It was hard to tell if the gods were on our side, or thoroughly against us, for the winds were kind and the journey from White Harbor to King's Landing took only ten days. When we docked in the shipyards of the capitol of Westeros, the smell of salt water and shit spray assaulted our nostrils. My men were hardened soldiers, used to the smell of war and famine, and were able to gamely control their impulses, though their faces showed their distaste. I, too, was able to handle the odor without issue, for though it wasn't pleasant, it was tolerable.

Ghost was less inclined to such smells, however.

"I can understand why people always complain about the city," I said, pinching my nose. The great albino direwolf looked positively miserable, pawing at his snout with regularity. "Or at least one of the reasons."

What can I say? Having never left the North before, he was unused to anything but that crisp, cold, fresh air found in mountainous locales. And I agreed with him. I wouldn't trade the hustle and bustle of King's Landing for that for any reason in my control.

The threat of Daenerys Targaryen having hold of all but two of the kingdoms of Westeros was very much outside of that realm of control.

"It ain't all bad, m'lord!" said a portman, wrapping the thick rope of my ship around a great pole of barnacled wood. Other men were doing the same at other junctures, keeping the ship stable and tight along the docks. "Sure, it could smell better, but here's the best place in the world!"

I snorted his way, tossing him a silver star that he caught with a deft hand and smiling face. "I'll be the judge of that. Take care of her, will you? The Merman's Legs is the flagship of House Manderly, and they'll be disappointed if there are scratches."

He smiled a yellow rotting thing my way that was quite genuine. "Will do m'lord!"

Interaction complete, I waited at the ramp for Bran to be rolled in by one of his scribes. Once he was able, and once the remainder my guard was finished preparing our most precious cargo, a thick, heavy box containing our greatest of bargaining chip, we trekked towards the Red Keep.

A squad of Unsullied soldiers met us just outside of the shipyards, taking our weapons with little fanfare. They then offered us a palanquin for an easier time. I intended to reject them, annoyed that I'd lost my personal protection, but when the doors opened and the perfumed smell wafted out from the inside, Ghost made my decision for me and bounded into the carriage, refusing to budge. With a sigh, Bran and I piled into the transport and settled ourselves for a bumpy ride.

"Are you prepared for what I might need you to do?" I asked of him, relaxing on the floor with Ghost acting as a pillow.

Bran stared me down dully. "I will try when you ask it of me."

And that's all he would ever say on the matter. Bringing up the possibility that we might need to show the might of the three eyed raven by way of warging into a dragon had… done something to him. It was hard to put into words, for he had not changed dramatically by any stretch, should Bran even be capable of such, but certainly the thought had occupied us for the whole of our journey together.

I could only hope that it would not be needed.

Still, it was better to be prepared than not to be.

Roughly half an hour passed before the palanquin stopped, time spent silently contemplating the words I would soon be speaking. The door opened in the courtyard of the Red Keep, where Tyrion Lannister stood welcomingly, a smile on his bearded, scarred face. We moseyed out of the transport with a little bit of difficulty, finding it easier to get Bran's wheelchair inside rather than out, but after only a few moments of awkward shuffling, we were in a more presentable mood.

"Haven't seen you in the flesh in… what was it, seven years?" I asked of him, breaking the silence.

"It has indeed been that long, King Rickon." Tyrion said, eying Ghost with a certain amount of trepidation. "He's grown large."

"The first litter of direwolves bred on this side of the Wall will be on their way soon enough."

"Dog breeders everywhere will shudder at what they could do," he joked, before taking on a more serious tone. "On behalf of Her Grace Daenerys Targaryen, I bid you welcome to the Red Keep."

I looked around, silently marveling the pale red stones that made up the castle, before returning my attention to the dwarf before me. "No bread and salt?"

Tyrion's brow rose, but with a silent motion of his hands, servants came through with bowls of freshly baked bread wafting with steam and piles of salt meant for dipping. I did as custom bade, enjoying the well-textured treat, before relaxing more appropriately now that guest rite had been established.

"Come," Tyrion beckoned. "If I know you northerners as well as I think I do, you'll be wanting to meet with the queen as soon as you can."

"That I would," I agreed, finding little enjoyment in the pandering and politicking expected of my role. "Where are the dragons, might I ask?"

"The Dragonpit," he responded airily. "Queen Daenerys has decided that it will be renovated once more, though she has clarified that no roof will be built ever again, nor will any of her dragons or any dragons to be born later be chained.

Humming, I couldn't deny that that was smart. Sensible, even. Hopefully that meant she really wasn't mad?

It was hard to tell.

As we made way to the Great Hall, Tyrion excused himself and rushed away. Unsullied guards continued to lead us to our destination, a pair of great walls wrought of thick oak opened, revealing a nearly empty hall save for a row of Unsullied standing in position, four people on either side of the Iron Throne, and the woman in question who sat upon it.

Daenerys was dressed differently than last I saw her, clad in a black regalia dress with a thick circlet bearing three square rubies. Though the last time I saw her was through the eyes of Weiss rather than mine own, I could tell that she appeared both more serious than before and more satisfied. As if to couple that thought, my raven appeared from behind the Targaryen queen and beelined for my shoulder, chirping into my curls.

Missandei stood by Daenerys's left with Jorah Mormont next to her, whilst Tyrion had somehow teleported to her right, Varys's at his side. "You stand before Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen," said the former slave woman. "Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lady of the Seven Kingdoms, Protector of the Realms, the Unburnt, the Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, the Queen of Meereen, the Breaker of Chains."

With each titled forced down my throat, I could not help but progressively raise a single eyebrow. "Rickon Stark," I said, speaking for myself. "King in the North. Any other titles I have are irrelevant. Two of your titles don't work out at the moment either, I must say."

"And which titles are those?" Daenerys asked, her tone cool.

"Queen of the First Men and Lady of the Seven Kingdoms. I have not knelt to you yet, and while Euron Greyjoy lives, you only hold five kingdoms."

If anything, she appeared amused by my counter. "You say you have not knelt yet. Should I presume your censure to mean one of those titles will be made correct this day?"

I shrugged her way, approaching the throne further. The Unsullied in front of it all took position, their spears ready to gore me dead should I get too close or, more than likely, act too belligerently. "That depends on the way these talks go. Our agreement was made on good faith. You took King's Landing, and here I am."

"Here you are, indeed." She murmured, deciding to shift the subject. "You will be pleased to hear, I am sure, that Cersei Lannister is currently enjoying herself in the black cells."

"Delighted that's she's no longer in the position to bother me and mine, sure. I'm more confused on why she's not dead, though."

Tyrion spoke on behalf of his queen. "My sister has much to answer for, but while the Lannister army is still mobilized, she is an ideal hostage."

I eyed him drolly. "That, my lord, is fucking stupid."

He startled at my language. Points for my balls not dropping yet, it makes the harshness of my curses all the more powerful. "I beg your pardon?"

"Hostages hold value, true, but they are only valuable to those that would want them. Your sister has burned every bridge that might want to hold onto her quite thoroughly, both literally and figuratively. The only person, in the entirety of the world I presume, that would be interested in seeing her alive is her twin. And I'm not even sure about that, he killed Aerys Targaryen for his wildfire plot, only for his sister to enact it herself. Surely there's a conflict of interest there? But, and I stress this, it is irrelevant. Jaime Lannister is a kingsguard, having forsaken all title or claim to Casterly Rock. Which means he is worthless, which also means that Cersei is worthless as a hostage."

I looked away from Tyrion and focused my attention back onto his queen, who held a strong poker face. "Kill her and be done with it. You've already conquered her city and taken her territory, her value to you solely remains as a symbol against you. Take your dragons and destroy the Lannister army, to show your mettle. Ushering in your reign further by killing the woman who destroyed the Sept of Baelor and likely had hundreds, if not thousands, of smallfolk murdered, will do you better than whatever fool plan your Hand has in mind, and also show your mercy. Good rulers are both loved and feared, and dealing with the Lannisters will earn you both."

Daenerys looked at me queerly, as if I were a dog performing an unexpected trick. "You would advise me on how to make my reign more palatable to the people? Even while we are enemies?"

"We're not enemies," I said, emphasizing each word as best I could. "Our enemies are shared. To the far north, beyond the Wall, the dead stir and the White Walkers return. That is the enemy. I came south not only at your summons, ensuring that we can reach an accord of sorts, but also to ensure that your support in the war to come is clear."

Tyrion could not hold back his laughter. "This again?"

"You think me lying? You think my brother, your guest for months, was lying?"

"I think," he began, as if looking for the right words. "That you two have had hard lives and are… susceptible to certain theories."

I stared at him, silently baffled by how this man had changed from when I first met him, before bringing my fingers to my mouth, whistling loud enough for the high-pitched sound to echo throughout the chamber. My men entered the room then, surrounded by their Unsullied escorts, carrying our cargo.

"You think us liars, Tyrion of House Lannister?" I asked lowly, walking towards the box. One of my men offered me a crowbar, and I took it readily, though I did have to silently question how in the hell the Unsullied would allow a crowbar through. "You think, after everything we've all been through, all the shit we've had to suffer at the hands of your fucking family and the family of the woman you serve, that I would lie?"

I stuffed the edge of my tool into the slit of the box, causing it to shuffle and wheeze, startling the Unsullied and council before me.

"I knew my stories would be viewed unfavorably, that believing in such a fantastical tale would be difficult," I said, lifting one of the heavy nails out from the box, making it rattle raucously. Then, with a certain amount of deftness, I hopped atop the box, causing it to groan all the more under my weight.

I stared Daenerys Targaryen dead in the eye. "I have come to understand something important this year, Your Grace. Something that you yourself must be an expert with."

She swallowed before speaking, eying the box warily. "And what is that, my lord?"

I smiled as innocently, as childish, as I could. "Seeing is believing."

Then I yanked the crowbar with all my might and opened the face of the box. Not a moment passed, and the wight inside screamed its two-toned wail and rushed out. Both of its arms were missing, but its legs were not, and the wildness of its movements panic to erupt.

The Unsullied before the throne quickly stabbed their spears into the body of the wight, through its torso, heart, groin, neck and head, but it still struggled through, screaming its phantom cry all the while. It bit hard onto a spear that entered its mouth, hard enough for its teeth and skull to crush itself onto the wooden shaft holding the metal, but the wood gave way to bone and the spear snapped, giving the wight a blade-tipped weapon.

Deciding that enough was enough, I tugged at the chain attached to the wight, forcing it backwards with all of those spears still stabbed into its hide, the Unsullied so disturbed by what they saw that they actually let go of their weapons, something many considered to be an impossibility. But the impossible happens in the face of the impossible, the living dead were, quite literally, impossible.

"The undead are susceptible to three things," I told Daenerys, her hand bleeding from her tight grip on the Iron Throne. "Fire, Valyrian Steel, and Dragonglass. Valyrian Steel is beyond rare, and unlikely to make the difference, while your ancestral seat sits atop a mountain of dragonglass and your children spit fire with the same ease as we do breathing. And even then, I want nothing more than for your dragons to fly as far east as they can when the battle happens, for I will not risk the thought of dragons becoming soldiers in the army of the dead."

I briefly knelt down to fiddle with my boot, retrieving a shiv made of dragonglass, before hopping down from the box and approaching the wight. Stabbing it, it wailed once more before whatever magic held it together broke like glass, and the wight simply became a corpse once more.

I stared Daenerys down. "There is only one war that matters. The Great War. And it is here."

Been a bit since I uploaded. You might ask why this is? The answer is laziness.

But fear not! For though I am still lazy, I actually do intend on completing this little ficlet. My reason? I have too many plotbunnies for GoT/ASoIaF in my head, but I would feel genuinely bad if I wrote them out without even finishing this piece. I won't give you a timeline, but Zigzag will be completed this year, maybe even before Summer. …Actually, I take that back. The Summer bit, that is. I'll still try to be finished this year. You'll just have to wait and see for updates, as is the norm.