41-Tribulations!

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction based on the Harry Potter and A Song of Ice and Fire universes. All recognisable characters, plots, and settings are the exclusive property of Joanne K. Rowling and George R.R. Martin, respectively. I make no claim to ownership.

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Acknowledgements: This chapter was edited by Lord Lexx. I also want to thank my beta-reader Bub3loka, for helping me bounce ideas around.

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If you're feeling generous and want to support me, you can find me on P*T*E*N under the same name for up to read three chapters ahead of discord.

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Tommen, Casterly Rock

Floris Rowan, his new betrothed, was kind, quiet, and pretty, but he missed Margaery. His mother tried to hide it, but Tommen could see she disliked his new bride-to-be, but not as much as Margaery. He forlornly remembered Ser Pounce, Lady Whispers, and Boot, that were abandoned in the Red Keep when they fled. Much to his dismay, his mother had forbidden him to take any cats because it would be unkingly.

As he was walking towards the library for his lessons with Maester Creylen, he wondered if they were going to make him sign documents again today. Two sets of footsteps closely followed him like a shadow – his newest kingsguard – Ser Lyle Crakehall and Ser Tytan Brax. Both looked big and scary on the outside, but after two moons, Tommen could see that it was simply a facade hiding softness on the inside.

A movement between the decorated pillars instantly grabbed his attention, and his gaze found a rather large golden-fur kitten prowling over the corner. There had been plenty of cats in Casterly Rock that were kept to deal with rats, but Tommen had scarcely seen any as they were mostly at the lower levels. He couldn't help himself and quickly ran towards the cat. The large cub immediately turned its gaze towards him, and green eyes met with green. He carefully picked it up, careful not to get scratched. The cat, however, seemed comfortable enough to close its eyes and mewl.

At that moment, Tommen's heart melted.

"You shall be named Lady Prowl!" he declared boldly as he gently scratched its neck and received another soft mewl. At that moment, he fearfully realised that his mother would not be happy that he went against her orders and took in another kitten.

He hesitantly placed Lady Prowl on the polished floor, only for her to quickly peddle to him and rub in his leather boot, raise her head, and look at him pitifully with its green eyes.

Tommen had no way of knowing, but the two kingsguard behind him were oddly looking at the large kitten with suspicion.

He felt a sharp stinging pain in his hands, and he looked down, only to realise that they were balled painfully and his nails were cutting into his skin. No! His mother would not take away Lady Prowl! He was to be king, and his word would be the law. But could he...could he truly oppose her? Cersei was scary, and he was not brave and strong like Joffrey, nor was he big like his kingsguard. She refused to allow him to squire and learn how to fight with weapons when he asked.

A king does not need to fight when there are others to do it for you!

At that moment, hurried footsteps were heard from around the corner, and Lady Prowl hid behind his boots. Sers Lyle and Tytan edged closer to his sides.

As soon as Daven Lannister and Lord Crane showed up, his kingsguard visibly relaxed, but Tommen saw Tytan keep a hand on his wicked battle-axe.

"Your Grace, we have some grave...concerns that require your immediate attention," the Lord Hand said delicately.

"Shouldn't those be addressed by my Lady Mother, who is also my regent?" He asked timidly.

"It concerns the Lady Regent, Your Grace," Lord Crane whispered. "But we dare not speak in the hallway of this."

He hesitantly agreed and led them towards one of the empty rooms adjacent to the library, Lady Prowl quietly following with her soft paws. Ser Tytan remained to guard the door while Ser Lyle remained closely at his side.

"What do you want to speak of, My Lords?" Tommen said confidently as he straightened up his spine as his lessons taught him. Or at least he thought he did so. He suspected his voice came out high-pitched instead, like that of a girl.

"Your Queenly Mother, she has been...misusing her powers and caused an accident that could cost us the war," Ser Daven hesitantly started. "We would request of you to dismiss her from the position and confine her to her quarters."

Tommen knew his mother was doing whatever she wanted. In the last few moons, he had taken great care to explore what his duties as a king would be and what exactly a regent could do. But his mother always favoured Joffrey and looked upon him with disappointment instead. He might be king, but what could he do? Nobody had ever listened to him before; he doubted they would listen to him now, even if he was to be the monarch.

"What did my Lady Mother do?" The question tumbled out of his lips before he knew it.

"She decided to accept and negotiate with a northern envoy completely on her own," Ser Daven said grimly. "We found her in a guest room laughing hysterically, with Ser Robert Strong slain and the envoy missing. According to her words, the envoy was Jon Stark, who attacked her before slaying the kingsguard and jumping off the balcony on the back of a monstrous blue dragon."

Tommen was stunned. This sounded like one of the tales he enjoyed reading in the library. And if a dragon was here, why did nobody tell him?!

"There were many problems with her tale," Lord Crane said gravely and rubbed his chin. "There were indeed sightings of a dragon, and a roar was heard around that time. But nothing else really matched up. Ser Robert Strong had already been long dead. His body had been rotting for some time, and the Maester identified him as Ser Gregor Clegane. It turned out that Qyburn dabbled in necromancy, and the long-dead kingsguard was his creation. The Queen Mother quickly threw him in the dungeons, despite heavily relying on the services of the disgraced maester before."

"If Jon Stark truly had a dragon and came here to negotiate in person, we doubt that he would attack her," the Lord Hand added with a cough. "Someone had partaken bread and salt from the platter, so the envoy was most probably under Guest Right already. We heavily suspect that it was the Lady Regent who broke the laws of hospitality first. Otherwise, the envoy would not have left her unharmed when he left. Now we might never know what was so important for a dragonlord to come and negotiate with us in person. If he was truly Jon Stark, Princess Myrcella might not be able to leave the North after this. We could have made an alliance against House Targaryen! There's also the fact that there are millions of golden dragons missing from Casterly Rock's coffers, who your Lady Mother discreetly took out, according to the treasurer."

"Your Grace, we beseech you to detain your Lady Mother to her quarters and remove her from the role of regent, lest she runs everything to the ground," Ellard Crane pleaded and knelt on the ground. Ser Daven Lannister joined him.

"She would have every luxury afforded to her, but we believe she's unfit to rule Casterly Rock, let alone your kingdom! You must start attending council meetings with us to learn how to rule, Your Grace!"

Tommen was torn. Could he really do it? Could he go against his domineering mother?! Wouldn't she scold him with disappointment heavy in her gaze and send him back to his room?

His faithful kingsguard must have seen the hesitation on his face as he moved closer to him.

"Your Grace, I await your orders, and so do my brothers!" Ser Lyle Crackehall's voice boomed across the room, and at this moment, to Tommen, his kingsguard looked taller and bigger than the scary Hound. "Give me your command, and I shall fulfil it without fail, even if I have to step into the Seven Hells!"

Tommen's palms were sweaty, and he could hear his heart beat like a drum within his chest, and his mouth felt dry. At that moment, Lady Prowl rubbed into his boots again, and he felt a jolt. A foreign feeling of warmth welled up within his chest, and his hesitation was gone.

"Ser Crakehall, Lord Hand, and Lord Crane! I hereby relieve my Lady Mother from the position of regent and Lady of Casterly Rock and confine her to her quarters with all comforts allowed. Anyone who disobeys my orders will face the King's Justice!"

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Shireen Stark

"Dracarys"

A streak of purple fire crashed into the waves of wights and spread quickly. Valyrian was an annoying and odd language to learn, but while her drake understood common well enough, Stormstrider responded far better to the ancient tongue of the Freehold.

Shireen carefully steered the purple dragon to set everything climbing out of the Gorge aflame. It has been three days now, and no matter how many she burned, they kept pouring out of the Gorge relentlessly. Thankfully, with most of the men free to help in the construction of the wall, the whole length had been completed this morning. Now, the entrance to the Gorge was completely closed off.

Though ever since she had arrived, it had not stopped snowing, and her range of vision was quite limited.

She patrolled for nearly an hour, incinerating everything that poured out of the Gorge before her dragon started feeling tired. As soon as his flames became smaller and weaker, she wheeled Stormstrider back to the fortifications. She had given plenty of respite to the defenders. As soon as her dragon rested, she would set out again.

Stormstrider flew over the wooden wall and landed in a snowy clearing where a wooden hall was hastily being erected amidst a sea of tents.

Jyanna was standing there, uneasily waiting for her, together with Ghost, tail wagging, who had shown up yesterday, much to Shireen's wonder and happiness. The unease was caused by the fact that she was not alone. Right next to her sworn shield, a dozen spearwives led by Morna White Mask, a free folk chieftain spearwife, who self-appointed herself as an honour guard of the "Little Wolf Queen". There was also the plump form of Jorelle Mormont, who had quickly joined Jyanna in her duties. Shireen didn't mind them, especially since Ghost seemed amicable towards their presence, and she trusted her husband's direwolf with her life.

The Queen hastily dismounted, trudged towards Stormstrider, and rubbed his snout.

"Go rest at the Wall, and come back here when you're rested enough," she whispered, only to receive a tired huff from the drake. He jumped and flew off, raising a cloud of snow in his wake. Shireen turned around and headed towards the larger tent, followed by her newfound honour guard. Or were they her retinue?

Inside, around a large, crude table, sat the wounded Greatjon Umber, Hugo Wull, Denys Mallister, the Great Walrus, Maege Mormont, who had arrived yesterday with longships from Bear Isle and three hundred men in tow, the giant form of Wun Wun along with a handful of wildling chieftains who had hastily made their way here to fight against the dead as they had sworn to her husband.

She sat on a makeshift wooden throne that the Lord of Last Heart had presented the day after she arrived. Ghost sat right next to her, and her honour guard spread right behind her.

"Now that the wall is done, we'll have far fewer problems holding the endless onslaught of wights," Wull said with a sigh.

"Have any other of the icy fuckers shown their faces yet?" Greatjon's voice boomed before wincing in pain. Everyone was greatly respectful to the Giant of Last Heart after slaying a White Walker in single combat, but his victory was not without a cost. According to the rumours, there was an ugly purple wound to his side, courtesy of the icy sword the Walker had wielded. A brave man had attempted to grab the frosty hilt and wield the sword, but it was so cold that his hand got burned badly through the leather glove. Even now, the blade remained in the snowy field, buried under charred bones and layers of mud and snow.

"Nay, it seems that the fall of one of them managed to bring caution into our foe. They're content to try and drown us in wights," Denys Mallister replied heavily. "According to Mullin, we have probably slain more than half a hundred thousand corpses."

"Do we know how many of those accursed wights are there?"

"Our people have burned our dead for generations," Great Walrus finally chimed in while patting his large belly. "But none know how many tribes or free folk lived beyond the Wall."

"If we aren't buried in wights, we might be buried in snow at this rate," Maege said heavily. "It doesn't stop snowing for a moment, no matter how weak."

"Our scouts spotted the mountain clansmen around a sennight away," Wull added. "And Lord Commander Tollett is making his way here with a few thousand…free folk. The Skagosi have also landed with their unicorns at Eastwatch with a force at least a thousand strong and are quickly making their way here."

"Can we feed so much?" Shireen found herself asking. With these numbers, they might exceed ten thousand.

"Everyone brought some supplies with them. We have hundreds of men fishing and plenty of hunting parties," Greatjon rubbed his beard thoughtfully. "But the game will run out quickly. We can probably stay here for half a year if we ration wisely."

Feeding a large army when surrounded by snow was proving far more difficult than she expected. There was indeed a good reason why nobody warred during winter.

It was miserable, and nearly everywhere felt cold and damp. Shireen quickly shook her head; there was no reason to complain- she most certainly got the best accommodations from the whole army. Every other lord, free folk, or men-at-arms had it worse than she did. She only hoped Jon returned safely from the south, and came here. He would know how to deal with any possible problem. Despite everything seeming to be under control, the northern Queen had a sinking feeling in her gut that things were only getting started, that this was only the calm before the storm.

"That's not a problem as much as the lack of tar, oil, pitch, and linen to set on fire," Mallister grimly spoke up. "Aye, our good Queen's dragon just needs a meal or two and a few hours of rest to produce a sea of flames, yet our flammable supplies to hold the wall while…Stormstrider rests are not endless. They're dwindling fast and won't last us beyond a moon. Even that might be a long stretch."

"We should probably continue building walls towards the Bay of Ice," Maege proposed quietly.

"Why?" Greatjon asked curiously. "If wights could swim, we would have been overwhelmed long ago."

"It's getting colder, and if the snow doesn't stop, the Bay of Ice might freeze, just like it did near the end of the False Spring," the Lady of Bear Isle's whisper reverberated within the tent, and everyone went gravely quiet.

*

Sarella Sand

Sarella dipped her quill in the inkpot and carefully continued transcribing the last page.

Winterfell's library was everything she expected and more. Maester Wolkan, however, did not allow her free reign. For every hour reading, she had to spend one more copying down some of the olden scrolls and books. They were ancient and could easily fall apart from a cruder touch. The loss of such things would be unacceptable, so she had easily agreed to the maester's condition.

Everything would be perfect if not for the 'guardsman' assigned to watch her. She found herself sneaking a glance or two every now and then. She had no idea why the captain of the guards had been tasked with this. Even now, she could feel Rickard Liddle's gaze burning on her back and had to muster all of her will to resist looking at him. He was incredibly comely, in a rugged kind of way.

As Oberyn Martell's daughter, she knew how to deal with lustful gazes, and how to deny their advances by force if necessary. Or how to capture her supposed target of interest. Not that she had any so far.

But the northern clansman had been the epitome of politeness and chivalry, despite not being a knight. There was no lust in his gaze, only undisguised and open interest. Nor did he do anything beyond keeping an eye on her as was his duty. She had no idea what to do and refused to ask her sisters or cousin because she already knew what their answer would be.

Sarella shook her head and, with great struggle, managed to focus on the parchment in front of her.

After she finished her task, Oberyn's daughter quickly left the library tower.

She let out a sigh as she finally arrived at the quarters where the dornish delegation stayed.

Ser Drey was sitting on one of the chairs, moaning in pain and face covered with bruises. No, that was too kindly said; his face was one giant purple swollen mess. Their captain of the guard was surrounded by a fussing Tyene.

"What happened to him?" Sarella asked with a cough.

"Our foolish Lemon knight accepted a challenge from Ser Vylarr in the training yard and lost badly," Arianne said with quite a lot of mirth from one of the beds. "The redcloak effortlessly smacked him only on the face with a blunted sword until Drey was knocked out."

Sarella barely covered her chuckle with a cough and sat on one of the chairs, and turned towards her cousin. "Is Nym still trying to play spy?"

"Yes, your sister continues to try and find a few rumours here and there stubbornly, despite the fact that she sticks out like a sore thumb, and everyone looks at her suspiciously."

"She did find out that the Dragon Queen visited more than a moon ago," Sarella countered weakly.

"Along with those queer rumours that the Starks apparently now have dragons," Arianne scoffed. "My foolish brother, who had a dragon princess for an ancestor, got savaged by a dragon when attempting to get close. Quentyn was a descendant of Aegon IV, and are we. House Stark has no such ancestors, and dragons are not chickens one could just hatch even if they had any eggs. And most of the dragon eggs were destroyed in Summerhall, and the few that remained got lost after the Rebellion. Or so they say. It could be possible that some of the eggs were smuggled out. But to the Starks? They were never anywhere near Dragonstone."

The door opened with a bang, and Nymeria rushed inside, face red and cloak covered in snow.

"They have a fucking dragon!" Her elder sister all but shouted.

Arianne choked on the throatful of wine she was taking and started coughing heavily. Sarella quickly rushed to her cousin and smacked her with some strength on the upper back.

Tyene and Nymeria quickly came over to help, but she shook her head, and they settled for watching worriedly. After all, her silver link was not for show.

After a few moments, the Dornish Princess finally stopped coughing with a reddened face.

"Nym, northerners having a dragon? Have you been drinking milk of the poppy instead of wine?" Arianne demanded after she calmed down.

"What? No! I am not jesting!" She quickly raised her hands and moved towards the shuttered windows overlooking the yard and gestured with her hand. "Come see for yourself."

They wordlessly followed her, and were met with cold northern air as the shutter was opened.

Across the yard, on the roof of the Great Keep, a giant lizard, no dragon, with crimson-red scales and giant bat-like wings had curled at the edge of the battlements, and his tail was lazily swinging in the snowy air.

Sarella pinched herself to check if she was dreaming, but the pain was very much real. This was not a dream.

"There are dragons roosting in Winterfell," Tyenne said in disbelief and rubbed her eyes before looking at the proof in front of her eyes again. "What's next? Jon Stark truly rose from the dead and is a dragonrider along with his wife?"

*

Varys, Outside Golden Tooth

"Do you think our King can take the Golden Tooth from your brother?" Varys curiously asked.

The spymaster had made his peace with the fact that he had little talent for anything related to war. All his plans had gone awry terribly. The War of the Five Kings had proven to him that one should leave planning, command, and fighting to those good at it.

He critically looked at the person across the table.

Tyrion looked quite terrible. His eyes were bloodshot, his face was puffy and had begun to take on the red hue of those who overindulged in wine. His skin looked as dry as an old roll of parchment, and the dwarf had begun to put on some weight. It was of little wonder, though. In the last half a year, Tywin Lannister's son had drunk enough wine for half a dozen men daily without fail.

Tyrion poured the contents of his cup into his mouth and sank into contemplation.

"I am not very skilled in leading a campaign, nor do I know much about the Golden Tooth, Lord Varys," he sullenly replied after half a minute. "And I cared little for treatises on tactics, strategy or fighting when growing up. Almost every Lord here has fought more battles than I. Why ask me?"

"Despite your love for wine, your mind is always sharp and oft notices things others overlook," the master of whispers patiently explained. "And you know your brother far better than any of us here."

"I thought I knew him," Tyrion muttered bitterly with a glassy look in his eyes. "Where do whores go, Lord Varys?"

He knew of the dwarf's lowborn wife and the sordid affair that followed. No, he had no compassion for the Lannister imp at all. For all of his supposed wit, he had proven to be also cruel, pampered, and quick to slight over the smallest thing, even more than his father. The issue of Tyrion's first marriage festered nicely into a bitter hatred for his family. For now, he was useful, but when he outlived his usefulness, the imp would be disposed of. Aegon's court had no need for such volatile characters. The master of whispers could also see that Tywin's son had failed to make any friends amongst the nobles in the army, and all looked upon him with some degree of suspicion.

When he was removed, nobody would cry a single tear over the dwarf. Not the Daenerys who only cared about herself. Certainly not Bronn, the new Lord Stokeworth. The former sellsword might have possibly been outwardly amiable towards Tyrion, but Varys knew that he was nothing but pragmatic and would abandon the dwarf without hesitation, especially since Tywin's son was no longer swimming in gold. Not to mention that Bronn had sent the Stokeworth forces with the master-at-arms in charge after bending the knee to Aegon while remaining in his new keep.

'Why would I fight now that I have others to do it for me?'

The spymaster shook his head. By the amount of drink the dwarf was consuming, he might die before Varys would even need to remove him.

"To the pleasure houses and the brothels," He finally answered the previous query with a shrug.

Tyrion filled up another cup of wine and poured it into his mouth in one go with a dreary sigh. The dwarf forlornly shook his head while rubbing his brow.

"To answer your first question, Jaime will probably do anything. Anything to hold out in this siege," he explained. "In the past few years, he suffered plenty for his pride, and it seems that my brother has finally learned some patience and caution. So if Aegon wants to take the Golden Tooth, he would have to pay a bloody price. But Jaime's the less dangerous of my two siblings, as you doubtlessly know. I dread to think what scheme my sister dearest is hatching right now. I don't think even she knows what truly happens in that pretty head of hers. A pity I wasn't there to witness her doing the Walk of Atonement!"

Varys blinked at the viciousness in the dwarf's tone. Although it was understandable, considering his sister did try to kill him at least twice…that he knew of. But openly showing such joy at the suffering of your blood felt wrong, even to him. But no, he doubted Cersei was going to be any danger to them at all. That woman managed to undermine herself at every step, and screw over and push away her own allies in the process. Cersei Lannister's worst enemy was herself.

"King's Landing can no longer serve as the seat of House Targaryen, and Dragonstone is far too remote, cold, and joyless a place to hold the court of the seven kingdoms," the Lyseni decided to switch the topic. "What do you think is the best place for the new capital?"

"Harrenhal," Tyrion answered without hesitation. "It might need some…no, plenty of restoration, but it's more than large enough and quite central. And its current Lord is Baelish. The King can easily add it and the adjacent lands to the Crownlands and rule from there." He paused, poured himself another cup of wine, and downed it in one go. "Mayhaps this time they can add proper sewers, and the new capital won't stink of shit."

The tent sank in silence, and the dwarf continued pouring himself more wine. Harrenhal would be a great choice… if it wasn't said to be cursed. Varys would scoff at such notions, but history was clear enough. The House ruling it had changed ten times since the conquest, and all of them met a grisly end. Was the imp's suggestion genuine, or was he trying to doom Aegon's reign from the very start by choosing such a cursed place for his Seat?

At that moment, a commotion was heard outside.

Varys tossed a thick woollen cloak over his shoulders and left the tent to see what was happening.

Snow was still falling heavily, and covering the muddy ground.

Near the entrance of the camp, a tall, beautiful woman dressed in a red silk gown and a crimson cloak was arguing with a few guardsmen. Her dress was too thin and revealing to ward off the winter chill in the air, yet she seemed completely unbothered by the cold. Everything about her screamed danger- her long hair was the unnatural colour of burnished copper. Her voice was melodic and sounded seductive even to Varys, who had long parted with such earthly desires. But the most unnerving thing was her unsettling red eyes.

It took him a few heartbeats, but his eyes widened in realisation.

"What is happening here?" He asked the guardsmen.

"This…priestess demands an audience with the king, Lord Varys."

This was too dangerous. He could not allow her to roam free and murder his nephew!

"Seize her!" Varys loudly ordered. He didn't have any authority to command them and had never ordered men-at-arms before. Much to his relief, they were quick to fulfil his command. The guardsmen quickly swarmed and apprehended the priestess. "This is Stannis Baratheon's pet witch! She must be here to assassinate Aegon on behalf of Stannis' daughter!"

The nearby men that were listening to the commotion quickly ran over. More and more men-at-arms swarmed the red priestess. She did not even resist but raised her head haughtily.

Renly had the iron throne in his grasp until a shadow assassin killed him in the night. There were many rumours, yes, but Brienne of Tarth's claim of a shadow wearing the face of Stannis slaying her former liege made Varys easily connect the dots. Only a shadowbinder could spawn such a foul fiend, and Stannis famously had a red priestess from Asshai in his service, which was the cradle of the vilest of sorcerers. A witch that completely matched the description of the woman in front of him. Oh, Varys hated magic with a passion ever since he was unmanned, and he went to great lengths to know how to know, possibly identify, and avoid them. He had even bitterly dived into the sparse records and rumours of their unnatural capabilities to know what to watch out for should he meet another sorcerer.

"Foolish eunuch!" her melodic voice echoed across the clearing. "I've no need to seek the death of the black dragon but to warn him. He's already marked for death by the gods!"

"Gag her mouth and don't let her speak. She can bewitch you with her voice," Varys warned. As a piece of cloth was stuffed and secured into Melisandre's mouth, she finally began to struggle. "Put her in chains and have at least a dozen men watching her at all times! If she says another word, lop her head off and keep stabbing her until she stops moving. Don't let her pretty looks deceive you - this woman managed to assassinate King Renly Baratheon in a camp of a hundred thousand men."

The guards now looked far more cautiously at the red witch as they carried her away.

"Curious," Tyrion's voice came from his left. "How do you know who assassinated Renly? If she could assassinate Renly, why didn't she do the same to my unlamented nephew, who remained woefully uninformed of such a threat to his life?"

"It's nothing more than a conjecture, my Lord Tyrion," Varys lied with his most annoying titter, making Tyrion scowl. "After all, magic was supposed to be gone from the world, and I did not find out until much later."

A bloodcurdling roar echoed across the sky, and the eunuch felt even his bones vibrate and he shuddered. Dragons were terrifying things. Varys inwardly thanked the gods that the dragons were on their side, for he would loathe facing such monsters.

"So our Good Queen finally returns," Tyrion snarked, and Varys's gaze moved towards the snowy sky. "It must be nice to be able to fly away from all your troubles, if only for a few hours."

A large draconic form dived straight towards the centre of the camp. The eunuch felt something was…wrong, but he couldn't put his finger on it.

"AEGON!" A thunderous shout echoed across the whole camp. "COME OUT!"

Varys remembered a similar shout from nearly two decades ago, and his blood chilled.