A/N: Sorry for the wait! Life caught up to me for a bit back there.

Virulent Flower

Arianne rose to meet the rising sun, clambering out of the rich Essosi silks and walking over to the nearby window. The morning sunlight peeked through the trees in the courtyard outside, casting dappled shadows over her nude form.

The young man still asleep in her bed let out a moan and rolled over. She reached her arms up and behind her head to stretch, licking her lips, catlike. This most recent lover had been hardly proficient, but he was young and therefore energetic, which suited her needs well.

Still, nothing even approaching how wonderful her Arys had been. Arianne really needed to try bedding more Kingsguard.

She poured herself a glass of Dornish red and sipped it while considering which dress to wear for the day.

The yellow one, cut a bit higher on the bosom than usual but with beautiful lace.

After dressing, she exited the chamber to be greeted by the sight of her cousin Nymeria. The Sand Snake offered a dip of the head and wry smile. "Cousin."

"Nym, lovely as ever. Tell me, how is our little captive princess today?"

"Quiet as ever. Her wounds have healed up well, although she won't ever be as… pretty as she once was." reported Nymeria.

Arianne merely hummed in response, striding down the hallway towards the open courtyard. Nymeria fell in slightly behind her. Arianne took a moment to admire her cousins almost predatory grace of motion, all lean muscle under flawless Dornish beauty.

"I think I will go speak with her, as it would be quite rude of us to leave her so uninformed of the great excitements happening to her kingdom." laughed Arianne. "Tell me of our armies, and if there has been any further instruction from my father."

Nymeria began to bring her up to date. "The men of Dorne continue to march with the Targaryen Queen. The armies make a slow pace towards the capitol, though a battle is imminent- if it hasn't happened already." she paused for a moment, and Arianne turned to look Nymeria in the eye, sensing the weight of the silence. "The Prince Doran has informed me that we are to travel to The Tor, and take a ship to the Stormlands. To meet with this man who claims the name Aegon Targaryen and find out if truly is who he says he is."

Arianne's expression tightened up, brows sinking in thought. It was a few minutes before she spoke again, and the two had nearly arrived at their destination. "If we travel, we must do so quickly and pack lightly. Only a trusted few can come with us. My father risks the wrath of Queen Daenerys with his actions, and she still has that fat Spider working for her." Nymeria nodded in agreement.

The two women turned a corner and reached a guest bedchamber, set a ways off from the other living quarters. Arianne reached out and gently knocked on the door.

"Come in." a soft voice called out through the wooden entryway.

Arianne entered the room with a smile, a contrast to the nervous and pensive expression worn by the princess Myrcella Baratheon. She was missing an ear, and the left side of her face was scarred, though the marks had healed and faded into a silvery white.

"You have nothing to fear from us, dear princess." Arianne consoled, reaching out to clasp the young girl's hands in her own. "Soon, you will be able to return home, and mayhaps even still become a Queen."

The King in the North

"Report."

"Of ours, three hundred dead, perhaps twice as many men wounded, we're still tallying. Of the enemy, about two thousand men captured, mostly peasant levies. Twenty officers of some note, including the Lord Lannister that Your Grace had brought low. The rest of their army is either scattered to the winds or resting at the bottom of the Red Fork." Medrick looked in good shape, but shifted back and forth uncomfortably.

The reason for his agitation was obvious, for Longtooth and his cold cohorts flanked Jon, refusing to leave his side after the bout of exhaustion he had suffered following the duel with Daven Lannister.

Raise more. The image of the corpses picking themselves off the battlefield, opening blue eyes and standing on dead feet.

Jon grit his teeth, and the flash of rage dashed the image from his mind. He turned his attention back to the Manderly knight.

"Where is Lord Glover?" he questioned. Medrick grimaced and spat onto the ground.

"He got caught in one of the Lannister cavalry charges. One of his men saw him take a hoof to the helm, when I questioned him in the medical tents. Alive, but knocked cold, no clue when he could awake."

Jon swore. Ser Medrick continued.

"They also said that if his arm worsens, the medics might have to take it off."

Jon swore again, louder. Robett Glover was the only one of the three men who had experience commanding a traditional army, as both Jon and Ser Medrick had never faced southern forces before now.

Damn it all to the hells, Glover was supposed to be safe leading the army from the rear. How had the Lannister knights reached him?

Jon's thoughts were interrupted when a young man in Northern colors ran up. "My King, your uncle! We've found your uncle, come quick!" he shouted.

Jon had Blizzard swirling in his palm, half-formed, before he caught himself. Not at Castle Black. Not Thorne, nor the other traitorous brothers. He was alive, not dead. Yet.

Jon shook his head to dispel the thoughts. He motioned his Other guards to stay and protect this command tent, and they acquiesced, though they somehow seemed almost... unwilling. Strange.

"Show me." he commanded. The young footsoldier lead the way through the makeshift camp near the banks of the Red Fork, headed towards a commotion happening in the medical tents.

Jon's head throbbed with intense pain, his thoughts plagued by the sudden trauma of that cold, cold, night at Castle Black.

The memories flooded into his mind, unbidden, and Jon saw himself kneeling in the icy snow again, hot blood pouring from his knife wounds, staring up at his traitorous brothers and their cold, cold eyes.

"My King." Medrick's voice and gauntleted hand on Jon's shoulder brought him back to reality. He hadn't even known that the merman knight had been following along.

"Are you well, My King?"

Jon pulled the ice to him, pooling the shifting coldness along his chest and belly, under the armor, and in his clenched fist, places where the other man wouldn't be able to see it.

"Aye, I'm fine."

Immediately the pain receded, soothed by the wintry frost spreading throughout his body. His mind finally cleared, and it suddenly struck Jon that he didn't even have any living uncles left.

He straightened his spine and pressed forwards, but he could still feel the exhaustion edging in through the cold strength of the ice.

The young man leading them had suddenly stopped, halted at the edge of a gathering crowd of men surrounding the hubbub near the wounded. Ser Medrick moved forwards and began pushing through.

"Make way! Make way for the King!", the man's booming sergeant's voice was really coming in well.

A path soon cleared, and Jon strode through the crowd and into the space enclosed within, where some of his bannermen had apparently already gotten a handle on the situation.

A dozen men in filthy, ratty leathers and patchwork armor had been subdued and restrained onto the ground by Stark men-at-arms, and a few Manderly knights surrounded the entrance of the medical tent, which was currently being guarded by a young woman.

"Back! Stay back I say! I'm warning you!" she shouted. The girl was clad in a long tunic just as muddied as her companions, but she held before her a bloodied and wickedly sharp looking longsword.

Medrick approached one of his men, his plate mail clanking with every step, the sound somehow conveying the knight's annoyance.

"Harlik, what in the name of the gods is this trouble now?"

The knight named Harlik turned around and sketched out quick bow for Jon before answering.

"The men were going through the tents and tallying dead and wounded, and when they attempted to enter this tent they were set upon by these lot." he motioned towards the bound up ruffians. "But we've got them well and truly under control now, as you can see."

The knight was fresh-faced with reddish hair, and the harried state of his equipment seemed to signify that the man had rushed out to deal with this issue in the middle of undressing.

"I do see." Jon eyed the knight. "And yet I do not see you regaining control of this tent and our medics within."

Ser Harlik coughed. "Ah, Your Grace, you see- " he coughed again, "Apologizes, but we were, ah, unsure of how to deal with the young lady…"

"Don't you set even a single foot forward you fucker!" The young lady in question brandished her longsword at one of the knights encircling her, who had intended to reach out and grab her arm. "Try to touch me and I'll skewer you!"

"Why? Is she an accomplished warrior? Would that be why you cannot pass, Ser Harlik?"

"Ah, nay, Your Grace. Our code of honor forbids us from striking a lady- "

"And yet, you and your knights are defeated all the same, Ser, by a single girl no less." Jon wasn't being fair to the poor man, but he was tired, hungry, down a commander, and still needed to draft fucking battle plans for a siege.

Ser Harlik trembled, which of course meant that his loose mail and hanging armor straps trembled with him. Medrick pointedly looked anywhere that wasn't Jon.

The King strode through the knights, and caught sight of the girl waving the sword back and forth like some sort of strange metallic snake.

"I-I won't let you pass! Don't you even dare... try to- " her words faltered when she noticed Jon, and died completely when she met his eyes. The blood seemed to drain from her face, though it didn't leave her nearly as pale as an Other.

Jon frowned. "Who did you say she was guarding again?"

"Ah, My King, these prisoners claimed to serve under the Bl- "

"Reyanna, let them pass." A voice from within the tent sounded out. It was an old, tired, voice, from an obviously injured man, and yet the sound of it set Jon on edge. Whoever had spoke was dangerous, some primal instinct warned him so.

The sword-wielding girl looked nervous, but did not turn away. "My Lord, are you certain?"

"Yes. Let me see this Bastard King."

"Enough of this farce." Jon strode forwards, and the girl gasped in surprise and swung her blade down at him, two-handed.

With blistering speed and cold fury Jon reached out and plucked the longsword out of her grasp by the blade, palming the handle with his free hand as he strode past her and into the medic's tent.

He the girl yelp and the thump of someone falling arse-first onto the ground.

He recognized the man lying in the linen cot, tended to by one of his army's medics, while a Silent Sister stood in the corner, waiting in case it became necessary for her to take over the job.

"The demonic and Bastardly King in the North." he rasped. "Truly I am blessed to see you on my deathbed."

"Blackfish."

Jon recognized him from the stories about his brother's march south, the old Tully knight often featuring as a both brave warrior and wise advisor. Not that it meant much in the end.

The wounded man was covered in bandages, with one wrapped around his right thigh noticeably soaked with blood. His long gray hair was matted and dirty, and his skin beaded with sweat and pale from blood loss. Despite that, Ser Brynden Tully's bright blue eyes still burned strong with strength.

Although, they surely did not burn with the same blue that Jon's eyes did.

Jon cocked his head and examined the old man. His 'uncle', indeed. Jon had heard it told that Ser Brynden, and most all the Tullys, shared in Lady Catelyn's dislike of him, the living symbol of a dishonor done to her by his late Lord Father.

"Perhaps you could enlighten me on why it is I find you bleeding out in the middle of my army, Ser."

Brynden cracked a wry grin, and Jon could not place it as either sardonic or genuine.

"My band of men and I were riding south of here, and ended up meeting with some of Daven's outriders. So we had ourselves a little skirmish, and after getting struck down I awoke in this cot. I assume my men dragged me here looking for aid."

"Those hooligans outside?"

"Hooligans is the right word, I'll give you that boy. Motley crew of guardsmen, bandits, and poachers, but true and loyal Riverlanders all at the very least."

The Blackfish's tone and use of the word boy rankled Jon, but he kept his calm. An inkling of a plan was starting to form in his head.

"I assume this blade is yours." He lifted the bloodied blade before him. It certainly did look as if it had just been through a hectic skirmish.

The wounded knight nodded.

"And who is the girl?"

Bryden opened his mouth to answer, but the King was not done speaking.

"The truth will suffice, Ser."

He pinned the old knight with his glowing azure eyes, and the Blackfish stared back. Impressive, for the man to meet and hold his gaze like so.

"Her name is Reyanna, and she is my natural born daughter."

A bastard daughter.

Jon turned away from Brynden and stared out the opening of the tent. To the West.

"Will you swear fealty to me, Blackfish? Will you serve me as you had served my brother Robb?"

"Your brother was brave, and a fool."

Jon heaved a long sigh, turning back to once again face Brynden.

"He was foolish, but he was a good and just King, and my brother who I loved. And yet, the results of his failures still linger. The Lannisters remain unpunished for their butchery, and their men continue to ravage the Riverlands."

He turned the Blackfish's bloody sword around and offered him the hilt.

"I have come south to rectify those failures. My army is now bloated with over a thousand Riverlander prisoners of war; should you convince them to follow you and kneel to me as your King, you'll ride by my side as I retake Riverrun and then march on for the Rock."

Jon left the tent minus one bloody longsword and plus one bloody commander, after sealing the Blackfish's grievous leg wound with his ever-shifting ice. He had confidence that the man would pull through, the old Tully was as tough as nails.

"Unbind those men." He commanded to the men-at-arms outside the tent. "Feed and equip them, have them camp near the prisoners."

Brynden's bastard daughter glared at him as he strode back to his command tent, Harlik and his knights dispersing the crowd that had gathered.

"Have the girl stay with the camp followers, but make sure she stays near her father." Medrick nodded.

As he passed by one of the cook fires, Jon's nose twitched and his stomach complained to him. Loudly.

"And get me a bowl of that, if you could." He pointed thick soup bubbling away in the large pot hung over the campfire.

The Queen of Fire

Drogon rained fire below them, turning men and horses into ash and scorching the ground in a line of black smoke.

His brother swooped in from the side, wings of cream and gold beating as he too blasted dragonfire from his jaws onto the little soldiers beneath, the conflagration pouring forth and drowning the screaming victims in blazing waves of heat.

Drogon and Viserion landed in tandem, immediately lashing out with teeth, claws, and tails as they tore open a hole in the Lannister and Tarly men.

The dragons could slay a half dozen men with each snap of a gargantuan maw, and the swipe of a their sharp claws could send even a charging knight flying.

Dothraki flooded the gap, riding fearlessly past the rampaging beasts and laying into the enemy with screaming glee. They trusted in their Khaleesi, and in the fiery gods she commanded.

A hailstorm of arrows fell amongst them, the enemy archers peppering their own men as much as hers, but Daenerys understood why they accepted the price.

The death of the Dragon Queen was worth any sacrifice.

Drogon reared up with a roar of challenge as the missiles slammed into him, most bouncing of obsidian scales but a few finding chinks in the armor and lodging into the rough skin beneath. The roar of challenge turned into a roar of pain, and rage.

Daenerys willed her dragons up, up, up into the sky, where they were out of the danger of a lucky shot.

With the threat of the monstrous dragons suddenly removed, the Lion banners managed to quickly rally and began to push back at the Dothraki riders.

The screeching roar of men killing men reached Daenerys' ears even high up in air on dragonback.

Just when the tide seemed to turn back into the Crownland army's favor, Tyrion sprung his trap.

Dornish light cavalry rode over the hillside, followed by the army of Dornish spearmen, the Martell sun and spear raised proudly and warcries shouted even prouder as they slammed into the enemy's left flank.

A legion of Unsullied marched on the Lannister right flank, as silent and deadly as the grave.

Daenerys and both her dragons dived back down into the throng of panicked enemies in the center, a blazing inferno already pouring forth.

Fire and Blood.

Hours later, she sat in a richly furnished general's tent in the captured Lannister camp, relaxing in a copper bathtub as Missandei washed off the ash and grime from the day's battle.

She sighed and sank deeper into the hot water as the golden-eyed girl gently rubbed her sore back muscles.

Missandei giggled. "You are quite easy to please, My Queen."

Daenerys smiled back at her. "Your talent with massages are unrivalled, how can anyone blame me for enjoying them so?"

They were interrupted by one her new handmaidens entering the tent, a young woman named Dania, lent to her when they had departed from Highgarden. She was surely reporting on Daenerys' activities, but it would have been rude to refuse her service, and Daenerys needed to become accustomed to these forms of politicking.

"Pardon me, Your Grace, but Lord Tyrion has requested to speak with you."

Missandei stood up from where she had been sitting behind the tub. "The Queen is busy bathing. Please send the Lord Hand away."

"No." Daenerys stood as well and stepped out of the bath, the hot water dripping off her body. She suppressed the sense of loss from both the heat and Missandei's lovely massage. "Tyrion would've known that I was bathing, I do so after every battle. The fact that he is here requesting an audience regardless means that he has something urgent to say."

Missandei and Dania helped dry and then dress Daenerys in a rather plain dress, then quickly wrapped her in a richly thick and warm cloak of black mink fur and red cloth.

"Send him in."

Dania bowed and left the tent.

Tyrion shuffled in soon after, having the grace to at least look abashed after Daenerys communicated her annoyance with a frosty glare.

"A thousand apologies, My Queen." he bowed.

She waved him off, letting go of her frustration as she did. After all, she could climb right back into the bath afterwards.

"So? Do tell me what the pressing news is."

"My brother has led his armies out of Casterly Rock."

The dwarf asked for a glass a wine before continuing, which Missandei poured for him.

Daenerys grimaced. "It's too early, I've yet to receive word that King Snow has even taken back Riverrun, let alone set foot in the Westerlands."

Tyrion sat down in one of the large wooden chairs strewn about the tent.

"Jamie has always been a clever one when it comes to strategy. He sent five thousand horsemen riding ahead while he leads an army of near twelve thousand down the Gold Road. Yet, he could easily turn north to Oxcross and then past through the Golden Tooth and hit the Northern army in the back, or south to Crakehall to capture the Tyrells. Or perhaps simply march straight down the Gold Road to strike at us." He paused to gulp down some Arbor gold. "With two armies and three pathways he's made it hard for us to predict him."

Daenerys thought on this dilemma.

"He seeks to force our hand, trying to disrupt our plans before we can surround and close our jaws on him. We shall force his instead. I will take both dragons to support our forces at Crakehall, and with this the Kingslayer will have to turn back to defend against us. Send a raven to Riverrun addressed to Jon Snow, and have him make all haste to march on the Rock."

Tyrion looked curiously at her. "You have such faith he will take that massive castle so soon? Riverrun is famed for it's defensive ability."

"I know the King of Winter well. I know he is powerful from our meeting, and I suspect that his power has only grown since. With the Lion drawn south to deal with my dragons, he will take Riverrun quickly. That man needs no advantages."

She gestured Missandei to prepare her riding leathers.

"I will fly tonight. Varys' news is fast but these reports must already be more than a few days old. We must move with great speed to hope to put this new plan in motion."

Tyrion bowed his head. "I will manage your armies here loyally, My Queen."

Daenerys smiled, the expression both sweet and alarming on her devastatingly beautiful face.

"My dear Lord Imp, you will be flying with me. To soar on dragonback once again, and so soon after the last time, many of my men would call you blessed."

Tyrion paled. Daenerys merely turned and sighed a bit. No finishing her bath after all.

A/N: This one was hard to crank out, and not too exciting either. The next few chapters will pick up speed, and after that I'm planning nothing but action til' the end. I'm aiming to finish King Snow anywhere between chapters 12-15, but there's been a plot for a new story brewing in my head for a while now. I may put out just a first chapter or two to get the idea out of my head and into words, before coming back to KS. Thank you so much for the patience and love!