Author's Notes –

I guess I have time to respond to a few reviews….

AU Naruto is Awesome – Thanks for the support. I appreciate it so much.

Zane Tribal Tyne Alexandros – Unfortunately there won't be any more traveling between dimensions for the Stormriders. Joffery's set for the Wall where he'll have to deal more with Bran and Jon.

Guest – Yes, I agree, 100 hundred is too small, but the wording is that there can only be 100 men in the Stormriders, so it will eventually be a group of mostly women with the men likely to be the ones traveling throughout the land and the women fortifying the Wall.

I get that the idea of the Stormriders not drinking ale, beer, wine, etc. is unusual, but the world where they come from is more magically advanced and they are essentially using magic and some science to purify their water and they purchase milk when they can.

No, the Targaryens aren't immune to fire, but they are resistant to most normal fires. You'll soon see that even the Stormriders' enchanted armor isn't immune to fire.

For those of you who haven't played Final Fantasy Tactics, there are so many weapons, armor, and skills that are just way too powerful, which is why I've only had Ramza, Cid, Marach, Rapha, Beowulf, Reis, and Meliadoul as the only mastered characters from my game file, but they do have some impressive equipment.

Robb

In the months since his father had been called upon by the king to serve Robb had done all he could to ensure that Winterfell and House Stark continued to thrive in the absence of the true ruler of the North. While the increased number of nobles that passed through Winterfell over that time had initially proven interesting, Robb had quickly learned how little he knew about the intrigues of life at court. The failed assassination of his father and the King had punctuated that point. Since then Robb had found it necessary to hold his tongue and check his emotions at the slights and barbs that his noble guests sometimes tossed about.

Even after seven or eight years of standing and sitting by his father's side did not seem enough for to prepare him for today. It had been one thing to oversee and occasionally adjudicate disputes between neighbors, but to preside over claims by nobles was something that he had yet to do despite the fact that more noble guests had come to Winterfell in the past year than had come in all the years prior since the Greyjoy Rebellion. It did not help that Ramsey Snow was the only living son of Roose Bolton, one of the most powerful nobles in the North, or that some of his accusers had noble blood as well.

"You know what needs to be done," Theon had told him repeatedly on their ride up from Winterfell to the nameless village.

While the Stormriders were allowed to dispense the King's Judgement, they were required to report to either the King, the Wardens of the lands they were in, or to the Commander of the Night's Watch before they could carry out any sentances, especially when nobles were involved. Ramsey was without a doubt guilty, but what would be his punishment? Normally such a matter would have gone unnoticed, but there were several of noble blood who had witnessed the bastard's offense as did several Stormriders and nearly two score of their recruits. That several bastard daughters of Oberyn Martell were accusing Ramsey forced the issue.

For three days he had mulled over what his responsibilities were.

"You know what needs to be done," his mother had said to him as he led a score of young, barely tested men at arms.

For three long days the matter weighed on his mind.

His mind wavered slightly at the sight of the armed camps in the usually unremarkable fishing village. That the banners for House Umber, House Frey, House Hornwood, and House Karstark were flying signified that the neighboring lords had gathered here as well.

With patience and calm he listened to the Sand Vipers claim, along with the claim from the villagers and Stormriders, then he listened to the Frey men and finally to Ramsey Snow. Expectant eyes watched him as he considered every word from each witness. It was of course, an easy judgment, but the severity of the punishment was what had drawn the other houses. House Frey was not the only house rumored to practice the right, but they were the most notorious of the northern houses.

"I, Robb Stark, heir to Lord Ned Stark, castellan of Winterfell, find Ramsey Snow guilty of illicitly trying to uphold the first night," he finally heard himself say. "In times past, King Jahaerys abolished the right to appease his queen," he finally heard himself say, "and King Robert Baratheon agrees. Still, I know that there are some in the North who feel that old gods rule in the north and that they can still practice the right. It seems that some have even impressed it upon their sons" he glanced at Lord Roose Bolton before directing his gaze at Ramsey "but the right, when practiced, was extended only to the lords, not their heirs or bastards.

"I, Robb Stark, heir to Lord Ned Stark, castellan of Winterfell, find Ramsey Snow guilty of illicitly trying to rape the young bride." His choice of words caused several of the youths to whisper amongst themselves. "As such I sentence him to the Wall."

"My lord," Roose cried out, "is not such a judgment too harsh?" The pale lord stood up and took a step forward as he sought Robb's attention.

"The practice of the right of first night is illegal," Robb added so that everyone would know where he stood on the matter. The few times a woman every accused a man of rape were usually settled by the man paying the woman's father or husband for the 'damage' done, but this was more than an issue of rape, it was of a bastard passing himself off as a noble. Had it not been for the Stormriders and the Sand Snakes, such an incident would have gone unnoticed or at least overlooked. With the redevelopment of the Gift more and more nobles from beyond The Neck were traveling through the North over the past year and such incidents, especially the ones witnessed by the other noble houses, needed to be addressed else they would reflect poorly upon House Stark and Winterfell. "If you wish to petition the King for a different judgment, you may do so."

Marach

Times of peace were like still oceans – calm on the surface but hiding deep, constantly moving currents beneath. It was the most impressionable lesson that the Grand Duke had taught the young gatherer of whispers as he glanced at the city's skyline. He did not stand over the city; rather he saw things through the eyes of one of his enchanted wasps as it trailed Varys. The Master of Whispers was proving to be a remarkable opponent.

In the months since the Stormriders had settled into King's Landing Marach had yet to divine the Master of Whisper's true allegiance. That he had played a part in having the Hand and his wife accuse Tyrion Lannister of being the one behind the attempt on Bran Stark's life. Why had he and the former Master of Coin conspired to mislead the Hand? What did each of them have to gain from that duplicity? Both had lost considerable standing once the truth had come out with Lord Baelish fleeing to the Vale with his new bride.

Varys retained his position as the Master of Whispers, though the Hand always weighed the advice provided to himself and the king. Months of such scrutiny had failed to break the man suggesting that he had planned for such a contingency though it had hampered his long game. But what was his endgame?

Only once before had Marach been so befuddled and frustrated by an opponent and that had led to him to joining Ramza's troupe. Varys was no Ramza though as the later was honest, honorable, and direct while the former thrived in the shadows. Unlike the Grand Duke, Varys did not seem to be interested in increasing his own base of power or rising up in the ranks of the nobles, and was content to be the Master of Whispers, but the ultimate question was who did he serve? He played at serving King Baeratheon and there was no evidence to prove that his loyalties lay anywhere but with the crown, but Marach's intuition said otherwise.

Ramza had agreed that Wilfred and Pauline would act as the recognized faces of the house, leaving Marach to work from the shadows. They were but a score in number, each hand-picked by the olive skinned spy. Under his special tutelage he had established his own network within King's Landing but the true strength was in the magical wasps.

Extracting himself from the memories of a wasp he contemplated what he'd seen. This world was full of strange magic, full of surprises. His wasp had witnessed a man peeling off his face, exchanging it with another, thus allowing him to escape from the guards of the merchant that he had just slain. That he wore the face of one of the merchant's guardsmen seemed to factor into his escape. The Faceless Men were the more feared of the assassin guilds, but they were also the most secretive. From what Marach could gather the Faceless Men were very selective in their killing, while the Sorrowful Men were willing to employ tactics that endangered others so long as it ensured that their primary target was dealt with.

In the months since the Stormriders had established their manse in the capital, there had been a number of attempts on some of the noble-blooded bastards or lesser nobles that had sought to join their ranks in hopes of gaining some measure of protection. Thus far none of the attempts had succeeded, but they had put a strain on the manse's defenses. What was worse was that all of those who had been targeted had ended up taking the black.

"Knife work is not honest work," Bert stated as he announced himself. The ninja was as much a master of the dark and shadows as he, lacking only the special magical skill that Marach's bloodline possessed.

"Did you find out who hired the Faceless Men?" Marach asked. The assassination had been perplexing. While the minor merchant had his enemies, few had the coin to pay for the services of the Faceless Men.

There was only the slightest of movement from the ninja.

It was infuriating, nearly matching the frustration with finding out who Varys served. They'd have to capture the faceless assassin if they wanted to know, as the wasps were unable to discern who the assassin was. Of all the rogues they were the only ones that the wasps were unable to sting. It did not help that the Faceless Men were able to pass off several other killings as mere accidents that most overlooked or unfortunate bar fights at worst, adding to the number of faces that they could use.

"At least the enchantments on the manse prevent them from coming here," Bert shrugged.

Marach nodded, dismissing the ninja. The magical wards that he had placed upon the manse's outer walls ensured that no one could sneak into the manse and that all enchanted or poison coated weapons were set alight with magical fire. Ramza would need to know that Gendry was being targeted along with his half-siblings. Bella, the prostitute at the Peach in the Stony Sept, appeared to have been beaten by a jealous lover or disgruntled client. Barra, the youngest, had simply been found dead in the morning by her mother, but Marach suspected that someone had slipped some powerful liquor into the babe's milk. Mya, the pathfinder in the Vale had lost her footing in the mountains of the Vale, falling off a cliff to her death. There were innumerable accidental and incidental deaths, but the death of three of the King's bastard children in such a short span was more than mere coincidence.

He allowed a wiry sigh to escape his lips as he settled into a chair. He was glad that he did not have to research the magic of this world and that some of the magic that he had learned worked in this world, else things would be far harder for himself and the Stormriders.

The sound of clashing arms suddenly stopping caught his attention. Immediately he stood up as he heard several pairs of booted feet pounding the hardened earth and wooden floorboards. "Wilfred!" Rushing out to the balcony he eyed the yard as a score of recruits that should have been practicing were instead parted to make way for Mandon Moore. "Wilfred – the King has need of you."

The chemist nodded at Marach. In a flash Wilfred was gone, leaving Marach to gather several vials and medicines. While the King's appeared healthy as he shed the fat from his lazy days as a king and rebuilt the muscle that had made him a formidable warrior capable of overthrowing the kingdom, Marach and Wilfred knew the sad truth. Since returning from Lannisport the King had begun to show more signs of liver disease as a result of his excessive drinking habits. The yellowish tint to his skin, swelling in his limbs and abdominal pain, chronic fatigue, dry and itchy skin, and lately multiple bruises were all signs of illness but the King put most off as the result of his renewed, rigorous training combined with his age.

Marach suspected that Grand Maester Pycelle had ignored the early signs while under the previous queen. The man was definitely one of her men, but not enough to take up sword against the King. As skilled and knowledgeable as the Stormriders were in their various disciplines, none of them was a true cleric or healer, thus they lacked sufficient knowledge and training to actually diagnose the King's illness until it had become evident. That was why Pycelle continued to serve the King on the Small Council, but he seemed to slowly wither away over the past few months as more eyes began to scrutinize him.

By the time he reached the King's chamber, Marach knew that he could do little more than ease the King's pain. There was a limit to what their magic could do, and it did not help that most of the magic that the Stormriders did know was combat magic meant to be used to heal or prevent injury, not to cure illnesses.

That the king's booming voice was not echoing off the castle walls was telling, urging the olive skinned warrior forward. In the many visits that he and Wilfred had made after or during the King's sparring sessions with his guard King Robert would often protest the need for such attention, the louder the protest the more seemingly insignificant the injury or wound.

Five of the King's Guard stood by as Maester Pycelle and Wilfred attended the King, the latter has his hand over the King's head as he chanted a regeneration spell. Once the glow faded from his hand he took a deep, calming breath. "I can only stabilize him and keep it from getting worse," he explained to Lord Commander Selmy.

Maester Pycelle's face had pallor and sheen of sweat as he cradled the King's head in his hands. "Fetch a stretcher."

The gathered King's Guard did as commanded, carefully lifting the unconscious man and setting him onto a stretcher even as Willas Wode (one of the newest appointments) and Lord Stark arrived to the training grounds. Loras Tyrell and the very pregnant Queen appeared moments later.

"What has happened?" she demanded.

The gathered men parted, allowing her to see the state of her husband.

"We had taken a break in our sparring," Ser Selmy began. "King Robert began to complain of dizziness and went to get a drink when he began to fall over. We were able to keep him from falling over but he began to speak gibberish…"

"He seems to be afflicted with a severe case of apoplexy," Maester Pycelle surmised. "It seems that even Master Wilfred is unable to treat it with his magic."

Wilfred nodded his head, "There is only so much that magic can do. Had I been here when it initially occurred I would only have been able to keep it from getting worse. I have stabilized his condition but I fear that the damage is done."

As powerful and knowledgeable as Wilfred was, the master cleric/priest lacked the mana reserves needed to cast regeneration and healing spells every half hour unless he was quaffing ether constantly. He did not leave until the King was situated in his chambers with the Queen at his side and being attended to by Wilfred and Maester Pycelle.

In his experience, honorable men tended to put too much into what others told them to their face and not what was said behind their backs. Lord Stark, like Ramza, seemed to be too optimistic that others would keep their word and that they would not seek to take advantage of any situation. That was why he had failed to take any precaution against the former queen and her attempted coup. This was another situation that could invite other players to make a move as they sought more power for themselves.

"You think that there will be a play for the crown," Eddard stated as Marach fell into step beside him.

The olive skinned man nodded. "Lord Renly is in the Queen's regard and favor, but he also has Eric as his ward. Lord Stannis has the fleet and the manpower and he next in line should anything happen to any of Robert's sons. It does not help that there have been a surprising number of incidents that involve the King's other children."

"Maester Pycelle believes that the Queen will have a son," Lord Stark stated. "Renly has always thirsted for power, even when the previous queen was around he had tried to suggest Margery as a replacement for Cerci. The Queen is also advised by her grandmother – the Queen of Thorns – who was the one who insisted that the King stay faithful to his new Queen. She also has the backing of the Faith and the High Septon.

"Stannis has the oldest recognized heir should the Queen produce a daughter, but he is recent convert to the Lord of Light. It does not help that he has a large fleet that would gather to his banner should he call for it."

"What will you do?"

Eddard sighed wirily, "If the King does not last the night and either one makes a play, I will step aside. None in my house will be pawns in their game. Can the Stormriders escort Sansa out of King's Landing if there is violence?"

Marach nodded. "What of you my lord?"

"I will do what I can to ensure that it is a peaceful transition," the lord stated. "Take a score of the youngest of my men."

Again Marach nodded, understanding the man's request. A score of young men at arms had come down with Sansa and Arya for the King's wedding. They were bloodied warriors but they were still young and naïve having never seen war.

Slipping into the darkness he made sure that no one was around before he teleported himself away. Teleportation took considerable concentration and was not something that he wanted the typical lay-person to know he was capable of. There were several in the troupe who were capable of the feat, but none save Marach and the twins used it regularly.

Rather than teleporting back to the manse he appeared within the Tower of the Hand. Eddard had suspected that some of Marach's prized pupils had been stationed within the Red Keep and the Tower of the Hand. A stable boy and one of the girls in the kitchen watched over the Hand of the King and his daughter, they were the ones that ensured that the Master of Whispers did not sneak into the Tower unannounced in any of his guises.

He left a message for both of his agents before teleporting away. His faith and trust in them was as strong as Ramza's in him. Should anything occur they would ensure that Sansa Stark was returned to Winterfell safely.

"We serve the kingdom." Ramza's parting words held no caution, merely conveying his belief in the need for peace regardless of who wore the crown.

"Lord Stark is the most honorable of the nobles, but nobility is a lie. It is a pretense that high standing comes from anything but money and martial prowess," he had replied when his commander had pressed him on his thoughts of the Hand of the King. "Lord Stark may feel a need to serve and protect his people, but too many believe that nobility means that they are better and that the laws may not apply to them."

It was a cynical view, but as someone who had worked for a powerful merchant who had sought to become a noble, it was understandable. The Grand Duke had used every method available to him to gain power in Ivalice but to no avail.

"Nobility my well be a lie," Ramza had ceded, "but that does not mean that we must cease being noble and honorable. We serve the kingdom by keeping the peace."

Those had been Ramza's parting words before he stepped aboard the Stormriders' new ship.

The kingdom was at peace, but there was marked tension in the air over King's Landing. As Marach made his way through the city he heard hushed whispers from the lay people. The city guard moved with purpose as they patrolled the streets, making their presence known, occasionally stopping to address the fact that the King had fallen ill and clarifying that he had not been murdered or poisoned.

A light rain began to fall as dusk fell, replaced by a raging storm that lasted the night. It was as though the King were the storm defiantly chasing away the darkness of death. As sudden as the storm had struck it had vanished as dawn's light chased away the clouds. Only the Stormriders and city guard walked the streets as they patrolled the city, the storm having chased most indoors. A thick tension filled the air as though a fierce late summer storm were about to hit once again.

Peace lasted until sunrise as the King seemed to will himself to see a final sunrise before finally succumbing. Queen Margery along with Lord Stark, Maester Pycelle, Wilfred, and the King's Guard stood witness to his passing. All of the Stormriders in King's Landing save for Pauline patrolled the Red Keep.

From the shadows Marach watched as Renly and Mace approached the Red Keep, each with a score of guardsmen, though Lord Tyrell was also accompanied by his wife and mother.

"My lords," Eddard greeted wirily, "my ladies."

"Lord Stark," Mace returned with a polite bow.

"Lord Hand," Renly muttered.

"I would see to my daughter," Lady Tyrell stated, "in her hour of grief."

"I would see to my brother's wife," Renly added.

With no reason to deny their requests, Eddard ceded, "Leave your guardsmen and weapons here."

While Marach had claimed that nobility was a lie, there were some such as Lord Eddard Stark who believed that it was real. The man's honor was second only to his devotion to his family.

"We have come to speak of succession," Mace stated once they were alone before the Iron Throne.

"Robert's heir is Eric," Eddard stated.

"The kingdom will not accept a bastard king," Renly muttered in protest, "regardless of my late brother's overtures."

"If Margery does not produce a son, then Eric would be the most likely heir, but, as Lord Renly says, the people are not likely to accept a bastard king, even if he has noble blood."

"Stannis would be the next should Robert not have an heir," Eddard added stiffly.

It was clear enough for Marach what the other lords were maneuvering towards.

"The Queen is but a few months along," Lord Tyrell pointed out, "and though my daughter is young and strong, she is a grieving widow. Should something happen to her or to her unborn child there may be a wave of uncertainty which could disrupt the peace that King Robert and yourself have worked hard to maintain."

"It could," Eddard stated as he stood his ground. "Which is why Robert prepared a document naming Stannis as Regent should something happen to him."

Renly and Mace stiffened at the news.

"The notice was sent out the moment Robert passed," the Hand of the King stated. "I am sure that in your rush to show your respects you may have missed the ravens that were sent to your houses, though the other members of the Small Council are likely to arrive soon to acknowledge it."

The shadows hid Marach's smile. He already knew the details of the transition but his role here was to ensure that there was no violence.

"Lord Stark," despite his advanced age, Lord Commander Barristan Selmy still had a commanding voice as he announced his arrival, "Lord Stannis Baratheon and Lord Obyren Martell."

"Lord Stark, Lord Tyrell, brother," Stannis said as he looked over everyone present.

"Lords," Obyren added feeling no need to address them individually.

"Good," Eddard sighed contently, "we now have quorum."

"Then it's true," the tallest of the men exclaimed disbelievingly.

Eddard nodded, "Robert named you as Lord of Dragonstone because he wanted to maintain the tradition that the Lord of Dragonstone be the heir to the kingdom when the King had no legitimate heir. Now it seems you will need to name a new lord of Dragonstone."

Tyrion

For much of his life Tyrion had been fascinated by dragons. For much of his life dragons had been little more than myth. All that had changed soon after his exile from the Seven Kingdoms. Soon all of Westeros would know that dragons had returned.

Knowing that dragons had returned and actually seeing them were two different things. When Daenerys had given birth to the trio of dragons they had been but the size of a swan. In the months since they had they were now the size of a large dog or small pony. They had yet to take flight, but Rhaegal, the largest male, was keen on climbing the walls and launching himself off to glide through the air. Aerys, the smaller male, preferred to burn anything with his already powerful flames, seemingly taking after the man he was named after. While smaller, he was also the harder to reign in though he seemed to fear Rhaegal. Vaella, the lone female, was unquestionably the leader of the trio, but also the most cruel as she had a habit of clawing and tearing her meals (usually goats or small pigs) before eating them alive.

The trio of dragons were still too young and small for war, but the godswife Mirri Maz Durr assured them that by the end of the next summer the dragons would be able to carry a rider. That meant that Dhrogo and Daenerys had a year to gather their forces. They had a force of forty thousand Dothraki but they would need more if they were to take the Seven Kingdoms. They needed a fleet to cross the Narrow Sea.

And then there was the matter of the Stormriders. If they were to be believed, then they had fought scores of dragons – dragons far larger than Daenerys' trio of hatchlings. No, if she were to successfully reclaim her throne through force she would need a force that even the Stormriders could not stand against.

The hordes of cursed slaves that Mirri Maz Durr and her blood-mage ilk had created out of the defeated slaves would strengthen their number. There were but a few thousand of the minotaurs – the half human, half beast creatures were nearly as large as giants. The shipload that they had intended for Highgarden had instead wrought chaos in Dorne, though only because the minotaurs had gotten their hands on the handful of crew. Still, the results would, under normal circumstances, have been favorable. Two score of minotaur had beaten a hundred armed knights. Two score had not been enough to best half their number of Stormriders though. That there were but a hundred Stormriders, most of which were stationed at the Wall was a blessing for Daenerys and her forces. Tyrion was sure that the troupe would eventually find themselves on the other side of the field from Daenerys' army, and it was because of that that he sought to prepare Daenerys' forces.

"You think the army insufficient?" the blood-mage asked as she approached him.

Instinctively he tensed. He was unsure of what the mage was capable of, but he knew that he needed to be guarded around her. There was something about the old crone that set the men on edge. Even the Khal did not want to deal with her, forcing either Tyrion or Daenerys to be an intermediary.

"The creatures are each equal to five armed knights, but they are not equal to a Stormrider." It was a bold statement but had yet to be proven untrue. "I would rather that we not have to deploy the minotaurs as they wreak havoc on the land even when not in battle. They might inspire fear amongst our enemies, but they will not endear the populace to your side."

"Perhaps a bit of fear is what is needed," Daenerys' gentle but commanding voice caught the attention of her two advisors.

"Your father also used fear but look where it got him," Tyrion quipped.

"My father did not have an army of minotaur and dragons," the young woman stated. "Still, you think it will not be enough?"

He could but bow his head as she looked down at him, "No, my lady, it will not be enough. I have seen the skulls and the remains that the Stormriders slew – all of them larger than the three that you birthed. A score of Stormriders bested twice their number and lost only a handful of recruits to the minotaur. There may only be but a score of seasoned fighters amongst their number, but by the time the fleet is complete and we have set foot upon Westeros, they will have a hundred blades that would be worth twenty times their number."

"Then we will need to have more men," the mage countered. "We will need to have more minotaur and more dragons!"

"And how do you propose we acquire more of both?" he shot back. "There were but three dragon eggs"

"We go to the ruins of Valeria," the crone interjected. "If the Stormriders were truly there and fought dragons there, then there should be more dragons there."

"We barely have enough to afford a few ships, how are we to pay for a ship to take us to Valeria?"

"You won't need to pay for our services." Tyrion turned to face the Ironborn man. They were renowned sailors and pirates, but he had yet to hear of one actually setting foot on Essos. "My payment will be the Iron Isles."