Review responses at the bottom. Chapter title quote as well, starting now. Just to avoid spoiling parts of a chapter.

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"- and it did not take long until that little milk maid could milk her own tits!" Walder's spit flew in a high arc as he laughed at his own youthful escapades. Well. Escapades. That bastard's mother had gotten Walder's gift not two years ago, and already there was a second child on the way.

Rickard threw his head back in wild laughter despite the jape's lack of taste, joining in with the cackling Lord of the Crossing. Old man Walder had taken a shine to the Stark contingent of their party, especially Rickard and Ashara. And while the old man was not antagonistic to Ned, Ned was definitely antagonistic to Walder Frey.

Which was understandable, but even Ashara managed to fake her smiles at the raunchy jokes that Walder made at her expense. Still, Rickard's future daughter-in-law gave as good as she got. Oh, Rickard had truly laughed at the bit where Ashara had dared any man brave enough to eat more Dornish peppers than she did.

While Walder himself had stomached more than his other Frey contestants Hosteen and Ryman, the Frey patriarch only managed to down three peppers in comparison to Ashara's ten. Even though Walder was beaten in that regard by his son Luceon with four and his daughter-in-law Betharios with seven peppers, the whole affair had the whole camp roaring and howling. A dark horse had been Perianne Frey Haigh who had eaten second-most of the spicy little things at eight and a half.

The other thing to endear the Starks to the cranky old lord was Rickard's declaration that he wanted the leftovers of the ale from the betrothal feast finished before crossing the Blue Fork and shared the drink liberally with the Freys and Mallisters in their party.

Merrett Frey had even sworn eternal friendship with Ned on one of his drunken binges, and once more Rickard could only marvel at the way his son seemed to attract idiots, lackwits and drunks everywhere. Old Gods, Rickard was still wrestling with the revelation that his son Ned and Quellon's get Victarion were now pen pals!

The world had become truly strange.

Gossip had flown north, of unrest at the Citadel and another duel between the Red Viper and another Yronwood. The most worrisome rumor, though, came in the guise of a poor man's jape. 'Queen Rhaella has turned most devout.' It became ever more urgent that Rickard made a stop at Castle Cerwyn.

Still, it would not do to slight Walder Frey in hastening their journey to the North too much, and so Rickard now sat in the place of honor in the Great Hall of the Twins. Tomorrow, the Starks would cross the Green Fork early in the morning. But tonight, they would feast.

"And, Rickard, how many Snows do you have running around up at Winterfell? I mean, you do have to keep warm during your cold winters, eh?"

Walder's question and lecherous grin had Rickard focusing on the conversation again.

"The wet nurse that already fed my father still lives at Winterfell, and even now I am too fearful of her spoon to go around knocking up scullery maids", Rickard said, leaving a pregnant pause before he continued, "so I keep all the ingredients necessary for moon tea by my bed side!"

Walder started roaring, and even though Rickard took care that few people could hear his words, the laughter soon rippled through the entire hall. None of the guests wanted to appear anything but jolly while the fossil in the highchair was having a great time.

And while Rickard spoke the truth of the matter that he did not have any bastards, he did not keep the habit of sleeping with the help in Winterfell. Doing so not only bred bastards but also discontent. Rickard knew how easy it was to bribe unhappy servants, so he took care there were none at his castle.

Of course, that did not mean that Rickard had stayed celibate in the decade since Lyarra's death, but bastards born after the birth of any legitimate children could lead to difficulties when procuring a second marriage for Rickard. That was too valuable a tool to endanger even in the slightest.

"Got any grand-bastards, though? I know enough of my children take after me, so there are enough of those filling my halls. And your former heir did have a fitting reputation to question whether Brandon sowed some oats."

"Well," Rickard drawled the words a little to match his salacious grin, "that is definitely a possibility, Walder. Though, I may have to worry for Ned as well. From all I have heard so far, my new heir is the one with the wicked tongue."

That remark set loose another avalanche of cackling, and Rickard used that reprieve to ponder Brandon's proclivities once more. The matter of bastards was actually something that Rickard would have to talk with someone about. At least Brandon had not gotten a noblewoman with child, of that Rickard was fairly certain. No, if that were the case Robard would have contacted Rickard directly.

But if Brandon had children with a woman of the smallfolk? Letters concerning something with that little political relevance would not have been encrypted or brought to Rickard directly. No, if Brandon had left a smallfolk Snow behind somewhere, only an unmarked letter addressed to Rickard would have arrived at Winterfell.

And those letters would have passed through Walys' hands, along with any correspondence detailing Brandon's other disgraceful behavior. Yet none such letters had ever made it into Rickard's hands. It seemed Walys Flowers was due a lection on obedience. After all, Rickard by now knew there must have been at least a few unmarked letters concerning Brandon's conduct.

"Talking of bastards," Walder once more got Rickard's attention, talking quietly in-between sips of Butterwell wine and bites of luce, "I have noticed your lovely Dornish daughter-in-law to be has not once touched the good wine I shared with you today, Rickard. How does that come about?"

Rickard did not sit straighter, yet he did let the corners of his mouth drop a little to show displeasure.

"I believe, my friend Walder, that Lady Ashara is not overly fond of any wine besides Dornish red. And let us not even talk of ale. She will acquire the taste for it in the North, with time, and I see no need to pressure her in that regard."

"Oh, I did notice that the Lady Ashara never once drank with us as we were finishing your leftover ale, Rickard. Yet, I cannot have a guest leave my halls thinking they had been hosted to anything less than the best of my ability. Let me send for a cask of the best Dornish red in my cellar."

Walder was goading Rickard. So, Rickard put his smile back on, yet it was lacking even a trace of warmth this time.

"Walder. I like you. But not too long ago there was another Riverlord that tried to push me on matters that concerned my heir's consort."

Rickard gave Walder a hard stare over the rim of his own cup as he drank from the old Butterwell wine himself. If Rickard was honest with himself, the white wine was a little too sweet for his taste. As he put the cup down again, it seemed to break a bubble of silence just between the two lords at the place of honor.

"So, Walder. Won't you remind me just how it came to be that we travelled north from Riverrun together?"

Walder Frey held Rickard's gaze for a total of maybe three seconds. Then, the old man faltered. His point made; Rickard decided to throw the old man a line.

"The wine truly is the perfect companion to go with luce, Walder. You just have to sell me some so I can have them brought to Winterfell."

The old pike was not properly boned but that did not stop Rickard from eating heartily as he resumed with his fish after saying his piece. Walder just stayed quiet, even when Rickard had finished with his dish. The old man was less jolly for the next three courses.

After having left Walder alone to stew during the meal Rickard did reapproach the Lord of the Crossing after dinner had finished.

"Walder, old friend," Rickard started, joviality back in his voice, "let us not part tonight on a bad note."

"I was not aware there was a bad note between us, Rickard," Walder said, his face pinched as his voice the tone of only bad notes.

"Old gods, you can be as cranky as they say," Rickard just talked on, knowing no one had ever dared say the same to Walder's face, "let me help you with that. Your second youngest with your Crakehall wife; Geremy was it? I hear he has been betrothed to a Waynwood chit?"

The last word drew a crude smile from Walder, the ice broken once more.

"True."

"Well, what is the name of his unbetrothed brother again? Ramon?"

"Raymund, Rickard."

"Right, that one," Rickard barreled on as Walder seemed stuck between insulted and intrigued, "Lord Karstark is always looking to pawn of his cousins on any respectable bachelor. Pays a good dowry, too."

Now Walder was definitely intrigued, and best friends with Rickard once more. Stevron had told Rickard that inquiries for Raymond's hand from House Beesbury in the Reach had been made. Rickard had advised the old heir that any connection to the Reach was a fool's investment right now. And to Rickard, any link the Frey's had to the fight for the Reach was a liability. Their famed family loyalty was the Freys' greatest asset.

The Freys were most valuable to Rickard for that famed loyalty and their myriad family ties with Houses in the whole Riverlands. And except Walder's own late wife Bethany Rosby, all of the ties House Frey under Walder's rule had made in the Riverlands, the Vale and the Westerlands. The Freys were the house most important for any transition of power in the Riverlands after the war.

Therefore, binding the Freys to the North through family was of paramount importance. And Rickard Karstark would be praising Rickard Stark to the old gods for thinning Arnolf Karstark's brood in Karhold.

Walder himself once more gifted Rickard his honest, sleazy grin.

"Rickard, my friend, let me gift your house three barrels of Butterwell vintage for your heir's upcoming nuptials."

The two lords continued talking for another hour on the minutiae of a union between Karstark and Frey before they split and retired for the night.

The Stark host was set to depart from the Twins an hour after dawn the next day. They were going to reunite with Jon Arryn and his men, who had taken the detour along the Riverroad, at entrance to the Neck on the Kingsroad. The old falcon had insisted he be there for Ned's wedding, so Elbert had been entrusted with ruling the Vale in his absence. Under the guidance of Lady Anya Waynwood, of course.

Walder Frey was seeing of Rickard in person, the two man having reached a sort of rapport with one another. Later in the day a raven would be sent towards Karhold from the Twins.

"This is it, you old cunt," Rickard said, and there was a sort of fondness to his voice as he spoke, "try not to die before your next wife comes to warm your bed."

"Heh, I plan to make it to number ten at least before I croak."

Rickard joined Walder as the old man chuckled after his response. Oh, the tragedy.

Fishing a purse from his saddle, Rickard threw the jiggling pouch towards the weaselly old man. Greedily, Walder grasped for the money.

"I fear my time as your guest is over, Walder. There is your toll, Lord of the Crossing. A stag for every man in my host, a dragon for every lord."

The going rate was usually two stags for every man. Three, if the Lord of the Crossing did not like you. In other words, the going rate was three stags every man.

"Fucking miser," Walder grumbled in response as he sifted through the coins, pulling out the single gold dragon within, "you're even cheating me still. The whoring warrior is a Lord. Where is my second dragon?"

"I did not know that the Lord of Storm's End was one of my subjects," Rickard replied, almost serene, "in other words, go fleece him yourself."

Walder shared an almost impish smile with Rickard, and Rickard was surprised to see that it fit the old man.

"That is an old mint," Walder said, turning the profile of Aegon the Conqueror to reflect the sun, "never seen a coin from the First's reign."

"Lucky you," was all that Rickard replied as he mounted his horse, "do send that barrel soon, Walder. See you the next time I come south."

We will not, Rickard thought, contrary to his words, because you will not live to see spring return, Walder."

"See you next time, Rickard" Walder replied, oblivious, "and try not to make such a mess of the south again."

With those words of parting Rickard spurred his horse on to take the lead of their group, riding with Ned alone to the forefront. Rickard's son stayed quiet by his side, noticing Rickard's somber mood. Rickard only started talking when they were out of sight of the Twins.

"Did you know the Mormonts once held sole dominion of the whale trade in the Sunset Sea, Ned? It only stopped after the onset of the Worthless War, when we took their sailors east to fight the Arryns. The whaling ships on the Western Coast just rotted away over the millennium that followed."

"Is this a continuation of Brandon the Burner's story, father?"

Ned seemed almost eager at the thought. But no, this time Rickard was going to speak of bleaker subjects than war.

"It is not. Walder Frey will fall into a coma in a few months. He will never wake again."

While Rickard did not check Ned's reaction to the dispassionate statement, the question that fallowed was not unexpected.

"What does that have to do with Mormonts and whaling?"

"With Mormonts? Nothing. But in 8.000 years us Starks have accumulated dangerous knowledge that even the Citadel is unaware of. And the Maesters never will, because by now the Ibbenese control the whale trade in the Shivering Sea and the Ironborn have kept the Sunset Sea free of any Westerosi business of the same. Yet we know, Ned. Whalers and miners die the same deaths."

"I… do not follow, father." Ned said.

"There is gold in the Northern Mountains, Ned, but only small veins of the metal have been found, and Northern gold is tainted. Who are the seven greatest amongst the mountain clans under our rule, Ned? And what are their sigils?"

It took a little time until the answer came forth, but it did.

"House Wull, three brown buckets on blue with a grey white rim. House Flint of the Mountains, a broken grey tower on black with three stars above. House Norrey, six green thistles on yellow. House Burley, a white knife on a blue triangle on a white shield. House Harclay, the three stages of the moon in blue on a white shield. House Liddle, three pinecones and firtrees on white. House Knott, bronze fretwork on a white shield."

"House Harclay's three moons are on a white stripe on a blue shield, but otherwise you are correct, Ned," Rickard said, "or at least you are in theory. You see, House Norrey's sigil is actually six thistles on gold. The color is just too expensive to use. And the six thistles symbolize the poisonous nature of the Norrey's gold.

"As our new allies to the west could tell you, normal miners die by the time they reach forty because of the grueling work they do. Yet Norrey gold miners in the first millennium under Stark rule died by the time they reached twenty-five, and all of the same cause.

"First, the men complained of abdominal pain. Then they lost weight. Soon after they tended to lose balance at times, or their speech started slurring. Their response to stimuli lapsed entirely and some developed fits. If they did not die due to accidents, all fell into a coma and died within a year of the first pains in their abdomen. Only when they stopped working in the mines right at the onset of that pain did they have a chance to survive. And that chance was often slim."

Rickard looked back at Ned as he finished, and the younger man looked stricken.

"How is it that the Lannister rule over anyone except corpses, then, father?"

The question was a whisper, but it was not asked timidly.

"It was not the gold, you see Ned, it was poison silver. It streaks the gold veins in the Northern mountains, and it turns viscous at surface temperature. We do not know if other gold veins have the same problems, but there is a reason that Northern currency was minted from the silver mines around the White Knife. I guess the Westermen just got… lucky."

"Father, you said whalers and miners die the same deaths. But how is that possible? Where would whalers get into contact with this poisonous silver?"

"We do not know how, Ned, but whalers stuck at sea that do not succumb to scurvy tend to show the same symptoms as miners. Tests by Brandon the Bad have shown that regular consumption of fish hastens the onset of symptoms when one has been poisoned. The older and higher in the food chain the fish is, the stronger the amplification.

"The Bad thought that all fish are poisonous. However, the amount of poison they carry might be to miniscule to matter. Only predatory fish, like whales, are dangerous to consume in high quantity as they also contain the poison from the fish they themselves have eaten."

Brandon the Bad was a touchy subject in the Stark family history. The only Stark king that had ever been fostered with the Boltons, the Bad had shown a penchant for torture and cruelty during his reign. However, he had also kept meticulous notes of the effects of poisons and other instruments he used. It was a grim read. Ned understood Rickard's implication, after a second.

"The luce!"

"Indeed, Ned. Yesterday I coated a gold dragon in a naturally refined form of poisoned silver, and today Walder collected his toll from me. Oh, the dragon alone was potent enough that he will succumb in time. And yet, every time that Walder eats his favorite fish, he will die just a little quicker."

The conversation stalled a little after that. Just as Rickard had known it would. Yet soon after, Ned returned with more questions. Just as Rickard had known he would.

"Father. There is something I do not understand."

"Ask me, then, Ned."

"When we were camped at Riverrun, you had Shara insinuate to the Whents that she would be the one to poison Lord Walder. Why?"

"It served more than one purpose, Ned."

Rickard actually wanted to say more, but a harsh laughter from Ned interrupted him.

"Doesn't it always, father?"

Rickard stopped his horse. Ned had sounded too bitter to simply let the comment go. Ned actually passed Rickard for a second before quickly pulling his charger to order.

"Son."

Ned seemed stiffen at Rickard's calling.

"Is there something that displeases you?"

Ned did not answer immediately. So, Rickard just sat there, astride on his horse, waiting for their host to catch up.

"The things you are doing," Ned started, "and the way you go about doing them, father.

"They go against everything Jon has taught me growing up. As high lords, should we not lead by example? What about honor and justice? What you talk about, all that leverage… Honestly, it disgusts me."

This required a delicate touch, Rickard knew. The things that Jon had taught Ned were not wrong per se. A code of ethics, as it were, is difficult to fault in any case. Still, at times high notions such as honor, mercy, justice, were not applicable if one did not have the power to enforce ones will on the unrepentant.

"How," Rickard started, spurring his horse onwards again, "would you say we should have dealt with Lord Nayland's second, what's the name of the git again?"

"Raynald," Ned replied, "Raynald Nayland."

"Right, Raynald Nayland," Rickard simply replied.

Gods, what a fucking cunt. Despite the subject Rickard could not suppress a smirk, and despite himself Ned could not suppress one either. What a family of gits.

"Well, out with it, Ned. What should we have done to see justice served to Raynald Nayland and the poor subject of his affections?"

"The Wall." Ned's answer was immediate. "The Wall and a proper gelding."

At least the North was not lost on the boy. Still, the answer… lacked.

"Ok. So, the second son of Lord Nayland is sent to the Wall. What does that mean for Lord Nayland's succession? What about his opinion of us? What are the consequences of that opinion changing? Do keep in mind, we are looking to wrest power in the Riverlands from the Tully's. Finally. What happens to the woman that Raynald Nayland mistreated?"

Progressively, Ned looked less and less sure. It was a beautiful thing, really, noblesse oblige. A beautiful thought. But how to punish someone who deviates from a moral standard when they have the power to prevent lawful prosecution?

"Let me tell you what'd probably have happened if we did it your way, Ned. Raynald Nayland would have been convicted, gelded, and shipped off to the Wall. As soon as that happens, House Nayland stands to lose a good amount of reputation. Lord Nayland also loses his spare. All because of us. Of House Stark.

"So, Lord Nayland will not be happy with us. Luckily for him, we have just recently made a rather important enemy in the Riverlands. Rather publicly as well, I might add. Every House that supports House Tully instead of us is an enemy. Every House that does so because we were wasteful and pissed away leverage to bind them to us instead is a mistake on our part, and incredibly wasteful. We are Northmen. We do not have the luxury to be wasteful when winter comes.

"Now let us look at all that from a strategic perspective. I do not give a shit who rules Hag's Mire, and its land. Generally, of course. It is an insignificant village with pretty much no economic relevance. However, just looking at distance, it lies on the shortest route from the North to Riverrun. If we ever are to launch a quick invasion there, we do again not have the luxury to face opposition at every insignificant village we pass. Am I clear so far?"

Despite Ned's nod of approval, there was defiance in his eyes. Of course, the consequences Rickard laid bare so far did nothing to address Ned's noble concerns regarding the mistreated smallfolk woman.

"Now, the last consequence of all that is that the poor woman Raynald Nayland mistreated will either end up dead or in a brothel before the year is out."

"What?! No! Why?"

Ned sputtered. Fucking sputtered. Rickard could not even suppress a sneer.

"What did you think would have happened? Cruel as it is, being the favorite plaything of a noble ensures that the woman has not been thrown out of her house yet. She's used goods. Who would want to marry her now that she's been soiled so publicly? Everyone in her village knows. But the same fear that prevents the townsfolk from reporting Raynald Nayland to his father prevents them from harming the woman as well."

Ned was not stupid. He understood what Rickard was talking about immediately, even if he did not like it. Still, Ned was not satisfied with Rickard's explanation.

"How does not interfering improve the situation, then, father?"

"Well," Rickard started, knowing he wore a wolfish smile, "I never said we would not interfere, did I? I told the Jeyne not to interfere until the poor girl is showing. A bastard, Ned, can always be a powerful piece. The poor woman will find shelter in the North once she is pregnant, she will be cared for, and the good Lord Nayland will be informed of the… consequences of his son's transgressions. As will his heir."

Rickard let that information sink in. A bastard can always be a powerful piece. Be it the father's sentimentality or the wife's jealousy, both could be used as tools. Rickard saw Ned look back towards their party. Towards Robert and little Mia. A worried look, but the right instincts were there.

"Why both of them, father? Why the lord and heir both?"

Ned did not even look back at Rickard as he asked.

"You love your siblings, Ned," Rickard answered, pulling up beside his son, "and while a father loves all his children, many young people in Westeros tend to see their siblings as rivals as well. Not as enemies, but at least as people they need to compete for an inheritance with if their family is not the richest. Like House Nayland. Lord Nayland will recognize the leverage we have against him. His heir, on the other hand, will recognize the leverage we have for him.

"Now, while we can force good Lord Nayland to fall in line with the leverage we hold and the restraint we have shown by not shipping his son off to the Wall, his son — who might one day become your bannerman — is likely to be more positively disposed towards House Stark because we helped him, and because we recognized his relative importance early enough.

"Lastly, if Lord Nayland possesses a modicum of intelligence, he will find a way to curb young Raynald's enthusiasm to prevent having to serve two masters. I might send him a pointed letter encouraging to do exactly that if he fails to act in that manner on his own."

That, at least, brought a bittersweet smile onto Ned's face. Rickard's next sentence brought Ned out of his reverie.

"But enough of House Nayland. Let me get back to insinuating Ashara before Lady Whent. The most important thing Ashara ever told Shella Whent was that she's good friends with the Martells, especially including Oberyn Martell. A known user of poison. As long as people have an obvious answer to the origins of poisons we might come to employ in the future, they will not suspect more obscure possibilities. Hence, we are more open to use more efficient ways of conducting warfare more openly in the future. And here is the most important part:

"As men, we are frowned upon when using poison. As you said, it is dishonorable. For women, it is par of the course. And amongst women, it is even a matter of building prestige. I have just helped good Ashara with establishing a reputation amongst certain circles in the South that may prove useful in the future, I have warded of suspicion from one of our most closely kept secrets, I have taken out a likely obstacle for our march south while binding an ally, and I did not even need to break guest right to do all that at the prize of a single dragon.

"Now, do you still think it is more noble to kill ten thousand men in battle rather than one awful old man with poison? Because the only thing I see in that line of thinking is an undue amount of waste."

Ned was not convinced by Rickard's words. Ned did not like Rickard's words. But Ned obeyed Rickard's words, and that was enough for the old wolf. In time, his son would come around. The war would see to that, he knew.

For Rickard, that concluded the matter of Walder Frey. Regardless, they had more important things to discuss than the long overdue death of an old fossil.

"As you have bidden, the cavalry will greet you at the gate in force. You were right, the fillies have shown themselves temperamental."

It was a whisper, yet Rickard had Ned's attention in less than a second.

"At Moat Cailin we will find Lord Ryswell along with his sons and daughters, and the Houses bound to House Ryswell by marriage or betrothal, represented by Lord Roose Bolton and Willem Dustin. That entire coalition is a loaded crossbow we need to disarm or make use of. Now, how do we solve the mess Brandon left us, Ned?

"Remember my orders, Ned. Remember the words."

Rickard was prepared to give his son time, or the answer straight out if Ned took to long. Yet, Ned did not disappoint.
"Give them shelter. The father will ride with me from the gate.

"You have a bastard hidden away somewhere, either Willem's or Roose Bolton's, and you are looking to strike at their alliance through Lord Ryswell's daughters, the fillies. Who have you gotten by the balls?"

Rickard knew he looked a predator, and he could swear Ned looked just a bit wolfish then, too.

"On my way south, I had gotten news that a miller's wife had asked for shelter, bringing her son with her. I was only able to send news to my spy master after that sorry business in the capital. Gods know what the woman would have done if she had not heard from me, but now we have custody of one Ramsay Snow, bastard of Roose Bolton, conceived through rape when he illegally claimed the right to the first night from a miller and subsequently killed him.

"A bastard, Ned, can always be a powerful piece."

Bonus:
Vic and Ned are now pen pals! To commemorate that giant leap forward in their relationship, here you go with another instance of Vic's dairy diary. (As ffnet deleted my strikethrough formatting, just think of all underlined words that follow as ones that have been crossed out)

Hello dairy diary,

Today I got my first letter from my friend Ned. I am so happy that I asked him to be my people pen pal at Riverrun.

This is the first letter I have gotten that is not from Rodrik. Rodrik the Reader, of course, not Balon's son. Balon's son Rodrik is stupid. I doublet doubt Rodrik knows how to read. Balon's son, of course, not Rodrik the Reader. It would be stupid if Rodrik the Reader could not read. Stupid like Balon's son Rodrik.

Wait, that is all too confuss- diffik- hard. Again, Rodrik the son of Balon cannot read. I think. Rodrik, the son of-. Ok, I do not remember who the father of Rodrik the Reader is. Point binge being, Rodrik the Reader can read.

Howew- But, the letters I get from Rodrik (the Reader) are convusi- diwicu- hard. Ned's letter is better. I mean, I asked a question to both Ned and Rodrik (the Reader). And Ned's answer was better. As was Ned's letter. Better.

Ok, the question. It was very impotent important to me. Thing is, Father finally gave me come and command of my own ship. I am now off fiscally officially a capped tin captain. But, my boat had no name. That is, the boat had a name, but it was a bad name. Like, Kraken. Every second boat at Pyke is named Kraken. So, it's a bad name.

Anyways, I am bad with names, so I asked Ned and Rodrik (the Reader) to help me think of a good name. Because, Ned and Rodrik (the Reader) are both good with names. And thoughts.

So, my question was for both of Ned and Rodrik (the Reader) to think of an embossing imposing name for my ship. I wanted the name to show I am a hard fuck. Er. A hard fucker. I wanted the name to show I am a hard fucker. Something masked urin massed kulling manly.

And then, Rodrik (the Reader) suges- at wise- says I should call my boat'Phallic Wavepiercer'! What the fuck is 'Phallic'? Sounds femme- feminn- womanly. Bitchy. A bitchy sounding word like 'Phallic' just is not manly. So, I am not calling my boat 'Phallic' anything. Because 'Phallic' is girly.

But Ned! Ned gets me! Ned is a true friend; he can think of a name that shows I am a hard fuck. Er. A hard fucker. And he did. Think of a name that shows I am a hard fucker. Ned did. Because Ned is good with names. And thoughts.

Anyways, the name has everything! It has a word that is watery, and I am a capped tin captain now, so, water. It has got a fuckery word, that shows I am a hard fucker. (Wait, is fuckery a word? It now is!) And it is a course cuss word! Perfection!

So, since toady today I am the capped tin captain of the 'Sunken Cunt'!

Now that's hard fuckery!

Because fuckery is a word!

Yeah!

Goodbye dairy diary,

Vic

Chapter Title Quote:

"No true man killed with poison. Poison was for cravens, women, and Dornishmen."

Victarion Greyjoy, A Dance with Dragons

I am back!

Long wait and a short chapter, but finally we get to the Twins.

Aaaand we already left the Twins. Plus, quite some development and hey, another entry from Victarion's dairy diary.

Now, before you all bombard me about this impossible poison I used, do check out the death of Karen Wetterhahn. Mercury poisoning is terrifying. Is it likely people in a society like the one in ASOIAF could handle a substance such as dimethylmercury without dying? No. Heeell no. But, George has given them impossible architecture, impossible poisons and impossible spy networks already. I'm just doing the same (without the architecture).

In other news, I took part in the Crossworks 2020 challenge over on AO3. As of yet, my work is still anonymous, but once it is revealed I'll post it here on ff (this weekend).

If you cannot wait that long, do head over to AO3 and check it out. Mine is one of the 67 submitted works. No, seriously, go check them out. They're awesome.

So long,

IncognitoMe

Review responses:

Daude4592d: This chapter's harmless, too. Like, totally. Sorry you had to wait so long for so little to happen ;) Happy you like my story.

Mister LaGuardia: Well. The answer to that is deeeep in spoiler territory. Now, Rickard claims the North has a navy. Effective and standing is a tall order. I would not call the Iron fleet, for example, a professional navy. All the captains are to free from a proper chain of command. Still, they are one of the most feared forces on the oceans. Even if everyone tells us there's no wood on the Iron Islands and a standing fleet should be virtually impossible… Take the appellation of navy a bit more fluid, I'd say. And training is something for professional soldiers, which no kingdom seems to have in mass. All of Westeros' wars seem to run on poorly trained levies, which at least in a historical perspective make some amount of sense. Do stick around for the resolution for your question :)

iMTheStormKing: Thanks :) New chapter took a while. Hope the next will be faster.

Dovack: Thanks

FuryJoe: Thanks

Tom-Borr: Thanks for your kind words. Politics will continue in the next chapter. I hope I live up to your expectations.

Sturmkrahe: Glad you like it. That's high praise!

PuffOfPygmys: Hope this chapter continued the trend :)

chm01: Stagnation is ever the death of empires. The Targs just are a little more spectacular about. But hey, just imagine a line of consecutive Neros.

NightlyRowenTree: Always a pleasure :)

Guest: Well. Yeah.

PraetorXyn: Thanks. Hope this chapter reinforced that image just a little.

Eternal Knight219: Glad you do. I wanted… something different. I've never read the Burner as a ruler where some said "Yeah, he did a good job!" So, subversion of expectation. Only works if you do not betray prior build up. So, here it's really effective.

red demon161: Thanks. Ned's got a way to go.

Greatazuredragon: Thanks!

magnus374: …you know, you are asking spoiler-y questions. Now, I am not in the habit of confirming or denying suspicions. I do try to keep to a modicum of realism (like, tiny!). Also, subversion or build up. Always a choice. Nuff said, dude. Glad you enjoyed the story.

Max20.7: As you left a bigger comment on AO3 (with partially identical content), I'll refrain from retyping it here. However, I am ecstatic to see you enjoy my story enough to cross platforms for it!

sure I don't care: At least the Other does not stand to ruin existing alliances. Probably. Also, the meeting will be at the Nightfort. Probably. Also, let's go with hydrogen bomb. Yeah.

81: Vic is back, baby!

-Black-Riddle-Malfoy: Ned's got a long way to go.

Frisc0: Glad to hear. Hope I continue surprising.

larsdewit: Thanks, it's always great to converse with passionate readers :) I agree, the spy network is unlikely to work as well in a realistic society. Varys spy network from the books seems ridiculous to me (to say nothing of Bloodraven from what is implicated). And I do not believe medieval assassination guilds were anywhere as professional or successful as the Faceless Men — of course I have no empirical data on the success rate of neither medieval assassin guilds nor a modern equivalent of the same. That's not even scratching the impossible architecture in ASOIAF. But I digress. There'll be some more unlikely… things in a medieval context popping up. Probably. The progression of this story follows too much my perception of the rule of cool, I guess. Still, other Houses will have their equalizers. Do stick around for those :)

Guest: Now, I believe you are the same guest that left the disparaging review on my last chapter, so I have to ask: Why did you come back? You obviously did not enjoy my story, still you returned to the newly posted 24th chapter. Like, are you ok? All that said, I do have to commend you for running your review through a spell check this time. Good on you. I would have not recognized if not for your incredibly juvenile use of the word 'dudebro'. I really recommend just… deleting that word from your vocabulary. On the other hand, good that you are sticking to shorter sentences. Less chance for mistakes. Finally, last time I did promise to help you learn new words. Let's see… Asinego, seems a good one. See, I just looked for archaic forms of idiot. Now, this might be overcorrecting looking just at your horrible use of slang, still, you would sound at least bit classier.

Guest: Rickard's lowered his employment of physical education for his children. The first iteration proved unpopular with readers. Still, yeah, the big bad wolf is going to teach Little Ned Riding Hood how to survive the Game of Thrones.

arctic-cat: Glad you like my story that much! Ricky's too much a non-entity in most stories to develop a preference for him, hence why he's such a great canvas in this story. The same applies for Shella Whent and Mallario. But yeah, Ned's one of my faves, too. I mean, I kinda made him into my rendition of show-Podrick :)

Sparky She-Demon: Great to hear! Hope the long wait hasn't made you lose interest.

kyle77776: Well, bitches get what bitches deserve for all their bitching. Which is slapped. So, Brandon got slapped.

muyu: muyumuyumuyu?

Black Magic99: Glad you do enjoy my story, but I sadly cannot answer most of your questions as they are deeeeep in spoiler territory. I've discussed the possibility of Rhaella becoming a consort to, well, several people, but I will not give conclusive answers on endgame plans. Same applies to any tie-in of not yet born characters. Such as Jon or Dany, this story simply is not about them. For that matter, I do not see this story stretching into the canon years. Now, it'll take some time for Ricky's party to reach Winterfell, but I intend for the reunion with Lyanna to be… memorable. Trust me. Now, lastly, WW1 is what you might compare it to in hindsight. I'd rather compare my little story's conflict to a name they had for that war when it was ongoing: The War to End All Wars.

TheWickedTruth89: Glad to hear, hope the new chapter did not disappoint.

iHateHotWeather123: I'll just reply to all your comments in this one segment. All right, I see you do not like Lyanna. That's OK. I do not understand your defense of Rhaegar, to be honest, but to each his own. Now, I do not mean to imply, nor did I ever, that Brandon was the cause of the war. The cause of the war was Aerys. Brandon, Lyanna, Rhaegar and Rickard all played their parts that led to the war, but compared with Aerys crimes, their involvement is rather… circumstantial. The one thing I do not like is that you equate my version of Lyanna with the vision of Lyanna you yourself have. Age is definitely a qualifier for culpability in my opinion. I do not think anything is wrong with myself for believing that. Just, please, do not go around personally insulting authors. You left various comments from chapter 6 to chapter 15 here spreading your (I'd say toxic) view of things. Why did you not leave simply after chapter 6? Any later repetition of your bull shit was honestly only sadly pathetic.

yeah: Let's face it, anyone that cock-blocks himself in such a spectacular manner would probably have a do-not-compute face for a while. Also. Rickard should scare you. He scares me, at times, and I write him.

mlkoolc86: The Burner and the Hungry Wolf have been a fun spin to play. Glad to see it finds a good reception. Hope the new chapter did not disappoint.

TigerCat: You picked up on two of my top three finishing lines I used, though 'Even the mute.' Is my favorite by quite a bit. Of course, chapter 4 still has me giddy when I read that last part again :D The third of my favorite ending lines is chapter 10, mostly cause I had the chapter start and end with the same line and it worked out perfectly, if you're curious. I'm happy both my story and my characters managed to pull you in like they did. Hope you enjoyed the new chapter, too.

Wolfman217: Well, I am not sure how George is going to resolve that one. If he is ever going to resolve it, that is. It might have started consensual, but I agree 100% that it could not have ended that way. Glad you like the Rock King/Salt King twist. As for Ned's firstborn, I ain't no snitch. That'd be spoiling.

Mestre720: Thanks!

Sircus: Glad you like my take on the story and the characters. As for the requirements for political culture and their missing consequence, well… There's been a lot of wars and illnesses that we know periodically… culled the Westerosi population during the Targaryen reign. We also do know that the Citadel has the possibility to extend a certain monopoly over the manner of progress. Then, as you say, long winters, again culling the people. I think the biggest obstacle is that none of the kings since Jaehaerys I tried to improve the infrastructure. Since then, the Kingdom has been in decline. Internal trade to benefit the villages/towns in the interior of Westeros just does not exist, putting a dampener trade and, therefore, progress. Another explanation, of course, is that in the end it is a fantasy story. Some suspension of disbelief is required. Just look at George's architecture. Now, for the death of magic, if I manage it right, it will not be a punch in the gut. It'll be a freight train hitting you full throttle :D Do look forward to that one.

Spidey-phd: When I wrote the first chapter, I thought I'd just have Rickard pop up in random points in story in history, slapping idiots and telling them how to do their shit right. Like, showing Mace Tyrell how to properly conduct a siege on Storm's End. Or bitch slap Catelyn when she's about to kidnap Tyrion. Jon, when he leaves for the Wall. Ned on quite a few occasions where he could have simply confessed to his wife. Or when he confronted Cersei. Or when he took the job as hand. And let's not even talk of the clusterfuck that Robb ended up doing. Well, you got this instead. I'm still happy how it turned out.

sohsunmoon: Hope you enjoyed the new chapter and the new snippet from Vic's dairy diary.