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Trials and Tribulations of the Oathkeeper by DeadlyMaelstrom711

 TV » Game of Thrones Rated: M, English, Drama & Romance, [OC, Sansa S.] Daenerys T., Jon S., Words: 859k+, Favs: 1k+, Follows: 1k+, Published: Apr 16, 2018 Updated: Feb 11, 2020 2,418Chapter 123: Second Siege of Meereen

At Meereen…

Daenerys flew on Drogon's back watching the besiegement of Meereen already taking place below her. Off the coast, ships belonging to the Slavers Alliance armada consisting of both the reconquered Astapor and Yunkai were bombarding the city with their trebuchets; volleys of flaming projectiles soared over the beach and into the city. Daenerys watched from above in anger at the sight of terrified civilians running for their lives.

*WHOOSH!*

*BOOM!*

"Ilagon. (Descend)," she tells her dragon.

Drogon screeches and flies downward onto the roof of the Great Pyramid, allowing Daenerys to dismount safely as the beast hid behind one of the nearby pyramids—waiting for its prey to come to it. On the ground, many Unsullied and Golden Company mercenaries were evacuating the citizenry as the Second Sons scrambled with the Meereenese City Guard. Connington was among the first to see Daenerys right away.

"About time you came back, child," he exclaimed. "The Great Masters have already begun laying siege to the city, all while our men—"

Daenerys held her hand up. "Now is not the time to argue, Lord Connington," she replied unfazed. She is not the same woman who flew away from Daznak's Pit on the back of a dragon.

*BOOM!*

"Meereen is strong. The city's primary rebirth has been the cause of the violence we've all witnessed even before the heroic revolutionary Saqnizza Dhardu led the revolt against the Masters—"

*BOOM!*

It was a close one, though neither Connington nor Daenerys flinched. Connington watches how the Dragon Queen carries herself and looks at him, regarding her as someone who's coming into her own.

"We cannot let the Masters win because they know Meereen is thriving on its own, economically and politically. If Meereen succeeds as a city without slavery, without Masters—"

*BOOM!*

"—then it proves no one needs a Master. Shall we begin?"

Connington raised an eyebrow, his curiosity peaked. "You have a plan in mind?" he pressed.

Daenerys nodded. "I will crucify the Masters. I will set their fleet afire, kill every last one of their soldiers and return their cities to the dirt. Well, that's what I'd normally say had I not had more time to think about the kind of ruler I want to be; to not be like the kind of ruler my father was once."

*BOOM!*

"So I suggest we take an alternative approach. But what happens next depends on you, Lord Connington. Come. It's time we take the fight to them."

*BOOM!*

A blast from one of the flaming projectiles hit the balcony and explodes inward, sending shards of wood flying everywhere. Outside, smoke and fire and debris flies in through the window. Connington, Grey Worm, Daario, Jorah and an assembly of Unsullied accompanied Daenerys to an elevated plateau outside of the city with good views of both Slavers Bay and the Meereenese skyline. They stand across from the three Masters, Yeezan zo Qaggaz, Razdal mo Eraz and Belicho Paenymion accompanied with a dozen of bodyguards.

Razdal smiles. "Once before I offered you peace. If you had not been so arrogant, you could have returned to your homeland with a fleet of ships. Instead you will flee Slavers Bay on foot like the Beggar Queen you are."

Connington scoffed. "We're here to discuss terms of surrender, not trade insults – no matter how amusing it sounds."

"The terms are simple," Yezzan stated, arms crossed. "You and your foreign friends will abandon the Great Pyramid and the city of Meereen. The Unsullied you stole from Kraznys mo Nakloz will remain to be sold again to the highest bidder." He glances at Missandei. "The translator you stole from Kraznys mo Nakloz will remain to be sold again to the highest bidder. The dragons beneath the Great Pyramid will be slaughtered."

'Arrogant fool,' Connington thought smugly. 'They still cannot comprehend the magnitude of their situation. But they'll learn soon enough. One way or another, they will learn.'

Grey Worm and Missandei both watche Yezzan, emotionless.

"I fear you're all mistaken," Daenerys replied confidently. "We obviously did not communicate clearly enough. We are here to discuss your surrender, not mine."

The slave masters exchange glances and laugh. Oh, how they laugh!

"I imagine it's difficult, adjusting to the new reality," Razdal pointed out. "Your reign is over."

"On the contrary. My reign has just begun." Without beating an eyelash or breaking eye contact, she utters a word. "Māzigon naejot nyke, Drōgon. (Come to me, Drogon.)"

"*RRAAAAAAAAAAAARRH!*"

Yezzan notices something in the distance, a black dot in the sky that grows larger and larger. Soon all the envoys and their bodyguards see it: Daenerys never turns to look at the approaching Drogon, who flies up over the plateau and lands on an overlooking structure. Daenerys allows the faintest hint of a smile to form across her face, a smile that says: 'This game is only just beginning. I've got you in my clutches now, but this time there is no escape… for any of you.'

The beast roars loudly across the sky and drops down beside Daenerys, who climbs on his back without hesitation like she was born to ride dragons and they fly off over Meereen, displaying the Dragon Queen's control of the greatest war machine the known world has ever seen. The Masters' bodyguards shrink in fear and terror.

"*SKREEE!*"

"*WOORAAAH!*"

When they pass over the entrance to the catacombs, Rhaegal and Viserion swoop down from above and joins them—spitting fire from their mouths upon hearing their brother's calls; all three dragons look a lot healthier than ever before. The ensemble flies over the beach entrance to Meereen, overpassing Daznak's Pit, other landmarks of Meereen and towards the Great Pyramid.

—Outside the city—

On the outskirts of Meereen, a group of the Sons of the Harpy are slaughtering citizens of Meereen. Galloping footsteps can be heard in the distance. One of the Sons of the Harpy turns to look in the direction of the sound. The 100,000 Dothraki horde led by Qhono rounds the bend of a nearby cliff, yelling war cries and charging full force towards the Sons of the Harpy on horseback.

With one swing of his arakh, Qhono beheads a Son of the Harpy. Despite being vastly outnumbered, the Sons of the Harpy tried putting up a fierce resistance—but to no avail as the Dothraki slaughtered and plundered.

Inside, the Golden Company war elephants and cavalry were easily able to rout any remaining Sons of the Harpy within Meereen. Captain Strickland removed his helm and stared at the sky, watching the three dragons flying ever closer to the Slaver Alliance armada.

"Incredible…" he said in awe.

—By the edge of Slavers Bay—

Daenerys and all three of her dragons fly over the Masters' ships. The mercenary soldiers and sailors on the ships stop what they were doing and stare up at her fearfully. Three large, full-grown dragons circle in the sky above them; too late, they realize what horrible career choices they have made.

"Dracarys. (Dragonfire)," she orders.

Inhaling deep, Drogon breathes fire upon the warship. Rhaegal and Viserion follow suit. It's an awe-inspiring sight: three columns of flame, thick as tree trunks reducing ship and crew alike to ash in a matter of seconds. Engulfed in flames, the soldiers and sailors scream as they die while the ship incinerates and capsizes.

The rest of the slavers fleet gets the message loud and clear. Each sailor abandons ship en masse, jumping into the ocean and swimming for safety wherever they can find it. Weighed down by their armor and weapons, many of them drown to a cold, dark, watery grave.

—Back on the plateau—

The Unsullied on the plateau shift their spears to attack mode in one synchronized fashion. Their commander, Grey Worm, calmly approaches them. "Ao vali emagon iā iderennon. (You men have a choice)," he tells them. "Vīlībagon se morghūljagon syt āeksia qilōni would dōrī vīlībagon se morghūljagon syt ao. Iā jikagon lenton, naejot aōha lentor. (Fight and die for Masters who would never fight and die for you. Or go home, to your families.)"

With the sound of dragons screeching in the distance, the Masters' mercenary bodyguards glance at each other and immediately throw down their arms before running away without hesitation. The three Masters Yeezan, Razdal and Belicho stood their abandoned facing the Unsullied and the Targaryen generals.

"Now that we have your complete and undivided attention, allow me to make this crystal clear for you three," Connington approached with his arms tucked behind his back. "Your guards have abandoned you; every Son of the Harpy you clandestinely dispatched has been utterly wiped out never to be seen or heard from again, and to top it all off… every single ship in your armada now belongs to us. Queen Daenerys Stormborn will see to it that they are properly suited for her quest to retake the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros. But even though our Queen tends to have a… forgiving nature, this unprovoked act of aggression cannot and will not be forgiven."

The Masters have not quite processed their new reality yet; they look between Jon Connington and the Unsullied infantrymen, pointing their spearheads right at their hearts.

"Our Queen insists that one of you must die," Missandei agrees, "as punishment for your crimes."

"It always seems abstract, doesn't it, hmm? Other people dying?"

Razdal instantly grabs Yezzan. "Him! He should die!" he shoves him forward.

Belicho nodded. "Yes, yes, him!"

Yezzan looks at the two of them, stunned and terrified. "My friends— Why?"

"He's not one of us!" Razdal continued ranting. "He's an outsider, a lowborn! He does not speak for us!"

Connington glances back at Grey Worm and nods at him; Grey Worm approaches and stares Yezzan in his eyes.

"Please," the slave master falls to his knees begging for mercy. "Please, please—"

Grey Worm unsheathes his dagger; before anyone could blink, the Unsullied leader swiftly slices both Razdal and Belicho's throats with a single move—instantly killing them both in less than five seconds with such an impressive feat. The two Masters fall to the ground, dying, clutching their opened throats. Once he wipes the blood off his blade, Grey Worm sheathes his dagger and takes a step back. As Yezzan gasps, almost in a state of shock, Connington steps towards Yezzan and grips his shoulder tightly.

"Let this be a reminder of what happens when you declare war upon us," he said through gritted teeth, his voice dripping with menace. "Go. Tell every single slave owner everything that happened here. Tell them you live by the grace of Her Majesty because she chose to spare your worthless life. If they even think about any foolish notions of retribution or any ideas about returning the slave cities to their former glory, remind them what happened when Queen Daenerys Stormborn of the House Targaryen, the First of Her Name, Breaker of Chains and Mother of Dragons came to Meereen with her armies and all three of her dragons."

*BAM!*

Before parting, Connington punched Yezzan across the face—rendering the Master unconscious. He, Grey Worm, Missandei, Daario and Jorah soon walk away to return to the market center. They stop moving as soon as they see Drogon flying low to land; the dragon shifted its body and lowered its left side down a bit to allow Daenerys to climb off.

"Congratulations on your victory, khaleesi," Missandei said warmly.

"Indeed," Daario noted. "Now you've got a fleet and enough men to carry your armies across the Narrow Sea."

Daenerys looked out at Slavers Bay, admiring the sunset beginning to glistening specks of light off the surface of the water. Closing her eyes, she inhaled through her nostrils and out the mouth; finally, Daenerys had acquired an army—Dothraki, Unsullied and Golden Company mercenaries, three dragons—and now had a fleet big enough for the long voyage to begin her conquest to take back the Iron Throne for House Targaryen. All of her 21 years have been living in exile in Essos, often dreaming of one day returning to her homeland and restoring her family to the throne.

"It's finally over," she sounded almost relieved. "We can finally begin what we set out to do."

Connington stood beside her. "Captain Strickland will have his men prep the ships ready for the long voyage. However, their elephants will have to remain here… in the Bay of Dragons. They're excellent beasts. Useful, but not well-suited to long sea voyages."

"They say the Dothraki do not cross an ocean; they believed the world ends there."

"But they will for you."

"That they will. How long will it take for us to reach Westeros from here?"

"Given the size of our forces, it'll take time to teach the Dothraki and Unsullied how to sail properly. They'll need training. In hindsight, it would take several months to cross the Narrow Sea from here to get to Westeros."

Daenerys pondered her next move carefully. "Then we'll need to find someone who knows anything about sailing before begin. And there's also the affair of establishing a provisional government in Meereen so the people can rule themselves." She turns to Jorah. "But there is also you. I banished you, yet you came back. And you saved my life. So I can't take you back and I can't send you away."

When she approaches Jorah, he recoils and backs away—still clutching his wrist.

"But you must send me away… for good this time," he says before rolling up his sleeve to reveal the greyscale covering his left forearm.

Daenerys looks at the infection with shock. "Is there a cure?" she asks.

Jorah shook his head. "I don't know," he answers despondently.

"How long does it take?"

"I don't know that either. Both Connington and I got hit with it, though he cut his fingers off before it could spread."

She turns to her senior advisor. "You as well? You healed yourself, but yet you didn't—"

"Khaleesi, please," Jorah interrupted. "I've seen what happens when it goes far enough. I don't blame Connington for doing what he thought was right. After what I did, I… I felt this was punishment. I'll end things before that."

Daenerys begins to cry. "I… I didn't know. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Connington crossed his arms at the sight of the Dragon Queen expressing genuine remorse for the man who wronged her in somewhat disbelief; yet still, he silently kept his disapprovals to himself. Jorah shook his head again.

"Don't be," he said reassuringly. "All I've ever wanted was to serve you. I love you. I'll always love you. Goodbye, Khaleesi."

"Do not walk away from your Queen, Jorah the Andal!" she shouted after him.

'Foolish girl, don't touch him,' Connington thought in disapproval. 'Touch a man infected with greyscale then the disease will be transmitted to you. And all your goals and ambitions will be for naught.'

"You have not been dismissed," she continued. "You pledged yourself to me. You swore to obey my commands for the rest of your life. Well, I command you to find the cure wherever it is in this world. I command you to heal yourself and then return to me. When I take the Seven Kingdoms… I need you by my side."

Jorah looks at Daenerys in amazement; nodding his head, the former Lord of Bear Island turns to be escorted out of Meereen and take the first ship out of the city-state to wherever it is so he could find a cure for his condition—though he took one more glance behind him before starting off into the wilderness. Connington watched Jorah's departure and felt his left hand twitch; the missing fingers on his hand felt as if they were still there even if they were no longer. He huffed before noticing a cloaked individual approaching.

"Unsullied," he called out.

Grey Worm spun around as did his men, shields up and spears aimed. The intruder stopped and cautiously waved her hands up. Daenerys dried her eyes and turned to them.

"I couldn't help but overhear you needed some assistance with instructing your men how to sail properly," the guest said in a rough feminine voice.

"Who are you?" Grey Worm demanded.

The individual removed the cloak, revealing herself to be Yara Greyjoy. "I'm Yara. Princess Yara of House Greyjoy," she introduced herself, "eldest surviving child of Balon Greyjoy, King of the Iron Islands."

In Braavos…

Rushing through the streets and marketplace of Braavos, Arya was on the run. Exhausted and wounded, she had knowingly made herself a target when she refused to assassinate actress Lady Crane via poison. Being hunted by the Waif, Arya reflected on her brief banter with Lady Crane.

"You wouldn't be safe," she told her. "Not while she's looking for me."

"Who?" Crane asked.

"She doesn't have a name."

"Where will you go?"

"Essos is east and Westeros is west. But what's west of Westeros?"

"I don't know."

"Nobody does. That's where all the maps stop."

"The edge of the world, maybe."

"I'd like to see that."

Slowly getting back on her feet, Arya is still afflicted with pain from her stomach where the Waif repeatedly stabbed her. She remains fortunate to fight back and escape; otherwise the Faceless Man assassin would've finished her off. All she had to do now was quickly make it to her hideout before the Waif catches her. Before taking another step forward, Arya spots a trail of blood in an abutting room.

"Lady Crane?" she calls out. "Lady Crane?" she repeats a bit louder.

"If you'd have done your job, she would have died painlessly."

Arya jumped and turned to see the Waif standing in the doorway with a knife. As the Waif slowly approaches with a creepy smile on her face, Arya matches her pace whilst backing away.

"Instead," the Waif continues, "the Many-Faced God was promised a name. He must always receive what is His. You can't change that. I can't change that. No one can. And now He's been promised another name."

Arya turned and ran, leaping out the window onto the streets below before sprinting off. The Waif gives chase, proving herself to be the more agile and precise in her movements—a trained killer zeroing in on a chosen target. Fruits and baskets were knocked over during the pursuit; Arya grunted and held her side painfully as she felt her stitches had reopened. Knowing she would be unable to outrun the Waif, who is closing in on her, Arya barely manages to stay ahead and rolls down a broad flight of stairs which overturned several more baskets of vegetables in the process.

"Ngh!" she hissed through her teeth. "Come on, Arya. Get up. Get up! GET UP!"

Quickly getting back on her feet, Arya flees into an alleyway knowing her hideaway was nearby. Figuring that enough was enough, that she would make a final stand, Arya pressed her left hand against her wound and smeared it against the side of the building, leaving a bloody trail to a doorway. At last, Arya enters a small, dark room lit by a single candle and retrieves Needle from underneath her bedsheet on time as the Waif followed her and shut the door behind her.

"It will all be over soon," she tells Arya. "On your knees or on your feet?"

Arya brandishes Needle and stands her ground.

"Haven't we been through this already? That won't help you."

"You think so? Come try me then."

She didn't need to be told twice. The Waif advances on her target; deciding to utilize the full extent of her Water Dance training, Arya holds Needle up in front of her face, closes her eyes and chops the wax candle in half with one quick slice—plunging the room in total darkness. Steel clashed, shouts hurled before flesh was pierced and silence loomed over the area.

—At the House of Black and White—

The leading Faceless Man Jaqen H'dgar tends to the main hall. Whilst examining the Hall of Faces, he notices a blood trail on the floor leading to one of the columns bearing the faces. To his amazement, Jaqen notices the Waif's bloody face resting in one of the sconces with her eyes gouged out before feeling something sharp poking him in the back. Jaqen turns around to see a furious Arya glaring at him, armed with Needle. Huffing and puffing angrily, she had had enough and confronted her estranged mentor.

"You sent her after me. You told her to kill me. Didn't you?" Arya pressed.

Jaqen remained calm and composed. "Yes, but here you are. And there she is," he replied, his voice uneven. In his eyes, she passed the test to join the Faceless Men before pushing his chest closer against Needle's point. "Finally a girl is no one."

'No. That's it, I'm done. I'm not playing another one of your games, Jaqen; not again. Not after everything you put me through. I am a wolf and will not be afraid,' she spat. "No. A girl is Arya Stark of Winterfell… and I'm going home."

Jaqen responds with a nod and a barely perceptible smile. Reassuring her identity and having learned all she needed to know, Arya turns and makes the ultimate decision to leave the House of Black and White and all of Braavos for good. She was now determined to return to Westeros, her home.

"At least the Faceless Men were good for at least something. Swift as a deer; quiet as a shadow; fear cuts deeper than swords," Arya evaluates herself with a smile on her face before stepping foot on a merchant vessel bound for White Harbor. "The world we live in doesn't just let girls decide what they want to be… But I can now. So long as even a single wolf remains alive, the sheep are never safe. Now, I'm going to defend my family."

Chapter End

Author's Note: Hey guys, I had a bit of head start working on this chapter last night and have finished this morning. The Second Siege of Meereen was brought to a swift conclusion; and although Daenerys acquired her ships, it'll take time to teach the Dothraki and Unsullied to sail them properly—but that is only until she settles things in Meereen first and the Dragon Queen meeting Yara Greyjoy for the first time. Think this'll be a somewhat beneficial alliance, knowing that Yara wants something in return? Find out next time.

Arya Stark completes her training with the Faceless Man, then straight up rage quits and is on her way back home to Winterfell. Think she'll still play a large role in the Great War? Let me know.

jojoboy914: Would this mean that Daveth would be King of the North due to his marriage with Sansa. I imagine that there are still many northerners who recognize Daveth as the benevolent ruler fit for them to follow. Looking forward to how this would play out when the Great War begins

—It would be similar to Renly Baratheon's nickname "The King in Highgarden" due to his marriage to Margaery Tyrell; since Daveth Baratheon is married to Sansa Stark, it would be fitting that another of his nicknames would include "The King in Winterfell" (not to be confused with the Kings in the North during the North's time as an independent kingdom).

Tohka123: Really enjoyable, keep up the hard work

Guest #1: I'm excited whenever new chapter comes out

C.E.W: So now Daenerys has dealt with her enemies in Slaver's Bay and is soon to meet with Yara Greyjoy. There's no point for Yara to ask for the Iron Independence as there is no Iron Islands now are nothing but barren wasteland. So Yara will want vengeance upon Daveth for killing her family, turning her brother against her and destroying her home and people. Regardless any enemy of Daveth is a friend of Daenerys I suppose.

Arya is going home, no doubt her family is going be asking questions on where she has been since she has been missing more like two years.

RHatch89: Awesome update :)

—Thanks

FrostedFlakes1305: Why do I get the distinct feeling that Arya doesn't like Daveth. Also is Daveth friends with Jon?

—So long as he treats her sister right, Arya begrudgingly puts up with him. But I'd also like to point out that Daveth is friends with Robb, and Jon has been moved further away at a different spot at Winterfell by you-know-who - so no.

Hear My Fury: Well Dany you're screwed by not bringing the elephants. With Yara about to meet Daenerys it seems like Euron will now be a third party in the next war. Which now will probably not be called Daenerys' conquest of Westeros but probably The War of Stags, Dragons and Krakens?

Bad Ass Female Fighter: Daveth is gonna have more suit to deal with, Euron, Daenerys, AND the White Walkers! Best of luck to you Oathkeeper, have fun.

God of war: So in the next chapters will be the show down between dnAryes and deavth

joharasbel: good work

—Thanks

Bio RL: I hope Arya's departure is punished

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Trials and Tribulations of the Oathkeeper by DeadlyMaelstrom711

 TV » Game of Thrones Rated: M, English, Drama & Romance, [OC, Sansa S.] Daenerys T., Jon S., Words: 859k+, Favs: 1k+, Follows: 1k+, Published: Apr 16, 2018 Updated: Feb 11, 2020 2,418Chapter 124: Affirmative Action, a Call to Arms

In King's Landing…

Lord Tyrion stood in the Small Council chambers engaged in conversation with a Faith of the Seven clergyman – sent to Red Keep as an envoy on behalf of the Most Devout themselves. Since the revelation of Septa Unella's involvement in the Sparrow movement and being the High Sparrow's benefactor, the disgraced Unella was stripped of her position on the Faith's ruling council, excommunicated and banished from Westeros—never setting foot in the country ever again. The dwarf Hand of the King sipped his wine as the clergyman continued rattling; all while the other members of the Small Council—Varys, Pycelle, Mace, Randyll, Barristan and Trystane—simply listened.

"It simply cannot be done, my Lord Hand. The clerics are still sequestered in the consensus. By holy law if no one steps forward, then the Faith will remain leaderless and will slowly crumble. Surely the King must—" the old man sputtered before being interrupted.

"I understand your concern, we all do. But what you're asking me is something that my nephew will have to decide," Tyrion replied honestly. "Even I can't make his choices for him without his knowledge or his consent considering recent events."

"He must consider a particular candidate."

The doors were pushed open, allowing Daveth, Sansa and their children to step inside. Apparently they were strolling through the halls of the Red Keep until they heard a certain commotion emanating from inside so they chose to investigate. Tyrion and the clergyman all turned and bowed their heads in acknowledgment.

"Ah. Beloved nephew," Tyrion greeted in his humorous fashion.

Daveth rolled his eyes. "Uncle," he dryly replied.

"Ah, Your Graces. Perfect timing," the clergyman redirected his attention. "The Faith humbly inquires your opinion on—"

Mace looked up at him. "Don't you think your being a bit pushy lately?"

"What's going on here?" Sansa inquired, holding her twins' hands.

Trystane explained. "It would appear that the Most Devout simply cannot agree on a candidate to be the next High Septon. They've been arguing from dawn 'til dusk non-stop. Ever since the last one was publicly shamed and removed from office, the vacancy has caused quite a bit of a stir in the Faith's leadership."

The clergyman interjected once more. "Which is why we've made numerous requests asking for your opinion on a possible choice to fill the position of High Septon; to break the deadlock," he insisted.

"Deadlock? Are things still that bad?" the Wolf Queen asked.

Tyrion regretfully nodded. "It would appear so," his tone switched to a more positive outlook.

The Young Stag raised an eyebrow. "Then why come to me?" he pressed.

"Because of what happened with the High Sparrow and how the matter was settled, the Faith of the Seven favors you, nephew," he explained, "and thus everyone close to you. As such, they've left the decision of naming a new High Septon entirely up to you… though they didn't have the decency to even ask first."

"I'm not a Septon."

"Neither of us is," Varys chimed in, "but an endorsement from whoever sits on the Iron Throne would be seen as a public show of support; that the Crown still upholds the needs of those who need it more than oneself."

Daveth sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Fine, I'll swing by the Great Sept of Baelor and see if we can get this mess sorted out before it leads to more trouble. In the meantime, my lords, if there are any other matters of state affairs of great importance then you are to notify me without delay."

"Understood, Your Grace."

—En route to the Great Sept of Baelor—

Daveth and Sansa rode through the streets to the Great Sept of Baelor; because the Queen was now four months into her pregnancy, she sat in the royal carriage with her children while Daveth rode up front accompanied by two Kingsguards, Brienne and Lucius. The smallfolk occasionally glanced at the troupe before returning to their employment or household tasks. The Young Stag glanced at a nearby hill.

'That's where the High Sparrow made his last stand,' he reminisced. "Halt."

The carriage came to a stop upon arriving at their destination. Daveth dismounted from his horse and looked on as Brienne and Lucius helped escort Sansa down the small steps of the royal carriage; young Lyonel and Cassana eagerly jumped out and proceeded to chase each other around the carriage. Sansa saw this and tried to rein them in, but her hormones occasionally caused her to have random mood swings, going from sweet and motherly to stern and strict. After all, she was dealing with a pair of two hyperactive, 2-year-old twins and is expecting her third child in another five months.

"Lyonel, Cassana," their mother called out as she chased them. "Don't run around the carriage. It's not safe. Cassana, get your brother. No, Lyonel, sto— DON'T RUN!"

She was done and was not in the mood for games; when Lyonel and Cassana heard their mother's shouting they immediately stopped playing and meekly obeyed. Sansa took a moment to calm down and regain her composure so as to resume her capability of parenting.

"Please, my little ones. You can play once we're back at the Red Keep, but not here," she told them. "Mommy and daddy want you two to be on your best behavior today. Okay?"

"Sowwy, mommy," they apologized.

Sansa accepted their apology and took them by the hands to accompany their father; Daveth felt his own headache slowly subside as his son and daughter were reigned back in. They were much more behaved this time. Knowing that all was well enough, Daveth and Sansa soon stepped forth into the Great Sept. Much had changed since then, yet somehow remained the same as well.

"Selecting a candidate to be the Seven Gods' voice on earth – even if it means picking someone outside the hierarchy," Brienne spoke softly. "The selection process sounds maddening."

"You'd think so but it's not without precedent," Daveth mentioned. "Pate was a stonemason, and another was an 8-year-old boy. Priests, non-priests… truly, though, if the Faith's trust or at least tolerance in a sovereign is high enough, I imagine they'll accept whoever the King recommends. Still… I still don't get why my word would simply make things better."

Near the steps, members of the Most Devout—Tobert, Raynard, Luceon, Russal, Moelle, Rosyn and Helicent approached them. Their newest member to fill the vacancy on their council, Laina, curtsied before them.

"Your Graces," Tobert greeted.

"It is good to see you both at the Great Sept once more. Seems like it was yesterday when you to were wed here," Rosyn concurred. "I things have been going well? Prince Lyonel and Princess Cassana are still good angels?"

'Please if only you'd know what it's like dealing with two little runts who drive you crazy at times,' the Young Stag thought. "Our son and daughter are doing well, thank you for asking. Regardless, it has come to our attention that there has been some difficulty in nominating a new High Septon?"

Raynard nodded. "Yes, as I'm sure Septon Tavion has said already. We of the Most Devout have voted, voiced our opinions… but still neither of us can come to an agreement."

"How many votes have been cast?"

"Well let's see…" Moelle pulled out a parchment scroll. "Septon Luceon leads with 96 votes, followed closely by Septon Raynard with 86 votes. Septon Javer has 73, Septon Patrack 32, Septon Auster 10, and Septon Efran 3. The majority votes need to secure the appointment set by the Most Devout is 300. So far, no one has reached the milestone and therefore we remain at an impasse."

'Then perhaps it needs to change; just not in a way that holds us back, limits our potential or stunts our growth.'

Sansa chimed in. "This cannot be what the Faith intended when it all began, no?"

Rosyn shook her head. "No I'm afraid not, but once our brothers and sisters withdraw for the consensus, it is against holy law for us to emerge without naming a new High Septon. But we aren't blind to the unfortunate truth. Normally it should take us days or weeks, sometimes even months—but the problem we're facing now is no clear worthy successor exists. Theoretically, we'll argue until exhaustion takes us or we see reason. Practically, however, if the consensus goes on too long the Faith will crumble."

"And any clergyman with ambition but little sense will see this as their one chance, and plenty of these selfish men exist," added Helicent.

"Henceforth, because you've been the first King since Baelor the Blessed to contribute to the Faith of the Seven we feel it would be best if you were to make a selection," suggested Luceon.

Daveth folded his arms and cupped his chin in his fist, occasionally feeling his stubble on his face scratching against his fingertips. So many decisions during his reign, and so many more to follow suite… Now although he follows the Faith of the Seven religion, he wasn't particularly a religious person—let alone a devout one. Religion has its place in society, but it did not govern his life.

'No worthy successor exists, does it? Then you haven't looked hard enough,' Daveth thought. "Then therein lies the problem," he said aloud.

The Most Devout looked confused. "Your Grace?" they implored.

He turned to look at them. "The gridlock, politicking… Such notions allowed elements like the High Sparrow to rise up and attempt to seize power. Perhaps that's how it started. Such corrupt self-serving men who puts himself ahead of his flock is no shepherd at all. Perhaps we've simply forgotten and lost our way."

Sansa listened closely and chimed in as well. "The Father sits in judgment of us all; we pray to the Crone for wisdom and guidance. When the former High Septon disgraced his office, when the High Sparrow sought to twist and perverse the Faith's tenants to suit his own ambitions, it only goes to show that such men are more valuable to anger or passion. But in truth such restrictions are simply political that allowed our customs to grow corrupt and Faith's practice little more than a façade. For centuries the institution was pulled in every direction by those who would steer its course."

"Which is why Westeros will require change… starting from the top and build on that. The Faith will need someone to lead its devout flock to a new, brighter future—and show them that no matter who we are or where we came from, we are the same," Daveth reminded them. "A new High Septon should encourage the good in us all despite our shortcomings. Should we stumble or stray, the Faith will need a gentle hand to show the way by example."

"Take a lot at me for instance, Your Reverences. I am a Stark, a Northern family which worships the Old Gods. My mother is a Tully by birth who firmly believes in the New Gods, yet Septa Mordane taught me and my brothers and sister to understand both sides and seek balance between them—not exclude them or look down upon as 'uncivilized savages.' The new Faith of the Seven should serve as a beacon of hope for all its people, not just a select few. To be a force for good, instead of what it is. No one is without worth."

"If we allow the wheel to preserve things in motion the way it is now, then no true progress will ever be made. It'll just be more of the same—a cycle that will see no end unless we make it."

The Most Devout began murmuring among themselves; mostly in confusion and at a loss. Daveth and Sansa stood side by side as if hoping their message got across to them. After some topic, they redirected their attention back to the King and Queen.

"Then… do you have a… candidate in mind? To break the deadlock?" asked Raynard.

Daveth nodded. "We do," he answered and turned to one in particular. "The Crown supports Septa Rosyn as a candidate to lead the Faith of the Seven."

Rosyn's eyes widened and her mouth dipped in surprise; the other Most Devout gasped in shock. Primarily the position of High Septon was usually reserved for male priests, but at the same time there has also never been any mention of a formal rule against electing a female priest heading the Faith of the Seven before. To the older conservative men, this act appeared to be rather unprecedented and a big aggressive.

"Wha… Y-Your Grace," Tobert sputtered. "Her? This is… I must protest on the notion that—"

Sansa remained composed, as if she somehow she knew this was the reaction they'd been expecting. "I believe that is the exact notion of what my royal husband used to describe it," she explained. "Men's hearts and emotions leads them astray, becoming cold-hearted individuals; unkind, uncaring and selfish; impulsive and emotional. What the people need is a gentle hand and a kind, loving heart to temper their nature and reassure them that despite the terrors we've all faced in our lives, we should reassure them that everything is going to be all right and to not lose sight of what's important in life. We believe Septa Rosyn has the qualities needed to lead the Faith in a new direction, to make it better than it was before."

Daveth looked at his wife and listened to her words; hinting that Sansa was referring to his own impulsive emotional outbursts he himself could hardly control due to past trauma and frustrations he's been forced to endure. Sansa and Septa Rosyn were two of the select few who knew him well enough to look beyond the surface and determine the source to steer him back on the correct path; to help pick Daveth up to his feet, dust off his shoulders and encourage him to keep going on—but not alone.

"G-give us a moment," Luceon stuttered.

Daveth, Sansa, their children and bodyguards soon left the Great Sept of Baelor behind them and moved to return to the Red Keep to await further news. The Young Stag couldn't help but feel a triumph swelling in the corner of his mind, encouraged by the push the Wolf Queen started. No doubt this endorsement and recommendations would send a ripple effect throughout the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros, but what else hasn't happened that already occurred whenever both made a move?

—Six hours later—

Daveth and Sansa waited patiently in the throne room, though it wasn't long before they received an unexpected guest. Donning a long clean white-grey robe, a golden vest etched with crystals around her shoulders with the silver Seven Pointed Star wrapped around her neck, Rosyn was presented before the King and Queen. Humble and regal, her appearance had changed quite significantly—indicating Roslyn had been elevated.

"Congratulations on your elevation, High Septa," Sansa greeted.

Rosyn smiled warmly. "It still feels strange," she admitted. "I have been many things — healer, tutor, Septa — and always because someone needed something from me. But I realize now that I am all of these things, and yet, not defined by any one. I am now Her Holiness the High Septa, Mother of the Faithful and Voice of the Seven on Earth." She turned to Daveth. "But to those I helped educate, raise and nurse – to you, Oathkeeper – I will always be just Rosyn."

Daveth smiled. "So long as I still get to call you that in private, right?" he asked.

"So long as we're in private," she affirmed. "Remember, it's forbidden to refer to us—living or dead—as anything other than the office we hold."

"I understand… Rosyn. Just be careful out there. I might've named you High Septa, but there'll no doubt be those who'll disagree with you."

"Don't worry. I have a plan for the Faith, and I will not rest until the proper course is cleared for all. I may need your counsel in the coming days if not just your company."

"Of course. Will the Most Devout have an issue with you?"

"At some point, I suppose. They'd love to bury me in ceremony while they prepare for my coronation. There's still much to be done. Once that's done, I'll return to the Great Sept of Baelor for good. The faithful will be properly tended to like an herbalist tending to their garden, a farmer to his field and a healer to the sickly."

"Should you need aid," Sansa approached, "the Crown will answer."

"I appreciate that, Your Grace," Rosyn placed her hand on the Queen's four-month pregnant belly. "And I look forward to blessing yet another Baratheon. May the Seven watch over you both."

"Seven blessings to you, Your Holiness," they returned the gesture.

Rosyn, the first woman to be appointed leader of the Faith of the Seven, curtsied and exited the Red Keep back to the Great Sept of Baelor. Sansa believed there would be interesting times ahead of the Seven Kingdoms; whether for good or ill, she and Daveth will stand against the tide and will always be ready to face whatever life had to throw at them.

—Later that day—

Daveth and Sansa remained in the Small Council chambers; occasionally reading through reports and presiding over meetings, the day seemed to go by in a matter of moments for them as hours passed. Randyll introduced a motion to further improve the Royal Fleet's armada and the country's defenses; Mace offered to fund such an endeavor with House Tyrell's gold, though Tyrion offered a compromise along the lines of…

"I once brought a honeycomb and a jackass into a brothel—" the Imp joked.

"Oh please, not this story again," Daveth groaned.

Sansa frowned. "My Lord Hand, may I remind you that there are children in the room? Our children? Your grandnephew and grandniece?" she firmly reminded.

"Yeesh, sorry Your Graces." Tyrion raised his hands. "A bad joke; just trying to lighten the mood."

"*Ahem!*" Trystane cleared his throat. "The City Watch has reported that ever since the High Sparrow and his heretical movement were dispersed nearly a month ago, crime has gone down by 46 percent. Commander Duran mentions that there's been an increase of smallfolk volunteers arriving at the barracks. I believe the words he used were 'they want to do their part.'"

Daveth hummed. "Hmm. Of course he'd use colorful words to describe new recruits. What else do we have?"

"My little birds report suspicious activities brewing off the western cost in Ironman's Bay," Varys chimed in. "When they got closer, whoever was there just mysteriously vanished."

"Ironman's Bay…? Near the Iron Islands? How can that be? There's nothing left there."

"No, but they mentioned seeing ships sailing off into thick heavy fog."

"Were they flying a sigil?"

Varys nodded carefully. "I believe so, Your Grace. But I fear it might trigger awful memories on your part."

"Tell me, Varys," he insisted. "What was the description of the unknown ship's sigil?"

The Master of Whisperers and Hand of the King both exchanged concerned looks, though they were rather subtle about it. Tyrion in particular had his suspicions about his nephew's state of mind when informed of the news.

"My birds tell me the sails were all black; attached to the mast and yard, the center of the main sail was a depiction of a silver kraken with a third red eye inscribed onto its head."

Daveth's eyes dilated and contracted slightly; rapidly movement as his entire body went stiff. Although not wide, his eyes shifted from the walls with a fleeting look, to his wife sitting at his left, his uncle sitting at his right, then downwards to his palms due to the natural adrenaline response his body left off. Sansa, Varys, Tyrion and Barristan looked concerned at him. What they detected in his eyes was not that of anger or rage, but fear and anxiety.

'No. No, not him…' the Young Stag thought. "Euron Greyjoy…" he stated quietly under his breath. Daveth noticed how uncomfortable he felt and did his best to shake the thoughts of his old nemesis and tormentor from his mind. "What else do we have?" he changed the subject trying to keep his composure.

"More whispers from the east," Varys reported. "Daenerys Targaryen and her armies have decimated the Slavers Alliance and procured a fleet of her own."

"How many troops does she have in her arsenal?"

"8,000 Unsullied infantry, 100,000 Dothraki cavalry, 20,000 mercenaries from the Golden Company and three dragons."

Randyll scowled. "A bunch of foreign invaders and one with no ties to Westeros with an army of savages at her back," he spat.

'Even still, if the reports are correct, then the Targaryens hold the largest army we've ever seen to date,' Daveth thought. "How long before they arrive?" his tone switched to serious.

"About the end of the year," Varys answered.

"Meaning we'll have six months to prepare. We all knew that conflict with the Targaryens was inevitable. So now we must get ready," Daveth turned to Pycelle. "Grand Maester, dispatch every raven we have in the rookery."

"Oh, uh, a-all of them, Your Grace?" he asked.

"All of them," he confirmed. "Trystane, gather the lords and ladies of the court. Have them brought to the throne room. There is to be a royal announcement."

While Pycelle stood up and hurriedly left to the rookery and Trystane moved to call for a special session of the court, Daveth had already handed Tyrion and Mace their assigned messages as Wardens of the West and South respectively. Both unrolled their parchments and began reading it.

At Winterfell…

Robb Stark and Jon Snow were busy engaging in talks with how to discuss the inevitable war with the Night King and his undead armies. Discussions were traded back and forth until Maester Luwin arrived in the Great Hall.

"A raven from the capital, Lord Stark," he told Robb.

The Young Wolf took the paper and broke the seal, unrolled it and read what the message said.

At the Eyrie…

Robin Arryn was practicing his archery under Lord Royce's tutelage; although he never had much success with the bow as he does with the sword, Yohn encouraged his liege lord to keep practicing—eventually the young Warden of the East will soon learn to hit his mark. Hopeless with a sword, and even after prolonged training he still can't even strike the widest ring on an archery target.

Robin closed one eye and struggled to hold the bowstring stably in his hands. He released, but the arrow landed several feet away into the ground.

A maester soon approached. "My lords," he handed the new Lord Protector of the Vale a message from the capital.

Yohn broke the wax seal and began reading it with Robin leaning over his shoulder.

At Casterly Rock…

Daveth's maternal great-uncle Ser Kevan had watched his only daughter Janei leave House Lannister's ancestral castle and depart for the Reach. Although tempted to see her off, as Castellan of Casterly Rock in his nephew Tyrion's absence, Kevan was in charge of overseeing the Westerlands—militarily, politically and economically.

But before long, Kevan noticed Maester Creylen approach him with a sealed parchment. When he broke the wax, Kevan carefully examined each enscription.

At Highgarden…

Ser Loras had returned home with his bride Janei of House Lannister; although he kept up the façade of a perfect gentleman, deep down he was miserable. Not just for his over lack of interest in women and preferring the company of men, but he still bore the scars of his captivity at the hands of the High Sparrow. Now that he was home at Highgarden, the task of ruling the Reach in his father's absence fell on his shoulders.

"Oh eh, pardon me, Ser Loras, but your father sent a raven from the capital," interjected Maester Lomys.

"From my father? Show me the message," he requested.

The maester handed over the letter and Ser Loras broke it. With Janei leaning over his shoulder, the Knight of the Flowers read each word.

At Sunspear…

Prince Doran remained in his wheel chair with his bodyguard Areo standing over him. Much had changed since the Young Stag arrived in Dorne and brokered a peace treaty with House Martell; his son and heir Trystane remained in King's Landing as Master of Laws and learned of his son's marriage to Princess Myrcella, Daveth's sister. Although he was physically unable to attend the wedding himself, Doran wished his son and new daughter-in-law well wishes, a long happy life and many children.

"My Prince," Maester Caleotte apologized and brings a scroll.

Doran took the paper and broke the seal, reading each word the message entailed.

—Overall—

From as far north as Last Hearth to as far south as Sunspear, every raven dispatched from the capital city of King's Landing… all messages sent all read the same:

"Wardens of the North, South, East and West,

The time has come to call your banners once more. Again our nation

is under threat. Not from insurrectionists, but from across the Narrow

Sea. We are at war once more. The Crown has just received word

that the Mad King's daughter, Daenerys of House Targaryen, has

amassed a large powerful army and plans to sail across the world

to invade.

I call upon you to answer the call and mobilize your armies in

preparation for an immediate response against such a dangerous

enemy. Our homes, our future, our way of life… everything we hold

dear faces annihilation should the Mad King's daughter succeed in

her conquest. Her armies are unlike any this nation has ever seen:

mindless Unsullied soldiers who will destroy your castles, Dothraki

savages who will pillage and burn your villages to the ground without

a second thought, rape and enslave your women, and butcher your

children.

And like her ancestor, Aegon the Conqueror, she has three full-grown

dragons in her arsenal. Mindless, savage beasts. The embodiment of

raw, uncontrollable power.

Most of you remember the Mad King. You remember the levels of

unspeakable horror and terror he inflicted on his people. His daughter

is no different. In Essos, she crucified hundreds of nobles with such

brutality, fed them to her dragons and executed them without giving

them a fair trial.

Now I have no doubt some among you have reservations about

fighting such a foe and that's understandable, but this is the hard

truth. And hard truth cuts both ways.

But the Westeros we know today is not the same Westeros it used

to be when Aegon landed on our shores 300 years ago. This is not

the War of Conquest. We are not a multitude of separate, individual

kingdoms squabbling amongst ourselves – but rather we remain

standing as united realm. Some among you fought alongside me

on the battlefield during the Stag Sedition and again during the

Second Greyjoy Rebellion.

As King of the Seven Kingdoms, it is my solemn duty to protect to

protect the people against all threats—foreign and domestic, and I

will continue to do so. But now more than ever, my lords and ladies,

I will need your help. We cannot go back to the way things were

before when the Mad King terrorized us all. But rather we must move

forward and make the world a better place than our forefathers

left it, a future we can establish for our children and their children.

As Protector of the Realm, the people of Westeros, nobles and

commoners alike, are like family and I will give my life to protect

them.

Family is not always about blood ties or noble houses, but

rather it is a bond between those around you. The ones who want

you in their life just as much as you want them in yours. It is that

bond no one can ever take away – especially not Daenerys Targaryen.

Signed,

Daveth of the House Baratheon, the First of My Name · King of the

Andals and the First Men · Lord of the Seven Kingdoms · Protector

of the Realm"

Chapter End

Author's End: A new leader of the Faith of the Seven has been chosen and a call to arms has been sent to every corner of Westeros. The stage is set for the epic climax and we're close to the end of Season 6. What are your guys' opinion? Thoughts? Let me know.

Ssj1998: Ok so the invading forces have a total 128,000 thousand troops but how many do the seven kingdoms have because the all the seven kingdoms except from Dorne and Vale have been in heavy conflict throughout the story and the iron islands have all but been destroyed.

Either way if I remember correctly Dorne hasn't been in any major conflict In this fic and Vale hasn't gotten majorly involved or have lost barely any troops and both of these kingdoms can field a total 40,000 each when given enough time which already is 2/3 of Daenerys forces from just 2 Kingdoms. So I'm not sure where her having the largest army ever seen unless they mean as a single United force that has invaded Westeros

Once again looking forward to your next update so keep up the good work.

Guest #3: Im all giddy about this!

God of war: Will there be a navel battle before denyries reach dragon stone

Guest #2: you must allow homosexuality

Guest #1: to death the faith

Chris the Metis: Quite a chapter. Daenerys should have read a sign that said "Dragons keep out!" on all corners of Westeros because nobody supporting her as all back the Oathkeeper beside her family screw up far badly to the point that nobody welcome her back which truly indeed a show down between stag and dragon. Like Battle of Bosworth Field or Trident.

Nai0310: I can already imagine Daveth watching the horizon and scenes of Daenerys about Drogon and the great army of unsullied, drothaky and golden company, Viserion and Rhaegal flying around them.

fiend89: This is getting real. I hope that Daveth is wise enough to get smart people to research how to defeat dragons. However, will the North be concern about Daenerys considering they are the closest to the Nights Watch? Love this story, can't wait for more.

RHatch89: The issue with your Daenerys is that she is the underdog here (not counting her forces and dragons). The show Daenerys was facing against a despotic queen (who had little to no supporters), and had the support of Westerosi allies, but this Daenerys is facing the might of seven kingdoms that have no love for her, and view her as a foreign invader who is leading forces of destruction to a relatively peaceful land.

Hear My Fury: All I got to say is the Tyrells and Martells better not turn cloak on Daveth and side with Daenerys. Because if they do I have no problems with them receiving the Reyne and Tarbeck treatment.

Chosen-One-92: Fucking hell I hope you don't cock block us by having them cease hostilities and fight the dead so early. I'm looking forward to a well led Westeros, less decimated by war mustering its armies. I expect the dothraki will feel differently about Westeros' people being unable to fight this time.

Tohka123: Looks like it is time to unite against the upcoming threat, keep up the hard work

Bad Ass Female Fighter: That message was epic. I can totally see Daveth staring off into the distance with that dramatic background music when the message was read.

Oi Teme: Wow going all out with that letter already wise describing the mad king and each of her army. I thought they would at least try to have a long talk first or is it straight to battle already?

Corvus Reborn: Well well, I fear that Daenerys may have a harder time attacking Westeros given that it is effectively united rather than various factions squabbling for power, vengeance, or just because they can.

I feel that Euron is going to be a wild card factor in the coming days; either striking out as an independent power or with him putting aside his differences with Yara for the time being to seek revenge for the fallen Iron Islands, seems unlikely, but you never know.

Still, whatever the case, interesting times are ahead. I guess all we can do now is sit back, grab some popcorn, and watch the fireworks. On a semi-related note, wasn't there something many chapters ago about Daenerys asking Jorah (or somebody else in her counsel) asking for information regarding Daveth. Was that ever addressed, or just inferred that such a thing happened?

Patty 4577: Nice chapter. But I do notice there is one plot point you have been avoiding. The wildlings. Ever since Ramsay has been dealt with. You seem to have brushed off their existence. Especially in the mind of any southern king or lord who believes they are on the wrong side of the wall regardless of their reasons. Or who is supporting them.

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Trials and Tribulations of the Oathkeeper by DeadlyMaelstrom711

 TV » Game of Thrones Rated: M, English, Drama & Romance, [OC, Sansa S.] Daenerys T., Jon S., Words: 859k+, Favs: 1k+, Follows: 1k+, Published: Apr 16, 2018 Updated: Feb 11, 2020 2,418Chapter 125: The Wars to Come

Beyond the Wall…

Bran continues his training, his eyes glazed white as he experienced more visions of the past. Yesterday he learned the origins of the Night King and the White Walkers with the Three-Eyed Raven: the Children of the Forest—Leaf in particular—slowly drove a shard of dragonglass into the heart of a captive First Men bound to the weirwood tree until it disappears inside his chest, causing his eyes to turn blue. When confronted, Leaf defended her people's actions since the Children of the Forest were at war with the First Men thousands of years ago.

Nearby, his direwolf Summer, Hodor, Meera and the Three-Eyed Raven were sleeping. Deciding to explore more visions, to truly understand the past, Bran drags his crippled self over to the roots and takes hold of them. Gasping quietly, Bran's eyes turned white once again and warged into the past once more, although the surroundings were unfamiliar. Covered in a snowy blizzard, Bran turned around and gasped in shock.

"W-what the…?!"

Behind him was the entire Army of the Dead standing in attendance. Bran cautiously approached them and then among their ranks, somewhat bewildered and amazed they haven't noticed his presence yet. On the other side of the army, he finds the Night King and four White Walker lieutenants on horseback. Before he could react, Bran froze when he sees the Night King staring directly at him.

'He sees me,' the young Stark realized.

In near unison, the entire Army of the Dread turned their decaying faces and stared directly on him. Feeling every gaze of the undead staring at him, Bran turns around before turning back again to see the Night King standing behind him. He recoils, but by then it was too late as the Night King grabbed his forearm.

"AAHHH!" he screams in agony.

Awoken into the present and ending his vision, Bran gasps, sweats and pants heavily before quickly releases his grip on the tree root—the sensation on his forearm stung and burned badly. His loud screams alerted Meera, Hodor, Summer, Leaf and the Three-Eyed Raven from their sleep; more Children of the Forest entered the cave at the level of disturbance.

"He saw me!" he shouted. "The Night King saw me! He saw me!"

The Three-Eyed Raven noticed Bran's forearm. "He touched you," he noticed.

Bran pulls back his sleeve, revealing a handprint on his forearm.

"Now he knows where you are. He'll come for you."

"But he can't get in."

"He can now," the old man countered cautiously. "His mark is on you." He turned his attention towards Bran's other companions. "You must leave, all of you."

Meera was the first to act. "Come on, Hodor. Help me with the sledge," she tells him.

"Hodor. Hodor," the large simpleminded servant panicked.

Bran looked up at his mentor. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to," he said apologetically.

The Three-Eyed Raven looked unconcerned at his approaching fate. "The time has come," he said simply.

"The time for what?"

"For you to become me."

"But am I ready?" he asked.

The old man shook his head. "No." Once gaze at Bran and his eyes turned white, forcing Bran's to do the same.

Motionless and flooded with every vision from the past, Bran laid stiff as Meera and Hodor prepared for travel.

"We have to go, Hodor. This cave isn't safe anymore," she calls out. "Eat something that isn't moss. I want an egg. How do you like 'em? Hmm? Boiled? Fried up with some butter?"

"Hodor."

"With a rasher of bacon and some blood sausage, and—" Meera notices the air has quickly become so cold she can see her breath and the temperature suddenly dropping. She looks at Bran and runs to the entrance of the cave.

Leaf and the other Children of the Forest are gathered outside armed with magic projectiles. Across the field, the Night King accompanied by three White Walkers and the entire Army of the Dead are gathered. Sensing that his marking on Bran's right forearm had bypassed the powerful magic keeping his forces out of the cave, the Night King kneels and places his hand on the ground—causing a rift to crack through the ice all across the field and into the Great Weirwood Tree.

"Meera, get Bran and run!" Leaf yelled.

Meera ran back into the cave, retrieving a sword on the way back. Unsheathing his blade, the Night King leads his undead forces towards the cave. Now in the fight of their lives, the remaining Children of the Forest threw magic spheres at their undead enemies.

*BOOM!*

*BOOM!*

*BOOM!*

*BOOM!*

One by one, the spheres explode upon contact—killing some of the wights. With one of the last bombs, Leaf lights a half-circle of flame in front of the entrance of the cave and runs back inside with her people. The Night King, however, was looked unimpressed and approached the flames with his White Walker lieutenants; the flames part to let them pass, then reforms. Since the Army of the Dead cannot pass through, each climbs up the cliffs and climb the crag to the top to look for another way in.

Inside, Bran's eyes remained white and stuck in a vision taking place at Winterfell. He could hear the faintest cries of Meera shaking him. "Bran! Bran, wake up!"

Soon a wight falls through the ceiling and advances on Meera; the female Crannogmen grabs her sword and cuts it down with ease. Another wight falls from above, causing Meera to recoil. Summer lunges forth and tackles it to the ground, tearing the undead apart with its vicious fangs. Leaf looks up to spot a third wight jumping down before getting suspended upside down by its feet. The Child of the Forest beheads it with her knife.

Another wight rushes, but Leaf shoots it with an arrow. More Children of the Forest enter to combat the undead forces swarming the cave and fight a desperate battle to fight them off. One wight kills a Child of the Forest; all while Meera and Hodor continue trying to wake Bran up and escort him out of the cave.

"Bran, we're all going to die! Bran! Bran!" she screams. "We need Hodor. We need Hodor. Warg into Hodor now! Now!"

In the vision, Bran twisted and turned at the faintest sound of Meera's voice. With him, the Three-Eyed Raven nodded.

"Listen to your friend, Brandon," he tells him. "The time has come. Leave me."

Hodor's eyes flash white as more wights enter the cave. One of them kills another Child of the Forest. Meera cuts it down. Another Child of the Forest jumps forward and stabs another wight with a spear. While Hodor stands and walks over to Bran, a White Walker enters. The spear-bearing Child of the Forest lunges at it and stabs it in the chest, but the blow has no effect. The White Walker pushes the spear aside and stabs the Child of the Forest, killing her. Hodor lifts the sledge with Bran atop it. Meera grabs a dragonglass spear and launches it into the White Walker's neck, causing it to shatter and dies. She and Leaf then follow Hodor towards the back entrance.

Behind them, Summer growls and bares its teeth at the wights entering the cave.

"Summer!" Meera shouts. "Come, Summer! We have to go!"

Leaf shoved her forward. "He's buying us time to escape. Now go. Go!" she hollered as they run into the back tunnel.

As tens if not hundreds of wights flood into the cave, Bran's direwolf Summer stays behind to protect its master. Summer attacked the wights and lunged forth; although the animal manages to tackle two or three of them to the ground, the undead easily swarm around the direwolf and repeatedly stab Summer to death.

Elsewhere, Leaf, Meera and Hodor hurry down the back tunnel dragging Bran on the sledge. Still stuck in a vision, he doesn't realize a slew of wights pursuing them. Back in the center of the cave, the Night King enters and slowly approaches the Three-Eyed Raven—ice blade in hand. Confined by the Great Weirwood Tree's roots and unable to move, the last greenseer was resigned to his fate. Raising his weapon, the Night King swiftly swung his blade—carving the Three-Eyed Raven diagonally across the torso.

In Bran's vision, he witnesses his mentor breaking apart and blows away as dust, ashes and rags, leaving him alone.

Running down the back tunnel, Leaf stops running and turns to face the undead army advancing on their position.

"What are you doing?" Meera calls out.

"Go!" Leaf yells.

She brandishes a magic bomb and primes it. The wights overtake her and knock her to the ground, stabbing her repeatedly. Releasing her grip on the weapon, Leaf detonates the bomb, killing herself and the hundreds of wights surrounding her. Hodor reaches the rear door and puts down the sledge so he could ram down the door. More wights appear and begin advancing.

"Hodor, hurry!" Meera shouts in a panic.

Hodor heaves the door open and drags the sledge outside. He drops it down and returns to the door, holding it closed with his body against the wooden frame and grips the handles as tightly as he possibly could. Knowing this was the last time they were going to see him, Meera lifts up the sledge carrying Bran and drags it away. She didn't look back.

"Hold the door!"

In Bran's vision, he stares at young Wylis who stares back at him. When more "Hold the door! Hold the door! Hold the door!" shouts echoed throughout the vision, Wylis' eyes turn white and falls to the ground convulsing.

"Wylis! What's the matter?" Old Nan exclaimed horrified, kneeling down beside him.

"Hold the door!" Wylis cried out out in a terrible seizure. "Hold the door! Hold the door! Hold the door! Hold the door! Hold the door! Hold the door! Hold the door! Hold the door! Hold door! Hold door! Hold door! Hodor! Hodor! Hodor! Hodor! Hodor!"

Outside, Hodor continues pressing his full weight against the door as wights begin breaking through. They clutch his clothing and begin tearing at his flesh; no matter how much pain Hodor was in, he did not budge. Hodor kept holding the door shut behind him to give Meera time to escape with the still unconscious Bran—sacrificing his life as the wights tore him apart in their attempt to break out of the cave.

—Near the Wall—

Heavy snow is falling. Meera felt stressed out and emotionally drained; she endured and yet lost so much to ensure Bran was taken to see the Three-Eyed Raven. Her brother, Summer, Hodor… All of them died for Bran. Just as all appeared hopeless, they were fortunate enough to be rescued by a mysterious rider who attacked and eliminated the pursuing wights with a sickle and a flaming flail. The stranger unveiled his hood, revealing to be Bran's paternal uncle Benjen Stark; the First Ranger of the Night's Watch had disappeared during a scouting mission. His skin was grey and had blemishes on his face.

Once Bran had awoken, he slowly begins to recognize him. "Uncle Benjen," he said. "The last letter Jon wrote me said you had been lost beyond the Wall."

Benjen looked nonchalant. "I led a ranging party deep into the North to find White Walkers. They found us," he explained. "A White Walker stabbed me in the gut with a sword of ice. Left me there to die. To turn. The Children of the Forest found me and stopped the Walker's magic from taking hold."

"How?"

"The same way they made the Walkers in the first place. You saw it yourself, nephew."

"Dragonglass. A shard of dragonglass plunged into your heart."

Benjen nodded. "You are the Three-Eyed Raven now."

"I didn't have time to learn," he shook his head. "I can't control anything."

"You must learn to control it before the Night King comes. One way or another, he will find his way to the world of men. When he does, you will be there waiting for him. And you will be ready."

With that, Benjen escorted Meera and Bran further south towards a grove with a weirwood heart tree in sight of the Wall. The former First Ranger looked up and stared at his former base of operations, shaking his head regretfully.

"I'm afraid this is where I must leave you," he said.

Meera looked confused. "Why? You're not coming with us?" she asked.

Benjen turned to her. "The Wall is not just ice and stone," he explained. "Ancient spells were carved into its foundations. Strong magic to protect men from what lies beyond. And while it stands, the dead cannot pass. I cannot pass."

He stood up and approaches his horse, lifting Bran off of it and carries him to the foot of a nearby weirwood tree before walking back to his horse.

"Then… where will you go?"

"The Great War is coming and I still fight for the living. I'll do what I can… for as long as I can."

Remerging from another one of his visions, Bran shared his last moment with his uncle.

"Thank you, uncle Benjen," he said.

"And to you, Bran. I wish you both good fortune."

With that, Benjen rode away into the forest. Bran looks up at the weirwood tree and starts to crawl towards it. Meera helps him reach it and looks at him.

"Are you sure you're ready for this?" she asked doubtfully.

Bran nods. "It is as my uncle said. I'm the Three-Eyed Raven now. I have to be ready for this," he insists.

Touching his hand on the weirwood tree, Bran's eyes go white to finish accelerating the pace of his training—seeing another vision of the past. He had to; for he knew the evil that was coming to Westeros. And he had to be ready. It was his personal task to utilize and perfect his supernatural gifts in the war against the Night King and the White Walkers. It was now or never.

In Meereen…

Jon Connington stood in the Great Pyramid's throne room – with Daenerys sitting on her throne, flanked by Grey Worm and Missandei as their visitors Yara and Euron Greyjoy have been debating and pleading their cases, though one more direct than the other with a few Unsullied keeping them silent company.

"It's not a matter of debate," Yara interjected. "What my father did shouldn't have harmed the rest of us, but the Oathkeeper did it anyway."

"And he paid the price for it when he brought our people's end on himself," Euron countered with glee. "Be thankful that it was the Oathkeeper who did him in first because I would've done the same – just less colorful."

"You'd knowingly murder my father? Your own brother? Are you insane?!"

"He led us into two wars we couldn't win. And while you sailed around the western coasts back in Westeros, I, on the other hand, have been around the world. I've seen more things than any ironborn living."

Connington interrupted. "Get back to the point, Greyjoy. Why did you come here?" he demanded, not positively predisposed towards the elder.

Euron continued arrogantly gloated. "The moment I was chosen by what was left of our people to lead the Iron Islands, I came home to find nothing but a pile of smoke, ash and rubble. No home, no nothing," he postured. "I'm sure you've already heard what Daveth Baratheon is capable of, so I'd imagine word of the Slave Masters being utterly crushed in one swift stroke has already spread back to the capital. No doubt he's mobilizing his armies right now. To attack you," he pointed to Daenerys. "It's nothing compared to the cruel hardship you suffered at the hands of a man whose family sought to destroy, from what I hear. But still. It bothers me. Murdering the Oathkeeper and his lackeys would make me feel a lot better. And since it appears that we share a common enemy, I thought we rightful monarchs could murder them together."

Before Euron could start walking up towards the throne, Grey Worm and the Unsullied take a step towards him; Euron stops walking and looks up at the Unsullied commander.

"That's far enough," Grey Worm warned.

Euron smiles wickedly and backs down off the steps. Daenerys, meanwhile, decides to cut to the chase.

"Your niece has already instructed our forces on how to properly sail my fleet once belonged to the former Slave Masters and supplemented by the Golden Company," she begun. "Yet you came here with what remains of the… Iron Fleet, and men to sail them as well. Both of you made your claims and petitions known. In return, I expect you want me to support your claim to the throne of the Iron Islands? Among other things?"

"My father would've wanted me to rule—" Yara began.

"Ah, but the Kingsmoot chose me instead," Euron interrupted. "Succession of the Iron Islands is decided that way. Thought you would've known that by now, my dear niece. Our law is the law. You weren't on the Iron Islands, and yet I still remain the greatest captain on the 14 seas. The place was getting crowded so we'll need room to expand."

Daenerys spoke up. "And what is wrong with the selection process? Is it not the tradition of the Salt Throne that whoever remains as the eldest surviving child of the King of Salt and Rock be next in the line of succession? Has the Iron Islands ever had a Queen before?"

Yara looks at her uncle before looking back up at the Dragon Queen. "No more than Westeros," she replied. "My uncle only came home after a long absence, took advantage of the chaos so he could seek power for himself. Took whatever few resource my homeland had left to promote his own interests."

"You told me that your father was a terrible King."

"You and I have that in common."

"We do. And both murdered by a usurper as well."

Daenerys continued listening; her advisor, Connington, meanwhile, pressed the matter further.

"Last I heard, the Greyjoys rebelled against the Iron Throne for the right to be monarchs not once but twice – both ending in catastrophic failure," he pointed out before turning to Euron. "You, on the other hand, I've heard much about. One exile to another, though I've been here in Essos longer than you were. You spent your days reaving, pillaging and raping all over the known world from Oldtown to even Asshai by the Shadow Lands."

"He came here to offer you his ships, though it isn't all he said he'll bring. My uncle claims he also wants to give you his 'big cock,' I think he said. Euron's offer is also an offer of marriage, you see – not getting one without the other. Which is why you should not negotiate with him," she pointed to Euron. "He'll murder you as soon as you have what he wants."

"The Seven Kingdoms," Connington deduced. "All of them."

Now the Dragon Queen was suddenly interested in that last remark. "And I assume you don't want the Seven Kingdoms, Yara?"

She shook her head. "Your ancestor Aegon the Conqueror defeated ours, Harren the Black, and took the Iron Islands. I ask you to give them back and help us murder those who don't think a woman's fit to rule."

Connington remained suspicious, finding such demands ludicrously unsettling. "Such a notion would prove to create a disastrous domino effect for the rest of the Seven Kingdoms House Targaryen conquered and united. What if everyone else starts demanding their independence as well? Are we to just give it to them willy nilly?"

"She isn't demanding, Lord Connington. She's asking. The others are free to ask as well," Daenerys reminded him. "Both her father and mine were evil men. They both left the world worse than they found it." She redirected her attention towards Euron. "But we won't. As such I must decline your offer, my lord. We're going to leave the world better than we found it, but we cannot make it so by allowing power-hungry, self-serving evil men into our service."

"You don't care about the Iron Islands. They're nothing but rocks and bird shit and a lot of very unattractive people. Well, they used to be," Euron shot. "The Iron Fleet on the other hand—my fleet, that's something else entirely. Refuse my offer and I'll continue owning the seas."

Despite the confidence in himself and the unrefuseability of his offer, Euron met resistance.

"My fleet will help the Dragon Queen defeat the pretenders in the North, Stormlands, Westerlands, Vale and every other region who ruined us all," Yara shot back.

"On this, Queen Daenerys concurs and has made her decision to decline your proposal of an alliance," Connington agreed. "We will negotiate with Lady Yara, not you."

That last bit was a cheap nut shot; a blow to his pride. Euron was not expecting that.

"Why?" he asked. "You know what? Forget I asked. I don't expect you to trust me outright. In my experience, the surest way to a woman's heart is a gift. But should you require a demonstration of my naval forces' superiority, I suppose we'll find out to see whose fleet is better than the other."

Euron nods to her, turns and strides out of the throne room, all brass balls and swagger. Daenerys rose from her throne and felt her nerves twitch.

"Torgo Nudho. (Grey Worm)," she turned to her Unsullied commander. "Lo ziry māzigon naejot vīlībāzma, lo bona vala jiōragon isse se ñuhoso lēda īlva kȳvana syt iā sȳrkta vys, ossēnagon zirȳla ēlī (If it comes to battle, should that man interfere with our plans for a better world, kill him first.)"

"Krenyikhé, ñuha dāria. (Gladly, my Queen)", he nodded.

With that business over and done with, Daenerys redirected her attention towards her newest chief naval commander. "I will help you get the justice you deserve and rebuild the Iron Islands. In return, you will support my claim as Queen of the Seven Kingdoms and respect the integrity of the Seven Kingdoms. That means no more reaving, roving, raiding or raping."

Yara heard this speech before. "That's our way of life," she tried to explain.

The Dragon Queen wasn't buying it. "No more," she said firmly.

Yara and Daenerys look at each other. "Not anymore." Those were the harsh, judgmental words hurled at her when she imprisoned and tried in court after the Second Greyjoy Rebellion after Daveth literally laid waste to the Iron Islands and nearly wiped out every ironborn in his crusade for vengeance. "Well, I am truly sorry to disappoint you, Princess, but the integrity of the Seven Kingdoms will be respected. From now on, there will be no more reaving and raiding. The Old Ways are done." Every night when she was chained up in Deepwood Motte, Yara kept hearing those words in her sleep before breaking out.

Of course the difference was that one was a forceful ultimatum while the other sounded like a firm yet diplomatic request; if not a reasonable one. She soon nods her head and holds out her hand.

"No more," Yara agreed.

Daenerys is not familiar with this gesture, but holds out her hand all the same. Yara clasps the Dragon Queen's forearm with her hand like the tough ironborn she is. Daenerys returns the clasp and tried to maintain her regality in the face of her bemusement.

—Later that day—

Connington stood outside his Queen's chambers with his arms folded; overhearing a conversation from the other side held between Daenerys and her lover Daario. Although the sounds were somewhat muffled by the reinforced doors and walls, he could slightly hear it all playing out.

« Your ships are ready. I saw them painting the sails. I'm curious to see how the Dothraki do on the poison water. » the voice belonged to Daario.

« You're not coming with us. » replied Daenerys.

« New strategy? You want the Second Sons to attack from the west coast? Or the southeast? If we take Casterly Rock and Storm's End, the Baratheons will have nowhere to run when you hit King's Landing. »

« You're not going to Westeros. You're staying here with the Second Sons. There's finally peace in Meereen. You will keep the peace as Regent of the Bay of Dragons while the people choose their own leaders. We can't keep calling it Slaver's Bay anymore. »

The former Lord of Griffin's Roost was intrigued with how the Dragon Queen was attempting to break off her dalliance with her paramour. In his mind, it made sense. In the event should House Targaryen reconquer the Seven Kingdoms like Aegon did 300 years ago, Daenerys will no doubt be required to marry a loyal Westerosi supporter to continue her family's bloodline—the bloodline of Old Valyria. After all, no commoner was a fit consort for a woman of royal birth. No one would accept that.

He could hear Daario getting uptight—apparently not taking the break up well. Although understandable, Connington knew this had to be done; not only to avoid heartache, but also scandal.

« Bay of Dragons? Fuck Meereen. Fuck the people. I'm here for you, not them. »

« You promised me. "My sword is yours. My life is yours." This is what I command. If I'm going to rule in Westeros, I'll need to make alliances. The best way to make alliances is making strategic marriages. »

« Who are you marrying this time? »

« I don't know. Maybe no one. »

« But you need to lure all the noble houses to the table? Are you a Queen or fish bait? »

« I can't bring a lover to Westeros. »

« A King wouldn't think twice about it. »

« So that's what you want? To be my mistress? »

« I'm not proud. I don't care what perfumed aristocrat sits beside you in the throne room. I don't want a crown. I want you. I love you, Daenerys. And I make you happy. You know I do. Bring me with you. Let me fight for you. »

« I can't, Daario. »

« That old Westerosi Connington told you to do this? »

« No one tells me to do anything. The decisions I make are entirely my own. »

« Clever old fossil. Intimidating, strategically ruthless… more dangerous than he was when I first met him. Can't argue with his logic. I'm no use to you over there. »

« Don't get angry. »

« I'm not angry. I'm full of self-pity. Who comes after you? Who can ever follow Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, the Mother of Dragons. »

« A great number of women, I imagine. Specific orders will be left for you regarding the welfare of Meereen and the Bay of Dragons. »

« You'll get that throne you want so badly, I'm sure of it. I hope it brings you happiness. I pity the lords of Westeros. They have no idea what's coming for them. »

« Farewell, Daario Naharis. »

Connington leaned off the wall and sat off to the side of the room on a bench, waiting until he sees Daenerys emerging from her bedchambers and walked down the steps. She notices him staring at her.

"How much do you hear?" she asks.

"All of it," he answers.

"It's not polite to eavesdrop on other people's conversations, Lord Connington; especially if they're personal ones. Private."

"Regardless, what's done had to be done. That Daario fellow, how did he take it?"

Daenerys shifted somewhat uncomfortably. "No tears," she replied plainly.

"Good."

"Why is that good?"

"Daario is skilled with a blade, but he is a commoner and you royalty; too low birth to be considered an eligible suitor and not fit for a young woman of your station. He would've been a distraction, a liability should you chose to take him with us to Westeros. What matters most now is that you have your armies, you have your ships, and you have your dragons—just as Aegon the Conqueror had 300 years ago. Everything you've ever wanted since you were old enough to want anything. Our enemies know we're coming and will no doubt seek to exploit any opening they could use against you. If you're going to rule the Seven Kingdoms, a monarch will need to make the hard yet necessary decisions. You will find little joy in it, but it needs to be done. Are you afraid?"

Daenerys nods.

"Good. You should be, child. You've taken a big step in the great game: the game of thrones. The only people who aren't afraid of failure are sycophants and madmen."

"Like my father, I know. But do you know what frightens me more?" she asked. "The first is when I said farewell to a man who loves me. A man I thought I cared for, and yet I felt nothing. Nothing. Just impatience to get it over with."

"And the second?"

"The second is that I do sometimes worry that I might end up like my father. Once you told me that madness and greatness are two sides of the same coin when it comes to my family. 'Every time a new Targaryen is born the gods flip a coin, and the world holds its breath to see how it will land.' Tell me, will I end up like that?"

Connington looked at her somewhat confused, but not surprised nor concerned. "It's difficult to say, child. When your father ascended the throne, for instance, he showed great promise in the first 20 years of his reign before spiraling into insanity and paranoia. But madness and greatness depends on the Targaryen and the choices they make. Your older brother, Prince Rhaegar, was fortunately spared of such a fate and demonstrated such greatness. Had he still lived, Rhaegar would've surpassed even the greatest Targaryen Kings. You still remind me of him sometimes the way you carry yourself. Valiant, honorable and noble."

Daenerys smiled sadly. "I wish I could've known him better. The way you describe him makes me sometimes wonder how Rhaegar would've been like today."

"He would've loved you. Spoil you rotten, perhaps, but still." Connington stood up. "We will avenge Rhaegar, your father, your niece Rhaenys, your nephew Aegon… everyone who wronged you terribly. My sword and counsel are yours should you require it."

"Good," the Dragon Queen nodded. "I, um… I had something made for you. I'm not sure if I got the designs right." She held out a makeshift silver pin that symbolized being Hand; a pin Connington himself once held and recognized it. "Lord Jon Connington of Griffin's Roost, I name you Hand of the Queen." Daenerys said as she pins it to him.

Connington kneels and pledges his services to House Targaryen once more as he resumed his Handship, a position he once held before in his younger days during Robert's Rebellion. When he was younger, he was seen as too young, too bold and too eager for glory; the Battle of the Bells proved that Connington at the time was indeed not ready for such responsibilities. Now that he was a different man having spent years in exile – older, more cautious, experienced and dangerous than ever, Connington was patient and learned from his past mistakes. No more being honorable and seeking glory as he did before; Connington would not repeat his failure at the Battle of the Bells again.

—At the Summer Sea—

Yara, Qhono, and Captain Strickland were moving about on their respective ships with their troops: ironborn, Dothraki, Unsullied and Golden Company sellswords. Each of them looked out at the sea with the sunset reflecting off the surface. A vessel appears with a dragon as its ram. Grey Worm and the Unsullied ride on it. Behind him hundreds of other ships are sailing around with some carrying the Dothraki and their horses.

True to his word, Captain Strickland and the Golden Company were forced to leave their war elephants behind back in Essos. Above the sellsword company's vessels, Drogon, Viserion and Rhaegal fly overhead over the larger ship leading the convoy.

Leading the main fleet, Daenerys, Connington and Missandei stand atop the deck and look out at the oceans ahead—the sound of waves crashing against the ship drowned out by the screeching dragons above.

Chapter End

Author's Note: Well guys, in one whole day this officially marks the end of Season 6. The next several chapters will begin the start of Season 7 and the war between Daveth Baratheon and Daenerys Targaryen. As promised, I'll work to include more battle scenes. So until then be sure to get some drinks, popcorn and sit back for more news. It'll be another battle between the stag and the dragon; both offspring of Kings and will fight each other with everything they've got. Thoughts? Let me know.

Tohka123: Looks like things are about to go in full gear the invasion is coming. Can't wait for more keep up the hard work

Guest #2: Who is going to support Daenerys? Correct me if I'm wrong, but Daveth is the most respected king in generations since Jaehaerys the Conciliator.

harisnorw: Doubt she would manage to land with most of her fleet as she would face the royal fleet, an garrisoned dragon stone and a united westeros. So heavy casualties and ultimately an defeat for her

DarkFireCat5241999: Well since this is westros we know the peace won't last I give them a hundred years till the crown tries to take back the north

Bosma19: I really hope Daveth and Daenerys can work out their problems without killing each other

C.E.W: So the war is finally coming to Westeros. Daenerys will still land on Dragonstone, although it won't be as easy to take it as it was in the series, as Stannis may still have a garrison there. Daenerys might not have support of any noble in Westeros but she still has a powerful army at her back with three full grown dragons. Granted, Daveth's new scorpion weapons can kill them, but they didn't stop Daenerys from defeating Cersei and destroying King's Landing in the series. Daenerys might've been born, raised and molded by hardship, and is a force to be reckon with on dragons but against someone like Daveth, she's out of her element. Daveth's spent his entire life in Westeros, learning to rule, studying the peoples of the Seven Kindoms, training to be a warrior, a leader, training to be the best. There is a great battle coming between the two factions, the question is... who will win.

I hope, for both Daveth and Daenerys' sake that Jon finds prove of the White Walkers. It will encourage the whole realm to unite including Daenerys who does not seek to rule over a graveyard.