XVI.

Sea battles were something a pirate could expect – it was almost a guarantee in Davos' line of work as a smuggler, although he did his best to avoid a fight wherever possible. He had strong thoughts on unnecessary violence, and with two of his sons also sailing with him, Davos wanted to minimize whatever potential damage he could. Besides, a smuggler was meant to move in the shadows, not in the light.

So, while Davos avoided fights, he wasn't a greenboy. But the thin, diluted blood as it washed off the stained boards of Aurane Waters' ship, taking body parts as the ship rocked back and forth on the waves; Davos turned from it, looking to the horizon and toward King's Landing, hiding the paleness of his face.

Aurane Waters strolled up to Davos, a swagger to his long limbs and a parody of a smile on his handsome face until he stopped a few paces from the smuggler. Behind him, a member of the kingsguard – Davos thought the man was Ser Lyn – followed. "A fine catch, wouldn't you say, Davos?"

"Fewer sharks and more like guppies," added Corbray with a dark twist to his mouth. His armour was splattered with blood and other stains. Davos thought it was good the King commanded the man to leave behind his white cloak for the mission, else it would've been a lost cause. "I was expecting more of a fight."

Waters laughed. "Oh, these men were just to cause trouble. They're not the sharks, Ser. You'll get your fight sooner or later."

Davos frowned. "You think they are acting on someone else's orders?"

"Of course." Waters turned and leaned against the railing of the ship, elbows resting as he kicked one ankle across the other. "They're not bright thinkers, Davos."

Davos' frown deepened and his eyes skipped over the crewmembers cleaning the deck with buckets of water sloshing across, the two with bristled scrubs going after the deeper stains. A few other crewmembers were securing the merchant loads of ice, ice boxes, and wood that were used as bait. On either side of Aurane Water's Zatara, was a Northern escort flying Manderly's colours and one from the Stormlands, flying the black and gold of the Baratheon's underneath the Targaryen king's standard. Both Dale and Allard – placed on either ship – had bloodied their swords during the battle but were both hale and hearty, helping with the rigging and sails.

And yet, hidden below on Zatara, were ten Tyroshi pirates with their distinctly dyed hair of lurid colours, spitting dialects of High Valyrian at any of Water's crew when they came close enough, nursing bruises and cuts with beady, angry eyes. They were the only survivors of seven ships that had attacked Zatara and the two escort ships, expecting merchants and two ships of poor sailors instead of three ships of hardened soldiers and sailors, some of which had been trained especially under the king's new Watch, his standing Westerosi army and navy.

Ser Lyn had slaughtered his way through most who boarded Zatara until Davos had shouted at

him to remember the king's orders – and then the man had taken three prisoners, lopping off their hands. Waters had been particularly nonplussed, leaving Davos feeling a bit sick as the battle wound down.

He still felt sick and wondered how the king could have such a man as part of his guard.

Swallowing, he turned back to the kingsguard and Waters, who were both engaging in small talk. "What is the king going to do with the prisoners? He's not the type to just execute them, is he?"

Corbray snorted. "If he was, then we'd have not taken them prisoner."

"What do you think he's going to do, Davos?" asked Waters with a pointed look. It was slightly pitying. "He'll discover why the Tyroshi pirates are attacking his ships."

Torture, then, thought Davos grimly. He glanced away. It was distasteful, but how else would they discover the truth?

"I imagine we'll know what's coming next soon enough," added Corbray, a gleam in his eyes. "What do you suppose that is, Ser?" asked Davos, lips tight.

Corbray turned to Davos, and he saw that the gleam was excitement. "War, Davos. It'll be war."

The Small Council wasn't very small, nearly a fortnight later, and Davos still had no idea how he ended up with a seat at the table, bewildered but hoping he was hiding it well from seasoned warriors and politicians alike.

The King had not asked, but the men reporting to him regarding the fates of the pirates that attacked their decoy ship all had similar grim looks on their faces, bringing different information but all connected to the table.

"They all said the same, Your Grace," Randyll Tarly was saying. "They were all hired by the captain, and the captains themselves were hired by an emissary of some kind, representing the Magisters of Tyrosh."

Varys tittered. "Perhaps they were hired by Tyroshi Magisters, Your Grace, but Myr and Lys certainly had an interest in spending their coin with them, as well."

The King's face was made of hard granite, his dark eyes fixed on the men as they spoke. Davos had no idea how Varys or Tarly managed to not shit themselves, but then again, he reckoned one was a hardened soldier, and the other had been spymaster for the Mad King himself. After that, despite having no balls, Davos was certain Varys had fortitude.

At his side, Cersei's lips turned down in an ugly scowl. "Whatever for? Why would Tyrosh, or Myr, or Lys come after us? Our trade ships?" She turned to her father first, and then her siblings who were also at the table, despite addressing the whole room. "We haven't inadvertently disrupted any of their deals elsewhere, have we?"

Manderly was the one who shook his head as the Master of Trade. "Not at all, Your Grace. There is an agreement with the Archon of Tyrosh, and we even have trade deals with the Magisters of Lys and Myr!"

There were angry mutters around the room.

"The real question is why," stressed Tyrion, speaking for the first time since the meeting again. He took a thoughtful sip of his wine, his gaze somewhat clouded as his mind worked. "Why would Tyrosh or Myr attack us? What do they gain?"

"Who cares about the why!" spat Cersei. "They have attacked us! By what rights do upstart lords of a backward, foreign land have to attack us?"

Tyrion barely managed to hide his eye roll at Cersei's prejudice. But her words – a faint echo of what right do others have to judge a lion? – sparked something in the others at the table, and soon arguments and discussion broke out. Anger laced words, faces went red, and mouths tightened.

Jon Targaryen sat still throughout; eyes watchful as he listened to the words flowing from one person to the next. His Lord Commander, in the chair on the other side of his king, kept quiet as well. Cersei was arguing with her brothers, while her father and Lord Hand Rickard Stark were having a quiet brainstorm.

There was a heated conversation between the Master of Trade, Wyman Manderly, and the Master of Ships, Lucerys Velaryon, but the two quickly joined opinions when they began arguing with the Master of Laws, Yohn Royce, drawing in the Master of Arms, Brynden Tully. The Master of War, Randyll Tarly, ground his teeth and stared down them as their voices quickly rose to shouts.

Maester Marwyn had no opinion, as nothing magical had happened and that was all that moved the man in most cases; Varys' eyes bounced from group to group, taking in the information they let slip and sometimes adding his own when called upon (mostly by Tully or Royce).

Oberyn Martell seemed to relish the chaos, but had become the Stranger's advocate, pointing out things that neither the two groups had thought of, usually bringing them to pointed moments of silence from that end of the table, before they began bickering again.

But it was the Stark girls who drew Davos' attention. The younger, Arya, sat next to Jaime and was completely ignoring her in-laws. Her focus instead was on her brother, as was her older sister across from her at the table. The redhead's eyes were on the king, who finally moved his from the loud argument at the end of the table to look at Sansa.

Something in the king's expression shifted, minutely, and Sansa slowly shook her head – just once, and barely noticeable in the chaos around them. After that, the king's face became resigned before falling into expressionless.

He stood abruptly, moving away from the table to look out through a window overlooking Blackwater Bay. His hands were clenched tightly behind him as he stood straight.

The conversation stopped at the table as people looked to their king. "Your Grace?" asked Rickard quietly.

"Did our Essosi friends in the dungeons have any notion of the number of others who have been contracted to attack our ships?" he finally asked, not moving from where he stood.

Davos' eyes swung from the king to Tarly and Varys.

"No, Your Grace," said Tarly succinctly. "Each captain only knows of their own orders until other ships appear."

The king's hands released from behind his back to clutch at the window's bottom ledge and he leaned slightly forward. From where Davos sat, he could see some of the man's profile. He was

frowning, and staring out at the waters, or perhaps, thought Davos, out beyond toward Essos. There were a few moments of tense silence as the king ruminated.

"Lord Tarly, Lord Velaryon, Lord Tully," he finally began, voice firm and resolute, "Please compose a draft missive to the Watch navy and army. Tell them to prepare for orders."

No one gasped, but the feeling of shocked anticipation shuddered through the room. The king's standing army and navy, comprised of second and third sons and scattered across the realm, would be the advance in war. The second would be calling the banners.

"Of course, Your Grace," said Velaryon, overcoming his shock first. There was a shrewd look on his face.

"Oh, and Lucerys?" the man blinked at the king as he continued, still speaking to the glassed window. "A second raven out to all our ports to increase patrols in their waters and to be alert of any stray or unknown ships. I want increased patrols in our waters and along our coasts, particularly near the Saltpans."

Oberyn Martell leaned forward, eyes alight and eager for what was to come as he listened to the king make further instructions.

"Lord Manderly, send out ravens that, due to the unprovoked attacks by the Essosi, we are enacting a trade embargo," Jon sighed, bringing a closed fist up to rub at his forehead briefly before falling back to the windowsill. "There will be no more outgoing orders while our ships are being attacked."

"It will be done, Your Grace." Manderly bowed his head.

The king's hands clenched around the windowsill, but he then stood straight and turned, eyes blazing. "My Lord Hand."

Rickard looked surprised at being addressed. "Yes, Your Grace?"

"Send a raven to the Pyke."

Cersei's inhale was accompanied by a hissed, "what!"

Jon glanced at her and then back to the table, specifically his Hand. "Send an invite to Quellon Greyjoy to meet with me as soon as possible."

Rickard frowned but gave a slow nod. "It will be done, Your Grace, but, uh..." Jon's mouth quirked up. His dark eyes swept the table. "You disagree."

"It's not our place to disagree, Your Grace," said Tully, gruffly, even as he crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair.

"You are here to advise," argued back Jon, although it was in good humour. "And your advice would be to not bring them in the fold."

"Well," said Velaryon, scratching at an ear, "They are squids, Your Grace. Can't trust 'em." Arya gave a soft snort.

For all that he was unused to being in a room with powerful people, Davos was utterly fascinated

by the exchanges.

"Why do you want to bring the Greyjoys here, Jon?" asked Sansa, piping up for the first time. Her blue eyes were on her brother, but there was something in how she asked the question that came across as artificial to Davos like she was only asking because it was a lead-in prepared in advance for the king to use to sell his point.

"We've left them to their own for too long," answered Jon, moving back to his chair, and sitting in it. Cersei was staring at him, disagreement in every tense line of her body, but she kept quiet, only to reach for and swallow several large sips of wine. "They have a fleet and a lack of purpose, and Quellon Greyjoy cares little for the iron price. I want to use that."

Arya's lips pursed. "His sons care for the iron price. You know that." Jon looked evenly at Arya. "Well, accidents happen."

Davos' eyebrows shot up at the casual threat; Oberyn Martell barked out a laugh, as did Tully and Velaryon. The Hand looked mildly disapproving while the king's own goodfather, Tywin Lannister, had a faint look of approval on his face.

But Arya gave a quick, blink-and-you'd-miss-it grin and then settled back in her seat, all argument gone from her. Davos shivered; there had been some other conversation going on between the two siblings that were not spoken, that everyone else missed.

Well, amended Davos, eyeing Sansa Martell. Not everyone missed.

"So, it's to be war then," said Jaime quietly.

"Not yet," replied Jon, sending a look to his goodbrother. "But we're heading that way. So, your bannermen should, uh, quietly prepare. Prepare, you know, evasive training and practicing their combat to keep their skills up. They're not preparing for war."

Jaime nodded, a tiny smirk on his handsome face. "Understood."

"Then, my Lords," said Jon, looking around the table. "I believe we are done for today. Lord Varys, Lord Tarly, do keep me updated if anything else comes to you about our friends to the east."

Both men nodded.

"Lord Royce, I imagine there won't be much for you to do in the meanwhile, so please work with Lords Tarly, Velaryon, and Tully with the Watch and coordinating with them. I want clear lines of communication regarding expectations of their orders and their behaviour."

"Certainly, Your Grace," said Yohn. "The men of the Watch will be proper knights. The code of honour and chivalry will be made clear to them and their captains."

With the final orders given, the room was dismissed, and Davos stood, ready to slip out, unnoticed. His job was done, he had been paid earlier by Arya – as good as she had promised – and it was time for him to move on.

"Davos?" the king called.

He paused near the door and turned back.

"Thank you for your service," Jon said, a strange look on his face – it appeared part wistful longing and resignation. "I hope we can call on you in the future."

Davos swallowed. What else was he to say here? Instead, he nodded. "Aye, Your Grace. You can."

"Safe travels, Davos," the king finished with a small smile, dismissing him. Davos wasted no time, having no desire to remain in the Red Keep any longer than necessary. This Targaryen king was certainly better than others, but there was only so much Davos could handle, always aware of a sword-swinging above his neck if he made one wrong move.

Perhaps it was time to take Marya and the boys on a trip to the Summer Islands. He could afford it with the gold Arya Lannister had given him.

Cersei made her opinion known later that evening, as they both settled for bed.

"The Greyjoys? You can't be serious, Jon!" she spat from the bed, watching as Jon – mostly a shadowed figure in the darkness of their chambers – walked around the room, unbuckling his belt, and then shucking his shirt up and over, leaving it haphazardly hanging over the back of a chair.

"Would you rather be fighting them as well?" he asked pointedly, turning to face her.

She wiped the admiring look she was giving his broad back to one of annoyance, her green eyes

darting up to glare at him. "They would never dare—"

"Quellon certainly wouldn't," agreed Jon with a nod, sitting on the edge of the chair to tug his boots off. "But his sons? They're utter pieces of shit, Cee. If Quellon didn't have such a firm grasp on the other lords of the Iron Islands, Balon and Euron would be out reaving up and down the western coast." He paused and said, with one of those strange looks he wore, "I'm almost certain they'd have sacked Lannisport."

Cersei scoffed. "Impossible."

But she still squirmed; there were times when Jon spoke of something – like with the Ironborn, or her past with Maggy or Jaime – that he knew. Just knew the truth and could casually drop it into a conversation for maximum effect. Like... the sacking of Lannisport. He seemed too sure.

Hesitantly, she asked, "Did Varys tell you something about them and Lannisport? Does my father know?"

"They've not made a move," replied Jon, shaking his head. He stood, barefooted, and moved toward his side of their shared bed in the king's quarters. "Balon or Euron might have made noise about it, but they won't do anything."

Yet, went unsaid but heard all the same.

"So, why ask them to King's Landing if you don't trust them?" she asked, watching as he slipped into bed. He left the candle burning on the side table to peer at her face, although he was mostly shrouded.

"To use them," he replied simply. "What do the Iron islands lack, Cee?" "Intelligence?" she asked dryly.

Jon snorted a small laugh, his shoulders shaking as he ducked his head. "Besides that."

Cersei frowned, slipping into her back and staring up at the canopy. "I suppose food – fresh fruits and vegetables. They don't have much in terms of livestock, either. Or any other natural resources."

Jon mimicked her, sliding down but on his side to face her. He began playing with a long strand of honey-blonde hair. "Correct. Quellon does not support or want anything to do with the Iron Price – good on him, I say, for being a forward-thinking squid. But his sons are stupid, and worse still, stupid and violent. I wouldn't be surprised if either older son was considering murdering their father."

Cersei slanted her catlike eyes at him. "You wish to stop that?"

Jon hummed lowly. "It's already in the works."

Cersei rolled her eyes. Jon was mostly Stark over Targaryen – in colouring, in his belief in the Old Gods and the Old Ways – but then there would be times where his fire and blood came to the forefront, and he surprised her in backroom deals. Cersei also wasn't stupid – maybe not as intelligent as Tyrion (which galled her to admit but admit it she did) – but even she knew that there was something not quite right with her goodsister Arya, even if Jaime was besotted. The woman sometimes had the coldest, Stark look in her eyes – all winter – and had more than once appeared when Cersei thought she was alone, scaring her something awful. The woman walked in silence and with grace, and Cersei, whose father surrounded himself with the best warriors and killers, saw something similar in her.

She had also seen that look Arya gave Jon – the woman was probably already planning Balon and Euron's deaths with relish, or at the very least, having pleasant dreams about it. But if Jon didn't directly ask – to do the deed, or question anything after the fact – he could have clean hands.

Her husband and king could split hairs so very well , thought Cersei, unsure if she was feeling pride in him or annoyance at the fact.

"So, you plan to offer them a beneficial trade deal with... who? The Reach?" Cersei gave a small laugh at the thought of Mace Tyrell's sour face. "In exchange for their loyalty?"

"In exchange for their ships," corrected Jon quietly. "I expect that soon, our Essosi diplomats staying in King's Landing will know of the trade embargo and will come crying to me while informing their lords and masters in the Free Cities. We'll see an uptick in skirmishes in the Narrow Sea and around the Stepstones."

Cersei turned to face Jon, resting her hands under her cheek as she pursed her lips in thought at him. "And then you'll declare war?"

Jon paused. "No." "No?"

"No," he repeated, shaking his head. His eyes were hooded in the intimacy of their canopied bed, dark and glinting with something that made Cersei's breath hitch and her body tingle. "I'll wait for them to attack one of our ships. It'll be a bloodbath because the Free Cities will be angry. And those men will be sacrificed, but they'll be the ones I'll martyr and rally Westeros around."

There was something dark – maybe cold and hard – in Jon's face. "And then, Cersei – only then will I call the banners."

Jon's hand reached across them, landing on her shoulder, and skimming down her arm, side, and

coming to a rest on her hip. He squeezed. "Only then will it be war."

Cersei let Jon draw her toward him, pressing his body heavily against hers as his mouth found hers in the dark. She went pliant and soft under him, her entire body thrumming in pleasure – from the brush of his rough whiskers against her soft skin, from the heat of his mouth against hers, from the way his hand slipped under her nightshift to blaze a trail...

From his words of war. From his promise of victory.

Jon was proven correct two moons later.

A small Tyroshi flotilla engaged three small carracks from House Estermont in Cape Wrath and sunk all three, taking no prisoners, off the coast of the Bloodstone. The crown received word of the attack a fortnight later, from Varys, Velaryon, and from a Toland captain via Doran Martell.

At the same time, Quellon Greyjoy arrived in King's Landing with all five of his sons; Jon had been correct about Balon and Euron, as well. Balon was shrewd, but mostly proud, and believed himself so above them as "Greenlanders" that he couldn't see the deal the offer was – he was the type of man who would cut off his nose to spite his face, and Cersei felt nothing but disdain for the man. Euron was a charmer, without a doubt, although his charm was mostly due to his easy smile and good looks. His words rang false, and there was an undercurrent of malice, but he was observant, and Cersei felt vaguely uneasy under his eyes, not as he was undressing her with his eyes, but rather that he was dissecting her, and she didn't like it.

Victarion was dumb as a brick, wearing a befuddled look for their presentation at court, but he followed his father's direction well. The other middle child, Urrigon, was a nervous creature, trying to keep as far from Euron as possible. A part of his right hand was missing several fingers (leaving only a thumb and forefinger), and he seemed tight with the youngest of the Greyjoy brood, Aerion, a silent and brooding young man who reminder Cersei a bit of Jon when he got moody.

Quellon happily took Jon's deal, having brought Harrys Harlaw with him; Harlaw's wife was a Glover, a woman from the North, and clearly, he had hoped it would endear the Northern-raised Targaryen king. Cersei supposed it worked, but she knew Jon already had his mind made up and a plan in place if Quellon had turned down the offer – which had been too good to be passed up, no matter the scowl Balon wore, or Euron's calculating gaze suggested.

In return, Jon commanded Quellon to coordinate with Velaryon and take his men to the Stepstones. They would aid the patrol of the Dornish and Stormlanders already there.

"And," added Jon blandly, "If your men so happen to make landfall where the Tyroshi have made camp, or even come across any Tyroshi ships, why – I can't imagine they'd be upset with spoils of war."

Balon and Euron's eyes lit up; even the dumb Victarion and reserved Urrigon and Aerion seemed to perk up. But Quellon was hesitant. "Your Grace...?"

"The attack of Little Fury, Second Wind, and Jewel of the Ester was clear and unprovoked on our end," clarified Jon, voice tight with anger. "It was an act of war on Westeros. The banners have been called, as of this morning."

"We are at war," said Quellon, although it was more to himself. He nodded, sharing a glance with Harlaw. "Then the reaving is lawful."

"I have no interest in slaves – or," said Jon, making a face, "Saltwives returning to Westerosi shores. It won't be done. But if the Ironborn – who are good at quick and successful coastal raids – utilize those skills on our enemies, I have no objection. Any coin or jewels are yours to keep."

He stared at Balon and Euron. "No slaves. No saltwives. No human trafficking ," he stressed, very, very hard. "Is that understood?"

Balon and Euron mumbled something in reply.

Quellon turned to snap at his own children, but Jon barked, overtop him, "I said – is that understood? If it is not clear, or I learn that either of you is trafficking flesh, I will not hesitate to kill either of you."

Euron looked affronted like Jon couldn't even if he wanted to try; Balon was mulish, but both said a clear, "Understood, Your Grace," alongside their younger brothers.

Things progressed quickly afterward; Quellon and the Greyjoys left on their ships, the sons already making plans for the Stepstones while Quellon and Harlaw would return to the Pyke.

After they had gone, and the court emptied, Cersei turned to Jon and asked, quietly, "Was that a smart idea?"

Surrounded only by their family and kingsguard, Jon, with a troubled look on his face, "Only time will tell. But I doubt Balon or Euron will return home after this war is won."

Cersei was dubious but swallowed any objections. Jon was King – and he had yet to steer her or Westeros wrong.

It took several moons to prepare to mobilize the banners and to develop a reliable supply chain. Westeros had never attempted to move toward Essos – it had only ever been the other way around, Essosi attempting to invade Westeros. The Band of Nine had managed as successfully as they could, taking the Stepstones and beginning the Ninepenny War; but opposite? Regardless, the Stepstones were going to be the first place of engagement and those fighting there would need food and clean water.

But, on the eve of when Jon was to leave, he asked Marwyn to find Edwyn and the other children in the Red Keep and bring them all to the nursery where Lelia and Alaric were.

It took near an hour, but Jon entertained himself with his daughter and nephew, the latter at barely a year doing nothing more than chewing on a teething ring. The children slipped into the room in small groups: Edwyn and Edrick seemed to be the tightest and oldest of the group; then Leon, Morgan, and Willam, the cousins; the girls Alysanne and Raya bickering with Arya's Josslyn, much like Sansa and Arya used to back in Winterfell as children. Behind them, surprisingly, Oberyn's Sand Snakes appeared, until the nursery was overflowing with children and young adults. Jon was just lucky none of the direwolves or Josslyn's lion attempted to push their way into the room, too.

Jon took a slow seat, looking out at the collection of Targaryens, Martells, and Lannisters, all sharing Stark blood. It was a sight he never thought he would have seen, given how things were going in his other past, and it brought a small smile to his lips as well as a sense of comfort. For all the worries of what tomorrow would bring when he boarded his flagship, off to war – this moment

was entrenched in love.

Slowly, he asked, "Are you aware of what is happening tomorrow?"

"You're going across the sea," said Sarella, a frown on her face. The Sand Snakes were, at the youngest, ten; Sarella was the only one remaining behind, while her elder sisters Tyene, Nymeria, and Obara were all joining Oberyn on his ship.

"I am," replied Jon.

"You're going to war," said Edwyn, staring hard at his father. At his side, Edrick scowled. "I should be with you, Father!"

"You are the crown prince, Ed," scolded Jon lightly, "And must remain here. If something were to happen to me, you would become king of Westeros."

Edwyn looked scandalized at the idea of his father dying and just shook his head in response.

Jon sighed. "I wanted to bring you all here tonight, to speak to you before I leave tomorrow." He stopped and glanced at Obara and Nymeria, who calmly looked back. While he would have preferred them to stay behind and guard the children, as his kingsguard was joining him, both girls had refused; Tyene hadn't even let him open his mouth to ask.

"I wanted to remind you all of something," continued Jon, looking down at the motley collection of dark, Stark-coloured hair; of bright, green eyes; of mischievous, Lannister smirks and the dark, observant Martell eyes. "For all that you are Targaryens, or Martells, or Lannisters... you also all share Stark blood."

More than you think and know, thought Jon. "Through myself, through Sansa, through Arya; we are all half-Starks."

"But Mama says we are lions," piped up Alysanne with a pout. "And Jossie has a lion!"

Josslyn scowled at the nickname, her mouth twisting in such an Arya way that Jon stifled his laugh

into a cough.

"And your Mama is right," said Jon instead to his daughter. "You are half-lion, from your Mama and her family. Just like Willam and Josslyn are half-lion from their father. And Morgan, Raya and Alaric are half-Dornish, and," he laughed, "Perhaps we can say half-snake?"

Tyene smiled prettily while Nymeria barred her teeth in a vicious grin, while Morgan laughed loudly, proudly to be compared to his father's 'Red Viper' nickname.

"We shouldn't ever forget where we come from," cautioned Jon, smile fading. "That other half of you – of all you – is important. Lions are bold, unashamed in who they are and what they do. They are proud creatures, but they have the history to back up their pride. But importantly, they work together in their prides – their families.

"Snakes are quick-witted and observant; they might lie in wait for their prey, but when they need to, they will go after them, striking hard and true," continued Jon, glancing at Morgan and Raya, both who preened.

"And what can I say about dragons?" He looked at his children, at Edwyn, Leon, and Alysanne, staring up at him with their mother's eyes. "We're ambitious, driven to succeed in our goals, and unafraid of challenges because we surmount them. But remember that you are also wolves: playful,

caring, intelligent. They are pack animals – with one natural leader and others who follow but they all support one another.

"That is what I want all of you to remember while I am gone, while your fathers are gone," he finished with a glance at Sansa and Arya's children, although Arya was joining Jaime on the campaign, as well. "When the snows fall, and the white winds blow... the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives."

Twelve sets of eyes stared back at him – four of those not belonging to Starks – but the sentiment was the same: stick together, protect one another.

"The pack survives," repeated Jon, weight in his words.

And, somehow, like they all knew, the children (minus Oberyn's Sand Snakes), all murmured back

their echo of the Stark words: "The pack survives." TBC...