Stannis Baratheon:

"I told you before that I want them dead!" roared Robert Baratheon, slamming his fist on the table.

"What is this, now?" asked Stannis Baratheon, walking into the Chamber of the Small Council; finding his brother already there and not sharing a bed with a whore was a surprise and probably a once-in-a-decade event.

"I was telling his grace about the recent news regarding the Targaryen children that he requested; once again, it is quite distressing, I am afraid," the Eunuch responded, exasperated. "The boy is hard to track, even if we know they were in Braavos until recently... rumors say they may have left somewhere, but no one seems to be certain. Likely, they are not within the city."

"Rumors say that he saved the life of the Sealord with... some Sorcery," spat Jon Arryn grimacing at the last word, his voice laced with hate and vitriol that would not be expected from a man his age.

"Allegedly..." said the Grandmaester, too quick for his usual way of talking. "if the rumors have any grain of truth... he will certainly burn himself and his sister alive... and we will be rid of him, your grace," wheezed Pycelle, snorting at the ideas and tales being told. "I am sure that some parlor tricks and..."

"Yes, yes," interrupted Jon Arryn, tired of the Grandmaester's ramblings about how it was just parlor tricks. Stannis himself doubted magic, even if he got the chance to look at the skulls of the dragons that were stashed in the lowest depths of the Red Keep.

"If the Citadel filled with the greatest mind of Westeros claim that magic is gone from this world... I would rather trust them than the rumors of some traders," said Stannis dismissing the idea and looking at Pycelle. His mind wandered to Davos Seaworth, the smuggler that he knighted was a good source of information when it came to the duties of Master of Ships. It was a duty that Robert had deemed fitting for Stannis, another reason his jaw clenched. Stannis had enough knowledge of sailors to know they were superstitious in the best of times, and they gossiped worse than a bunch of old women.

That did not mean that he cared for such rumors. Stannis Baratheon had not seen any magic during his days, and he cared not for things he could not see. Then again, he was certain that Tywin Lannister would hear of these rumors and pay for men to take care of it, however unpleasant it may be.

Stannis held his tongue, knowing Robert would not appreciate his opinion. While he was not one to be fond of harming children, they had a duty to the realm, and the Targaryens had escaped his grasp once... he just hoped that his brother would not blame him for it once again.

"Sending hired knives against children would be dishonorable..." started Jon Arryn, needing to raise only his hand to keep Robert from exploding, "Yet Seven holds sorcery to be an abomination."

"I will not have that dragonspawn land on the shores of Westeros with an army of sellswords," roared Robert, his hands crushing the arms of the chair he was sitting, leaving marks of his fingers.

"Is that even possible?" asked Stannis. "Targaryens would have fewer allies if the boy is some sorcerer, though I would check the color of the sky if I heard a sailor call the sky blue."

"Better to not take chances, given that they seemed to be backed by the Iron Bank," responded Peter Baelish, a relatively recent addition to the Small Council. "While the Crownlands are grumbling about the latest increase in taxes... some, like House Darry, had already had to borrow heavily from the Iron Bank to survive the Winter... it is possible that with how close we hear the boy is to the bank, they might find themselves without choice."

"The Targaryen Loyalists do not need a reason to support him, even if they are in no shape to rise against the Crown," said Jon Arryn, dismissing it "Foolish people do foolish things, it would be wise to not give them more reason to grumble."

"Do I look like I give a shit, if they rise, I will break their knees with my hammer. This has gone long enough, Jon, I have let them be for far long enough. I will not have those dragonspawn continue to threaten my throne." said Robert, ignoring the politics as he took a deep gulp form his cup before turning to the Spider, "Send word to your spies; I want the heads of the dragonspawn, a lordship to anyone who brings me the head of the boy," declared Robert. The spider seemed to be holding back his own pleasure, probably because of his hate of magic that everyone and their mother knew about.

"It is not the Targaryen boy we have to worry about now," Jon Arryn spoke, his face showing the bitterness to such actions that Stannis held within him. It mattered not however, Robert was king and his word was law. It mattered not if killing children did not sit well with him, even if duty compelled him to obey his king.

"If it is not about those dragonspawn invading... why have you called me here for, Jon? You said we were at war, if not with the dragonspawn, than who are we fighting?" roared Robert, causing half the Small Council to flinch.

"I am afraid not from the coast you would have preferred, your grace" said the Grandmaester, taking out a parchment. "The Iron Islands have rebelled... crowning Baelon Greyjoy with the Driftwood Crown. Euron Greyjoy set the Lannister Fleet to torch while they were at port."

Stannis gritted his teeth, fucking Ironborn.

"Well?" roared Robert, a bloodthirsty grin on his face, getting up from his "What use are you lot... CALL THE BLOODY BANNERS!"

Ser Willem Darry:

The coughs were getting harder to hide... but Ser Willem had somehow managed it. It had taken years to gauge the boy's abilities, which kept on growing by the minute, it felt like. Hiding certain secrets was an exercise in futility, and not thinking of something worked the best while in his presence... if he did not choose to look deeper, that is. It was easy to forget about the coughs.

Wiping the blood from his mouth, Ser Willem of House Darry watched the boy king spar against three grown men, as that was all he was good for now... then again, his aging eyes failed him at even that.

Looking back, there were times when he would say that it was all he was... a failure.

`No... you did not fail where it mattered,` he thought to himself, watching his charge with a blade in hand... facing three men twice his size and holding his own. His student could have waved his hand and taken all three out in moments; he had done so as a show that he could once Willem had asked, yet he was dedicated enough to learn the art of the blade. He had not started early enough, eight was four years too late to be on par with the best swords or warriors, but the boy did not need to be the best, just good enough to hold his own as his other talents would make up for the lack of experience.

Ser Willem lived a life of many regrets... he did not regret saving that boy he called king... or the slip of a girl who was cheering on as she watched her brother.

Viserys was... gods be good... when he was younger, before their exile, he had reminded Ser Willem of too much of his father. Constant ravings of Usurpers and Blood of the Dragon had made him grit his teeth and focus on his duty, the oath he swore to the boy's mother only thing preventing him from leaving... that and the death of his brother and three of his nephews, all for loyalty to the Dragons. A part of Willem did not want all those deaths of his kin to be in vain.

It had changed in a flash after the Queen died. If he was a betting man, Willem would say that the death of the Queen had affected the boy more than the exile itself. What was all the wealth of a kingdom to the love of a mother?

The first few months have been tough... the boy barely ate, barely spoke; he was withdrawn, his mind prone to wandering off. The only thing that would make the one Willem declared as King show emotion was his newborn sister... the only thing that could place a smile on the boy's face and chase away the demons he had.

Then something changed once more... it was a change similar to what he had seen in Prince Rhaegar before, a drive to achieve something that Willem was used to with Targaryens. His father had once said that the dragons were like flame, ever-changing in their desires, but they protected you if you showed them your loyalty... if you did not overreach and burn yourself in your greed.

The screams of Rickard Stark were proof of what happened if you overreached... still haunting Willem's nightmares.

The problem had been the drive that the boy focused on.

With Prince Rhaegar, it had been his desire to become a warrior.

With King Viserys, it was 'magic'.

Magic... the word his king used brought a shiver to his spine, Willem would admit. It made the hair on his neck stand on end, root of his remaining teeth ache. He had lived long enough to recall Summerhall that he witnessed as a young squire. To remember the dangers of such follies... until the boy waved that stick of his and made the world bend to his whims like some sort of god. Hundreds died in pursuit of that foolish dream of magic and a boy of ten had made it look as easy as breathing.

`Targaryens are closer to gods than men,` Willem recalled the old saying. It had become a mockery during the later years of Willem's time as Master at Arms; man seeing King Scab and whispering to their cups. Why would it, with the way the king behaved and the way Queen tried to hide her pain? Watching the boy who had been his charge... Ser Willem thought that Viserys Targaryen may have been far closer to gods than men by all accounts.

Was this the boy's true calling... to be a Wizard, as he called himself?

His king seemed to have understood Willem's uneasiness as he had made an effort to explain what he was doing. He had kept the details away and only talked of them when there was no fire in the room, but Willem knew enough. To hear the way the boy would cast his soul to bend the world over his knee... Septons would decry his acts as an abomination. Fools that they were, Ser Willem disliked Septons and Septas as they had not done anything to protect the innocents from the Wrath of King Aerys. Ser Willem Darry may have been a knight, anointed by the Seven, yet he was not a religious man, nor did he understand much of the soul. It was less what the boy-king did but the confidence he had in his understanding that Ser Willem trusted, seeing magic for what it was... a tool, another weapon to master, like a mace or a spear. Many a noble sought to master the sword only to fall in the face of the war hammer, Rhaegar but another one among many.

In the week that followed the king finding a magic wand, Viserys Targaryen had dismissed almost all but a few servants, deeming them disloyal and plotting.

At first, Ser Willem thought the boy took on his father's madness. It was not something he could bare to see once more, but his duty was to the boy, and the boy had explained his reasoning before Ser Willem could gather his courage to ask. He spoke secrets of a person a boy his age should not know, the knowledge that made Ser Willem's skin crawl.

It only took the boy of nine a moment's look into the eyes of a person to see their deepest secrets... and it was a scary tool to have, though a useful one for a future king. To his shame, Willem had trouble looking the boy in the eyes since then, hiding it behind deference to his king. The king knew, Willem could tell... yet he seemed to trust him more than any, a feeling that brought pride and joy to his old heart. In a rare few times, it felt as though the boy was a son, or a grandson, a joy that he had not held before.

Of the servants the King dismissed, two sellswords that Ser Willem hired were the worst of it, to Willem's great shame.

The king revealed that they sold information to the Spider and, through him, to the Usurper. If that had been their only crime, the boy would have dismissed them... as he had done with others. While Willem would prefer that they received a harsher punishment, the boy cared little for death and was often far too merciful... both a good and bad virtue for a king to have.

No, the reason the two had been `turned into vegetables,` as his grace called them, was the true nature of those monsters. Sellswords were a certain kind of man, Ser Willem would admit. Their loyalty was to coin, he had to remember, but these were... to think they were waiting for his death to steal from children; Willem wished to cut them down himself had his grace not done what he did.

Willem had seen their states, eyes glassy, their minds broken beyond repair... drool leaking from the mouths... living enough to move, yet dead to the world in any other way. His grace may not care for killing, but Willem wondered if their punishment was worse than a clean death.

That is when Willem truly understood the old saying that King Aerys was heard calling more than once. "Waking the dragon," the old king called it, fool that no one truly understood what that truly meant until Ser Willem saw the state of the two.

Dragons were creatures of Magic, his old Maester had once told him. With Magic dead, so were the dragons... yet Magic was not dead, was it? So, to wake a dragon was to face their dragon's fire. Did it matter if the fire burned your flesh or burned your mind... both were magic, and the boy that could only do one had long since grown to be capable of doing both... even if he still chose to learn the way of the sword... smart lad, that one. Ser Willem was proud to teach King Viserys Targaryen.

Willem had been ready to receive the sentence for his failure as well, for inviting those men into their house. He was sure that he would be dismissed as well, and Ser Willem would have to take a ship to the Wall to cover his shame, his home no more in Westeros. When he asked what his punishment would be, the king reacted in confusion, which was not what he had expected.

To hear the boy-king declare him his most loyal knight... Ser Willem Darry had forced himself to get down to his knees and swear himself to his grace once more, lest tears overwhelm him. There had been no other way to show his gratitude for the boy that he was proud to call his king.

That night, it had been Willem who had guided the two broken men outside, neither resisting in any way as their very spirit was broken by whatever the king had done to them. It had been Willem's duty to slip a knife between their ribs and dump their corpses into the canals of Braavos in the middle of the night.

Had that been all, Ser Willem would be content. Waiting for his grace to grow into his power, to protect him and the princess until the boy could grow to be a man and be able to protect himself with ease... guide the boy he was charged with protecting into using his powers with some semblance of honor, that would have meant his duty was served, both as a Sworn Shield, and as a Knight.

The bloody handkerchief in his hand, though, meant his time was not as long as he wished, even if the boy had grown into a young man, a dragon in human skin. Leaving him to face the world alone. A more naive man would pity the boy, Ser Willem Darry pitied the world.

The boy did not realize what he was doing, that much Ser Willem understood. He was collecting people, each time gaining their loyalty through kindness and decisiveness.

First had been Nessa; the wetnurse had been shivering in fear when she stood before them both, commanded by the king to share her story with Ser Willem. It was a story that Ser Willem had heard before from others, for this world was a cruel one. Yet the king knew more about the girl that they had hastily taken from the village than anyone else. Ser Willem had felt no shame in his actions during the time, they had needed a wetnurse for the princess, and Nessa had been the only one in the small village beneath Dragonstone who had recently had a child. The fact that the child was already dead made it easier for him to make the decision he did. The king had offered a passage back to the girl's home if she chose and offered her protection if she decided to stay.

The girl had nothing to her name, and the protection of his grace was nothing to scoff at, even when he had barely managed to make scratches on the post with that spell of his back then.

Then came Ser Richard, his life traded for some Shadowbinder that the young king had fought. A mere child facing the Faceless Men that had lords and kings shiver in fear and walking away with the knight's life spared. Willem had seen the scar on the king's arm, bleeding for what was right... it had taken all his effort not to knight the lad there and then, knowing that the boy-king would refuse it for his lack of skill with a blade. Prince Rhaegar's squire had been taught by Willem much more so than the prince, and Ser Richard would be there to shield the king's back when Willem could not do so at his age.

The small girl that his grace had rescued was a different story. Even at her young age, Lanna was a smart one, if shy and reserved with anyone but the king and to a lesser degree with Ser Richard. Beneath the shy demeanor, however, there was steel in that blonde girl and devotion to the king that made Willem worry to a degree. Whatever the girl had gone through, the king declared her under his protection, and that was it. When he was a child, Willem had heard of princes rescuing maidens from evil sorcerers and dragons... but to see it happen was a welcome surprise.

Even now, Lanna stood next to the Princess, watching like a hawk, having taken onto her duty to guard the princess when the king was not near. She had come to him once, to learn to use a knife, to pay back the kindness of the king by protecting those that he held dear. Willem had agreed, teaching the girl instead of dismissing her as a different knight might have. Tales of Jonquil Darke and how she protected the Good Queen were ones Willem knew, and he cared not if it was a girl who wanted to learn to fight. To this day, Willem did not know if the king actually knew of that arrangement he had with Lanna, if he approved or simply did not care about. Given that he had the princess chasing after cats as he had done learning under the Braavosi, Willem decided that he would not have objections.

Then Wat the Brains and Wat the Eyes, as the king nicknamed them, came in; the offer of a roof and food for the Winter for them and their families had been enough to get their loyalties. Willem had thought that both deserved death, banditry was to be punished, but sometimes the king was too merciful for his own good, even if that mercy had bound the two man's loyalty. There was fear in both their eyes still; his grace had shown them what his wrath would look like, but both Man-At-Arms respected and feared the boy of three and ten as though he was a man grown. His last two students, Ser Willem knew, would die for their king. It was fear that kept them in line, but kindness that truly earned their loyalty.

The... courtesans were an entirely different story. They reminded Ser Willem of the nobles in King's Landing, playing their games, bringing a stench of deceit with their plans and plots. Their acts would have met with a fiery end had it been Aerys who was in the place of the boy-king, yet Viserys Targaryen had done something that made both women afraid and look suitably punished. The king still watched them, and the two seemed eager to return to his good graces, to earn his favor. A part of Willem did not want them around, another part knew that both the king and the princess could learn a lot from them in terms of finer points of navigating court-life... Willem had no-doubt left that they would take back the Throne should the king wish it.

Now, though, beneath all, Ser Willem once again saw the scared little child.

He would catch the boy looking North once in a while, his gaze focusing on something that mere mortals could not see.

Even with all his power, Viserys Targaryen was afraid of something... and that made Ser Willem of House Darry afraid as well.

What did a dragon have to fear?

What chance did a mere man have against something like that?

Tycho Nestoris:

Tycho Nestoris was annoyed.

He had spent the last year on an errand for the boy who knew things that he had no way of knowing. His annoyance was not for the boy-king in exile, as all his ventures had proven to be rather profitable. The boy's ideas had allowed Tycho to increase his standing in the Iron Bank as the representative of such a profitable individual.

His annoyance was having to deal with other Westerosi, like the ones who made up the esteemed establishment of Night's Watch. The boy had warned him of the criminals, cowards, and victims of prickly lords that made up the `volunteers` of the Night's Watch. Tycho had made a note to differentiate those from the actual volunteers, which was not rather hard. If only rest of Westerosi were as easy to deal with as the exiled prince.

Initially, Iron Bank had been curious. A child who lacked the arrogance that came with the Nobility, let alone that of a Targaryen, was... unique. A ten-year-old managing to convince some of the key-holders to bet on him through his wit and sharp tongue was one to be watched.

Oh, Viserys Targaryen was still arrogant... but it was the smug arrogance of a man who knew things that you did not, not the empty bluster of lordlings and princes with neither experience nor skill to back up his bluster. Something was definitely odd with that boy... though Tycho knew not if it was a good kind of odd, or the bad kind.

`To think that he also has some sort of magic,` Tycho thought, his mind going to the less-than-well-kept secret that the boy seemed to have. His interest in the Higher Mysteries was known by those who cared to keep an eye on the Prince-in-Exile. There were those who bet that he would burn himself alive like that ancestor of his... Brightfire or something like that. Tycho had talked with the boy long enough to hope he did it away from Braavos at the least.

Despite his arrogance, there was a part of the boy that was different. The boy seemed to judge you, looking into your very soul. Tycho remembered when he first met the boy, who had looked at him with those glowing violet eyes before calling him by his own name... before they were introduced.

Tycho pulled on his cloak, his shiver having nothing to do with the cold winds above the Wall. He could not say he cared for magic... it was a fickle thing, unlike gold... gold was reliable.

That being said, when the boy who had a family famed for madness, greatness, and ability to foretell the doom of a Civilization wanted the Iron Bank to work with the decrepit institution of Night's Watch that had stories of a Winter that Never Ended... you listened. The Iron Bank representatives were not certain why the boy cared about the Night's Watch, but now that Tycho had time to hear the stories of recent increases in raids, disappearances, and the sorry state of the institution itself, he had an inkling. After hearing the famed house words of Starks, `Winter is Coming`, he knew.

The boy had a good brain between his ears at least, or so Tycho thought, looking from the top of the Wall at the overgrown forest. A fool would demand Iron Bank help for no reason, yet the boy gave them what they desired. If not for the cold and having to travel during the start of Winter, he would even praise the boy for finding Braavos a source of lumber far greater than anything they could directly access.

"You seem to be in deep thought," said the voice of the First Ranger, Benjen Stark. Tycho was wary of the Stark, mostly from knowing the bad blood between them and his client. Given how fast the man had risen to his position, their influence on the Wall was not insignificant, and Starks were the best people to work with to ensure... the current status of the Wall.

"First Ranger," greeted the Tycho, giving the man a nod. His eyes focused on the man's belt, seeing the new addition, a dragonglass dagger. The Maester was fast, it would seem, having read the letter sent by his many-times removed grand-nephew.

"The Maester thought that every ranger should have one of these, especially when going north of the Wall." said Benjen Stark, seeing where Tycho was looking

"Do you not think it strange?" asked the banker, unsure how the changes he caused were received.

"I would, I should," said the Stark, "but there are rangers with far more experience than I who thought it a good idea... given I will be joining them for a ranging beyond the Frostfangs in a fortnight. Whatever news you brought made people uneasy; I have not seen the Old Bear as frustrated, nor the Maester with such fire in him."

"Bankers have a tendency to do that, I am afraid," diverted Tycho, seeing the knowing look. The Targaryen Children's presence in Braavos was hardly a secret, even if the prince and his closeness to the Bank was one that was kept strictly to the key-holders.

"Speaking of... we got a letter from Winterfell... my brother is agreeable to a proposal," said Benjen Stark, who had worked with Tycho to handle the proper deals with his brother, the Lord of Winterfell. "You should talk with Maester Aemon to finish whatever deal you got," said the First Ranger before turning his face to the North... gazing. Had Tycho not seen him speak, he would have thought him carved from the same ice that made the giant monolith they stood on.

Knowing a man of few words when he had seen one, Tycho went to the elevator, glad to be able to get down from the cold winds... and whatever portend they held.

It had taken days, hours of debating and bargaining for the Lord Commander to agree to the deal that the boy had given a faint outline. Braavos would handle the shipping of lumber, while the Night's Watch would have reason to clear out the overgrown bits of the Haunted Forest that now reached the Wall in exchange for food shipments and coin. Of course, the entire enterprise had somehow gotten larger, with the Starks of Winterfell being involved in providing the man-power that would see the decrease in raids by the Wildlings... all Tycho needed to do was keep the identity of the boy who had started the entire chain of deals a secret.

Tycho would think that whatever was Beyond the Wall, should not have the Wildlings to use as fodder but small steps were needed. Viserys Targaryen probably had some foolish looking plot that would turn out to be the perfect one, something like using the fleet Braavos would build to carry the Wildlings South of the Wall or something. It was hard to predict what went through the head of that Wizard.

His journey was as much success as he could have hoped. In the end, Braavos would have a steady source of lumber, Night's Watch would get food and coin for future use, and North would have fewer Wildlings going over the Wall with the trees bordering the giant monolith of ice cut down in numbers. Tycho thought that the project had gone a bit larger than first expected, but it was a worthy endeavor that would make him and his client very rich in the long term as the middleman.

If only Tycho could suppress the urge to sigh once more after dealing with Viserys Targaryen and his... bullshit; even if Iron Bank would profit greatly from the venture, prophets of doom were unnerving. Tycho may have been working in a bank, but he was not made for such cloak-and-dagger dealings.

"The deals have been sealed and signed," said the Maester, just in time for Tycho to step through. The blind man was not as blind as his clouded eyes may have implied, or at least he was seeing in some other way. Dealing with Viserys Targaryen had made Tycho assume either of those to be possible. "Then again, the one who arranged it had been rather through... what do you know of my grandnephew Viserys, Representative Nestoris?"

"We have met a few times... to call it knowing him would not be true, I am afraid," responded Tycho honestly. "I simply represent him to the Iron Bank, though one thing man note is that he is... strange."

"How strange?" asked Maester Aemon Targaryen, his attention on Tycho.

"His words, his thoughts, his acts... he holds knowledge a boy his age should not be able to hold... he speaks like a man grown holding secrets beyond his age," explained Tycho, taking the communication between the two Targaryen and his own judgment to not hold back from a man who had chosen to refuse to play in the Westerosi politics for near a century.

"Does he keep to a faith?" asked the Maester, sitting down on a chair, his eyes not moving from where Tycho stood.

"Not to your seven neither is he one of those fire worshipers, he does not, not as far as we could tell at least... he holds to no faith from all we have seen," admitted Tycho, knowing

"A dreamer than... how foolish of us... of Rhaegar to dismiss the child. My brother... Daeron was strange as well, haunted by visions that drove him to drink and an early death, even if all he said came true in one way or another," muttered the old man, looking as old as Tycho knew him to be. The elder brother of Aegon the Unlikely seemed to have come to a realization. "That means Winter truly is coming... Dragonglass and Dragonsteel... we found the account that he wrote of. Dragonglass is easy to find, I had the Master at Arms dig up a few in the bottom of some rather old chests we had, ones that were not opened after the Watch moved out of the Nightfort. We know where to get more, but, as an educated man yourself, have you heard of such thing as Dragonsteel, Representative Nestoris?" asked the old man.

"I cannot say I have, Maester Aemon," said Tycho Nestoris. "Could it be Valyrian Steel?"

"I did not know either... I am afraid. I thought it to be Valyrian Steel, just as you did, yet the timing would not work according to Prince Viserys' message. He claims that Valyrian Steel may not be as old as the book hidden in the library, that it may be a fallen star... as comets are akin to dragons." explained the Maester.

"Comets? Is there such a weapon," asked Tycho.

"Only one. Dawn... it is a sword made from a fallen star... a dragon, if you will. I had the opportunity to see it once when I went to Starfall to visit my mother's family." said the Maester, passing a letter to Tycho and a bundle. "To think the boy knew when grown men with more education knew nothing of, he must be quite brilliant, I wish I had a chance to meet him in person. He seems to hold some trust in you, so I shall do the same, bring this letter and package to him; it holds knowledge he might find useful; the path that he would need to follow will be hard, but so long as he does not give into despair, I can only hope he will succeed."

"And what makes you think I will deliver such a book to the boy?" asked Tycho.

The old man smiled at him at that before saying, "I have an eye for that, even if I am half-blind. All man must serve."

A chill ran down Tycho's spine at the tone of the old man, making him wish he did not learn of those stories about the Wall and what lay beyond it.

Fucking Targaryens... Fucking Wizards.

AN: I am back. Alright, so this was longer but the other POV will have to be done for later because I wanted to upload what I had instead of waiting.

I had a couple of busy weeks and did not get a chance to write much as I was busy with work and rest of my time was dedicated to playing Hogwarts Legacy, which I am a fan of if the fic did not give you that idea. I am however confused about the relationship between turning someone into a chicken and smiting them like Zeus.

I really liked writing Stannis, before he got in contact with Melisandre... because the irony of it was just perfect.

As always, I am appreciate any feedback or suggestions.