𝐆𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬 || 𝑾𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝑾𝒐𝒍𝒗𝒆𝒔 𝑪𝒓𝒚 𝑶𝒖𝒕

𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝑿: 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑷𝒂𝒕𝒉𝒔 𝑾𝒆 𝑾𝒂𝒍𝒌

『𝑹𝒐𝒐𝒔𝒆 𝑩𝒐𝒍𝒕𝒐𝒏
299 𝑨𝒇𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝑪𝒐𝒏𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕』

The King in the North's traitor stood over where he had killed said king, the bottoms of his boots stained red from the blood still being cleaned up on the floor. Next to the blood was the salt and bread that he and the King in the North ate to secure Guest Rights, only those rights worked out for him in the end.

""The Late Walder Frey," old Tully called me because I didn't get my men to the Trident in time  for battle."

Walder Frey chuckled as he ate at the High Table from which he sat just the night before, not moving an inch or giving an inch of effort in what occurred.

"He thought he was witty. Ha! Look at us now, Tully! Your daughter's dead, your grandson's dead, your son spent his wedding night in a dungeon and now I'm the Lord of Riverrun!"

He cackled, but Roose Bolton didn't even give a smile, even though from the position he now stood in, the position he has now secured his family's name, he should have been almost joyful. But neither joy nor smiles were his thing. And besides, not all of the Starks were dead.

"The Blackfish escaped."

He said, but Lord Walder Frey on chuckled, shaking his head as he took another bite from his meat pie.

"An old man on the run with no allies is an old man who won't stay running long, nor stay alive neither. I have Tywin Lannister backing me, who does he have?"

"Not all the Starks are dead."

The Bolton spoke, his voice level and calm as it always was, a certain chill to his words, however, hung over them like a dark cloud.

"Ha. Benget Stark.."

Lord Walder sneared with a smirk.

"Boy marches here from the Wall asking me if his idiot brother marched across my crossing to war, fights in one battle and dissappears to not be heard from again."

"That doesn't mean he's not out there still. He and his twin both."

He spoke with weariness in his voice, his eyes dragging from the Lord Frey to the crimson stain on the floor, both of their eyes settling on the spot.

"He'll burn us if he's alive."

"'If' is the key there, my friend."

Lord Walder only chuckled as Roose Bolton sighed once more, his eyes not leaving that stain.

"It must have been torture following that stupid boy all over the country."

"His brother was easier to follow. The Young Wolf might have won a few battles, but he never would have been able to do it if the Violet Wolf didn't start the momentum at the Whistling Wood."

"All of the North's success against the Lannisters relying on one Stark boy who's more Dayne than wolf."

The new Lord of Riverrun remarked with a chuckle, shaking his head as he sippes his wine again before continuing.

"We're gambling men, Bolton. All those highborn Lords liked to snicker at me. Ned Stark, Hoster Tully, Rhaegar Targaryen, Benget Stark, all the fools. They misplaced their bets, and the Lannisters paid their debts."

He must have thought hr was quite the poet to make such a comment. A joke that he must've thought was the funniest one ever told in the Realm as his old, crackled laugh rung out in the hall of bloodstains. But Roose Bolton did not laugh, he did not smile. He did not pry his eyes from the stain of blood from the spot of floor before him.

Walder Frey's laughs began to quiet down, turning to chuckles but the arrogant amuesment was still there on his lips as he raised his goblet into the air.

"To Wolves of Winterfell!"

The Warden of the North only gave the Lord of Riverrun a side glance before once again settling his sight on the crimson blood that no matter how hard the girl scrubbed, the red seemed to be pushed further into the floor.

"As you say.."

『𝑻𝒚𝒓𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝑳𝒂𝒏𝒏𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓』

The Imp walked along to the Council Chamber, entering to see all in attendance. Curious how Littlefinger was not there, but he didn't pay much mind. Varys, Pycelle, all to be expected. Cersei, Tywin, the usual. But what he didn't expect was Joffrey pacing the room slowly, his eyes finding him as Tyrion could see almost pure madness and grinning glee in said violent eyes.

"Mm, killed a few puppies today, Your Grace?"

Tyrion mocked with a smirk of his own as he came to the table, pulling the chair out to seat himself. He eyed Joffrey suspiciously as the boy-king pointed at Pycelle with a grin.

"Show him."

Glancing to his left, Grand Maester Pycelle held out a raven letters in his wrinkly old hand. But as Tyrion reached out to take it, Pycelle dropped it on the floor like a punk ass.

"Oh, sorry, my Lord. Old fingers."

Tyriok rolled his eyes but smirked nonetheless, still regretting how he didn't just kill the man outright before. Reaching back down, he took the letter from the floor as he situated himself back in his seat and began to read. What confused him first came from the wax seal, which a darker blue with the sigil of the Twins Crossing of the River Trident, then the words second.

""Roslin caught a fine fat trout. Her brothers gave her a pair of wolf pelts for her wedding..signed, Walder Frey.""

He read it out loud before looking up to see the little shit's grin grow even wider.

"Mm, a fine way with words, that Walder Frey. Didn't know he was a man of poetry."

"His poetry is quite genius and simple, Uncle."

"'Simple' and 'genius' shouldn't be used in the same sentence from your mouth. Really just the latter word should be used to describe His Grace."

Joffrey from a year ago even would have been irrate at that. But the Joffrey standing before him now was so lost in a wild madness that it showed in his obvious Lannister green eyes.

"Robb Stark is dead!"

He laughed, Tyrion's amuesment of his mockery toward the King of all Westeros faded almost in an instant, the color drained from his face.

"Excuse me?"

He questioned quietly, almost preying he heard the fool wrong. But Joffrey only laughed some more, that grin growing wider and wider by the minute.

"And his bitch mother! The Starks are dead!"

No..not all of them, Tyrion thought instantly, the very thought itself sending a shudder down his spine. Cersei smiled, though not nearly as mad as Joffrey seemed to always be, but still the Mother of Madness herself as always. Tyrion looked across the table to his father, raising a brow, hoping that this was all but a joke, a terrible, terrible joke. But Tywin threatened to smile, and the threat alone there was almost as scary as the one right in his own hands.

"Write back to Lord Frey. Thank him for his service, and command him to send Robb Stark's head. I'm going to serve it right on a silver plater to Sansa at my wedding feast."

"You bloody idiot.."

He muttered quietly, but not in any way meaning for Joffrey to not hear what he said, as the arrogant boy-king looked at him with surprise, losing his grin.

"Excuse me?"

It was his turn to say, and Tyrion only scoffed, shaking his head.

"You stand before me, Your Grace, celebrating a "great victory" when not all of the Starks are dead. One of which is your aunt by marriage to me."

"And the other two are of no consequence anymore. If if they want to be, I'll keep my promise to your lady wife and serve their heads on a silver platter as well!"

"A joke, of course."

Tyrion glanced to his sister as she took the King's hand, rubbing gently in a motherly sort of manner, though amusement was there, but also a hidden fury burned like Wildfire in her eyes as the mention of those Starks.

"My son did not mean to say such things. Clearly you, little brother, lack taste in such humor."

"The taste is like that of poison, dear sister. The thought alone of him must leave your throat feeling quite tight..strangled, even."

Joffrey ripped his hand from Cersei's grasp, only shaking his head as Cersei barely even noticed her son's disregard for her. She only glared with daggers in her eyes, poised and intent to kill him where he sat. But Tyrion dismissed her looks, not even giving her the pleasure of sinking down so low to her level as he turned back to Joffrey with a deep frown and narrowed eyes.

"Haven't you taken the time to consider to consequences of your actions, Your Grace? Or, forgive me, the consequences of your word, rather, as I know you do not like to swing the sword yourself."

"I am your king, Imp. There are no consequences for the King."

"Oh, but I'm afraid that the last of the Starks could care less of your kinglyness, Your Grace. King or peasant, lord or servant, all actions have consequences, and a circlet of gold shall not save you from his wrath."

"His wrath?"

Joffrey scoffed with a growing grin once more.

"Benget Stark should be worried of my wrath. Everybody, is mine to torment. I hope he hears of his sister's torment she endures, I truly do. I hope that the fool marches south once more. I'll give him the same red smile I would have given to Stannis had he not fled like a coward. You'll do well to remember the consequences of your actions and of your words, you little monster."

Sound advice, Tyrion almost remarked, but he had thought of an even better one, even if the boy-king was fool enough to have a sentence like the one he thought carried out.

"Oh, monsters.."

Joffrey turned back to face Tyrion, eyes widening slowly as Tyrion stared dead into his eyes without any ounce of fear or hesitation whatsoever.

"Perhaps you should speak to me more softly, then. Monsters are dangerous things, and just now, kings are dying like flies."

Tyrion tilted his head in challenge as King Joffrey of the Houses Lannister and not much else stepped back in shock, his jaw nearly dropping to the floor. Varys gave Tyrion a brief side glance, and he saw the amuesment in his eyes as Joffrey slammed his fist to the table.

"I can have your tongue for that!"

"Cutting a man's tongue does nothing, Your Grace. When you cut a man's tongue, you aren't proving the man to be a liar, no. You're just proving you're afraid of what he might say."

"Let him make his threats, Joff."

Tyrion shook his head at Cersei's attempt at calming the boy-king down, but Tyrion only smiled.

"Not a threat, really. I've just been counciling our King on the subjects which he clearly lacks the knowledge of, and the common enough sense as well."

"You cannot talk to me like that!! I AM THE KING! I AM YOUR KING, I AM EVERYBODY'S KING!"

Joffrey roared with fury, slamming his onto the table once more, making Cersei, Pycelle and even Varys flinch. But Tyrion's eyes flickered to his father, and he almost began laughing as the Old Lion began to speak with a level tone..

"Any man who must say, "I am everybody's King," is in fact, nobody's King. You'll do well to remember that when I won you war for you."

Joffrey turned sharply to the Lord Tywin of Lannister, breathing heavily as his very hands shook from the amount of anger pouring out.

"You? What have you done?! My father won the real war! He killed Prince Rhaegar, he took the crown, while you hid under Casterly Rock!"

Tyrion knew as the boy-king spoke, said king realized he took a step too far. And the look his father gave to his nephew only proved Tyrion's point as Joffrey swallowed thickly.

"The King is in need of some rest. See him to his chambers."

"I am not tired!"

Joffrey was going to slam his fist down onto the table once more, but he hesitated to even blink as Tywin did not. He flinched not, nor was moved. He had already served a mad king once, what's one more to him? Nothing.

Joffrey left with Cersei without another word.

Varys and Pycelle soon followed, and Tyrion smiled to himself.

"And then there were two lions left."

He shook his head with a smirk.

"The Old Lion speaks down to the Cub, the most powerful cub in all Westeros."

"A cub, perhaps. But the most powerful person in all Westeros, you'd be a fool to believe such a thing."

Tywin nodded and Tyrion chuckled, shaking his head as he wasn't quite able to shake off the amuesment of the prior few moments.

"Such a treasonous statement. Joffrey is everybody's King."

"You think a rabid dog without its leash is anyone's King? A crown doesn't give a man power."

"No, I suppose it doesn't. I would suppose armies give you power. Ironic though, as Robb Stark had quite a powerful army, and you defeated him all the same."

Tywin gave a short nod, and Tyrion sighed, shaking the amuesment away, his eyes trailing to the wall where they remained staring off at nothing.

"He's going to kill us, you know."

"Benget Stark could try all he likes, but a dead man can't very well climb from his grave."

"That's if he's dead. And his twin."

"You want to write a song for the last of the Starks?"

The Lord Tywin mocked, shaking his head.

"Go ahead, write one. I'm sure they would be honored to hear it."

"Oh..but Benget Stark will surely write one."

Tyrion shook his head, his eyes falling to his father once more as he looked showed any lack of effort. He didn't look like he wanted to try, for what was the use?

"Titled, "The Crimson Rains," maybe. A song of mercy. You will find, Father, that the mercy of Benget Stark shall come to you not on a silver platter, or in the strums of a lute and words of a song, but at the end of his sword..."

Tyrion Lannister could only shake his head with short chuckle.

"Oh, Father. I think it's best if we prayed for the direwolf instead of the man."

『𝑱𝒐𝒏 𝑺𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒌』

He nearly wanted to cry, he was on the very verge of doing just that as the stallion continued along the path. But as seemingly hours and hours of riding went on, Jon got more and more tired, more and more emotionally drained before he finally feel from the horse entirely, the beast coming to a stop a few yards away as he layed on the ground staring at the bleak sky.

"He.."

He muttered to himself, nobody there to hear except the wind. Though the wind was not a good company to speak to, to bother with your troubles, he's found. It just hurts all the more pouring your heart out and not receive an answer, a sign or anything.

Ben always had the answer, it felt like. He knew what was coming, Jon thought to himself with a sober, dull feeling. He knew what needed to be done, and he was ready. Zero hesitation. He had seen the fight he had with Val, how his older brother by ten minutes held back against the almost silver-haired Wildling Princess. Jon knew that Ben didn't want to kill her, or even fight her for that matter. But he did anyways, and he did it without hesitation. And maybe because of that, he got a blade right into his thigh. Gods, he could almost feel what it might be like to have been stabbed. He could feel it in his leg, his back, his chest..

Coming to his knees, Jon closed his eyes, facing the bleak grey sky above him as he panted tiredly. But he knew he couldn't stop here. He couldn't just give up the mission. Ben was always good at hiding things, details, or intimidating others when said things or details leaked out. He played his role in the script perfectly, and Jon knew that he didn't. They almost died because of him.

Ygritte..she's kissed by fire, he thought, the thought of her alone breaking and making his heart all the more. He knew that he was a fool to love her, and he did love her. In that moment, Jon was both relieved and guilty of having not said it to her when he had the chance.

"Thought you could get away from me, Jon Stark?"

He barely registered the words as Jon turned sharply, but was met with a hard blow right across the face, knocking him backwards as Ygritte stood before him, an utter fury in her eyes.

"Thought you could just leave without saying goodbye?"

"Ygritt--"

"Fuck you!"

She screamed, swinging with her fist once again, and once again connecting with a soild hit, knocking him backward onto the muddy ground before she got right on top of him.

"You would leave us for them!? We gave you freedom, we taught you that you needn't have their rules, that you could have a life! Why?!"

Angry tears slipped down Ygritte's cheeks as Jon's eyes widen, but he did nothing as he basically allowed her to draw her knife holding it right agaisnt his throat.

"Why leave us..?"

She whispered, and his heart finally broke into pieces as he felt her tears hit his cheeks, mixing with his own that now steadily flowed.

"..why leave me?"

Jon closed his eyes, wishing that this would never have to come, that this would all just go away. But he opened his eyes once more a moment later, and still the lover he had come to know and love with all his heart straddled his waist still with cold steel threatening to swipe tongue across his throat.

"Ygritte, you know I didn't have a choice.."

"A choice?"

She scoffed angrily, more tears falling as she pressed the blade a bit tighter.

"Choices are all that we have left in this world, Jon. When we were walking through the true North with just the two of us and ourselves, you made the choice to hold me close. You made the choice to spare me from Qhorin Halfhand. You've been making choices this whole time!"

"And I made my choice back there!"

They were both crying now, tears steadily flowing, but Ygritte did not loosen her grip, and Jon did not try to resist it.

"I have to go home, Ygritte. I...I never understood what home really was, and I swear by everything good in this world, you will always be half my heart...but I have to go home! I made my choice, a decision that led down two paths. Neither are right, and neither are wrong, they're just paths...choices... So make yours."

He lifted his chin up more, allowing Ygritte to see his whole throat and neck, but he did not glare. He only stared softly into her watery eyes, his hands softly winding up to fall to her hands as gently as he could. Jon pulled her wrist gently forward, pressing the knife harder against his throat as Ygritte's eyes widen. Her body shook, tears streamed, and finally, Ygritte let out a yell, leaning up and throwing her knife as hard as she could in a random direction, falling off of Jon as she cried in her palms, not saying a word.

Climbing to his feet, Jon stared at her, his heart broken as he tried to wipe his own tears away, but only for them to be replaced by new ones. And so, he began to trudge back to the horse, when suddenly, he heard the sound of a bow string being pulled. He didn't even have time to react as an arrow sunk right into his back, knowing him right to the ground.

Eyes widened with shock and pain, Jon scrambled back to his feet as he painfully ran to the stallion and began to run with the horse whilst trying to get on. He barely got onto the horse as another arrow sunk into his leg, making him cry out in pain.

Jon didn't feel the third arrow hit, he didn't feel anything but regret and grief over the choice he's made, the path he has taken.

『𝑽𝒂𝒍』

"I'll kill him myself."

Tormund had told her and he'd been gone for a long time. It could be a chance that her cousin actually managed to do it, but Val knew that chance was a far shot that even Yriggte wouldn't be able to make with her bow and arrow. She knew that she herself wouldn't be able to do it. She could have. It was right there in front of her, an opportunity to kill him. But she didn't. All Val could see in that moment was how his face was ripped up from Orell's eagle, and she could see red. All she saw was red as she remembered how her legs felt as though they weighed heavier than a mammoth and a giant all at once. She remembered the very feeling in her hand as she could feel the Dragonglass sink deep into his thigh.

Benget Stark was many things, a traitor, a heartbreaker and a bastard in her mind, but in her heart, Val knew he was always honest. To think Mance Rayder, the King-beyond-the-Wall, the man to unite all ninety warring tribes under one leader and one purpose, so easily trusted the Stark. He never once lied. Perhaps he did when saying there were a thousand men stationed at Castle Black alone, but everything else? He never lied. Val could see in his eyes whenever the subject approached in conversation, saw the way his smile faded, the way his eyes glowed with wary sort of look to them.

He was there for the Others and for his brother, nothing or nobody else. The Halfhand's plan, surely, she wanted to think. This was all just a rouse, an act, and Benget was just a mummer. But despite the thought making her feel a bit better, the knowledge that Benget Stark was no mummer, no false man, but a true wolf, hurt even more.

Val wasn't used to emotions. In the Free Folk, emotions tended to run high, always getting the better of people, leading to many being killed. Death by passion. Passion for killing Crows and end up being blinded by the passion, and therefor, die. Ever since her parents were killed, not by the Crows, but by the cold, Val knew that emotions would need to be blocked, cut out root and stem and cast into fire if she were to survive. But along the way, she lost herself on the line between what it means to be alive and what it is to be a shell of a person.

That Stark was a breath of air she so desperately needed.

That's why she volunteered. She's laid with men before, of course. Several, but they meant nothing more than a warm body in bed. But Benget Stark meant so much more, so much more than she ever intended. She couldn't even remember the last time she had even smiled genuinely before he arrived in Mance Rayder's tent.

And this pissed her off.

She suddenly shot out from where she sat on a rock, hand snatching the dark ironwood stained lute with silver strings, lifting it above her head and slammed it as hard as she could against the rock which she sat briefly. All the other Wildlings in the group barely paid any mind as Val nearly screamed in utter rage, lifting the lute in the air again, slamming it down as hard as she possibly could again and again, but no matter how hard she hit it, the lute would not break.

Ironwood, he said it was made from. Expensive, yes, but I've found that it has a sweeter tune to it then regular solid oak or soft pine.

"See if it plays a sweeter tune now!"

She growled angrily as she sat back down on the rock, lute in lap as she drew her knife and started to grind away at the silver strings as fast as she could. Val cut for over a minute, and the first cord was not yet even cut. But eventually, it finally snapped. Spitting at the ground, she sniffled slightly as she huffed in frustration, choosing to dig her knife against all the engravings of stars and wolves, ice and snow. She scratched at them, cutting deep. But in the end, Val only managed to snap a wire, make a few cuts and scratches and break her heart even further.

Val felt her legs buckle, but she did not allow herself to fall to the ground. She wouldn't.

Walking over to another campfire, she grabbed a Wildling man by the collar of his furs, yanking him up to his feet.

"What the--"

"Get this to Mance."

She ordered him, shoving the lute into the man's chest and began to walk away.

"How the fuck do you expect me to get this to Mance?"

"Walk, run, fly, swim or climb the bloody Wall again for all I care. Get it to him, he'll understand what it means."

『𝑫𝒂𝒆𝒏𝒆𝒓𝒚𝒔 𝑻𝒂𝒓𝒈𝒂𝒓𝒚𝒆𝒏』

Dany woke from her slumber with a groan. She hadn't been this sore since she had crossed the Red Waste with what remained of her Khalasar. She stretched and groaned under her silks, and yet she couldn't get comfortable. Her face felt as though it were on fire. She thought that heat and flame felt good, felt soothing and relieving, but this felt something fierce and painful. It burned.

Groaning as she tried swinging her legs over the side of her bed, Dany found that her leg was in so much pain she could barely move it. Seething in pain, she manged to pull her leg over the side of the bed. Breathing deeply, she tried to stand, but she only fell backward back into the silks and pillows.

"Khaleesi..?"

Irri groaned as she awoke from her slumber, eyes fluttering open as she stared at Daenerys who gritted her teeth as she clutched her thigh.

"What's wrong? Are you all right?"

"I'm..fine. I don't know what's really happening, but my leg..right here, stings. Almost burns."

She was concerned greatly, staring at her leg as Irri wrapped some of the silk sheets around her waist, but leaving her chest exposed as her hands reached out to graze Dany's leg to check, and Daenerys moved back a bit.

"Khaleesi, I have told you before, this..arangment is fine."

Daenerys sighed, shaking her head.

"It doesn't mean it's right."

Irri only shook her head, this time, her hand reaching out and grasping her hand.

"Whether it be in the right or wrong, it does not matter. What matters is what happens the next day, after what Ser Jorah and Daario Naharis did. Worry about the right and wrong until after."

But Daenerys really couldn't let it go. But the thought of what she ordered, the thought alone that the Yunkish soldiers threw down their spears in surrender amazed her. Frightened her. She had burned the Masters of Astapor and held no consequence for it. She didn't have to deal with what happened next. But here, in Yunkai, she had the fates of 200,000 innocent people on her hands. She didn't want there blood on them.

"Go back to sleep, Irri. Tomorrow might be a hard day."

"You need to rest as well, Khaleesi. Be sure you do."

The faithful companion of Daenerys smiled, but the Targaryen herself did not, watching as Irri turned back into the bed they shared together. Dany sighed once more. Her head was killing her, her eyes felt as though they're being clawed right out with long knives, and her leg feels as though it had been stabbed clean through with a sword.

So Daenerys returned to bed with uneasy feeling as she faded off into an even uneasier slumber, with voices whispering in her head.

『𝑩𝒆𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒕 𝑺𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒌』

❄❄❄

❄❄❄

The place looked abandoned, but some structures still stood. He knew that this was an abandoned fortress of the First Men, one of many that were used once to thwart the Children of the Forest, and then the White Walkers themselves. But now, all that truly stood strong there, was the statue in the center.

The Dragonglass dagger did wonders in sealing the wound, but it also did wonders in terms of how much it fucking hurt to limp with a dagger in his leg. He had fallen from the stallion nearly a mile back and was limping down the long road since, but that must've been hours ago as he was going so slow. He knew that Tormund was after him, him or Val, or maybe both. If it were both of them, he might as well already be dead.

Ben leaned against one of the crumbling stone structures, panting heavily as he dropped to the ground. His vision was still blurry, and because of the steadily falling rain, he could barely see shit as is. Everything hurt. His leg, his eyes, his arms, hands, head, heart, everything. It all hurt. Maybe his heart most of all.

"He has never known the love of a woman. To have them hold you in their arms like you're their lifeline, the very air that they breathe."

"And have you?"

He still remembered that conversation with his father so clearly. Ben had sat in the Great Hall for hours that morning, just staring up at the mantle that had been empty for many years by that point. Dawn once rested there for a time, just like how might of had no Dayne earned the right of its usage in Starfall. If there were even any Daynes left to hold the title and right.

Jon always went on about taking the Black, joining the Watch while Ben always talked about girls and different songs he learned in time spent growing up in the environments he found himself in. But in the environment of the heart, Ben felt foreign. He didn't know what love was. To him, what love between a man and woman, man and man, or woman and woman, it didn't matter, love was supposed to a lifeline both partners depended on. That breath of air to refill their lungs. But in his short list in experiences of people he considered he loved, he felt nothing of the sort, not exactly, that is.

Margaery, he had known for three weeks, and he thought she deserved the world and then some. But she clearly did not want him to give her the world, because how could he? He had the North to give; a cold, wet wasteland with constant bleak skys and summer snows. He thought his heart was enough, but it clearly wasn't. And now, he had neither to give.

Nymeria, and Obara to an extent, Benget knew, were a toxic rebound for himself. His time in Dorne was well spent, but the only thing ever regretted doing was them. Because he was the one to eventually leave, not the other way around.

And with Val? Ben wasn't able to even think further on the subject as though the wind and slow pelting rain, he heard a booming voice.

"KING CROW!"

"Shit.."

It was Tormund. Painfully drawing Dawn from the Baratheon Princess' scabbard, Ben began to limp toward what was an archway that still barely stood, with roots and other plants growing thickly through the cracks and openings in the stones. Thinking on the fly, Ben jammed Dawn into the ground at the exit of the archway on the other end and hid opposite being a stone wall, hoping the giant of a ginger would be stupid enough to fall for it.

"King Crow, where are you, boy!?"

He heard the sound to steel being pulled from a crudely made scabbard, and Ben waited patiently. He waited. He heard Tormund's footsteps, no matter how quiet he tried to be.

"I found your horse, boy! I know you're here! Come out so that I won't have to feed you your own guts!"

He grew quiet after that, and Ben slowly peaked around a corner as carefully as he could, and he saw Tormund looking through the archway, eyeing his sword jammed into the ground. He waited for Tormund to step into the archway before getting out from behind the stone wall, able to stay out of sight. And just as Tormund reached for the Dawn, Ben ran forward, wrapping his arms around him in a tackle at the waist, knocking the two of them and the Dawn over onto the ground.

"Crow!"

Ben didn't respond with words, but rather with fists as he knew he had to end this quick. Using his leverage, Ben brought down his fist hard onto Tormund's face, slamming his fist down again and again, both men grunting and growling at one another before Tormund leaned his arm back and punched Ben's leg hard, immediately throwing him off as Ben shouted in the shot of pain surging through his leg.

Next thing Ben knew, he was back on his feet and Tormund was pushing him back, shouting as he slammed Ben into the stone wall, following his dazed movements with a sharp punch right to the gut with his right hand, and then again with his left, before bringing his right back up and slammed it against his cheek, digging his knuckles into the already torn up flesh.

With a shout of effort, Ben brought his fist up and brought it across Tormund's face, using the momentum to swing the ginger agaisnt the stone wall himself and began to pummel him into the wall. The two then began grabbing each other, desperately trying to throw one another off in any way. Ben's coat began to rip even further as his vision became even more blurry from the blood and the pain. But then, Tormund leaned back and roared, slamming his head forward right into Ben's, before bringing his foot up and kicking down hard on the pommel of the blade in his leg, effectively making Ben scream out in pain as he tumbled to the ground.

Tormund then wasted no time climbing right atop of him, bring his fist down again and again as Ben brought his hands and arms up to try and block.

"You..damn..Crow! Just die!"

He felt like his face was ripped apart, that his leg was split in two nearly and his fists bloodied and broken. Ben began to lose more and more focus, and ability to keep his arms up as Tormund kept swing down hard.

"I should have killed you before, boy! Killed you and your fucking wolf, left you to die from the wolves!"

Tormund panted, but he was still in a blind rage, and didn't see Ben's hand drifting toward his own leg.

"I told you that I'd kill you if you hurt her! Look where we are now, King Crow! You're fucking dea--arrghhhh!"

Tormund and Benget both roared nearly at the same time as Ben, with nearly all the strength he had left, ripped the Dragonglass blade from his leg and jammed it right into Tormund's, effectively shoving him off of him.

The Crow and the Wildling laid in the grass, both staring up at the sky in utter exhaustion and pain. But Benget stood up first. He had to be the one to do so, he knew. He wouldn't die here. Especially to a fucking ginger.

"It's over, Tormund... It's fucking..over.."

He stumbled as he picked up Dawn from the ground, using the blade and crossguard as though it were a crutch to walk on as the rain continued to pour, with Tormund lifting his head up in agony as he watched Ben limp away.

"It isn't over... This isn't how a man ends! Kill me!"

Ben doesn't even answer as he felt painful tears mix with the blood, the two running thicker than water.

"KILL ME, BOY! KILL ME!"

Tormund didn't recieve a response other than the wind and rain as both began to howl like wolves.

『𝑫𝒂𝒆𝒏𝒆𝒓𝒚𝒔 𝑻𝒂𝒓𝒈𝒂𝒓𝒚𝒆𝒏』

"Mysa! Mysa! Mysa!"

They all shouted to her in a roar of cheer. Men, women and children, dark skin and pale skin and tan, people from every corner of Essos all stood before the city they were once enslaved in and cheered as she had freed them from the horrors of their lives.

Dany still heard the echos, even as she stood alone in the grandest of bedchambers in the palace of Yunkai. She had the Harpy torn down, and a great Targaryen banner flew gently in the wind. It was a warning to those who would appose her, and a sign of hope to those who needed her. As soon as the freed slaves of Yunkai lifted her into the air and proclaimed her, "mother," Daenerys knew her purpose in life. The Iron Throne could come later. She has waited nearly nineteen years to see it, and Westeros again, she could wait a little longer if it meant she could do so much good here.

Daenerys stepped across the candle lit room with a smirk on her lips, a confident smirk. One of pride and victory. It felt nearly too good to win flawlessly. She looked herself in the mirror across the room, staring into her reflection of her eyes. This must've been what Drogo felt like, she thought to herself. He'd go and win a battle, or, more like a slaughter, he'd kill a great beast on a grand hunt, or broken a wild mount, and then enter her tent and have his way. He must've felt powerful. As powerful as a God. That no man or woman could oppose him.

But Daenerys smirked, as now if the "great" Khal Drogo wished to rise from the dead to see if anyone could still not oppose him, she'd be perfectly fine with that. The dark part of her mind would scream for her to show him the dragons, to burn him away and all memory of him. But one of her children was named for him, even as Daenerys knew deep down she never loved him. It was easier to love than to hate, so she endured the love.

She felt love, today. But it didn't feel how she hoped, exactly. True, the Yunkish slaves held to her as though she were a lifeline, their soul reason to live, but Daenerys wanted more than that. For a brief while whilst laying with Irri, she thought she had it with her. But then the dreams of the Silver Man became dormant in her mind, and Daenerys found herself falling ever so deeper in love with someone who doesn't even exist. She wanted him, but in her heart, Dany felt like she'd never get what she truly wanted in the end.

"Mother of Dragons."

A voice spoke calmly and with a level, even tone, nearly making Daenerys jump out of her skin as she spun to the side of her room with wide eyes.

"Quaithe?"

The woman with the mask of stars stood before her, eyes of purple shining in a haunting sort of fashion as she stood in all black, the robes similar to that of a maester spun around her body, but did not hide any sort of curves in any way. The mysterious magical woman stepped forward with a nod.

"Perhaps not in the flesh, but by simple candle light. Glass candles are wonderous things."

"Glass candles... Dragonglass? Is that you spinning these dreams in my mind's eye?"

Quaithe said nothing as she only stepped forward, now standing before Daenerys. Dany never noticed in Qarth, but the shadow-binder from Asshai stood taller than she did.

"The pale mare shall approach, oh Mother of Dragons. The reach of the wicked will forever claw for you. The mummer's dragon, the bleeding star in the sky that comes again, trust none of them, for they cannot be trusted, nor true."

"And you can?"

Daenerys scoffed, shaking her head as she walked away from the woman, stepping towards the table with a pitcher of wine and a goblet made from gold.

"My word is that of a shadow's whisper and a star's light, nothing more and nothing less, anymore. A star's light might prove to decieve, to prove to be not more than a pretty light. And a shadow's whisper may prove too silent to hear. But together, their is the truth."

"Your truth being that some actors will pretend to be a dragon, a white horse wil come and bring hell, and the claws of the wicked reach for me still? Forgive me if I might sound rude, but it was me that ensured I would survive the Warlocks in Qarth, not you. I survived because of me, not because of your cryptic warnings and speeches of light and darkness, stars and whispers. Me."

She poured the wine, not noticing its color as Quaithe stood in silence, her eyes never once blinking.

"You drink from the cup of truth, and you might never wish to dance its halls forever."

Dany, once more, did not listen. She sipped her wine with a raised brow toward Quaithe, a smirk on her lips. But then she actually tasted the wine, and it tasted rotten.

"Follow the sword in the evening and morning sky, and you might make it out alive, oh Mother of Dragons."

Dany's eyes widen as she dropped the glass of wine, which in fact, was not wine. The blue liquid poured out onto the floor as she collapsed to her knees, coughing and choking, almost strangling herself in effort to puke up what she had just drank. But her mind started to spin into darkness, the light in her eyes fading as once more was Daenerys Targaryen in the domain of the wicked Warlocks.

꧁~~~A/N~~~꧂

*Me totally not just poisoning Daenerys, lol.

Look at that, it's the end of this arc, which for the show concludes season 3. This next arc will obviously take place literally right after, and to be honest, I think it will be one of my favorites. This chapter was a joy to write as it really sets up the motions of all the characters and where they'll turn up in the future. Also, big divergence with Daenerys being poisoned by the Warlocks, eh? Suckers have to wait and see what happens, lol.

Anyway, leave a comment to let me know what you think!

Thank you all for reading and much love!