I do not own Harry Potter or A Song of Ice and Fire.

Beta - ReaperofBalance

"Speech"

'Thoughts'

"SHOUTING"

Flashback

The noise of hundreds of galloping horses was like a ballad to a chivalrous song. The trail followed a slope westward toward the inn at the crossroads. The road was very dangerous on this stretch, weaving its way through narrow, rocky curves, and thick forests surrounded by mountains. Three times the travelers would change direction until they reached another straighter slope, then change again two more times, until they reached the exit between two rocky formations, something almost imperceptible to those approaching from the outside.

The Lord of Eyrie sighed as he took the lead of his platoon with his black steed. While trotting he had found the strategic geography of the Valley fascinating, taking over the place was almost impossible. It was difficult to prepare an army and march against them, unless they were familiar with the geography of the place, its mountains and forests, traps, precipices, and swamps. To start a war against the Vale, the enemy would have to know of such factors; it was crucial to coordinate surprise attacks, points of defense, and weaknesses. But here, in the middle of everything, it was difficult to analyze and think about such a thing. The region where he was Lord was almost impenetrable.

"I received a raven earlier. Lord Hoster Tully is looking forward to the meeting, though..." Yohn Royce whispered as he rode beside him.

"Though?" Harry demanded answers by looking earnestly at his vassal.

The Lord of Runestone glanced sideways to see if he was within range of any eavesdropper, pulling the reins of his stallion a little closer to his Lord, "My Lord. Riverrun is in mourning at the moment. Lord Tully's youngest daughter, Lysa, and her little grandson were found dead in the seat of her husband, Ser Kevan Lannister. The Lord Paramount of the Trident did not seem happy with the Lannisters, if the words on the letter were anything." Yohn stated quietly not wanting rumors and speculation to flourish among the troops.

Harry scowled after receiving this information. Despite his initial displeasure, he reluctantly accepted the news positively. He had received a letter from the Lord of Winterfell three days ago informing him that his wife had received a letter from his sister in a private language with suspicions that the Lannisters were involved in Harry's father's death. That day, Harry had stayed up all night trying to discover the deeper mystery of that message. He reflected and argued inwardly with himself, seeking to understand Lysa's intentions when she accused the Lannisters, the family of the Queen of Westeros. She did so without giving any concrete proof and it was unclear what she would gain from giving him this knowledge. What was Lysa's goal?

Harry had thanked Lord Stark and promised to investigate that news and bring it to his assassins if they proved the veracity of the information to the King's justice. Although, at no time did he let it appear that he was aware of the possible perpetrators of his father's death. But now, now with the news of Lysa's death, even Harry was a little lost, and he needed to assess the chessboard currently in play.

It seemed like it had more players than Harry had originally anticipated and possibly someone new had joined the game. What's more was it a new player or an old one that was behind Lysa's death and motivated her to send a letter to the north?

'Lysa was only a pawn, and when no longer needed, she was sacrificed. Was Varys the manipulator of the woman, or perhaps a lover?' Harry thought and now seemed reticent towards the lions and knew he would have to act cautious now. A player was hiding in the shadows and any mistake or hasty action could be fatal not just to him, but to his land and people too, "I understand. Anyway, let's leave this conversation aside. We will stop to fill our stomach and rest and then we will follow our way to Riverrun." Harry stated knowing that openly discussing this was just a recipe for disaster.

"Of course, my lord." Replied the bronze Yohn diligently.

The silence took over and the only sound was from the trotting of the horses. Harry was quiet now. Despite being away from the Eyrie, he had confidence that his house would be safe. Anya Waynwood, the Lady of Ironoaks was a good administrator and would rule the Vale faithfully in his absence, and, if she needed physical strength, Lyn Cobray would be there to provide assistance.

Harry and his knights risked galloping faster and continued for some time until they reached a hill in the far west of a high point, giving them a view of a huge forest in the distance. Disregarding the vision ahead, they began their descent down a trail that snaked and curved around the area to reach a small river.

Upon reaching said river, they stopped a little to rest and take their fill of the fresh water, then they resumed the journey. They road down the path for a few miles until they broke left to the south side, skirting between trees and rock formations. They went up this road and when they reached the lower part on their left was the Inn at the crossroads, "Here we are!" Harry shouted, "Let's rest here tonight, the night is coming and it's dangerous to travel in the dark. You'll all be in the stable and will camp in the guard area." He commanded receiving grunts of acknowledgment from some of the men while others resounded their affirmations.

The inn was three stories tall with towers and white stone chimneys. Its south wing was built on piles that rose on a bed of weeds. On the north side was a barn with a thatched roof and a bell tower. The building was surrounded by a low wall of broken white stones to give some form of defense if necessary.

The view of the wooden walls and an internal ceiling was most welcome to the group at the end of a gray and wet afternoon. It was especially welcoming when the smoke from the stone chimney promised warmth. Then there was the smell of hot food in the air, good drink to be taken, and the safety of a good night's sleep in one of the rooms, away from the elements. However, as they approached, the weariness began to make them slow down, even if they wanted nothing more than to rush through the doors to reach the small comfort that was given by the modest abode.

Harry entered the tavern of the Inn while the men dealt with the basic/tedious necessary tasks, "My good Lord, what can I do for you?" A young girl asked while she led Harry to the table in front usually manned by the owner of the inn, a woman named Masha Heedle.

Harry stared at the girl for a few seconds, gazing at her head carefully. She was a beautiful young woman; she had long red hair that she wore in a large braid. She wore a plain dress that was a light color with flower detail on the shoulders and hem of the dress, and although it was not very pretty, was probably used at the request of her employer not to draw much attention due to some of the less desirable travelers who possibly have come since the dress hid the girl's body instead of accentuating it. Her face was very pleasing to look at: she had a rosy mouth that was very well defined and had a big smile, her eyes were a very light brown, and her skin had no spots or scars that could damage her appearance.

The girl's cheeks flushed red as she noticed her client's gaze and his handsome features, as well as having an idea of who he was. Fighting the battle to stop blushing up a storm, she shook her head by turning her attention to the nobleman and not to his appearance, "Do you want food or drink, Lord Arryn?" She politely asked as she did not want to insult the man in front of her.

Harry thought for a moment before replying, "Both, for two people. Ah! Two glasses of beer would also be appreciated from me." Harry said when he saw that the inn was not full, but the common room was almost empty. However, this soon changed when the scouts entered the place and took over part of the area.

"There's a fine roasted lamb with an herbal crust, and a few ducks that Lady Masha's nephew found on his last. Which dish do you want?" The maid asked carefully.

Harry uttered with a simple answer, "Both."

The girl laughed as she nodded and moved to a shelf as she took out a metal container and a bottle, "Well, you look pretty tired, it'll be enough for that." She stated with a smile as she filled the mug with beer and took it to Harry, "Will you want a room for the night too?" She asked gently, knowing that she would probably be taking care of preparing the room for the both of them, since Lady Masha would want to keep an eye on the common area with so many people.

Harry nodded, but clarified, "A room with two beds, please. And take my order to that table." The young lord said pointing to a corner, where a graying lord waited patiently sitting at the table, and was grateful when she nodded before leaving with Harry watching her walk before he smiled and just looked around the room while drinking the beer and walked in direction of the innkeeper.

"Masha!" Harry exclaimed cheerfully as he approached the fat woman. Though, he felt a shiver creeping through the spine when he noticed the smile full of teeth stained in a dark tone of the lady who owns the inn. It was a bloody horror.

xxx Winterfell xxx

The hunters left at dawn. The king desired wild boar for the night's feast. Prince Joffrey was with his father, and for that reason Robb was also allowed to join the group. Uncle Benjen, Jory, Theon Greyjoy, Ser Rodrik, and even the queen's funny little brother went with them. After all, it was the last hunt. The next morning, they would leave for the South.

Bran had been left behind with Jon, the girls, and Rickon. However, Rickon was just a baby, the girls were just girls, and he could not find Jon and his wolf anywhere. For the last few days, Bran could hardly wait for the departure. He was going to walk the king's road on a horse that was his, not a pony, but a real horse. His father would be the King's Hand and would live in the Red Keep at King's Landing, the castle the Dragon Lords had built. Old Nan said there were ghosts, and dungeons where terrible things had been done, and dragon heads on the walls. Bran shivered just thinking about it, but he was not afraid. How could he have been? His father would be with him, and the king, with all his knights and men at arms.

Bran was going to be a knight himself someday, one of the Kingsguard. Old Nan said they were the finest swords in all the realm. There were only seven of them, and they wore white armor and had no wives or children but lived only to serve the king. Bran knew all the stories. Their names were like music to him. Ser Wyn of the Mirror Shield. Ser Ryam Redwyne. Prince Aemon the Dragonknight. The White Bull, Gerold Hightower. Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning. Barristan the Bold. The twins Ser Erryk and Ser Arryk, who had died on one another's swords hundreds of years ago, when brother fought sister in the war the singers called the Dance of the Dragons.

Two of the King's Guards had come north with King Robert. Bran had watched them in fascination, never daring to speak to them. Ser Boros was a bald man with a broad jaw, and Ser Meryn had slanting eyes and a rusty beard. Ser Jaime Lannister looked more like the knights of the stories and belonged to the King's Guard, but Robb said that he had killed the old crazy king and no longer counted. The greatest living knight was Ser Barristan Selmy, Barristan the Bold, the King Commander of the King's Guard. His father had promised that they would meet Ser Barristan when they arrived at King's Landing, and Bran had marked the passage of days on the wall of the room, anxious to leave, and start seeing a world which he had only dreamed of and begin a life he could scarcely imagine.

After the hunters had departed, he wandered through the castle with his wolf at his side, intending to visit the ones who would be left behind, Old Nan, Gage the cook, Mikken in his smithy, Hodor the stable boy who smiled so much and took care of his pony and never said anything but "Hodor," and the man in the glass gardens who gave him a blackberry when he came to visit.

But it was useless. He went first to the stable and saw his pony in the bay, but it was no longer his pony, for he would have a real horse and leave the pony behind, and suddenly he just wanted to sit and cry. He turned and fled before Hodor and the other stable boys saw the tears in his eyes. It was the end of farewells. But before he said goodbye to Winterfell he decided to climb.

It had been weeks since he'd climbed the broken tower because of all that had happened since this might be his last chance. He ran across the sacred grove, choosing the longest way, to avoid the pond where the heart-tree grew. It had always frightened him; the trees should not have eyes, Bran always believed, or leaves that looked like hands. The wolf ran at his heels.

"Stay here." He told the animal at the base of the sentry tree growing by the gunsmith's wall, "Sit down, stay." The wolf did as he was told. Bran scratched him behind his ears and then turned, jumped, grabbed a low branch, and got up. He was in the middle of the tree, moving easily from branch to branch.

The roofs of Winterfell were Bran's second home. His mother often said that he was already able to climb before he learned to walk. To the boy, Winterfell was a labyrinth of gray stone, with walls, towers, patios, and tunnels that stretched in all directions. In the older parts of the castle, the halls were tilted up and down, so that it was not even possible to know the floor it was on.

Bran was able to see all of Winterfell at a glance as he stepped out from under this tree and climbed up to the sky. And he liked the look of the place, stretched out in front of him, with only birds whirling over his head while the whole life of the castle continued down below.

His mother was terrified that Bran might one day slip off a wall and kill himself. He'd told her that would not happen, but she'd never believed him. Once she made him promise to stay on the ground. He kept the promise for almost a fortnight, unhappy every day, until one night he came out the window of the room when his brothers were asleep. Later, Maester Luwin molded a little clay boy, dressed him in Bran's clothes, and threw him from the wall into the courtyard, to demonstrate what would happen to Bran if he fell. It was amusing, but after the demonstration Bran simply looked at the maester and said: "I am not made of clay, and in any case, I never fall."

Now Bran was going from gargoyle to gargoyle with the ease of long practice when he heard the voices. He was so startled that he almost lost his support. The First Tower had been empty all his life. "I do not like it," a woman said. There was a row of windows beneath Bran, and the voice came from the last window on that side. "You should be the Hand."

"Gods forbid," a man's voice replied lazily. "It's not an honor I'd want. There's far too much work involved."

Bran hung, listening, suddenly afraid to go on. They might glimpse his feet if he tried to swing by, "Don't you see the danger this puts us in?" The woman asked, "Robert loves the man like a brother."

"Robert can barely stomach his brothers. Not that I blame him. Stannis would be enough to give anyone indigestion." The man stated with disgust evident in his voice.

"Don't play the fool. Stannis and Renly are one thing, and Eddard Stark is quite another. Robert will listen to Stark. Damn them both! I should have insisted that he name you, but I was certain Stark would refuse him." The woman stated clearly displeased by the chain of events.

"We ought to count ourselves fortunate." The man said still lazy, "The king might as easily have named one of his brothers, or even Littlefinger, gods help us. Give me honorable enemies rather than ambitious ones, and I'll sleep more easily by night." The man continued with some fear in his voice now.

They were talking about his father, Bran realized. He wanted to hear more. A few more feet . . . but they would see him if he swung out in front of the window, "We will have to watch him carefully." The woman said clearly not convinced.

"I would sooner watch you." The man said, sounding bored, "Come back over here." The male stated with more emotion.

"Lord Eddard has never taken any interest in anything that happened south of the Neck." The woman said clearly distressed, "Never. I tell you; he means to move against us. Why else would he leave the seat of his power?"

"A hundred reasons. Duty. Honor. He yearns to write his name large across the book of history, to get away from his wife, or both. Perhaps he just wants to be warm for once in his life." The man stated not really caring.

"Jon Arryn's son is treated like a little brother by Robert and Eddard. It's a wonder that Harry is not here to greet us with his accusations." The woman stated with some anger in her voice now.

Bran looked down. There was a narrow ledge beneath the window, only a few inches wide. He tried to lower himself toward it. Too far. He would never reach, "You're getting worked up for no reason. Harry Arryn is a scared kid." The male stated clearly unimpressed or worried.

"That frightened kid is Lord of the Eyrie, Defender of the Valley, and Warden of the East. He was taught to use a sword by Ser Barristan Selmy." Said the woman trying to persuade the man to see the trouble.

"If he knew anything, he would have taken the chance and came to talk to Robert here in the north. He's probably scared and hidden among the mountains of the Vale." Replied the man arrogantly not at all afraid of a boy.

"My father wanted to bring Harry Arryn to Casterly Rock years ago. Jon knew that his son's life would be held hostage by him. He knew that until the boy grew up and became the regent of his region, he was safe on top of the Eyrie." The woman explained knowing it was too dangerous a chance.

"Harry." The man made the name sound like a plague or something vile in his throat, "I find it funny that you've always been interested in that hawk's cub. It wouldn't be his eyes would it?" He laughed, a bitter sound if there ever was one, "Let Lord Arryn become as bold as he wishes. Whatever he knows, whatever he thinks he knows, he has no proof." He paused for a moment, "Or do you think he has such proof?" The man questioned curiously.

"Do you think the king will require proof?" The woman asked in exasperation, "I tell you; he loves me not."

"And whose fault is that, sweet sister?" The man questioned with the smile almost being visible just from his tone.

Bran studied the ledge. He could drop down. It was too narrow to land on, but if he could catch hold as he fell past, pull himself up . . . except that might make a noise, draw them to the window. He was not sure what he was hearing, but he knew it was not meant for his ears.

"You are as blind as Rober.t" The woman said with a huff.

"If you mean I see the same thing, then yes." The man said, "I see a man who would sooner die than betray his king." The man stated and the woman scoffed.

"He betrayed one already, or have you forgotten?" The woman asked, "Oh, I don't deny he's loyal to Robert, that's obvious. What happens when Robert dies and Joff takes the throne? And the sooner that comes to pass, the safer we'll all be. My husband grows more restless every day. Having Stark beside him will only make him worse. He's still in love with the sister, the insipid little dead sixteen-year-old. How long till he decides to put me aside for some new Lyanna?" The woman stated with venom towards the end of her words.

Bran was suddenly very frightened. He wanted nothing so much as to go back the way he had come, to find his brothers. Only what would he tell them? He had to get closer, Bran realized, he had to see who was talking.

"All this talk is getting very tiresome, sister." The man said before a grunt was heard, "Come here and be quiet." The man continued before a gasp was heard.

Bran looked in the window: Inside the room, a man and a woman were wrestling. They were both naked. Bran could not tell who they were. The man's back was to him and his body blocked the woman from view as he pushed her up against a wall.

There were soft, wet sounds. Bran realized they were kissing. He watched, wide-eyed and frightened, his breath tight in his throat. The man had a hand down between her legs and he must have been hurting her there, because the woman started to moan low in her throat, "Stop it." She said, "Stop it, stop it. Oh, please. . . " But her voice was low and weak and she did not push him away. Her hands buried themselves in his hair, his tangled golden hair, and pulled his face down to her breast.

Bran saw her face. Her eyes were closed, and her mouth was open, moaning. Her golden hair swung from side to side as her head moved back and forth, but still he recognized the queen. He must have made a noise. Suddenly her eyes opened, and she was staring right at him. She screamed.

Everything happened at once then. The woman pushed the man away wildly, shouting and pointing. Bran tried to pull himself up, jumping as he reached for the gargoyle. He was in too much of a hurry. His hand scraped uselessly across smooth stone, and in his panic his legs slipped, and suddenly he was flailing. There was an instant of vertigo, a sickening lurch as the window flashed past. He shot out a hand, grabbed for the ledge, lost it, caught it again with his other hand. He swung against the building, hard. The impact took the breath out of him. Bran dangled, one-handed, panting.

Faces appeared in the window above him: The queen and now Bran recognized the man beside her. They looked as much alike as reflections in a mirror, "He saw us." The woman said shrilly, anger and fear obvious on her voice as she had a sheet covering her body.

"So he did." The man said as he noticed Bran's fingers started to slip. Bran grabbed the ledge with his other hand, fingernails dug into unyielding stone. The man reached down, "Take my hand," he said, "Before you fall."

Bran seized his arm and held on tight with all his strength. The man yanked him up to the ledge. "What are you doing?!" The woman demanded in shock and surprise.

The man ignored her. He was very strong, Bran noted, as the man set him on the sill, "How old are you, boy?"

"Seven," Bran said, shaking with relief. His fingers had dug deep gouges in the man's forearm. He let go sheepishly.

The man looked over at the woman seeing an expectant look on her face and sighed, "The things I do for love." He said with loathing before he looked at Bran and then gave him a shove.

Screaming, Bran went backward out the window into empty air. There was nothing to grab on to. The courtyard rushed up to meet him and he knew no more..

Somewhere off in the distance, a wolf was howling. Crows circled the broken tower, waiting for corn.

xxx Riverrun xxx

Riverrun was the ancestral castle of the Tully House, and of the Lord Paramount of the Trident. 'It's a beautiful place.' Harry thought, as he reached Riverrun, and saw the noble visage of the Tully house, the rivers, the glorious landscape.

Riverrun was a strong three-sided castle, though not particularly large. The castle bounded to the north by the Tumblestone and to the south by Red Fork, while to the west a third side faced a huge artificial pit. Through the whispers he learned that in time of danger the floodgates can be opened to fill a wide moat and leave the castle surrounded on all three sides by water, turning Riverrun into a virtually unassailable island.

The castle surrounded by sandstone walls, raising water sheer, its battlements are crenelated and have arrow loops, and its towers command the opposing shores. Riverrun is known for the ability to store supplies for men and horses for as long as two years. A garrison of two hundred men is larger than Riverrun requires in most circumstances. Their guards wear fish-crested helmets. The doors of the castle seemed to be made of heavy brazilwood.

He spotted the wheel tower that had a large waterwheel turned by the Tumblestone. It was to keep it from being entangled by a climbing ivy next to it, and below it made a wide turn and ended up in shaking waters. The Tumblestone led, at the water gate, to a wide arc and heavy iron portcullis, red with rust in its lower half. It was named for being half in the water, and one must use a boat to cross it. Many boats were tied inside the Water Gate, bound to iron rings on the walls. The water ladder led from the lower bailey to the castle.

Harry took the shortest route from the Great Hall to the castle through the sacred grove, a light and airy garden with elms, redwoods, wildflowers, nesting birds, and streams. The heart tree was a lean sculpted strain. The September in Riverrun is a sandstone building with seven faces between the gardens of the late Lady Minisa Tully. Inside, the images of the Seven were visibly painted in marble. A rainbow of light filled the sept.

Riverrun's dungeons were windowless and damp with their heavy doors made of wood and iron. The castle also contained kennels and stables. Apparently should the entirety of the army need to be held within.

Harry and Lord Royce were in the Great Hall of Riverrun with a dozen Valemen accompanying him. His knights stood outside waiting for any order, "Welcome, Lord Arryn." Harry turned his body after hearing a hoarse voice of smoke and saw at the end of the corridor of the Great Hall, were two distinct men, beckoning him with courtesy and walking towards them.

The owner of the voice wore gray armor, but in the cloak was Riverrun's blue and red waving, and a brilliant black fish worked in gold and obsidian fastened the folds of the cloak to the man's shoulder. His features were wrinkled and worn, and time had robbed him of the color of his hair and had left them only gray, he offered him a small smile, thick eyebrows like caterpillars, and laughter in his eyes, which were deep blue. This was Ser Brynden Tully, also known as the Blackfish. Brother of Lord Hoster Tully.

The second man was younger. This must have been Riverrun's heir, Edmure Tully. With red hair and deep blue eyes, like most Tullys, and a flaming red beard. The man had a sturdy build, but he is of short stature, compared to Harry anyway. Edmure wore a tunic embroidered with silver fish, as well as a padded red wool jerkin with a trout embroidered in heels. He carried a sword and tried to look intimidating as a true Lord, but soon Harry realized that the heir was failing and almost giggled at the display but preferred to be quiet.

"Ser Edmure Tully, Ser Brynden is a pleasure to meet you and I am honestly thankful that you welcome me so gracefully after a family loss." Harry said sympathetically, shaking hands with the two men and introducing Royce to them.

"You flatter us, my lord. We have something in common, those pests the Lannis-" Edmure started only to be stopped.

"What my nephew means, Lord Arryn, is that we also know of your pain, and so my lord, brother, has decided to fulfill the meeting which you two would have here." Blackfish said cutting off his nephew hard.

Harry waved at the older Tully, though saved the little slip from the heir Tully, 'Was it just me, or was he about accuse the Lannisters of something?' He thought as he'd have to ensure he kept his eyes and ears sharp.

"Anyway, I'll take them to their rooms, and later you two be taken to my brother's chamber. I'm afraid he's not in the best of his health." Reported Ser Brynden with some sadness.

Harry and Lord Royce followed the two knights to their rooms for the while. A few hours later had them being led to another and Harry was in for a surprise upon entering. The reason being that the sight before him was not what he expected: The Lord Paramount of the Trident was clearly affected by some serious illness, Lord Hoster seemed to have lost a lot of weight recently and seemed to have shrunk. His hair and beard were white, he was being helped by a Maester, named Vyman, leaning against the head of the bed, beside it was a small desk with several rolls of rolled parchment. The old lord pulled the striped robes in red and blue to waist high and propped his back on thick cushions.

"Sit"-Cough, Cough- "Please, Lord Arryn, Lord Royce." Said the old man after taking a white cloth from his mouth. He slowly stretched his fragile arm to the table and picked up a parchment.

Harry and Yohn sat down and each took a glass of wine that the butler of the castle, Utherydes Wayn, offered. Ser Brynden and Ser Edmure are seated next to the door and the Maester was also present, "Thank you for your hospitality, Lord Hoster, although I do not want to lengthen our conversation and disturb your rest." Harry said respectfully.

"I apologize, my young lord. As a Lord Paramount, I should receive a guest of your importance in the best possible physical health condition."

"Nonsense Lord Hoster. What matters is our mind. In a negotiation what prevails is the mind." Harry stated wanting to ensure the old man didn't fret over something beyond his control.

The Lord of Riverrun nodded, nodding agreement and letting a small smile bloom on his wrinkled lips, "Well said, young man, I see that you have inherited your father's mind. I remember our conversations during Robert's Rebellion, however... Cough... I would like to know what kind of alliance you intend between Vale... Cough... and Riverrun." The old man spoke with a little difficulty.

"Straight to the point, as expected." Harry realized that Lord Hoster was seriously ill and doubted that the man could stay alive for another two years. It was better to do a negotiation that would close all the loose ends, and it also good that the heir, Edmure, was present at the moment, "Well, my Lord," Harry began, pulling a parchment from his mantle. "I would like to present a marriage proposal between your son and heir, Edmure Tully and Ysilla Royce, the daughter of my most trusted vassal and the second most powerful house in the Vale." He finished leaving a thoughtful old man, a quiet maester, a silent knight, and a shocked heir.

"Marry, but I still-"

"Shut up, Edmure... Cough." Old Tully spoke as he coughed on the cloth. After a few seconds he turned his gaze to the parchment Harry offered, "I see, this girl seems to be a good match, but... Cough... As much as the House Royce of Runestone is an old house they are still vassals, not wanting to offend you, Lord Royce." Said the old man who received a nod of understanding from the Lord of Runestone, and continued. "My son is heir and the next Lord of Riverrun. I would need some compensation, Lord Arryn." The old man finished between coughs.

Harry crossed his arms in thought while the old man in front of him coughed uncontrollably, 'Very astute and very clever as I expected.' Harry thought knowing beforehand the personality of his host. He looked to the right side and saw that the heir Tully had a frown on his face, "Ysilla is a very beautiful and intelligent young woman, Ser Edmure. If I were to marry any daughter of one of my vassals, my first choice would be her. I will also reward you, above all." When Harry said those words, he realized that the heir of Riverrun calmed down more.

"And what would be the benefits that the Riverlands would have with a Lady of the Valley, my young lord?" The old man had resumed his conversation after a long coughing fit.

Harry pulled two more scrolls from the mantle, unwinding fast and opening them on the table beside the bed, "Hard days are coming, my lords, and as the Starks like to say: Winter is Coming, and it will come in the form of war, and which region is most affected by the conflicts in Westeros?" Harry questioned since it had happened time and again.

"The Riverlands." Speaking for the first time since entering the room, said Ser Brynden.

"Exactly. However, I have a solution, which you will be able to read in more detail in the scrolls. To simplify, I will assist the Tully House with an army of Valemen, among them the best knights, Lancers, archers and more," Harry rose with excitement and continued as he paced, "Think about it, if we were to add men from the Riverlands, we would have summed around thirty to 40,000 men parked around of Riverrun. This castle would be a real fortress." Realizing that he was very excited, the Lord of Eyrie sat down with a little embarrassment.

Ser Brynden threw back his head and laughed, "I like your enthusiasm, my lord. It's always good to see this kind of excitement in young people," Brynden commented, before nodding more seriously. "Tell me, Lord Arryn, I see a very ambitious plan here. The Riverlands is only a means to an end? What do you intend to do with thousands of men loyal to you in this territory?" He asked looking at Harry with a steel look.

Harry sighed and looked at the bed where old Hoster looked at him expectantly, while the heir, Edmure, had an ambitious look, "As I have said before, the war is coming in. I fear that the kingdom will be divided into several parts and the Iron Throne will be the final grand prize. I intend to have the fewest losses possible, and an alliance with the Riverlands would be in the best interest possible." Harry spoke coldly.

"Can we never be at peace?" Ser Brynden muttered sarcastically.

"Peace with those damned lions at Red Keep." Yohn Royce growled angrily. Lord Jon Arryn was a man of integrity and he, like other lords of the Vale, was outraged by the lions.

This caught the eye of everyone in the chamber. The Lannisters had not been summoned at this meeting, and no one had questioned it because it was of no interest. But now? "Lannister? Do you know anything about them? I'm telling you, father, the Lannisters are conspiring." Edmure bellowed enraged. He was about to get up when he was seated in his chair again by his uncle.

"Calm down, Edmure." Lord Hoster Tully took a glass of water and gulped gently. After drinking he set his glass down on the table, "My daughter, the youngest, Lysa, had sent me a raven with some information which at first I thought was only some extravagance of my rebellious daughter and her impulsiveness." The old man paused for a moment to catch his breath. "A few moons later, she and my little grandson were found dead in her husband's seat. No one in my Westerlands offered an explanation, not even the man who married my daughter." He explained in a voice devoid of life.

Harry for the first time seeing the expression on the face of the Bronze Yohn, was incredulous. Shaking his head, he turned his attention to the Lord of Riverrun, "This is worrying." Harry began, before beginning to explain some things giving some half truth to the Tully. Harry would not tell them the whole truth. Whoever talks a lot in Westeros ends up being caught in a big spider's web. He said his father was investigating something about the Lannisters and it seemed that he was close to discovery when he fell ill and died soon after. He told of how Maester Colemon was improving his father's condition when he was sent to Eyrie by the Grand Maester Pycelle. Jon Arryn's illness worsened later, and he soon died. He told them that even as a child, Tywin Lannister wanted him to be raised in Casterly Rock, but his good father had denied it at the time, "See this my good lords, the lions are in the lair. However, at any moment they will leave the den and we need to be prepared." Harry finished pointedly, eyeing each of the men in the room.

Lord Hoster fixed his gaze before him, pensive. It lasted about three minutes, but then he looked at Vyman, the Maester waved to his definite lord, "You're right, Lord Arryn, is this where I sign?" Hoster asked pointing to a line on the parchment. Harry nodded with a small smile. That was what he wanted, now he would have a command position outside the Vale, thus giving him a great military advantage against the men of the Westerlands. What's more, he could grow food out of the Vale without harming his land. The Riverlands are fertile lands.

He was taken from his thoughts, "You'll have a great ally, Edmure, be a man that needs more men like Lord Arryn in Westeros, and fewer men like Petyr Baelish." The old man finished before putting the parchments in the maester's hands.

Harry suddenly became alert. Petyr Baelish was a name he despised but had forgotten because he did not feel it necessary to waste time on someone of low birth. House Baelish of the Fingers was a house he exiled from the Vale, after discovering that the man who had control of the customs in Gulltown was diverting money and using his position to receive bribes. It was shortly after Harry's discovery that this man was the current Master of coin of the King's Landing court, appointed by his own father to the Small Council. He remembered a short man in Red Keep, who seemed impotent but liked to secrete about his youth in Riverrun and his friendship with Lord Hoster's two daughters. Harry had sent a raven to Petyr and received no reply, not even a protest against the destruction he commanded from the unnamed tower in the Fingers. Harry needed that place to build a watchtower and a military settlement, something he built a year ago.

'No!' Harry thought when a few pieces began to fit together. A man of low birth who was despised and humiliated, impotent and underestimated. But at the same time ambitious. Unscrupulous. Lysa had a lover, that was what Harry had thought days ago. Lover!

His father had once told him that there was a rumor that Littlefinger took Lysa's virginity, and therefore Lord Hoster was willing to marry his daughter to a lord of any age.

War generates money in Westeros, the Master of Coin takes over the gold in King's Landing and is the one who oversees the taxes collected by all seven kingdoms.

The king's former hand is the father of his suzerain who exiled his one and only small house from the land of his birth.

"Son of a bitch." Harry whispered coming to a realization. He was wrenched from his thoughts by a slight shake on his shoulders.

"Are you well, Lord Arryn?" It was the worried voice of the heir, Edmure, who was very close to him.

Harry brushed his features and gave a small smile. Saving his thoughts on Littlefinger for later, "I'm fine, I was lost in silly thoughts. And please call me Harry, you'll be a lord soon." The young Lord of Arryn commented as he ran his hand through his hair.

Edmure Tully grinned and put a hand on Harry's shoulder, "You are doing my house a great favor and call me Edmure. Incidentally, it is written on the parchment that you intend to build two towers, one on either side of the Riverrun to house the Military strength." Riverrun's heir received a nod from Harry, "So, you could build a settlement for the Smallfolk of the Riverlands. I say this without requirement, but here in these lands they suffer twice as much as their peers from other regions." Hoster's son was nervous for fear of offending his new ally. However, he received a positive response.

"Do not worry, Edmure, your concern for the Smallfolk shows your genuine concern for your land. Did you know there are almost no beggars in the Vale?" Harry asked, taking the heir Tully by surprise.

The two walked while Harry explained some of the social policies he applies in the east.

But deep in his mind, a name was being stored in seven keys: Petyr Baelish.

End of chapter

About Harry's physiognomy: He looks like Mark Ryder, playing Cesare Borgia.