A Young Girl's Game of Thrones by Failninjaninja

Melisandre was not nervous about the upcoming battle. She had seen the outcome in the flames. Her visions and her other abilities were all far more powerful this far North. Normally, the manipulation of fire using sorcery was difficult and costly. When impressing those who needed to be impressed, she often used powdered substances and elements that could change the hue and shape of flames – something that anyone could do if they knew the right mixtures and timing. Those tricks were unnecessary in this place. It still cost something to use her magical talents, but the price was a fraction.

The Lord Commander was still somewhat suspicious of her. While he believed that she had power, and even the gift of a seer, he didn't trust her. He also had not liked having her and other women in the camp. The Night's Watch was not the honorable host of stalwart defenders against the dangers to the realm he likely wished it was. Only a bare handful were volunteers like Jon; some were those who had been defeated during Robert's Rebellion, but most were thieves or worse, and many were rapers and murderers.

Nothing had happened yet; Lord Mormont knew his people and had the women heavily guarded. Bringing them had seemed a waste, but Melisandre had seen that one of the girls was connected to Jon's companion, the fat one. The Tarly boy was a descendant of Garth Greenhand, and his blood held power.

A sacrifice such as he to the flames would be a great boon, but unnecessary for the moment, and it would forever create enmity with Azor Ahai reborn.

Despite her assuredness of the upcoming events, she still consulted the flames regularly. Many a priest and priestess had been brought down by false visions, by seeing what they wished to see instead of what R'hllor had sent.

Myself included.

The now-repeat vision of the dead assaulting the encampment came upon her in the flickering flame of the campfire. The visions danced and flickered in the golden light. New visions emerged – a wolf running north, a great battle at sea, and the face of the pretender set in a grimace. The sea was terrible; it churned and frothed with blood. Lurking in the depths of the dark waters was a power, a power that made Melisande shiver. There was more, a vision of the Targaryen banner hanging from every tower and battlement of King's Landing. With it, she knew the truth – Jon Targaryen, Azor Ahai reborn would be King of Westeros.

A wooden face appeared – corpse white. A thousand red eyes floated in the sputtering flames.

He sees me.

Melisandre had faith in the Lord of Light, but the realization that someone other than her Lord seemed to be peering at her through the flames filled her with terror. She felt her energy wane, and she pulled herself away from the visions; though the flames roared for her attention, she looked away.

That was the enemy.

The enemy knew of her. It would act against her. The God of Night and Terror perceived her. No matter. The Heart of Fire would protect her, and keep her alive. There was much to do, and she could not allow herself to give in to fear.

The very next night, the wights struck. Melisandre, along with the rest of the camp, heard the horns cry out. Horses neighed, dogs barked, and orders were shouted out. The campfires that had remained lit throughout the night had more fuel thrown atop. Arrows were dipped into the fires, and they flew out into the night.

Melisandre moved toward where the Lord Commander and Jon would be.

"Spears!" a cry went out.

"Look at them burn!"

Fires flared around the waist-high ringwall that surrounded their camp. It was the burning of things already dead. Melisandre had seen them combust in her vision, their dead flesh igniting faster than even the driest tree in the height of summer.

"Lady Melisandre," the Lord Commander nodded his head in her direction, "your warnings were timely. With the fire, we are holding them back."

A cry of alarm went up as a giant and a massive bear crashed through the ringwall. The bear was burning with flames but had already slain three brothers of the Night's Watch. Melisandre saw big men with spears try to drive it back, while others fired more burning arrows into it. The bear seemed to ignore the spears, and its massive paws killed two more before the flames had eroded enough of its flesh to cause its collapse. Behind it, more and more wights surged forward, some crawling, some leaping, some animals, some human.

"Hold them back!" the Lord Commander shouted.

"JON!" Melisandre raised her voice; long years of practice in oration had taught her how to open her throat and use the air in her lungs to project her voice with volume. It was not magic, though it helped the ignorant believe that she was a messenger of the Lord of Light.

"You must hold them! I saw it in my visions – go!"

Mormont looked to object, but then shook his head. "Go, Snow. And see that you return."

Jon drew Longclaw and charged forward. Melisandre signaled Ser Erren and his men-at-arms to charge with him. Along with them came a reserve of Night Watch brothers, who raced to throw back the wights. Melisandre pulled fire from the roaring flame near her. Blood trickled from where her own nails had lacerated her palms as she gave a silent prayer to R'hllor. Melisandre thrust her bloodied hand and directed the fire into the breach ahead of the reborn Azor Ahai.

The wights burned, and Jon and the others took up positions along the wall past the charred remains of the dead. Melisandre exhaled; that bit of magic would have been impossible to do south of the wall with just an offering of vitality and blood. Even so, such an effort was exhausting.

It was enough; the dead attempted in vain to create more breaches, but the still-burning corpses formed a barrier. But then the wind began to howl with sudden strength, and the flames where Jon fought with his comrade flickered out. Melisandre moved forward, closer, to see with her eyes what she had previously seen in her visions.

Arrows of flame struck into the shadowy night, but often askew from the harsh wind that had arisen. Melisandre saw slim figures, milky white in color, with armor that rippled. Darkness surrounded those menacing shades, lit only by the faint blue glow coming from their now-drawn swords.

"Mother, have mercy!" a Night's Watch brother prayed as he stumbled backwards. The Others struck. A man lost his head to a blade that moved too quickly. Another was stabbed in the heart, the bluish blade parting mail, leather, and wool with ease. One man thrust a spear at an Other, only for the weapon's wood to be parted by two slashes, followed by another across the man's face.

Melisandre saw Jon charge into the fray. When Valyrian steel struck blue blade, a shriek-like noise keened over the howling wind. The servant of the Great Enemy recoiled in surprise, and Jon's follow-up strike struck the Other in its strange, flowing armor. Like the mail of the Night's Watch had parted, so too did the armor of the Other. The sharp shrill grew louder as it collapsed, bluish liquid spurted from the wound, and it crumbled, melting away in the snow. The other Others recoiled in shock, and the men of the Night's Watch surged forward to meet them. A torch was thrust at the face of an Other, and the creature backed away. Another slew three men before it took a steel axe upon the chest. The axe shattered, but the force of the blow caused the Other to stumble back.

Jon had not been idle; he had raced forward and was already slashing at the stumbling Other. The wind was now howling less fiercely, and arrows of flame struck another Other, but the metal tips shattered and the burning wood could not find purchase. Nonetheless the inhuman face seemed to twist, and the creature backed away.

Meanwhile, Jon and the Other continued to fight, Jon's wolf flanking the creature and ducking low to avoid the blue-lit blade. The shrieks whenever the Other's blade clashed against Valyrian steel hurt the ears of all those around. Melisandre watched as Jon took a wound upon the shoulder, one of Jon's brothers threw a burning torch at the Other's face, the creature held up its arm to shield itself, and in that moment of momentary blindness, Jon dived forward in a roll and came up with a diagonal slash that the Other could not parry in time.

It shared the fate of its brethren, and now two of the four that Melisandre had seen were dead. The remaining two had retreated, one last surge of wights were burned, and then the night grew peaceful save for the cries of dying men and cheers of victory.

Melisandre waited patiently for the Lord Commander to bark out orders, see to the wounded, and create a makeshift barrier for the broken parts of the ringwall. It also allowed for the passage of time, and with it the rising of the sun. It was only then, amidst the nascent glow of daybreak, night still holding dominion over half of the sky.

"Brothers of the Night's Watch! Hark and attend!"

The men did so. All knew she had brought the warning of the attack. Many had seen her wield flame in her hands and not be burned. They looked on.

"This night you fought for the living against the Great Enemy. All of you served faithfully and true to your oaths. Yet one among you slew the Cold Demons; he did something that has not been done for thousands of years. The one you call Jon Snow."

Lord Mormont approached, a nervous Jon at his side.

"What is the meaning of this, Lady Melisandre?"

"Only that I have come for a reason. I have come to help fight against the return of the Long Night. But my own strength is a poor vessel for the power of the Lord of Light. I cannot defeat the Others. He can."

Melisandre had pointed at Jon, who had a look of consternation on his face.

"I am just a man."

"A man who kills Others!" one of the Night's Watch proclaimed, a man thick of neck and as tall as Melisandre.

Many cheered and hooted.

"You are more than just a man. You have a destiny, a calling, a cause that only you can fulfill. You must unite Westeros against the threat of the Others. Do you think they were but a handful? I have seen those pale-white beings in their scores in my visions. The dead outnumber the living, and they will all be called upon. The Night's Watch can hold for a time, but help is needed."

Dawn had fully come; the symbolism of the moment mattered, and Melisandre knew how to exploit it.

"All well and good. We have written to King Tommen, King Stannis, Lady Myrcella, Lady Arryn, Lord Martell, Lady Stark, and Lord Tully. Little good has come of it, save for yourself. How can Jon Snow convince the Seven Kingdoms to fight with us?" Lord Mormont asked.

Melisandre looked him in the eye. "You must give him back to the realms of men behind the Wall. He cannot only lead the Night's Watch. He is destined for more."

Jon was shaking his head.

"You must release him from his oaths. Order him to be released from said oaths. I have seen it in the flames – he comes here as a brother of the Night's Watch, but returns not as a bastard, but wearing a crown atop his head."

That was an outright lie, but the visions she saw in the flames did not show every detail. The banners she had seen in the flames of King's Landing was proof that Westeros would embrace him.

Qhorin, the one they called the Half-Hand, snorted loudly. "Oh aye, the great and mighty lords of Westeros, they will all lay down their arms and make Snow a King."

Melisandre spread her hands wide. "It sounds like madness. One year ago, if I had told you a vision of a great ranging of the Night's Watch leading to a fight with Others and an army of the dead, would you have declared me mad?"

The men murmured amongst themselves. Lord Mormont looked as if he had bit into a lemon.

"The Night's Watch oaths are for life; only a King can rescind them," Jeor Mormont declared.

"I have seen what happens if Jon does not go south. Come, let us discuss the doom of the Sworn Brotherhood more privately lest your men lose heart."

Outrage flared in the Old Bear's eyes, but Melisandre cared not. The seeds had been planted. One way or another, she would place a crown on Jon's head. He was the true Azor Ahai. She was certain.

***

​

Sansa Stark had finally arrived in the Reach. It was as beautiful as the stories, and so different from her own homeland. The air was filled with the fragrance of a hundred different varieties of flowers. Their colors and scents made the area come alive.

Their ship was greeted with fruit-bearing trees. As they docked along the banks of the Mander, Sansa could hear harpers, singers, and fiddlers. The very air was alive with music, laughter, and heady scents.

They were welcomed by a large honor guard. Dozens of knights and over a hundred men-at-arms, all in Tyrell livery, bowed as Sansa disembarked. Lady was at her side; the direwolf had taken to the long sea voyage much better than Sansa herself had.

As Ser Raymund approached, Lady gave a soft growl. Sansa figured that all the new scents caused some confusion with her companion. To herself they were truly a delight, but she did not have a wolf's nose!

"Be welcome, Lady Sansa. I am Ser Raymund Tyrell. It is my honor to escort you to my liege. We've prepared a wheelhouse for the rest of your journey. It is not far, but Lord Willas wishes you to arrive properly."

"Yes, that would be lovely, ser."

In truth, she would have rather ridden or even walked to see more of the wondrous sights before her. But Sansa wanted to be as perfect of a lady and representative of the North as she could be, and that meant she would not reject any such courtesies.

"Ser Raymund, this is a large guard – are you expecting trouble this close to Highgarden?" Desmond, the head of Sansa's guard, asked.

Raymund frowned. Lady gave another soft growl.

"Yes, pardon me for saying, ser, but you seem tense," Sansa added.

"My father, Ser Olymer Tyrell, went on a sea voyage, and we have not heard from him. My family worries over him. As for the guard, it is a sign of respect. Lord Willas is quite pleased with the match that has been negotiated and wants to display his appreciation in all ways."

"Of course, lead the way, ser," Sansa answered.

Sansa was helped into the wheelhouse and spent the time chatting with Jeyne Poole, who was finally coming out of her terrible sorrow. The girl was excited for Highgarden, and the two spoke of what they had seen so far from the vessel on the Mander. The Reach seemed so alive in a way that the North was decidedly not.

I could be happy here.

She missed her mother, she missed Arya, her father, and her brothers. But after the dreadful war was over, she was sure they would come visit her sometimes. At least she hoped so. Her father and two of her brothers were in the middle of a war. She made a silent prayer to the Seven the way her Septa had taught her, and before she knew it, the door to the wheelhouse was opening, and she was within Highgarden.

She was within the high outer walls. Even the white stone of the curtain wall seemed to enhance the greenery all around her. Before her was a briar labyrinth.

"Lady Sansa, from here, you and your handmaiden go alone with me. Your guard will be seen to."

Desmond objected, but Sansa waved him off.

"Also, your wolf will be kenneled; if you tell us what needs to be done in terms of food, we will happily provide."

"Oh… can she not stay with me?"

"I'm sorry, my lady, perhaps in the future, but the safety of House Tyrell is paramount. I will have the hound master assess your direwolf, and he will report to Lord Willas."

Lady was displeased, but was more resigned than angry. Sansa and Jeyne were escorted through the twists and turns of the verdant maze. Ser Raymund walked with a surety that showed his familiarity. Sansa doubted she could find her way back without a guide.

After they passed through and underneath another set of walls, they were within the castle proper. She passed two fountains that gushed water. Trees lined the walkway, and ivy crawled up the smooth walls of the inner fortress.

"Within Highgarden, we have the castle sept, one of the largest and most beautiful in all the Seven Kingdoms. The glass windows are stained with multiple colors in honor of the Seven. Given your northern upbringing, you may also wish to pray to the Three Singers. We maintain a godswood, and it contains three weirwoods."

"That is wonderful to hear, ser. I honor both the Seven and the Old Gods; I will treasure both areas."

Sansa and Jeyne were shown to their rooms. Several tables held vases filled with various flowers. A large window that faced the morning sun dominated one of the interior rooms of her chambers. Everything was beautiful and wonderful. Jeyne was given an adjoining room that could be accessed by a door between them.

"Lady Sansa, let me introduce you to Elinor Tyrell. She will be your lady-in-waiting, and will show you the ways of Highgarden."

Elinor was a willowy girl around Sansa's age whose long rich brown hair descended well past her shoulders. She gave a curtsey and then took Sansa's hands within her own.

"I know we shall be the best of friends. If you need anything at all, just let me know. Well, let Yrma know first if it is anything mundane!" Elinor gave a small laugh.

Yrma was a woman grown beside Elinor. She wore smallfolk clothing, but quite clean and neatly arrayed. She gave a deeper curtsey and explained that she oversaw the maids and servants who cared for these rooms.

"My Lord Tyrell wishes to give you some time to refresh yourself, and then you are to meet with him in his solar. Once you have discussed things, on the morrow we will have a feast welcoming you, his bride. As you see, your room has a bath; I can have it filled with hot water if you wish to bathe prior to the meeting."

"Oh, that would be lovely, but is there time?"

"Of course, Lady Sansa," Yrma replied. She gave some commands, and within minutes, dozens of buckets were brought in with steaming water.

Freshly bathed, perfumed, and attired with a lovely dress, Sansa felt ready to meet her future husband. She was escorted there alone, while Jeyne was left in their rooms. Upon entering, she caught her first glimpse of Willas Tyrell.

The family resemblance between him and Ser Loras was clear immediately, though there were several differences. While Loras had kept his face clean-shaven, Willas wore a thin, well-groomed beard. His hair was a deep dark brown that almost appeared black. The Lord of Highgarden was a slender man of average height. He was sitting upon a chair, with a cane propped up against it.

Upon Sansa's entry, he smoothly grabbed the cane and used it to help him stand. There was an obvious hitch to his walk, but his courtly bearing and grace hid it well.

"Lady Sansa, you are even more beautiful than I could have imagined." His voice was deeper than his frame suggested, and Sansa was already taken by it.

"You are too kind, my lord."

"Please, have a seat. Would you care for a drink? From honeyed teas, to the finest wines – name it, and it will be provided."

She made her choice, and her knight escort saw to telling a servant. Sansa found herself alone with her intended.

"Sansa, I wish to know everything about you, but there are some topics I feel I must bring to the fore."

"Whatever you wish to speak of, my lord, we can."

He took a breath in and slowly exhaled. "You are still so very young. Grandmother insists that we be wedded and bedded swiftly. I am of a different opinion. Being wed to you should happen sooner than later, but given your youth, it would be best to wait some time for the consummation."

Sansa felt her cheeks heat up.

Does he think I am ugly? Father said that the consummation may be delayed, but I had thought he would look upon me and forgo it.

"If that is your wish, my lord," Sansa said, looking at the ground.

"Do you know why?" Willas asked directly.

"I… no, my lord."

"Two reasons. For one, after my injury, I became fascinated with the way Maesters treat injuries and maladies. Were I studying at the Citadel to become a Maester, I would probably have a few silver links. Due to my unfortunate wound, I have become something of a reader, and in my studies, I have learned that the most difficult births occur when women are very young, or within their middle years. I would despise myself if I caused you injury, were you to try to give birth at five-and-ten."

"Oh, I had thought that once a woman had her moon's blood, they were ready to be mothers."

"Many think that way, but 'tis incorrect. The Maesters have kept meticulous records of the births of noble ladies, including unsuccessful births. They are common when the woman is too young, or too old. Much like too little food can cause one to be weak, and too much food can cause one to grow ill, the happy medium is where the greatest chance of success lies. You are still four-and-ten; we will wait to consummate the marriage until you are six-and-ten. However, I do expect you to play the part as if we had lain together as man and wife. Will you do this for me?"

"Yes, my lord! I can do that."

She was both relieved and disappointed. Her mother had said the first time she lay with a man it would likely hurt, but that there was joy in it too. Putting it off until later allowed her to relax somewhat, and if Willas was correct about the dangers of an early childbirth, it would be for the best to delay it.

"My second reason is that in many ways you still have a childlike innocence to you. I would prefer our first union come when you are in the full bloom of your womanhood. This will also give you time to know me and for me to know you. Something that I am eager to get to, but there is more we must speak on."

Sansa nodded, and Willas seemed to grow a bit more reserved and somber as he spoke again.

"There is news on the war, and your family."

Sansa's heart skipped a beat as she struggled to remain poised.

"Your father is believed to still be a captive of the Lannisters. Your brother, Robb Stark, is also missing. He is either believed to be captured, or dead. We await word on which it is."

Sansa felt tears gather in her eyes, and she rubbed them away furiously. She was a lady of House Stark, and the betrothed to the Lord of High Garden. She would not allow herself to embarrass her family.

"Thank you for telling me, my lord."

"Please, you must call me Willas. We are to be wed. I know this is hard, but I have heard nothing but great things about Robb Stark. He captured the Mountain that Rides; if anyone is surviving the war, it is someone like him." The Lord of Highgarden paused for a moment, staring at Sansa. "There is more. Stannis Baratheon has outnumbered his foes repeatedly, and yet has failed to win the throne. It is clear he will not be a fit King."

Sansa's head shot up. "Speak plainly, my… I mean, what do you mean, Willas?"

Willas had a strange look upon his face.

"My grandmother does not believe you should be told this, but I would not have our wedding take place under false pretenses. Sansa, do you know your histories?"

Sansa was confused by the sudden question, but answered it all the same. "Yes, I do. I was taught them by my Septa and Maester Luwin."

"Robert was our most recent King before these troubles – who were the four kings before him?"

"Before Robert, it was Aerys the second, before him was Jaehaerys the second, before him was Aegon the fifth, and before him Maekar."

"Very good, Sansa! Those four Kings, they were all Targaryen. For hundreds of years, Westeros has been ruled by that family. The Mad King was a nightmare, yes, but that did not mean all the members of his family were mad. With Stannis Baratheon's failure to defeat the Lannisters, and the Lannisters guilty of murdering Robert Baratheon as well as trying to pass off bastards as trueborn, we need to turn back to what should have been. A Targaryen rule."

Sansa wasn't sure what to think. "I thought the last children of the Mad King left to Essos. I believe my father argued with Robert about sending assassins to kill one of them."

"Sadly, both Viserys and Daenerys are dead. But there is another. Everyone believes Aegon, the son of Rhaegar and Elia, was slain during the sack of the Red Keep. In truth, Lord Varys had him smuggled out as a safeguard and replaced the babe. None were the wiser, and now Aegon the sixth has come for his crown."

Sansa did her best not to fidget, with only partial success.

"I still do not understand."

"House Tyrell and House Martell are backing his claim. Stannis is not the rightful King. Robert usurped the throne. He was right to wage war against the madness of King Aerys, but after the war was settled, he should have ruled as Regent for Viserys, or Aegon if Varys trusted Robert enough not to slay the babe."

Sansa understood. She felt a chill go down her spine, despite the warm temperatures of the south.

"You mean to betray Stannis… and my father."

"I mislike calling it betrayal, though it may seem that way. Forgive me for using an example so close to thine heart, but what if Robb went missing? Say he was wounded and then captured by Essosi mercenaries who sold him into slavery. Say then, your brother Brandon Stark was made Lord of Winterfell. Ten years pass, and Robb returns. Do the freshly-made oaths to Brandon Stark supersede that of loyalty to Robb Stark? What is a loyal bannerman to do if conflict comes between Robb and Brandon?"

"They would never come in conflict! Robb and Bran would not oppose each other."

Willas gave her a patient smile. "You are blessed by the Gods to have a family such as that, but I speak of hypotheticals. What should take precedent?"

"I… I am not sure; I don't recall that lesson."

"An honest answer! Thank you, Sansa. We must always speak truthfully to one another. I will never seek to chastise you for speaking difficult truths. The answer is, there is no set answer. I have studied the histories, and the Dance of the Dragons. We have laws, but they are based on traditions that do not fit every unique circumstance. Those who followed Aegon the second and those who followed Rhaenyra, both could be viewed as right in a certain light. The same follows with today's dilemma."

Sansa could follow what Lord Tyrell was saying. But it still felt wrong, and she worried for her family. Starks held to their oaths; once given it was sacrosanct.

"What will happen now?"

"Aegon will soon unveil himself and take King's Landing. He will then offer generous terms to all who followed false Kings. Should they bend the knee, they will be allowed to keep their lands and titles. As for Lord Stannis and Tommen Waters, they would be required to join the Night's Watch or face execution. Regardless of their choices, the two of us will still be wed as previously arranged. What I ask of you is to write to your family. Urge them to see that Stannis cannot win. He burned a sept. He had a witch in his employ. There are even dark rumors that he either took part in or had knowledge of his brother's assassination and kept quiet to take the crown for himself."

Sansa was quiet. "May I have time to think on it, my lord?"

He gave her a smile; it was a good smile. "Naturally, you have much to think on. Do remember to call me Willas. I promise you, Sansa, I will share any news I have of your family as soon as it reaches me. More than just that, I will intercede on your behalf if your family grows stubborn and lower myself to plead with King Aegon for mercy. You have my word."

Sansa smiled. She believed him. "Thank you, Willas."

***

​

The journey to Harrenhal was peaceful. Banditry was an ongoing issue, and my men who had not marched on King's Landing were doing their best to curtail it. However, bandits did not try to take on full armies, so we were able to march quickly and without delay.

At first, I had kept Robb and Eddard together, but when Robb clammed up, I realized that Eddard must have given his son instructions not to speak with me. From then on, I separated them, but Robb proved as stubborn as his father. Really, that was just rude, especially given how gentle I was with my prisoners compared to my grandfather.

The rational and open discussion, the meeting of the minds, as it were, could only be described as good. One of the quotes I had memorized from my first life, "who ever knew Truth put to the worse in free and open encounter?" was always applicable.

Granted, someone more skilled in rhetoric could pull the wool over another's eyes, much like I did in the Stormlands.

But still, to simply refuse to engage in open dialogue was as bad as religious dogma that refused any questioning of beliefs. If one could not openly discuss, debate, and defend their own views, it demonstrated a fundamental weakness in their position. Yet, telling Lord Stark this just made him shrug.

It wasn't as if Eddard gave me the total silent treatment. He greeted me, asked for news, and was polite. But anytime I tried to pry open his beliefs, or what he should do, or even innocent hypotheticals to get him talking, he stopped engaging.

There were other things to see to that kept me busy. I intended to hold the funeral for Ser Lyle at Harrenhal as well as a day of mourning for all those who had fallen. I was coaching Tommen on what to say; as King, he needed to speak more and be seen. He had been through much and had not fallen to pieces, but he wasn't thriving either. Instilling confidence in him would be critical.

Then there was the matter of Cersei. She had clearly become a lunatic, and Westeros didn't have mental hospitals. Plus, she was a murderer, who started this whole mess that had led to tens of thousands losing their lives in waste. Justice had to be done, and so I found myself reviewing the situation with grandfather.

"She must go on trial for attempting to kill me. The truth has already been revealed to many. She has violated many of our most significant social customs and laws by using poison on me, her daughter."

Tywin shook his head. "Myrcella, in war and in times of chaos, all sorts of rumors circle around events. When we have won the war, we can set out with the truth that ensures the Lannister house is not besmirched."

"She is a liability; she tried to murder me, and I am done playing nice. Ser Lyle died because I was abed, fighting the aftereffects of the poison. Not to mention the thousands of our own soldiers and King's Landing citizens who fell."

"She's a Lannister!"

"All the more reason to hold her to a higher standard!"

My grandfather was gritting his teeth. He took a controlled breath and changed his approach.

"Myrcella, the penalty for her crime would be death. Would you have the realm say that you are a kinslayer? Your reputation as favored by the Seven is a boon, and this could undo it."

That was a good point. One that I had thought of, and had come up with a solution for.

"You are right. Which is why we would not be the ones to stand in judgment over her."

"Having one of our vassals do it would be construed as the same thing," Tywin countered.

"Who said anything about our vassals? I intend to have a tribunal of lords we have captured stand in judgement. Lords who have unimpeachable honor. Stark, Tully, and Redwyne. Three nobles from three kingdoms, that is sufficient, especially if they affix their names to it."

Tywin's eyes blazed. "They have every reason to want her executed!"

"As do I!" I replied, allowing some heat into my voice.

Cersei may or may not have been Being X's puppet here, but in the end, I didn't believe Being X could take over people's wills. If he did that, he would have taken mine long ago. Therefore, Cersei Lannister was responsible. She, and possibly Petyr Baelish, were the ones responsible for this war.

"You are set on this?" Tywin asked in a steady voice.

"I am, grandfather. I know she is your daughter, but you must see she is a liability. Your grandson is King; that must be sufficient."

"She is my daughter, and she is your mother. You have no qualms about seeing her executed? Seeing our enemies win this over us?"

"I feel pity for Tommen, but I hold no shred of care for Cersei. Our enemies can think as they like. Our allies will understand that treachery against us will be repaid, no matter who commits it."

I wondered what Tywin Lannister, the patriarch of his family and ruler of the Westerlands, would do. He was used to people obeying him. He had served as Hand of the King, and now was the Lord Regent for Tommen. But he also needed me. Would pride and arrogance win over rationality? I held his gaze for several long moments.

Tywin's gold-flecked green eyes held a mixture of emotion, but finally he gave me a short and firm nod.

"My only regret is that you bear the name Baratheon and not Lannister. As you will, then, but I will not be a participant in this trial."

"You will not need to. Thank you for your cooperation."

Upon arrival to Harrenhal, I met with Lord Eddard Stark, Lord Edmure Tully, and Ser Horas Redwyne. They were shocked by my proposal. Horas just seemed confused; the poor knight was not known for his intellect.

"Lady Baratheon, you… you want us, your captives, to stand in judgement over your mother?" Edmure asked.

"Yes, and I expect you to judge justly, guilty or innocent, as you find."

"But… why?" Edmure said with confusion.

"I am biased, my lord grandfather is biased, and our bannerman are loyal to us. For justice to be done, we need a more impartial approach."

Edmure looked at me. "I'm not impartial. Your mother had our King murdered. She committed incest and treason and…"

Eddard put a hand on his shoulder. "She knows that, but trusts in our honor to judge fairly." Eddard gave me a look. "Do you know what you are asking, Myrcella? Mercy is not something the North is known for."

"Lord Stark, I assure you, there is no one I would rather have sit in judgement than you. You can of course refuse to take part, but you both are Paramount Lords of your kingdoms, and Ser Horas represents the Reach. I cannot think of better stewards of justice than that."

Stark was solemn, but he nodded. "I will act as a judge, and as executioner if it comes to that."

Edmure and Horas also agreed. Before the particulars could be worked out, ravens began to arrive. Momentous news, word that suddenly made the past several months of events make sense. House Tyrell and House Martell had sided with a new faction. Aegon Targaryen, the sixth of his name, had declared himself King of the Seven Kingdoms. He was being crowned in a fortnight within King's Landing and had called upon all lords and ladies to pay homage by written word.

I soon gathered my Stormguard, Tywin, and the nobles.

"Aegon, he has the Tyrells and Martells. His missive has gone out across the Seven Kingdoms. He has laid out terms as well," I told the ones I had summoned. "Swear fealty to him, and the past rebellion against House Targaryen is forgiven. Lords and ladies may retain their titles and lands; however, Tommen and Stannis would be required to take the Black."

Alesander Staedmon spoke first, "I am loyal to you, Lady Myrcella. If you say kneel, I will kneel. If you say fight, I will fight. I do think we should seriously consider this proposal."

"Craven!" Jaspar Storm shouted, and others raised their voice as well.

"I said I would fight if called upon. Have you forgotten Ser Jaspar? I fought in the Trial of Seven against you! 'Tis not cowardice, but care for my people that moves me to speak. We are cut off from the Stormlands. As the Starks say, Winter is Coming. Autumn is already here. The war has gone on long enough."

Ser Addam stood from his chair. "This story of Aegon being smuggled out as a babe is a lie. He's some Targaryen bastard. I will follow Lord Tywin Lannister, but if this is a discussion, I will speak plainly. I say we fight! Look at how they fear you Stormlanders. The Tyrell host did not even seek to bar our path. With the gold from the Westerlands and ample supplies already gathered here in the Riverlands, we stand ready for a decisive victory if they come for us!"

Ser Bonifer added his voice next. "We must pray for guidance from the Seven. But we should all note, this Aegon calls our King a bastard and attaches the surname Waters to him. This is an insult and an affront to the Seven themselves. We held the Trial of Seven; Tommen's legitimacy can never be questioned again by any who claim to worship the Seven who are One!"

The discussion was unfortunately not going well for Staedmon. I wanted nothing more than to try to negotiate with this Aegon. I didn't want Tommen to live out his days on the Wall. I did not think he would do well there at all. If we could convince him to instead allow Tommen to become Tywin's heir… unfortunately, nearly everyone in the room was clearly in favor of continuing the fighting. This left me at a horrid disadvantage. If I chose to try to make peace, all my hard-earned respect and esteem would likely slip through my fingers like grains of sand.

"Lord Regent, we have heard from many gathered here, what say you?"

"Peace was never an option. In this game of thrones, you win, or you die. Should we accept this proposal, they will require proof of our loyalty. Aegon will send us to fight Stannis, and when we have won, we will be at our weakest, and then he will clear the board of any who could oppose him. Lady Myrcella, you are too popular, too much of a threat to his reign if you live."

It was a good argument. I knew nothing of this Aegon, and from a Machiavellian perspective, my grandfather was right.

"Thank you, grandfather." I turned to the assembled notables. "Thank you one and all. Let none bear ill will toward Lord Alesander; he has given heartfelt counsel, and that is always to be treasured. But I must agree with what so many of you have said. My brother is the one true King of the Seven Kingdoms. We will not allow his rightful place to be usurped!"

The table thumping and yelling took a bit to die down. The matter of what we needed to do next had to be discussed, as did the funeral arrangements, and then the trial. As well as the potential negotiations for our captives. Well, once we figured out where Stannis had gone off to! Curse the lack of good intelligence. Tyrek Lannister was not a particularly important Lannister, but not leaving anyone behind was important for morale, so we would need to secure his release as soon as we were able. I also had to consider just what I wanted to do with the small, but potentially important, host at Storm's End. So much to do, and so little time.