CH14 The stage is set

9th day of the 7th moon, 264 AC. Dol Guldur.

Evenings had always been reserved for story time in Dol Guldur. Back when his kids were still kids, it would be Harry telling stories, now that they were all grown up it was their turn to be doing it for their own children, but he did still sit in and listen.

It was Skadi's turn today. Adrastia had set her up with a man after she failed to resurrect Marwyn's libido and things had worked out, though Harry had needed to do some work on his new son-in-law to put a bit more spine into him. Trust Adrastia to somehow find a nerd even in a place like Angmar.

But it wasn't just Skadi, Verthandi and Havel's kids here. Tarkus, being the free-wheeling little bastard that he was, tended to 'fuck and forget', as it were. There were two women here that he'd gotten pregnant a couple of years ago and then left, after which they'd come to Dol Guldur. They and their children were now living in the tower.

The women in question weren't exactly angry at Tarkus, as that kind of behavior had been fairly common before Harry's arrival and still hadn't been fully been left behind, but they were disappointed and had come to the tower hoping for help. Harry didn't mind taking them in – those were his grandchildren after all – and Luna had been positively gleeful at the thought of more grandbabies.

There were no doubt more of Tarkus' kids out there, but their mothers were either too far from the tower or had handled things themselves. Or they were dead, that was always an option.

As if summoned by his thoughts, a tentative knock sounded on the door. Just from that, Harry was able to guess what this was about already. It couldn't be any kind of emergency with how hesitant the knock was and there were precious few personal issues that anyone would interrupt story time for. It helped that this had happened twice before, which was most likely Adrastia's contrivance.

"Enter." He called.

A pretty young girl opened the door and stepped inside, perhaps about eighteen. She was trying to look confident, but her darting eyes betrayed her nervousness and her hands were folded over her belly, which had an ever so slight swell to it.

"Let me guess," Harry sighed. "My reckless son got you pregnant when he stopped here last, and someone suggested that you come talk to us when you found out?"

The girl's eyes went wide and she swallowed thickly, nodding. "Aye..."

"Have a seat, then. We can talk later." She'd either end up staying on a permanent basis and they'd find something for her to do, or she'd find a man that didn't care if she had a child already.

She was obviously surprised by his easy acceptance, but before she could make a move to do as he said, Luna bounced up and started pulled her towards the couch.

"Come on, you can sit with me." She beamed and quickly settled the now furiously blushing girl into her lap.

Luna was having far too much fun with her new size.

"That boy..." Ava sighed, shaking her head in exasperation at her son's behavior. "When is he ever going to calm down?"

"I don't think he intends to." Harry said wrily.

In fact, he knew that Tarkus had no plans in that direction. If thing had been different, he'd have been King-Beyond-the-Wall, the type that invaded the North and caused a huge ruckus before fading into legend. With that not being an option, the restless demi-giant had been looking for excitement and adventure elsewhere.

But now even wandering the True North had lost its appeal and a particular situation had turned his attention elsewhere. Harry appreciated the irony of what Tarkus was planning.

XXXXX

17th day of the 9th moon, 265 AC. Hardhome docks.

Tarkus knew that his father wasn't disappointed in him for not being responsible like his brothers, nor did he expect repayment for all that he'd given them, but he still wanted to do something. At first that had been simply to travel and drop in on his siblings from time to time to see if they needed help with anything, but he'd seen them when Ash died and it seemed that they were all doing well.

Stumped, he had almost been tempted to venture into the Lands of Always Winter to see what was going on up there. He knew that Father was wary of the Others and kept a close eye on the borders of their territory with his magic, but there was no substitute for a personal look.

Then it finally happened, he found something that he could do.

The free folk had always been ornery and confrontational, and that hadn't changed overmuch since Father's arrival. They were territorial and quick to defend what was theirs or strike out to claim something as theirs if they had nothing.

That had turned out to be a bit of a problem. People just weren't dying as much as they used to, not nearly. With Father and Aunty Luna teaching them how to grow food, how to heal, how to make childbirth safer and much more, there were a lot more children surviving to adulthood.

Tarkus had once talked to his siblings about it and they guessed that the population of people living beyond the Wall had to have more than doubled since Father's arrival. Every family seemed to be producing at least five children, often more.

New villages were popping up constantly, the populations in Isengard, Thenn and Hardhome were rising rapidly. That wouldn't be so bad, but the Angmari were ornery, confrontational and territorial – having too many of them in one spot with nobody to fight except each other couldn't end well. Many were of the opinion that Father should lead them on a path of glorious conquest into warmer lands. They could bring down the Wall, smash the southron lordlings and drive the Andals and their statue gods into the sea.

Father had no interest in that of course, and few were bold enough to suggest it to his face. None dared even imply that he was a coward for not doing so, but some were assuredly thinking it.

Tarkus decided that he was going to handle this before it grew into a problem that his father actually needed to handle. Aunt Adrastia had explained to him that all this barely leashed violence was a result of the rapid changes to their way of life, augmented by a surge in zeal towards the Old Gods due to Father's unofficial status as a prophet/avatar for them. Things would calm down a little in a generation or two, but for now the best thing to do was channel all that aggression productively.

With a little help from her, Tarkus figured out how he could do this in a way that would also be fun for him. He traveled the lands again, this time with greater purpose. He went back to the Frostfangs and beyond. He went to Thenn and the surrounding territories. He scoured the coasts and the forests. He asked Velka and his siblings to spread the word.

Within a couple of years, he had a host of sixty thousand belligerent men and women that wanted to take some warmer lands for themselves and get into a fight with whoever tried to stop them. While he was gathering this host, Garm and Grond were building ships and even Jala had donated a good number.

Now it was all ready. The ships were built and supplied. The people gathered and equipped. All that was left to do was say goodbye and set off.

"You're one mad fucker, you know that?" Garm told him.

"Better than being a boring fucker." Tarkus grinned widely. The thought of what they were doing was putting him in a grand mood.

"That's true." Grond chuckled and gave him a brotherly punch to the shoulder. "Good luck, brother."

"Won't need it." Tarkus shot back, giving Grond a retaliatory shove that sent him stumbling.

After all, Andalos was nearly empty these days.

XXXXX

5th day of the 10th moon, 265 AC.

The journey south to the coast of Andalos passed largely without incident. They were spotted by multiple ships of both Westerosi and Essosi origin, as well as pirates, but nobody challenged them on account of their fleet size. Many were nervous about a sudden fleet appearing of course, and kept watch over them from a distance, but relaxed when it was clear that they weren't an invasion force.

Though their speed worried many. The wood varnish that Garm's alchemists had cooked up reduced water drag a great deal, and in turn increased their speed far past what the ships should have been capable of.

When they finally arrived, the disembarking took a solid two days before everyone was ready to get moving. In that time, Velka, who had gone with them, scouted the area.

"There is a promising looking spot some two hundred or so miles eastwards, a small mountain range just west of the Upper Rhoyne." The great crow revealed. "One of the mountains is home to a high-altitude lake that feeds a spring that runs down to the Rhoyne. Much of it is forested, but there are plains as well."

"Perfect." Tarkus grinned and looked around. Everyone had mostly changed into the lighter clothes that Jala's ships had brought and their supplies were either in packs or carts, some of which carried Father's expanded trunks. He himself was wearing his armor, since it was comfortable enough and enchanted to counter both heat and cold. "Let's get going then."

They'd need to move quickly and get set up even quicker. Andalos was empty for a reason after all.

XXXXX

14th day of the 10th moon, 265 AC. Essos, Andalos.

The walk was long, but not difficult. For a people used to trudging through deep snow, ice-clad mountains and dense forest in arctic conditions, tall grass and a few hills in mild weather was positively relaxing. The only real discomfort was some sweating and spirits were high.

Spirits remained high when they reached the spot Velka had scouted for them. Getting all the supplies uphill was a little problematic, but nobody complained. They didn't go all the way up the relatively short mountain, no more than about a kilometer above sea level. The incline leveled off a bit there and created some fairly expansive plains that were mostly rock covered in a thin layer of dirt and grass. The temperature was also several degrees lower than in the lowlands, and thus more comfortable for the cold-acclimated Angmari.

Most people wouldn't consider it a good spot. The uneven elevations and thin soil would make growing food difficult, trade with neighbours would require constantly hauling goods up and down the mountain, there was a limited amount of available space before they would have to start getting creative...

But all of these problems could be overcome, and the flipside was of course the security of having an easily defensible high ground.

While the people he'd led here started spreading out and claiming spaces for themselves, Tarkus found a spot near the lake that had deeper soil and planted one of the weirwood seeds that he'd carried with him.

There was something terribly funny about spreading the faith of the Old Gods to the birthplace of the Seven after the Andals abandoned it in their flight from the Valyrians. He was sure that Father agreed, given how unusually helpful he'd been.

That was actually another reason for the high spirits – many of these people had nothing but scorn for the Andal religion and would have gladly scoured Westeros of it now that they felt able to do so. Taking Andalos for the Old Gods was the next best thing.

XXXXX

Pentos claimed to have dominion over the ancient homeland of the Andals, but never did anything with it.

One might wonder why this was. The area was fertile and had a temperate, Central European sort of climate instead of the harsher Middle Eastern one common further to the south and east. By all accounts, it was prime real estate. Working it extensively would have generated considerable wealth for Pentos, possibly enough to become the greatest of the Free Cities.

The answer was Dothraki, because of course it was. Andalos was wide open, with hills, valleys and small forests being the dominant geographic features. That made it damn near impossible to defend from large hordes of marauders who specialized in lightning raids and light cavalry skirmishing. Any attempt to make use of the area would draw the Dothraki as surely as a juicy carcass drew in vultures and Pentos was already paying them a heavy tribute so that they left the Flatlands to the south unmolested. Working Andalos would mean even more tribute, so few Pentoshi thought it was worth the bother.

But they still got huffy with indignation when they learned that someone else was trying it.

XXXXX

13th day of the 12th moon, 265 AC. Essos, Andalos.

"Let's see if I understand properly." Tarkus said calmly, hiding the fury that was building inside him. "You say that, because Pentos claims this land, we have to pay you a tithe if we want to live here?"

"That is correct." The Pentoshi envoy nodded with a smile, pleased that the savage understood.

Tarkus nodded back, then he grabbed Stormcleaver's hilt and swung it with a roar, bisecting the two Unsullied guards that the envoy had brought with him. To be fair, they did react quickly and tried to defend themselves, but their shields weren't up to the task of stopping the magical greatsword.

"Now you listen to me, little man." Tarkus growled, holding the man up by the throat with one hand. "You march your perfumed ass back to Pentos, and you tell your cocksucking magisters that Black Iron Tarkus, son to the Sorcerer of Dol Guldur, claims this land for Angmar and if they have a problem with it that they can come fight us over it. Understand?"

"Y-y-es!" The ambassador choked out, too terrified to be ashamed about the piss trickling down his legs.

"Get out of my sight." Tarkus snorted in disgust and threw the coward to the ground, from where he proceeded to scramble back towards Pentos as fast as he could manage in the girly-looking robe he was wearing.

"You know they're going to point the Dothraki at you." Velka said, landing next to him.

"Aye, that'll be fun." Tarkus chuckled. Despite his choice of lifestyle, he'd had the same education as his siblings and was perfectly capable of making plans ahead of time, even if he usually didn't bother.

XXXXX

20th day of the 5th moon, 266 AC. Essos, Andalos.

"They'll be here soon, no more than two hours." Velka said, having just returned from another scouting flyby high in the sky.

"It was about time." Tarkus grinned eagerly.

"Be careful." Velka cautioned. "Your mother would be heartbroken if you died here, and though Father may not always show it, he would not have asked me to go with you if he did not care."

"I'll be fine, we're ready for them." He replied firmly, remembering one of the numerous conversations about the Dothraki he'd had with his father before they set off. Know thy enemy and all that.

Flashback

"The Dothraki are the finest light cavalry in the world, and I suspect that their worship of a stallion god gives their horsemanship a supernatural edge." Harry said in the familiar lecturing tone he often slipped into when imparting knowledge. "Speed and maneuverability are their greatest assets, it's what makes them such a potent threat despite having a technological base that could generously be called Stone Age. The geography of Essos is such that nobody can pin them down and they can run rings around any army that opposes them. Face them in the open and they'll tear you to pieces."

"Then how do I fight them?" Tarkus asked in consternation.

"Fortunately, the Dothraki are also very, very stupid about literally everything that isn't horses." Harry continued wrily. "They don't use armor, have little grasp of tactics or strategy, have no impulse control to speak of and most importantly, they consider anyone who doesn't ride a horse – especially anyone that fights without a horse – to be a lower form of life. If they see a force of infantry arrayed against them, they will take insult and feel compelled to attack no matter what."

"Even if faced with a line of spears or pikes?"

"They may muster enough caution try a flanking attack if faced with a forest of sharp points, but they will definitely charge. Deception is also largely a foreign concept to the Dothraki – a battlefield that would look extremely suspicious to a sensible commander, a bloodthirsty khal will dismiss as merely odd, if he notices at all."

End flashback

That bit at the end had been a hint, Tarkus knew. Father always did prefer to have them figure out solutions to problems on their own. This particular one was easy. Father had clearly been suggesting that he lay a trap for the Dothraki.

Tarkus had originally been intending to simply stay higher up the mountain. The Dothraki may be masterful horsemen, but they couldn't ride up a forested hill. And if they tried it would be pathetically easy to slaughter them.

But that would more than likely turn the whole thing into a long, drawn out affair, so he had cooked up an alternative.

The two hours since Velka's warning passed, and sure enough, the khalasar appeared. They were perhaps eight thousand strong, a respectable number from what Tarkus knew, and likely the reason for why it had taken so long for them to show up. Dothraki politics, if they could be called that, weren't so different from what free folk politics had been before Father's arrival. The winning khal took everything the loser had (minus his wife, who was sent to join the Dosh Khaleen in Vaes Dothrak), including his surviving horde. Whichever khal Pentos had duped into attacking them would have needed some time to either convince or subdue enough riders to raid what he thought were their numbers.

Numbers that Tarkus had deliberately given the Pentoshi envoy the wrong idea about. Just as he had given him the wrong idea of where they were setting up, by leaving a small tent city on a plain at the base of the mountain and meeting him there. Many years ago, Father had pointed out to him and Havel that most people would look at their size and assume it meant they weren't smart. It wouldn't be the first time that Tarkus had taken advantage of that assumption.

The Dothraki seemed mildly surprised to see a prepared infantry formation waiting for them, but any suspicion about that was wiped away when the men began jeering and making rude gestures at them.

The khal barely even bothered to bark a few orders before charging forward with a scream, which was immediately emulated by his horde.

The Angmari stopped their taunting and picked up their pikes, five meter long shafts of sharpened wood braced against the ground and held in a tight grouping two rows deep. Tarkus had had the men practicing the formation rigorously over the past few months.

Behind the pikemen were archers who began firing as soon as the Dothraki were in range, the lack of armor on the latter telling in the amount of casualties they caused.

The screamer horde did manage an impressively well coordinated dual flanking maneuver, creating a three-pronged attack that would hit the infantry formation pretty much simultaneously and pulverize it. Both sides of the pike formation were completely exposed, as were the archers, practically inviting exactly such a maneuver.

That was something that the Dothraki should have wondered about, but didn't, because mere walkers were beneath contempt. So certain were they of easy victory that they didn't even bother using their rather excellent horse archers. That conviction shattered when they started falling into the spike pits that flanked the sides of the infantry, covered by blankets of woven grass.

There was an awful lot of digging that sixty thousand people could do in a few months, and the marked walkways between said spike pits were too narrow for horses.

So what if they had to focus on digging holes instead of building homes? This place was almost ridiculously warm and the Angmari were altogether gleeful at the prospect of fucking up some slavers so thoroughly.

The shock of the spike traps hammered through the khal's bloodlust, but by then his frontal charge was too committed to turn aside gracefully, so they ended in a clumsy pile-up as they tried to keep from crashing into the wall of pikes. The same went for the two streams of riders that had gone for the flanks. Some of the braver and stupider Dothraki tried to jump across the revealed spike pits, assuming that the first line was all there was.

It wasn't.

Seeing that the enemy's cohesion was completely broken, Tarkus shouted for the second phase to begin.

Spearmen threw off the woven grass blankets they'd been hiding under and charged forward. The Dothraki had walked right into an encirclement without knowing it.

Tarkus had also been hiding with the spearmen and now gleefully charged into melee distance. The Dothraki's momentum had been completely aborted and cavalry without momentum was as good as dead. Stormcleaver flashed out in quick movements to cut down individual Dothraki, or swung in wide arcs to carve through as many as three at a time. Insignificant hits pinged off his armor from those that managed to scramble to their feet, completely unable to penetrate.

"ANDAL!" A furious voice roared.

Tarkus looked at the source and was amazed to see that the khal had somehow survived this long with only minor wounds and an unhorsing.

But to call him a stinking Andal? Tarkus took great pride in his First Men ancestry and wasn't going to stand to be insulted like that.

"Horse-fucker!" He roared back, in the Old Tongue just to put extra emphasis on how much he wasn't an Andal.

The khal charged forward, waving his arakh wildly and screaming his head off.

Perhaps he was thinking that pure rage would compensate for the disadvantage he was at. If so, he was sorely mistaken. Quick and nimble and strong and fierce he might be, but against full plate his arakh was worth exactly jack and shit. Tarkus simply ignored his attack and cut him down in one move, Stormcleaver's range being such that the khal didn't have a snowball's chance in Hell of getting away in time after so recklessly going on the offensive.

The khal's surviving bloodriders saw their sworn brother slain and bellowed their vengeance as was their oath. One of them attemped to tackle Tarkus so that the others could kill him, but he ran into a bit of a problem.

Namely, he was an average-sized man just under eighty kilograms, whereas Tarkus was a demi-giant that weighed in at close to one third of a ton when he was out of armor.

He did have to brace himself against the tackle to keep his feet, and his sword was too long to use properly in such close quarters, but Tarkus was quick to spot the bloodrider's conveniently long hair braid. He proceeded to grab hold of it and then yank on it so hard that the man it was attached to had his neck broken.

The others fell soon after and Tarkus continued butchering his way through the hapless Dothraki, his fellow Angmari inspired by his unstoppable progress doing the same.

Any army would have long since broken already at the brutally effective ambush, and the Dothraki had broken, but they were surrounded by the most violent and bloodthirsty of Angmar's people, the ones that Tarkus had led away specifically because he knew they would cause his father trouble. Routing was not really being left as an option.

The slaughter continued for nearly half an hour and at the end of it, perhaps a few hundred Dothraki screamers of the original eight thousand had managed to break through the encirclement and escape.

"First group, take our wounded to the healers. Second group, take any Dothraki survivors you can find up the mountain and cut their throats in front of the weirwood sapling." Tarkus ordered, covered in gore from head to toe. "Third and fourth come with me to seize their baggage train."

"And their women?" A warrior in his twenties with a peculiar habit of decorating his armor with bones asked eagerly.

"And their women." Tarkus agreed. This little expedition had started off with a worse than 2:1 gender ratio and only the promise of Dothraki women had kept a lid on the infighting.

XXXXX

Seizing the baggage train was a strangely civilized affair, doubly so when compared to the brutality of the battle. Not a one of them tried to run or fight, being so accustomed to the futility of it since Dothraki could always easily ride down any runners.

The women, also, put up no fuss. The rapey attitudes of Dothraki men had completely erased the notion that women could refuse to have sex with a man from their culture.

In a Dothraki horde, only the khal had a wife and even she might be shared with his bloodriders. The other women basically belonged to the horde as a whole, making them more akin to a massive travelling brothel than anything else. They didn't even keep track of who was who's child. This in turn created a situation in which one Dothraki man was the same as another for the women – they simply didn't, couldn't, care about any of them individually.

Learning that the Dothraki had lost surprised them, and they were a little aprehensive about the change in routine, but the women quickly concluded that it didn't matter and gave the approaching Angmari sultry smiles . They always knew to expect a lot of fucking after a battle no matter how it went, so it was still pretty much business as usual for them.

The Angmari themselves were surprised and more than a little baffled by the warm reception, but didn't spend too much time trying to figure it out. The language barrier would have made that a bit problematic anyway.

In total, some ten thousand women were added to the group, almost all of them still of breeding age since Dothraki had no use for the elderly and tended to find ways to get rid of anyone showing signs of age. The addition went a long way towards equalizing the gender ratio. A substantial amount of children were also there, whom Tarkus had forbidden his people from killing, knowing that some of them would do that.

Another six thousand people were male non-combatants, mostly slaves. They were let go to do whatever they wanted. Some decided to travel north to the relatively nearby Braavos, but others asked if they could stay. That many of them had useful skills which the Dothraki couldn't be bothered with themselves made the decision to accept them easier.

The non-human element of the baggage train were the khalasar's herd of horses and various other animals, as well as supplies of food and replacement arakhs, bows, arrows and such.

All in all, Tarkus figured that it had been a good day. They'd be eating horse meat for the foreeable future and they'd have a devil of a time communicating with the handful of translators that had been among the former slaves, but the profit had been well worth it. Not to mention the fun.

He just hoped that the next batch of Dothraki would show up soon. They were still a bit short on women.

XXXXX

11th day of the 7th moon, 267 AC. The North, Winterfell.

Rickard Stark put down the letter and frowned in thought. Lord Arryn was offering to foster one of his sons, adding that Lord Baratheon had already agreed to send his heir, Robert, to the Vale.

Rickard could guess why such an offer had been extended. He had met to other two Lords Paramount three years ago when he had travelled to King's Landing. Aerys II was a charismatic enough man, but he seemed rather more talk than substance.

More to the point, Rickard was sure that Jon Arryn and Steffon Baratheon had noted how vain and prickly the king was. They wanted to forge closer ties to keep him from actually trying to implement any of his more foolish ambitions.

Rickard couldn't blame them. He did still vividly remember Aerys boasting about how he would add Angmar to the realm. It had been difficult to talk the king down from that one without stepping on his notoriously sensitive pride. He could scarcely imagine how bad the man's ambitions had gotten with the recent rumors coming from Essos. Dragons...what the hells kind of game was the Sorcerer playing?

But this did put him at a crossroads. He was still of a mind to have one of his sons fostered in Angmar if Havel would accept, but this offer was such that he couldn't refuse it easily, not when he hadn't made any prior arrangements. And it would be of great worth to have close ties to the Vale and Stormlands.

Brandon still had to stay in the North, but Eddard would be perfect. He was only slightly younger than Robert and if the two could become friends...

Rickard sighed and decided that he could send the recently born Benjen to Angmar in a few years just as well. The North had kept itself apart from the politics of the rest of the Seven Kingdoms since the Dance of Dragons, but their new glass trade was already drawing interest from the south and it was imperative to keep King Aerys from provoking Angmar to war.

XXXXX

17th day of the 4th moon, 270 AC. Crownlands, King's Landing, Red Keep.

"There are four of them now, Tywin! Four dragons!" Aerys II Targaryen near-shrieked, pacing furiously.

"Mere rumors, Your Grace." Tywin Lannister replied dismissively. "It could just as easily have been the one dragon seen four times. Smallfolk and merchants always exaggerate."

Aerys paused for a second and begrudgingly nodded, conceding the point. "Even so, any dragons should belong to House Targaryen! We are the last of the blood of Valyria, the last of the dragonlords! Who does this sorcerer from the north think he is to deny my grandfather when he was asked for aid hatching them, only to do it for himself after his death?! And to ignore my letters and invitations as if I were some nobody?!"

Tywin had been a mere cupbearer back then and had overheard many a discussion on the so-called Sorcerer of Dol Guldur.

Raven Lord, Crowfather, Voice of the Old Gods, Master of the Dark Tower, God-King of Angmar. And other titles.

Tywin called him a headache. For someone so distant and reportedly unconcerned about the goings on of the Seven Kingdoms, the man caused a remarkable amount of problems.

Teaching Northmen the secrets of glassmaking. That would make the isolated kingdom a vast amount of gold eventually. Tywin had tried to get some of his own men in there to see if they could steal the knowledge or lure a few glassmakers to the Westerlands with promises of gold, but it was to no avail. The Starks were taking no chances with their new trade and security was tight. For once the North's isolation worked in their favor, as it was near impossible for outsiders to blend in.

Sometimes he wondered if they had already faced any assassination attempts from Myr, or if that was yet to come.

Then there was the issue of religion. The High Septon and the Faith constantly harped to him about the 'rise of the heathens'. It got even worse when word came of one of the Sorcerer's many sons going to Andalos and claiming it for Angmar and the Old Gods. That had really gotten the High Septon frothing. They'd even had an envoy from Pentos come to King's Landing and ask for aid in removing this 'Black Iron Tarkus'. Apparently the Pentoshi were feeling a mite worried after a few Dothraki khalasars got massacred trying to raid them.

Tywin knew that he wasn't the most pious of men, which he counted as a blessing in this case. A more pious Hand would have supported the High Septon's ambitions of a religious campaign and quite possibly ended up aiding in the resurrection of the Faith Militant, which was quite transparently what the man truly wanted.

The Faith was forever trying to insert itself into the power balance between the nobility, and it was getting rather tiresome. He was almost tempted to work towards undermining the Faith of the Seven and replacing it with the Old Gods just so that he wouldn't have to deal with any more septons and septas. Almost.

And these were just the two largest problem that the Sorcerer was indirectly causing him. The confusing issue of the dragons was one of the smaller ones.

"Perhaps he intends it as a challenge." Tywin suggested mildly.

Aerys rounded on him with glittering eyes. "You think so? You think he awaits someone with the blood of the dragon to come and tame them?"

Unlikely, if he refused to aid Aegon V.

"It is a possibility, albeit an irrelevant one." Tywin shrugged casually, giving no hint as to his true thoughts. "You cannot go yourself and Prince Rhaegar is too young."

Aerys looked utterly furious at that truth.

Tywin hoped that he would be mad enough to go anyway. The friendship between them had frayed to the point that he wouldn't be terribly upset if the man got himself killed chasing after dragons in the Dothraki Sea. It would be close to ideal in fact, as Aerys was becoming more erratic and unreasonable every year. Having the regency would also give him the power to betroth his daughter to the crown prince and secure his legacy. The prospect of such a marriage was one of the few reasons that he remained Hand at this point.

"Rhaella!" The king suddenly exclaimed, in a tone that implied he was impressed by his own intelligence. "I could send Rhaella! She hasn't given me any more children anyway and this might break the curse that Pycelle suspects the Sorcerer may have placed on her!"

Tywin had to struggle not to show his exasperation. He didn't know where the Grand Maester's resentment of the Sorcerer was coming from, whether it was personal or just the Citadel's disdain for magic, but it had culminated in a steady drip of poison into Aerys' ears. To say nothing of how little sense it made for any supposed 'curse' to be broken in such a way.

"You would send your wife to the Dothraki Sea?" He asked skeptically.

"She would be escorted of course." Aerys defended, as if any kind of escort could protect her from the savages roaming there.

"I do not believe that would be wise."

Tywin knew he'd made a mistake as soon as those words passed his lips. Aerys had been showing a streak of jealous resentment of late, and had begun to disagree with him just for the sake of disagreeing.

"Enough!" The king commanded. "Rhaella will tame those dragons for Hourse Targaryen and bring them back to me. Prepare an escort for her."

"Yes, Your Grace." Tywin acknowledged tersely, once again cursing his former friend in the privacy of his own mind.

XXXXX

When word went out that the king was sending his own wife and queen on a quest to tame dragons in the Dothraki Sea, the realm was left speechless from shock. Many attempted to convince Aerys to reconsider, but the king – while having second thoughts of his own – was too prideful and stubborn to do so, largely because it would mean 'losing' to his Hand yet again. Others muttered that he had found proof to his previous accusations of Rhaella's infidelity and was sending her to die.

Regardless, escort was chosen and preparations were made. Tywin did at least manage to negotiate safe passage for the queen. A few gifts to a Dothraki khal and an explanation of what they were intending and they received a promise from the savages that she and her escort would arrive safely.

Apparently, the Dothraki were keen to be rid of the scaled menace roosting over their sacred city and treating it as their personal hunting ground. If escorting a Valyrian woman to Vaes Dothrak did the trick then they were determined to show her every possible courtesy. They even promised to fight her enemies if she succeeded.

Queen Rhaella herself barely reacted to the madness she had been volunteered for, still grieving for the child she had lost to stillbirth not so long ago, her fifth. She hugged young Rhaegar goodbye, but otherwise demonstrated little more than tired resolve. The whole of the Seven Kingdoms felt sorry for her and opinion on Aerys fell sharply.

XXXXX

1st day of the 6th moon. 272 AC. Dothraki Sea, Vaes Dothrak.

Rhaella found herself feeling disappointed that the journey was over. It had been pleasant to wander the endless open grasslands of the Dothraki Sea. No court, no crown, no duties, no expectations and best of all, no Aerys.

She did miss Rhaegar though, missed him terribly. Her boy was the only good thing to have come out of her marriage. It hurt to know that she'd never see him again, but she didn't see much of him anymore anyway. Not since Aerys had ordered her confined to Maegor's Holdfast.

Rhaella fully expected to die on this journey. Unlike her brother-husband, she remembered quite clearly their grandfather's warnings. The Sorcerer was dangerous even if he wasn't hostile and had no love for House Targaryen. This wasn't a test as Aerys had convinced himself, it had nothing to do with them at all. These were not Targaryen dragons, they were not waiting for a rider to claim them.

The knowledge of one's own approaching death was strangely liberating. She could just enjoy the little things, like the wind in her hair and the ability to wear something other than heavy royal gowns, without worrying about the future. The Dothraki khal had even given her a magnificent filly to ride, which had taken some practice as she'd never done so before.

Rhaella thought that the barbarian had developed some sort of interest in her over the long journey, judging by his unusually patient instruction in horsemanship. If he hadn't been a glorified brigand and if Ser Gerold and Ser Barristan hadn't been keeping such a close eye on her, she might have even indulged herself with him. As it was, she allowed him to continue with his clumsy attempts at seduction. Somehow, he was still more appealing than Aerys and soon it would no longer matter anyway.

Vaes Dothrak was larger than she expected. Five, perhaps even as much as ten times larger than King's Landing. It was hard to be sure, as the huts were spaced out over a great distance from each other.

But it was also clear that it had seen better days. Quite a few of the huts were burned and there were many scorch marks on the grass. There were no dragons in the sky at the moment, but she had seen one earlier when they were still a distance away.

"The maegi and his dragons hide on the Mother of Mountains." The khal rumbled next to her. "We have tried to climb, but the maegi has cursed it and we cannot find the way."

"Perhaps I will have more luck." Rhaella said with a small smile, not believing it.

"You will." The khal stated confidently.

Rhaella was reminded of Ser Bonifer Hasty, the young knight whom she had loved and who had loved her so long ago. Not because the Dothraki resembled him in any way, but because he had once said the same thing when she had expressed doubts about being a good queen. She wondered what had become of him, and what might have been if Father hadn't insisted that she and Aerys marry.

She still couldn't have married Bonifer, who'd been a mere landed knight, but it was nice to dream.

"Come, we will speak to the Dosh Khaleen, then we will find you a place to rest before you go." The khal spoke up, breaking her out of her thoughts.

"Of course." Rhaella assented. The Dothraki reverence for the widows of their khals made no sense to her, but she wasn't going to argue. Her last few days should be peaceful.

XXXXX

5th day of the 6th moon, 272 AC. Mother of Mountains.

It was hard to not feel at least a little resentful of Ser Gerold and Ser Barristan, who climbed the mountain without complaint while girded in armor and carrying their supplies.

Rhaella was only wearing a Dothraki leather vest, sandsilk trousers and leather boots – more gifts from the khal – and still struggled more than they did.

If only my people could see me now. The amusing notion passed through her mind. Queens were not supposed to be dressed like barbarians and drenched in sweat.

The two Kingsguard had initially protested her attire, but she certainly wasn't going to try climbing a mountain in a dress. Their faces went through a familiar set of contortions as they were reminded yet again of what a disgraceful situation her husband had forced them into with his madness. They were good knights, noble and brave. A shame that they were sworn to serve a king unworthy of them.

There were a few animal paths to follow, but for the most part they had to proceed blindly, so Rhaella was genuinely surprised when they found the nest.

But there weren't four dragons in it. There were seven.

The most impressive by far was a great red one with a dull gold belly. It had two pairs of majestic horns curving backward over its head, which looked to be about half the size of Balerion the Black Dread. Incredible, as this dragon was supposed to be less than a decade old. What a monster it would be in a century.

The others were smaller, but still enormous for what was likely their age. They varied as greatly in color as they did in size. All of them were magnificent and beautiful.

"Ser Gerold, Ser Barristan, stay here." Rhaella ordered calmly.

"My queen, we must remain at your side if we are to protect you." Ser Gerold protested in alarm.

"Swords will be of no use here." She replied with the same calm. "If anything happens to me, return home and look after Rhaegar."

"You have our word, Your Grace." Ser Barristan spoke solemnly after exchanging a look with his sworn brother.

Rhaella smiled and gave them a nod. "Goodbye."

She didn't care to see their sorrowul looks, so she started walking into the center of the nest. It was time to put an end to this farce.

The dragons were quick to notice her and rumbled in what she surmised was curiosity, but they didn't approach.

The big red one stirred and prowled towards her, staring with eyes of molten gold. It lowered its snout to the ground so that it was level with her and sniffed deeply.

Rhaella smelled the sulfur on its breath and closed her eyes, preferring not to see the moment it decided that she would make a tasty snack.

"You've come a long way to die, girl."

She opened her eyes and looked towards the voice, somehow not surprised to see the Sorcerer there, sitting on a wooden bench.

He was different than Grandfather had described, much taller and without the scars on his face, but the green eyes and black hair were there. His height reminded her of Ser Duncan, but where the deceased Kingsguard exuded steadfast duty and humility, the Sorcerer was all power and authority.

She should have seen him earlier, but figured that he had been hidden by magic.

"I didn't come to die, I came to tame a dragon." Rhaella said, still feeling eerily calm.

"Don't bother lying, I can almost smell the resignation on you." He said dismissively. "I'm Harry."

"I..." She paused and stopped bothering to hold her head high. What did it matter anyway? "Rhaella Targaryen."

"A pleasure. Come sit with me." Harry patted the bench next to him.

Rhaella did as he bid, looking around reflexively as no protest appeared from Ser Gerold or Ser Barristan at her proximity to a man other than her husband. Aerys had given them such orders before they left. They had only stayed their tongues about the khal because they needed him.

"Where are my guards?" She asked, not seeing them where she'd told them to stay.

"I closed the wards on them. They'll come back to their senses a ways down the mountain, wondering how they got there."

Rhaella thought that she was supposed to feel frightened at being completely alone with a strange man, and a wizard at that, but there was nothing.

Any further conversation was made impossible as the big red dragon made a discontent noise and shoved his snout at Harry.

"Well look who's jealous of the attention." The magic user teased, reaching out to rub the dragon's massive jaw. "You big attention whore, you."

To Rhaella's amazement, the dragon began slamming his tail against the ground like an excited puppy and even made a similar-sounding rumble of pleasure.

"You can pet him if you want." Harry offered. "His name is Grigori."

Rhaella reached out hesitantly, momentarily pulling back when one great golden eye gave her hand a suspicious look, but continued when Grigori closed his eyes again. The scales felt as hard as armor to the touch, but the dragon seemed to enjoy the attention.

"He is magnificent." She said, smiling slightly.

"That he is." Harry agreed. "But don't repeat it too often. He's vain enough as it is."

Grigori huffed out a burst of hot air, as if he understood.

"What will happen to me?" Rhaella asked after a long silence.

"I have nothing against you in particular." Harry replied, scratching at his chin. "I guess I'll just send you home or something."

Home to her son, whom she hadn't seen in so long. Back to the brother-husband she despised, their miserable marriage and the dead children.

"I suppose I am to return empty-handed?" She asked, already knowing the answer.

He nodded. "These dragons will never have riders, they'll stay wild and free."

Rhaella felt the fatalistic sense of calm evaporate and tears welled up in her eyes. She was scared, Aerys had already become foul-tempered, impatient and unreasonable when she'd left. How much worse had he gotten since then? What would he do to her if she came back without the dragons he'd become so fixated on? It had been easier to believe that she would die. She'd already been slipping into a dull numbness, trapped in her misery inside the Red Keep, so a pointless death from one of Aerys' commands seemed only natural, a relief even. Rhaella didn't think she had the strength to go back now that she was awake again.

Another person sitting down next to her caused her to startle and she hurriedly wiped her eyes before looking at them. It was an incredibly tall woman with impressively large breasts, eyes as luminous as the brightest full moon and a silver crescent moon on her forehead.

And she had another dragon in her hands, a small thing about the size of a dog with cream-colored scales. It had to have been hatched only recently

"Hey, I'm Luna." The woman said, setting down the fire-breathing reptile and smiling at her kindly. "It's going to be okay."

Rhaella didn't know what 'okay' was, but she understood the hug she was suddenly enveloped in. Luna's flesh was as hot as that of a fever victim and her arms tremendously strong. There was a sense of comfort and safety in the embrace that she hadn't felt since she was a child being held by her mother.

It was too much and Rhaella couldn't hold on to the regal dignity that she'd always been taught was so important, beginning to sob uncontrollably.

Luna didn't seem to mind and continued to hold her to her breast, stroking her hair and humming gently.

"I don't want to go back!" Rhaella wailed, clutching at the big woman and the comfort she offered like it was the last drink of water in a scorching desert and she was dying of thirst.

"You don't have to." Luna soothed, which sent her into another bout of uncontrollable sobbing.

An undeterminate amount of time later, Rhaella managed to bring herself back under control and was utterly mortified. That had not been at all queenly.

"My apologies." She said quietly, trying to pull away.

"It's alright." Luna replied brightly, refusing to let go. "Do you feel better now?"

"Yes." Rhaella whispered and settled back into the embrace. It was nice.

"If you don't want to go back, then I can see five options for you." Harry suddenly spoke up.

"Options?" She repeated. It seemed like her entire life had been one without any options.

Harry hummed and explained. "The first is to give you what you came here for. I can painlessly end your life if you feel that you can't go on anymore."

The thought of death wasn't nearly as appealing as it had been a short while ago, but it was still oddly comforting to have it offered.

"The second is to return to King's Landing."

Her entire being rebelled at the thought. Yes, she desperately wanted to see Rhaegar again, but Rhaella knew that if she had to go back to that life after getting a taste of freedom that she would throw herself out of the nearest window within a tenday.

"The third is to go with that Dothraki khal that seems sweet on you. I wouldn't recommend it, but it's an option."

He may have seemed nice now, but she never forgot what he was. Staying with him would be almost as bad as going back to Aerys. Rhaella didn't bother wondering how Harry even knew about that.

"The fourth is that we send you to a location of your choosing, where you can do whatever you want with your life."

That...sounded acceptable. Maybe she could ask to be sent to Braavos. She'd done her duty to the Seven Kingdoms, given her husband an heir to follow after him. She might feel a little guilty for selfishly running away, but it was less shameful than an ignoble death by suicide.

"The fifth is to come with us." Luna cut in brightly.

Rhaella started in surprise, having not expected that at all. Why would they take her with them? Some plot against the Iron Throne? A hostage? Why were they even doing anything at all for her now that she thought about it?

"Why?" She managed to ask.

"Don't think too much of it." Harry said dismissively. "You just happen to be here, is all."

"There are a lot of people suffering in this world, many of them worse than you." Luna elaborated. "We can't help them all, but we can help those we meet."

So it was just luck? Rhaella had to push down an inappropriate burst of hysterical laughter. Her luck had always been so terrible that she'd long since concluded that the gods must have cursed her. Or maybe it was just the Seven, since Harry and Luna were of the Old Gods religion.

"What would be expected of me if I went with you?" She asked.

"I'm sure we could find something for you to do." Harry shrugged. "You're an educated woman, by the reckoning of the Seven Kingdoms at least. You could teach people how to read and write, or help look after the children my tower seems constantly overrun by."

The duties of a teacher or a wet nurse. Quite a fall in status from being a queen, but a crown had brought her nothing but misery.

"And we could have sex!" Luna chimed in brightly.

Rhaella had been on the verge of accepting the offer to come with them, the foolishness of trusting so easily be damned, but now she could only stare up at the woman holding her in shock.

"P-pardon?" She said, unsure if she was more afraid or embarrassed.

"We could have sex." Luna repeated helpfully.

It wasn't as if she was a stranger to the idea of laying with another woman. Many noble ladies had 'pillow friends' among their handmaidens. Young girls got curious about what it was like to be with a man and exchanged kisses or touches with each other o satisfy that curiosity.

No, it was the sheer bluntness of the suggestion that shocked her. These were not things that were supposed to be spoken about, the same way nobody spoke of how her uncle Daeron had preferred the company of Ser Jeremy Norridge over women.

Rhaella tried to pull away, but the bigger woman still wouldn't let go. Strangely, she couldn't feel any sort of threat despite that.

"One thing you shoukd know about Luna." Harry interjected with a tone of drawling amusement. "She tends to be very literal-minded. When she says that we could have sex, that is exactly what she means. We could also eat fish for dinner, but we don't have to."

"Oh." Rhaella said, nonplussed. Well, she supposed that expecting magic users to behave like other people had been foolish.

"So will you come with us?" Luna asked, staring down with her with such earnestness in her moonlight eyes that all suspicion of darker intentions fled from her mind.

"Yes." Rhaella whispered, closing her eyes. She had been shown more kindness in the past few minutes than in the past ten years combined and simply didn't have the will to refuse.

"Great!" Luna exclaimed happily, picking her up in a bridal carry as if she weighed nothing. "Come on, we'll set up a room for you at the tower and then you can meet the others."

"Wait!" Rhaella cried out, surprised by the suddenness of the movement. "What of Ser Gerold and Ser Barristan?"

"Don't worry, I'll handle them." Harry waved off.

XXXXX

Said knights were going frantic with worry. Almost as soon as Queen Rhaella had left their presence, their minds had been blanketed by confusion. By the time their thoughts cleared, they were halfway down the mountain.

"Ser Gerold!" A familiar voce greeted cheerfully. "It's been a long time."

Gerold spun around and pointed his sword at the Sorcerer without thinking, hiding his surprise at the changes in the man.

"Where is the queen, fiend?!" He demanded, realizing that he had been expecting the man to show up somewhere in the back of his mind.

"Your king sent her and you here to take my dragons, so I took his wife." Harry replied with a smirk. "Tell him to keep his beak out of my business in the future."

"Can we negotiate for the queen's release?" Barristan asked tightly, horror pooling in his guts at how wrong everything had gone. He had known from the start that this wasn't right, but always reminded himself that it wasn't the job of the Kingsguard to judge the king.

"You have no leverage to negotiate with."

That was all the provocation Gerold needed and he charged forward with a shout, sword raised to strike...

...only to find himself slowing down as if he was wading through mud, until he was as motionless as a statue.

"Tsk tsk, Hightower." The Sorcerer chided mockingly. "What, did you think you would just kill me and all would be well? You've been listening to too many stories of gallant knights and evil wizards."

Both of the Kingsguard were immobilized, as Barristan had followed behind his Lord Commander, and they could do nothing except seethe impotently as he wrapped a rope around their wrists.

"Portus." He muttered over the rope and then looked them in the eye. "Remember to tell Aerys to mind his own fucking business in the future. Bye bye."

When the last two words were spoken, they felt a pulling sensation in their navel as they were yanked through space. Several seconds later, they crashed onto a soft surface. A surface that they realized was a bed once the disorientation faded.

Specifically, it was Gerold's bed in the White Sword Tower of the Red Keep.

XXXXX

That same evening. Dol Guldur.

"I am speechless, truly." Adrastia commented drily. "You don't want to play political games with the Seven Kingdoms, yet you steal away their queen?"

"This one is more on Luna than me." Harry admitted. "She has a habit of picking up damaged goods and trying to fix them whenever we settle down somewhere."

That was certainly true. The lower parts of the tower had morphed into a bizarre mixture of orphanage, daycare center, boarding house, infirmary, school and veterinary office under Luna's hand.

"Are you going to fuck her?" She asked, implicitly conceding the point.

"Depression and long-term psychological trauma are your kinks, not mine." He countered drily.

"They could be, if you'd just broaden your horizons." Adrastia sniffed, amused. "But it really would be very convenient for me if you could seduce her and even put a few children in her. I was intending to move things along slower, but in one move you've placed yourself within arm's reach of being the next king's stepfather for all intents and purposes."

"I am philosophically opposed to inbreeding." Harry drolled in response, not at all surprised by the shamelessly selfish request. "There are too many retards and genetic failures in the world as it is."

"You aren't even from the same dimension." She pointed out.

"She's inbred enough for the both of us." He assured.

"You know rituals to abrogate the side-effects."

"I am also philosophically opposed to bailing people out of the consequences of their own stupidity."

Adrastia looked at him silently for a while before she spoke again." You find her boring, don't you?"

"Yep." Harry nodded. "Duller than a blank wall."

"Oh well." She sighed. "I will try to see if there is anything interesting under all that depression and training in decorum, and if not I suppose I will still be able to make some use of the situation."

XXXXX

8th day of the 7th moon, 272 AC. Braavos, House of Black and White.

The envoy from King's Landing recoiled in shock.

"Surely you jest?" He protested, eyes wide. "The price you ask for is enough to beggar the whole of the Seven Kingdoms for generations!"

"The price is equal to the task." The Faceless Man replied serenely. "You wish the gift to be given to a mighty sorcerer in the heart of his power, where he is rumored to see all and know all."

The Faceless Men also remembered the warning given to them years ago, how someone would eventually come to employ them to kill him, and the consequences should they accept.

An unnecessary warning. The price was equal to the task, and giving the gift to the Sorcerer of Dol Guldur would be by far the greatest task the House of Black and White had ever undertaken. King Aerys would have to pay dearly indeed if he wished them to attempt it.

The envoy sputtered and argued, but the Faceless Man remained unmoved and he had to return to King's Landing to report failure. Aerys was enraged and called for war.

XXXXX

3rd day of the 8th moon. 272 AC. Red Keep.

Aerys awoke suddenly to a feeling of dread, and found that he could not move his body.

"W-what?" He asked fearfully, gaze darting to and fro in the darkness of his room.

"In light of recent events I thought it was time to accept your invitation to visit." A voice said.

"GUARDS!" Aerys bellowed.

"No sound will leave this room. " The mystery man commented, stepping into the moonlight streaming from the windows.

He was huge, at least as big as Ser Duncan had been, and his bright emerald eyes – far brighter than a Lannister's – glowed in the dark.

"Who are you?" The king demanded, covering fear with anger.

"Me? I'm Harry. And you, my very young friend, seem determined to make a pest of yourself." The man spoke as if he was discussing the weather, but there was an altogether dangerous glint in his eye as he leaned over him. "You know what happens to pests when they get too irritating? They get squashed."

"How dare you?!" I AM THE KING!" Aerys roared.

"And this gives you power over me?" Harry asked in the same mild tone, one hand reaching towards his face.

Aerys could do nothing as fingers pinched his nose shut and the palm covered his mouth, making it impossible to breathe. He couldn't even thrash as his lungs began to burn.

Terror consumed his mind and he didn't even notice as he lost control of his bowels. He was going to die!

And then suddenly the hand was gone and he could breathe again, which he did, desperately gulping down air.

"You sent your sister to turn the dragons I hatched into tools for your childish power trips. A foolish endeavour, doomed to failure from the start, so I took her and considered it fair, but you seem to disagree. Now I'm here to propose a new arrangement. Stop bothering me or I'll kill you. Fair?"

Aerys wanted to rage and scream and call for the wizard's head, but fear from his recent brush with death had him nodding meekly. "F-fair."

"I'm glad we understand each other." Harry said brightly, roughly slapping the immobile king's cheek. "You know, I don't usually renegotiate terms, I just kill people when they try to prove how hard they are, but you've already sent out a call to war and there's a chance that all those lordly idiots would decide to go ahead with it for some reason even with you dead. Isn't it funny how you're only still breathing because it's less hassle for me to have you call that nonsense off?"

Aerys felt another jolt of fear travel up his spine as it was made abundantly clear just how little this man, this wizard, thought of Westerosi nobility and royalty. He would cut them all down as if they were mere smallfolk.

He did not reply and the Sorcerer seemed satisfied with that, as he simply nodded and vanished into thin air.

Aerys felt control of his body return to him and he surged out of bed, pacing his room madly. He didn't even notice that his night gown was soiled.

There would be no more sleep for him that day.

XXXXX

In the following days and weeks, the nobles of Westeros were confused to receive word that the call to war had been cancelled. But then, they had been confused to receive it in the first place as the reasons had not been explained. Many would worry that the king could some day start a war on a passing whim.

If there was one saving grace for Aerys, it was the fact that almost no one knew what had truly happened to Queen Rhaella, as Ser Gerold and Ser Barristan had told only him and he had told only his Hand. Most assumed she had died on the quest she had been sent on, which, while doing great damage to his reputation, was not as bad as them knowing that she had been taken by Harry and insisting that they should make war on him in misguided outrage.

The entire experience left Aerys' mental state more precarious than ever, however. He banished all his mistresses in a fit of suspicion, ordered that the castle's ravens be watched for any 'suspicious behavior', needed at least one of the Kingsguard to be in the room with him overnight or he was unable to sleep, would often consult with Pycelle on what foul scheme the Sorcerer may be conducting and became obsessively pious in the hope that the Seven could protect him from said schemes.

XXXXX

16th day of the 4th moon, 275 AC. Winterfell.

Today was the day. Benjen had recently had his eighth nameday, which was the usual age at which boys were sent to foster. Havel had accepted his proposal and Rickard was pleased. Everything was going well.

"If Benjen can go why can't I?!"

Except of course, for his willful little she-wolf of a daughter that wasn't happy about being left all by herself in Winterfell.

Rickard sorely regretted ever telling her about how things were in Angmar. Specifically, he regretted mentioning that women could train to fight if they wanted without anyone voicing even a hint of disapproval. It was encouraged even, as the Angmari placed great value on self-reliance.

He could almost hear his beloved wife laughing at him from beyond the grave for not seeing this coming. Even as a little girl, Lyanna had been almost as wild as Brandon, and had always wanted to play with swords instead of learning how to sew. He should have expected this.

"Lyanna, daughter, the arrangement was made for Benjen, I cannot simply send you along as well without asking." Rickard had little faith that his argument would sway her, but he had to try.

"Then ask." Lyanna said petulantly, crossing her arms with an angry pout.

He could just order her to drop the matter, but she reminded him so much of Lyarra that he had always indulged her. Which was probably why she was being so bratty now.

A guardsman entered the room then, looking a little out of breath.

"My lord, the envoy from Angmar, she is here!" The man said urgently.

She? Rickard wondered, but that thought was quickly wiped from his mind when his little fiend of a daughter got a certain glint in her eye and dashed towards the courtyard.

"Lyanna!" He shouted, only to be ignored.

Rickard ran after her, but his longer legs were apparently no match for a nine-year-old girl's energy.

The worst part about these visits from Angmar might actually be the lack of warning. It was impossible to prepare if your guests could travel so fast that they outpaced any news of their arrival.

By the time he made it to the courtyard, Lyanna was already being cradled in the arms of an enourmously tall golden-haired woman with eyes of luminous moonlight and a corresponding silver crescent moon marking on her forehead. She seemed completely unconcerned with the guardsmen pointing weapons at her from a few feet away or their orders to release Lyanna.

To be fair, Lyanna didn't look at all distressed. More like awed, even. It was just terribly improper to be handling the daughter of a noble House like that.

Typical of Angmar.

"Father!" Lyanna shouted excitedly when she saw him. "This is Lady Luna, she says she came to take Benjen to Isengard on her flying cloud! And she said that I could go too if you agree."

Luna?! Rickard could only stare with a slack jaw. He'd met Harry's wife during his one and only visit to Isengard and she had certainly not been taller than Lord Umber back then. How does a grown woman gain nearly two feet in height?

A nervous shuffle reminded his household guard was still pointing weapons at her.

"Stand down, men." He ordered belatedly, hoping that his blunder would go unnoticed.

"Hello, Rickard." Luna greeted cheerfully, setting Lyanna down and striding towards him.

Rickard was only slightly surprised when she pulled him into a hug, but he was very surprised to find himself unable to stop her as she mashed his face into her much enlarged breasts.

"It's so good to see you again." She cooed. "I'm sorry about your dad. Edwyle was a good boy."

Rickard was embarrassed beyond words. Luna's habbit of hugging people had been bad enough when she stood at 5'2'', now it was just outright humiliating.

It didn't help that he could hear the guardsmen and even his bloody steward sniggering at him after they got over their shock.

They were magnificent breasts, though.

"Thank for your kind words, my lady." He said with whatever dignity there was left to be salvaged, trying to pull away from the embrace. "When Havel said that someone would come to take Benjen to Angmar, I was not expecting such a distinguished escort."

"It would be silly to spend almost two moons traveling when I could just fly him there in an hour or so." Luna said brightly, finally letting go. "We're friends, after all."

An hour. Nearly a thousand miles lay between Winterfell and Dol Guldur, and they could traverse it in an hour. That just might be the most terrifying thing about Angmar that Rickard had heard to date.

"Indeed." He gave a strained smile.

"Can I go, Father?" Lyanna cut in, staring up at him with sparkling grey eyes.

Rickard felt his resolve crumble. Had he not hoped that Benjen would find himself a bride among the Sorcerer's grandchildren? Even if Angmar disdained arranged marriages, such a thing would bind their two kingdoms closer together. If Lyanna went as well, then that would double the chances of it happening.

But he also could not be seen to favor Angmar too much, lest he upset his vassal lords. With talks underway about a bethrothal to Hoster Tully's eldest daughter for Brandon, he was already taking a risk in that direction.

And it would be highly irregular to send a girl to foster.

"Lyanna, as my first and only daughter, there are things you need to know that you can only learn in Winterfell." Rickard prevaricated.

"I could just bring her up for visits." Luna offered helpfully. "She could stay for one week, er...tenday out of every moon."

"Please, Father." Lyanna pleaded, somehow managing to look even more imploring.

"I...very well." Rickard sighed, conceding defeat. What was the worst that could happen?

XXXXX

Fun fact, I had no intention of doing the thing with Rhaella until I started writing Aerys. Then it just seemed like the addition of Harry passively pissing him off since he was crowned, his desire for the dragons and Pycelle's whispering would have made him crazy enough even pre-Duskendale to think that sending her out to tame the dragons was a good idea.

At least, it would have made him crazy enough to blurt the idea out and then be too stubborn to admit it was a bad one when Tywin pointed out that it was a bad one.

EDIT: I can't believe I forgot that Rickard had already met Luna before. And it's not even something that happened like 7 chapters ago, it happened in the previous fucking chapter. Credit to AO Black for spotting it and pointing out my screw up. I've made the appropriate edits.