AN: Please review! I do not own the Game of Thrones, and definitely don't own Donald Trump.

Lovin it: He sure will!

Guest: Thank you so much! There's this Game of Thrones video with Donald Trump in it that's just perfect. It's titled Winter is Trumping and I thought it's amazing. I have to check who Chris Rock is though!

Albhwa: It was all part of the plan *sly wink*

Chapter 2: Has Made a Great Deal! – Part 1

"Hey hey you, I gotta ask, how much, no how much really, do we sell our whatever-you-call-it for? To the boltings I mean." Duncan Tuttle was slightly miffed that the Donald couldn't even pronounce ironwood properly. It had to speak volumes that the brother of a pig farmer could know more than a "really rich guy", as Trump described himself. But the facts were that Donald Trump had just repelled a visit from Ramsay Snow, and made Roose Bolton retract Ramsay's decree of transferring the ownership of the ironwood forest, and boosted the spirits of all the smallfolk. For better or for worse, he was the only man with a solution, and the Castellan of Ironrath had no choice but to follow his orders – and pray to the old gods that he knew what he was doing.

"Ser, we usually sell our ironwood to the Wardens of the North, which has been synonymous with House Stark for millennia. We do make the occasional generous donation to the Night's Watch. Sometimes we offer ironwood to another house that we seek to befriend, like House Glenmore, or we send them to our lords in House Glover. But with all the changes since the Red Wedding, I fear we may have to reconsider our buyers," said Duncan as his speech was cut off by the sound of Royland screaming, "Fetch the Maester! Quickly!" from the courtyard.

The shouting turned into a cacophony of a hundred different voice that greeted the arrival of a battered Rodrik Forrester from a corpse-cart. In the meantime, the Donald considered his business education at UPenn and wondered how much the richest houses of Westeros would pay for the majestic whatcha-ma-call-it… iron would? Ironwood! Those things.

As Rodrik Forrester in the room beside the Great! Hall(as Trump insisted it to be called) screamed in pain and refused a sip of the milk of the poppy, Trump, Royland, Duncan and Lord Ethan discussed the trivialities of redesigning the sales of the ironwood forest.

"How can we supply traitors with our most precious resource?" Royland raged. Duncan murmured something about loyalty while Royland ranted about well, the lack thereof of the same thing. Lord Ethan looked askance, as if he'd just been taken away from a really intriguing game of hide-and-seek. Which was immeasurably easier than the Game of Thrones, if you asked him.

Trump merely sat and smiled like a huge psychopath staring at small children at Ethan, and very loudly and deliberately coughed. The sentinel and castellan's quarrelling drowned the sound of his cough. Trump coughed again, then repeated it until Ethan wondered if he might be having a case of really bad coughing. Only when Donald's vocal chords were considerably ruined did the other two adults(in name, though not necessarily act) pay attention.

"Alright alright," Trump said before wheezing a bit, "we need something that nobody here as ever thought of. We've been stuck, for a long long time mind you, giving free stuff to rich people who think they're so much better than us. I'm telling you, we can keep giving them stuff but they're going to have to pay for it. A lot to pay for it."

Duncan's cry of protest went unheaded as Trump continued with the long rant that had thrilled his presidential campaign supporters and dismayed both political opponents and his economics professors at the University of Pennsylvania.

"The boltings are going to take our stuff and say it belongs to them because they're our lords blah yadda yadda. And you know what they're going to do? They're going to sell it to rich, fat people," Trump continued, "rich fat people like whoever runs the whole of this place. We're making these things and getting nothing, they're doing nothing and getting everything. This is called a bad deal." Ethan and Royland were nodding eagerly, the simple language transforming complex economics concepts into something more suited to their vocabulary.

"A good deal, is something that I'm going to give you. We're not going to tell people that ironwood shields are just really good shields. We're going to tell them that ironwood shields are so strong and so hard to find, only one house in the whole world can make the one kind of shield that doesn't burn, can't be pierced, and doesn't have insects crawling inside of it. We'll tell them if they bought one of our shields, it'll be so good, so so good, you could stab it everyday until your grandson died and it wouldn't even have a scratch.

"But thing is, it's not free. It's not free no, it's not even cheap. You want the best shields in the world, you gotta pay the best prices in the world. We're going to make it affordable to the very richest houses, but nobody else. And they're going to want to pay because we just had a war, and they're going to be scared of anything sharp. This baby can take anything sharp, and they're gonna love it, but they're going to have to pay." Trump finished, flourishing his tiny hands.

The Great! Hall was in silence for awhile, stunned by the audacity of the plan. Who would ever think of trying to make money off their most precious resource? But it did make sense. Shields were a kind of prestige in Westeros, and House Forrester made the best shields. So if you wanted to show your house was the most prestigious, you'd want to pay for the best shields. Of course, minor houses would never try showing their house was the most prestigious – such things should only be done for the major houses like the Lannisters, who actually had the most money to pay for such shields.

The economics going through Trump's head went, Ironwood shields best shields ever= Price inelastic demand. Price inelastic=raise prices = only richest houses are willing and able to buy. Sell only for a high price to richest houses= maximum revenue and minimal cost, minimal because friendly relations with buyer. Maximum revenue minus minimal cost= maximum profit. Ding! This was going to be amazing.

"Tell Rodrik he's the lord of the house now, and don't let any white'ills or boltins come in." the Donald ordered. "And when you get money, you don't sit on it and do nothing. You take the money and buy soldiers. People who can fight. You sit on it with ten men and a wooden wall, I promise you we're dead."

"Where are you going?" Ethan managed to ask as Trump stood up from his chair, strolled to the far end of the corridor, walked out the door and called for a "beautiful, big fat horse".

As Trump was packing up his tools of negotiations, he noticed that he wasn't the only one packing up his things. Malcolm Bransfield, the brother of Lady Forrester, was already atop his horse when the Donald called for him to explain what he was doing that called for crossing the poo-covered walkway outside Ironrath.

"Lady Forrester has requested me to go to Essos and find Asher, and bring him back to Ironrath with an army, and with Lord Ethan's express permission I've decided to go," explained Malcolm.

Trump's greedy, dollar bill slits for eyes lit up. "Alright son. I got a task for you. You're going to take a good, strong ironwood shield. You're going to make as many deals as possible with the people in Essos, and if they want ironwood shields then they've got to pay upfront. You're going to bring all that lovely money and buy the best people at fighting."

How the eyes of Malcolm Bransfield lit up when he realised the business acumen at play. He was going to go to a different continent and cheat as many people as possible of their hard-earned gold, then use it to pay for the army that the Forresters surely needed.

"And don't give those people who like fighting the gold at the start, or they'll run off with the money. You keep them until we start fighting and winning and beating the white'ills. So while we're winning and winning we let them die first, then nobody is paid!" Trump continued.

Malcolm was about to fall over and faint from the proposed scandal.

"Then we use that money and build, you guess what? What are we going to build? We're going to build…" Trump's voice trailed off as Malcolm Bransfield's sense of Northern honour caused him to faint.

A few minutes later

"Are you alright, Malcolm?" asked a concerned Duncan Tuttle. It wasn't every day that the castellan of Ironrath came across an unconscious man in the stables, but today was quite the unusual day. Already, the dead heir to of House Forrester had apparently turned up not-quite-so-dead at Ironrath. It was one thing to survive the deadliest wedding staged in over a century, but quite another to survive the weeks-long journey from the Twins to Ironrath on a corpse-cart. Perhaps oddity would be the new normal for the lives of the Forresters.

The poor man could only point a finger in the general direction of the departing Trump.

To be continued

AN: It's taken longer than I expected to finish the time-period of the story that covers Episode 2 from Telltale's Game of Thrones, which is the story this is roughly based on. So Chapter 3(but hopefully not Chapter 4) will also have the title "Has Made a Great Deal!". This story is loosely based on the story from Telltale, except that I'm very dissatisfied with the ending and in general the dumb decisions the Forresters make