62 Napoleon of Westeros

"Keep your feet steady, Rhaegar! If you have to retreat, don't let your opponent force you down!" Crossing his arms with a smile, Jon watched as his son took his uncle's advice. The boy was small, and impossibly young, but had the Targaryen fire and the unassuming strength of his great-uncle. Ollie, while growing like a weed, proved an excellent sparring teacher. All the six year old was learning were the basics, and he was a prodigy. Ollie pressing forward, Rhaegar stepped back in a graceful move - no scrambling. "That's it!"

"A little more… invested than Ser Rodrik, Robb, but otherwise you remembered his lessons well." The two brothers were leaning back on chairs in the great hall of Winterfell. The twins were having their lessons out of the cold, Arya waiting her turn patiently to the side while her brother sparred with Ollie. Practice sword in hand, she practiced the simple steps that her namesake had taught her. If Arya the elder's presence was missed, the young princess didn't show it.

Robb chuckled, grinning at his brother. "It is my contribution to the future of the Empire by training the dragonwolves. Rhaegar will be ruling essentially the whole world with help from his sister. If I had a hand in it, then my work is done." His good mood grew slightly somber. "Especially since Arya isn't here."

Jon frowned as well. "We'll get her back." His fist clenched. They would get her back.

All around, servants and laborers scrambled about the great hall. Decorating it for a feast, the first in Winterfell since Jon and Dany had wed. Another wedding would grace the castle the next day, this time for their Lord rather than their King. The Warden of the North would finally gain his wardeness. House Stark would finally get its Lady. Currently, the ladies were all in the Lady of Winterfell's solar preparing Margeary for her special day - and underneath his facade, Jon could tell that Robb was terrified.

It was understandable. There were always pre-wedding nerves - Jon had them, and he loved Daenerys desperately. But with Robb… Jon knew it was more than that. He hadn't been around, only witnessing the aftermath, but heard stories about his sister-in-law. The Queen Talisa Stark was disliked as a foreigner by many, but considered a kind, smart Queen by those unbiased that knew her. Her death had left Robb a shell of a man that only the fight against the dead had kept from fully accepting the embrace of death. Margaery brought him out of it and gave him a second chance at not only marriage, but a love match.

And she was pregnant. Same as Talisa had been before Lothar Frey stabbed her in the womb. "It won't happen… to Margaery. You do know that, right?"

Robb's face darkened considerably. "You don't know that."

"Walder Frey is dead, killed by Arya." It still both impressed and disturbed Jon at how his sister wiped out the residents of the Twins. Winter definitely came for House Frey. "So are the Boltons." That was largely his victory. His, Dany's, and Sansa's.

"Talisa died because of me. My…" He was fighting the long suppressed grief and guilt. "What if I fuck up and cause Margaery and my child to suffer the same fate."

Before Jon could respond, he heard his daughter call to him. "Father, watch me! Watch me!" She bounced with excitement, dying to show her beloved father how much she was improving at the basic water dancing.

"Light on your feet, Arya," he said, laughing at her exuberance. Jon couldn't fathom the level of joy his children imputed onto him. They washed away the brooding exterior - or any negative emotion - like a veritable tsunami, no matter the stress or rage boiling within him at the time. The pulsing headache that resided beneath his skull took a pause around Arya and Rhaegar, the only other time being when he was inside Daenerys. Looking at the quivering in Robb's lips, sheen in his eyes, Jon knew his brother would feel the same about his child. "It's why we do this, you know."

"Do what?"

"Go all in, despite the fear. Despite the worries. We're not like those that abandon their families, that isn't the Stark way." Reaching out, Jon clasped his brother on the back. "We gotta look to the future. Look towards the wonders of tomorrow that will build a better world on top of what we plan on building - especially now, brother."

Watching Arya move gracefully, an almost carbon copy at the moment of their sister despite her silver locks and youth, Robb smiled. "Thank you, brother," he told Jon, feeling lighter than he had been for the past few days.

"Ah, Ser Jaime." The hairs on the back of the former Kingsguard's neck stood at attention at the syrupy voice of the Lord Protector of the Vale - almost in complete rebellion. "I didn't know that Lord Tywin had discharged you from his service…"

Littlefinger's voice was cut off by Jaime slamming him into the brick wall, hand wrapped around his neck. "Give me one reason why I shouldn't squeeze the life out of you, child killer."

"Please… I'm all…" Gasping, sputtering, Littlefinger fought unconsciousness. "I'm all protecting Tommen." At the name of his youngest, Jaime let Littlefinger go, who fell to his knees gasping for breath. "It wasn't… my idea. His Highest has been… obsessed with the occult since the Red Witch fled."

Jaime felt he could be lying, but was deathly curious. "And Tommen?"

"Qyburn and the High Sparrow think they can finish the job of dispatching the Dragon Queen with his blood, but I intervened. He's the Lord of Storm's End, and I told Joffrey that the Stormlands would desert him if Tommen was harmed. He doesn't deserve this fate… neither of them do."

Fists clenching, Jaime was on the hair's edge of either crying or screaming in rage. "Where is Cersei?" When he left Bronn to storm into the keep, her room had been empty and in his search had found Littlefinger."

"She is in Myrcella's room. She hasn't left since…" Baelish couldn't finish his sentence before Jaime rushed off.

He had found his sister that night. Jaime saw Cersei collapsed face down on Myrcella's bed, eyes brimming with tears and hair shorn off in grief. She had thrown herself into his arms, Jaime giving her whatever comfort he could. It had been a hard several weeks in the capitol since then - at least for some.

For others, things were going quite swimmingly - including the man sitting across from Jaime in the high-end tavern within the wealthy neighborhood of the city close to the Red Keep. "Food is much blander here, Lannister," Daario Naharis remarked, biting into the hot meat pie. "Needs spices. An establishment such as this should be able to afford some."

"Forgive the humble tavern-keeper. Spice imports are hard to come by with the loss of Slaver's Bay to your former Queen and her husband." Jaime couldn't help the snide remark. Daario Naharis had risen high in Joffrey's, his son's, esteem after capturing Arya Stark.

It seemed that the small council delighted in assigning Jaime to him for counterintelligence operations against suspected traitors or Brotherhood members within the city. Daario excelled, while it made Jaime restless. "Oh well, it is too bad." He put his spoon down. "See, traitors are the same in every continent. These ones here are no different from the ones in Meereen with the Sons of the Harpy - idiots those were. At least the Brotherhood has some kind of religious destiny, not keeping down seven out of ten people in their city."

"Quite. But they are at war with the King."

"The whole war is an exercise in futility, Lannister." Daario's eyes twinkled, downing half his mead. "She wasn't raised here, she has no concept of what Westeros wants or needs. The Stark Bastard wishes to conquer all and is using her to do it."

Jaime narrowed his eyes. The sellsword was playing an interesting game, going just far enough to test him but restraining himself enough not to appear disloyal - and it wasn't like Jaime had enough clout anymore in the eyes of court to disparage Joffrey's Enforcer. "And what are you trying to say?"

He waved over the barmaid for another portion. "Hunting makes one famished," Daario laughed as the plate of stew was placed in front of him. "What I'm saying is that the Dragon Queen would make a perfect client queen for His Highest, especially…" He lowered his voice, understanding of his mortality in the capital if he ran off too much. "Especially with the defeat of the Masters, useless cunts that they were. Her ruling Slaver's Bay for Joffrey would allow it to be integrated into his control."

Nodding absentmindedly, Jaime figured it made some sense… only if one allowed the assumption that Daenerys Targaryen would ever allow this to transpire. "I presume that she would be ruling with you by her side in some manner?"

Smirking, Daario just sipped at his ale. "I would think I have more sense than the Stark Bastard. From what he told the Dowager Queen, he thinks there's an army of corpses ready to attack us."

That thought was insane to Jaime, but the rest of what Daario was saying also seemed mad. "I doubt she'd choose you over him, Naharis. From what we've all heard, she is committed to him." The pair of conquerors - one northern, one southern - fighting from dragonback to conquer Westeros like Aegon and his sister wives. Having witnessed them in person at Riverrun, Jaime knew one underestimated them at their own peril.

Resuming to cut through his pie, Daario shrugged. "There are ways, Lannister. There are ways."

Winding back the crossbow, the Chimera reached for his fourth gold bolt - personally crafted by the goldsmiths of King's Landing for their holy ruler. "My aim is getting better, don't you think, fool?" Joffrey giggled, putting the bolt in place.

Once a noble knight - if not a proud or respected one, due to a maze of personal failings and declining of family fortune - Dontos Hollard sat from his stool in the corner of the King's chambers just grateful to be alive. "Quite so, your Highest," he replied. The personal fool of the King was not a hard person to replace, and at any time Joffrey could end the tenure granted to him due to Sansa Stark's pleadings at a time long past. A debt owed yet not repaid.

"No need to be modest, fool." Joffrey was in a good mood, or else something harder would join the several rotted fruits thrown in the direction of the last scion of House Hollard. "My aim has gotten better. Soon I shall put a bolt into the heart of the Stark Bastard." He raised the crossbow to his shoulder. "After all, grandfather has orders to capture him alive."

At the release of the bolt, Dontos didn't even cringe as the projectile slammed into the woman's abdomen - not the worst evil that he had seen in his time as the King's plaything. She screamed into her gag, tied up to a hook on the wall across from Joffrey's bed. A former employee of Lord Petyr Baelish, one that was causing him trouble. A hefty sum from the crown allowed Baelish to cater to the King's… particular taste.

After all, except for Dontos and the blind servants, no one saw the King's unshrouded visage and lived to tell the tale.

Giggling once more, Joffrey skipped over to the whore, pulling out the bolts slowly and agonizingly. He felt so aroused, delighting in her pain. "After that, perhaps Sansa will be in this bitch's place. I heard Ramsay Bolton liked to… sample her. Means I'll have to be creative to get her to scream…" Turning, the room turned to ice as he was face to face with the pale corpse of Robert Baratheon. "No…" Joffrey stammered, dropping the crossbow. "You can't come back…" Much time had passed since the last time he had been visited by the specter of his father.

Blood seeped from the demon's mouth and gut. "The winged beast bears down to you, justice delivered, justice due."

"I am the winged beast," he cried. "The Chimera sent by the gods to deliver greatness." Joffrey was soon mortified as his father morphed before him into Ned Stark himself, risen from the dead.

Skin pale, neck bisected in a large cut, Ned's eyes glowed a malevolent blue. "Plan failed it has, abomination created. All gods have been angered, one man rewarded."

"No! The Stark bastard will die! I sacrificed King's blood to do so!"

"Demon brought to this earth, who the chosen must see." Ned Stark's neck fountained blood, head slipping off and rolling to just before Joffrey's feet. The mouth still moved. "That foretold shall pass, gods' justice will be."

Dontos Hollard observed his King, his tormentor, collapse onto the bed, weeping and screaming in pure agony.

The few candles lit in the Winterfell war room in a low, orange light - casting a warm yet sinister appearance. For a large council, many would have the squint through the still prevalent darkness, but for the single figure hunched over the center of the Westerosi continent like a dark god observing his domain, the little light from the room's candelabras and the single lantern placed beside him on the table was sufficient for his purposes. The sounds drifting through the walls found the wedding feast at full swing, ensuring he wouldn't be disturbed. The wedding had found him officiating, and giving the speech in the groom's honor, but he had slipped away as soon as he could. Drunk revelers, noble lords, and his family could spare him celebrating Robb and Margaery tying the knot before the Godswood.

Once again, Jon found himself staring at the map table. All pieces were arranged just as they had been since the aftermath of the losses months earlier and his victories in Essos. Static, eating up supplies plentiful for Tywin but slowly depleting for him. Ravens carrying dispatches brought news both bad and good. Good being from Podrick, ready to depart Volantis with significant reinforcements blessed by the Council of New Valyria. Bad in that Yara had failed to force her way through the naval defense lines Guarding the Narrow Sea, protecting King's Landing from the oceanside. Such allowed the Golden Company to arrive in the capitol, news courtesy of Bran and his exceptional greenseeing.

Every line of attack he imagined just found three different ways Tywin could shift his forces in order to funnel them onto ground chosen by the Man who Made Dorne Howl. No, he needed to force Tywin onto ground of his choosing - to react to his movements.

Trouble was it was looking impossible, and with the dead approaching he couldn't risk the dragons against Lannister rockets and scorpions. 'Gods, help me.'

"Jon?"

If Jon was surprised to hear her being the voice that disturbed his solitude, he didn't show it. "Lady Stark," he replied coolly, but politely. A tone he had perfected over his childhood. "I thought you'd remain at the feast."

Catelyn bit her lip, the Emperor keeping his back turned to her. She took in what she saw - flowing black hair down to the base of his neck, shoulders tense, hands splayed across the table, head bent down in deep thought. Jon may have been Rhaegar's son, but in this he was all Ned. With a sigh, she stepped alongside him. "Everyone was continuing to have a good time, so I decided to put the twins to bed."

Jon felt a pang in his heart for his children. He had just seen them hours before, but missed them all the same - same as with Dany. "Are they alright?" he asked tenderly.

"Aye, they are. Arya wanted me to make sure you were fine." Truthfully, Catelyn would do anything for those precious children. To her, she felt the same way about them as she did Robb's unborn babe. They were a chance for her to genuinely make right on the promise she made to the gods as Jon laid ill so long ago.

"Tell them I'm fine." He made no move to even look at her. Much as he desired to forgive and forget, in this moment of great stress he felt the long dormant anger bubbling up.

Catelyn placed a motherly arm on his shoulder. "Are you sure?"

He immediately shook it off, causing her to flinch. "Why do you care?"

In all honesty, Catelyn had expected this. Since Ned informed her of the truth - of the greatest secret in all of Westeros - she had waited for when Jon would confront her. Daenerys had, Sansa had, Robb had… hell, even Arya had before she was captured. There was not one day where she didn't flay herself for it, for failing her vow to the gods. And yet, Jon had put it aside… until now. "I deserve that, Jon."

"Yes you do." He could feel the dragon finally awakening, pressing his ice to the fiery anger enough to turn it into a scalding simmer. A single word. "Why?"

She owed him an explanation, but whatever formed on the tip of her tongue seemed woefully inadequate to her. "I have nothing to say that would justify it, Jon. Part of me thinks it was your threat to Robb's claim…"

"I never wanted Winterfell!" Head turning to yell at her, he immediately shifted back to the table. "All I wanted was to be a Stark. To be loved and accepted by my family. Your hate robbed any bond I could have had with Sansa, and it took her being married to Ramsay Bolton for that to change!" It still pained him. "Father accepted me, Robb accepted me, Arya and Bran and Rickon accepted me… but it wasn't the same. I was always something of an outcast even to them. All because I was born." The last sentence had dropped to a whisper.

It were times like these where Catelyn truly felt the pain of Ned's death, but it was justice from the gods for her to face this alone. "I hate myself for it. You were just a child, and I let my own insecurity and bitterness fall on someone so blameless in all of this."

Jon's voice dropped into a low whisper. "You never made me forget who I am, always made sure I knew that I was not a Stark. Knew that all of Winterfell wished I had died long ago."

The former Lady of Winterfell - a title now passed to Margaery - was silent for a moment. "Decades ago, when you were just a babe, you contracted the pox from one of the servants. Weak with fever, Maester Luwin informed us you were close to death. For but a moment, I… I hoped it would happen." Jon was silent, so Catelyn continued, feeling herself the monster she was. "Feeling Sansa move inside me, I realized immediately how evil such thoughts were, but you continued to deteriorate. The curse of a woman's spite, solely… I lost the man I was supposed to marry, lost him to the Mad King's fire."

As she was talking, Jon felt tears in his eyes. His grandfather, murdering his uncle and other grandfather solely due to the love his true parents shared for each other. His birth had created so much pain on the world, the weight falling on his shoulders.

"With Brandon dead, with marrying his stranger of a brother… I hoped that Ned would love me, and I thought we had when he rode off with the Usurper. But he came home with you in his arms, supposedly the babe of the woman he chose. Gods…" The pain of the past feelings and her current shame shook her. "I hated him, but I loved him too… it was easier for me to resent you for all of it, and it hit me at that point. I prayed to the gods to save you, and in return I would take care of you as a mother would. They delivered, but I didn't." She felt hot tears running down her cheeks. "I've never thought much about gods and fate… not as much as Ned did, but all that our family has been through. All the pain and suffering and death, all of it found itself born in the fact that I couldn't love a motherless boy."

The room was silent, for what seemed like an eternity. "When Bran was hurt…" Jon finally said. "Father had told you the truth, since you let me see him without raising a fuss?"

"Yes, he had. I… couldn't muster any anger toward you after that… nor did I want to."

Jon sighed. "I've met so many, dealt with so many, dispensed justice to so many who erred, but did not ever accept the error of their ways." His mind drifted to Viserys, to Janos Slynt, to Thorne and the conspirators. All men bullheaded in their wrongthink. "You aren't one of them. You hurt me greatly, Lady Stark, but… even the good in this world can make mistakes. I won't forget, but I can forgive." Someone like Joffrey could never be forgiven their evil, but someone like Catelyn could be forgiven their mistakes. Her contrition was genuine.

"You are a better man than all of us. Just like Ned." Blinking through the droplets, Catelyn chuckled dryly. "Ironic, everyone assumed that the honorable Ned Stark would never lie." She sighed, remembering how good her husband was - even when it would hurt him, he remained true to himself. "When really, he was too honorable not to lie for you. In his own way, Ned beat the experts at the game of thrones."

Jon couldn't help but smirk at the thought. 'He really did.' Even Varys, the master of knowledge, hadn't even found out. 'He used his honor and reputation to outflank them all. Outflank them all…" Eyes widening, Jon felt his mind whirr in epiphany. Almost manically flicking his gaze across the map table, he could see vast troop movements, demonstrations to tie down the Lannisters, skirmishes and battles as Tywin frantically tried to rescue himself from the threat… all culminating in one final battle.

All if he could take a page from his father's playbook. "Lady Stark," he began. "Do people compare me to my father? My father Ned Stark?" he felt he needed to add.

Blinking, Catelyn furrowed her brows in confusion. "The comparison has been one I've heard. That you are as honorable as he is." She hesitantly placed her hand back on his shoulder. "He was your father, Jon. Rhaegar may also be such, but Ned raised you. He loved you."

It heartened Jon, but this wasn't why he asked. "No, it's something else." Decisive, shoulders thrown back and a spring in his step for the first time in weeks, Jon threw open the door. "Ser Barristan, find General Caryn and bring him to me."

Brows furrowing, Barristan nevertheless bowed. "I shall return with him shortly, your Majesty."

Shutting the door, Jon found himself face to face with Catelyn. The former Lady Stark and current member of the Small Council was worried about the complete change in demeanor of the Emperor. He was planning something, and the fact he both only asked for Theodosius Caryn - not Daenerys, Davos, Tyrion, or Sansa - and did not ask her to leave perplexed her further. "What is going on, Jon?"

Jon regarded the woman that had tormented him for his entire childhood - the woman that had also cared for his children and given them unconditional love. What was about to pass, if it was to work, needed nearly everyone in his inner circle to be unaware of his plans. Even Daenerys. At least until the end. He needed someone to plan it with him, however, and no one would suspect him to confide in Catelyn Stark.

After her confession to him, perhaps he could trust her. Dany did. "No one can know of what I am about to tell you, understood?" She nodded, listening patiently as he recounted the thoughts and inspirations that popped up in his mind.

By the end, her jaw had dropped in a stunned silence. What was said was so intricate, so devious yet unassuming… "You truly are your father's son." Somehow, Jon's plan would keep his honor and deceive them all.

"Daenerys cannot know. Nor can any of the Hands."

"I agree." Catelyn did not wish to betray the Empress, or her own daughter, but it was necessary. "Joffrey would easily be fooled, but not Tywin or the others. Their reactions must be genuine to fool those experienced with the game." Her brow rose. "But why Caryn? Why not Robb, or Grey Worm?"

Jon smiled. "Because this plan is his brainchild, or derived from it at least." As if by choreography, the door to the map room opened and General Theodosius Caryn entered. Barristan sealing off the room behind him, the general bowed to his sovereign. "Welcome, general. Thank you for arriving promptly."

"As your Majesty commands, I obey," he replied, striding up to Jon and Lady Stark - a confusing pair to say the least. "Although, it puzzles me as to why I'm here, if I may be blunt." It was known that the Emperor visited this room often, but he was always alone.

Motioning to the map table, Jon waited until both Catelyn and General Caryn had their eyes trained on where his was - the center of the Westerosi continent. "General, you have been quite vocal in your proposition for victory since even before I left for Essos. Do you mind repeating said plan?"

Confused - and not to mention worried that this would only lead to his being sacked before he could avenge his family's defeat at Castamere - Caryn nevertheless complied. "Sire, for the moment, all geographic objectives can wait. We must force out Tywin's army and defeat it in detail. Get them to react to us, and destroy his army as he falls in our traps. King Joffrey is powerless without Tywin's army, and it grows larger by the day as the Golden Company and other sellsword armies arrive in King's Landing."

Jon did not know about the Golden Company, and the added complication disconcerted him - but only for a moment. It mattered not, not to his plans. "And how can we accomplish this, given Tywin has essentially fortified the entirety of the Crownlands. He'll fall back to King's Landing and get us nowhere."

"We should turn his flank, send everything down the Goldroad…"

"Only for Kevan Lannister to block us with his reserve force here." The Emperor pointed to the cluster of Lion banners. "No, what we need is something bolder."

"Do you have something in mind, your Majesty?" Reaching over, with wide swaths of his hand, Jon pushed all Imperial Army markers - every single one - down the path he wished to execute.

As Catelyn had been before regarding the entirety of Jon's plan, Caryn found himself in wordless amazement regarding the Emperor's military mind. Truly Aegon the Conqueror reborn, only with the blood of the North as well. Analyzing the movements and tactics once more in his head, Caryn found them brilliant. "This can work, sire. This will work." All three then looked back at the table, and the various unit markers clustered around one castle.

Highgarden.