You know there's binge watching, then there's binge reading.

I'M SOOOO GLAD I FOUND THIS BLOODY OUTSTANDING FANFIC!

Kudos to you, my friend! One of the longest, greatest fanfics I have ever read!

I love Daveth Baratheon The Great! The title you chose for this fanfic is truly the most perfect one, for it really described the TRIALS and TRIBULATIONS the Young Stag endured in his lifetime.

I wept, I laughed, I worried with every new chapter the stag had to face. I loved how you kept him as humane as possible by outright having him struggle with the mental burdens of carrying the crown and the seven kingdoms that comes with it. I loved how he spoke, always remembering that he spoke not just as himself but as his title. I loved the romance he had with Sansa. I loved how awkward he is—totally adorable. I loved the way he fought just like a stag—he may be weaker than his foes but when he's pack is in danger; he finds the strength to overcome them.

I've always loved reading on OC's and after reading this one, Daveth Baratheon is probably my favourite out of the one's I've read. Such a Brilliant character! I congratulate you on completing his journey. You're one of the most commendable fanfictioners in our community. I'm glad you not only ended up finishing this, but ended up with 180 chaps! You're one of the rare!

Ooohh yeah, before I leave, I want to commend you about chp 134 when the dragon and the stag first met; I was reading it with all seriousness when it had me laugh out loud when Ser Davos introduced Daveth with all the titles just to match Daenerys' titles hehe. It was a really good start of their meeting.
And one more thing, just a slight irritation, but when I was reading I noticed that though I loved how you emphasised the stag's mortality whenever he fought, why is it he only ends up on his knees? Robb and Jon and Olyvar are some of among his age group. They should've had at least some battle wounds to match Daveth's, like some broken ribs or nicked teeth at least... but anyway other than that that I have no problems with this. Adios!

Nice job

Best story ever so far, is it not?

You mean child prodigy, do you not?

May Lord Eddard Stark rest in peace.

You may be as different as the sun and the moon, however, the same blood flows through both your hearts which means people who're opposites of each other, are related.

I decided to start my review with critisizes, but changed my mind. This story is definitely worth reading, I would recommend anytime. The writer deserves applause for hardwork, commitment and perseverance.

Now let's start the actual review. This story is the most original unoriginal fanfiction I've ever read. It's clear that the writer is capable of writing his/her own tale, adjusting original storyline to changes, especially the second half. Still, the story suffers from a bit of unoriginality. Writer bowed down to plot armor and unrealistic plotlines to maintain few event from the original game of thrones. It was unnecessary and ruined the charm by a bit. For example, the Bolton war was completely pointless. Why would Ramsay send assassins after the king? What does he gain? He had no reason to rebel against a strengthened Winterfell. That's just one example, there are many more aalong with awkwardly put dialogues.

Still, it's a good well-written story and is worth reading.

I don't understand why people always want to destroy the iron islands like its easy, It's not, it's not like it's just a house or two like Tywin destroyed, but it's instead a whole kingdom that's like destroying the north or the reach its not that easy theirs at least a million people there.

Im rereading the whole story again, but i just saw how u have stannis age at 47 he is younger than robert was, and is only like 36.

I like this chapter.

At the Tower of the Hand…
Sansa Stark and Septa Mordane are bow sowing. Sansa wore a flowery purple dress and her hair was put up into a bird's nest like the rest of the southern ladies of court, only partially leaving her neck exposed with long strands being let down sometimes.
"You wear your hair like a real southern lady now," Mordane complimented.
"Well, why shouldn't I?" Sansa asked sarcastically. "We're in the south." Sansa replied sarcastically.
Mordane noticed. "It's important to remember where you come from," she said. "I'm not sure your mother would like these new styles."
"My Mother isn't from the North," Sansa pointed out.
"I'm aware of that."
"Why do you care?" she asked rudely. "Do you even have hair under there?"
Mordane frowned. "Yes. I have hair."
"I've never seen it."
"Would you like to?"
"No. Where are you from anyway, the north or the south?"
"I come from a very small village in—" Mordane started.
However, Sansa interrupted. "Oh, wait. I just realized… I don't care."
"Sansa—!" Mordane scolded.
"Septa," Sansa coldly replied.
The septa shook her head. "Now you are being rude."
"Indeed, she is," a voice called out.
Sansa frowningly turned, wanting to shout at whomever said that, however, her eyes widened in surprise, embarrassment and shame as Daveth Baratheon had been standing in the door way, leaning his back against the wall with his arms crossed. Judging by the look on his face, Sansa felt as Daveth was listening to every word of their conversation.
Regardless, Sansa's eyes slowly lit up as Prince Daveth walks in. Both women stood up. "My prince," Mordane and Sansa greeted. "Septa, my lady," Daveth responded as he looked at Mordane. "Could you give us a moment?" Mordane bowed once more and left the room, leaving the two of them alone. Daveth returned his attention to Sansa, inhaling deeply.
"I apologize for my brother, Joffrey's behavior these past few weeks," he begun. "He tends to act spoiled, rotten if he doesn't normally get his way. But it's only right that I acknowledge whatever misgivings occurred on my part as well. It was never my intention to cause my lady such great distress."
Sansa allowed herself to smile. "There's nothing to forgive, my prince. You did what you thought was best."
'If only the others saw it that way, little dove,' Daveth thought.
"To make it up to you," he continued. "I brought you something. Think of it as an early engagement present."
Sansa looked puzzled. What could he be talking about? And what is this "gift" he speaks of? Daveth turned back to the door and gave a sharp whistle. Sansa heared footsteps, clawed footsteps, approach and her eyes widen at what she sees. A canine, much larger than the average dog, had bright golden eyes and thick grey fur.
"Look familiar?" Daveth asks.
Sansa felt her eyes tear up and her lip tremble. "L… Lady…?" she asks in disbelief, her voice cracking.
The wolf recognized the voice of her mistress and ran towards Sansa, the Southerner at heart who leaned down to embrace the animal with a big hug. Lady gave licked Sansa and whined happily; she missed her mistress terribly and was happy to see her again.
"But how?" Sansa asks Daveth. "I thought… I thought Father…"
"You really believe everything you hear?" Daveth shook his head. "That body you saw on the Kingsroad wasn't your direwolf's; it belonged to an ordinary wolf."
Sansa took a moment to let the reality of this stunning revelation sink in; Eddard Stark did not actually kill Lady, but at least another wolf took her place.
"But will the King…?"
"You let me worry about Father," he assured her. "From now, be sure to keep your pet somewhere hidden. There are plenty of eyes and ears everywhere in King's Landing."
Sansa looked concerned, but nodded all the same. "Thank you, my sweet prince," she thanked again. "This is a wonderful gift."
Daveth took notice. "There's something else," he said as he pulls a necklace from his pocket; one that gleamed with gold and was carved into a lion.
"It's beautiful," Sansa exclaimed. "Like the one your mother wears."
"There are only two like it," Daveth said. "Mother, Myrcella… and now you. May I?"
Sansa nodded and turns around, allowing Daveth to put it on her, as acceptance.
"I really don't know what to say," Sansa smiled.
"You'll be my Queen one day; it's only fitting that you should look the part," Daveth replied. "Lords and ladies from all over the Seven Kingdoms will come here once we marry. From the Last Hearth in the North to the Salt Shore of the south. I mean it. You are my lady now, and I will stop at nothing to keep you safe; from this day, until my last day."
Hands still entangled, Daveth noticed an almost leading look in Sansa's eyes. Instinctively, Daveth cupped her face and stepped forward and pressed his lips to hers. Briefly surprised, Sansa closed her eyes and kissed him back. All cares forgotten, all that mattered right now was this. As the two pulled away, Sansa looked dreamily at Daveth.
Before heading out the door, Daveth looked at Sansa.
"Will you walk with me?"

Doing things for Rhaegar, he says. 'I don't care about the army of the dead he gave up his integrity and eventually, his very life to stop', he says. 'I call his very flesh and blood Stark spawn', he says.

What a moron.

Such a marvelous fiction, I thank you a lot for this quite interesting and well written piece of work, or dare I say masterpiece? No matter, it was perfect.

At the Tower of the Hand…
Sansa Stark and Septa Mordane are bow sowing. Sansa wore a flowery purple dress and her hair was put up into a birds nest like the rest of the southern ladies of court, only partially leaving her neck exposed with long strands being let down sometimes.
"You wear your hair like a real southern lady now," Mordane complimented.
"Well, why shouldn't I?" Sansa asked sarcastically. "We're in the south." Sansa replied sarcastically.
Mordane noticed. "It's important to remember where you come from," she said. "I'm not sure your mother would like these new styles."
"My Mother isn't from the North," Sansa pointed out.
"I'm aware of that."
"Why do you care?" she asked rudely. "Do you even have hair under there?"
Mordane frowned. "Yes. I have hair."
"I've never seen it."
"Would you like to?"
"No. Where are you from anyway, the north or the south?"
"I come from a very small village in—" Mordane started.
However, Sansa interrupted. "Oh, wait. I just realized… I don't care."
"Sansa—!" Mordane scolded.
"Septa," Sansa coldly replied.
The septa shook her head. "Now you are being rude."
"Indeed, she is," a voice called out.
Sansa frowningly turned, wanting to shout at whomever said that, however, her eyes widened in surprise, embarrassment and shame as Daveth Baratheon had been standing in the door way, leaning his back against the wall with his arms crossed. Judging by the look on his face, Sansa felt as Daveth was listening to every word of their conversation.
Regardless, Sansa's eyes slowly lit up as Prince Daveth walks in. Both women stood up. "My prince," Mordane and Sansa greeted. "Septa, my lady," Daveth responded as he looked at Mordane. "Could you give us a moment?" Mordane bowed once more and left the room, leaving the two of them alone. Daveth returned his attention to Sansa, inhaling deeply.
"I apologize for my brother, Joffrey's behavior these past few weeks," he begun. "He tends to act spoiled, rotten if he doesn't normally get his way. But it's only right that I acknowledge whatever misgivings occurred on my part as well. It was never my intention to cause my lady such great distress."
Sansa allowed herself to smile. "There's nothing to forgive, my prince. You did what you thought was best."
'If only the others saw it that way, little dove,' Daveth thought.
"To make it up to you," he continued. "I brought you something. Think of it as an early engagement present."
Sansa looked puzzled. What could he be talking about? And what is this "gift" he speaks of? Daveth turned back to the door and gave a sharp whistle. Sansa heared footsteps, clawed footsteps, approach and her eyes widen at what she sees. A canine, much larger than the average dog, had bright golden eyes and thick grey fur.
"Look familiar?" Daveth asks.
Sansa felt her eyes tear up and her lip tremble. "L… Lady…?" she asks in disbelief, her voice cracking.
The wolf recognized the voice of her mistress and ran towards Sansa, the Southerner at heart who leaned down to embrace the animal with a big hug. Lady gave licked Sansa and whined happily; she missed her mistress terribly and was happy to see her again.
"But how?" Sansa asks Daveth. "I thought… I thought Father…"
"You really believe everything you hear?" Daveth shook his head. "That body you saw on the Kingsroad wasn't your direwolf's; it belonged to an ordinary wolf."
Sansa took a moment to let the reality of this stunning revelation sink in; Eddard Stark did not actually kill Lady, but at least another wolf took her place.
"But will the King…?"
"You let me worry about Father," he assured her. "From now, be sure to keep your pet somewhere hidden. There are plenty of eyes and ears everywhere in King's Landing."
Sansa looked concerned, but nodded all the same. "Thank you, my sweet prince," she thanked again. "This is a wonderful gift."
Daveth took notice. "There's something else," he said as he pulls a necklace from his pocket; one that gleamed with gold and was carved into a lion.
"It's beautiful," Sansa exclaimed. "Like the one your mother wears."
"There are only two like it," Daveth said. "Mother, Myrcella… and now you. May I?"
Sansa nodded and turns around, allowing Daveth to put it on her, as acceptance.
"I really don't know what to say," Sansa smiled.
"You'll be my Queen one day; it's only fitting that you should look the part," Daveth replied. "Lords and ladies from all over the Seven Kingdoms will come here once we marry. From the Last Hearth in the North to the Salt Shore of the south. I mean it. You are my lady now, and I will stop at nothing to keep you safe; from this day, until my last day."
Hands still entangled, Daveth noticed an almost leading look in Sansa's eyes. Instinctively, Daveth cupped her face and stepped forward and pressed his lips to hers. Briefly surprised, Sansa closed her eyes and kissed him back. All cares forgotten, all that mattered right now was this. As the two pulled away, Sansa looked dreamily at Daveth.
Before heading out the door, Daveth looked at Sansa.
"Will you walk with me?"

I enjoy the concept of Daveth, but it does get annoying when he continuously nicks other characters lines. Surely the point of an OC is to make them original, not use other character’s personalities, achievements and words to create them.