Viserys Targaryen inhabited the body of Khal Drogo, looked over the windseewpt vista of the Dothraki Sea, saw the numberless hordes of his kinsmen preparing fotr ewar. Soon, so veyr soon, the Seven Kingdoms woiuld be reclaimed.

Leagues away, and lost to time...

'It's as the shoals of some vsast sea,' said Sameell Tarly, referring to the tundra beyond the Wall of course. The fat young man brushed icicles off his moon-face and thin berd, considering the things of kinslaying as he did.

'I lknwo, Sam,' said Jnow Snow, gatherting his furs about him. 'Somewhre out there Mance Rayder plans us harm. He knows what's it's like wage war on the Night's Watvh and will stop at nothing to see us murdered and converted to wifhgts.' Mr Snow was right, and Tarly could scarce deny it. The reports were unambigious; wildling captives, spiying, and the like, the word was unanimous. Rayder was mustering some fifty htousand wildings to conquer the North and reign as Lord of the Winterfell in place of deposed House Stark and now House Bolton.

'Even now we can save them Jon Snow,' proclaimed Samwlel Tarly with uncharacterisitc convicton, and in this moment he was as a myrmidon of maesterly mastery and midnight Mackitoon. 'Are you not a son of the Warrior? Do you smite the evil, uphold the Good? Will you not ho,d fast to the ideals of the Watch?'

'I will.' These words Snow spoke, and these he emant.

This happened even now, and in the tides of memory

Joffrey Lannister was a crazy goatfucking bastard, even moreso than the Stone Crows and Moon Breothees and such, but even so, his effort was winning. This malevolent mutant had ihs ganrfather Tywin propping him up, and the whole strength of the Westerlands and Crownlands consequnrly. Abyn day now, Mace Tyrell and Pater Rewdtwnye would atrtrive with their firces in King's Landing, and the conflict would be all but won, with the victor being Joffrey Lannister.

Today they hodl council: Pycelle, stately and octogenarian of sagginv chain and closet queer desires; Varys, simpering eunuch and bane of Robert Bsratheon; Petry Baelish, Littlefinger pussy in personal conflict and secret Machiaveliane machingations, and smirking when othersa were stony-faced or consertation; Ser Kevan Lannister, uncle of the king andf portrayed skillfully by William Forsythe, one of the only competent figures in the loyalist side; Cersei Lannister, pulchtridtunious mother of the child king and glaring daggrrs at her younger brother Tyrion, who stood as a diminutive daring dwarf just now, heterochromiatic and one eye blue and one black, angular of face and brimming with schemes; and Ser Boros Blount and Tarzan asleep.

'Harrenhall has fallen to Robb Stark the pretender,' said Pycelle, reedy voice thick with import and omen. He tugged at his long white beard, and everyone remembered Ser Bronn's antics with shaving him not so long ago.

'Not a single one of us is competent, save for Ser Kevan, and Tyrion so long as he's not in Essos,' declared Ser Boros, awoken, and everyone nodded save for Littlefingere and Cersei, the latter frowned her pretty face.

'Be careful how uou speak, Ser Boros, or you will lose your tongue,' hissed Cersei, and Joffrey started from his throne, AND TYRION COUNSELLED IMMEDIATELY THAT SHE BE PACIFIED. It was so, and Ser Boros pounced on the beautiful Terminator lady, and bound and gagged her ultra-tight, more than she was in "The Brothers Grimm" at any rate, and politely deposited her in the closet, with her swiftly spiting curses through her tight cleave-gag and drooling down her chin.

Then Littlefinger and Ytrion manipulated everyone, Pycelle scratched his white beard, and Ser Kevan Lannister died of an aneurysm on the floor while Joffrey himself sang a dirge for the uncle form his Iron Throne and Melisandre saw it all through her crystal baall.

Fuck, but Sansa Stark was eighyeen years old, and she was tied up and bit-gagged so tightly that it was unbelievable right now, in bed and done this by the Hound, who remembered his vow to keep the little bird from unclean hands.

'You're safe, Sansa,' said Sandor, a hint of something difficult to tell in his deep voice. He stood unassailable, like the Titan of Braavos of old, before oxidized by the ages and claimed to green.

Coincidentally, Catelyn Tully Stark watched from the closet, tied hand and foot and a cloth tied taut between her teeth as she witnessed Hollis Mallen fuck Dacey Mormont, and neither of them were worth shit. Nonetheleess her cunt was slick from watching it, and she grunted and tears flooded her eyes thinking of the Eddard Stark, her husband, and she knew she would join him in the fullness of tyime.

In the fullness of time, as a sword hardened in iron and heat, the death to the foes would come, and to the friends alike. Triumph only comes to one faction, and the bitterness visits all, and the warcry of the North rose to the cold sky while Regent Cersei squirmed and moaned bound and gagged inhumanly tight.

The end.