Chapter 2

King's Landing - Flea Bottom

"Not this again, my prince! Ser Arthur and I had to carry you back the last time. The Queen nearly murdered us." Barristan protested, frowning.

'Ah yes, Rhaegar Targaryen, Prince of Dragonstone, son of Aerys Targ- Yes, I've known sad songs that are happier than this…' Rhaegar thought, getting up from the pavement and flicked his silver hair back.

"Hmm, I'm going to get that wine. I order you to join me." Rhaegar ordered, walking away with a smile.

Rhaegar watched the people as he walked through the streets with Barristan walking closely behind him. He waved and greeted kindly, which one would argue was rare qualities for a prince.

"They are more joyous than usual." Barristan stated, watching the peasants that roamed the streets with surprised.

"The news should have been spread by now. Lord Whent's ravens where sent throughout the seven kingdoms. If Lord Tywin and Lord Stark attend, the arrangements should be sound." Rhaegar reckoned, narrowing his eyes.

"Those arrangements shouldn't be spoken in public; even the air in Kings Landing has ears." Barristan uttered, glancing around suspiciously.

"That will change as well…soon." Rhaegar replied, nearly growling, "I heard it again you know, yesterday. My mother's screams gave Viserys a sleepless night. I've been so long in Dragonstone, that I almost forgot how it tormented me every night as well. How often are you stationed to listen, Barristan?"

The Kings guard almost flinched, "I'm afraid too often than I can handle."

Rhaegar's fists almost clenched at the thoughts that ran through his head, but patience he told himself. His father's time will come.

'With the Westernlands and the North's support, I'll be able to do it easily. Lord Tywin will take some convincing, and I've not a clue on Lord's Stark's bargains. From what I've heard, he has secured an alliance with the Riverlands with his son and heir's betrothed to Hoster Tully's daughter. His other son is fostered at the Vale, and has formed fatherly ties with Jon Arryn, no doubt he would rally up his men to protect the North against my father's rashness, and from the rumors, an arrangement has also been made with the Stormlands heir. ' Rhaegar did the pondering in his head.

With his hand on his chin, and sighed, 'No, I HAVE to gain the support of the North if Lord Stark's alliances are secured soundly. I have the support of Dorne through Elia. That's 45 000 men. Lord Stark with the North, Stormlands, and the Riverlands, he'll have at least 120 000 men. If the Vale follows Lord Stark and if I convince Lord Tywin…seven hells!'

Rhaegar then felt his shoulders sag while he walked, 'I've lost all hope with securing the Reach, and there is no way I'm bargaining with the Iron Islands. The biggest question…is how I'm to do all of this. Securing this may take a decade even with work done at the tourney. It may even overwhelm the Lord's if we look at it realistically.'

Rhaegar groaned and rubbed his temples as they entered the Street of Sisters.

"I really need that wine…"

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The Red Keep – Council Room

"The state of Flea bottom has been despicable in the last few years. Multiple reports say that with the ruined sewage system the stench would hit Rhaenys and Visenya's Hill eventually, sadly, sooner than we've hoped." Symond Staunton – The Master of Laws – spoke while reading through the large bounty book that recorded the known criminal's and suspicious reports on unknown criminals, "This is excluding the crime reports that have been brought to my attention."

"Terrible news indeed, heart wrenching to process." Grand Maester Pycelle uttered, sadly. The old hunched man appearing to be the epitome of concern for the peasants. Unfortunately, only a few knew he was just an A-Class scumbag of a weasel.

"Who is to blame for this?" Owen Merryweather – the Hand of the King – questioned, snorting, "We cannot simply consume whatever gold we have to fill every single belly and fix every single brick. Doing so will leave us bankrupt sooner than they start to actually appreciate our efforts. They weren't willing to learn from their mistakes, learn to make do and acquire trade attributes. It's not our problem. Lord Varys seems to have a soft spot for little peasants; realistic really, given his background."

"With all due respect Lord Hand, but perhaps the reason they don't know how to, is because they simply have no means to acquire such skills. A Blacksmith apprenticeship is…rather costly these days. Maybe if, one was willing to teach rather than give, it could produce surprising results. If lamb chops didn't exist, perhaps you can hold responsible for that." Lord Varys – the Master of whisperers – spoke with such fake innocence, it made Symond rub his temple.

"You fat little-!" Lord Owen gritted his teeth and nearly stood up.

"Disrespectful, d-disgraceful!" Grand Maester Pycelle stammered, highly offended by the small councils behavior.

"Alright, enough with the peasants!" Lucerys Velaryon – Master of Ships – growled, "What of your little birds, Lord Varys, any news?"

"Yes, they spoke of a tourney that will be hosted in Harrenhal by Lord Whent. There have been whispers that the prizes are life changing and attendance being quite…extraordinary, quite frankly nothing like we've before. Ravens have been sent to every house in the seven kingdoms, and accommodations have been made for the Lords without trouble." Lord Varys stated with his hands clasp inside his silk sleeves.

Lord Qarlton tapped his cheek while narrowing his eyes, "So, apparently the biggest tourney we might ever see, the attendance of nearly every kingdom, and enough contestants to keep this event going for at least ten days, including feasts, supplies and gleaming prizes for Archery, Axe throwing, melee and jousting… " Lord Quarlton looked straight at Varys and continued, "Lord Whent may be rich, but he's not stupid to realize he'll be having tax problems in a few moon turns with this event."

Lord Varys looked uneasily to his right, before gulping slightly, "They…They also whisper that, half of tourney has been accommodated by, Prince Rhaegar Targaryen of Dragonstone."

TAP! TAP! TAP!

The knock on the council table immediately tensed up the members in room. Sweat cascaded down their foreheads, and Lord Varys could only hold his breath as they all turned to the person sitting at the end of the table.

Nine inch long - cracked yellow fingernails tapped the table with a cringe worthy consistency, and dirty waist length silver-golden hair shadowed the piercing madness engulfed indigo eyes. An equally long beard moved slightly with the constant unrecognizable words that were whispered from the cracked lips, and his figure shook on impulse when his trouble mind were clouded with too many irritating thoughts.

Aerys Targaryen, second of his name, looked far older than his age. The once young Targaryen that had a distinctive charm was long gone, and in his place…is a monster that could burn a man one second and rape his wife seconds after. A biological defection so devastating, yet so common in these silver haired kings, that they couldn't turn away even as they hold their waste.

SCRATCH!

The nail on his index finger scratched the table so hard that, the screech made them shiver whilst biting their inner lips. His face rested on his palm along with his silver shadowing his eyes, and the entire process of his scratching seemed like almost childish wonder.

"So the little rat wants to gain some servant lord's support." Aerys giggled, digging his nails into the table, "Does he think my servants would betray me…the bookworm cunt, I'll kill him and his shit stain usurpers…I'll kill them all. I should make his mother watch, it would please her not!"

"I…Suppose it does make sense, your grace," Varys choose his words very carefully, "Regardless if the Prince wishes to…commit such a thing, which is unlikely due to obvious suspicion. It doesn't change the fact that all the lords of the Seven kingdom's will be gathered there. Without this tourney, such a gathering on a different occasion will warrant terrible suspicions. It doesn't change the concern that powerful people of the realm will be there, powerful people who could cause…trouble without their King having eyes on them. Prince Rhaegar may want to reevaluate their fealty to your realm. It may simply be a matter of solidifying the dynasty."

"Hah! Solidifying the dynasty, you mean with the same blood but not the same King. That little shit wants me dead, I know it, I always knew. I can see it in his eyes, everyone's eyes, those peasants going behind my back!" Aerys growled and banged the table, but soon giggled with glee and rubbed his palms together when he thought about burning those servant Lords while making their families watch.

"Perhaps, you should attend this tourney as well, your grace. See if they are still loyal with your very own eyes." Varys suggested, calmly as he can at the moment, 'If the lords truly mean to rebel, that can't be allowed. The realm cannot suffer from a war that devastating. With his grace there, they'll be silenced. Prince Rhaegar's possible rebellion might just encourage the next prince to rebel, and the next, and on it will go.'

"Yes, yes, I might see my old friend Tywin. I hope he'll be bringing his abomination as well."

Pycelle looked offended, though luckily he covered it up before the mad King noticed.

"I have other news, your grace." Varys stated, successfully changing the subject.

"On with it, I've meant to sit and judge on that blasted throne half an hour ago." Aerys beckoned for Varys to speak with a flick of his nail.

"Rather surprising whispers up North…Specifically the Night's Watch." Varys stated, "The Nights watch now has six castles that are in use. Greyguard, Hoarfrost and Sentinel Stand have been rebuilt, and the current men of the brotherhood stand at 4000 strong. In a decade, it could return to its former glory of 10 000 strong."

"Those cunts with frozen cocks…how…?" Aerys asked, clawing at his head at the sudden pain that pulsed, "I got no time for this useless shit!"

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Dorne – Sunspear

The ravens have travelled far and wide with news of the tourney, and even the edge of the South wouldn't be spared by the raven's cries. The castle of Sunspear was a site to see at the edge of Westeros, and the sun rays shined beautifully on the deserts of the Dornish folk.

"A tourney…" Prince Oberyn of House Martell slowly got up from his chair and stood at the front of his brother's desk, with a face that shows he's clearly intrigued.

Prince Doran Martell rubbed his chin and placed the letter on his desk, "This is not an ordinary Tourney. Every Lord in the Seven Kingdoms will attend; I see no reason for Dorne not to. Our sister will be there, and our niece."

"Are we going to ignore the fact that Lord Whent of Harrenhal clearly didn't find this gold on his own, what do you make of this?" Oberyn asked while getting up and walking towards a window.

Doran's eyes never left his brother's movement, but he eventually sighed and turned back to the note on the desk.

"Every Lord attending, ridiculous event prizes and gold straight from a Dragon's arse….How do you think I feel about this?" Doran reckoned, resting his face on his palm.

"So you also suspect who helped to prepare this tourney? Odd for you to suspect the Dragon first," Oberyn chuckled, taking a sip from his wine, "I don't seem to recall you being that suspicious when you shipped our sister off to that shit pile of a capital."

"Tsk, I never said I wasn't. I was just more discreet than you. Your snarl could be seen from Essos." Doran stated, rolling his eyes, "I didn't want to be on Aerys's bad side by refusing his proposal."

"Please brother, we both know he could care less about strengthening ties. He wants to keep Dorne on a leash through our sweet sister!" Oberyn snarled, and took a huge gulp of wine.

"She's safe at Dragonstone, Oberyn…"

"I have a feeling not for long."

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Westernlands – Casterly Rock

"So Lord Whent shits gold as well?" Jaime Lannister – son of and heir of the great Tywin – inquired, impressed, "This tourney is ridiculous."

Tywin Lannister could only snort while looking through the accounts. The feast that was thrown to honor Ser Jaime's recent knighthood being the talk of the entire Westernlands was quite remarkable. Obviously, it didn't even scratch the surface of the gold mines, but it was glorious nonetheless.

"The fool wants to top my tourney for Prince Viserys. He could have been a bit more discreet." Tywin reckoned, barely interested in the topic while writing down with his quill.

Jaime looked a bit hopeful while finding the courage to speak, "Ser Arthur said I should attend. The competition is huge; it would be odd for only the heir of Casterly Rock to attend, no?"

Tywin glanced at his son with unblinking eyes before going back to his work, "Speaking of The Sword of the Morning, I hear he has taken you under his wing. I'd assume you'd be the envy of many, do you enjoy it."

"Wouldn't you be enjoying it if you were knighted and trained by such a man? The King himself said my skill was remarkable for my age." Jaime said, with a hand going through his hair.

Tywin's writing stopped for a moment – which Jaime noticed – before going back to the accounts, "And what else did my old friend Aerys say?"

"Nothing much, he asked whether I was happy with being an heir…Could have sworn he smirked at my desire to fight rather than being behind a desk. He asked about you as well."

"Hmm, how nice of him to keep in touch…" Twin stated, narrowed eyed, 'Trying to latch your claws on my heir…we'll see about that.'

"Maybe I should humor Lord Whent, if Aerys attends it'll be quite the tourney." Tywin snorted, "I've grown bed sores from sitting on this chair for so long."

"Will you be bringing Tyr-" Jaime began, hopeful.

"No," Tywin interrupted, uninterestingly, "I see no reason for the little monkey to show his face. He'll be in your uncle's care with our departure. No need to embarrass you and your sister in front of the Lords."

'You mean no need to embarrass yourself…?'Jaime wondered, grinding his teeth together.

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The North - Winterfell

"You're only sending us; it would be an insult to Lord Whent father!" Brandon groaned, rubbing his head, "Do Lyanna and Benjen really have to come?"

"Lord Baratheon and Lord Tully along with their banner men will be there. It would be good for you, along with Lyanna to bond with your future partners. Benjen needs to see the outside world more often." Lord Rickard stated, his tone border lining on ice, while never lifting his head up from his work.

'Ugh, no wonder Jon and Ned left. They knew this horse shit would happen and they didn't take me with them, bastards!' Brandon nearly screamed internally.

"Lord Umber and Lord Karstark are still bitter about your betrothed, and Lord Glover's face was stone when we told him. This is a good opportunity to assure them your future wife is worthy of the North." Rickard reckoned, smiling.

"GreatJon nearly sent me flying with a kick, father…" Brandon replied, blankly, "That was the most unchained I've ever seen him in years. I nearly died."

"Oh stop exaggerating, Bran." Rickard sighed, "Your sister needs to warm up to Lord Baratheon. She threw a fit a fortnight ago, and almost rode all the way to bloody Castle Black to stay with Jon."

Brandon let out his own sigh, "She misses them, you know…She can't take it without Jon and Ned here, she seems so lost sometimes that even Benjen and I can't do anything to help. When news of Jon's feats at the wall reached the rest of the North, she wanted to be with him so badly, and when Ned wrote about the view from the Eyrie she cried. She's not even jealous of them, just sad that she's not there with them."

"All the more reason for her to go with you. Perhaps, she'll make some Southern friends and learn to cool down." Rickard jested, while internally thinking about his other two sons that were making a name for themselves, especially Jon.

Gods! Jon was a different case indeed. His second son was rumored to be a monster in battle, according to GreatJon when he visited the Wall to see its amazing progress with his own eyes. They say that his son's training regimen was madness and made a name for himself amongst the brotherhood and the wildlings beyond the wall. They call him the Bloody Wolf, or the White Wolf. Rickard knew these rumors started because word spread that Jon has a Direwolf, but the beast stays beyond the wall most of the time.

Lord Stark could never have been prouder in his life. His son not only restored the Night's Watch to its former glory, or on that path. He also established good values and training methods into the brotherhood that before, seemed like it would be nothing but a prison for thieves and rapists. He introduced the practice of rotation of guards in castles of Wall for each Northern House. Now noble Northern sons can safely join the Night's Watch and actually feel honor in doing it.

Jon had apparently taken a trip to Skagos and convinced their clans to spare wood from the hundred feet tall trees. In exchange for the recipe to creating strong foundation for houses to the clans in style of Westerosi foundations. Even dragonglass found on Skagos was now used as mark of Night Watch member. His son is said to have made weapons of dragonglass for each person in Night Watch.

They say that a recruit cannot go beyond the wall, but Jon wasn't really a recruit, but a ward. He's been training with the men there from age ten, and has helped them more than anyone else has done in centuries. Jon's freedom made Brandon and Lyanna cry tears of dismay sometimes.

"All three of us have to sit in the same place as those Southerners, just my bloody luck!" Brandon pouted, while rubbing his temples in frustration.

"Nay," Rickard reckoned, throwing a piece of paper towards Brandon and smirking slightly, "All five of you."

Brandon's eyes widened in surprise, before a huge grin nearly split his face from ear to ear, which almost made Rickard laugh, but nothing stopped Brandon from releasing a roar of joy that resounded throughout the Keep.

In the courtyard, the clashing of Lyanna and Benjen's wooden swords brought a smile to the residence that walked passed. They were grinning and dancing around each other…before Brandon's scream was heard.

"Gods, what the hell was that!?" Lyanna wondered, stopping from her sparring with Benjen and stared at the Great Keep, "Did Bran find a spider in his bed again?"

"Or found out he has a bastard." Benjen jested, chuckling.

"Ben…" Lyanna uttered, shaking her head comically, as if Benjen said the worst thing in the world, "Don't joke about that again, it might actually be true…God it might really be true!"

Lyanna's beauty was radiant at the age of sixteen. Her waist length hair was set in the normal northern style that has two braids at the upper corners of her head, and her fair skin glistened with the morning rising sun light.

Benjen smirked and used Lyanna's distracted gaze to nick the sword against her shoulder paddings. Alas, he never learns.

Lyanna caught his wrist without even looking and kneed him in the stomach, before twirling the sword in her hand and smacking the pommel into his back, sending him blazing towards the snowy ground.

….

….

….

"Ow…" Benjen groaned into snow and cringed in dismay.

Lyanna walked towards the great keep, just in time to see Brandon racing down the hall way.

"Bran…?" Lyanna called out, wide eyed.

"Lya!"

She nearly punched him when he grabbed her and lifted her up like she was a child. He was laughing like an idiot and hugged her closely.

"What you're excited about; your beard is tickling me!" Lyanna pouted, but soon ended up giggling when he wheezed his throat into laughing.

"They're coming back, our brothers are coming home and journeying with us South, after six bloody years!" Brandon almost cried, but the grin never left his face.

The She-Wolf's eyes widened and her breath caught in her throat. She tried to formulate a sentence, but ended up trying to swallow down the tears and joy that threatened to wreak her body. Ned's hilarious stone face and Jon's hilarious shy and embarrassed face entered her mind, and she could only hug Brandon back.

'Thank the old Gods; my family will be together again.'

She prayed that will never change.

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The Wall – Castle Black

"Six years of training, six years of fighting and learning…Quiet the monster he is, Maester Aemon. I've never seen someone fight like that before in my entire life." Qogyle – Lord Commander of the Knight's Watch – reckoned, chuckling while he looked at the feast before him.

Maester Aemon nodded beside him, and stared blankly in front of him, due to his blindness.

"The boy learns fast and carefully. He studied all forms of Valyrian in one year and studied the lands and histories of the known world. He doesn't go further than that, but knowing as much as he does at that age is remarkable." Maester Aemon replied, sternly and proudly.

"Remember when the recruits laughed six years ago as an twelve year old boy walked through those gates and proclaimed he needs to learn how to survive. I still remember the looks on their faces when he wiped the floor with them afterwards. Even Mance was silenced." Qogyle laugh like a wheezing old man, "And then when the boy began training…Qhorin looked like he saw the damn devil."

"We should be grateful," Aemon said, "That boy changed this entire broken place and brotherhood, something that we've failed to do since Bloodraven. He could have chosen a rich castle in the South, or a Northern house, but he instead chose to come to the wall as his ancestors have done and helped us. We can feel it, and he can surely feel it, the boy's journey will take him South now, his journey has only begun."

Down at the tables and benches, the men around laughed without restrain as the boy of age seventeen was at the centre of attention, reason being his last day here. Jon Stark's training truly did wonders. Gone was child of age eleven, and now stood a man of nineteen with a lean and muscular built that was honed with years of training. He wore the standard Stark brown leather armor proudly over a long sleeve baggy T-shirt, along with black baggy pants and metal boots.

However, two things stood out for this young man. The first were the clean and shining armor parts to accompany his leather armor. He has a gorget to protect his neck, pauldrons for his shoulders, upper vambraces for his biceps, Cowter's for his elbows, and lower vambraces for his arms. The strangest thing about these armor pieces though, is that they have ancient runes engraved at the edge of them. If one where to look closely, the language highly resembles the Old Tongue. He also wore black gloves that was commonly worn amongst knights in south.

On the table in front of him, was a helmet that was shaped like an armored hood. It was white on the top, and the metal around it also had runes on it. The most eye catching and awe gasping thing about the helmet, is the steel statue of a snarling white dire wolf with red eyes stuck on the top of the helmet. Its tail danced around its body and its teeth grinded with ferociousness. Aye, this helmet would send the weak hauling. The helmet also has a mask that was shaped like an actual dire wolfs face! The nose was beast like, and the mouth gap was like the snarling beast. All in all, that helmet looked like it cost a fucking fortune and time to make.

The next thing that stood out, was the slender long sword sheathed at his hip alongside his dagger. The swords hilt was wrapped in black leather, and the pommel was shaped like a diamond along with the engraved sigil of a white wolf on it.

Very few knew the ripples that spoke of Valyrian magic forged steel. Very few knew of its history and the Dragons that welded it before Jon. And with the new hilt and pommel, any history of the blade was wiped out. If he had never done so, then Dark Sister would be out in the open for the world to see. Now, Fenryn is what meets its enemies. In old tongue, Fenryn was said to be the blizzard that covered whole north in snow during Long Night.

'Six long years, huh…' Jon thought, a smile spreading across his face, 'Father's letter says it all. It's time for the tourney that changed House Stark forever.'

"Dammit brat, even on our last spar I can't bloody touch you!" Qhorin sighed, while slouching in exasperation.

"I've seen what happens to people who you touch, some of them get their shit knocked out of them." Jon reckoned, smirking.

"You've never seen what happened to people who you touch, you knocked them straight to their reincarnated life." Yoren chuckled, shaking his head.

"I don't punch that hard…" Jon began softly, before seeing the deadpan look every one's faces, "Truly…"

Qhorin snorted, "I've seen you bounce heads of snow beds…I was one of them."

Jon scratched his head in confusion, "I must have been drunk."

"You were drunk!" Everyone called out, lifting their jugs of ale into the air.

"And now you'll be heading South and show those Southern sons of bitches what it feels like to get wreaked. They'll never know what hit em!" Yoren jested, taking a gulp from his jug, "It's about time they finally see what a Northerner prodigy can do, and can you imagine the look on the Knights and women faces when you let loose? The gal's pussies will explode, and you might finally lose your virginity brat!"

"It's a long ass tourney, almost a fortnight, fuck me!" One of the brother's laughed out, "Hope you don't arouse the Dornish too much, you'll be fucking and be fucked at the same time."

"Caution from his own experience, lads. He should be under stretched holes, not the bloody Stewards!" Yoren yelled, causing the hall to burst out laughing with ale and food flying around.

Jon wiped the tear at his eye while trying to get his laughing under control, "Anything's better than eating your favorite goat balls stew. That shit was chewy as fuck!"

That only cause everyone to nearly wheeze laugh themselves to an early grave, and even Maester Aemon smirked and tied to hold a chuckle of his own.

"Take care of yourself lad; you've spent enough time of your childhood here. No its time for you to explore. You've done us a great honor throughout the years. And you'll always have a place at this brotherhood that you strengthened and rebuilt. You may not be our brother by oath, but you surely are in our hearts." Qogyle announced, one hand clasping Jon's shoulders and lifting his ale to the ceiling, "LONG MAY HE CAUSE DRIPPING CUNTS!"

"LONG MAY HE CAUSE DRIPPING CUNTS!" The entire Night's Watch chanted into the night.

…..

…

…

And now it begins…