Game of Thrones Season 7 – Chapter 1

With Game of Thrones Season 7 almost a year away, I thought I'd take a stab at visualizing what the coming season will be like. This will be based on the TV show, not the books, and will be written in prose, not done in script fashion. There will be multiple locations and character viewpoints per chapter like the television show. How many chapters I write depends on where the story takes me.

Chapter 1

King's Landing – Jaime

The small council room behind the throne room in the Red Keep was as it always was, Ser Jaime Lannister observed, as he stood by the table. Both Jon Arryn and Ned Stark had used it for their meetings when they were both Hand of the King, as had Cersei and Tyrion before their father had arrived to take over things. Lord Tywin Lannister held his meetings in the Tower of the Hand, but now he was gone as well, dead like Arryn and Stark, killed by Jaime's brother Tyrion. And now many other people were dead, most of them dying while Jaime had been gone for the city.

The first time it had been Robert who had died, though he was already dying when Jaime was forced to flee after a violent confrontation with Stark and his men outside one of Littlefinger's brothels. Then came war, and all the horrors that followed, including his long captivity, the loss of his right hand, and much, much more. Worse of all was that all his children were now dead.

He had never really known them, Cersei making sure he had stayed as far away from them as possible. He never shed a tear for Joffrey, even though he had died in front of him, poisoned by…someone. His brother Tyrion and Sansa Stark had been blamed for that, but Jaime never truly believed it. The Stark girl had motive enough, but she was a mouse among the lions, and would never have dared lift a finger unless someone prodded her and aided her. Cersei and their father believed Tyrion and Sansa had acted together to kill their King. Tyrion hated Joffrey, as many did, but the way Tyrion reacted when Joffrey died, the way he stood there in disbelief with the rest, Jaime knew he hadn't done it.

But Cersei and their father wanted things, and Tyrion had been a convenient scapegoat. Cersei had wanted him dead since he had killed their mother coming into the world. And Lord Tywin wanted Jaime back, at his side, as Lord of Casterly Rock, and not as some glorified bodyguard to kings. Well, Jaime was no longer a Kingsguards man, stripped of that duty by Tommen. And soon they would announce him as Lord of Casterly Rock and most likely even Warden of the West. Yes, Father, you got what you wanted in the end, Jaime thought, but you weren't around to enjoy this final victory. Tyrion had killed Lord Tywin, and there was no doubt about his guilt in that. And there was also no doubt Jaime was partially to blame for that death, for he had released Tyrion from his cell where he had been awaiting the execution's axe for Joffrey's murder.

Myrcella he hardly knew either. Nevertheless her death in his arms on a ship leaving Dorne had been a shock. Poison again, black blood pouring from her mouth and nose, not moments after he confessed he was her father. In his grief, he wanted to turn the ship around and kill every Dornishman and woman, but the sellsword knight Ser Bronn said they had been lucky to get away with their skins in the first place, and if they went back they would surely be dead as well. His anger was not sated when he returned to King's Landing to find out Cersei had been imprisoned and stripped of her humility in a shameful walk across the city. Dorne would have to wait, while they dealt with enemies on their doorstep, in the Sept of Baelor. But then Tommen had pulled the rug out from all of them when he forged an alliance with the High Sparrow.

Tommen he knew better, but still hardly at all, and his death was the one he still could not understand. After riding around the Riverlands with Bronn and a small army for weeks, setting things to rights, Jaime had finally thought he would get some peace. But it was not to be. He and Bronn returned to the capital to find chaos. The Sept of Baelor destroyed, the Tyrell family and many others killed, including Jaime's uncle Kevan. Tommen was dead as well, having leaped to his death from the Red Keep. A suicide, he heard it whispered as he and Bronn made their way into the city. And now Cersei was calling herself Queen of Westeros.

He hadn't been alone with her since he returned. He had been summoned to her chambers that night, after she he had been crowned Queen, but he ignored the summons, not knowing what he would say to her, unsure if he could control himself. As the army settled into barracks his men brought the stories to him. People were saying that it was Cersei herself who destroyed the sept and killed all those inside. Jaime could scare believe it, and then as details emerged he began to believe it. Cersei and Tommen never went to the sept for Ser Loras Tyrell's trial. Cersei immediately declared herself queen when Tommen was still freshly dead. The man Qyburn was declared her Hand. And more disquieting news, as Pycelle was found dead in an alley the same day, stabbed a hundred times, his body laying nearby one of Littlefinger's old brothels.

Jaime had ignored the Queen's summons and slept in the barracks with the soldiers, a simple bed in a private sleeping cell, as he had slept in most of his days since joining the Kingsguard. As he ate breakfast with his men the next morning, two of Cersei's Queensguards men appeared, two men he did not know.

"Ser Jaime, the Queen commands you attend a small council meeting, in the old meeting room behind the throne room."

Jaime looked at the Queensguards men. "Tell my sister I shall be there as soon as I have broken my fast."

"Her Grace said we are to drag you there if need be," said the other one.

Bronn was sitting across from him. "Now you're in for it," he quipped with the smirk he always had on his face.

Jaime ignored the jibe, and ignored the Queensguards and continued to eat. They stood waiting, said nothing more, and when Jaime was done he stood. "You had better come with me," he said to Bronn.

Bronn started to protest and then shrugged and put down his fork. "Aye," he said and stood as well.

And now as Bronn waited outside the room, Jaime waited inside, for his Queen, his sister, his lover…and he knew not what he would say to her.

The door opened and in they came, all seven Queensguards, including the monstrous Gregor Clegane, more ghoul than man now, and with them was the mysterious man named Qyburn, and Cersei, looking somber, in mourning black. She barely looked at him as she took her seat at the head of the table, with Qyburn to her right, the badge of Hand of the Queen attached to his black robes. The Queensguards took up positions around the room, Clegane directly behind Cersei.

"Ser Jaime, please sit," Cersei said as he remained standing.

He dipped his head. "Your Grace," and took a seat at the far end of the table, resting his golden right hand on the table. The weight of it bothered him sometimes and he even thought to change the gold for steel. "The small council is small indeed," he said. "Are no others joining us?"

"No," Cersei replied, a cold look in her eyes. "Lord Hand Qyburn has appointed some minor officials to see over the other tasks. There is no need for them to attend small council meetings."

"And what about Pycelle's replacement?" Jaime asked.

Qyburn spoke up. "As yet, my lord, the archmaesters of the Citadel of Oldtown have not appointed someone, though it has been less than two weeks since his death, so I expect they are still deciding."

"Have you discovered who murdered him?" Jaime asked the Hand.

"Not yet, but inquires are being made."

"We have more important business to attend to," Cersei said impatiently. "Tell him."

"We have word of movement of our enemies," Qyburn told him. "Dorne and the Reach are both declaring against the Queen and are gathering armies to march on the capital."

Jaime knew this would happen. "When will they march?" he asked.

"Soon," Qyburn said. "Winter will be on us in a matter of weeks. Already snow is falling in the Riverlands. I fear they will try to take the capital as soon as they can before the campaigning season ends."

Jaime said nothing and they both stared at him. Cersei finally spoke. "As commander of our armies we would like your opinion of this matter…ser."

"My opinion?" Jaime said. "Sue for peace. Now, while we still have our heads."

Cersei shook her head. "Are you mad? They want us dead, all of us. That old crone Olenna Tyrell blames me for the deaths of her family."

"Well?" Jaime said as he stared at her down the length of the table. "Did you kill them?"

"Certainly not," she shot back. "Not that I am not glad some of them are dead. I despised that sparrow and his flock of fools. I had no love for Margaery and her puffed up father, but she was Tommen's wife, and I would never have done anything to hurt my son. And Uncle Kevan…poor Uncle Kevan is gone too. I would certainly never kill our own blood." She sniffed and seemed about to cry but Jaime found he felt no sympathy for her.

"An accident, my lord," Qyburn explained. "An old store of wildfire King Aerys had placed there, forgotten after all this time. Someone must have set it off…by accident."

"Yes, I have heard that as well and no one believes it," Jaime replied. "They believe that you two had them murdered. Including about two hundred more people that had packed inside, some of whom have noble blood and families that will soon be calling for our blood."

"Lies," Cersei said, getting angry now. "Meant to hurt me…in my grief. You know Mad Aerys had such wildfire stores. That's why you killed him."

"Yes, that is why," Jaime echoed. He still felt they were the liars, but let it go, for now. "There is nothing we can do about Dorne and the Reach. We can't attack them without exposing the capital. We haven't the men to counter them here and protect the west. And we have no allies, except for those fools the Freys."

Qyburn and Cersei looked at each other with unease and then Qyburn pulled a small raven scroll from his robes. "A bird, from the Twins, my lord, just a few days past. Lord Walder Frey and two of his sons were murdered soon after you left there."

"Murdered?" Jaime said in surprise. "How?"

Qyburn gave details. "The letter doesn't say but I have learned more since. Apparently the sons were cut up and parts of their bodies were put in a pie that was served to Lord Walder. And then his throat was cut."

"Gods," Cersei said. "How horrid."

"And the killer?" Jaime asked.

"Got away clean apparently," Qyburn said. "All the remaining sons are blaming each other and there is chaos at the Twins. We can expect no help from there for the present."

"What of the Stormlands?" Cersei asked.

"The Storm lords and those of Blackwater Bay of any worth supported Stannis and died with him in the North," Qyburn said.

Jaime knew they couldn't count on the Stormlands. "I am sure the rest will see which way the wind is blowing and side with the Reach and Dorne. What of the Vale? Baelish is still loyal to our house is he not?"

"The Vale is already allied itself with the Starks and the North," Qyburn said.

"What this?" Jaime asked. He knew Sansa was alive and well and in the North, all told to him by Brienne of Tarth back in the Riverlands. News he had not told Cersei. But he knew nothing of an alliance with the Vale.

Cersei was seething now. "That little whore Sansa Stark has Baelish wrapped around her finger!"

Again Qyburn explained. "She and her bastard brother Jon Snow took back Winterfell from the Boltons and have united the North once again. There was a great battle, thousands of dead and wounded. Apparently Roose Bolton was already dead, said to have been poisoned, and his son Ramsey died in the battle…or soon after. Reports differ. The knights of the Vale arrived in a timely manner and saved the day as the Boltons were about to win. They are calling it the Battle of the Bastards."

"Baelish will hang with Sansa someday!" Cersei shouted. "And the bastard Snow is calling himself King in the North! The last one who did that died. So will he."

Jaime shook his head. "We don't need more enemies. Let him have the North, as long as he stays there."

"I quite agree, Your Grace," Qyburn said. "With winter in the North, the Stark forces cannot move south again until spring."

"He has half of my realm," she said, her anger dying somewhat.

"A cold, empty half," Jaime told her. "Allies we need, not more enemies now."

"We have no friends," Cersei said, despondent now. "Where will we get allies?"

"The ironborn," Jaime suggested, reaching for ideas. "They hate the Starks and often warred with the Reach. We can offer Balon Greyjoy…"

But Qyburn shook his head. "Balon Greyjoy is dead as well."

Another surprise. "Then he is the last one."

"The last what?" Cersei asked and then she knew. "Oh…the last king. Not yet. There is still the bastard Snow."

"How did Greyjoy die?" Jaime asked Qyburn.

"Fell from a bridge but now I believe he was pushed by his brother Euron. A great council of the ironborn declared Euron king. So that makes two kings still. Balon's son Theon and daughter Yara challenged their uncle but none would have them as leaders. They have fled the Iron Islands and no one knows where they are. Euron is building ships, but to what purpose I know not."

"Another enemy," Cersei said, despondent again.

"Swords we need," Jaime said and then an idea came to him. "Sellswords. We have all the gold of Casterly Rock to buy sellswords. Maybe even the ironborn."

"A sound idea," Qyburn said.

But Cersei looked worried. "Can we trust them?"

"We have no choice, Your Grace," Qyburn told her. "As we have agreed we have no allies in Westeros. Swords we need. With your permission I shall send out messages. I believe the Golden Company is near Myr now. They have ten thousand swords, all battle hardened warriors. And maybe if we offer this new Greyjoy leader something he wants, say…the independence of the Iron Islands perhaps?"

"Independence?" Cersei said, seeming to get angry again. "Haven't they already declared themselves independent?"

"We can make it a royal decree," Qyburn suggested.

"Never," Cersei said. "Already the North is gone, the South and Vale in rebellion and you want to cut off more of my realm?"

"It is just a few rocks in the sea," Jaime told her. "Do recall, sister, that those rocks are quite close to our home. If the ironborn choose to be against us…"

"Yes," Cersei said, realizing what he meant. She looked to Qyburn. "Offer the sellswords whatever they want. Gold, land, titles, …but not too much. As for the krakens, make the offer, but tell them if they are too late they will get nothing."

"Of course, Your Grace. By your leave. I have many letters to write."

She nodded and he soon left the room. Cersei looked to her guards. "Leave us."

All seven marched out of the room and now Jaime and the Queen were alone. She stared at him. "I asked you to come to my rooms last night."

"I know…Your Grace."

"And still you didn't come?" She sounded hurt.

"How would it look if I spent the night in your rooms?"

"Now you worry on that? You never did, even when Robert was alive."

"I was hoping he would catch us so I could kill him. Now…things have changed Cersei. We must be cautious."

"I don't care anymore," she said. "Father is dead, our children are dead. I am the Queen. Who I take as lover is my business, no one else's. Once you said we should marry. Maybe now is the time."

Her opinion on that may have changed but so had his. "They will kill us in our wedding bed if we do that."

"The Targaryens wed brother and sister."

"We are not Targaryens, as you have said to me so often over the years. Times have changed Cersei. The people mistrust you already. If we marry, if they know I am in your bed…if they even suspect…we are finished."

"Jaime…please…I need you…now, more than ever. Tommen…our last child," she let out a sob but he did not move and she sobbed some more and finally he stood and walked to her side and sat in a chair he drew close to her. She wrapped her arms around him and sobbed into his shoulder.

"Why did he jump?" Jaime finally asked.

"I know not…maybe because he loved her, his Queen…I…I know not."

"Where is he?"

"I had him cremated and the ashes scattered over the sept's remains. He belongs with his brother and sister and grandfather."

And then he had to ask her the most important question. "Cersei…by what right do you call yourself Queen?"

She pulled back from him. "I had to. There is no one else. And if I didn't, what would stop them from ripping me to pieces, as you have so clearly just said. I did what I had to do to survive. Jaime…the sparrows were going to try me, for murdering Robert, for our love, for…for all we are."

Now he knew the truth. "You did destroy the sept."

She stared at him and then nodded, once, and he pulled back and stood up, a cold look in his eyes. "By your leave, Your Grace, I will return to the army and begin making plans for the defense of the capital. "

"Jaime…I…won't you come tonight?"

A long pause and then. "No. We are done with all that." He turned on his heel and walked away, the sound of his steps echoing through the room, and not once did he look back. Nor did she say a word or chase after him.

Outside Bronn was waiting. Jaime felt exhausted, wondering if what he just did had been the right thing to do. They would still kill him, the Tyrells, the Dornish, the rest, no matter how much he distanced himself from Cersei. He would have to fight, for his life if nothing else, for there was nothing else now. His father was dead, his children as well, his brother murdered their father, his sister…he knew not what she was. Was monster too harsh a word for her or not harsh enough? Many thought he was a monster, for sleeping with his sister, and for some what they believed he had done to Bran Stark. But he did not murder a sept full of people.

As they walked, to keep his mind from dwelling on those things Jaime told Bronn all he had learned about their enemies.

"Too bloody many, and no friends," Bronn said when Jaime finished.

"Exactly. So what should we do?"

"Surrender."

"I suggested the same, but no one liked the idea. Try again."

"If we get the Golden Company, we might have a chance," Bronn said. "The ironmen as well, and we'll have a good bloody chance. Tough lot they are. And we might have a look around for more of that wildfire. Sure could use it."

"Dangerous stuff."

"Aye…for the enemy as well. It worked once."

Jaime knew he was right. That had been Tyrion's plan, to destroy Stannis' fleet. Jaime wished he had been here to see it. "If only Tyrion was here, he'd know what to do."

"Thought you said you wanted to kill him?"

"I do," Jaime replied. "Well, it matters not. I am sure we will never see him again."

"Could be."

"Where do you think he is?"

"In the Free Cities somewhere. If Varys went with him, for sure, cause Tyrion told me once Varys had friends over there. If he's lucky, your brother is drunk and with a whore or two in his bed."

"Then he'd better stay there."

"He won't."

Jaime stopped and looked at him. "Why not?"

"Cause he'll get bored. And he left too much unfinished here. He'll be back some day. Let's just hope he doesn't have an army at his back."

"Where would Tyrion get an army?"

"I hear there is one around Meereen somewhere."

"Gods," Jaime said. "You don't think…but she's a Targaryen. I am certain she hates Lannisters."

Bronn nodded. "Aye. But if she doesn't feed him to her dragons, she might just find a use for the little bugger."

The Queen's Flagship – Tyrion

In the great cabin on the Queen's flagship they stood around the table looking at the map of Westeros. A strange group they were, Tyrion Lannister thought to himself as he drank his fourth cup of wine since breakfast. A Targaryen Queen, a eunuch warrior, two ironborn siblings, a eunuch spymaster, two Dothraki horse lords, and a dwarf were planning the greatest invasion of Westeros since Nymeria and her fabled ten thousand ships had landed in Dorne ages ago. Ten thousand ships they did not have, but the hundreds they had and the soldiers on them would do, if they used them wisely.

Tyrion poured himself some more wine from a decanter on a side table. No one else drank and the Queen gave him a look. Daenerys disapproved of his drinking, but said nothing as she knew he thought better with drink in hand. And clear and imaginative thinking they needed now.

"King's Landing," said Yara Greyjoy, pointing a finger at the map. "We strike for the capital and win the war and put the Queen on the Iron Throne in one bold move."

"Aye," said her brother Theon. "We land our army at the Mud Gate as we lay stone and fire on the city from the ships in the bay."

"Stannis Baratheon tried that," said Tyrion. "And he failed."

"Quite so," added Varys. "I suggest we stay outside the city, and let the Queen's dragons awe the citizens. Perhaps they will surrender without a fight. "

"And if they are not awed?" Daenerys asked. "I cannot burn the city and its people."

"Not a good way to begin your rule," Tyrion said.

"Not a good way at all," she agreed.

Grey Worm spoke next. "What allies do we have? What armies?"

"The Reach and Dorne," Varys said, pointing to their lands on the map. "Swords and spears and supplies they are gathering now. They will take time, but so will we. A month at most before we are near King's Landing. And there are the Step Stones and its fabled pirates between here and there."

Yara laughed. "Ironborn fear no pirates."

"And what of your uncle?" Tyrion asked her.

"If he comes, we will fight," said Theon. He had a nervous cast to his eye as he spoke. This was not the same cocky young man who had insulted Tyrion at Winterfell. Much and more had happened to him since then it seemed.

"Yes," said Daenerys. "If he is killed will his men join us?"

"They will," Yara said. "Ironborn follow a strong ruler. They will follow me…and you, Your Grace."

Daenerys smiled. "Good."

One of the Dothraki horse lords spoke up, and he and Daenerys exchanged words in Dothraki for a while, with Tyrion and the rest not understanding.

"They are worried about the long voyage's affect on their horses," the Queen finally explained. "He wants to land somewhere first and let the horses gain their strength back before we attack."

"A reasonable request, as they are our only cavalry force," Varys said. "But it must be somewhere in the south with no snows."

"What is this large island?" Daenerys asked as she pointed to the map.

"Tarth," Varys told her. "The Sapphire Island it is called, though for its blue waters, not its gems. Somewhat mountainous, but with many waterfalls and lush vegetation. A few good harbors I believe are on the west coast. Loyal to the Baratheons."

"Stannis' bannermen," Tyrion said. "They may be no friend to you, Your Grace."

"Stannis is dead," Theon told them. "His army destroyed by the Boltons."

"Yes, dead, but where his surviving bannermen's loyalty now lies is uncertain," Tyrion said. He looked at Varys. "Who is lord of Tarth?"

"Selwyn Tarth," Varys replied. "You saw his daughter Brienne at Joffrey's wedding. Very tall lady. She saved your brother from the Northmen."

"Ah, I do recall," said Tyrion. "A great beast of a woman, more brawn than beauty."

"She's the one who saved Sansa Stark and me," Theon told them.

"How so?" asked the Queen.

"When we escaped from Winterfell, the Boltons sent men and dogs after us. Brienne and her squire attacked them and saved us. She claims she killed Stannis when she found him after the battle. Said she did it for Renly."

"Such a formidable warrior we should have on our side," Daenerys said. "Her father and his men as well. Where is Brienne of Tarth now?" she asked Theon.

"Last I saw of her and Sansa they were heading to Castle Black where Jon Snow is in command, Your Grace."

"Jon Snow is Sansa's half brother," Varys added. "The bastard son of Eddard Stark and an unknown woman. And why did you not go North, Lord Greyjoy?"

"I wanted to go home," Theon said. "Besides, Jon Snow would have taken my head for what I did at Winterfell."

"I am sure he would have," said Tyrion. "I met him once. We rode to the Wall together when he joined the Night's Watch. A bit of a dour fellow, but he must be made of stern stuff to be Lord Commander of the Night's Watch at his age. If she went there, the Boltons will chase after Sansa and then things could get ugly up in the North."

"There is nothing we can do about affairs in the North," Daenerys said. "Tarth would be a good place to land, though. Will Lord Tarth and the Stormlands oppose us, is the question."

"Not if they see your dragons," Varys said. "I suggest we land on Tarth first. We can replenish our water, rest our people, and feed the horses."

"Agreed," said Tyrion. "From Tarth we can learn what has been happening in Westeros. We need news before we attack. News of all of Westeros, from the Arbor to the Wall."

The Wall – Eddison

They gave him the job, but there had been no election. When Jon Snow arose from the dead and said his watch was ended, Edd was the only senior man left, the only one who had not perished in the battles or been hanged for mutiny and murder. Some men grumbled that Jon was a deserter, but others said he died and so his watch ended when he died. There were no rules about men coming back to life. An election Edd declared but no one stood for commander against him and so by default the job was his.

"Just my luck," Edd said aloud as he stood by the inner gate. "Name me commander at a time like this."

"What's that Lord Commander?" asked one of his men beside him.

"I was just…never mind, here they come."

Down the tunnel from the gate came a party of rangers, with two wildlings with them. They had been spotted from the Wall and Edd ordered the party out to investigate, thinking they might be stragglers from Hardhome. Both were dressed in furs like the wildings. One was a short woman, more of a girl, with curly black hair, who carried a bow and arrows. The other was a boy, tall, but he was being held up by two of the rangers as his legs dragged behind him.

"Is he wounded?" Edd asked.

"No…he can't walk," said the girl.

"I'm crippled," the boy said. "Is Jon Snow here?"

"No," Edd told them. "I'm Eddison Tollett, Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. Who are you?"

"I'm Jon Snow's brother, Brandon Stark. And this is Meera Reed. We've got to talk to Jon. Isn't he Lord Commander?"

Brandon Stark, the one Sam had helped through the Wall. "Not anymore. Jon's gone south with your sister to take back Winterfell from the Boltons," Edd told them.

"My sister?" Bran said in surprise

"Come inside. It's too bloody cold out here to talk on all this."

Inside they went, to the dining hall, and over hot bowls of soup and mugs of ale all was explained. The Stark boy and the girl listened in awe, as Edd told them how Jon had died and was born again, how Sansa showed up, and then how they went south to reclaim Winterfell.

"Lady Stark is married to Ramsey Bolton?" the girl named Meera asked.

"Aye," Edd told them. "And Tyrion Lannister once too, she said. Sounds like she was forced to do it, both times."

"She escaped from both of them," Bran said with a grin. "Is there any news of my sister Arya or brother Rickon?"

"Sorry to tell you the Boltons captured Rickon and have him in chains at Winterfell now."

"Rickon? A prisoner?" Bran said in fear.

"Aye," Edd replied. "As for Arya, that tall women, Brienne, says she saw Arya Stark in the Vale but she refused to come with her. Some man was going to ransom her to your family. It sounded like Arya didn't trust Brienne."

"Who is she?"

"A women of Tarth. Said she was first in your mother's service and now in Lady Sansa's. Her and her squire saved her and Theon Greyjoy from Bolton's men when she escaped."

"Theon is still alive?" Bran asked in shock.

"Was when he left them to go back to his islands."

"He attacked Winterfell, that's why we had to flee," Bran said in anger.

"He's been punished for it, your sister said. Ramsey Bolton peeled a bit of skin off of him when he held him prisoner."

"He should have killed him," Bran said.

"Maybe so," Edd replied.

"I have to write a letter to Winterfell," Bran said next. "Tell Jon…"

"Slow down," Edd interrupted. "We don't know who won the fight yet. We'll get you rooms to sleep in." He eyed Meera. "Best I put a guard on your door. Men of the Watch…"

"You don't need to explain," Meera said, her face angry. "I know what men of the Watch are like. We ran into a few at Crastor's Keep."

"What's this?"

And so more stories came out, and finally Bran explained what he was planning to do. "I must stay here. The White Walkers are coming. I am meant to do something, to stop them here."

"Do what?" Edd asked.

"I don't know."

Just then the door opened and a man came in with a raven scroll. "From Winterfell, my lord," the man said. Edd took it and looked at the seal. It was a direwolf in grey wax.

"Let's hope this is good news," he said in his dour way as he opened the letter.

Winterfell – Jon

"King in the North, they called you," Sansa said. "You cannot refuse."

"I know, but I am not heir to Winterfell," Jon replied. "You are."

They were in their father's solar, the day just dawning. These were Sansa's rooms now, the lord's suites, but she insisted Jon should take them now he was King in the North. He refused, saying she was the lady of Winterfell, no matter what, and she had relented. Jon took the royal guest rooms, for when lords of high standing came to Winterfell. But no matter where he laid his head, sleep did not come easy. The horrors he had seen in recent months plagued his sleep, nightmares of Hardhome and now of the recent battle where he had almost suffocated to death under a mass of struggling soldiers. And then there was Rickon…sometimes in his nightmares Jon reached Rickon and pulled him up on his horse's back…but always the arrow came, no matter how fast and how far he rode away from the Bolton army.

He was also worrying on a thousand other things, and this new title most of all. The Northern lords and even the knights of the Vale had proclaimed him King of the North, but he didn't feel he deserved the title. Sansa was the rightful heir now Rickon was dead, and Bran…no one knew where Bran was and he might be dead as well.

"I may be heir, Jon, but I cannot lead the North," Sansa said. "Besides, no one will trust me. Lady Mormont was right. I have been twice married, to our enemies, with one husband dead, and the other lost in the wind."

"A forced marriage, both times. Ramsey is dead. You are a widow. And Tyrion Lannister was attainted a traitor and king killer."

"So was I."

Jon had to ask her. "I know you had reason enough to do it but…did you kill Joffrey? Did he?"

"No…it was…I can't say…I…"

She was afraid, trembling, and Jon took her in his arms. "Tell me the truth. What do you know?"

Sansa gulped. "Baelish," she said. "He did it. He planned it all, with the Tyrells."

"Gods," Jon said, letting go of her arms. "Baelish. Are you sure?"

"He helped me escape from King's Landing. He had Ser Dontos give me the necklace with the poison in it and he rowed me out to Baelish's ships and then they killed Ser Dontos, in front of my eyes."

"Who put the poison in Joffrey's wine?"

"I think it was Olenna Tyrell, but I am not certain. It was all so confusing, and then I was running for my life."

"Baelish," Jon said through gritted teeth. "And then he sold you to the Boltons. He must go."

"Jon, he saved us. How can we send him away? All his knights will follow. Lord Royce doesn't like him, but will follow his commands. And our cousin Lord Robin is a weak child who loves Baelish and will do as he says."

Jon knew she was right, Sansa having already explained all about the Vale and its weak ruler, their cousin. And they needed the knights, needed every man who could hold a sword. But he did not trust Baelish.

"You said he told you he loved you, that he wants the Iron Throne."

"He loved my mother," Sansa replied. "Maybe he thinks I am her again. But I will never be his wife, Jon, I promise you this."

"Good. What do you think he will do now?"

"You know what he will do. He will try to get them to go south, to face Cersei, and join the Tyrell's and Dorne. Then somehow he will worm his way into power once Cersei is dead."

"He has no claim to the Iron Throne."

"Neither did Robert Baratheon before he killed Rhaegar Targaryen."

Jon knew she was right. Not only did they have to worry about what lay beyond the Wall, but only yesterday they had received a raven from the Eyrie, for Lord Baelish, with dire news. To the shock of all, they learned that in King's Landing the Sept of Baelor had been destroyed, the Lord of the Reach and his son and daughter killed, and King Tommen had killed himself soon after. Cersei Lannister then proclaimed herself Queen of Westeros.

"She will want all her kingdom, not just the south," Baelish had warned him after he showed Jon and the other lords the letter. Soon the whole castle knew this news and now they would discuss what it meant for the North.

"They are waiting in the great hall," Sansa said, bringing Jon out of his thoughts.

"Aye. It is time to go."

Outside the rooms they found Ser Davos waiting for them. "Your Grace," he began and Jon winced a bit. "Please don't call me that."

"And why not?" Davos asked. "They proclaimed you king…well, not everyone. Not the wildlings."

"They have no king but one of their own," Jon said as they started down the stairs. "They will follow me but don't expect them to bend the knee."

"I know they won't. Mance Rayder died before he would bend, even though he faced fi…fire."

Davos faltered and Jon knew what he was thinking. "I couldn't kill her. She saved my life."

"I know…but if I ever see her again, I will not stop until she is dead."

"Aye," was all Jon said. When they reached the bottom of the stairs he then spoke on another thing on his mind. "Ser Davos, you will sit at the head table with Sansa and me. I need an advisor. I need a Hand."

"I would be honored, Your Grace, but I think you had better ask one of your bannermen or they may feel insulted."

"Which one?" Sansa said. "None came when we needed them, none except the Mormonts."

"Perhaps from the Vale," Davos countered. "Lord Royce or…"

"Not Baelish," Jon said.

"No, we can agree on that," Davos said. "I know of him from my time with King Stannis. From all I heard, Baelish serves only one person and that is Baelish."

They had reached the great hall and Jon stopped by the doors. "There are other reasons I want you to be Hand. You have experience, and you have no personal stake in the wars to come. You will not think with your heart or worry about your home. I need to keep this army intact, not have every lord rush home to protect his lands and people if the Walkers get through the Wall."

"Aye, that is a worry. Well, Your Grace, give me a night to think on it and you will have my answer in the morning."

"Good," Jon said and the guards ahead of them opened the doors to the great hall.

The great hall was full to the brim with lords and knights and free folk, all talking and eating and drinking. Davos stood nearby the wildlings and as Jon and Sansa walked to the head table everyone stood, even the wildlings, and a silence followed them.

Jon turned as they got to their seats. "Be seated my lords and ladies." And everyone did as commanded. Sansa sat but Jon remained standing. "It is time to decide what our next move is."

Lord Royce immediately stood. "Cersei Lannister must be cast off the Iron Throne, first and foremost, my lords and ladies. She has no right to it. She is not the daughter of a king, only the wife of one. And if the rumors are true, she gave Robert horns and whelped three bastards by fornicating with her brother. Worse still, she may have murdered the High Septon, the Tyrells, and her own uncle. And she may have had a hand in Robert's death as well. Her own son leaped to his death when he knew his wife was dead. All because of her. Such a soulless, godless woman should not rule."

Many shouted and agreed with what he had said, but others stayed silent. Jon wondered if Lord Royce spoke for himself or for Baelish, who sat nearby, silent, his eyes not telling Jon anything.

Lord Glover stood and spoke next. "Horrid as she is, Cersei Lannister is not our queen. Jon Snow is our King. I say let the southerners fight over that ugly chair. Let the Reach and Dorne deal with the Lannisters. It is no concern of ours. The more they are divided the better for us."

The rotund Lord Manderly stood next. "Both Lord Royce and Lord Glover have said wise words. She should not sit the Iron Throne, but it is not our concern anymore. Our concern lies to the north, at the Wall and beyond. Yet I fear we will need these southerners we despise before the long winter ends. We will need their food and fodder, swords and spears. How many men do we have? Only about ten thousands after all our wars and troubles. All good strong men of the North and the Vale. But if what Jon Snow says is waiting for us, if the numbers he saw at Hardhome are real, how can we stand against so many?"

"The numbers are real," Tormund said as he stood. "I stood by Jon Snow's side as we fought the demons. I saw him kill a White Walker with his Valyrian steel sword. And then we ran for our ships, cause running was all we could do against such numbers. Nothing can stop them."

"The Wall will stop them," someone shouted.

"Aye, it was built to stop them," said another voice.

"And what if it doesn't?" Jon asked. "As yet they have not attacked the Wall. We known hardly a thing about them, what they are capable of. If we wait here, and they get through the Wall, nothing will stop them from running riot over all the North and South."

Little Lady Lyanna Mormont now stood, small in stature and age, but fierce in voice and temperament. "Then we must go to the Wall, all of us, now, my King," she said and that caused an outbreak of talk and argument.

It was what Jon knew they had to do. King's Landing and Cersei Lannister were the south's problem, not his. If they survived the winter, then he would deal with her and her accusations against Sansa. But that would have to wait. As he let the lords talk his eye kept going back to one man, Petyr Baelish, who sat with the Vale lords at their table, saying nothing, only listening, and waiting it seemed. Jon knew what he wanted. He had killed one king. Would he kill a queen? Or even him if he got in Baelish's way? Finally Jon wanted to know what he thought, wanted to hear the man, not one of his puppets.

"Lord Baelish," he shouted and all talk came to a stop. "As a man who spent years at the royal court I think we could value your opinion on these matters."

Baelish stood. "My opinion, Your Grace, would have little value here. I am not of the North and of the White Walkers I know nothing. But perhaps we should consider what having Cersei Lannister on the Iron Throne means. A divided kingdom, with war on many fronts. How can the south help us, if they are at each others' throats?"

"Let them kill each other," Lord Glover growled.

"While the White Walkers kill us?" Baelish asked with a cocked eyebrow. "Ten thousands, Lord Manderly says we have. I think that is a generous count. Less than five thousand I brought from the Vale and some are now dead or wounded, as are many of yours, my lords, from previous battles. Perhaps I could raise the same again, but some would need to remain behind to defend the Vale. And it will take time for them to get here. More men we need, allies we need, and from the south is the only place we can get them."

"Are you suggesting we ally ourselves with the Reach and Dorne?" Lord Manderly asked.

"Jon," Sansa said in a fierce whisper at his side. "Stop Baelish now before he wins them over."

Jon was already ahead of her. "No, we will not do that," he said and many agreed. "We have an enemy here at the Wall. Lord Baelish, if you have friends in the south who could come to our aid, I would ask you to write letters. But you will make no promises of Northern help in their wars."

"They won't believe you," Baelish said. "They won't believe the White Walkers are real."

"Aye, maybe so," Jon replied. "Maybe they will only believe when they are at their own castle gates. My lords and ladies, we have much to think on. I for one am for going to the Wall, as soon as possible, to Castle Black, to help defend the realms of men where we are strongest. Talk to your people, to each other, and come the evening we must decide."

Jon sat and began to eat as around the hall many conversations broke out. "How was I?" he asked Sansa in a low voice.

"Good. But never trust Baelish. Make sure you tell the maester to read any letters he sends."

"Aye."

Tormund came to their table, leaning over Jon as he remained standing. "You know what we must do, Lord Snow. You know we must go back to Castle Black."

"I know. But if they reach the same idea without me ordering them to do so, they will feel better for it."

"Aye," said Tormund and then he looked at Sansa. "What word of your guardian, Brienne?"

"None since she wrote that the Blackfish could not help us and was most likely dead by now."

"We could use her," Tormund said.

Sansa and Jon gave each other a knowing look, half smiling. Jon knew Tormund had a thing for Brienne, but was also sure she did not return the affection. "I am sure she is on her way back to us now," Sansa told the wildling warrior.

The Riverlands – Brienne

Brienne was trying to get back North, but the roads were not safe. First, Jaime and his army had been everywhere, up and down the roads to the Twins and back south again. She knew Jaime would not harm her, but his men might not be so generous if he was not around. Second, a host of Freys was beating the countryside, looking for the one who had murdered their sire at his very own table. When Brienne heard this news she knew Lady Catelyn and her son and many more had been avenged at last and she said a prayer for those foully murdered by their Frey hosts at a wedding.

"My lady…"

"Shhh!" she said in a horse whisper to Podrick Payne. They were hiding, in some woods off the road, and he was supposed to hold tight the horse reins. The horses and saddles they had stolen from a farm in the dead of night a few days earlier. Their own horses they had to leave behind in Riverrun after their escape by boat from the castle. Brienne had left two gold dragons in the barn for the horses, and Pod had agreed it was more than enough.

Down the road twenty men were riding, all with the twin towers of the Freys on their surcoats and banners. As the last rider passed them suddenly Pod lost control of the horses and one bolted out on the road.

Brienne ran out to grab the horse and at once every Frey turned around and many pulled out their swords and notched their crossbows. "You there, halt!" shouted a large man in a commanding voice. He was better armored that the rest and looked like he might be a knight.

"Beg pardon, my lords," Brienne said as Pod came out on the road with the other horse. "We were just on our way to King's Landing to pay homage to the new Queen."

"Fuck, it's a woman," said one of the Freys and many laughed.

"Why were you hiding?" the knight asked.

"Roads are dangerous, my lord," Brienne said. "We heard how Lord Walder was murdered and the murderers were still not caught."

"Wait, I know her," said another Frey. "Brienne of Tarth. Was at Riverrun, had words with Ser Jaime. They let her and the other one into the castle to have words with the Blackfish and they never came out."

The knight looked at her in suspicion. "Are you in service with the Tullys?"

"No, my lord. The Lannisters."

But he didn't buy it. "I think you two had best come with us. You will be a guest at the Twins till we can get word from Ser Jaime as to who you really serve."

"Give me a few minutes and her feet in a fire and we'll know," said another one with a scowl on his face. "Might be these two killed Lord Walder and that's why they're hiding."

"Pod, get on your horse…NOW!" she shouted and the two of them leaped on their horses and took off in the opposite direction.

Shouts and curses rang out behind them and several crossbows twanged. A bolt flew by her head and one dinged off her back armor but did not penetrate it. "FASTER!" she shouted to Pod. Ahead there was a fork in the road and they took the opposite of the way they had just come. They soon saw a small bridge over a stream and they raced across it with a bevy of Freys behind them.

On the far side suddenly from all around them came the twang of bows and crossbows, but no arrow or bolt was aimed at them. Shouts and yells and screams behind them told the tale. The Freys were being ambushed.

Brienne reined in her horse and turned it around. At least ten Freys were down with arrows and bolts sticking out of them. And all along the road men on both sides were leaping out and were slashing into them. They were a motley collection of men, with patched and faded clothes and with little amour. Weapons they had, and now they turned bright red with Frey blood. As Brienne was about to charge down and help the men, one of them, the biggest, turned around and saw her.

"YOU!" shouted Sandor Clegane, the scarred face of her old enemy contorted in rage.

"Gods, it's the Hound," Pod said in fright.

He marched straight for them, a bloody sword in one hand and an axe on his belt. He worn no armor and seemed to be favoring his right leg and Brienne knew why. She pulled out her sword Oathkeeper as she leaped off her horse, ready to fight him again. Pod jumped down beside her with his sword in hand.

"This time woman I will bloody well gut you!" the Hound shouted.

"Stay back, Pod. He's mine."

"Clegane!" yelled a commanding voice behind him. To her surprise the Hound stopped. A man with a scarred neck and a patch over his right eye approached. "We don't kill the people, we save them," he said.

"I owe this one some steel," the Hound snarled. "Stay out of it."

"You killing women now?" said another man, wearing faded red robes over armor. He had a wine skin in hand and drank from it. Behind them the last of the Freys was dying.

"Not the first time," the Hound said. "This is the one, Brienne of bloody Tarth. Left me for dead."

"Ah, the famous tough girl," said the drinker. "I am Thoros of Myr."

"Beric Dondarrion," said the scarred man. "Lady Brienne, I know your father, and once dined with him in my father's home. Many years ago."

"I know you as well, Lord Beric," she replied. "I know you lead a group called the Brotherhood Without Banners. I also know Lord Stark sent you to the Riverlands to stop Gregor Clegane."

"He did. Now Ser Gregor is dead, killed by a Dornishman's poison. Or mostly dead from what we heard. And so Lord Eddard is dead as well. And his wife and son. Which is why we kill Frey's whenever we can. A shame someone else got to Lord Walder first."

"Enough jabbering," Clegane growled. "Are you going to let me kill her or not?"

"No," said Dondarrion. "Not today. The lady and her companion are free to go where they wish."

Brienne and Pod lowered their swords as the Hound put away his. "Someday, woman, you and I will finish what we started."

"Not today," Dondarrion said again. Behind him all the Freys were dead and Dondarrion's men were gathering up weapons and coin and boots and armor. Clegane found a shirt of chain mail that barely fit and pulled it over his head. Now he would be harder to kill, Brienne realized. He also took some armored gauntlets and a dagger on a belt. The horses as well they took. Dondarrion's group had only one hurt man, who had a slight wound to his arm. The rest began to drag the bodies off the road.

"Where would you be going?" Thoros asked Brienne.

"North, to Winterfell," Brienne replied. "I serve Lady Stark now."

Dondarrion stared at her. "Which Lady Stark?"

"Sansa Stark. She escaped from the Boltons and sent me to the Riverlands to enlist the aide of her uncle in her war with them."

"The war is over," said Thoros. "We heard there was a great battle, and Jon Snow defeated the Boltons."

"Thank the gods," said Brienne.

"Thank the Vale," Dondarrion told her. "Lord Baelish and the knights of the Vale did the saving."

"Baelish? Are you sure?"

"He's sure, woman," the Hound snapped at her as he took one of the horses, the biggest, and checked the saddle.

"What are you doing with these men?" Brienne asked the Hound. "I thought anyone named Clegane would be an enemy of the Brotherhood Without Banners."

"He was our enemy," Thoros told her. "But the Lord of Light allowed him to live, twice it now seems. And so now he is our companion. We are heading north as well, my lady. To Winterfell, and the only war that matters."

"You speak of the White Walkers."

"Aye. What do you know?"

"Only what Jon Snow told me when I was at Castle Black. The dead rise moments later as wights with blue eyes…thousands of them at a place north of the Wall called Hardhome. The wights can be killed with fire, but the Walkers can only be killed with dragonglass and Valyrian steel."

"Sadly both are in short supply," Dondarrion said. He looked to his men. "We best move, for soon more Freys will come looking for this bunch."

"The more the better," said the Hound, still giving her dirty looks. Brienne climbed on her horse and they began to ride, north, all of them. After a short time Clegane moved his horse close to her side. She thought he would attack but he only wanted to talk.

"Where is she?"

"Who?"

"Arya Stark."

"She ran away after our fight. We looked for three days but could not find her. Later I thought she might have gone to Saltpans but by then it was too late to search for her."

"And Sansa, the little bird. She is well?"

"If her brother has defeated the Boltons she is very well I pray."

"They say she married Ramsey Bolton."

"She did. Baelish did that, gave her to the Boltons, though I don't know why," Brienne replied. "He helped her escape from King's Landing after Joffrey died, she told me. Cersei still blames Sansa for Joffrey's death. And they also blamed Tyrion Lannister. I left the capital soon after, to find Sansa and Arya, by order of Ser Jaime. As I tried to explain to you before our fight."

"Didn't trust you," the Hound said. "You wanted to take them back to Cersei."

"Never. I was fulfilling Ser Jaime's oath to Lady Catelyn. I wanted to make them safe."

"I told you there was no where safe."

"It seems you were right. No where is safe for anyone anymore."

King's Landing – Arya

The road south was long and tiring but at last Arya Stark made it to King's Landing in the late afternoon on a very cool day, the last part of the trip on the back of a farmer's wagon. She was dressed in browns and greens, breeches and woolen shirts, with a leather jerkin and a long coat and simple but sturdy boots. Coin she had, coin stolen from the Frey's, but she spent it sparingly, trying not to act as if she had much money, and by the time she got to the city not much was left anyway. Smelly rooms with lumpy beds in inns she took, or a barn for a copper if a farmer was feeling generous. Most were, when they saw she was a girl.

"Not safe for a girl to be alone on the roads," more than one told her.

"I'm going to the capital to apprentice to a seamstress, my father's sister," Arya told them, and they believed her, for Arya had learned how to rule her face and not show her emotions when lying. It was a bit of a jape and a lie, for Arya had always been terrible at needlework, of the sewing kind.

Needle her sword she kept hidden in a bedroll, knowing if she had it by her side it would bring more looks and comments. She had hidden it in the forest near the Twins when she went in the castle to kill Lord Walder. That had been the best kill of her life.

The girl whose face she took to hide among the Freys was nearly dead when Arya found her, left by the road between Saltpans and the Twins by the men who had raped her and killed her mother and father.

"Mercy," she had said to Arya, her voice a bare whisper. Her clothes were ripped, the space between her legs bloody and she had at least two stab wounds in the belly. Arya knew that pain, having spent almost two weeks on Lady Crane's bed in Braavos recovering from when the young girl she thought of as the Waif had stabbed her. Arya had thought she would die, that the wounds would fester, as she had seen happen to many of the bravos who were stabbed in duels and barely managed to crawl to the House of Black and White for the final gift. But the gods had been with her, Lady Crane said, and she had lived. But the gods had not been with Lady Crane, killed by the Waif because Arya had failed to do so. She escaped from the killer, ran through the streets of Braavos, and then calmed herself, made a trap and waited, with enough strength left to kill the Waif in the dark, cut off her face, and leave Braavos for good. She thought Jaqen, or whoever he really was, would stop her, but he let her go and despite her fears no Faceless Men followed her.

A ship she found, bound for Saltpans and other Westerosi ports and Arya took that as an omen, a return to the place she had started from. Some stolen coin bought her a horse, but she had to let him go before she entered the Twins. It was in a village nearby when she heard of the Frey and Lannister feast, and the lords were looking for more girls to help out. Serving girls weren't supposed to have horses, so she left it by the roadside and she was sure someone would find it before long.

Mercy she gave to the girl whose face she took, in the place the Hound had shown her. Arya knew many other places and ways to give the gift of mercy now. But as she cut away the girl's face, she knew there would be no mercy for Walder Frey. He was first on her list. He had to die, soon.

Getting into the Twins was easier than she thought it would be. The celebration was in progress when she arrived, and she merely walked into the castle with some other people and went to the kitchens, put on an apron, and began to serve food and drink. She had served Lord Tywin at Harrenhal and she had served at The House of Black and White so service was nothing new to her. The face she had worn hid her real face, but it did give her some bad thoughts, for the faces of the dead carried the memories of those who had died, and this girl had died in pain. Arya had taken some measure of revenge for the girl and her parents, for she had found their killers the day after she found the bodies, up the road from Saltpans.

Broken men they were, three of them, from the wars of the Riverlands she guessed. It was night and they were sitting around a fire just off the road. Arya slipped off her horse and tied it to a tree and quiet as a mouse she crept up on their fire. As they passed a skin of wine between them she heard them boasting of what they had done to the girl and her parents and on the wars and the battles they had been in. They talked on moving south before winter came to the Riverlands, and each talked on his homeland. One was from the North, from Barrowton, and had been in Robb's army, but now he was an outlaw and so Arya did not care. In silence she waited. Two were soon asleep. The third she gave the gift to as he took a piss, and the others died soon after. She left them there for the crows. They had to eat too.

At the Twins the Lannisters and Freys were celebrating their victory over Riverrun. It was a good thing she wore the dead girl's face, for Jaime Lannister was there. He might not remember her, but he had met her once in Winterfell and had been around when she lived in the Red Keep. He was not on her list, for he had never done her any harm. But he was a Lannister still the same, and as she smiled and poured him wine she thought maybe he should be on her list. As she listened to her enemies boasting of how the Freys and Lannisters had joined forces to kill Robb and her mother, how her uncle the Blackfish had died, how her uncle Edmure was now their prisoner, she knew Jaime Lannister had to die as well as his sister.

The chance to kill Lord Walder did not come till the next day in the late morning, after the Lannisters had left the Twins. Most of the castle was still abed, with heavy heads. She killed two Frey sons first. One had been leering at her during the feast so in the morning as he wandered sleepily into the kitchens it was not hard to entice him into a small store room with promises of sex and soon as he dropped his breeches she slit his throat. The second came looking for his brother, said their father was waiting for them in the great hall, and so he had to die as well. She stripped some meat from their bones and left the remains in the store room. Dealing with the dead didn't bother her for many times she had handled dead bodies in The House of Black and White. She stuffed the bloody flesh in a cold meat pie and then took it to Lord Walder at his head table, served him a piece, and then slit the old man's throat after making sure he knew who was in the pie and who his killer was.

Arya knew the story of the Rat Cook of the Nightfort, who had killed the son of a king and made a pie of his flesh for the king. The cook was cursed to live out his days as a rat for he had broken the solemn law of guest right. Arya feared no retribution from the gods for the Frey meat pie. She was getting revenge for her family, and it was the Freys who had broken the scared laws and should fear the gods.

Leaving was as easy as walking out the door past the guards, who didn't even ask her anything though she now wore the face of Arya Stark again. A horse she stole from the unguarded stables and then she rode hard for the Kingsroad.

It was almost sunset when she reached the Kingsroad and then she had a decision to make. Head north, and home, or south to King's Landing, and kill Cersei Lannister and maybe Jaime as well. North she really wanted to go, to Winterfell and maybe Castle Black. As she served in the Twins she heard many rumors. More than one said the Boltons were in command of Winterfell, as a reward for betraying Robb Stark, and that Roose Bolton, once her father and brother's bannerman, had killed Robb at the Red Wedding. He had to die, and Arya was about to add him to her list when she heard he was already dead, and his son Ramsey was in charge at Winterfell. Even worse he was married to her sister Sansa. No way Sansa would ever marry him, just like she would never have married the Imp. She had to have been forced into it. She added Ramsey to her list.

And one more name. Theon Greyjoy. She learned he had been Ramsey's prisoner but had escaped. The Freys in their cups were laughing about Theon, saying he had become a meek serving man to Ramsey, more dog than man now, but must have at last found his balls and gotten away from his master. Arya had thought him long dead, stories she had heard when wandering the Riverlands with the Hound, about how the Northmen took back Winterfell and had slaughtered the ironborn. She knew Theon had attacked Winterfell and had killed her brothers. If he was still alive, he had to die.

But south was Cersei, and maybe Dondarrion and Thoros and the red woman. They all had to die, Cersei for what she done to her father and the rest of her household who had died in the capital, and the other three for Gendry. The Mountain she had to kill as well, and Ilyn Payne, if both still lived. They were most likely in the capital.

Thinking on her father and Gendry decided it for her. South she turned the horse. But after ten miles it threw a shoe and went lame and so she left it by the Green Fork's banks in a field of fresh grass. She took a bed roll off the horse. It was a thick blanket tied with leather straps, and in it she wrapped Needle and the bit of food and coin she had and slung it over her shoulder. Two sharp daggers she had as well, one up her right sleeve and one in her left boot. The dead girl's face she also kept, wrapped in linen, in case she needed it again. Arya knew other ways to hide her face, taught to her at The House of Black and White, but nothing was better than someone else's face.

She slept but a few hours and was walking again before the dawn. Without a horse she had no hope of catching the Lannister army and Ser Jaime and so put it out of her mind. And she never found the Brotherhood either, though in a few places people said they were about, killing Freys and Lannisters, and getting revenge for the Red Wedding. Arya thought that was good, but it still did not make up for what they had done to Gendry.

Rides she got, and farms and inns she slept in, always telling the same story, about going to the capital to be an apprentice seamstress. A few Lannister patrols they ran into, asking about the Brotherhood, but always the farmers who gave her rides knew nothing and neither did Arya. The last farm she spent the night at the farmer said he was leaving for King's Landing the next morning with a load of hay for the army's horses and so she rode on the hay pile in the back of the wagon. At the city walls no one said a word as the wagon was waved through the gates. As the farmer rode off to find the horse stables, she slipped off the back and disappeared down an alley without even saying goodbye. It was nearing sunset and the streets were full of people, many moving to their homes before night came.

As she came out into a wider street she got a shock. The top of Visenya's Hill was in view, but the Sept of Baelor was not there anymore. An old woman passing by saw her looking that way.

"Gone it is," she said. "Destroyed."

"Destroyed? How?" Arya asked.

"Wildfire," said a man selling melons and apples from a cart behind her. "The Mad King hid some away under it and some fool lit the lot. Killed the Tyrells, brother, sister, and father, and many more. Even the High Sparrow is dead, may the Seven bless him."

"Some fool," the old woman echoed. "Or some queen."

"Mind your words," the man said sharply. "I'll not listen to treason."

"What queen?" Arya asked. "Isn't Tommen the King?"

"Dead, he is," said the woman, her voice sad. "When he heard his wife Margaery had died in the sept his heart broke and he leaped from the Red Keep to his death."

"Aye," the man said. "And now his mother is Queen of us all."

"Gods, no," Arya said, and she turned and looked toward the Red Keep on Aegon's Hill. Cersei…Queen? Yes, she had been Queen before, but that was when she was Robert's wife, not a Queen in her own right. "How can she be Queen?"

"No one knows," the old woman said. "She said she was Queen…and that was that. Where are you from, little one, to not hear this news?'

"I just arrived from the Riverlands. But I've been here before. Now I am going to be an apprentice seamstress to my aunt."

"Ah. I've always enjoyed needlework. So relaxing."

"Yes, it is. Good-day. Thank you."

The woman nodded and Arya walked on, thinking on where she would sleep tonight. Coin she still had, enough for a room. Flea Bottom it would be, where the rooms were cheap and no one would recognize her. As she walked she thought how much harder it would be to kill Cersei now, with her in the Red Keep and surrounded by many guards night and day. She would have to carefully plan this kill.

As she thought on it, she had another thought. She might need some armor of some sort if she was going into the Red Keep. She still remembered the Hound's sharp lesson. Meryn Trant had killed the best swordsman of Braavos because he had a big sword and wore armor. As she thought on it she remembered killing Trant, and how good that had felt, but she also remembered the sharp pain of the Waif's knife digging into her gut and she never wanted that to happen again. She still had many silvers and coppers and one gold piece in her bedroll. Maybe it would be enough for a small shirt of chain mail.

The Street of Steel was not hard to find. She just followed the smell of smoke and the sound of hammering. It started at the bottom of Visenya's Hill, the cheapest shops at the bottom and the best at the top. As she looked up the street, the empty space where the sept had been at the top of the hill was like a raw wound, but few other buildings had been damaged.

The smells and sounds reminded her of Mikken at his forge in Winterfell, or Gendry at the forge in Harrenhal. She stopped at the first shop, on the left side of the street as it went up the hill, and the man said he only made pots and pans and he should see Harstan three doors up. Harstan was a gruff old man with black hair going grey. He did make armor, but he laughed at her.

"Got no mail for girls. Whatcha want that for anyways?"

"I have money."

"Ten dragons for a new shirt of mail."

Arya sighed. "Not that much money. How about used armor?"

He nodded across the street. "Willoughby sells used armor. Mostly junk but he might have something fits you."

Arya turned and then got a shock. Coming up the street was Jaime Lannister with the same dark-haired dark-eyed man he had been sitting with at the Twins. They walked by not two feet from her with four Lannister men behind them.

"It has to be good steel," said Jaime. "Light but strong, and not likely to rust."

"Aye, so you said," said the dark-haired man. "Going to keep the gold one?"

"Yes. If times get tough I can melt it down." Jaime looked at her then, and a strange look came over his face, as if he recognized her. It had been years since she had seen him last, here in the city, during the tournament held for her father after being named Hand. Arya's left hand went into her right sleeve and grasped her dagger, but then they moved on, and Jaime said nothing, and she sighed with relief.

Fool! she said to herself. I should have worn a disguise of some kind. It brought back the memory of the Hound seeing her in that inn. It had been a long time since he had seen her too and still he remembered what she looked like.

A fat middle aged man with brown hair and beard was asleep in a chair just inside the open doors of the smithy, a flagon of something, wine or ale no doubt, on a small table beside him. Probably it was Willoughby, but she could not be sure. She was about to wake him up when she noticed behind him was a smith, tall and brawny, and his back was to Arya. He was busy repairing a breast plate on the anvil, hitting it with his hammer. On the walls were many old swords and daggers, maces and flails, and some pieces of armor.

"Can you help me?" she said in a loud voice to the smith. "I'm looking for some used chain mail."

He didn't turn around, kept beating on the breast plate with his hammer. "Take a look, see if you like something."

She went inside and started looking at the armor on the walls. One small suit of chain mail looked like it might fit her. "This one here," she said. "I'd like to…oh gods."

Out on the street Jaime and his companions were back and it looked like they were searching for something…or someone. She turned around to get deeper into the shadows of the shop and ran smack into the chest of the smith.

She looked up, and he was tall, and had a short beard, lanky black hair, and deep blue eyes. She gasped.

"Gendry?"

"Yes…gods, Arya?"

She couldn't speak, stunned at seeing him and then she whispered. "Hide me! The Lannisters!"

He looked over her head and then quickly grabbed her by the shoulders and took her to the back of the shop where a coal bid was located. "In there, quick!"

"The coal?"

"Hello there!" came a shout from the street and Arya dived into the coal pile and he shoveled some on top of her. It was dusty and foul and she almost coughed but held it back. She wiggled a bit and her head stuck up a bit so she could see and hear.

"Coming," she heard Gendry said. "Yes, my lord, how can I be of service?"

"I'm looking for a girl," said Ser Jaime's voice.

"Ah…there's whorehouses at…"

"You fool, not that kind of girl. Do you know who I am?"

"Ah, no, my lord."

"He's the Queen's brother," said another voice, a slurred voice. "Beg pardons, Ser Jaime. Ben Willoughby's the name. What can we do for your lordship?"

"You're drunk," Jaime said in a distasteful tone.

"Aye, my lord. But I still got the best used armor in the city."

Someone laughed and then Jaime spoke again. "I am looking for a girl, about this tall, with brown hair and grey eyes. Dressed more like a boy than a girl. The man across the street said he pointed her in this direction."

"Haven't seen any girls here, my lord," Willoughby said. "Gendry?"

"Yes, my lord," said Gendry. "Was a girl here a few moments ago looked like that. But she's gone."

"What did she want?" Jaime asked.

"Chain mail. I was just going to show her some but she ran off down the street."

"Check the place," Jaime said and then Arya heard men walking about. She burrowed deeper into the coal, barely able to breath now. She heard footsteps, and things moving as people were looking around, but none looked in the coal bin.

"It's clear," someone said, maybe the dark-haired man "Are you sure it was her?"

"No, I am not sure," said Jaime. "That's why I am looking for her. Come on. We've better things to do."

"Bloody hell," said Willoughby after they were gone. "Next time a lord comes in here wake me up quick."

"Yes, master," Gendry said. "Might be you take off? It's near to sunset. I can deal with any late customers."

"Ah, you're a good lad. Might be I get a bowl of brown at me favorite shop."

"I'll close up in a bit when the forge cools."

"Right you are."

Next thing Arya knew the coal was being pulled aside from around her body and he helped her out. She did cough and sputter now. "You okay…my lady?" he asked with a grin on as he handed her a jug of water. She drank and spat up half of it, black with soot. She drank again, swallowed, and found her voice.

"No," she wanted to scream but spoke quietly. "Get me out of here."

"Wait till I close up." He went to the front and closed the doors. A lamp and the dying forge fire were the only sources of light now. He led her to a basin of water and she cleaned her hands and face but her hair and clothes were covered in soot.

"Why the coal bin?" she asked, angry, as water dripped off her face. She sat on a stool and he sat on another one next to her.

"Would you rather they found you?"

"No." Then she looked at him. "Gods, Gendry, what happened to you?"

He sighed. "It's a long story. And you?"

"Just as long I am sure. But I need a bath first."

"It'll be dark soon. I have a place nearby we can go to. Arya, why was Jaime Lannister looking for you?"

"He saw me across the street, and recognized me I think. Just dumb bad luck, like with the Hound that time."

"We've both had a lot of that."

"Where did she take you?" Arya asked.

"To Dragonstone. A good man helped me escape and I have been here ever since. Couldn't go back to Master Mott's shop. Too many high borns go there, someone might have known me. So here I work, the lowest of the low. Still, I make some coin and it's enough. Where have you been?"

"Many places, but mainly Braavos."

"Braavos?"

"Remember Jaqen H'ghar?"

"How could I forget. You mean…the Faceless Men?"

She nodded. "I spent more than a year training with them." He looked at her in awe. "Don't look at me like that. I'm still Arya."

"Do you still have your list?"

"What? How do…oh. You heard?"

"Every night while the Mountain's men were torturing us."

"That list is shorter now."

"Oh."

"And a few new names have been added. Thoros, Dondarrion, and the red woman."

"For me?" he asked in surprise.

"Yes. You were the only friend I had in the world and they took you away. I escaped from the Brotherhood soon after but the Hound took me. Was going to sell me to Robb and my mother but…but…"

"I heard. I'm sorry."

"So am I."

"I heard the Hound is dead, too."

"Yes. He is."

"Was it you?"

"No." She did not want to talk on that, not yet. She had left him to die, and so be it. She stood, impatient to get clean. "Can't we go now?"

He looked out a small hole in the front doors and nodded. "Yes, it's dark enough. Out the back way."

He made sure the forge was cool enough first, and then out the back door they went, Gendry carrying the lamp with him to light the way. Down an alley first and after a few twists and turns they came to a four story narrow building and went inside and up a set of stairs. Up two flights they went and Gendry used a key to unlock a door on the second landing. Inside he lit a candle on a table and then he placed the lamp on a counter. She saw it was a small one room apartment, with a small privy closet in one corner. There was a table, two wooden chairs, a narrow bed, a stuffed armchair of sorts, and a hearth. Some cupboards had a few dishes, and there was half a loaf of bread and some cheese on the counter where a basin sat. Clothes hung on pegs on the walls. At a glance she knew he lived alone.

"I'll get some water," he said. "Can you light the hearth? There's some kindling already there. And some coal in the iron bucket there."

She soon had a fire going and after a short time he came back with a big wooden bucket full of water, from a public fountain outside he said. He filled a big iron pot and hung it over the hearth fire.

"Here is some soap and a towel," he said. "When the water is warm enough there's heavy mitts there so you don't burn your hands when you pour the water in the basin. Wash up, then heat some more for your clothes. I'm going to get some more food."

"I have some coin."

"Not to worry."

"Gendry…I don't have any more clothes."

He pointed to the pegs on the wall where some of his shirts were hanging. "Put one of those on till your clothes are clean and dry."

The water was soon warm enough and she filled the basin and stripped off and started to wash her body. Older she was now when she had last seen him, and she had flowered and become more womanly. But still she had not kissed a boy…or loved one. As she heated some more water she put her dirty clothes in the now empty bucket and dried off and put on a blue shirt. It was so big it almost reached her knees and she had to roll up the long sleeves.

A knock came to the door. "It's me. Is it okay to come in?"

"Yes." She was sitting in the armchair, her legs pulled up under her body, her hair wet.

He walked in with a large jug of ale in one hand and a canvas bag full of things in the other, which he started to put on the table next to the candle. Then he looked up and saw her and stopped. And stared.

"What?" she asked, unnerved by his look, feeling her cheeks burn.

"Nothing," he said, and he continued to take things out. Sausages, more bread, apples, some small cakes, some carrots, onions, smoked ham, and some dried fish. "Are you hungry?"

"Yes," she said and she got up to check the water. "The water is warm."

"I'll get it. Sit, eat." He used the heavy mitts to take the hot pot from the hearth and then he poured the water over her clothes. "Let them soak a bit," he said as he dropped the bar of soap in with them.

Arya sat and he cut some bread and cheese and got a plate and two mugs and they drank ale and ate and talked forever, on everything. He spoke on what happened on Dragonstone. And then he came to the hard part.

"She came at me, Arya, tried to…tried to…have me. In her bed."

"Oh. Gods."

"But I didn't! She only did it to get me naked, to get my blood, in the leeches."

"What for?"

"King's blood, they said, her and Stannis. They needed it for her spells."

"King's blood? I don't understand."

He stared at her. "Arya…they told me I am Robert Baratheon's son."

"What? Really?"

"Yes. I didn't believe it, but when King Stannis looked at me he knew, said I was half his brother and half some tavern slut. He meant my mother. The more I thought on it, maybe that is why Lord Arryn and your father came to see me at Master Mott's."

"Gods, and that's why the gold cloaks were looking for you!"

"It must have been. It all makes sense now. Joffrey wanted me dead."

"And what did Stannis want with you?"

He hesitated. "He…he wanted to use her black magic…to kill some people."

"What people?"

"His enemies."

"The Lannisters?"

"Yes…and more. Joffrey…and Balon Greyjoy…and…and…Robb Stark."

"What? No, Robb was not Stannis' enemy. My father was trying to get Stannis to help him."

"Arya, they said his name, and dropped the leech filled with my blood in a brazier. Three leeches, for all three kings who opposed Stannis. And then all three died."

"Balon Greyjoy is dead?"

"Yes. A few moon turns ago. People said he fell from a bridge."

Arya shook her head. "It's all wrong. You're not to blame. Black magic didn't kill them. Balon fell. Joffrey was poisoned. Robb was betrayed."

"Maybe. But still…it's very strange they went through all that trouble to find me and pay for me just for a bit of blood."

"It's not true" she said with confidence, knowing he felt bad about Robb. "You did not kill them."

"Maybe not."

"And if it was some kind of magic you didn't use it, they did. They are to blame."

"Maybe."

They were silent for a moment. "How did you escape?" Arya asked at last.

"Ser Davos Seaworth released me, took me to a rowboat and said row for King's Landing. It took a long while, but I got here…and stayed. I think if he hadn't released me they were going to do something worse, maybe even kill me."

"Gods, she must die! Stannis…no, he's dead, I heard."

"Yes. He went to the Wall and saved your brother's men, and…"

"Jon? Tell me what you know, about him and Sansa, and all you've heard and seen. Everything."

It was late when he finished his tales of the West and she finished her tales of the Hound and how he died, and of Braavos, and she even told him she killed Walder Frey, but not about the Frey pie, for maybe he wouldn't understand that. Now Arya knew as much as he did about the news of Westeros. As the candle burned low, he cleared the table of the dishes and she washed her clothes and hung them on the chairs to dry by the hearth. It was getting close to winter here, and the night was cold. Gendry closed his one window's shutters tight and added a few more lumps of coal to the hearth and then sat in the big armchair.

"The bed is yours," he said.

"I can't."

"Yes, you can."

She was too tired to argue and so sat on the bed. She looked over at him and he was staring back, and she felt her cheeks get hot again.

"You're not a little girl anymore," he said so quietly she almost didn't hear him.

She swallowed hard. "No…I'm not." Then suddenly a memory came flooding back and she knew what she wanted. "Do you remember what I said in the cave? When you told me you wanted to join the Brotherhood?"

Silence and then he nodded. "You said 'I can be your family'. And I said you would only be my lady. I never forgot."

"I wouldn't be 'my lady' now," Arya said. "My parents and three brothers are dead. My sister is married to a Bolton and held prisoner more than likely. And Jon…Jon is commander of the Night's Watch. No one even knows I am alive or who I am. I have no family now. I am all alone."

He sighed. "So am I."

"We don't have to be. Neither of us. Not anymore."

He said nothing and so she stood and walked over to the chair. She held out her hand and he gulped, took it, and stood. "Arya…what are you doing?"

"I want you," she said.

She felt him tense up. "Arya, we…"

"Shut up and kiss me," she said, her voice breathless.

"Yes…my lady," he answered without hesitation and she heard the desire in his voice. Then he took her in his strong arms and held her tight and as their lips met for the first time Arya knew she never wanted to be parted from him ever again.