35 Hand of the King

Hit with a blast of cold air as the bannerman drew open the door for him, Jon welcomed the jolting gust as he stepped onto the walkway overlooking the inner courtyard. It helped clear his mind, especially after the stressful day he had. 'Even our unification did not end the squabbles.' That did not really surprise Jon, but what did was that his newfound title as King in the North didn't help quell such mundane bickering as he had hoped it would.

"I'm not following why you gave the Umbers and Karstarks their land back." Sensing the graceful yet determined steps of his Queen fall in beside him, Jon was thankful of one thing. The opposition of the North towards Daenerys had all but disappeared. Once the news of Jon's parentage seeped into their conscious thoughts, Northern anger shifted from Rhaegar Targaryen to Robert Baratheon. "He had to have known," argued Olenna Tyrell, many agreeing with her. "They rose up with my brother and that sadistic freak Lord Bolton against you. Why reward them?"

"There's been enough punishment, enough infighting among us," Jon replied back. "I'm not going to descend us into a massive cycle of revenge and counter-revenge."

Behind them walked Missandei, Tyrion, and Sansa. With Robb marching South with the main Northern/Vale/Unsullied army, Davos and Grey Worm in tow - waiting at the Twins was a decent-sized Riverlands army under Edmure Tully, necessitating Catelyn's presence as well - the three were the King in the North and Dragon Queen's remaining small council. "The Ghiscari had a saying. 'An eye for an eye makes the world blind.'" Missandei's quote may have been foreign, but Jon found it applicable to the situation.

"While putting ten year old Ned Umber and sixteen year old Alys Karstark to death for what their father and elder brother did would be… shall we say a bit over the top," Tyrion brushed snow off his coat - and his shaggy hair. Criticize as he was apt to do, the dwarf was in a good mood. Since Shae was in the North, it wasn't surprising. "Why would you give those families back their lands? There are plenty of fine Northern knights who could have established strong familial lines."

Gritting his teeth, Jon resisted the urge to wake the dragon. But it was greatly irritating - out of all the measures put forward at the 'Congress of Lords' from sending Podrick Payne and a detachment of Northern/Vale light cavalry to Meereen to training both men and women smallfolk to fight the Army of the Dead, the granting of the Umber and Karstark lands back to their rightful heirs had been the most controversial. Dany, Tyrion, and Sansa opposed it - Sansa openly.

"I get your opinions, but my decision is final." He turned to Sansa, openly irritated. "And I did not appreciate you undermining me back there."

A look of incredulity formed on Sansa's face. "Undermined you?"

"At least Daenerys and Tyrion whispered their concerns to me. By speaking openly you defied my authority."

"Joffrey doesn't allow dissent, and neither did Viserys."

Stopping, Jon looked at Sansa with pain in his eyes. "Do you think me one of them?"

Placing her hand on his shoulder, Sansa smiled at her brother. "No Jon, you are nothing like Joffrey or Viserys. You wouldn't be here today if you were anything like them - but…"

Jon snorted. "Father used to say everything after the word 'but' is horseshit.' Tyrion guffawed at that, while the women couldn't help but smirk.

Sansa smacked Jon on the shoulder lightly. "Don't interrupt me, my King." Her eyes twinkled with mirth. "As I was saying, we cannot afford major mistakes. A ruler needs to be open to counsel."

"She's right." Daenerys had been faced with such tyrannical impulses before - most notably the dispute over crucifying the Great Masters of Meereen, for which she wanted to select three hundred randomly but was convinced to simply kill those responsible for the child murders. "Power easily corrupts. There needs to be a check, Jon, no matter how good and honorable you are."

Opening his mouth to speak, the words died on Jon's lips. "You're right. Both of you. I don't regret my actions here, but I haven't consulted with my advisors since I arrived in Winterfell and it was a mistake." He turned to his sister. "That's why I'm appointing you as my Hand in the North."

Sansa blinked, initially disbelieving her brother's words. "What?"

Unable to stop his chuckle, it was Jon's turn to put his hand on her shoulder. "The war against Joffrey will take Daenerys and I south. While we are gone, I trust no one more than you to prepare for war against the Dead. Do you accept, Sansa of House Stark?"

Trembling with the weight of it all, Sansa's first inclination was to decline - she had treated Jon like shit her whole life, but her brother not only forgave her but made her his Hand. The only honorable thing to do was reward his trust. She kneeled. "I will honor your trust in me, my King."

"Rise, Sansa Stark, Hand of the King." Formalities over, the siblings hugged tightly.

Merry laughs rang out from Tyrion's throat. "Welcome to the very illustrious guild, Lady Sansa. There are many things I do wish to discuss with you…" The Imp led Sansa away.

Soon it was just him and Dany. Smiling, now that the betrothal had been announced, he had no one stopping him from reaching out and pulling her into an embrace. 'Monarchs don't show affection in public,' said an inner voice sounding remarkably like Tyrion - Jon didn't care. "I love you," he whispered into her ear.

Dany smiled against his neck, sighing happily at his warmth. "I love you too." She pulled back, looking in his eyes. "I'm sorry for doubting you, Jon. I just didn't want you to reward betrayal."

"Smalljon Umber and Harald Karstark betrayed my family, and they are both dead. I would be everything that dishonored our family had I taken it out on their innocent heirs."

Knowing he was right, Dany's heart hitched at him referring to 'our family.' Wordlessly, she kissed him. "Will you make Sansa your full Hand?" Soon Jon was to be Emperor as well as King in the North, and would need an advisor and council for that role as well.

"Like Tyrion would be for you?" he asked her. He chuckled at Dany's nod. "Someone will need to stay here and make sure the fight against the Dead isn't neglected. I trust Sansa above all others for that. As for the south… I think Ser Davos is the right man for the job."

"A good choice." A bit unorthodox, the Onion Knight had done a fantastic job in rehabilitating the Twins and Moat Cailin for operations against the Lannisters - Robb's dispatches said as much. Dany's gaze then flickered to the courtyard, warmth seeping in her heart as she relaxed into Jon's side.

Blinking, Jon quickly found where his betrothed was looking. He couldn't help but smile as well. There were his two children, practicing 'water dancing' with their Aunt Arya. With Robb at the Twins with the army, his sister happily agreed to take over their lessons. He felt Dany tense when Arya wheeled around and rapped Rhaegar on the shoulder. "Don't worry, my dragon. Arya won't hurt them."

"Aren't they too young?" she asked, peering at him.

Jon shook his head. "It's just the basics. Robb and I started at that age." Relieved at her tension dissipate, the two gazed happily on the scene below them.

Face set in a scowl, six-year old Rhaegar lashed out with his training sword, only for Arya to jink out of the way at the last minute. "Relax, little dragon," she cautioned. "Never allow your frustrations to get the better of you." Regurgitating Syrio Forel's dancing lessons made a small pang of sadness throb inside her, but it subsided. There was no better honor to his memory than passing his lessons to her niece and nephew. "Now, attack." Pressing a thrust which Arya easily parried, she shouted, "Left," but then proceeded to slash right and smack Rhaegar lightly on the shoulder with the training sword.

The Crown Prince stared at her with jaw agape. "You said left!"

"Yes, but I went right," she grinned. 'Is that how I looked when he did it to me?' Syrio had to have found it as amusing as she did.

"You lied, Aunt Arya!"

"Your enemies won't hesitate to manipulate and deceive you, so you have to be ready, little dragon." Seeing his face fall, Arya sighed. Her nephew was six, these lessons more designed to give him discipline and basic positions than actual skill. Part of her wanted to be strict, but he was family. "Come here, little dragon." She hugged him. "If it makes you feel any better, it took me years to learn properly."

Wide violet eyes looked up at her. "Really?"

Arya smirked. "I didn't get to be this amazing in a day." The Wild Wolf was sure that her siblings would have rolled their eyes at her cocky statement. "Just keep working on it."

Just as Rhaegar attempted to get back into position, he was shoved aside by his sister. "Out of my way. It's my turn, brother." Young Arya was dressed in a padded wool shirt and thick trousers, functional and quintessentially northern - despite the unabashed Targaryen silver hair and delicate features, she looked every inch like her grandmother, the She-Wolf. "I'm ready to water dance, Aunt Arya." Smirking at her namesake, Arya assumed her stance.

"I see you, brat!" Out flew a rock, only barely missing the frightened boy. The grocer hefted the other one in his hand, ready to toss it at the would-be scavenger. "Git out of here before I grab me axe!" Tall and fit despite the three fingers missing from one hand courtesy of a Lannister sword during the War of the Four Kings, there was little doubt he could catch up to and brain the wispy, gaunt little boy had he wanted to.

Hunched over, Eddard Blackledge ducked around the corner of the Wintertown wheelwright. Stomach knotted into an empty ball, his tattered furs hung loose on his skeletal frame as he leaned against the wooden wall. Only seven years since his original nameday, life at home with his momma and older sissy had been tough. Eddard's father - by now only stories and faint memories of a big bear of a man that could slice a log clean through with an axe - had marched south with Robb Stark and met his fate at the Red Wedding. Food came only sparingly since then, whatever scraps Lord Bolton threw their way or what little Eddard could scrounge up around Wintertown.

The grocer's refuse pile usually had decent pickings, but since he got caught, Eddard knew he'd be going home hungry tonight. Stabbing, gnawing pain tore at his stomach. Starvation gripped the North as Winter came, especially in after Lord Bolton took over - not a caring man, nothing like Eddard's namesake. Lord Snow brought the promise of change, but with armies moving in and out of the castle the struggling residents of the growing town grew weary.

Stumbling into the street, mind on nothing but the hunger pangs, little Eddard smacked into a burly figure. Glancing up, his eyes widened at one of the savage horsemen from far away. Guttural shouts left him, waving a meaty arm to shove Eddard away - the boy too weak and feeble to resist.

A soft voice responded, causing the horseman to step back. At that moment, Eddard felt a gentle hand rest on his cheek and chin. "Are you alright, young one?" The boy then met the most dazzling eyes he had ever seen - a vibrant violet sparkling with compassion. There was no doubt at who this was.

"Ye…. yes, my Queen," he squeaked out, words largely failing him. Behind the silver-haired queen was another striking angel of a woman, long brown hair framing a friendly, inviting face.

Around them, a small crowd of onlookers were gathered around. "Maester Wolkan?" Margaery asked. "Is enough food being supplied to the Smallfolk?"

An older man sighed. "We've been stockpiling food in the process of preparing for war, my Lady. Enough has been distributed for the normal population, but we've been getting many refugees from the Gift…"

At the sight of this boy's visible ribs, flesh close to being wasted away, Daenerys felt her heart clench. All her people, as much as the slaves of Meereen or the soldiers in her army. "Please, Maester, make sure the food distributions match that of the current population." With the Royal Army marching south to the Riverlands, the granaries could afford it. Smiling at the boy, Dany told her bloodrider to hand him a gold coin. "How many in your family?"

Eddard stared at the coin as if it were a gift from the Old Gods. "Three, your Grace."

"Well get some food for all of them, alright?" Overwhelmed with a gratitude, a kindness not seen outside his family in his entire life, Eddard lurched forward to hug his queen - taken aback a bit, Dany relaxed and wrapped her arms around the trembling boy.

Around her, for the first time the citizens of the North saw not a Targaryen - something to be feared from the stories of their Lord and Heir traveling south to their deaths - but as their future Queen.

Hearing the knock at her door, Sansa Stark tightened the thick gown around her body, covering her shift. Padding over with a candle in hand from where she had been reviewing compartments, she hesitated upon reaching the door. "Who is it?" Her free hand went to the concealed pocket where rested a knife - there was no chance another Ramsay would ever take her.

"It's Podrick Payne, my Lady."

Tension deflating, Sansa unlatched the door and opened it. There was the young knight - newly knighted by Jon as one of his first acts as King in the North - dressed in the full regalia of a Stark banner knight. "Ser Podrick," she said. "Why are you dressed for battle?" Shouldn't he have been at sleep? And why was he here? Sansa was grateful for his saving her life… twice actually, and was generally trusting of him - but that didn't explain it.

"Pardon, my Lady. I didn't mean to intrude. But my command is about to ride to White Harbor for our journey to Essos. I intended to inform his Grace, but he was…" Podrick's face went red. "He was… consulting with Queen Daenerys."

Eyes widening in understanding, Sansa fought a chuckle. 'Good for Jon.' "Thank you for informing me. I will let his Grace know tomorrow."

"Ummm… that isn't all, my Lady." Blushing madly, Podrick's mouth opened and closed several times trying to find what to say. In truth, Sansa found it somewhat endearing as well as funny. "Would it beg your pardon if I had permission to… write you while on the journey? By raven I mean?"

Sansa blinked. "Write me?"

He fidgeted with the hilt of his sword. "Yes. I don't… yet know who to trust within Meereen without being there and wish to make my own reports to you. And… with my family in Lannister-controlled lands… it would be… welcome for someone to converse with… if the Lady doesn't find offense, of course."

Standing there, Sansa knew not what to say. 'It would be good to get verifiable intelligence on the ground in Meereen.' The Hand of the King in her said to agree, but… 'Oh hells with it.' Podrick was as threatening as a hedgehog. "You have permission."

Startled at her words, Podrick bowed. "Good night, my Lady." With that, he turned to leave. Sansa's eyes were trained on him until he turned the corner, a ghost of a smile curling on her face.

"Lady Reed!"

Water sloshing within the ceramic amphorae as she lifted it away from the fountain, Meera looked up to find a rail-thin, bald youth running to her. While normally the sight of a warlock drew her apprehension, she couldn't help but smile. "Good morning, Ply."

Coming to a stop right in front of her, Ply Qyree smiled weakly as he caught his breath. Barely Bran's age and with the blue-tinged lips of a warlock, the lack of any body decorations or any visible mutilation indicated him as a junior apprentice. Thus, he lacked the enigmatic arrogance and muted malevolence that so biased Meera against the fully-trained members of the Warlock Guild. "Do you know where Lord Stark is?" The lad seemed to want to be as close to Bran as possible, almost as if he wanted the crippled highborn to be his mentor.

Meera chuckled. "He's… studying in his room." She had no way of knowing if he was having his visions again, so went with the best answer she could think of. "Why do you ask?"

"The Brothers want to train his skills of self-projection. I was asked to bring him over."

"No need, I'll wheel him…" Loud, passionate voices from the hallway to her front caught Meera's attention. Before Ply could react, both of them were flattened tightly against the wall of a dark alcove.

"What's going…?"

A hand found itself clamped over the apprentice warlock. "Shhhhh." Meera did not know why she flattened herself and Ply against the wall - simply on instinct if she was pressed hard enough. Her father had always said that a Crannogman had such an innate sixth sense when danger was approaching, and the hushed voices coming from the shadows ahead were setting off her internal alarms in droves. Just something about them…

"Qarth never became the greatest city that ever was and ever will be by intervening in foreign affairs." The deep, projecting voice was unmistakable. Xaro Xhoan Daxos, the King of Qarth. "What you could be proposing is quite risky."

"There is no risk, great King. The Dragon Queen has left Slaver's Bay, and a large component of her remaining garrison has gotten on their ships as we speak." Peeking around the corner for a split second, Meera spotted a man with a beak of a nose and dark black curls. He wore flowing blue-white robes and a Harpy pendent. 'A Master… Yunkai or Astapor?' She hadn't learned how to tell the difference. "Her armies here can barely hold Meereen."

The shrill voice that followed was none other than Pyat Pree. "But what of the Westerosi men-at-arms that arrived?"

"Defeated fools," dismissed the master. "I wouldn't worry about them. We can take them on easily, but with Qarth on our side we'd be unstoppable. King Joffrey has already ceded to us all lands that once belonged to the Valyrian Freehold, plus new markets for fresh produce." When one of the 'Kind,' 'Wise,' or 'Great' masters used the word 'Produce,' Meera had learned they meant 'slave.' The Dragon Queen was famous - or infamous - for trying to better conditions in Essos. In contrast, it seemed as Joffrey was trying to tear down conditions back home to match those here. "For mere military aid and the delivery of the Stark boy…" Meera's eyes widened.

"Brandon Stark is under the protection of the Warlock Guild of Qarth," Pyat Pree responded. "He will not be touched."

"You heard him." Xhoan Daxos was firm, voice steeled. "I will not harm anyone within the protection of the greatest city that ever was or ever will be. Now about the military assistance, I'm afraid I still have major reservations about involving Qarth in world affairs…" Their voices grew fainter, the King's party rounding the corner into a deeper part of the garden.

After a minute passed with the only sounds being the splashes of the fountain, Meera released her grip on Ply and gingerly stepped out of the alcove. 'The coast is clear.' Her mind was still racing to process what she heard. "Umm, Lady Reed?" Ply was shaking, almost - the kid was sweet like her brother. Couldn't hurt a fly. "May I go tell the brothers that Junior Brother Stark will join them at sunset?"

Peering at the garden path that the King of Qarth had just trodden, Meera nodded hesitantly."Yes, go ahead." Hearing Ply scamper away, a deep breath left her lungs. Bran was safe at the moment if the warlocks and Xhoan Daxos were to be believed, but that could easily change in the time it took for her charge to complete his training. 'Why doesn't he just leave?'

"Bran must learn. He is to be the one, the raven. He must go south and then north."

Jojen's words from long before still rang loudly. Though she was a realist, the magic Bran had displayed so far made her believe. "I must make sure we are ready to leave as soon as it becomes dangerous." Magic may have kept them in Qarth, but good planning and smarts would get them out if need be.

With a sharp thwing, the drawstring snapped forward and the arrow flew towards its target. "Good show, all Highest," commented Dolgren Hill, clapping. Joffrey, smirking underneath his lace cowl, was sufficiently distracted enough for Meryn Trant to quickly stab an arrow into the bullseye - the arrow fired clattered somewhere far to the right of the target. "No one on this earth can compare to the great Chimera."

"Well obviously not," Joffrey replied. "I already deflowered Hearteater with the blood of Loras Tyrell. Soon it will be the Stark bastard whose blood my sword will taste next."

"I have no doubt that you haunt his nightmares at this very moment." Eyes lowered to the floor, Cersei wished she could spit in disgust. Joffrey was in a good mood these days, and thus the strict formality of court procedure had been loosened - at least among the inner circle. And a new member of said circle was Dolgren Hill, bastard son of some minor noble in the Westerlands. Just as sadistic as Joffrey but with a decently cunning mind, he had already wrapped her easily manipulatable son around his finger, no one but her willing to get rid of him.

'I wish Jamie were here,' she thought sadly. But he wasn't, instead camped at Harrenhal - and from what she learned, it was Hill that gave Joffrey the idea. "All Highest," she said, clearing her throat. "Shall we discuss the matter at hand?"

Dropping the bow to the ground, Joffrey motioned for Dontos Hollard. "Pick it up, fool." Kicking the former knight in the side, the King looked out at the assembled ministers and highborn. "What pressing matters? Uncle Jamie will march for Winterfell and bring me the Northern bastard and his dragon bitch.

Several struggled to contain their grimaces. "Our armies aren't fully prepared, all Highest," Qyburn answered. "Perhaps it is best to wait for Lord Tywin to bring in his forces from Dorne."

"Nonsense," babbled Grand Maester Pycelle. "I didn't take you for a defeatist." The charge was an incendiary one, Qyburn visibly bristling. Such accusations - depending on the King's mood - could end with one being executed.

"There is no doubt that his Highest will be victorious in the end," Qyburn offered. "But the victory will be quicker if we wait for Tywin's army to reinforce Ser Jamie's…"

"Tell me, false Maester," sneered Hill, who possessed all of the arrogance of a great Westerlands lord but none of the sense. "Is Ser Jamie's army equipped with the dragonslayers you had commissioned?"

Qyburn blinked. "Why yes, Lord Hill."

"Then there doesn't seem to be a problem. Order a full attack, all Highest. They will be dining in Winterfell by month's end." His flattering words visibly puffed up Joffrey under his veil, moronic the military strategy was - from the sparkle in the bastard's eyes, even he knew it.

"Don't be a fucking idiot," flatly stated Euron Greyjoy.

Joffrey turned his shrouded face to glare at the Ironborn King. He had only recently been placed on the Small Council, being the Master of Ships appointed by Lord Tywin. "Do you dare speak such words to me, after you so failed to obtain the dragonspawn?"

Euron, much as many detested the man, had the endearing quality of not being afraid of the King's temper. 'What is dead may never die.' "I didn't mean it like that, you misheard me. I meant anyone advising you to go on a full attack now is a fucking idiot. My mistake."

Littlefinger, quiet and observant as ever, slipped in to thrust his dagger. "All Highest, may I suggest launching an attack on Riverrun? It was just recently occupied by the great uncle to Sansa Stark. Capturing the uncle to the bastard's sister, yoru former betrothed, would send a great message to the North that you will defeat them in the end."

Silence rang through the room as the King assessed his options. "I like that," he finally exclaimed. "Have him do that."

"All Highest… perhaps it is wise to listen…" Qyburn was cut off as a bony hand clasped around his neck.

From beneath the veil, Joffrey's sunken eyes blazed. "Send the raven out." As riveted as all in the room were to what was occurring, even Hill kept his eyes on the floor with the others. "Tell Uncle Jamie that he is to find Sansa's uncle, rip off his head, and send it to her in a basket. Understood?"

Wheezened breaths left Qyburn, his frame slight enough to be threatened by the short King. "Long may the Chimera reign." He collapsed to the ground with a smack as the King departed