03-Fast Travel, What Fast Travel?

Disclaimer: I do not own HP, GoT or ASOIAF.

Acknowledgements: This chapter was edited by Cataclysmic Moon.

Author's Note: I do read every review, don't I have time to answer all of the reviews properly so I'll address this for now. I'm not a fan of Jon/Daenerys or Arianne pairing so you will definitely not see this in my story. As for Shireen Baratheon, in the books she was still alive, while in the show she was killed.

*

303 AC, Storm's End

Aegon had decided to lead the assault on Storm's End himself, despite the protests of Jon Connington. He had remained in the camps during the taking of Gryffin's Roost and he knew that he had to prove himself in battle sooner or later. Their plan was relatively simple, but it could have gone very wrong very fast. The fact remained, though, that they needed Storm's End to have a solid foothold over the Stormlands. And if they failed to take it, their whole campaign would be surely doomed to failure.

Storm's End was a formidable fortress. Ever since it had been built eight thousand years ago, it had never been taken by force. In ages past, the Andals had tried multiple times, only to be broken against the walls of the legendary First Men stronghold. Stannis Baratheon held Storm's End against a hundred-times-his-number army during Robert's Rebellion. The only way to take the fortress was through treachery or starvation. The Usurper's brother had appointed one of his most leal men – Gilbert Farring – to hold the seat of House Baratheon with two hundred men. Due to having first-hand experience with the latter scenario, Stannis had left the larders of Storm's End fully stocked before departing north. Later, Mace Tyrell had been besieging the ancient keep with no success in sight for the second time, until he had withdrawn back to King's Landing to support his daughter in her upcoming trial against the Faith.

Margaery Tyrell had been accused of lewdness, fornication, adultery, and high treason by Cersei Lannister. With a single move, Tywin's daughter had helped their campaign far more than any victory on the battlefield could.

The Golden Company had managed to take the Great Keep by deception. The garrison had been relaxed as the Tyrell host had left for King's Landing – the disjointed rumours about sellswords attacking Cape Wrath did not seem to worry them. Three men had gained entry disguised as food merchants, and due to the fierce autumn storm outside, they managed to obtain a place to stay for the night. The unsuspecting guards at the gate had been killed in the hour of the wolf, the gate had been opened, and the sleeping defenders were slaughtered before they could muster any kind of meaningful resistance.

Leading men into battle had been a sobering experience, not that what had transpired could be called in any form a battle. In battle, there was fighting from both sides. There barely was any resistance from the unprepared and sleepy defenders, most of which didn't even have a weapon in hand. He had known that fighting was nothing like the songs he had heard as a boy. Still, the smell of shit, piss, and death had him puking his guts out. In the end, the garrison had easily been slaughtered with only a token resistance, and only the keep's maester was spared and confined to his rooms. Even the small number of servants and cooks were killed because they couldn't be trusted.

Aegon entered the Round Hall with bone-deep exhaustion. Despite all that had occurred here, or maybe because of it, the Round Hall, whose stone walls bore silent witness to the court of the ancient Storm Kings, was rather impressive. It was a large hall, albeit sparsely decorated, mayhap due to the lack of use in the past twenty years. A throne adorned by antlers stood on the dais. Aegon decisively headed towards it and sat upon the kingly seat. Robert Baratheon had taken the Iron Throne from his family, while Aegon was currently sitting on the High Seat of House Baratheon. He couldn't help but smile at the irony.

He was followed inside the Hall by Lysono Maar, the Golden Company's spymaster, his Hand Jon Connington, Rolly Duckfield, his first Kingsguard, Harry Strickland, the Golden Company's current commander, and Black Balaq, commander of the company's archers.

"Lysono, what can you tell us of our enemy's strength and positions?" Aegon began the meeting. Lysono Maar was a slender man, with classical valyrian looks-golden blond hair and purple eyes, hailing from the Free City of Lys.

"The Lannister-Tyrell alliance has eighty thousand swords. A quarter is with Garlan Tyrell, who was last seen besieging Brightwater Keep. The Kingslayer is trying to help the Freys pacify the Riverlands with another quarter. Randyll Tarly and Mace Tyrell have gathered at King's Landing with forty thousand men, refusing to leave the capital until Margery Tyrell's trial is over and she is declared innocent."

"What of Dorne? Will they support us?" he asked. The Golden Company only had ten thousand men, and if they wanted to win the Iron Throne, they couldn't fight against the whole of Westeros alone. Dorne was said to be able to muster thirty thousand spears. If Aegon could gain their support, his fight would be far easier.

"They are unsure if you're really the son of Elia. A delegation, led by princess Arianne Martell, is coming here to see for themselves." Lysono replied. It was painful to hear that his family wouldn't acknowledge him, but he could potentially convince them.

"Any news of Stannis Baratheon?"

"He has been defeated by the Boltons in the plains near Winterfell. It was said that he lost more men to desertion and snow than to fighting."

"And do we know if he survived?" He could admit, albeit reluctantly, that Stannis Baratheon was a formidable commander. His lineage had been ruling the Stormlands since the legendary Age of Heroes. Therefore, as long as Stannis was alive, they would not sit easily in Storm's End despite his recent history of defeats.

"His body was indeed found, though nobody knows how he died." Aegon sighed in relief. A meek little daughter, scarred by greyscale, was all that was left of the Baratheons. While people could rally to her, the other Houses would at most use her as a puppet figure. Not to mention that it wasn't certain if she would even live to adulthood.

"And what of Shireen Baratheon?" Connington asked.

"Lost in the North. She disappeared before the battle, and nobody knows what happened to her." From what he had heard about the northern winters, the girl was most probably dead. Aegon inwardly rejoiced with vengeful satisfaction. The line of the Baratheons had ended. Now there was naught but memories left of the once mighty stags.

"There is no movement from the Vale. Petyr Baelish continues to remain neutral, just like Lysa Arryn did before him."

Aegon nodded to Lysono and turned to his Hand. "Lord Connington, what do you think our next course of action should be?" He was aware Connington had lost the Battle of the Bells, not due to the lack of skill, but to his unwillingness to burn the Stoney Sept to the ground in order to do away with Robert Baratheon. It had cost the gryffin lord dearly and he had long since learned his lesson. Regardless of everything, he was a formidable warrior, slaying Denys Arryn and heavily wounding Hoster Tully. He was also the only one in the company raised as a Westerosi Lord. The rest had been exiles for generations, second sons, or abandoned bastards and outlaws fleeing justice. His advice was sound, and he couldn't afford to ignore it.

"We have taken complete control of Cape Wrath. With Storm's End in our hands, we have a solid position. The closest Tyrell forces are stuck in King's Landing, making Bronzegate and Haystack Hall ripe for the taking. We should strike while the iron is still hot, and take those keeps quickly before they can recover and attempt to mount a defence. From there, we can gain control of the Wendwater Bridge and fortify it. If the Tyrells decide to move against us, we can harass them while they are trying to cross the kingswood without engaging in a decisive battle." He paused thoughtfully for a minute, and then added. "And once we have done this, we will be in control of most of the Stormlands, and start raising and training levies.

Seeing that nobody objected, Aegon commanded, "A sound plan. Go and see to it, lord Hand."

*

Petyr Baelish, The Eyrie

Petyr Baelish began reading the message with great happiness which quickly turned to distress towards the end. Stannis Baratheon was indeed dead. Not that he could have gotten anywhere, but the confirmation of his death was always good to have. Another plan of his, however, was ruined. Sansa Stark had escaped Winterfell. She had nowhere else to go but to her bastard brother, Jon Snow. He had hoped that she would have used his lessons to heart and taken control of the North from within. Reality, however, had been very different. He didn't know what happened exactly, but her screams were heard over the whole of Winterfell every night. Sansa Stark was most probably ruined and even if she did survive, she was either broken, or angry and bitter. He had seen what happened to women when they broke first-hand in his whorehouses, after all, and they had all lost their lustre. A regrettable thing, but maybe there was still use in her, and she did look very much like her mother.

By the time this message had reached him, Catelyn's daughter had probably arrived at Castle Black. Jon Snow had brought more than ten thousand wildlings from beyond the wall and if he so wished, he could call on them in battle. With support from some of the northern Houses, they could easily topple the Boltons.

He mentally calculated in his mind. The journey from Castle Black to Winterfell on foot would take a little longer than a moon. After calling the knights of the Vale, it would take at least a fortnight for all of them to arrive, and the journey from the Eyrie to Moat Cailin would have them pass through the Riverlands, a disputed territory. It would take at least a moon's turn to reach Moat Cailin by horse after the forces finished mustering, and that is if they met absolutely no problems on the way.

But the Riverlands were teeming with bandits, and the Lannister armies were there as well. And even if they managed to pass through the Riverlands unmolested, Moat Cailin could block the Vale's full force with only a small garrison. And by that time, Sansa Stark and her half-brother would be either sitting in Winterfell, and he'd be late to get any credit and favours, or they would have already died trying. They would not be able to set up a proper supply line, and foraging in late autumn was not reliable by any metric. The Riverlands had probably been stripped bare of food by bandits, Lannisters and Freys, and the North had been scoured by Ironborn. Not to mention that Sansa could also have died in the harsh northern weather or decided to escape into Essos.

There were too many unknowns. He needed more information before committing the forces of the Vale to a course of action. Neutrality served him well so far; his strength was preserved, while everyone else was slowly bleeding out theirs. All he had to do was wait, and sweep in after his opponents were too weak to resist. What he could do right now was sow more chaos in the South. Kevan Lannister and Grand Maester Pycelle had been assassinated, and the balance of power in King's Landing was broken in favour of House Tyrell. He had to somehow trim their thorns, lest they managed to consolidate themselves and take full control. A sinister expression appeared on his face as he began to write a letter. He knew just the perfect way to rock the boat.

*

Castle Black

For the first time since her father died, Sansa Stark felt warm and safe and completely at peace. Her mind was a bit hazy and it took her some time to come to her full senses. She was in a rather comfortable bed and was covered by warm furs. Sansa finally opened her eyes and saw the concerned face of an unknown woman.

"How are you feeling, girl?"

The woman was a wildling, wearing only furs. She was old, older than her mother, and her brown hair had begun to grey. Sansa inwardly felt some panic but she had a long practice of hiding her distress under pressure.

"I feel quite well, but who are you? And where am I?"

"Name's Arna. I'm a woods witch and your crow brother asked me to check on your wounds." She visibly panicked at the motion of someone seeing her scarred body. The old woman, however, patted her arm soothingly. "Don't worry too much. You're healing very fast and nice. Your crow brother will take care of whoever did this to you. The last man who crossed him will not get up from the bed for a fortnight after your brother trashed him in a fight." The woods witch finished with a happy cackle.

Her brother was alive! "So, everything turned out to be a bad dream in the end?" Sansa quietly mumbled to herself.

The wildling woman heard her and asked curiously, "What dreams, lass? Dreams have power."

"I had this mad dream - I came to Castle Black, and my brother was dead, killed by his own men. And I... jumped into his funeral pyre to join him in death." Sansa replied hesitantly.

"That was no dream, girl. It happened."

"Then why am I alive and feeling so well after jumping in a burning fire?" Sansa was confused. None of this made any sense. "And you mentioned my brother being alive."

"I heard what had happened. You jumped into the burning pyre and it blew up. You're fucking mad, lass, leaping into the fire like that." The woman cackled in amusement. "Great magic happened there, stronger than anything else I've ever felt. When the fires started dying out, your crow brother walked out of the flames alive and well, with three flying lizards and you in his arms. Unharmed by fire, like gods! They even call you and your crow brother firewalkers now amongst the free folk." The old woman finished with a hint of reverence in her voice.

Sansa simply stopped, unsure if she was actually awake and not dreaming still. She had no idea what to make of this...fancy tale. On one hand, this was the most ridiculous thing she had heard in her life. On the other, the wildling woman looked deadly serious and had no real reason to lie to her. Walking through the fire unburnt? Only Daenerys Targaryen was said to have done such a feat, and Jon had nothing to do with Aerys' daughter. True, nobody knew who his mother was, but the only female Targaryen alive during the Rebellion was queen Rhaella and Eddard Stark had never met her. And flying lizards? Those sounded suspiciously like dragons, and they had been dead for at least a hundred years, if one ignored the whispers of Daenerys Targaryen in Slaver's Bay. But those were tales at best, and she had long learned not to trust hearsay. On the other hand, if this was true, it meant that her brother was alive.

The warring emotions must have shown on her face because Arne simply pointed towards where her feet were covered by the blankets. "See for yourself, girl." Sansa followed her finger and then she saw them. Two small and scaly lizards with wings snoring softly at the end of the bed next to her feet. She blinked a few times but the small dragons were still there.

The sigil of House Targaryen in the flesh for the first time in a hundred and fifty years. Sansa had seen drawings of newly hatched dragons in her lessons with Maester Luwin. The beings in front of her, without a shred of doubt, were dragons. She softly rose in curiosity trying to not wake them. A thousand questions ran through her mind.

"Be careful, lass, they burned the fingers of the last person that tried touching them." The woods witch warned her. Sansa stopped, realising that she had reached out her hand toward the dragons.

She also noticed that she was nearly naked under the furs, covered only in bandages and smallclothes. The woman did say she was tasked to take care of her wounds, and indeed, most of the pain from Ramsay's ministrations was no longer there. "You...bandaged and changed me?" she croaked out weakly. The woman nodded. "Did anyone...anyone else see?"

"When you got out of the fire, both of you were naked." She felt herself sinking in the bed. That meant people had seen her in all her ugly glory, covered by numerous scars and wounds.

"The first thing Lord Crow did after stepping out of the pyre was to cloak you and send for somebody to take care of your wounds – that person is me." Sansa sunk under her covers trying to disappear. Deep inside, she knew she was completely ruined by Ramsay in almost every possible way, but showing it to others…

Arne patted her, seeing her distress. "Don't worry, lass. The bad men who did this to you? Your crow brother will make them pay. Earlier today, he executed the traitors that killed him. Three heads he took with one swing of his blade, and the last one he hanged, holding the rope with his strength alone!" The wildling woman seemed very impressed.

While she was battling with the growing feeling of shame and disbelief, the door opened, she quickly slipped back under her covers to preserve whatever modesty she had left. Her eyes widened in surprise seeing the person who entered - Jon – alive and well. His eyes were dark purple now but she could easily recognize his face anywhere. He had gotten quite tall as well. A dragon, bigger and more savage-looking than those on her bed, flew through the door and landed on top of his head. The dark blue hatchling was larger than Jon's head and it looked so comical she couldn't help but crack a small smile, worries momentarily forgotten.

Jon chuckled as well. "He's getting a bit too big to still be climbing on me." He said, gently grabbing the big hatchling perched on top of his head and placing it on the ground. It started squawking and screeching in protest but a stern look by Jon finally silenced it.

"Are you really alive, Jon? This feels like a weird dream, and listening to what happened is just as unbelievable as seeing it."

"Aye, I'm alive and well." He gently replied and sat next to her on the bed. Jon then grabbed her hand, and squeezed it gently. "And as for what happened, I only have a vague idea, but nothing I can explain that would make sense."

"It seems you two have a lot to talk about. I'll leave you to it," Arna said and left the room.

Her stomach rumbled in hunger. Jon simply smiled at her, went outside. After a few short moments he returned. "I asked for some soup to be brought here. We'll put some meat on those bones of yours."

Realising that she was still nearly naked underneath, she asked her brother quietly. "Jon, could you give me a moment to get dressed?" After nodding, he exited the room once again. She quickly put on the gown she saw lying next to the bed all the while trying to ignore the thought that her brother had seen her naked. "You can enter now," she called at the door as she finished making herself presentable.

Jon walked to her and slowly extended his hand, "May I…" After she gave a small nod, he gently pulled her in a hug. He rocked her slowly and promised quietly in her ear. "Everything is going to be fine now, you'll see. You can rely on me." She had started sobbing without realising it.

Sansa had no idea for how long they would stay like that but she still let herself relax in his embrace. Eventually, Jon let her go. "I'm not sure why or how I came back, but I can at least introduce you to the hatchlings." He ducked and stroked the head of the dark blue dragon on the ground. "This one is named Winter, the red one is Bloodfyre, and the purple one is named Stormstrider. You can pet them if you want."

She looked with wonder at the creatures but hesitated, remembering what the woman had said earlier. "Really? Arna said they burned the fingers of whoever tried touching them."

"Aye, they don't really like strangers at all. But you're my kin, and you have nothing to fear from them," Jon replied.

She hesitantly extended her hand towards the red hatchling who was now wide awake and was looking at her intently. As her hand approached, she began to waver but Bloodfyre simply leaned her small scaly head into her hand and quietly chaffed in pleasure. Sansa had no idea how, but something was telling her that the small red dragon was a she.

"See? I knew they'd like you," Jon replied with a smile.

"But Jon, how did you come to have dragons? Only members of house Targaryen could hatch and control dragons. And the only female Targaryen alive that could have birthed you was never close to father and was already pregnant while you were born."

"Lord Stark never told me who my mother was, no matter how hard I asked. He had promised to tell me next time he saw me before departing for King's Landing, sadly that was the last time we spoke before he died," Her brother replied with a sour expression on his face. Her stomach twisted with guilt. She always wondered if she could have done things differently in the capital and prevented the death of her father. But no, the vipers in King's Landing would have found a way to devour the honourable Eddard Stark, with or without her assistance.

A knock on the door was heard. Food had arrived as Jon went to the door, and returned with a bowl of soup and a horn of ale.

She sat on the bed. Jon carefully handed her the bowl of soup with another smile.

Sansa stopped petting the hatchling, took the bowl in both hands, hungrily lifted it to her lips, and started drinking. It tasted heavenly, and the taste reminded her of her innocent childhood.

"This is good soup. Do you remember those kidney pies Old Nan used to make?" She asked.

"The ones with the peas and onions?"

"Mhm," she nodded while hungrily devouring the contents of the bowl.

"We never should have left Winterfell."

She sighed as she finished all of it. "Don't you wish we could go back to the day we left? I want to scream at myself, "Don't go, idiot!"

Jon smiled sadly in return. "How could we have known?"

She shuffled uneasily remembering something she promised herself as she watched her brother's dead body. "I spent a lot of time thinking about how awful I was to you. I wish I could change everything."

"We were children, and you weren't nearly as bad as you think."

"I was awful, just admit it," she persisted.

Jon chuckled for a moment. "You were very rarely awful, you were busier with your embroidery and other pursuits to become a proper lady. If anything, you simply ignored or avoided me. I'm sure I wasn't great fun either – always sulking and brooding in the corner."

"Can you forgive me?" She now knew first-hand what it was to be treated with disdain and ignored. Her stay as Alayne Stone in the Vale saw to that. Jon was kindly trying to downplay what he had gotten used to, but she had made a promise to herself and she would not budge on this.

"There is nothing to forgive."

"Forgive me!"

"All right, all right. I forgive you," Jon finally relented with a smile.

Sansa laughed sweetly and held out her hand for Jon's horn of ale. He handed it over; she sipped and started coughing at the stinging feeling in her throat.

Jon cracked a smile at her antics. "You'd think after thousands of years, the Night's Watch would have learned how to make good ale."

"What will you do now?" she finally asked what was truly on her mind as she returned the horn to Jon. She had no idea how her brother stood with the night's watch or what he wanted to do.

"I'll probably leave this thrice-damned place."

"What about your vows to the Night's Watch?

"Night gathers, and now my watch begins. It shall not end until my death." He solemnly recited. "I've recently died, so my vows are fulfilled and my watch has ended." Jon finished with a soft chuckle.

"Don't jest about this," she said seriously and smacked his arm gently. "Where will you go?"

"Where will we go? If I don't watch over you, your father's ghost will come back and murder me."

Sansa frowned for a moment. They had the same father.

"Where will we go?" Jon ruffled a hand through his curly hair. He took a deep breath. After a moment of silence later he seriously started. "Well, anywhere south of here, that's for sure. Being north of the Wall isn't good for your wellbeing right now." He smiled cheekily at her. "I'd love to take Winterfell back from the Boltons, but the problem is the Wall is pretty isolated and we barely have any news of the south. I have no idea what's happening there and the only people who could tell me anything aren't trustworthy. I only know the barest of things – Lord Stark got executed by Joffrey in King's Landing for treason, Robb called the banners, and eventually got killed during a wedding by the Freys and the Boltons. The Ironborn took Winterfell and killed Rickon and Bran, and now the Boltons hold Winterfell and the North. Things got really busy and heated over here and I've had absolutely no news of Arya or you until your marriage to Ramsay Bolton."

"Theon said he did not kill Bran and Rickon. He couldn't find them and he had two miller boys burned and killed instead."

"Theon 'The Turncloak' Greyjoy?" Jon's voice had an icy edge to it. "The same man that enjoyed Winterfell's hospitality for years, and was treated like a brother in all but blood by Robb?"

"I know you're angry at him, Jon." Her brother simply snorted at that. "I was angry at him too, when I met him a year ago. But in the end, he suffered under Ramsay more than even me. He saved me from a crazy bitch who was trying to kill me and helped me escape Winterfell." Jon's face softened slightly and he simply sighed.

"Arya disappeared after they arrested father. Nobody has heard or seen anything about her. Even the Lannisters assumed her dead," Sansa sadly recounted.

"If anyone could make it out on their own, it's Arya. No news is better than bad news." He took another deep breath and continued. "I have no idea of how many men House Bolton has, or how many northern Houses answer to them. I also have little knowledge of the enemies in the south. I can mayhaps gather some support from the wildlings. But how many that would actually agree to follow me remains to be seen. They also mostly wear fur and use bronze or stone weapons, so their numbers do not accurately reflect their fighting ability."

Sansa looked at Jon in wonder. Deep inside she did want to return to Winterfell, but she would have agreed to go anywhere with Jon. Living in Winterfell during the control of House Bolton made her realise that home was not about the place, but the people. It would irk her to leave her childhood home to their enemies as if they won, but she would have agreed to leave. Jon continued as if he could read her thoughts.

"We don't have much choice at the moment. Only death awaits north of the wall, nobody has gone west and returned successfully to tell the tale, and in Essos I'll become a prime target because of my dragons." Since we're going to be fighting wherever we go, we might as well regain our childhood home." He took a small sip from his ale and continued. "Anything you can tell me about House Bolton and their allies would be greatly appreciated."

Sansa yawned before speaking up, trying to refresh her memory. "I heard during a feast that they had about five thousand men on their own before fighting Stannis. House Dustin and Ryswell are bound by marriage to them as well. They would most probably support the Boltons." She spoke slower and slower as she went on. A wave of tiredness hit her.

"Let's stop here for today. I don't want to keep you awake while you're healing." Sansa tried to protest but only a yawn came out of her mouth. Her body felt too heavy and Jon simply ushered her into the bed and tucked her under the fur covers. "I'll be in my quarters if you need me. That's the only other room on this floor." Her eyelids felt heavy. Before Jon could close the door on his way out, Sansa was asleep.