were kitted out in chain mail wielding heavy weapons.

"Betrayal!" Thoros shouted, "Form up on me!" That was as far as Thoros could get before the battle reached his position at the back of their infantry line.

He slashed his sword forward quickly, slicing into one man's face, sending him down with a scream as his eye and nose were slashed open by the blow. The next instant he ran his sword through a second man's chest, piercing his chain mail before his shield took a blow from a spear that was coming for him from his right side.

Rage filled Thoros, rage at this treachery. Lord Lannister was obviously playing his games. He realized what this had been, a trap set for someone, possibly one of the Starks, possibly even the king himself. Whatever it was it was barefaced treason, and he would not let it slide.

A sudden throbbing sensation filled him as his rage peaked, coursing from his soul to the hand that held his sword, the same sword he had used for years for the alchemists fire trick that had stood him in good stead in many a tournament. "R'hllor curse your black souls, I hope you burn!"

Suddenly the throbbing throughout his body intensified, flowing out of his hand into his blade. Thoros' sword burst into life without him having to coat it with alchemist's fire and instead of green this flame was bright red and white. It was blazing with so much heat that the metal should have begun to melt, but the blade itself seemed to be immune to its own aura.

Men stumbled back from him and Thoros roared as he charged to meet them. The flames of his blade were hotter and brighter than ever, slicing through his enemies' swords or even plate armor, sending five men to their deaths in the next few moments.

The overall battle however was turning quickly against the forces loyal to the king. The Westerlanders had simply planned things too well. Not only had they hid half of their force from the king's loyal men, always sending out their own scouts in that direction so that none of the others even realized they were there, but that half of their force was cavalry. While Thoros led his fierce rally, these knights had decimated the loyalists, sending only a few survivors reeling through the wood lands around the main battle. Once that had been done, they turned to finish the job, riding around the edge of the burned out village and killing any loyalist that tried to break away from the ruins.

Yet with Thoros in the lead and the fear his blazing sword generated in their opponents his men were able to break out of the trap for now, sending the Westerlander infantry falling back in disarray. But the bandits pressed them hard as they retreated from the ruins of the village in a controlled wedge. Thoros and his sword could only be in one place at once, and the victorious Westerlander cavalry hammered his other flank hard. Dondarrion's barked orders and his own example forced the men to hold and they continued on, unhorsing several dozen knights but at ruinous cost.

Dondarrion knew a moment of despair as he saw in front of him the Westerlander infantry Thoros had first spooked remerge from the trees. They took position at the edge of the clearing of the village, while the bandits and the cavalry closed in, each of them spreading to envelope his forces as he had hoped to do to the so-called bandits. Now he could see among them several men wearing the colors of the Bloody Mummers, a mercenary band known to be made up of murderers, thieves and rapists from all over Essos and Westeros.

Still he rallied his men, trying to make for the trees. With Thoros and his still burning sword warding away the cavalry on their flank the embattled force was able to reach the edge of the area, though they lost men of their men fighting their way across the open area around the former village. For some reason the ten men from Winterfell that Lord Stark had added to their force were fighting harder than any of the others, pushing towards the outer edge of the forest in a concentrated group.

At the back of the force Thoros knew that none of them would get away from this unless the pursuit could be drawn off somehow. He looked over several dozen men's heads toward Lord Dondarrion who was making his way through the melee towards him with two others guarding his back and flank. These two and several others closed in around both leaders, allowing them a moment of respite despite the mercenaries and traitors closing in once more.

"None of us are going to get out of this!" the younger man said grimly, shaking his head and wiping away some of the blood that had accumulated from a gash over one eye. Beric had been reckoned a handsome knight back in King's Landing, but even this brief brush with real battle had changed him, adding dark lines to his face.

"Some of us can!" Thoros replied nodding over to Jaryd Waterman, the leader of the Winterfell men. All of them were still on their feet, despite killing at least three times their number so far in traitors and mercenaries, but you could see that they were edging towards weariness now. "Take as many men as you can and get out of here." Thoros went on bluntly. "I'll hold these bastards off."

Lord Dondarrion's eyes widened and he made to grab Thoros by the shoulder, but the red priest shook his head and pushed the younger man away. "I've lived a full life already lad, you've got yours yet to live, and a fiancé to look forward to seeing. Besides, this is something only I can do." The red priest, who had long since devoted himself more to the wine bottle than his god, said.

He was saying this while looking down at his flaming sword, before looking up and around determinately, his lips forming a snarl. "R'hllor will burn you to ash!" With that bellow Thoros charged toward where the cavalry were about to strike the right side of their force once more.

"Baratheon!" He shouted. "For the king! Burn in the fires you faithless scum!" With that he raised his sword in both hands. With an effort of will the fat red priest somehow grabbed the burning power of his god he felt coursing through his body and channeling it further into his blade. The pillar of fire lengthened from the edge of the blade first becoming as large as a pike, then as large as six men, and wider besides.

He slashed the fire blade down in front of him, slicing over a dozen men in its path into pieces. The sight of this and their natural fear of fire caused the horses of the incoming cavalry to shriek with terror. They bolted turning away from the battle despite whatever their owners could do.

Thoros turned his mystic blade to the side slicing right and left, cutting or immolating another two dozen men as the remainder of the loyalist force ran off behind him. Arrows were still following around them, and the 'bandits' were still attacking from one end and the infantry from the other. But Thoros turned, slicing down several infantrymen before turning his attention to the mercenaries, his eyes becoming glazed over as the power that had been filling him started to wane.

He caught himself as he stumbled however, seeing Amory Lorch trying to rally his cavalry to charge around him. "LORCH! Come to the flame, child killer!" Thoros roared, barreling forward with sudden energy, unmindful of the arrow that slammed into his shoulder. He cut five other men down before Lorch turned in fear, finally realizing his peril. His fat face blanched, and he tried to turn away, tried to pull his horse around. But terrified of the oncoming apparition it bucked, throwing him to the ground before bolting away.

Lorch raised his sword desperately trying to parry, but even as the flaming blade began to splutter, the power Thoros had been using dissipating, it was still powerful enough for this. The flaming blade went through Lorch's sword as if it wasn't there, then went on to cut deep into his shoulder cleaving the fat man in a diagonal slash, armor and all. "Die traitor!"

As Lorch fell with a last despairing gurgle, Thoros turned at bay only to gasp in agony as someone slammed a spear into his back. He lurched forward, but desperately kept his feet. Thoros frantically raised his once again normal sword to block an incoming, but he had little strength left, and it was knocked from his grasp. The spear wielder pulled the shaft of it out of the red priest's back, causing even more damage. Thoros gasped, feeling all his remaining strength leaving him. He fell to his knees, barely even able to look up as a Westerlander brought his sword down. Thus Thoros of Myr, red priest of R'hllor, a man who everyone in court had seen as a drunk but who had proven himself a true priest of his god on this blood soaked battlefield, died.

OOOOOOO

Thoros' self-immolating stand had given Lord Dondarrion and the others enough time to rally their men, bursting through the thin Westerlander line at the edge of the trees before rushing on, running through the trees. They ran and kept on running as far as they could, many even discarding their armor in order to run faster, trying to get away from the pursuers that would no doubt becoming.

After several hours Lord Dondarrion saw a spot up higher in the mountain side, a sort of shelf of rock about twice as tall as a man, continuing as far to either side as he could see. "Rally up there!" He shouted, pushing his way forwards and climbing up the sheer rock face.

It was tough going, especially for the exhausted and demoralized troops, but they eventually made it. Beric did not let them rest, sending a dozen men all around to discover if there was an easier way up than the one they had come. There wasn't, this little cliff continued until it shrank at both ends merging with the rest of the mountain face. With that confirmed, the Stormlands lord allowed his men to rest

He went around, ignoring his own wounds, numerous but small, and his exhaustion. None of the heavily injured had been able to run away, and he sighed sadly. He only had about a hundred and fifteen men here, possibly a hundred and eighteen considering that three of the scouts had yet to return. He looked up as a shout came, and smiled on pleasure.

Coming towards them through the woods, looking somewhat better than the rest of his men were Anguy of the Dornish Marches and three scouts, each of them lugging a dead deer. Anguy had been one of the surprise volunteers to join the force assembled in King's Landing, but he had proven his worth as an archer and scout. Beric had thought him dead with the rest of the archer force, but evidently he had switched over to scouting just in time to avoid that fate, though right now the game he and his fellows brought with them were much more welcome.

Beric looked over at his squire, young Edric Dayne, his squire. The boy had stayed at his side throughout the battle, and even had slain one or two men in doing so. Now that the adrenaline was leaving him he seemed almost ready to go into shock at either the betrayal or as a normal reaction after a battle. Beric's voice however snapped him out of it for now. "Get out flint and tinder lad. Let's get some food in us while we think of what to do next."

Jaryd had recovered by this time, and he went around as well checking on his own man first than the others. He came back shaking his head. "We've got about sixty five men able to fight here, and of them only my own men still have armor, about twenty others retain their weapons. Well I shouldn't say that." The Northerner shrugged his shoulders. "We have seven archers with us, all of them still retain their bows, and the scouts still have their short swords and javelins or small bows, but all of the other men are either injured, without armor, or both. The rest though don't have anything save for a dagger here and there."

Lord Dondarrion nodded, looking around at them thoughtfully. The venison was cooking under young Edric's watchful gaze, and you could see the men eager for the sup, the promise of good food heartening them all, but they were still looking shocky. A battle lost could do that to any warrior especially one like that, even without adding in Thoros' amazing abilities. Beric realized he would have to think about those later. Certainly the red priest had never shown anything like that before, but right now it was unimportant. "We need to think about what to do now." He said looking around at them all.

One of the Crownlands lords spat to one side. "Survive." he said bluntly. "Those Seven-damned Mummers won't be interested in us, they've done their work. This was a trap." He said simply, looking around at them all.

Lord Davit Wendwater was the Lord of a very minor house, whose holdings were south of King's Landing along the river of the same name on the outer edge of the Kingswood. He spent most of his time at King's Landing because his younger brother was a much better land manager than he was. This way Davit kept out of his brother's hair, his brother got to look after their family interests, and Davit was able to have fun.

Despite his shortcomings as a land owner Davit was politically astute man, one who never took sides in any conflict if he could help it. He had been known as one of Robert's drinking partners and had decided to come on this trip to make certain his martial skills hadn't rusted.

He now shared his opinion on what had happened. "Someone's decided to take the game of politics to the next level, and considering how we were betrayed and who was leading them, it has to be Lord Lannister. That fat coward Lorch wouldn't have dreamed of doing this without someone higher up giving him the orders. I'd bet that this was meant to draw out some of the Stark men or their supporters, hell it could have been meant for young Ranma considering how long it would have taken to set up."

"Agreed," said Lord Dondarrion sighing sadly. "That means that something might have gone on back in King's Landing as well. Lord Lannister may be a traitorous bastard, but he's an intelligent one. This was probably just one arrow in his quiver."

"That doesn't matter to us here and now." Davit replied shaking his head scowling angrily through his wide bushy mustache. "For my part I would not have it be said we just gave up the fight."

"Look at us!" said another man, this time a Riverlander scout they had met near the border, a Whent man. Beric recognized him as one of the scouts that they had met upon reaching the border. "There's less than a hundred and fifty of us, and we're not well armed, or even in good condition." He looked askance at the Winterfell men, who were indeed all still armed and seemed to be recovering from the run through the woods better than the others. "Well some of us aren't anyway."

The winter fell men all shrugged their shoulders and he went on. "What are we going to do?"

"We were sent out here to fight the Bloody Mummers even if they were simply posing as bandits, I suggest that's what we do. We fall back for now, find some way to get ourselves some more weapons. Makeshift spears and the like aren't that difficult to make." Beric replied, smiling faintly, remembering many a time had to do the same on hunting expeditions when he was younger. "We can harass them, attack their supply lines, and create small ambushes and traps. Do what we can to protect the small folk in the area from their predations."

"So we will act like bandits to fight bandits? That's fine, but I demand we have a name. All the good bandit groups in history have had names." Jaryd said laughing lightly. For his part, he knew he couldn't get back to King's Landing in time to do any good, so he might as well do what he could to make the Lannisters uncomfortable.

Beric Dondarrion laughed looking at them all. "We are a ragtag bunch, all of us coming from nearly every land in Westeros. Borders no longer matter to us, and we are united in purpose against House Lannister are we not, like brothers should be?"

For a moment the men around him looked at one another, then one by one all one hundred and twenty of them nodded.

Beric smiled, nodding back. "Very well then, I name us the Brothers Without Borders."

OOOOOOO

Vargo Hoat, leader of the Brave Companions smirked, looking down at the body of the man who had been supposed to start giving him orders after this. Despite the red priest's astonishing power, the battle had been a resounding success. His own force had only lost about ninety men all told, though the Westerlanders had been hammered worse, and their cavalry had been unhorsed entirely. It would be a special miracle if any of the horses came back.

Well, it was a resounding success from Vargo's perspective. He knew though that none of the Stark men had died and he certainly hadn't seen the house's banner. So it looked as if Lord Lannister's plan had failed to draw out their real target. But the battle itself had been executed as well as could be expected even with the red priest's fantastical magic, and Vargo could see no reason why the fact their prey wasn't here would reflect on him.

After a moment's contemplation Vargo smiled evilly. He knew orders would be coming soon, the Golden Tooth was not that far away from here after all, and he had already sent a runner back to tell them the good news. Until orders came however, he was going to act as he saw fit. After all, his actual mission was over, and Lord Lannister wouldn't begrudge him or his men some more fun, would he? "Bring out the map." he said grinning evilly. "I think we should try to hit…"

OOOOOOO

Ranma stood by Brynden, the both of them leaning against the mast, watching a few of the armsmen accompany Domeric on some pipes as the bard led them through a lively dancing tune. Daenerys, Myrcella and Alayaya were dancing around one another and with some of the men. Many of the other armsmen were laughing and joking with all three, and Ranma smiled at the sight.

Normally the idea of highborn noble girls acting in such a manner with simple armsmen would have terrified or appalled Southern Lords and ladies, but this was a special circumstance. And there was no chance of any of the men trying anything with the girls, not under the watchful eyes of their fellow men, Lord Stark who sat nearby in a chair brought out for him, or Ranma himself.

But it was also a sign of something that amused Ranma when he realized it. These men respected him, and their own Lord and Ranma's father as their Lord Paramount, there was no doubt about that. But in the two and a half weeks since leaving Blackwater Bay behind them they had come to love Sansa, Daenerys and Myrcella.

Even with the knowledge of her questionable birth becoming a common secret as it were, Myrcella had befriended them all with her kind, gentle manner, her friendship with the Starks, and more importantly her work as the ship's healer. Many men here who might have died after the battle against the Dragonstone men were still alive because of her medical knowledge and Alayaya's steady stitching. She wasn't a maester, she didn't save all or even half of those injured, but Myrcella did the best she could with the tools and knowledge she had, which was enough for the men if not for her. The guilt she very visibly felt about her shortcomings had also helped the men come to love the little 'Baratheon' princess.

The men of House Manderly of course had already been prepared to love Sansa, so that wasn't nearly as surprising. The little gifts that she had shared and designed for Lord and small folk alike for years at Winterfell had made certain that the men knew 'the lady' behind the scarfs. Alayaya too was no surprise given her aiding Merry in her healer role. There'd been a few problems when her past profession had come to light, but Brynden and Ranma had dealt with them swiftly. Her dry, earthy sense of humor and her willingness to flirt back with anyone who approached her in the right manner was also a hit, even if she didn't let the game go too far.

Daenerys on the other hand... She was charismatic on a level that was simply astonishing. She had a caring manner toward her friends matched with an implacable fury towards her enemies, and a fierce courage as fiery as the flames her dragons had begun to routinely practice since the fight against the Shadow Warriors, both of which she had shown in that battle. Her intelligence was also easy to see, everyone could see that regardless of what the actual conversation was about. No one had said the word in Ranma's presence, but it was clear to everyone aboard that Daenerys was a queen in the making.

There was also something primal about her at times, a fact she shared with Ranma. They were both extremely honest and straightforward, and at times acted somewhat like the animals they were bonded with. Daenerys was playful and fiery like her dragons with her friends, and at times that carried over into… other things. To say their flirting leaned heavily towards the physical rather than the verbal was an understatement.

Ranma couldn't take his eyes of her now as Daenerys spun around, dancing with Alayaya arm in arm in some kind of jig or other from Essos. Her silver hair flashed in the torches set here and there around the deck. Her leather jerkin and leggings, which were not exactly clinging to her, still somehow set her body on display at least for Ranma, and Daenerys' violet eyes were snapping with delight while she danced. After a final twirl she turned and saw him watching her sending him a small, yet somehow sultry smile that set his blood to racing.

"I'm happy for you." Sansa said, moving up beside him and sipping at a cup of water. Luckily the ships stores had been fully stocked before leaving King's Landing, so there was no need to ration anything.

Beside her Fenris moved, Sunfyre and Rhaegon by his side. They had grown some since they had hatched, and now when they walked the two came up to Sansa's knee, and were slightly longer than they were tall. They got along with Sansa and Merry so long as Daenerys was nearby and would even let the two young girls touch them. For some odd reason they wouldn't let Alayaya touch them though, a fact that would have cost her a finger without Daenerys there to warn her.

Ranma turns to his sister to see Sansa smiling up at him, her lips quirked into an impish smirk. "Happy for what sister?"

"For you and Daenerys. She's an excellent match for you in temperament, though I don't think mother will be pleased. She had her heart set on a dynastic marriage between you and House Tyrell, but in my opinion she's far better than that bitch Margaery."

Ranma laughed, pulling her into a one armed hug. "I think that might be the first time I've ever heard you curse, can I ask what brought that about?"

"And may I ask you what your own opinion on Margaery is?" Daenerys said, stepping up to join them picking up a small cup of water and thanking the crewman who had brought them out. The man smiled a gap toothed smile back at her. Behind then the dancing stopped, though the music kept going, as Domeric began to tell a story.

Daenerys wasn't paying attention to that just now. Her eyes were on Ranma's face one eyebrow quirked in query. She had subtly asked that question before but Ranma had never actually answered it.

To her faint surprise however Ranma now simply waved his hand airily. "nothing beyond friendship occurred between me and Margaery. We spent about two months getting to know one another in King's Landing, but because she was also ordered to make a play for Joffrey, I never took the courtship seriously, and she realized it too, and decided to stop trying to flirt iwth me, instead becoming a friend."

"I see," Daenerys said thoughtfully one eyebrow still raised and Ranma took her hand quickly. He shook his head wordlessly telling her she didn't need to worry, and the spark of something of what could have been jealousy disappeared from her eyes as she squeezed his hand. She was already beginning to be irritated by how Myrcella looked at her Ranma, she certainly didn't want to know there was another highborn lady out there who might have designs on him.

Nearby, Eddard laughed quietly but with feeling. Looking at Daenerys and Ranma was like looking at a switched, distorted image of some sort of when Rhaegar and Lyanna met one another. Looking back it was obvious to him that both of them were besotted with one another on their few meetings, despite Rhaegar already having been married to Elia Martell, and Lyanna being betrothed to Robert Baratheon.

That thought brought a frown to his face however as he wondered if the time had come to share some truths about that, and about Jon Snow's origins. He decided after a moment that no, the time had not yet come to say those secrets out loud. Jon deserved to hear it first after all. But Eddard vowed he would tell Jon about it the moment they got home.

He was jolted out of his thoughts when Sansa sat down on the deck next to his chair, looking up her brother. "Well I for one would like to hear one of your stories Ranma, rather than the ones Domeric is sharing, those are all old bards' tales, yours are much more interesting. I would hear something new, something real. What about that story that you told Arya about your trip up to the Wall?"

Perhaps it was the convivial atmosphere or perhaps it was because of the thoughts Ned had previously been thinking, but he spoke up now, drawing all the youngsters' attention to him along with Brynden. "If you wish a true story Sansa, I have one. It is one that started the friendship between House Stark and House Reed, though I'm afraid it only has romance on the periphery of it."

Sansa shrugged unconcern of that, while Myrcella and Alayaya joined them, leaving the crew to their own devices. Ned smiled at the newcomers, then began his tale. Regardless of what began after that day, it was still a shining memory in many ways, when he gained a friend, when the world was still simple, before all the smiles died. "I remember it like yesterday. My sister and I had journeyed down with several dozen other men and women from Winterfell to a Tourney being held at Harrenhal by lord Whent. Others of the North came as well, most particularly Lord Reed, though he was not Lord at the time. As you know crannogmen are seemingly deformed, and this caused problems for Howland with many of the southern lords and knights. Well, Lyanna was not one to…"

Over the next hour Ned's simple yet heartfelt words drew them all in. That tale was followed by others from Ranma, and even Sansa as the wolves continued to welcome the dragon, the former whore and the possible stag/possible lioness into the pack.

Later that night, Daenerys and the other girls retired to their room, though Sansa remained behind for a moment to speak to her father and Ranma. They were going to compose a message to send from White Harbor to tell their family more about what had been going on most particularly Catelyn, informing her of what had happened to Sansa, and Petyr's part in it. To that end they wanted to talk with her to get her impression of the man, and what might be really driving him. They were in no rush, they were still a few days away from rounding the Paps into the Bite, but they wanted Sansa to be thinking about it for a bit.

This allowed Daenerys to broach the subject with Myrcella that she had wanted to speak to her about for several days now. As soon as the door closed behind them she turned to Merry and said "So tell me little lion, what are your feelings towards Ranma?"

Myrcella blushed slightly, but stared up at Daenerys defiantly. "I would ask you to remember I am still legally a Baratheon until it is proven otherwise, Lady Targaryen. And I think you know the answer to that question all too well." she smirked. "Why? Are you jealous, or worried?"

In response Daenerys simply laughed lightly, though her violet eyes glinted dangerously. "Neither, my position is secure, yours, as you pointed out, is quite up in the air isn't it? Though for reasons beyond your control, of course."

Myrcella flinched a little at that. Everyone aboard ship knew that her heritage was in deep suspicion, indeed it was almost certain that she was not a Baratheon or and therefore not a trueborn, despite Ranma's willingness to wait until it was conclusively proven. She still refused to believe that however, both for herself and for Tommen though that was simple pride and hope. Once Stannis and Renly spread their version of her mother's perfidy, Myrcella would no longer be able to protect Tommy's memory.

Still she fired back. "My position might not be secure, but I've known Ranma longer than you have. And regardless of whether or not my father's heritage is within me, my mother's certainly is, which connects me to one of the most powerful families in Westeros. You on the other hand only have your dragons to offer. A formidable force to be sure, but only on the battlefield, not in terms of money, prestige, politics or alliances. You might be ahead of me now, but don't get too comfortable, because I have no doubt I can get Lady Catelyn on my side." She wasn't certain of that, but wasn't about to back down either.

"I don't suppose." Alayaya said from where she had begun to undress for bed, cutting through the tension quickly (and deliberately). "That I should mention that I have a bit of a crush on Ranma too? It was rather easy to fall for him and his Rock Hurler persona, so mysterious so interesting, so masculine even through that invisibility technique of his."

Both Myrcella and Daenerys turned to glare at the Summer Island woman. She smirked a little at their expressions, then shook her head. "Of course I know now nothing can from that, but a girl can dream. I think however that you two should stop this rivalry of yours before it actually begins. Ranma cares for both of you, he even cares for me in a way. You'll only put him in an untenable position if you keep arguing, keep trying to make him choose between you. Eventually you'll force him to choose sides, and whichever person wins he'll resent for forcing him to do that."

Daenerys frowned then nodded thoughtfully while Myrcella scowled for a moment before nodding in turn. With that Alayaya looked directly at Daenerys. "Daenerys, you have to realize that Ranma does feelings for Myrcella. They might be sisterly, I think they are actually, certainly he's never done anything to show anything otherwise."

Unnoticed by the other two Merry flushed a little, remembering the time the day after Sansa's rescue when she had hugged Ranma and could feel him reacting to her body pressed against his.

She didn't say anything though while Alayaya continued. "You might eventually need to meet this Dacey woman that he's mentioned having had a relationship with, you'll have to simply acknowledge it and realize it's no longer a factor. Your place is secure, so long as you don't grind it into Myrcella's or Dacey's faces."

With that she turned to Myrcella. "Myrcella," she said softly. "I hate to say this, but even if were a natural born Lannister, even if the Citadel gets back and says that yes there have been a few girls born with golden hair from previous Lannister/Baratheon marriage, you and Ranma marrying formally would never happen. Not with how he and the rest of the North will view House Lannister after word of what occurred gets out."

Daenerys knew that was putting it lightly considering their long term plans, which she and Ranma had discussed at length. What their policy going forward boiled down to was this: house Lannister had been built on treachery from the first, they were proud of the fact that they had tricked the previous owners of the Casterly Rock out of their wealth. They were a family of traitors, ruthlessness and cold ambition. In the Westeros that Ranma and Daenerys were prepared to build in the coming years such things in a house of power could not be borne. To that end the war would only end with the complete destruction of the Lannisters. Whether that meant all of its members would die, be sent to the Wall or otherwise dealt with was still up in the air and they only had some specific plans in mind for a few of them, but that was the long term goal.

Outwardly Daenerys merely nodded thoughtfully not knowing how Merry would react to that idea, then sighed turning to face the younger girl directly. "I'll apologize for what I said, I'm not…" she paused waving her hands as if she was trying to conjure the words from thin air. "I'm not used to this, I've never fallen for a man before. I've never even considered that love would be a major factor in my marriage, considering my brother's and my dire straits for so long. I knew I would have to have a dynastic marriage, it's just come as a shock to me how much… how much I have come to… to care for Ranma in so short a time. My jealousy got the better of me, and I apologize."

Myrcella looked up at the taller, though only just, Daenerys, then nodded. "That was well said, and I accept your apology. I, I'll try to stop flirting with him I suppose. I don't seem to have much of a knack for it since he certainly hasn't noticed, and though I hate to admit it Alayaya is right."

(Actually Ranma had noticed, it made uncomfortable and like in King's Landing he really how to deal with it. SO Ranma had fallen back on his old life's standby defensive response to anything female related: Ignore it and hope it goes away.)

Myrcella sighed sadly, remembering a few fond memories of her mother and wondering what would happen to her. Would she die somehow during the war, during a sack of the red keep or something? Things like that happened after all, and far worse she knew. Or if the Stark's faction won, would Cersei be exiled to some motherhouse or other, with naught but the clothes on her back? Myrcella couldn't say that the woman didn't deserve it, she certainly did if even the little bit about Joffrey alone being illegitimate was true, let alone herself and Tommy. But it was a harsh thing to think about your own mother.

"It's just…" she said shyly, returning to the current discussion. "It's just he's so, so…"

"Magnificent?" Daenerys supplied, laughing quietly and then reaching out to pull younger girl into a hug. "I know, trust me he swept me off my feet too. Rather literally actually, I don't think I've ever shared the story of how Ranma and I first met did I?"

From there on all three of the girls shared how they had first met Ranma. Sansa came just as Alayaya began her story, which caused Daenerys and Myrcella to laugh at the way Ranma had rescued her and the other girl from the corrupt gold cloaks. Sansa told them a few stories in turn, and the night ended on a high note.

Though as she fell asleep in her makeshift hammock Daenerys realized that Myrcella hadn't said she would be trying to give up her crush on Ranma, only that she would no longer act on it. After a moment she shrugged her shoulders in the dark, while the two draklings flew up from their bed beneath her join her in the hammock. For some reason they enjoyed the rocking motion. If she hasn't, well there's nothing I can do there, and every girl is allowed to dream. With that complacent thought, Daenerys put her arms on the sides of her two little ones, and began to fall asleep, still wondering what the future would bring them all.

OOOOOOO

Jon finished reading the short message that had been passed on by Lord Manderly aloud, then looked around at Lady Catelyn, his siblings, master Luwin and Rodrick Cassel. He set it down gently, then spoke in a calm somber tone. "And so we finally have confirmation of treason in the south by the Lannisters, though the full extent of our losses isn't clear in this."

Luwin nodded, speaking his small piece before anyone else could. "Lord Manderly also said he had imprisoned his maester, who is a Lannister by birth. Lord Manderly intends to keep him under house arrest until this war is settled. He'll be kept in comfort, but isolation."

Jon nodded, wondering if that was what was in store for Tyrion. What else his brother could be planning for the little lion he had no clue.

Arya's reaction caught his attention then, and he watched as she slammed her fist down on the table, growling like their totem. Or like her own Nymeria, who seemingly had sensed her distress and was now prowling around the room. "How can you be so calm! All this says is that our family was betrayed! It doesn't say anything about their condition only that they're 'coming home'. Sansa and father could be dead for all we know!"

"I think not, else the message would have tried to warn of it in some fashion. Have some trust in Ranma, I have no doubt all three are alive." Jon said coolly, his tone a sharp contrast to his sister's.

It was only when one looked at Ghost however that they saw Jon's true feelings on the matter at hand. The normally calm, quiet direwolf was growling audibly, his eyes flickering, his teeth bared as if he was about to pounce on someone, for all his body was still otherwise.

Jon's ability to read between the lines of his brother's writing was better than anyone else's, and he could tell that there was a lot that had gone on in King's Landing, most of it bad. For instance Ranma would have mentioned at least a few of the guards by name, those whose families lived in Winterfell. He would've wanted to reassure them. And the fact that it came from Ranma's hand, yet signed Lord Stark, was telling. Ranma's handwriting was distinctive, far blockier than their father's more flowing style. That he didn't mention any of the guards probably meant that they were all dead. Whether or not that meant that just those guards were dead or all, Jon didn't know, but feared.

The rest of the message however, he didn't know what to make of. 'The Stormborn', did that mean he had brought back the Targaryen siblings? Their father had mentioned that in his last message, but why then did the message only mention the girl? And what was the extent of the Lannister treachery? Jon didn't know the answer to those questions, but he was looking forward to finding out.

To Jon's left Catelyn sat at the head of the table, reading the message silently for herself, her face a rictus of fury. Thankfully the babe was elsewhere with his wet nurse, else the face Catelyn was showing would've frightened him deeply. "So it was the Lannisters as I feared." She said coldly. "I wonder how far back their treason goes. And what exactly that treason is, besides Joffrey being illegitimate. I'll note that we haven't received anything from King's Landing, which probably means that whatever it is, they know we will not believe them, and that they are no doubt preparing for war against us."

She leaned back tapping the message with one finger as she tried womanfully to gain control of herself. That Ranma said all of the wolves were coming home was a delight to her, meaning that her husband, Ranma himself, and her daughter were all safe, Jon was right about that. Though possibly not whole since Ranma didn't actually mention their physical well-being, and the fact he wrote the message rather than her husband was telling. That was worrisome, but as long as they were alive she was happy. She was also concerned about what the part about 'Stormborn' meant, and feared given the task Ranma had been sent on she could tell all too easily.

There would be time enough however to worry about that later. For now Catelyn turned her attention to a well-worn topic. "I still think that Bran's near-death experience had something to do with the Lannisters. Perhaps you saw was the queen and her lover, my son?"

Bran, who was sitting next to Arya across from Maester Luwin, shrugged his shoulders. His mother asked him some variant of that question once a week or so, to see if his memory had come back. But it hadn't come back, nor had the feeling in his left foot. All he could still remember from that event was the words 'the things I do for love'. Still he didn't say anything right now.

Jon shrugged. "Personally I think that's rather far-fetched, I believe that incident was precisely what we thought initially, one of the Kingsguard with the queen's maid. Would Cersei truly have been so arrogant as to carry on with her lover in Winterfell, a castle of another Lord Paramount? I wonder though if all of her children are illegitimate. It says here that Joffrey is, but doesn't hint at the other two."

Catelyn waved that off. "We know that my husband and Ranma both had come to care for 'Tommy', and Myrcella is but a little girl." Though perhaps a young woman by this point. "You know your brother would not wish to denigrate the memory of someone he cared for, nor Myrcella if he started to see her as a surrogate sister as the messages from King's Landing said." She still had every one of those messages and kept them in a small wooden box in her room. The whole family read each one again and again in the intervening months between messages.

Arya however scowled, then determinately shook her bad humor off. In the last message that Ranma had written part of he had hinted at the fact that he would much rather see Tommen marry Arya rather than Sansa marry Joffrey. It had been done in a joking manner but it'd still riled her up.

Easily able to discern what Arya was thinking Catelyn smirked at her daughter's constipated expression, shaking her head. "That would've actually been a good match I think. I think you would've been happy with him Arya, though I doubt you would have been happy as queen if he had been named heir over Joffrey."

"I have no doubts about that at all." Arya muttered shaking her head, the accompanying shiver a show of what Arya thought of that idea. She looked over a Jon then back to her mother. "So what are we going to do?"

Catelyn frowned looking over at Rodrick, whose face was set in stone. They both knew the same thing that Jon had realized; if Ranma hadn't mentioned the guardsmen that probably meant they were dead. "I can summon the Lords in my husband's name, though only a few would be able to get here before Ranma and his party arrive if they need to bring their hosts."

"I don't think we should ask them to do so, tell them to call their armsmen up, but we can't afford to send all our remaining forces south, not with what's been going on at the Wall. The force we send will be something we will need to discuss with the lords when they arrive." Jon allowed a small smile to appear on his face, looking over at Bran. "But it will be easier at least for some of them to get here than I bet even Ranma realizes. And it will be easier to armor them here as well."

At that Catelyn smiled proudly at her younger son. Bran flushed under their gazes, and even more when Arya slapped him on the back, but it was a fact that Bran's ingenuity had made a massive impact on two projects that in turn had impacted life in Winterfell, possibly for good.

The ongoing projects to prepare the White Knife to make the river a transportation hub had continued apace over the last few months, with every House whose land it crossed pitching in as well as they could. At this point barges could use large stretches of the river not only on its nearest approaches to Winterfell but even further north to its origin in Long Lake. The entire stretch from White Harbor north until the river forked where one half continued into the wolfswood moving past castle Cerwyn, and the other travelling further north to the Long lake, its nearest point within four days cart travel of Winterfell, was useable for barges. There were still stretches of rapids and of course dozens of small waterfalls, but many of them were marked and had winches in place to help barges up or down them.

This already had a massive effect on their ability to ship goods, most particularly in conjunction with another of Bran's creations, fed by Hathan's discovery on his new holding's land. His holding was near the edge of Stark lands, right on the White knife, and his find had made the small Shieldarm holdfast a very important one. Iron was always in heavy demand, especially in times like these, and an easy to work vein such as his find was an amazing find. But it was Bran's ingenuity that made that iron worth even more.

Even here in the main keep's hall you could hear the bellow of the furnace outside that Bran had helped design and the clamor of blacksmiths as they worked the steel coming out of it. In another universe the furnace that Bran had created would be called a double puddling furnace. There it was one of the first ways found to create large amounts of iron or smaller amounts of steel, and here it served the same purpose.

Bran had been very interested in the work Jon, Ranma and Mikken had put into creating Arya's sword. He had talked to the blacksmith about the process to create a blade, how steel wasn't a single ore, something found naturally in nature, and what other ores had to be added to produce good sword steel, what on Earth would be called carbon steel, and the difference between that and the steel that made the best armor. They both had several things in common, the need for coal to be added to add carbon to the steel, and for the iron of the steel to be heated in a continuous manner.

With the help of the original Bran the Builder's notes, Bran had come up with the design for a massive furnace that could, with the right ingredients, create true steel in huge amounts with far less in terms of manpower. Now besides Mikken there were two dozen blacksmiths and their apprentices working with it to create armor, swords, arrow heads, and pike and lance heads.

Iron, coke and coal flowed into Winterfell down the White Knife or from elsewhere on Stark lands, and weapons and shipments of raw steel flowed further down the White Knife to White Harbor. But the main work was being done here in Winterfell. The same hot springs that kept Winterfell warm gave them both steam to use to power the air pumped through the furnace, and the water used to cool the steel being worked by the blacksmiths.

Needless to say this was a major force multiplier, in its own way just as important as Ranma, Eddard and Jon's pushing the teamwork training of the armsmen. Many of the houses minor in the North, and even one or two of the noble houses, still armed their armsmen with bronze or iron weapons. And even the Starks and more powerful houses couldn't armor the majority of their armsmen in more than hardened leather. Thanks to Bran, given enough time they could arm and armor every armsmen in the North

Rodrick joined the discussion for the first time, his voice gruffer than normal, preparing for the grief to come. "I would recommend that each of the northern Lords only bring about two hundred or so for the more powerful noble houses. That is enough for them to have representation, but not enough so they would be hindered on the road. Lord Stark can ask for more men to be sent when he arrives"

"House Glover should be informed and send a representative but not a portion of their forces." Jon said, nodding at Rodrick.

He and Catelyn shared a look, and both of them nodded minutely. Neither of them trusted the Ironborn further than they could throw Winterfell. The fact that Lord Stark had trusted them to honor their agreement thanks to Theon being a hostage was an example of him believing that other people were as honorable as he was. He never understood that such an idea was laughable.

Theon himself had proven trustworthy even to Jon as one of the wolfsworn, but the rest of the Ironborn? No, they were vultures, and would take the opportunity of all this chaos to strike at where they could. The North could not afford to appear to be an easy target for them, which meant House Glover, House Flint of Flint's Finger, and to a lesser extent House Ryswell would need to keep their strength at home.

"Very well, let's go with that for now." Catelyn said decisively already preparing going through the messages to be sent off. Hornwood, Cerwyn, Glover and Dustin are close enough that horse sent messengers would be able to reach them, carrying, letting the ravens be used for the more distant noble houses, and Catelyn would personally pen the message for Lord Cerwyn that evening. Being the closest Lord he would be able to get here the fastest, and would be able to call his men up faster for this and other reasons

She frowned as a sudden thought occurred to her. "The two Reed siblings are still here, they should have returned long ago but I think we need to send them home now. I'll send a message with them for their father. We'll want the Neck as prepared as possible ready for an invasion."

Jon nodded. "Only a fool or someone who really doesn't know anything about Westeros would try to assault Moat Cailin, but it is best to be prepared. We should also send word to the mountain clans, I feel certain their chiefs should be a part of this war council."

"Good." Catelyn nodded, carefully not noting Bran's look of relief at not having Jojen around any longer. "Arya, if you could go and get my writing implements, I'll need them in a moment. Measter Luwin, I would like to speak to you and the majordomo to make certain our supplies have enough reserve for a large amount of guests." Rodrick, Luwin and the others all nodded and correctly realizing this was a dismissal stood up bowing to Lady Stark before exiting the room.

As the doors closed behind them, Jon looked over at Arya who still looked miffed at the idea of her friend being sent off. She hadn't cared much for Jojen, but Meera was fun. It was always nice to have another tomboy around as Ranma had sometimes called her. "Arya, I'll want you to step up your training. I have no idea what Ranma will want to do with you personally when he arrives, but I think we both know it'll be something that will make our mother irritable."

Arya grinned at that nodding eagerly. Indeed, Jon had thoughts of his own about Arya, but it would have to wait until more of the wolfsworn were gathered to do anything about them. One thing was certain though, given her general attitude Arya would never allow herself to remain behind if Jon and Ranma went to war. It was something they would have to plan for.

With that Arya scampered off to do her mother's bidding and get her writing tools while Jon walked on, until he found a murder hole overlooking the training area and the Keep's square. Below him there were hundreds of men practicing, men armed with long pikes and shields, working in formation along with a few men with swords and others with bows and arrows. Everywhere organization and working together was being drilled into these men, and at the sight Jon smirked proudly. We've been preparing for this for months. We're ready, let the southerners play their foolish games, let the Lannisters make their power grab and the other houses war with one another. Whatever else happens, we are ready. The North will rise!

OOOOOOO

Later that evening Meera and Jojen Reed were led into Catelyn's rooms by a servant. Catelyn was sitting at a small desk, writing up a missive for the Lords Umber and Karstark, both of whom needed special yet very different handling. She looked up with a smile at them both, though it did not match the grim look in her eyes. "Please, have a seat."

Over the next few minutes Catelyn explained what was going on and then said simply. "Because of this, I'm sending you home. You should be with your family in this dangerous time, and you can carry a message for your father for me. We'll also be sending a hundred archers with you, to help reinforce Moat Cailin."

Both of the Reeds stiffened at that. Meera looked at Jojen for a moment her head cocked to one side. Catelyn noticed the look, but didn't care to figure out what was going on there.

In point of fact she really didn't understand why the two of them had stayed in Winterfell for so long. Whenever she had brought it up before one or the other would always put it off by saying their father wanted them to bond with the Stark siblings. But this was really no reason for them to have stayed so long. And while Meera had made herself a place here as a hunter and a friend for Arya, the same could not be said of Jojen.

She had heard rumors of the servants having overheard odd conversations almost arguments between Bran and Jojen. The boy was certainly strange, and unlike his sibling hadn't volunteered to work on anything, or even try to fit in. Catelyn had seen the boy following Bran around at times. The look in Jojen's eye when he saw Catelyn's babe a time or two had been distinctly odd as well, almost as if he was seeing something he did not believe, a very odd look indeed.

For a moment Jojen merely stared ahead, not at Catelyn but over her shoulder, then he seemed to sag slightly, before shaking his head. "The builder has won, the wolves are coming home when only one should have, and a dragon is coming as well. Nothing is clear anymore, my sight is blinded."

With that simple statement he turned and left without even asking leave to go. Catelyn's eyebrows rose at this snub as well as the mention of a dragon since she hadn't mentioned the Stormborn mentioned in the letter. She looked over at Meera with her eyes narrowed. Meera shrugged her shoulders and tried to apologize for her sibling though she did not mention the fact that he had visions, something she knew most would not believe. Without that Jojen did seem to simply be an odd young boy.

The two siblings left the next day with the archer for Moat Cailin. Bran stood watching them go from a window, a sense of relief feeling him as he watched Jojen ride off. He sighed to himself shaking his head. Whatever else I might become, my place is here with my family now. Whatever it actually is, the three eyed crow will just have to wait.

OOOOOOO

Margaery stood with her family as she watched Lord Renly Baratheon be led into the hall by her brother Loras. The two of them had ridden from King's Landing to Bitterbridge, killing several horse each, before taking to a boat there down the Mander to Highgarden. From Bitterbridge Renly had sent out messengers and ravens into the Stormlands, and they were already getting reports of the lords nearest the Stormlands borders rallying their troops at castle Fawnton. From there it was presumed they would join forces with the Reach's army, an assumption Margaery, for entirely personal reasons, wished was false, but knew alas to be true since Olenna had already decided what House Tyrell would do:

Flashback:

"Hah, Cersei's let her arrogance show, offering her son's hand without any other concessions. She doesn't seem to realize how tenuous her position is." Olenna scoffed, tossing down the raven carried message from the crown. "So, according to her, the Starks tried to make a grab for the throne as soon as Robert was dead, either as part of a plot with House Targaryen or for their own gain. What say you to that daughter?"

"I would say that it is a very neat lie, since it can't be disproven. I also note that the message doesn't say what happened to Lord Stark, or if Ranma has returned." Margaery said, frowning heavily. Of course if Ranma had, I doubt Cersei would be in any position to write such a message at all.

Margaery sighed sadly, trying to work things out in her mind, and coming up with a theory. They had learned of Tommen's death several weeks back, and she felt that might be the catalyst for this. "I think the king's death and Tommen's were interconnected. I think Lord Stark and the king had decided to name Tommen the heir over Joffrey. Certainly the king was closer to him than either of the other children. So someone, possibly fearing the Stark's influence over the boy, had him murdered."

"You've said so before daughter and why you think Tyene Sand wasn't the one behind it, get to the point." Mace growled.

Margaery sighed. She had liked the young boy, even felt he had the makings of a decent king, and grieved his death. But her family was uncaring of that save Loras, who probably felt as she did. "I was getting to it father. I think that Eddard and Ranma later concluded that Joffrey was unsuitable. I've passed on some of the rumors about him, so maybe one of them had some basis in fact. Whatever the case, this became known to either the queen herself or other Lannister supporters, and they, in an effort to keep their chosen heir on the throne… took steps."

"Hmmpf, from all accounts Cersei has never been one to let anyone slight her. That sounds plausible." Olenna replied. "And so it became open conflict, with the northern wolves running away with their collective tails between their legs! There's no fool so foolish as an honorable one!"

Willas spoke up from where he was grooming one of his massive hunting hounds. The beast, a gravid bitch, stood docilely as he worked over her coat. "The North will march, such an affront to the honor of their Lord Paramount is something they will never condone."

"Bah, Eddard's no doubt dead or crippled in the fighting, that's the only explanation for his forces to retreat like that, and the Stark boy as well." Margaery scowled at that, but her grandmother rapped her hard on the knuckles. "Enough of that daughter, regardless of your own feelings on the matter, there's no doubt he died somewhere on this wild dragon chase. Without either Stark or his oldest boy the North lacks a rallying force. The Stark bastard certainly won't be able to."

Margaery wasn't certain of that, not after hearing how Ranma and even Sansa talked about Jon Snow. Nor was she sanguine about Olenna's belief in Ranma's possible death, but there at least Margaery knew she was too close to him to make an objective analysis.

Before she could speak however, though what she would have said Margaery didn't know, Willas replied, his voice still calm and thoughtful. "Brynden Tully is a survivor, and for any of the Stark men to escape someone must have led them in a retreat, which I understand is a most difficult task. Even if Eddard is dead, and we have no evidence of that, Brynden could stand as his niece's general to avenge him and her son."

Mace shook his head. "The North's population is too small to matter and too spread out, especially embroiled as they are on the Wall. Where is Renly and Loras in all this though?"

That question was answered several days later by another raven arriving from Bitterbridge. When it arrived, bringing with it both the real reason behind the conflict and Renly's assumption of the throne, Olenna had laughed, looking over at Margaery while Mace and Willas were still working through the ramifications of it. "I see we'll be putting a crown on your head sooner than I thought my dear!"

Flashback end

With that, Margaery's fate had been sealed. In exchange for their agreeing to help Renly secure the throne against the Lannisters, he was to wed Margaery binding House Tyrell to the royal family by blood, along with several concessions in trade laws and other areas. It was a good plan, it made a world of sense for both parties, and Margaery loathed it.

The thing was that while she and Ranma had not been in love, he had certainly been growing on her, and she had a few… tawdry dreams about their marriage after so many days spent watching Ranma practice with Tommen. Love no, not yet, but respect, friendship and a healthy smattering of lust, yes. She also knew Renly's preferences, and that any marriage to him would never bear fruit. Unless she invited Loras into bed with them, or got Renly drunk enough to overlook the fact she was a woman.

Margaery also realized when she looked at Renly Baratheon, resplendent in the finest clothing he could buy for this event, that she had indeed spent too much time around the Northerners. When she looked at his magnificent clothing and courtly bearing, she didn't see the perfect image of a noble lord. Instead she saw someone who had decided that taking the time to primp himself and prepare clothing was more important than getting down to the business of planning what looked to becoming a full scale war. What she saw was a man who had decided to run rather than take a chance, to do the honorable thing and stay and fight.

This new attitude even colored Margaery's opinion of her brother. She knew Loras was an excellent swordsman and all around knight but instead of standing up against the Queen's treason with Lord Stark, he had followed Renly's command and ran away.

None of this showed on Margaery's face however. She moved through the prepared panoply of the welcoming ceremony and the formal betrothal with the ease of long practice with such formal pageants. It was only when they were taking one of the prescribed, 'getting to know you' walks around the grounds of High Garden that she let her emotions out.

The two of them were followed by Loras and one of Margaery's maids as chaperone. Normally Nysteria would have been there as well, but she had been called down into the city to aid in a difficult birth. Yet even if she had been there, Margaery probably would still have said what she did.

Margaery's voice came out as coldly contemptuous as she could make it. "So, Loras, Lord Baratheon, I have to ask, how does it feel to know you ran out on your allies? That you betrayed their trust to save your own skins?"

Behind them Loras flinched at his sister's tone and at her words. To be honest he had wondered the same thing after they had fled the city, but in the end had decided his love of Renly mattered more than aiding Lord Stark, whatever the upside. It still bothered him however.

Renly on the other hand took Margaery's words with aplomb, smiling faintly at her controlled outburst. "While I would not say I was friends with Lord Stark, he was an ally, and it was not a simple decision to leave him behind. But it was a decision I had to make. The numbers in the city were simply against us, milady. Oh I do not doubt that your brother, my men and his would have sold themselves dear, but that is all they would have been able to do. It would have simply been throwing good coins after bad, so to speak."

"And what about honor or loyalty, are those just words to you?" Margaery asked, looking at him with a small sneer on her beautiful face.

"Certainly they are not, but my duty is to my people, to the throne that Cersei has despoiled with her treason. I cannot meet my obligations to those if I died with the Starks." Renly replied, still calm, almost amused at Margaery's assault. "I think that your closeness to Ranma Stark is clouding your judgment lady, the father was not the warrior the son was. Make no mistake, if we had stayed, the outcome would not have changed."

"And do you think those excuses will matter to the Starks? I wonder what Ranma will think when he returns."

"If he returns lady." Renly said, though he was frowning now.

"When he returns." Margaery replied, with no doubt in her voice. "The man who slaughtered the Mountain like he was a babe-in-arms will not die easily, either by treachery or main force. And when he does, both you and my family now will pay a price for your actions."

"Perhaps it is as you say milady. For my part I will worry about Ranma returning when we see evidence of that return, and as for his family and the rest of the Northerners." Renly shrugged. "They would be fools indeed to come south past the defenses of Moat Cailin. Now, I believe we are expected back soon."

With that he took her hand, and led Margaery back into the castle. Margaery didn't resist, she had said her piece and she was powerless to change what was going to happen soon. Luckily she would have a few months to get used to the idea of marrying Renly, since it had been decided that their marriage would happen at Bitterbridge once the full combined army was assembled.

Maybe by that point Renly will have discovered he can actually perform with a woman after all. She thought harshly, not letting her feelings show on her face with the ease of long practice.

Nearby Willas pushed himself away from a shadowed tree in the garden with a frown. He hadn't decided yet what he felt about Renly, oh, he liked him well enough, but was he really king material? There seemed to be a softness to him, an eagerness to talk, but not to do. If Renly had the military aptitude that Robert had been famed for he might have already struck at King's Landing with the Stormlands forces on the border between them and the Crownlands. Instead he was building up a large enough army to simply crush any other army that got in their way. The safe bet rather than the quick yet risky one.

Willas was not like his grandmother, he understood there was more than politics or family influence in the world. Nor was he like his father, Loras or even Garlan in that he knew knights and the cavalry charge were not the only things that mattered in war. Willas was slow, methodical, and reserved. He didn't know if Renly would prove himself however, so he would keep his own council for now.

What the Tyrell heir did know were animals. He was known as one of the best breeders and trainers of animals in all Westeros. His horses were highly prized both for their beauty as well as their intelligence and strength. His hunting dogs and even hawks were also highly prized, both for their strength and their durability.

Because of that he knew something about wolves. He had studied them, and had even painstakingly, with many fits and starts, added a strain from a wolf pack to his hounds to add to their sense of hearing and endurance. They were survivors, dangerous and much more intelligent in their own way than humans gave them credit for. A united pack was something to be feared by even giant mountain bears, and they were able to live through wounds that would kill a hound of equal weight, something he had not been able to breed into his own dogs.

So Willas added those observations to the absolute certainty in Margaery's stance, along with the knowledge of what Ranma had done to the Mountain and how good Eddard had proved as a general in Robert's Rebellion. With all that combined, Willas was worried that maybe his family was underestimating House Stark. In which case, winning our way back into their good graces in some fashion might be necessary…

OOOOOOO

Daenerys shivered, standing near the front of the boat with Ranma's arms around her waist leaning back against his warm chest. A single fur coat covered both of them, with only her head appearing out of it given the difference in their height. "I've never been cold before." She said, shaking her head, her hair rustling against his shirt, silk despite the colder air. Ranma didn't seem to care about weather, another thing she had added to the list of things that made him so unusual. "At least not like this, I've been cold at night, yes. That occurred many times when my brother and I were wandering Essos. But not like this, not so bone-chillingly freezing like this. I hope that it doesn't bother my little ones."

While others were moving their armies or otherwise preparing for the coming war, the Fish's Scales had been sailing for a little over a month since leaving King's Landing. Now the Paps were well behind them and they were into the Bite, which Daenerys felt was very aptly named considering she felt the wind was trying to bite her face off. The sail master said they had another ten days or so of good conditions before they were within sight of White Harbor.

"I think they've found a way to beat the cold milady." Ranma chuckled looking over to where the two draklings were buried under Fenris. Daenerys had kept them inside the ship since it had started to become cold out, but today they had forced her to let them out for some flying exercise. Daenerys had walked them through about twenty minutes of flying practice, directing them up to the crow's nest (cleared of the lookout for now) and back down twice. But evidently the cold didn't agree with them. After finishing the second flight they had immediately tried to burrow under Fenris, something they could still do despite their growth. Now only their snouts were visible from underneath his bulk to the direwolf's great amusement.

Fenris on the other hand had been ecstatic at the change in weather. The cold felt good, and it also meant that they would be coming to the end of this interminable journey. While not exactly claustrophobic Fenris was a direwolf after all, used to having room to roam and hadn't been able to hunt for nearly three months now.

"My little sister hasn't seems to have missed it either." Ranma said hugging Daenerys even tighter around the waist as his head to rest his chin on her hair, breathing in the mix of the cold biting air and whatever it was she put in her hair. How Alayaya had come up with any sort of soap for any of the girls he didn't know, let alone what she had done to make them all smell different. Such things were a mystery best left unsolved. Daenerys smelled of fruits he couldn't name, a hint of ash and burning, and something else some smell that was totally her. "What about you, are you cold? We can go below if you want."

The Targaryen princess smiled, leaning back against Ranma's chest as they watched the wake of the ship staring out over the Bite. In the distance Daenerys could see several large bits of ice floating along. There weren't many, but there would be more the further north they went. "As long as I have you here to keep me warm your highness, the cold will never bother me."

Ranma winced at her word choice, which she had chosen with malice aforethought. The two of them had talked about their overall plans for the future, but they couldn't make very detailed ones at this point, not for most of it anyway. In the long term they had a plan for the war, and Daenerys would cheerfully allow Ranma to control the whole overall campaign, but a plan for their own long term goals besides that? Daenerys had made no bones about what she wanted, but Ranma had avoided saying anything along those lines.

Now he sighed, pulling back enough so she could turn around and face him while still remaining covered in the coat. "I would be much happier to simply be Lord Paramount of the North and remain in Winterfell if I could."

"I know that my poor, humble man." Daenerys laughed quietly, nuzzling into his chest for a moment before taking his invitation, turning around in the cloak's environs. It didn't look the most dignified way to have a discussion, but it would do for the two of them. "And I think that actually speaks better of you. But we still must take it. The alternatives are far poorer, not just for the North or for your family, but for all of Westeros. Stannis has proven himself an enemy of your house and of me personally at the very least, and those shadow fiends do not speak well of whatever allies he has been able to procure."

"And Renly and House Tyrell have proven themselves to not have enough backbone, and the others are even worse." Ranma said, shaking his head as they began to reiterate previous conversations. They had talked of the other noble houses, and Viserys, fearing what could be happening with her brother and with the Princess of Dorne. What those two would do was up in the air, but it would probably not be good for the rest of Westeros. Arianne had not, to put it mildly, impressed Ranma with her moral character or her understanding of what war was really like, so the idea of her acting as a stopper on Viserys' ambition was unlikely.

So yes, Ranma would probably be forced to try for the throne himself with Daenerys at his side, particularly with the Lannisters being in many ways the strongest of their opponents, and the ones who had started the war. Regardless of what else happened, the Lannister name would only be mentioned in the history books after the war. Ranma meant to break their power forever, one way or the other.

"Have I mentioned lately how amazing you are?" Ranma murmured, seemingly going off topic. "That plan you thought up for Tyrion, that's just a magnificent example of killing two birds with one arrow."

"Really, it seemed a natural progression to me given what you told me about the Imp. As well as what he is supposed to be doing on the Wall." She frowned shaking her head. "The Night's Watch must change, and this will be a wedge to do that. We need to solidify that front permanently, especially given what else is coming from that direction."

With a sudden move, Daenerys grabbed the end of the coat, pulling it off Ranma and stepping away with it now wrapped only around her own body with a laugh. "And you, Ranma Stark have tried to dodge the issue for the last time." After a second she shook her head, shivering slightly, but wanting to make a point here. She went on more seriously, her violet eyes locked on Ranma's ocean blue ones. "We both know the choice you will make, but I would have you say the words."

"I know." He sighed then shook his head, then decided to shock Daenerys in turn. "The iron throne is dead." He said blandly looking at her face closely. Daenerys's eyes widened, but then narrowed in thought. Seeing her not react as negatively as he had feared (or hoped at the moment) Ranma went on. "Your family may have created it as a symbol of unity, but you created it through conquest, through blood and fire. Your family retained control of it through similar the power of your dragons and your armies, and Robert took it using that same coin. You can never wash the Iron Throne clean of it, we'll need to start entirely over."

Daenerys smiled at the 'we' bit there and nodded thoughtfully. "Some new symbol of unity, rather than relying on the old one, which has come to be a symbol of brute force, with no real power beyond 'to the mighty go the spoils?' Yes, that makes sense."

Ranma nodded, grateful that she had agreed. He already had some ideas in that area, ways to unite and bring together the noble houses, based off the idea of the wolfsworn written large, and he suspected Daenerys had some ideas as to a proper symbol.

Moving forward, Daenerys sighed as she covered them both with the coat once more, relieved when she felt the heat or Ranma's body against her clothing through his silk shirt and her leather jerkin. "I know that it is a difficult thing to contemplate, but, when we join together formally, it will signal to everyone our intentions, and you need to be ready for it."