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Ned Stark couldn't help but think about dark tidings and ill omens as he walked with Robert along the battlements of Winterfell. For all he wanted to ignore them, recent events were too much of a coincidence to ignore.

Benjen had answered his invitation, promising to come down to Winterfell even if only in hopes of finding recruits for the drastically undermanned Night's Watch. Of the mad rantings of the deserter, Benjen paid them little mind and so Ned tried to do the same.

But the other...

A direwolf. The symbol of House Stark, gored by a stag. It had shaken Cat terribly. It took very little to read that sign. A direwolf with five pups (and one runt of the litter that kept his distance from the others). Yes. Hard to ignore the similarities.

Much as it worried the parents, the children were in awe of the little beasts and Bran had begged him to spare them. It was Theon that had convinced him. Said something along the lines of "if you'd spare a life it's your responsibility", or at least that was how Ned chose to hear it. It was probably more a reaver saying to justify their thralls. But in this context, it made some sense.

The look on the Greyjoy boy's face was a sight to see when he was given the white-furred runt of the litter. One was sent south with some trusted men to take her to Strongjaw Keep and give her to Arya. Along with a letter and some warnings about how ferocious the beasts can be when grown.

Heh. It'd be a nice surprise for Bradley, an angry wolf that grows as big as a horse to look after. Of course, then he received a letter from Lyanna telling him Bradley had left for the Eyrie so he wouldn't actually be there to receive it. So much for petty revenge. It seemed the gods wouldn't even let him have that.

On that subject. "How is Lysa faring?" he asked.

"Badly," Robert grumbled. "Just about lost her mind with grief, seems like. Jon's body was scarcely cold before her and her boy were out of the city. I'd set things in motion to have Tywin foster the boy but Lysa would have none of it. Now I've need to find a new Warden of the East. I'd have given it to Bradley but fat chance of that now. Fucking Joffrey, the little shit. I swear by the Seven I don't know where he gets it from!"

Yes, Lyanna had mentioned that in her letter also. There was no way Robert could offer Bradley anything in the near future or it would make himself look weak. But there was a more fundamental problem with Robert's plan than that. "I think if you tried to take it from the Arryns you'd have a fight on your hands. Not only has the title traditionally belonged to the Arryns, Lyanna tells me Lysa is calling in her banners to swear fealty to little Robert anew. Bradley is making the journey to the Eyrie as we speak."

"Bollocks!" Robert cursed. "Even if the lad were strong in mind or body he's still not seen his sixth bloody name day! She can't honestly expect him to rule the Vale, can she? Or does she mean to do it in his stead until he comes of age? She's scarcely better than he is!" He slams a fist down on the wall, a movement so fierce it sets his jowls to wobbling. "It's a problem that'd solve itself in time. No one abides a fool as their lord for long but I don't want that for Jon's boy."

"King's Landing changed you Robert." He would never have considered such an outcome in his younger days.

"Aye?" the king asked with honest surprise, leading to a bone-weary sadness. "Aye, I suppose it has at that." Now that he had seen it, Ned couldn't ignore the way every bit of Robert seemed to wobble and jiggle with the slightest movement. "Never mind all that. We're not fit to solve the Vale sat in the arse end of the North. No offense intended."

Some taken.

"I need you to be my Hand, Ned."

-(-)-

​

It had been a miserable few days for Cersei in the frozen North. The rest of Westeros was enjoying a long and pleasant summer while of course the miserable, dour hole that is Winterfell still manages to find snow. Winter is coming, indeed. The Starks would know. For them winter never went away!

Eddard Stark had seemed ready to refuse the offer of Hand. Then suddenly without warning and with no greater effort from Robert the dreary northern lord accepted the position. Robert was ecstatic. So was Cersei. It meant they could bloody leave.

Not immediately of course. The Starks needed to prepare for the journey. Stark had insisted on bringing along most of his children. To pass the bonds between Stark and Baratheon on to their children, no doubt. And Robert had gotten it into his head that her Joffrey should wed the fire-kissed Stark chit. She wondered oh so hard what Robert might be trying to do there. Live vicariously through his son? Perish the thought!

That her true other half was kept so close should have been a comfort as they stayed in such a dreary place. But even as he kissed her, their bodies intertwined, she felt none of the passion he usually had for her. Like he was just performing some mundane task while his mind was elsewhere. "Has this place sapped you of your passion too?"

"What?" His response was a beat too late. As though it took a moment for him to realise she was speaking to him.

"Why are you so distracted? Have you somehow lost interest?"

She had smiled as she said it. Had meant it as a joke.

"Have you?"

He didn't take it as one.

There were very few people Cersei Lannister would ever admit to herself that she loved. Her brother. Her children. That was more or less the end of the list. So for one of those very few people to accuse her so, it hurt. "What do you mean?"

"Is Bradley Plaskett Myrcella's real father?"

Her eyes widened a fraction, before her face settled into a cool mask of indifference. "That's ridiculous," she snapped as she pushed him off of her and clutched her robe, throwing it over her shoulders. "And suddenly I find I'm not in the mood."

"To tell the truth? Clearly not. I know that face, Cersei. It's the one you use to hide your feelings at court. It won't work on me."

"No," she ground out even though he was right, "This is me being furious that you would accuse me of something so patently ridiculous!"

"Ridiculous, is it? You keep saying that. Bloody look at me, Cersei!" he demanded, forcefully turning her to face him and throwing her robe open.

"Let go of me."

"'Ridiculous' is what I thought of you somehow fathering Robert's trueborn daughter! I know how much you loathe the fat sack. You'd rather slit your pregnant belly open than bring his child to term! But maybe I preferred to believe that than the idea you'd willingly carry the child of some other man. At least if it was Robert's you'd be doing it out of duty instead of–" He stopped mid-sentence. His face looking pained as though he had just in that moment come to some horrid conclusion. "Do you love him?"

"What?! No!" For as confusing emotions his kiss has brought about, love wasn't one of them. She could say that much honestly.

"But you bore his child. What am I supposed to think, Cersei? Every time you return to King's Landing after one of your visits you don't let me touch you for a week! Do I repulse you so much when I have to follow him? You make sure I'm never the one to accompany you when you go see him. Do you crave him? Hm?!" His demands for answers turned physical as he grabbed her by the neck and by her nethers. "Hm?! Does my sister's whore-cunt crave his cock?!"

"Jaime, stop!"

"TELL ME!"

"I said STOP!"

With all her strength, she shoved her brother away. His grip on her neck almost pulled her along with him but he let go as his legs hooked over the bed. Cersei was surprised at her own strength as with a single push her brother was tossed fully over the bed and across the room. The Kingslayer scrambled to his feet ready to continue the argument but saw his sister not even looking at him anymore.

Both siblings stood frozen as they looked to the window and saw young Bran Stark, staring at the near nude form of the queen. The boy's uncertain footing gave way and he slipped with a yelp, frantically grabbing the sill.

No matter what, Jaime Lannister was a knight and proud of it. So his first instinct on seeing a child in danger was to save him. "Easy there!" Jaime said reassuringly as he pulled the boy up, "I've got you!"

But then.

The full magnitude of the situation fell on all of them. Bran Stark had seen something he mustn't speak of. And there was only one thing that would guarantee his silence.

"The things I do for love."

Cersei's heart sank at those words. At that look on her brother's face. That sardonic smirk. She didn't even watch him push the boy from the window, just looked at her brother. He knew it as well as she did. Even if she had wanted to leave Jaime, which she hadn't, they were now forcibly bound together by this.

She never thought her love for her other half could be tainted by anything. But as the poisons of doubt, mistrust and malicious obligation seeped into their bond, she wanted nothing more than to carve out that love, tear it free from her heart and discard it.

If only she could.

-(-)-

​

Far, far to the south-east in the port city of Pentos, there was a nervous energy among the people.

The Dotrhaki were coming.

And not just any Dothraki. A khalasar feared across the entirety of Essos. They say it happened during a storm. The first sighting of the one they called...

Taoka Vezhof ki Vilajero.

The Iron God of Battle.

It is said they were only two of them at the time. A being clad head to toe in black iron. Strong enough to tear a man in two bare-handed. Fast enough to cross a plain in less than a moment. Wielding a lance of pure fire with greater power than any sorcerer has claimed to wield. The other with a form so impossible and unspeakable it must be a creature of the foulest magics. Or perhaps a creation of some fell alchemy. It wields fire both natural and alchemical in equal measure, leaving little more than ashes of those who draw its ire.

They started as two. But with their strength and their sorcery they crushed any khals they came across. First small ones. Then as they gained the attention of the Dothraki as a whole they were accosted by larger groups.

It made no difference. They fell all the same. Until one khalasar, seeing their khal fall so easily, chose not to raise their khalakka, instead ending his life in a show of supplication. And so the Taoka Vezhof became a Khal in its own right.

This khalasar's betrayal of the Dothraki ways sent shockwaves through the horse lords. Enraged, the mightiest Khal, Drogo, had his own khalasar ride to destroy the betrayers of their sacred rites. To crush this so-called god.

And so the khalasar of the Taoka Vezhof became the largest in the Dothraki Sea.

Along with Khal Drogo's khalasar, the Taoka Vezhof also inherited his property. Yes, that included slaves. However, it confused all in attendance when it yelled something about the 'emancipation proclamation' and set them all free. However, without any better options the slaves just continued to follow the khalasar, eternally grateful for the freedom that they had no idea what to do with. And so the metal god was not just called a god out of awe, but also out of genuine worship.

The people of Pentos, unlike most Free Cities, do not have a large standing military due to a treaty with Braavos. As such, they are far less capable of defending themselves from Dothraki raids. Instead, the Pentoshi elect to welcome the Dothraki with open arms (and increased guard postings) and bribe them intensely!

Don't knock it. It worked.

And so we see how these two peoples come together. The magister Illyrio Mopatis had been hosting the last living Targaryens for six months. Working tirelessly as he would describe it, to find a way for Viserys targaryen to retake his stolen throne. And so he came through. A marriage between the younger sister Daenerys and the Khal known as Taoka Vezhof. In exchange, the Khal would give Viserys an army.

It had all seemed a perfect plan.

So why was Ser Jorah Mormont shitting himself in fear?

Perhaps his own history of making bad deals had given him a sense of when one was about to foul up terribly. At least he didn't have much of a stake in this one. Aside from being in the general vicinity of a horde of barbarian marauders. That was an important factor worth considering.

As the Dothraki descended upon Pentos, Jorah was aghast at the sea of men and horses that stretched out and off to the horizon. Their people wore less clothing than civilised folk. Most out of leather or horsehair. Some, those leading the procession towards Illyrio's manse, wore much richer fabrics like those found adorning the wealthy Pentoshi. And behind those leaders were...

Well... They certainly made an image.

One, the one he assumed was the one of black iron, stood mostly unadorned beyond the giveaway iron armour. But Jorah was surprised to note the figure had a womanly shape. But most disturbing was the glow of its eyes. An impossibly red glow like the sky telling of ill omens.

The other by contrast was heavily covered. Perhaps to cover the strange shape of its body, like the rumours spoke of. It was clad in a heavy, body-obscuring leather cloak and that covered by another of linen in vibrant red, white and blue.

"Taoka Vezhof! Honoured guests," the fat merchant Illyrio greeted with open arms, "May I personally bid you welcome you to Pentos. If I may introduce you to his grace, Prince Viserys Targaryen, rightful ruler of the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros! And of course, your lovely bride-to-be, the Princess Daenerys Targaryen!"

"Hmmm..." The hum of the one with the burning eyes supported the idea that it was female. "Well aren't you the pretty one."

"Hmph, indeed," Viserys agreed. "The most radiant flower of Westeros, she's yours to do with as you please as long as you support me in retaking my throne."

Perhaps it was the setting sun tricking his eyes but Jorah would later swear its eyes burned brighter as it looked at the prince. "I wasn't talking about her."

"Well I'll be! Targaryens! Bona-fide!" the cloaked one spoke in a strange accent and with a voice like the sharpening of steel. "An' here was me thinkin' we'd never find a reason to leave, just buildin' up our little slice o' heaven. It's been fun but I guess our vacation is over."

"I don't remember much from home. What was it like?" spoke the woman.

"Pretty laid back. 'S why I requested leave to go a'wanderin'. Now I gotta be honest, I kinda miss the simple life. I wonder if Florence ever finished that weird thing she was workin' on."

"Excuse me!" the prince shouted indignantly. In response, Jorah got as far away from his general direction as he could. "Do you agree to the exchange or not?!"

"Tell you what, sonny," the cloaked one said. "I've got a better deal for ya. We'll go an' take you back to Westeros just fine. No marriage needed. Just gotta get us some ships and we'll be good to go."

"Ah, what wondrous news! The great Taoka Vezhof is so gracious!" Illyrio gushed. "I will arrange for passage at the earliest opportunity! Is this not wonderful, Prince Viserys?"

The prince only hummed non-committally, watching the two with sharp eyes. He seemed suspicious of the offer and from Jorah's perspective, he was right to be. Nothing in life came for free. However, Illyrio leaned over and Jorah was just close enough to hear the next words spoken quietly. "If they wished to, they could kill all of us right now. The one in armour seems to like you, perhaps she aims to be your queen. Either way, this is likely the best opportunity you are ever going to get to retake your throne." Louder, he continued, "And when you do, you will of course remember your friend Illyrio who was there in your time of need, yes?"

Varys would want to hear of this. Whatever came of this, it was about to spill over onto Westerosi shores.

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