19

A Throne Nobody Wants

Book 2: Chapter 8

SPECIAL NEW YEARS CHAPTER! SINCE I MISSED CHRISTMAS! ENJOY AND REMEMBER DON'T DRINK AND DRIVE!

Special thanks to Mingyu for editing this for me, the fic Whisperer!

+++ Jaime – Harrenhal +++

You are to stay there and ensure Pendragon does not move against us. I am already on my way to King's Landing.

Your Father,

Tywin Lannister

Jaime gripped the letter from his father in his hands once more. It has been three weeks since Robert Baratheon's death and two weeks since they even got wind of it, including the scandal with what happened to Lord Stark. He had received this letter just as he was about to set out to be with his sister and protect his… nephew. Then there's that red streak appeared in the sky which the people believed to be an ill omen.

While everything in Jaime's body screamed for him to go to his sister side, his father's words weighed him down like an anchor. He had to settle with sending a raven to his beloved sister to explain what had happened. He doubted she'd be pleased, but father's word was something that even she dared not challenge. Closing his eyes he tried to remember what his sister's skin felt like, the taste of her lips, the taste of her, how tightly she always clung to him when he was inside of her. How perfectly they connected.

Yet, try as he might, Jaime could not recall those memories with the clarity he once could and that vexed him. He had not touched his sister in that intimate a manner since his trip to Winterfell and that angered him greatly.

"Ragggh!" Jaime raged as he drew his sword and slashed at the flowers in the private garden within the inner sanctum that was reserved for Pendragon and his wives.

"Is something wrong, Ser Jaime?" a soft, melodious voice cut through his anger and he turned around to see the dark-haired beauty entering the large area.

"Lady Lorelei," Jaime straightened, schooling his face to greet the Pendragon mistress warmly. Her dark blue eyes locked with his green ones before she shrugged it off as she began the task of straightening out the now destroyed bushes he had just hacked apart.

"I heard your battle cry, but I did not think flowers were what you were bravely protecting us form," Lorelei teased softly as she knelt down and began to gather the various broken flowers.

Jaime immediately felt guilty and sheathed his sword to go about helping the woman. He had initially resented the dark-haired beauty's presence in Harrenhal, much less in the presence of his da- niece. But Mordred had insisted that he talk to Arthur's mistress, saying that they might find a lot in common. At the time he had thought his niece was trying to play matchmaker between them, so out of boredom he did and was surprised at how easily they conversed.

Jaime had to admit that Lorelei's friendship in these past few months had eased his loneliness and calmed his thoughts. While he could acknowledge that Lorelei was a breathtaking beauty on par with his own sister, he did not feel any lust toward her. No, what Lorelei and he had was something more comfortable. A sort of kindred companionship. He could not help but feel that she completely understood him during the times he had shared stories of his burden, his conflict with his knightly code and his efforts to live up to its tenants.

It was almost as if they were cut from the same cloth, and Jaime meant that in the most platonic way possible. Even now, they did not talk as he set about helping her. Eventually they cleared up the damage he had created and sat down next to each other.

"Star for your thoughts, Ser Jaime?" Lorelei was the first to break the silence as she leaned back to enjoy the cool breeze that was sweeping through Harrenhal.

"I'm a Lannister, our thoughts are worth Dragons," Jaime japed and elicited a soft laugh from the beauty. Unlike the rest of Arthur's legitimate wives who took to wearing a dark blue, Lorelei wore a mix of sky blue and black. The black really helped to accentuate the paleness of her skin.

The two sat in companionable silence once more before Lorelei spoke up.

"Things have been tense around here, has it not?"

"That's what happens when Kings die," Jaime responded bluntly and was not surprised that Lorelei didn't even flinch.

There was a general cover of uncertainty that had settled over Harrenhal, and news of imminent war with the remaining Baratheon brothers loomed on the horizon. Already Pendragon was organizing his forces in preparation. The thought of it made Jaime grip his sword once more. He should be in King's Landing with his sister, not here to finish off the last Targaryen if he or the North proved treacherous. There was no guarantee that Pendragon would join the North if they attacked, but there was also no guarantee he would dismiss the rumors and could possibly decide to waylay the Westerland armies.

"Perhaps. But if there is war, I feel that it is safer and more stable here than out there, don't you think?" Lorelei responded with an arched eyebrow and damn if she wasn't right.

Despite the threat of war, business was still going on as usual as the smallfolk went about their lives. The newer troops had been on constant rotation battling bandits far and wide since Pendragon took over and so became experienced and bloodied. Nothing like the fresh-faced levies that were probably being assembled right now by his father and the rebels.

"Enjoy it while you can," Jaime scoffed as he straighted himself and stretched. "You weren't around during the last war. You don't know how horrible it could get, what it does to men."

"Oh, I can imagine," Lorelei spoke up sadly. "But it needs to be done. Peace cannot be enforced without strength of arms, and say what you will, but I believe Lord Pendragon's forces will be more than ready for war. No matter the direction it comes from."

"Oh? You think he would join up with the rebels?" Jaime asked Lorelei with a raised eyebrow. "That would be treason you know."

"Hardly," this time Lorelei scoffed at Jaime, causing the Kingsguard to smile.

"I meant if King Joffrey decided he wanted to have Sansa arrested, he could expect my Lord to resist that order no matter the forces assembled against him. The same will hold true if Lord Stark were to try the same ultimatum regarding Princess Mordred."

"Then that means everyone would be his enemies," Jaime gave Lorelei an arched look. "That's not a very smart thing for him to do then, don't you think?"

"Everyone has always been his enemy, or have you forgotten that he was an exiled prince?" Lorelei smirked impishly.

"Besides, he has dragons."

Jaime had to concede her point. Now wasn't that another hellish surprise. Mordred had immediately locked down everyone that had witnessed Daenerys' little display of power, and upon pain of death ordered them not to reveal the creature's presence. Even he was not safe from her threat, it was very real. He saw it in her eyes and knew that she'd kill him if he did not swear it on Cersei's life. He could understand her concern. The dragons, for all their ferocity, were still the size of ponies. Nothing like the hulking beasts he read about, which meant they could still be killed.

But Mordred had explained the pros to keeping it a secret as well, that they would benefit Joffrey and his sister eventually. So he swore the oath and intended to keep it. Besides, it was nice knowing something his father did not. He could not predict how his father would react to the presence of dragons. Tywin might even demand them for himself, and Arthur would refuse. There would be war, and after seeing how Arthur's men fought, he doubted that his family could attain a solid victory.

Not to mention the looming threat of Stannis and Renly. No, it would do no good to tell his father at all.

The two sat in more companionable silence before Lorelei got up. "It is almost time for me to attend to Princess Mordred, I… I would not be so worried about your sister and nephew. If Lord Stark is the man of honor we believe him to be, then he would not join the rebellion unless he was absolutely sure. Nor would Lord Arthur."

"Wait," Jaime stood up, halting the Lady of House Lake in her tracks as she turned to look at him inquiringly.

"Do you believe the accusations against my sister?"

Needless to say, the accusation was also levied against himself. Lorelei stood in contemplation for a bit before she made eye contact with him, and he knew then that she believed.

"I feel that it does not matters if the accusation is lies or truth," Lorelei answered finally, but saw that Jaime wished for her to elaborate.

"The only thing that matters is if King Joffrey rules justly with wisdom or not. If he does, then the people will support him and he'll gain more allies. If he rules cruelly or frivolously, then people will rise up either way. His legitimacy does not matter. Robert's Rebellion proved this."

Jaime face grew contemplative and he sighed.

"I have kept you from my niece for too long. Good day, My Lady."

Lorelei stared at him for a moment before she closed the distance between them.

"Perhaps when next you find yourself restless and thinking of attacking defenseless flowers, you'd seek me out first. I have been practicing my sword skills, so you'd not find me so easy a foe."

"Oh? You're taking up arms now?" Jaime chuckled at the thought of this dainty-looking girl fighting. Even Galina looked more hardened than her. "Finally trading in needles for sword?"

"Not quite," the raven-haired beauty replied with an impish grin. "I'm sure I can master both. I'm a woman of many talents after all."

"Except cooking."

"In that field, Sansa has no equal," Lorelei admitted without hesitation.

"I'd guess, if I am free, I could give you some pointers," Jaime finally offered. It would help him take his mind off of his sister after his duties were finished.

"Or perhaps it is I who will give you pointers on your sword work." Lorelei retorted with a teasing smile, before she inclined her head politely in his direction and left.

Left alone again, Jaime thoughts turned back to his current situation. He wondered if Arthur trusted him enough to lead any of Pendragon's forces. Though if there was war he'd more than likely be joining his father in the front lines, in charge of Lannister men. Until then, he was stuck here playing nursemaid for his niece.

Jaime thoughts turned back to the dark beauty from the Vale. Perhaps watching the girl fumble around with a sword would relieve him of some boredom.

+++ Jon – Fist of the First Men +++

Jon Snow, the infamous bastard of the north let loose a low growl as he went about tightening up the Night's Watch camp. The cold bit harshly against Jon face as he continued to strengthen the fortifications, his beard doing little to protect him from it. Like most of his brothers in the Night's Watch, he was covered in layered clothes from head to toe. He felt humbled standing where the First Men once stood, before the Andals arrived and wiped them out. Though it was said that the blood of the First Men still ran through Stark blood, which meant it ran through his too, being a bastard of Lord Eddard Stark and all.

"Doing alright there Jon?" Samwell (Sam for short) Tarly, his best friend, asked him as he walked up next to Jon carrying a few freshly-carved stakes.

"Just freezing my bollocks off like the rest." Jon replied through chattering teeth as he set the next stake into the ground, the pointy end pointing outward. And cold it was, but there was a reason why they were out here. The Great Ranging, they called it, the largest force in living memory to ever venture out Beyond the Wall. Their mission was to find out why their scouts kept turning up missing, more information on Wildling movements and their Queen Beyond the Wall, and finally why corpses were coming back to life.

Jon noticed that his friend did not seem as bothered by the bitter cold.

"Looks like you have no trouble staying warm."

Samwell blushed in embarrassment a bit before looking down at the snow. "It's the fat, helps keep me warm."

"Well well, looks like Ser Piggy might've have had the right idea all along, eh!" a brother who overheard Samwell's explanation jeered. Like most of the times before, the joke made at Jon's friend drew mean-spirited laughter.

Jon balled his fists, wanting to defend his friend but decided against it. The Lord Commander Jeor Mormont was here. The large man from Bear Island had decided to take Jon under his wing, and even gave him the Valyrian blade he carried. Now THAT had been a stroke of fortune he had not expected. The Lannisters, for all of their wealth, had yet to acquire such a blade and here he was with a king's ransom on his hip. Though Jon did have some niggling feeling he was being shown preferential treatment by the Lord Commander due to his father.

"Any signs of Qhorin yet? He's late." The Lord Commander grumbled as he paced back and forth anxiously.

Qhorin Halfhand was supposed to bring another hundred men to the Fist of the First Men before they pushed onward. Jon remembered the various abandoned Wildling settlements standing lifelessly. What disturbed their scout leader at the time was how they had seemed abandoned for quite some time. The Wildling camps were usually kept in disarray, but true signs of living were hard to come by. Why would they need to do such a thing? Wildlings were supposed to be stupid and barbaric, yet if Jon didn't know better, he would say that the camp was left there to fool the Night's Watch Rangers.

Again, why would the Wildings do that?

"Any words from your scouts yet, Theron?" Lord Commander Mormont asked the commander of the rangers. "It's been six hours since we were supposed to link up with Qhorin."

"Not as of yet, Lord Commander." the sinewy, weak-chin looking man replied. He appeared to be greatly agitated by the lack of reports as well. "Matter of fact, none of my scouts had reported in for a while now."

Lord Commander Mormont let out a loud grunt to acknowledge the Ranger's report.

"Make sure your men stay extra vigilant! I've got a bad feeling about this, Halfhand is never this late."

Jon could not help but agreed with the Lord Commander's assessment. All throughout the day a sense of uneasiness permeated the air, and he was not the only one who noticed. Looking around the camp, he could see men fidgeting, some even making sure their blades were sharpened. The blizzard was getting harsher as well, visibility was at an all-time low.

"You think-," Samwell began, but looked around at the camp and lowered his voice to a whisper. "You think something might've happen to Qhorin and the reinforcements?"

Jon looked up and saw Samwell's fearful expression and decided to reassure the boy.

"Sam, Qhorin's a living legend. And what's more he has a hundred brothers watching his back. He'll be here."

Samwell looked somewhat reassured by Jon words as he nodded slowly before Jon put a hand on his large friend's shoulder.

"Long as we do our job, we'll be back at Castle Black in no time at all. Perhaps I'll write my sister and ask her to send more of those biscuits you enjoyed so much, eh?" Jon smiled as he saw the delighted expression of his friend's face.

"Truly?" Samwell had to wiped the drool that was leaking down his cheek before it froze. He looked to Jon in embarrassment, and Jon could only give his friend a knowing smirk.

"Better make sure there are enough for the rest of us, Lord Bastard," Jon's other friend, a tall thick-necked stocky boy named Grenn, demanded loudly.

"Aye, and us too!"

"You wanna make friends with the right sort, best not forget us neither."

Suddenly, Jon was bombarded by the rest of his Night's Watch brothers demanding that he request enough for the rest of them. He could not help but let out a small chuckle, if only his beloved little sister knew how far the fame of her cooking had reached. Even the Lord Commander gave him a look that all but ordered him to include him in the request.

"Alright, Alright, I'll do what I can! She's a lady of a great house now, so no promises." Jon replied and was jeered at good-naturedly by the men. Initially he really had no intention of writing Sansa, despite his promise to Sam.

Simply put, Jon did not want to bother Sansa. She was married now, and to a Targaryen now of all people. He recalled her letter, asking him to come to her wedding, but he never even bothered asking the Lord Commander for permission. He was still too new to the Night's Watch and had to prove to his brothers that he was no different than any of them.

So Jon had written to Sansa with heartfelt congratulatory words and wished her the best in life. Though he did promise her that if her husband hurt her in any way, Night's Watch or no, he would make Arthur pay. To his surprise, she sent him a box of flavored biscuits, what she called "cookies," to the Wall for him. What made those biscuit-cookies special to him was that she had baked it herself. The gesture warmed his heart. Jon knew that as Sansa grew older she really only ever personally cooked for special occasions. He was happy she felt he warranted such treatment, though she lamented in her letter that it was a poor substitute for her wedding cake. But that would not have fared well on the long journey north. Even the biscuits she sent would not be nearly good as when they were first baked, but they would last longer and she apologized in advance if they arrived stale.

To Jon, it was the best thing he had eaten since he left for the Wall. Naturally he shared them with his brothers in black and they too agreed with his assessment.

"Alright enough, focus!" Lord Jeor ordered as the men to stop harassing Jon and get back to their duties.

Which was just in time for the first scream to pierce through the loud, cold wind in the distance followed a few seconds later by another, and then another.

"My scouts!" Ranger Thoren head snapped in the direction of the screams. First it was to the North, then to the south, in all directions that he had sent his men.

"The enemy's here!" Lord Commander Mormont bellowed as he too drew his sword, when suddenly the screams died down and ambient snarling could be heard.

Jon had already drawn Longclaw, his sword, before he heard a whistling sound and turned to see an arrow protruding from Grenn's eye, the tip protruding out from the back of his head. Jon saw Sam fumbling with his own sword as Jon deflected several more incoming arrows. Jon reached down for a shield and tossed it to Sam just in time for an arrow to strike it. A few seconds later and his friend would have been dead.

"Jon!" Sam yelled in fright as he desperately raised the shield to block the oncoming arrows.

"AHHHHH-grahhhkk!"

Jon turned to the sound of the scream and saw something on the back of one of his brothers, it's mouth on his throat as blood colored the snow. It was an undead creature, a wight like the one he killed in Castle Black! Beyond, Jon saw the Rangers returning fire into the blizzard, most likely aiming back in the direction of whoever, or whatever, was firing the arrows.

"Haaaaah!" Jon roared viciously as he struck at the wight, cutting it from the shoulders to the navel. He then reached for one of the thin logs that was fueling their cooking fire.

"Use fire, it's weak against the flames!" Jon shouted for his other brothers.

With that Jon jammed the flaming piece of wood against the face of the wight, igniting it and burning away the blue glow in its eye. He saw some of the other brothers take up fiery logs, while others began to light up the arrows to fire into the hazy snow storm.

Moments later the snarling stopped, as did the arrows that were peppering their camp. The harsh cold, which had been blowing about ferociously moments ago, mysteriously calmed. As if by magic, the dense fog that covered the area began to roll back from the encampment to reveal the horrors that surrounded them.

Undead by the hundreds stood outside their camp, unmoving. Their eyes glowed an eerie blue and yet the fog continued to peel back, revealing more and more of their numbers. Numbers that stretched to the horizon in all directions save one, their path back to the Wall had less wights there.

"So the stories were true," Lord Commander Jeor said. If he was affected by the sight he didn't show it and instead he readied his weapon, bracing for an attack.

As one the wights swarmed forward and breached their fortification, moments later the sounds of men fighting for their lives rang throughout the area once again.

"Form up and march! We make for the Wall! " Lord Mormont bellowed loudly as he cut down several skeletal wights, breaking them apart with his sheer strength. In the back drop the horn sounded for the retreat. "We must warn the Seven Kingdoms!

"Jon!" Sam shouted even as a wight nearly skewered him, but to Jon's surprise the large boy used his shield and pushed it back before bashing its skull in.

"Augh! Take that and THAT!"

"Sam!" Jon brought Longclaw up and smashed the skeletal wight that had just leaped at Sam, who was still hammering into the first corpse. The sound of the strike made Sam look up, even as the wight's skull bounced off his head.

"Wahhhh!" Sam screamed as he jumped back and continued to retreat with the his other brothers. He saw another ranger try to mount a horse but was quickly pulled down, both horse and man butchered by the undead fiends. The dying screams of the horse and its rider were horrific.

"That's it! Steady men, keep moving! Don't stop!" Lord Mormont encouraged as he was in the rear, fighting off the worst of the wights' attack while Jon and the a few other rangers fought at the front.

That's when it happened, a group of wights, armored and on undead steeds, rode forward and slammed into the group of Night's Watchmen, killing several instantly while charging deep into their ranks. Their proximity allowed Jon a clearer look of what struck them. It was like a wight, but not, their body was pale, wholly intact. Their eyes the coldest blue he had ever seen, and in their hands was a strange type of spear that looked as if it was made of ice.

"For the Watch!" Theron shouted as he raised his sword and charged the stationary armored wights.

To Jon's surprise, when an armored wight parried Theron the blade in Theron's hand shattered like ice. The loss of his weapon must have shocked the ranger, as he looked to his hand before the wight stabbed his ice spear through the top of Theron's head.

"Jon, look out!" Sam yelled as Jon turned to see one of those armored wight baring down on him. How could they ride so quietly?! Knowing it was a futile gesture, but lead by years of ingrained training, he raised his blade to block. To his amazement, his weapon did not shatter like Theron's, instead there was a screaming hiss as the two weapons met.

However, the armored wight was still on horseback, and with that force and momentum Jon was unable to stay on his feet. Before the armored wight could follow up its attack it stopped suddenly, its body spasming as if in pain before crumbling into ice itself.

"Wha?"

"Th-that worked!" Sam appeared in Jon's vision, helping him up as even the armored wights stopped in surprised at the death of their comrade.

"They're not wights, they're White Walkers!" Sam yelled excitedly as he took out some pieces of dragon glass that they had found earlier. "They can only be killed by dragon glass or weapons forged in dragon fire!"

As if a great secret had been revealed, the armored wights- no, White Walkers and all of the surrounding wights screamed before they charged the group with renewed frenzy.

"Ya got anymore of them glass, boy?!" Lord Commander bellowed as Jon looked down and remembered that his blade was one of a rare few made of dragon fire. Realizing that, he made to fight toward his Lord Commander to return the blade.

Just as Jon almost reached the Lord Commander, an icy spear protruded from his front, making the heavy set man stare down at his stomach. Jon looked beyond his Lord Commander to see White Walkers on foot fighting against the surviving Night Watchmen, his eyes made contact with the creature to see it smirk.

Enraged at the cowardly attack, Jon let lose a scream and charged the White Walker that killed his Commander.

The White Walker made to pull out the ice spear, but found it unable to as Lord Commander Mormont was grabbing onto it with bloody hands, which allowed Jon to strike at the creature's head. Unlike when Sam stabbed his White Walker with dragon glass, the blow instantly shattered the creature, sword and all.

Jon watched as Lord Mormont fell on his back gasping, even as his skin started to turn blue.

"Lord Commander!" Jon knelt down by the man in an effort to ease his pain and felt the Lord Commander's hand on his front coat.

"W-Warn...them..."

Jon watched as the life faded from his Lord Commander's eyes, only to see a blue light fill it. The body start to twitch as if coming back to life, and with a scream of pure anguish Jon used Longclaw to decapitate his Commander.

With the death of their Commander, the rest of the Night Watch broke ranks and began to scatter like quicksilver. Cries of the living could still be heard as the wights or white walkers got to them.

Jon instantly made a decision and cut his way to Tarly, who was staring numbly at the corpse of their friend, Eddison Tollett. The roguish man had been stabbed with dragon glass by Sam and apparently that might have kept him from turning into a wight.

"Sam, we need to run, NOW!" Jon grabbed the his friend by the arm and yanked hard to get him to move.

Jon was thankful the wights were not packed in like an army, but instead spread out, it gave him a chance to move and strike down those that came close as he and Sam fled from the battle. He had to warn his brothers!

Jon and Sam ran. They ran and cut down wights throughout the night. Even when there were no more wights they continued to move, and even when the light of dawn chased away the darkened skies.

It was midday, the day following the disaster at the Fist of the First Men, when he heard a strange noise behind him. Turning around, Longclaw at the ready, he saw that it was Sam who had collapsed face first onto the ground, unmoving.

"No, no, no!" Jon rushed to Sam's side and knelt down by his friend. Now that he had stopped moving, he felt fatigue hit him like a block of falling ice. The fighting of yesterday and their push through the night finally caught up with him as he began to feel the burn in his muscles, the numbing feeling on his face and how thirsty he really has gotten. Jon rolled his friend over with great effort, as Samwell was a large boy, and saw that his friend's eyes were half-lidded.

"Damn it, Sam! Don't you dare stop here, you hear me?!" Jon tried to yell but his throat was too dry and parched from breathing in the cold air. He took a quick sip of the ale in his wineskin and noted that there was not much left. Their supplies were with their horses, abandoned at the Fist.

"J- Just go on without me, Jon. Warn the others." Sam whispered in a croaky voice, even as Jon felt his eyes wanting to close and rest like Sam.

"A-at least I manage to take out a Whitewalker, eh. Think my father would be proud of me?"

"He'd be a fool if he's not," Jon assured his friend as he tried to open his wineskin, but was stopped by his friend.

"No Jon, you'll need it... Go warn our brothers, don't let our deaths... be in vain."

"Damn you, Tarly! You are coming with me and we will tell them together! Do you hear me?!" Jon yelled desperately at his friend whose eyes were starting to close.

"Sam! SAM!"

With renewed determination Jon forced himself to his feet and struggled to pull Sam to his.

"You are going to get your fat ass up and hike back to the Wall with me even if I have to carry your sorry ass there myself!"

Digging deep, Jon was able to get Sam across his shoulders and took slow, stuttering steps forward. Unfortunately, while Jon was rewarded for his efforts, his body had hit its limit. After an hour, Jon was unable to hold his friend up anymore and the two tumbled heavily to the ground.

"D- amn it..." Jon cursed, face-down in the snow, and tried to force himself back up to his feet but found that he was no longer able to. The fatigue that he felt earlier came back with a vengeance, and in greater force. Though his mind was willing him to move, the flesh refused to respond to his call. He wanted to scream out loud in frustration, but all that came out was a low groan.

In the ensuing silence, Jon could hear the icy-cold wind blow through, caressing his face tauntingly. He tried to turn his head to Sam's position at least, but could not even move his neck to do so. Suddenly a shadow fell across him. It could only be wights. With strength reserves he did not know he could even still call upon, Jon weakly tried to draw Longclaw. But something tugged at his hip and relived him of his weapon.

"Ah Ah, Crow," A female voice said in thick Wildling accent. "None of that now."

There was a moment of silence as Jon couldn't even muster the strength to acknowledge them. He felt something nudge his head in a not-so-gentle manner.

"So whatcha doing out here on your face?"

Jon remained silent, not caring to answer the Wildling.

"Oy, Crow, ya hear me? You're not dead, I can see ya breathing. Ya being mighty rude."

"Roll him over, and you check on the fat crow," A second female voice ordered, this one sounding a bit huskier than the first one, though with the same accent. Jon heard more footsteps marching away from him after that, and he groaned in protest as he was rolled onto his back.

It took Jon a few moments to make out the faces of the two women staring down at him. The first thoughts that came to Jon's mind was how pretty the two were. One was clearly older than the other but not by much. The one to his right was wearing some sort of dyed blue armor he had never seen before, with a strip of fur running from her shoulder to her hip. She had long hair, though it was tied up in a ponytail, and she was casually leaning on her spear. The girl to his left was younger. She had a thick fur coat on her with a hood covering her head, though he did make out a touch of copper red peeking out from under its cover. As the two looked him over, he found himself both glad and frightened by their presence.

"Oh, he's a pretty one," the red-haired one said after she finished eyeing him. "Think I'd remember someone like him from the group we ambushed."

"Nah, judging by the sloppy tracks, he came from the Fists." the dark-haired pretty one said, jerking a thumb back to point in said direction.

"Think he ran into them?" the copper-haired girl questioned the spear wielder, who shrugged in response.

"Hey Culian, the fat one is almost dead. Want me to finish him off, be all merciful and shit?" A masculine voice could be heard asking. It was the pony-tailed woman who responded, looking in the direction of Sam.

"Might as we-"

"Please..." Jon forced himself to talk, his voice sound soft and scratchy to his own ears. "Please, sav-e… him."

"Ya want us to save the fat one?" the red-haired girl asked with a curious look. "Why should we? He's fat and heavy to carry around. Not worth it really, you'd probably have all the information we need."

"My… friend. Please… beg…you."

"Well, I'll be, a polite crow," the redhead said in amusement. "Most of you lot don't be using them polite talk up here, you some type of southern lordling or something?"

"North… not… southern," Jon angrily protested, which seem to delight the two women.

"Boyo," the dark-haired one spoke up with a roguish grin. "Where we are, everyone south of the wall is a southerner!"

Jon grit his teeth as he heard laughter from the men in the area, but glared at the two women laughing mockingly in front of him.

"Aww, the baby crow looks angry. Hey wait a minute," the redhead hooded girl leaned down and played around with Jon face a bit. "Dun he look a bit like that other crow we saved a while back?"

"Oh, that one?" The woman, Culian looked down at Jon in contemplation. "Ya know, he does kind of look like him, specially round the eye."

"That one was the Stark Lord's brother, wasn't he?" The red-haired girl looked down with wide eyes at Jon.

"This is probably his son or nephew. Hmm. I guess we'd better let her highness decide," the Culian said with a shrug as she motioned at two men, who promptly dragged Jon to his feet. They bound his hands, but helped support him. One of them even held up a flask to drink from, the taste was sweet like milk.

"Take the fat one too," Culian ordered, making Jon turn to bow his head in gratitude. However, his gesture was laughed at as the pretty girl patted her companion on the back.

"Look at him, batting his pretty eyes for favors. You better steal him before her highness does. You know how she loves unique things, especially if they're pretty."

"Aye, I just might have to," the red-haired one agreed before giving Jon a look that both excited and terrified him.

"Got him Tormund? Or do you need my help?"

Jon saw Sam being carried by a large, heavyset man with a bushy red beard and messy hair. This was the first time he had seen any type of armor on the wildlings. Looking around, he noticed that those in heavy coats with the hoods did not wear armor, while the others did.

Wildlings weren't supposed to be this advance, were they?

Still, Jon was grateful for their help as they made a makeshift stretcher for Sam and tied him to it and dragged him with a horse.

Upon a second inspection, he realized that it was a horse from the Night's Watch, the marking indicating that it belonged to the Shadow Tower group. The Wildlings had spoken of an ambush, was that what happened to Qhorin?

Despite how friendly they'd been and how they had saved Sam and himself, Jon realized that the Wildlings were still their enemies.

+++ Arthur +++

The moment the first sunbeam touched his body was the moment Arthur slowly started awaken from his slumber. As often was the case nowadays, he did not want to leave his bed, the presence in bed next to him was warm and comforting. Opening his eyes slowly, Arthur saw the sky was just beginning to hint at a new dawn. The sight was one he personally enjoyed. The dawn had not changed much except for the red comet streaking through the sky. Some had called it an ill omen as it happened to coincide with Robert Baratheon's death.

Arthur looked to his left where his wife, Mordred, was curled up next to him, her head was resting right above his heart. He wondered if she found comfort in the rhythm of it's beating. He took a moment to drink in the sight of her, the way her golden hair, loosened from her bun, splayed all over their pillows and made her look like a sleeping angel. Not for the first time he wondered how it was that he could actually feel love for someone with the name Mordred. He came to that realization shortly after the orgy incident a few weeks back. That epiphany had shaken him to his very core.

Being who he was, what his previous life was like, Arthur had not expected to find genuine love in this new world. His plan had been to take care of Dany, make sure his blood sister was married off and well taken care of, then arrange a match for himself. Whether he loved the woman he ended up with in Essos was not an issue, the only thing that was important to him was that they were comfortable with one another, and of course sired several children to pass on his bloodline. Yet, unexpectedly, under a most unlikely chain of events (some would even say ludicrous) he won the hand of the princess of this realm via trial by combat.

"Mmmngh..." Mordred mumbled a bit before clinging to him tighter.

Arthur had to smile, she always did that, as if sensing he was about to get out of their bed. He took his right hand and slowly caressed her cheek, moving his thumb back and forth in a soothing manner. Like magic, Mordred sighed contently and relaxed her grip on him. Arthur doubted Mordred was aware of this, if she was… well, he could easily picture her being completely flustered in that little adorable way he had come to enjoy greatly.

"So strange." Arthur whispered softly to himself.

Mordred had been the name of his bastard son, also created in an unlikely chain of events (most would definitely say ludicrous). After all, how many women can claim they fathered a child? Arthur would bet the odds were astronomically, infinitely, against it. He had been distrustful of Mordred, the princess, mainly because of the shared name and similarity in coloring to the traitor. However, slowly, yet surely, somehow, some way, the princess had made the traitor a mere unpleasant memory. Mordred had no idea how he watched her from time to time, despite the size of Harrenhal he found himself running into her quite often. His wife worked hard, he noticed, doing many things that might seem insignificant but were vital in helping run this massive structure smoothly.

Sure Arthur could have done it, in fact he had anticipated such paperwork when he came back from his patrols, but there was barely any left for him to do. In fact, Arthur did not think Sansa realized just how big of an issue her training an army of smiths really was. The Smithing Guild association had intended to use any and all means to stop his third wife's endeavor, but Mordred had straightened them out somehow. Now the smiths were sending their unwanted apprentices over to Sansa. Perhaps some of them were spies. If they were, none had left his employ yet as far as he knew.

Arthur had not been lying when he told Mordred he wanted her to bear his first child, his heir. It was something he knew politically he had to do, that he would look forward to the task and grow to love her was unexpected. If anything, Arthur had expected to fall for Sansa first. After all, his female future self (now that was a whole other chain of impossible events) had fallen for her male counterpart. And while he had been bedding her regularly on her safe days, as per her request to activate Avalon (yet another impossibility) via the prana exchange ritual, there was no real love between them. Affection? Yes. Fondness? Certainly. But they seemed more like close friends and partners than true husband and wife. Though true to Sansa's caring nature, she greatly approved of his plan to get Mordred with child first before he started on her.

Arthur chuckled as he expertly slid out of their bed. How many men would kill to be in his position? A position he had never wanted nor desired in his past or present life.

Arthur stretched before he turned around to see Mordred's face scrunch up in a frown at his missing presence. Softly, he leaned down to give her a soft peck on the cheek and her face relaxed. Nodding to himself, Arthur went into the next room where his clothes had been discarded the night before. Putting on his Lorelei-crafted robe, he took a clean washcloth and scrubbed his face. Making sure he was presentable in the mirror, he strapped Irisviel to his back and exited his chamber.

"Good morning, my lord!" Bran Stark greeted enthusiastically. He did stifle a yawn, but other than that looked happy to be in front of Arthur's chamber this morning.

"Morning, Bran," Arthur greeted his squire as his personal guards fell in line behind him. Brienne greeted him with a respectful nod. Did that woman never sleep? The boy took out a parchment to read his itinerary for the day.

"You have a meeting with Lord Seroah and Lady Gwyr an hour after breakfast regarding the troop deployment."

With this, Bran fell silent, looking at him questioningly. It appeared his good-brother could sense the tension in the air. War was coming. Arthur expected the Baratheon brothers to have struck or were about to launch a strike at Joffrey's major holdings soon. Attack was imminent, and the Westerland army was already on the move to counter any incursions.

"Go on." Arthur gave his good-brother a reassuring smile.

"Maester Rhaymon also has several letters for you that need to be answered soon, he said they are in your study. Oh, and Jory Cassel wanted a private audience with you before you supped. He said any time before that would be fine."

"Away from your sister's eyes, no doubt," Arthur shared a matching grin with his good-brother.

If Sansa knew Jory was going behind her back to complain about Arthur's inaction regarding the issue of Lord Eddard Stark, then she would no doubt chew him out. And he could say in all honesty that nobody wanted to be chewed out by the daughter of Winterfell, as she usually punished via sanctions. However, Sansa was always busy during the day, so that was the ideal time to avoid her judging eyes. Sansa, for all her busy schedule, made sure to reserve the evening time for her family.

"Is that all? Nothing from Daenerys today? I'm surprised."

Bran looked discreetly behind to confirm that Arthur's guards were out of earshot before he looked up to his good-brother.

"A-Are you still angry at her?" Bran whispered.

Arthur tightened his jaw and exhaled. Was he angry with Daenerys? Extremely, but he could understand her reasoning when she explained it to him. He still loved her and told her as much, but the point was that she drugged him, although even that alone was not an issue. That he could forgive. It was the fact that Dany got other people caught up in her selfish desire that Arthur felt crossed the line. So he had been giving her the cold-shoulder the past few weeks. Though he did approve of her request to up the rations of meat for their dragons, but outside of that they had not interacted much. Sansa had taken the orgy in stride, and after hearing about her counterpart's orgy with his counterpart, she declared that it was only fair. The only person that seemed traumatized by the experience was Lorelei, as his former First Knight had been unable to meet his gaze since. Gwynn had laughed it off and approved, then made a classless joke about Arthur being Lorelei's first knight.

Oddly though, Sansa and Daenerys has been spending a lot of time together since. One could hardly be seen without the presence of the other. Lorelei, on the other hand, was Mordred's constant shadow and catered to her every whim. Though that was the deal, so he would not look too much into it.

Pretty soon Arthur reached a large square area reserved for his soldiers to train. They were not Bannerman levies, no, he had real soldiers. What he had was a mix of Rome's inspired discipline and tactics, Camelot moral and training. Already several dozen soldiers were up and about, getting warmed up.

"Alright Bran, let's see if you've improved any from the last time," Arthur drew Irisviel and got into a ready stance, waiting on his squire. The boy was a quick learner, but still lacking in arm strength.

"Yes, My Lord!" Bran saluted before he drew his long sword and charged Arthur, shield first.

+++ Later +++

Arthur sat in his study looking over the letters Maester Rhaymon had left for him. He was not alone however, as Sansa was in there with him. She was dressed in a simple teal green dress with Pendragon markings as she lounged on his couch, it made her look quite fetching. Daenerys, for once, was nowhere around her, off feeding the dragons he had been told. Sansa wanted a break and was already resting here when he had arrived.

"Anything interesting?" Sansa asked casually as she enjoyed a cup of tea. She often told him she wanted to try and import some Yi Ti tea, to see if it was similar to her old native homeland.

"Just this," Arthur handed the letter his third wife. "Our presence is requested for the his grace, King Joffrey Baratheon and Lady Margery Tyrell's nuptials. Lady Tyrell was a friend of yours, was she not?"

Sansa nodded to his question before she read the letter. "Wow, in just six months? Guess they recovered from the expenses for mine and Mordred's weddings."

"It was that expensive?" Arthur asked with a raised eyebrow. He knew that it had been costly, but he had been otherwise occupied at the time. Mainly with the Riverrun men and their efforts to harass him.

"I suggest you start saving up for our children's weddings," Sansa joked with a humorous glint in her eye. "We'll all be beggared before it's over."

Arthur chuckled at her joke before he wrote a reply letter declaring that he and his wives would be there, barring anything urgent of course. Like, say, a war. Still, at the very least Mordred would not miss it.

Suddenly Sansa hesitated. "A-Anything from my father?"

Arthur shook his head and his wife looked a bit saddened by the news. By now the folly of Eddard Stark had been turned into a bawdy tavern song. Truth be told, he was not sure what to think himself, the situation sounded eerily similar to his past life. He even had the supposed cuckolding knight in his current employ. Hell, if it was true, then that meant that Mordred was a child of incest and not a princess.

Yet, his good-father, had not sent him any letters demanding he join the rebellion. It was perplexing. Having talked with Lord Stark, the Warden of the North was the sort of honorable man he would welcome at the Round Table back in his old life. However, if he was truly convinced of Queen Cersei's infidelity, why had he not marched south to link up with Stannis? No troop movements had been reported from the North, though Robb had called the Bannerman when Lord Stark was imprisoned. But Joffrey's release of Lord Stark had taken the wind right out of the North's sails.

So Arthur simply decided to be prepared, but take a neutral stance for now. Though if it was just Stannis and Renly then he could march to war with a clear conscience.

"So, no more letters from Harold Hardyng?" Sansa asked in an effort to change the subject from her father. She could only shake her head when Arthur held up a rolled parchment with seal of House Arryn on it.

"He really wants Lorelei."

Arthur was also surprised by Ser Hardyng's persistence. The man had even written that he cared not if Lorelei was no longer a maiden, and promised to compensate Arthur for his loss if he were to give her to him.

"I can only politely say no so many times." Arthur growled in frustration. He set aside Hardyng's request, choosing to deal with it later as he moved onto his next letter.

"You know, you've been pretty happy lately. Any good news I should be aware of?"

Sansa turned to Arthur and smiled. "You can say that, my little experiment with Daenerys is going great, but more importantly, do you remember when we exchanged prana two days ago?"

Arthur raised an eyebrow at his wife, who just realized exactly what she said. 'Cute.'

"Yes, I remember. I was there if you recall. And perhaps your attendant outside our room could attest as well, you were quite loud."

"S-shut up!" Sansa face turned as red as her hair. "A-anyway, Rin and I were able to figure out how I was able to appear inside my reality marble at what seemed like random intervals."

Now that intrigued Arthur as he gestured for her to continue.

"Well, it turns out I need a certain amount of prana in my body to access my Reality Marble dreamscape."

Now that was interesting.

"So all this time it was -"

"My own body's prana building up that allowed me to appeared at random intervals with Shirou and Archer. After we met the first time they actively sought me out, catching me only when I had sufficient prana."

"But we've had multiple prana-exchanges since then. Why did you only meet Rin two days ago?"

"Well," Sansa began to look away from Arthur. "I used it up on my little project I have going with your sister. However, two days ago too much work cropped up, and it was nighttime before I knew it. I went to sleep and was able to meet with Rin again."

"Amazing, they've been stuck in there for almost a month now. How do they survive? Is it even edible in there?"

Sansa smiled widely.

"That's another thing we figured out. Time passes differently in there than it does in this world. I was not even gone two hours since we last spoke from their perspective."

Arthur was stunned by the reveal and try to wrap his mind about it before giving up and chalking it up to magic.

"Oh! It nearly slipped my mind… um, Arturia wanted me to tell you something," Sansa began to looked a bit unsure if she should really mention it.

Arthur stayed quiet, knowing that this was the best way to let Sansa get over whatever was causing her to stumble.

"Something about Waiting for Heirs is the enemy and… good job?" Sansa looked at Arthur's face, tilting her head. "Any idea what she meant by that?"

Arthur buried his head into both of his palms and dragged them down slowly. Did he know what she meant by that? Of course he did! Hunger is the enemy, so how do you beat hunger? By eating when and where you could. In other words, Arturia was encouraging him to get his wives with child as soon as possible. That and she was, for some odd reason, proud of him for doing so.

"Yes. Yes I do."

TBC.

AN:First off thank you for the overwhelming response to the last chapter. I think that's the best a chapter ever did per review count and it all pertain to the story and chapter itself. For that you have my sincere thanks!

As for this chapter, yes, what can I say, I like the Jaime-Lorelei dynamic. Told you there was a reason why I did what I did! Sometime you gotta seed stuff in advance to watch it grow into something later.

Oh and Jon! Yes the red head is who you think it is, also yes, I went totally non-canon, the wheels is as they say off the horse or something. Arthur PoV is just that, Arturia wanted to be normal, that desire was never fulfilled at the end of the Fourth war, being a guy it was easy for her to adjust , also and give into the role. I feel like I should addressed something else but no idea what! I guess this chapter speaks for itself.

Once again thanks for the review as always C+C welcome, reviews appreciated!