Chapter 13. A Toast!

King's Landing

Hern, the Companions, Blades, and a good number of the guard he had brought with him were celebrating Hern's victory over Jaime, and for having a good fight, in one of the local taverns that didn't reek as bad as others. While the drinks were nothing compared to what they were used to back in Skyrim, it was something at least. Hern though, had wanted to go back to his rooms, but the Circle twins would not take 'no' for an answer.

If nothing else, Hern was enjoying a little downtime without having to deal with politics, battles to the death, and vampire children that took all too much delight in scaring the shit out of him.

"Lis-Hern. There you are."

Hern jumped from his bar stool, and subconsciously threw the drink in his hand that spilled its contents on some poor soldier enjoying some down time.

"Dammit Babette, even in public!?" Hern said, just short of shouting, turning on the vampire that had somehow ended up on the other side of the bar.

Her response was a cheeky smile. "Oh, but Lord Ambassador! I am merely the tavern keep's daughter, helping him out during a busy day! I didn't mean to scare you!"

The sarcasm and fake tone was not lost Hern, who narrowed his eyes. When Hern looked at the tavern keep a little closer, he could see a blank look in the man's eye. Something that most would miss, if they didn't know what to look for.

Quieting his voice, so that few people, except Vilkas and Farkas, who were the closest, wouldn't hear them over the din in the room.

"So, thrall or illusion?" asked Hern, subtly indicating the entranced barkeep.

Babetter kept up the smile. "A little bit of both, perhaps. One can hear the most interesting things in a tavern or twelve. Like the imp is not only a whore-monger, but is something of a scholar, the King has a good number of bastard children running around he may not even know of, and several Houses may plan to try and align with you."

While it was interesting, he knew Babette was there for some other reason. "So, what brings you here now?" asked Hern warily.

Babette revealed a letter and handed it to Hern. "This came not long ago. Luckily I've been keeping, an eye, or ten, on the ravens, else it may have been intercepted by someone not under me control. News from your wife."

Arching an eyebrow up at Babette making herself a messenger, as she usually thought herself above that, Hern opened up the letter. To most people, it would appear as little more than lines and dots. However, to Hern and Serana who had studied some of this script, it was a language only one mortal in all the world knew instinctively. And when he read it, his eyes grew wide, and the vampire in front of him was wondering if they would pop out like the one target she had dealt with that had been causing a ruckus a few nights before.

"What does she say?" asked Babette impatiently.

Hern was unresponsive, but Babette kept pestering him. Soon, the twins noticed what was going on as well. Vilkas shook Hern's shoulder. Finally, Hern brought the letter down, a stunned look in his face.

"Serana's turned into a chicken! Someone used the Wabbajack on her!"

This earned questionable stares from Babette, Vilkas, and Farkas, until the small vampire asked for clarification. "Could you be more specific? I thought you left that thing back in Whiterun."

"She said she's going to have an egg! A damned to Oblivion egg!"

Vilkas and Babette both face palmed. Farkas was still confused, and was looking at the paper in Hern's hands, trying to figure out what it said.

"No furball," grunted Babette annoyed, "it means she's pregnant."

If Farkas had not been in the right position and caught his friend, Hern would have fallen completely to the floor unconscious.

Winterfell

For Colette, it had been an interesting few weeks since Hern had left for King's Landing. Namely because of a certain vampire. For a Master of Restoration, the Healing Arts, it was almost tradition that Healers looked after those expecting children. Though a vampire that was pregnant with a werewolf's child was something she had never even heard rumors of before! What's more, would it be like the Septim lineage, and begin a new line of Dragonborn? These prospects alone excited the mage.

But what excited her more, was that the vampire was her friend! An interesting turn of events for anyone! One of the most interesting aspects to her, was that Serana had lost nearly all desire and need for blood. Though she gained a rather unusual craving. Garlic covered sweet rolls. How the vampire could stomach them was beyond her, but it kept Serana happy. And a happy vampire was a vampire not trying to suck the blood of their gracious hosts.

Another thing had been the mood swings. Normally Serana was rather levelheaded, but she had been harder on Blaise and Lucia in their training than usual, borderline cruel. And would break down into tears when she realized it. Thankfully the two were patient and understanding, for their ages.

"Is this part of mother being pregnant Colette?" asked Blaise.

Colette could only shrug her shoulders as they watched.

The two were currently watching the pregnant vampire down a plate of the foul-looking concoctions she had been craving, while tearing up and crying while doing so. Both were a little put off at how out of ordinary Serana was. For Serana that is.

Lucia soon joined them in watching, snacking on an apple. Rather than put off, she had been more fascinated by the changes in her adoptive mother. But she raised an important question that none of them had thought of.

"I wonder how father will react to this?" Lucia wondered aloud.

It was a good question. But neither of them were sure. The Starks seemed happy enough, and didn't pay it much attention, and only attributed Serana's odd behavior to being from a different land. It was a rumor that they were happy to let continue. Though Westeros had no legends or stories of vampires, they figured it was safer that no one knew Serana's not-fully human nature.

Done with her latest spat of sobs, Serana called out to the three watchers.

"You can come in now."

Looking cautiously, Blaise asked, "Are you okay now mother?"

Nodding, Serana responded, "Yes. Yes I am. How is your training going with the Starks?"

The two were silent for a moment. Lucia was the first to speak, "They are getting better. Much better than when they first started."

Serana was waiting patiently to hear the rest.

Sighing, Blaise finished for her. "But they are nowhere near ready to face a real opponent. Brann is still too slow when aiming and adjusting. Arya doesn't yet have the upper body strength for a full bow, though she is getting there. But in sparring, both telegraph their moves too much. Anyone with a decent amount of skill would quickly overwhelm them."

Serana nodded, but added her own thoughts. "True. In an actual fight, they would be woefully unprepared. But they haven't been at this as long as you two have. That said, how is your own training going?"

The two fidgeted nervously. Lucia went this time though, "We're getting the Adept levels now. To a point."

Serana shook her head before speaking. "You know you won't be able to get them down unless you practice them. I know this isn't the most ideal place, to do so, but you must keep up your own training."

Colette waited behind them patiently. She had been doing her own training with the two children, mainly in restoration. Like many of their other fields though, they were struggling to learn the Adept level spells. However, she was not there to talk of the children's lessons. She was there for another reason, and that reason was in her pocket.

"Serana," Collete began while closing and locking the door, "we received word from your husband." Before Serana could ask, Collete specified, "it arrived too soon for him to have received the other letter. Would you like me to read it? Or would you rather…?"

"You may Collete."

Collete took out the letter and began reading.

"Dear Serana, Blaise, Lucia, and whoever else is there with you." Collete was a little surprised by that last part, but Hern was a surprising man in many ways. "Shortly after arriving in King's Landing, the 'negotiation' about The Pyke ended up being a Trial by Combat."

Everyone's eyes went wide and a near unanimous "What!?" was echoed throughout the room.

Colette recollected herself and continued, "I won of course, else someone else would have written this and talked about putting the Royal Family's heads on pike and taking the place over. As it turned out, my opponent was Jaime Lannister. A bit full of himself, but he's okay. His brother is quite entertaining though! A good drinker, enjoys stories and books! Though his other activities are best left unsaid. The sister, well, the less said about her the better. The king here is fat as hoarker and twice as drunk. How he hasn't drowned himself yet is beyond me. Makes me wonder how he's lasted so long! For the last bit of news, I'll finally be able to get into discussions with the people in charge. And, hopefully in time, we can work something out. Love Always, and please no trying to rip my head off when we meet again Serana, Hern."

There were several moments of silence, until all sighed and Serana growled, "Leave it to Hern to get into a duel the moment he gets to the capitol of a country and pass it off as nothing major and worry more about what I might do to him."

The others all silently agreed.

King's Landing

"Hern! Hey, wake up!"

Hern felt something sticky on his cheek and sat up from laying on the bar. "I'm up, I'm up. I guess I had a few too many. Even gave me a strange dream that I got a letter from Serana saying that she was…"

Hern paused as he saw Babette holding the piece of paper, who confirmed what it was, "It was no dream. And it is only the second time in my life I have heard of such a thing."

The twins, on either side of Hern, each gave a partially supportive and partially congratulatory pats on Hern's back. But Hern was wondering what Babette meant. "The second time? You mean you've heard of, well, that happening before?"

The diminutive vampire nodded. "It was about two centuries ago now, in Cyrodiil. Around the time of the Crisis, if I remember right. But apparently one of the members of the Fighter's Guild was part vampire, though the only difference between him and others was that he was paler than most, according to rumors and gossip."

"And you never said anything until now?"

"I had thought it only gossip until your letter. And gossip can easily change a simple matter into something completely different," responded Babette. "Truth be told, it's been the only time I've heard of such a thing, until now."

Hern folded his arms across his chest, thinking about this new information. "Serana, pregnant? And I'm all the way here in King's Landing and she's up in Winterfell? And, what does that mean for the baby? And apparently vampires can have children too. Maybe I can get these negotiations, now that the trial thing is over, underway and get things set up."

At that moment, the door to the tavern opened, with a tall figure in it. A tall man with a bad burn scar on the side of his face that, under most circumstances, would make most people at least cringe. But the people of Skyrim, particularly these, took only one look at the man and went back to their conversations and drink. To them, a burn scar on the face meant that a person had beaten a fire mage or flame atronach.

What most didn't notice was the slight expression of surprise in the man's eyes. He was used to people at least flinching from such things, but these foreigners had treated it like it was an almost common occurrence! But he wasn't there to see reactions, he was here to get a better look at the damnable ambassador that had not only gone blow for blow with one of the best in all the Seven Kingdoms, but beat the blonde bastard without killing him! Tywin Lannister was interested. And to get a good drink as well.

Hern, unlike most in the room, paid attention to the newcomer, if in a way that most wouldn't think possible. But those immediately around him weren't particularly normal, even by Skyrim's standards. He had smelled the man come in. A smell different from Tamreli, with a hint of cheap drink. To the unobservant person, this man could be mistaken as a Nord, but this man was no Nord despite his height. When he sat down at a nearby stool, Hern decided to make nice.

"Ah, you would be, Clegane? Sandman Clegane right?" asked Hern, hoping he got the name right.

The response indicated he had not. Clegane gave him a silent growl look. "The name's 'Sandor'. Guard to the little shit Joffery Baratheon. And you would be this 'Lord Ambassador' right?"

Hern thought it refreshing that someone from these places wasn't so stuck on formalities. "Just call me Hern. 'Ambassador' is a job. And 'Lord' is, in my opinion, a bit much to call me. At most, I'm a minor lord that doesn't even really rule over anyone."

"A Lord is a Lord."

Completely at ease, Hern replied, "More like someone that helps people out with things that are beyond their power. And occasionally clearing out bandits."

Sandor gave a snort. But the lack of notice Hern and company were giving to his scars was a little bothering. "None of you pay much attention to scars, do ya?"

Hern gave a quizzical look to his Companion friends, Babette back to playing the role of bar keep's daughter. But Vilkas and Farkas shrugged. They didn't get it either. Turning back to Sandor, Hern answered, "Well, burn scars aren't exactly rare. In fact, I'd be surprised if there isn't a person in the tavern that doesn't have their own collection of scars, burn or otherwise."

"So you've all fought in battles?" asked Sandor.

"More than that, every last person here, yourself included I wager, has been in one war or another. Truth be told, Skyrim is just recovering from her own Civil War a few years back," Hern replied. What he said was the truth. Maybe not the whole truth, but the truth nonetheless.

"Interesting. Know any good drinks here?"

Hern smirked. "Here? No. So far, most drinks have tasted like the city smells. Like absolute skeever shit. Wouldn't mind a good bottle of Honningbrew Mead."

"Skeever?" asked Clegane.

"Ah, right. You guys don't have them here. Think rats the size of a dog that wouldn't mind taking a bite out of a bear if it could," respond Vilkas.

That got Sandor's attention. "A rat as big as a dog? Next thing you'll be yelling me you have spiders the size of fucking horses."

That brought on an awkward silence.

"You've got 'ta be fucking shitting me."

Farkas shivered a bit, but Hern covered for him. "Wish we were. Compared to some other creatures, they're not too hard to kill. But the damned things can give you nightmares."

Sandor made a mental note to never go to Skyrim, at least not alone. "Well, piss on spiders and rats." Shaking his head, Sandor called to the barkeep, "Oy! An ale here!"

Before the enthralled barkeep could dig out one, a bottle of Nord mead was slid from down the counter to Sandor, who looked at who sent it to him, a woman with a face covered in tattoos.

"Try this drink on for size. It tastes better and will get you plenty drunk, in time."

"There you are Aela!" called out Hern, "We were wondering where you went to."

"Just taking a stroll around the city with Lydia, who's over at one of the tables right now," Aela replied.

"I take it you heard of the tourney coming up then?" asked Sandor curiously.

"Yes, actually. I was about to bring that up, though I assume you know more about what this tourney entails then we do, Clegane I believe it was?" asked Aela.

Taking a moment to take a quick drink of the Nord Ale, which to his surprise did taste better than most drink he was used to, Clegane began rattling off all the parts of the tournament, caught up in Hern and the Companions' casualness.

After Sandor finished and the twins began discussing the tourney with some input from Aela, Hern turned his own thoughts back to Serana and his unborn child. His thoughts kept going back over themselves in regards to what this meant. He had taken in Blaise and Lucia when they were both about ten years old, so Hern hadn't had to raise them from infants. Hern was also beginning to worry about how Blaise and Lucia were reacting to this. It was all a lot to take in! Incredibly stress-

Hern felt a sharp pain in his shin, and saw the devilish little vampire trying to act innocent until he heard Aela trying to get his attention. Hern still grunted in pain. "About time Hern. We were wondering if you were interested in joining in the tournament melee."

"Sorry, my mind was, occupied. What's the melee about?" asked Hern.

Taking his chance, Sandor jumped in. "You take that big fucking axe of yours and smash your enemies to fucking bits. Killing isn't the point in it, supposedly, though some bastard has a tendency to die every so often."

Hern looked at the Companions around him, knowing they would be in it already, and they looked at him expectantly. "I'll think on it. I do have a few other things to discuss with the king and hand."

Sandor didn't look very expectant. "I doubt the King would do a damned thing, other than challenge you to a duel. He's too wrapped in fucking and drinking to do much ruling."

Hern sighed. That was what he had been afraid of. And to hear from someone close to the source only cemented it. "What about Jon Arryn, the hand?"

Clegane nodded. "That guy has been running the kingdom anyway, for all the fucking good it does. He's the ruler in all but name, Lord-"

"Sandor, please. Just Hern. Was never a fan of such titles. Though I find it odd that one can be the guard of the heir to the throne without being, what was it you people called it? 'Knighted'? In my experience, the Westrosi are sticklers for such things," Hern pointed out.

A bit surprised, Sandor took another drink of the ale. "Not a fucking knight," Sandor spat, "but I am good at killing. The Prince's grandfather appointed me as such because I kill better than most."

"Fair enough. Though tell me, is Cersei-"

"The Queen," Sandor said off-handedly.

"The Queen, is she always so…" Hern trailed off trying to find the right words.

"Shallow?" asked Aela.

"Rude?" asked Farkas.

"Petty?" asked Vilkas.

"… Something like those," Hern said, barely acknowledging that his friends had just publicly insulted the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.

Sandor had to admit to himself, their openness was a bit refreshing. "You sound like her brother, the Imp. Little shit likes to do the same thing to Joffery too. But yeah. She can be a royal pain."

Hern took a drink of ale, before spitting out the Westerosi variant. He mumbled to himself how people could drink such stuff before getting back into the conversation. "Aye, met Tyrion a few times. Interesting fellow I'll admit. Joffery? Haven't had much chance to see or talk to him though."

The others around him nodded that they hadn't had much chance either.

Sandor eyed them, thinking a few things over before shrugging and going back to his own ale. "Probably for the best. I'll leave it at that though. Thanks for the ale." As he got up to leave he turned back momentarily, "You were right. Your shit is better than that piss water we call ale."

After Clegane left, Babette came back over to the Companions, Hern specifically. "You do know he was sent to spy on you, right?"

"Well yeah. Not exactly subtle, that one," countered Hern.

"No, I think he was just sent to feel things out," came a voice from behind the Companions.

"Ah, Delphine. Falling back into the old 'cloak and dagger'?" asked Hern sarcastically.

If Hern had been facing the Grandmaster of the Blades, he would have seen a very unhappy swordswoman. She still smacked him up the back of his head though. Which made the man clutch it in pain.

"It's not him I'm worried about, at least when it comes to subtlety. It's whoever may be pulling the strings here that has me concerned," scolded Delphine.

"I get it! Just let me at least have one good drink before I have to dive into this skeever shit 'Game' of theirs, okay?" pleaded Hern.

Covering her face with her hand in frustration, Delphine acquiesced. Grudgingly.

The Pyke Province

"These damned invaders! Fregas' men were wiped out last week!" roared the bearded fat man known as Dorak Redbeard. He was looking over some of the reports his men had been able to bring in.

"Ser, doesn't that make us the last ones left?" asked one of the men standing in the room.

Ever since the Imperial Forces of Tamriel had come, they had been methodically wiping out raider forces that did not surrender. One by one, raider strongholds had either been taken into custody, or everyone slaughtered. Some groups had tried to fight back, but that only meant that they had died on the battlefield rather than their strongholds. The other few remaining groups left had gone silent. What that meant for Captain Dorak Redbeard and his men, wasn't good either way. It meant that either the Imperial Forces had severed all communications, or had taken care of the other groups.

"By the Drowned God, I hope not!" Shouted Redbeard again. It was bad enough already, with morale and supplies low. And local support was all but gone when it was made clear that supporting the raiders was treated harshly. It was not a good time for the Raiders.

Redbeard had about fifty men left, hardly enough to mount any real resistance against such overwhelming numbers. And the Raiders weren't exactly welcome on the mainland either.

"Ser, I have a report."

Redbeard looked at the source of the voice. A somewhat short, but well-built man had just entered, a man who could disappear into a crowd with ease. Nothing noteworthy about the man, but had joined up with a few remaining stragglers.

"Speak lad. I hope you bring good news," grumbled Redbeard.

Without blinking, the man took out a knife and thrust it into the table, earning the attention of the others as the knife gave off a soft glow, as well as being an odd shape.

"It seems the Imperial Forces uses weapons like these," began the man, "weapons that, even with a small cut, can drain the life from a man. I was barely able to get away with this."

Redbeard picked it up and looked it over. "Never seen anything quite like it. If we can get enough of these, we may be able to carve out a slice of The Pyke for ourselves! Good work lad! Maybe we can even figure out how to do it ourselves."

The young man gave a big, toothy smile. "Perhaps we can find others and recruit them to help? I would be glad to deliver the message personally, Ser."

"Only one other group I know of," Redbeard began, "is hiding out with House Sunderly. You've done good work lad. We can finally even out the score."

The smile on the young man became a smirk. "No, Redbeard, you won't," he said condescendingly.

Before any of the men could react, two glowing and evil looking knives appeared in the young man's hands. With two lightning quick slashes, the two men closest fell with their throats gaping open, blood spurting on the rest of the group.

While the two men with their throats slit fell to the floor, the young man danced around the table, knives a blur as they deflected the sword strikes that only a few of the men had been able to draw. Another one of Redbeard's men went down, as the young man pulled a knife from the raider's eye socket. Another went down as the knife was pulled from his throat.

Stopping as he approached Redbeard and his guards, the young man's smirk turned into a malicious smile, even as the knives vanished from his hands in a black light.

"Y-y-you! You're working for the Empire!" shouted Redbeard stunned.

"The Empire? No, not quite. I only serve the Listener, Night Mother, and Sithis." Before any of the men before him could process this, the young man's hands came back up, this time with an electric glow.

Seeing the eyes on his targets grow wide in fear, the young man uttered one phrase. "Hail Sithis."

Right after saying that, lightning erupted from his hands into the group of men. Few barely cried out in pain before they were turned to dust. The young man approached the dust piles, and scattered the ashes. He dropped a single piece of paper onto the table in the center of the room, with the image of a black hand on it.

Satisfied, he picked up the dagger in the table and sheathed it. Making his way back out the door he had come in, he paused for a moment and turned to see the wide eyed stare of the two guards on either side of the door. He pulled an ebony dagger from each man's throat, letting the bodies slump to the floor. Continuing down the hallway that led back outside, he appreciated his handy work. Nearly forty men had died by his hand quietly before he had even gotten to the final chamber that Redbeard had been in.

Going by another man that had been pinned to the table by a sword, the assassin pulled it up out of the body. It had been a gift from the Listener, finely crafted. He knew the Listener would not appreciate his leaving such a gift behind. Not every day one is awarded an ebony sword.

Arnandin grinned. It had been a good night to send souls to Sithis. His eyes then turned to the head of a woman near the body it had been separated from. His smile from a moment ago gone. Arnandin knew that the Listener preferred as little collateral damage as possible, but he had at least made her death swift. As far as he could tell, she had been a servant, probably dragged there by Firebeard himself. At least she had suffered. It was a rule Arnandin followed devoutly from the Listener. "If you kill, make it quick, unless they are a particularly foul person. Then take your time. Or if you need information. Both work."

Arnandin headed out the door and found Karliah and Elsen waiting. He doubted the Bosmer would head in. She paled from simple paper cuts. Karliah might. He knew the Dunmer wasn't as turned away by blood, but also knew she wasn't one to kill without great cause.

"I was wondering if you two would show up," Arnandin said calmly.

The two elves eyed the door behind him for a moment before Kaliyah spoke, "We wanted to make sure it went off without any problems."

Smiling again, Arnandin told them. "Went off quite well. Firebeard and his men have been sent to Sithis. He only knew of one other group left, supposedly with House Sunderly."

"Very well then, you may go. We'll wait here for the others to come by and see what Firebeard had," Elsen said weakly.

The two elves watched the Breton walk calmly down the road, his job done for the moment, before Karliah turned to the Bosmer. "Elsen, I still don't know what you see in him. You and he are complete opposites. He revels in death, blood, and killing. You turn white from a nosebleed and anything bigger than a kitchen knife."

Elsen knew Karliah was right. "I know, but, I can't help it. It's that old saying I suppose, 'opposites attract', though I think it may be one sided."

Karliah shook her head. "I suggest you look elsewhere. You and him? A Bosmer girl that's terrified of violence with a Breton that revels in murder? You wouldn't get more than a night with one another, and that would be generous. Besides, I think it's more physical attraction than anything."

Elsen sighed. "Maybe. It's a hard thing to shake."

Karliah rolled her eyes. She knew it wouldn't last long, if it ever got beyond what it was now. The Bosmer's odd attraction to the assassin was a little concerning. Though Hern trusted both, Karliah did not like what may happen. "Enough of that for tonight. After the Dawnguard gets here, we hit the tavern. On me tonight."

"Deal."

Winterfell

Serana was sitting out on the wall of the mighty fortress, enjoying the night sky. Although it didn't have the same sky that could be seen outside of Whiterun on certain nights, it certainly was relaxing.

But it was lonely without Hern. This had been the longest the two of them had been separated in years. She understood why, but she still did not like it. She just hoped Delphine and Babette would keep him in line. The Companions, while loyal and friends through and through, were more likely to get Hern into trouble than out, unless it required brute force.

"Lady Serana?"

Serana's eyes widened momentarily in surprise. "It seems some of Hern's traits have rubbed off on to me. I should have heard her coming long before she spoke," Serana thought.

"Lady Stark." Serana greeted, turning to the Lady of the House.

"Please, call me Catelyn. We've known one another long enough now," she responded gently.

"Then call me 'Serana'." Replied the Vampire, a friendly smile on her face. Serana had come to like Catelyn over the weeks they had spent there, aside from the sensitive subject of Jon Snow.

"Serana," Catelyn replied, getting used to the name, "may I ask why you are out here so late?"

Turning back to look out at the night and taking a relaxing breath, Serana replied, "Because I find it calming. Back in Skyrim, Hern and I spent many nights out on the road, and gazing up at the night sky. The past few years, we lived in the city of Whiterun. Where, if you go out at night, you can see brilliant and beautiful colors in the sky sometimes."

"I see," replied Catelyn. "No wonder. But are you not cold out here?"

Serana laughed to herself internally. She sometimes forgot that the Starks didn't know she was a Vampire. The cold affected her less than it did Hern!

"No. Compared to places in Skyrim, this is quite comfortable. Some cities are in places where there is snow year around and never truly melts."

"It sounds like the Far North here. The snow never melts, direwolves still roam, wildlings from Beyond the Wall pop out of nowhere, and where the Night Watch has stood for 8,000 years," replied Catelyn somberly.

Serana thought of that for a moment. "Sounds a lot like home, actually. Though we don't have direwolves. We do however have bandits, Forsworn, lands of snow and ice, and the Companions have been around for a long time themselves. Plus, we have giants, mammoths, trolls, giant spiders, and all sorts of unpleasant things."

It was a part of the plan. To casually drop bits and pieces of their homelands here and there to see how the people here would react. So far with the Starks, they had taken it in with curiosity. They were taking it better than the Iron born had at first. Though word from there had said that things were rapidly progressing and hoped to hear from the Empire before long.

"You have many dangerous things in Skyrim! I'm amazed you and L-Hern are still alive," Catelyn remarked.

"You have no idea Catelyn. Those are only the smaller threats that are home," Serana thought. "Yes, the roads can be dangerous, but that is why we are all trained in at least one weapon to defend ourselves. It truly is a shame Sansa does not wish to at least learn how to wield a knife," Serana said regretfully.

It was true to. Sansa, although the girl idolized being the 'fair maiden' had a hidden strength in her that most would overlook. Serana believed it could be honed and refined so that the girl could defend herself if it came down to it.

Catelyn laughed quietly. "Sansa is adamant about where she is going. Though I must thank you. As well as your husband and children. Before you came, Arya was never really happy and Brann, aside from his climbing, struggled learning weapons like his brother. Now, Arya is demanding to duel Robb to prove herself and Brann has the eyes of a hawk with that bow. Tell me, where did Hern find such beautiful weapons?"

"He forged them himself. Hern learned from the best smiths in Skyrim and created much of his own weapons and armor as a result. And for those he trains personally, he forges them weapons specifically with them in mind. Lucia and Blaise both have swords with a slight curve to them that have herons engraved into them," responded Serana.

"Herons?"

"A sign that they have earned their swords. If Arya and Brann continue improving, Hern may put Herons on their weapons as well."

"They certainly take care of them, that I am sure of. But I do have one important question for you Serana," the Lady of the House said.

"Yes?"

"Have you heard from your husband yet on you carrying his child?"

Turning back to look out over the wall, Serana sighed. "Not yet. But I expect within the next day or two. Knowing him, he may have fainted the moment he understood the message."

Furrowing her brow in confusion, Catelyn wasn't sure what to make of the comment. "Are you serious?"

Laughing, Serana replied, "Oh yes. You should have seen him when he woke up from losing a drinking contest! He woke up in the middle of a Temple with items thrown all about!"

Catelyn was a little scandalized at such a thing. Sure, she understood that the Tamreilis believed in other gods, the Nine Divines and a group of others known as Daedric Princes, but for a man to wake up drunk in a temple?

Seeing Catelyn's shock, Serana quickly explained. "The priestess there was understanding. She made him clean up the mess he caused and that was that." Of course she left out the part where it had been a Temple of Dibella, the Goddess of Beauty and Love, all forms of love. Somethings were best left until later.

"Fair enough, I suppose. But how do you think Hern will react to this?"

Serana was silent for a good while. She was still unsure how she felt. She didn't want the child cursed or anything. But she couldn't help but wonder what an infant vampire or werewolf would be like. It was confusing.

"I believe he will be happy, once he snaps out of his shock," Serana replied.

"And yourself?"

Serana paused.

Catelyn gave Serana a knowing smile. "I know how it is. I think it is one of the few things I know that you do not. It won't be easy. And once the baby is born, then begins the real trouble."

Serana paled, more so than usual, at that, causing Catelyn to laugh a little more. "It's the wonders of motherhood. And seeing the way you and Hern raised Lucia and Blaise, I think the baby will be fine. Plus, you are lucky to have such supportive children."

"Why is that?"

"Because when Robb saw Sansa for the first time, he wanted her to 'go back whence she came!'"

Both women laughed into the night, enjoying the company.

Author's Note: After this point is when my writing will begin. It will take a while, but I won't leave you guys hanging.