You Can't Frighten Me!

On the Kingsroad…

Daveth Baratheon rode alongside Ser Barristan Selmy and his uncle Ser Jaime Lannister, with Ser Lucius Blackmyre reinforcing the rear guard. Behind them stood an assembled force of nearly 80,000 men – each of whom's captains and flagbearers wearing the sigil of their houses: the royal House Baratheon of King's Landing, reinforced with soldiers supplied by Houses Lannister, Mabrand, Rykker, Stokeworth, Tyrell, Tarly, Marbrand, etc. Upon passing through the Riverlands, the large royal army was joined up with Lord Edmure Tully and his uncle Ser Brynden the Blackfish along with most of his bannermen, some 8,000 strong.

Ser Barristan looked at his former squire, albeit a bit uneasy. The King had a rather stone cold, serious expression on his face ever since word reached him of Balon Greyjoy's second uprising. The old Lord Commander of the Kingsguard was concerned about his state of mind ever since he rescued the young Daveth from ironborn captivity during the Siege of Old Wyk several years earlier, yet said nothing out of respect for his privacy.

His uncle, Jaime, on the other hand, was the first to speak up.

"You haven't said a word since we left the Red Keep, nephew."

Daveth took a brief glance over his shoulder before returning his attention to the road.

"Does the truth not surprise you?" he asked.

The kingslayer knew what troubled him. "Considering whom we're up against, no. But the way you've been carrying yourself has started to… question."

"Question what?"

"Think hard on it: you've been pushing yourself harder than you've ever been," Jaime pointed out. "A good commander must be able to remain level-headed and keep his composure, and must rid himself of any distraction. You made our goal intent, we know that much."

"If you have something to say, then say it."

"Then I'll make it plain and simple. Overextend yourself too far, and you'll end up losing more than you could possibly gain."

The Young Stag frowned. "I'm well aware of my limits, Ser Jaime, as do our men," he countered. "Considering our familial ties, I imagined you of all people should know that. Was I mistaken?"

Jaime was taken aback a bit, surprised at his nephew's outburst. Luckily, the elder Lannister kept his cool.

"Well, sometimes the truth cuts both ways; and that means that sometimes we need to hear the hard truth. You may not want to hear it, but as one of your military commanders and as your uncle, this is something you really need to hear."

Daveth pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled through his nostrils, not wanting to be distracted by idle conversation. However, judging by the look in the eyes of his Kingsguard knights, neither of them was ever going to back down from this. Shaking his head and nearly throwing his hands up in the air, Daveth conceded.

"All right, then. What's the truth? The hard truth."

Barristan felt the need to intervene and clear things up.

"What your uncle is trying to tell you, Your Grace, is that blind obsession can lead to one making rash decisions and costly mistakes," Barristan explained.

Daveth glanced at Barristan. "And what do you believe, Lord Commander?" he asked.

"Don't let the past control your actions nor let it dictate who you are. A good King should do everything within his power to defend the weak, and he must do so without forsaking himself and others around him. You have a chance to break the psychological hold, Your Grace, and prove it to the people that it is possible."

The King took a moment to let Barristan's and Jaime's words sink in, though it was rather difficult. True as those words may be, it stung him a bit now that he's facing a scenario like that; one in which it pitted his duty and his inner demons in an internal battle. Daveth could not afford any conflict or self-doubt, but somewhere deep down he knew it was inevitable as soon as he ascended the Iron Throne.

"I can't make promises I might not keep, Ser Barristan," he told him, "but I'll try."

That seemed to comfort Barristan a bit. Nodding his head, he returned his sights on the Kingsroad – noticing a rather small fortress with two bridges connecting one another on each side in front of him.

"Is that…?" he asked.

Daveth nodded. "The Twins, the seat of House Frey."

Edmure, having ridden up from the rear flank with Brynden at his side, looked a bit confused. "And why exactly are we here, Your Grace?"

"I've sent a raven before we left King's Landing. Lord Walder Frey will be expecting us," he explained. "To reach Moat Cailin from the south, we'll need to cross the Trident."

Byrden chimed in. "Walder Frey might've served my brother in the past, but I wouldn't put anything past the old fuck unless he's absolutely certain that he'll get something in return. Expect nothing of him."

"Then we perhaps shouldn't keep him waiting longer than is necessary, hmm?" Daveth mused. "Ser Barristan and Ser Jaime will wait outside with the soldiers. Lord Edmure and the Blackfish will accompany me into the Twins and have a word with Lord Frey."

"Your Grace—" both seemed to protest, falling silent as the Young Stag raised his hand up.

"I cannot have others handling my negotiations for me. Someone else might have gotten it wrong. Best if he hears about it from me. Do not fret, my lords. The faster our crossing is secured, the sooner we can all go home."

Brynden narrowed his eyes as he saw two footmen in the distance riding towards them, each of them carrying the sigil of House Frey: two grey towers linked by a bridge on a darker grey field over an escutcheon of blue water.

"Well, it seems you won't have to wait much longer," the Blackfish spoke.

Daveth noticed as well. The two men rode in front of the King and politely lowered their heads in curtsey.

"You honor us with your presence, Your Grace," one of them spoke. "Welcome to the Crossing."

"We've made the necessary arrangements for your arrival," the other suggested.

"So it would seem," the Young Stag replied. "And you two are…?"

"Lothar Frey," the first one introduced himself. "I handle the day-to-day running of the castle for father."

"And I'm Walder Rivers," the other said. "Most call me 'Black Walder'."

Edmure scoffed. "So the Late Lord Frey sends Lame Lothar and a bastard. What will the old man think of next?"

Both Lothar and Black Walder were equally offended and frowned deeply at the Lord of Riverrun's harsh remarks and apparent insult to their father. "Late Lord Frey" was a nickname bestowed upon Lord Walder Frey by his long deceased liege lord Hoster Tully after delaying his arrival to assist Robert's Rebellion until the outcome had already been determined at the Battle of the Trident. Needless to say, that earned some scorn and mocking laughter from the other noble houses.

But before any of the soldiers could even snicker, Brynden smacked Edmure upside the head as Daveth himself raised a fist – signaling them to be silent.

"Stupid boy," the Blackfish scolded his nephew harshly.

"We've come to the Twins to cross the Green Fork with Lord Frey's blessings, not to hurl insults at him or any of his sons and daughters," the King reminded them all. He returned his attention to Lothar and Black Walder. "I apologize for their rude behavior. Some people do not understand when to keep their thoughts to themselves."

Black Walder still sneered. "The fault lies with those who never learn when to shut their holes."

Lother sought to change the subject. "Our father has been waiting for your arrival for some time, Your Grace. He awaits your presence in the main hall."

"Then take me to him," Daveth said. "Lord Edmure and the Blackfish will be coming with me as well."

Both Lothar and Black Walder looked at each other, before returning their gaze on the Young Stag himself.

"This way, Your Grace," spoke Lothar.

The Frey trueborn and bastard motioned for Daveth to follow behind them, to which the King did. Lord Edmure and Ser Brynden followed suit; the Lord of Riverrun had a distinctive feeling in the pit of his gut that he wasn't going to like what was about to happen. Brynden, on the other hand, kept a scruffy appearance as they were led to the front entrance of the Twins. Daveth, examining the stronghold, held the reins on his horse as he trailed Lothar and Black Walder. He had to secure the right to cross the Trident from Walder Frey; it was the fastest means of traveling north to Moat Cailin.

If need be, Daveth will employ the arsenals he has at his disposal. A small wicked grin crept upon his face – as the Oathkeeper had been preparing for this moment for quite some time. And he had just the plan to bring everything into place.

######

At the Red Keep…

Sansa had been sitting down practicing her stitching, mostly in an attempt to get her mind off of the fact that both her husband and brother are off fighting a war again. Still she couldn't focus that well and placed her yarn and needle down onto the desk before looking out the window, observing the numerous buildings throughout the cities below. Sansa had been thinking about her husband King Daveth as of late; the Oathkeeper seemed rather hostile when she confronted him before he left to fight in the war.

"You worry too much," a voice called out to her.

Sansa turned around to see Cersei Lannister approach her unannounced. The Queen Mother had taken a moment beforehand to make a rather 'unpleasant' transition from her position now that Cersei's daughter-in-law is Queen Consort now. Sansa felt a little unsettled as Cersei stared at her with her emerald green eyes, her golden hair waved gently with the breeze. Cersei gave a small smile, her crimson dress brightened the room. Regardless of how she felt, Sansa hid her discomfort behind a courteous smile and polite curtsies.

"Mother-in-law," she greeted warmly.

Cersei knew it was an attempt to conceal herself, considering Sansa of House Stark is an honorable woman. But even then the Golden Lioness knew how adapt and mature Sansa grew since her arrival at King's Landing two years ago.

"Forgive me, I did not hear you enter," continued Sansa. "May I offer you some wine?"

Cersei shook her head. "No, no, I'm fine," she simply replied. "I thought I'd stop by and check on you. Marriage agrees with you it seems."

"You are kind to say so, Your Grace. I hope I make him happy."

"What are you sewing?"

"It's… a tunic. I asked the seamstresses of King's Landing what to make for Daveth once he comes home."

"Such devotion. Daveth seems quite taken with his new Queen."

"And I him. But…"

"'But'?" she raised an eyebrow.

Sansa looked out the window again before returning to meet Cersei's gaze. "I'm worried about Daveth."

"And what makes you believe that, little dove?"

"Ever since we received word of Lord Balon Grejoy's rebellion, Daveth has been behaving rather strangely. Almost hostile," she fidgeted the needle between her fingertips. "I don't know what to do."

Cersei appeared to know what Sansa was getting at. "Did he ever tell you of what happened at Lannisport?" she asked.

Sansa nodded. "He did, yes, but… I'm worried what this war will do to him in the long run."

"And you think all of this will magically go away once the war's over?" Cersei scoffed. "Don't be so stupid. The damage has already been done, ever since the ironborn took my son away and tortured him endlessly."

Sansa blinked at Cersei's sudden hostile tone bring directed at her. Still to this day, she couldn't understand what she possibly could've done to make Cersei Lannister hate her so much – even with Shae's words of comfort and suggestion that her mother-in-law treated her badly simply because she was jealous of her.

"Nothing you could say, or do will ever make this go away."

Sansa shook her head. "Maybe, but that won't stop me from trying. All scars heal given time."

"And given time, you'll find that some things just don't change," Cersei scoffed again, before leaning closely to stare Sansa down. "We mothers do what we can to keep our sons from the grave, but they yearn for it all the same. Daveth doesn't listen to me, not the way he used to."

"Why?" she asked.

That seemed to catch Cersei off-guard; if only for a brief moment.

"Why do you hate me?" Sansa asked again.

Cersei felt her nerves twitch. "You think you are so perfect, aren't you?" she whispered so no one but Sansa could hear her. "Trying to be something you're not? What sort of witchcraft did you use to brainwash my son? To turn him against me?"

Sansa couldn't honestly believe what she was hearing. "I have done no sort of thing. On my honor as a Stark, by the Old Gods and the New."

Cersei decided to torment her a little further. "And yet you spread your legs for him on your wedding night, didn't you, little dove? Doesn't take much to wrap a man around your finger then to offer him a slice of cake… just waiting to be eaten."

Sansa felt heat rush to her cheeks, though she wasn't sure if it was from embarrassment or from anger. Working to regain her composure, Sansa steadily put the needle down and rose to her feet.

"I fail to see how all this matters," the Wolf Queen stood her ground. "What the King and I do is between me and him. I love my husband very much. I do. Even if you yourself do not approve of us being together, Daveth was promised to me by oath just as much as Robert was to you."

Cersei frowned at being reminded of being married to that fat, drunken, abusive man who happened to be King and fathered their only trueborn son. Even more so was that this 'little dove' had grown into a capable young woman. Now, the wolf was going toe-to-toe with the lion once again.

"And before that Robert was to marry your she-wolf aunt, Lyanna Stark," Cersei pointed out. "He never got over that. When he climbed on top of me, stinking of filth and wine, he whispered your aunt's name in my ear. You think I hadn't forgotten that insult?"

Sansa did not budge. "That was almost 20 years ago, mother-in-law. Nor is it fair to blame me or any of my family for something we did not do."

Cersei scoffed again. "No, but it was bound to happen again nonetheless. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that the Starks and Baratheons would always be a tight nit group, now that you've married my son."

Sansa felt the increasing urge to slap Cersei, but kept her emotions in check. Cersei was enjoying herself, feeling a moment of triumphant as she didn't hear a response.

*GROWL*

Such a sound caught Cersei's attention as she saw a large creature emerging from beneath the bedside. The Golden Lioness's eyes widened and she bitterly frowned as deep as she could muster as she recognized the animal that walked to the side of its mistress. Cersei recognized that direwolf anywhere. Lady, the same direwolf she ordered to be executed for what its sister Nymeria did to Joffrey's arm at the banks of the Trident two years ago. Only this time, Lady was just as large – standing at Sansa's waist as she kept growling in defense of her mistress.

"You…!" Cersei hissed.

Sansa brushed Lady's shoulders gently, calming the beast. "You tried to have Lady killed for a crime she did not commit. But that's what you do, isn't it? When something doesn't go the way you want them to, you lash out and blame others for no particular reason at all without just cause. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that you would say or do anything just to hold onto what you desire most."

The Wolf Queen had used the Golden Lioness's own words against her, flipping them around and pointing out her own flaws. Whatever moment of triumph Cersei had was reduced to bitter resentment as Sansa leaned in to whisper into Cersei's ear.

"Go on, keep insulting me if you must. You don't frighten me anymore," Sansa challenged boldly. "I am Sansa Stark of Winterfell, daughter of Lord Eddard Stark. I am the wife of the great Oathkeeper, King Daveth of the House Baratheon, the First of His Name and I carry his child inside me. Because you are my husband's mother, I will let you off with a warning: do not threaten me or my family ever again. Now good day, mother-in-law. I have work to do."

Cersei felt as if the floor beneath her shatters into thousands of pieces. How dare was this younger, more beautiful Queen fighting back against her like this – but also revealing the stunning revelation that Sansa was now pregnant with Daveth's child. Curling her hands into a fist, Cersei was furious and stormed out the room.

"You'll get your comeuppance soon enough, little dove," Cersei told herself before curling her lips into a vicious smile. "And you've just given me the perfect means of making your life a living hell. No one taunts a lion and gets away with it."

######

At Moat Cailin…

Victarion Greyjoy stood atop Moat Cailin's battlements, eyeing the surrounding areas as more of his men offload supplies from his flagship, the Iron Victory. The ironborn had held Moat Cailin and Deepwood Motte for almost more than a month now, and apparently things had been going rather well for the Kingdom of the Iron Islands: they had complete control over the Neck and prevented the Northmen from coming back up. But Victarion knew that their invasion would be met with an immediate response.

And he wasn't sitting on his laurels either. Victarion donned a tall black warhelm, wrought in the shape of an iron kraken, its arms coiled down around his cheeks to meet beneath his jaw. Grabbing the hilt of his great battleaxe, Victarion's face hardened as another ironborn raider approached him.

"Things are going mighty well, Lord Captain," he grinned wickedly. "The wolves are broken, and the stags are confused."

"Words are wind," Victarion told his minion. His eyes were as sharp as they had ever been. "The greenlanders will come fighting us regardless. But we'll be ready for them when they do come."

"So long as we hold the Neck, the North and the stag boy won't do anything about it. This war's been over long before it even began."

Victarion shook his head. "And yet we never engaged them ever since we made the first move," he reminded his men. "But you're right about one thing though: Moat Cailin is an impregnable fortress. So long as we still hold Moat Cailin, we can repel one assault after another. And we have access to Saltspear and the Fever River. We can beat anyone at sea, but on land… Krakens are at their best when in their element."

Before the ironborn raider could respond, another ironborn by the name of Ralf Stonehouse made his presence known.

"Lord Captain, I bring news."

"What is it?"

"Robb Stark and most of his bannermen have made landfall at White Harbor. He's sent a splinter force led by Galbart Glover to retake Deepwood Motte while he and the rest of his men march to attack Moat Cailin from the north."

Victarion lifted off his helm. "So the wolf has made his move," he concluded. "What else?"

"Daveth Baratheon was last seen at the Twins with nearly 90,000 men. If he somehow manages to cross the Trident river, then the Young Stag himself will march up to attack Moat Cailin from the south."

'They intend to attack us on both sides,' the Lord Captain of the Iron Fleet realized. "Stonehouse, send a raven to my niece Yara at Deepwood Motte! Tell her she'll be expecting company soon," he began barking orders at his men. "The rest of you, gather your blades and get ready for battle!"

"What is dead may never die!" they chanted.

"But rises again harder and stronger!" replied Victarion.

Drowning in the war cries and maniacal laughter of the ironborn, Victarion stared into the distance – getting himself ready for battle once more.

"So the wolf and the stag intend to utilize a pincer movement… Impressive, but it doesn't matter. In the end, we take what is ours with salt and iron. We pay the iron price. What is dead may never die. Soon, all greenlanders will fall before the kraken's might."

As rain and thunder swept across the skies above, the preparations for a large battle was soon to be underway. Putting his helm back on and moving his men into the best possible positions, Victarion was intent on holding Moat Cailin by any means necessary. So long as they're close to the sea, the krakens will always have a plan in store for those brave enough to dive into the unknown waters below.

The ironborn had best prepare themselves for the oncoming storm. Because raging storm is going to be a big one, and just as destructive when it makes landfall