[Chapter Size: 3000 Words.]

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  Thrid Person POV

  Westeros, 295 AC.

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  Lord Stark did not immediately speak to his wife; he spent the day as usual while asking Luwin not to ent oter. It was only after dinner with his children as always in the main hall.

  It was only at bedtime that she approached with the letter from the Martells in hand, preparing for the dialogue with Catelyn, which would not be easy. Her reseowards Jon was well known, reag a limit when Arya was taken.

  He saw his wife preparing for bed without looking much at him, with a sigh, he called her. "Catelyn," he began, his voice breaking the silence of the room. She turned, her gaze looking at him with a ral glint, and he tinued. "We've received news from Dorne... about Arya."

  She immediately opened her eyes upon hearing such a thing, not expeg this from her husband at this moment, after all, there had been no news of that fleet of ships si passed by the White Harbor sea.

  "Arya? Is she... is she alright?" Hope shone in her eyes, wishing her daughter was safe and sound.

  Ned nodded, moving the letter and handing it to her. "She's more than alright, Cat. The Martells are impressed with her... even a marriage proposal was mentioned." He said, seeing her almost trembling as she touched the letter, lifting it to her eyes to unfold and read.

  Catelyhe letter quickly, her eyes trembling slightly. She couldn't help but let out a sigh of relief that escaped her lips, knowing that her daughter is fier all. But, as quickly as she had been relieved, a grim face covered her right after.

  "That's wonderful... but that bastard! He has nht to decide Arya's future. He her baed! Arya belongs to Winterfell, to her true family, not to the sands of Dorne or to the whims of his son!!"

  Ned, who was hoping to have something pleasant from his wife with their daughter well, was a bit disappointed, as the woman quickly turned her attention to Jon, whom she seemed to have some kind of obsession with. "I don't know what Jon has to do with this, but Arya is fine, Cat. Try to see at least that, Doran Martell says she participated iiations while Jon's wives were kept out." Ned said trying to see the situation from a more positive perspective, although he would certainly prefer Arya here rather than traveling through the south.

  "You don't uand, Ned! He shouldn't have the right to iate with a great house like the Martells! He should be imprisoned for stealing our daughter! Not using her as a political game te allies! We will not marry Arya into that family so that the bastard succeed in his pns!!" She excimed while Ned was even dazed at how his wife could think this way, w if after all these years, he really knew her after all.

  "Cat... I don't think Jon has interfered with this, and there's no reason for Jon to want to quer Winterfell with the support of a house from the other side of the ti, what the Dornish do with us, even Robert and the North wouldn't accept something like this, why do you insist so much that Jon wants Winterfell, from what you read iter, Jon has everything he wants from the pce he built beyond the wall." Ned spoke, he had pced Jon in a better position after knowing that Arya was better than ever.

  "You don't uand, Ned! He's a bastard, all bastards are greedy, how he achieve so much with that wildling... It's not fair! He still has our Arya, demand that they bring her back!" She demanded of him while he sighed wearily, w why he would still be surprised with the versation reag this point.

  "I uand your pain, Cat. Arya will always be a Stark, and we will do everything in our power t her bae." He spoke trying to calm her, as it was being difficult at this moment tue against her hatred.

  Catelyn looked at him. "I just want my daughter baed. I want my whole family safe and secure uhis roof." She spoke with a shaken tone, and Ned hugged her, after all, despite being a difficult woman and having her faults, he still loved her.

  "And so it shall be, Cat. I promise you, we will do everything within our power. I will write to the king," he said.

  While Winterfell faced its own internal flicts, news of the Arcti fleet and Jon Snow's as also reached the western side of the kingdom, in the ears of Tywin Lanhe lord of Casterly Rock.

  He was sitting in his sor, reading the test scroll from Dorne, while refleg on the events happening in the south at this time. Tywin was not a man to show surprise easily, but the as of the Stark bastard and the magnitude of his fleet could not fail to impress him.

  His eyes sed not just this scroll, but he id out all the others on his table, rereading all the information received i weeks so as not to miss anything while his mind worked on it.

  A kno the door called his attentioer." He said, and the door opened with a man slightly youhan Tywiering with his Lannister appearance of blond hair and green eyes.

  "You called for me, brother." He said with respect to his elder brother and head of their house. Kevan Lanywin's brother, could not help but g his desk. "More news from the south?" he asked, approag the desk.

  "Jon Snow," Tywin began, "Or should I now say, Jon Arctic, as they call him in Dorne." He spoke without taking his eyes off the scroll in his hand, before turning to his brother for the first time. "The Stark bastard who traveled beyond the wall and built a kingdom there, achieving what many lords ieros could only dream of: an army of giants, a fleet of two hundred ships, wealth, and unique goods for trade with the first results being a trade allian the south with Dorne..." He said, and there was a rare hint of respe his tone.

  Kevan looked thoughtfully for a while, "That boy who went beyond the wall, how is it possible for a child to develop all this in years... Were there reports of magi the letters still?" Kevan asked, thinking the whole story of the boy could be summed up in mystical events, after all, no one grows up that way or even starts creating a kingdom from the age of 9 namedays, which was absurd.

  "Yes, they still say the boy is a sorcerer and put the entire Dorne castle under his feet just by trolling snakes as reported weeks ago." He spoke in a quite peculiar tone.

  "What do you think...?" Kevan asked cautiously.

  "If that's true, the boy is dangerous, but oher hand, he's certainly creating alliances with Dorne and is at this moment traveling to this side of the ti." He spoke, even with the supposed sorcery, he couldn't deny that the boy had very good products acc to his spies and even sold ice, perhaps an opportunity to catch his secret, after all, ice is a big business for the west.

  Kevan pondered his brother's words. "And what do you suggest? How do we deal with him if this fleet es to Lannisport?" Kevan asked.

  "First, we need more information, as there's still a time loop until news arrives here. We'll tio monitor the movements of this Jon Arctid his fleet. Sedly, we should prepare to receive them, there are more advantages in this Arctic than disadvantages." Tywin's mind was already weaving pns trying to take advantage of any situation.

  "And what about the throne? 't King Robert and his cil see them as a threat?" Kevan asked, wanting to know his brother's opinion on this.

  "Difficult... Robert loves the Starks, even with that story of the little girl being kidnapped years ago, she seems very well iters and apart from some greedy fools in that cil like my own daughter... There's no reason for them to attack or treat the Arcti pany as an enemy. Of course, uhey plot something." Tywin spoke, beginning to store the scrolls from the table.

  "And if the Iron Throreats them as enemies until they get here...?" Kevan asked.

  "Then we'll deal with them in the best possible way while trying to capture all their secrets." Tywin spoke in a dangerous tone.

  "I uand..." Kevan sighed. "Is there anything else I o do?" He asked, as he would be returning to Lannisport soon, where he mahe city.

  "I want you to take Tyrion. Lannisport needs a repair on its sewers in the ing moons, take him and make him useful for oywin spoke with a tone of disgust remembering his dwarf son, the shame of his life.

  "Yes, I will take my leave," Kevan spoke, and Tywin nodded his head as he returo reading other reports on different matters.

  In the gardens of Highgarden, sunlight filtered through the tree opies. In this part of the castle, there was aension of pnts and forests around the paths of the pce, whihahe beauty of the pce with tless colors and aromas. It was in this uting that Olenna Tyrell, known among friends and foes as the Queen of Thorns, was sitting in a structure that protected her from the sun in the middle of the garden while receiving news from Westeros beyond the green fields of the Reach.

  A man approached, "Lady Tyrell." He said, pg a letter oable. She looked at it and then said,

  "You may go." With that, the man quickly withdrew, but not before hearing o and. "Call my grandson." She said, and he nodded, moving away.

  With the letter there, Olenna frowned as she unfolded the part, her sharp eyes quickly sing the written lines. She spent time reading and rereading, like the st reports she received from Dorne i weeks, as Tywin with his spies.

  It didn't take long for two well-dressed people to approach. Margaery Tyrell, her granddaughter, apanied by Wils Tyrell, the heir to Highgarden, approached after their grandmother demaheir presence.

  "We are here," Margaery announced as she approached the table, holding her dress and sitting in a chair.

  Wils also joined his younger sister in front of their grandmother. "What do the news from the south say, grandmother?" Wils asked, already knowing what the part was about just by the seal, and it wasn't the first time their grandmother had called them to discuss what was happening in Dorne.

  Olenna lifted her eyes from the letter, showing a ing expression crossing her face. "Ah, my dear grandchildren, it seems the Stark bastard was doing more than building snowmen beyond the Wall. Jon Snow, of all beings, has not only emerged alive but at the head of a fleet that would make any of our admirals blush with envy, as you already know."

  "Are there news of him still being a sorcerer?" Margaery asked, curious about the quite peculiar letters her grandmother received.

  "Not much, but his fleet must be dividing at this moment, and a part ing here."

  Wils, always the more cautious one, asked. "A fleet, grandmother? Is that ing?"

  "For us? Not yet," Olenna flipped through the letter again, her eyes shining with a face of i and calcution. "But for the Lannisters and the thro very well might be. Snow has made alliances in Dorne, something that not even the most diplomatic of our lords have managed without causing some kind of sdal."

  Margaery, curious, asked: "And what does that mean for us, grandmother? If he es to our ports?"

  Olenna smiled, alroud of her granddaughter. "For noatch. Snow may be a bastard, but if he's managing to move the Westeros board in his favor, then he's a bastard who deserves our attention. And more importantly, he's a wealthy bastard; we won't let an opportunity like this pass. He bought thousands of animals to take to those frozen nds, so if he's ing here, it means he's not satisfied and intends to spend more money." She said, putting the letter aside and looking at her two grandchildren.

  "He also has that ice, drinking cold beverages in our kingdom would be a tremendous success..." Wils ented.

  "Exactly, my grandson," Olenna said with a calm tohat's why we have to wele this young man from the north, sorcerer or not, he certainly is beneficial for us. Besides, I would like to y my eyes on this unique figure and have a little chat with a boy of 15 years who created a kingdom in that pce, it will certainly be an iing versation." She spoke with a tone of great i.

  "So, should we extend a hand to him, grandmother?" Wils questioned, p if his grandmother was indeed fav this Jon Arctic.

  "A hand, perhaps. But we'll keep the other behind our backs, with a rose between the fingers. If Jon Arctic wishes to dah the snakes, let's see how he handles ardens, but we won't be as easy as the Martells were, and we will make him know that our thorns also wound." Olenna folded the letter, decided. "Prepare a raven. I want it to report the arrival of this fleet at any port in our realm when it decides to disembark; we have to prepare our tourhis moon as well, it might be an ideal opportunity to meet our future guests."

  With that, Olenna cluded her meeting with her grandchildren, while elsewhere, not too far but hundreds of kilometers away, a private meeting was taking pce at this moment.

  In the a city of Oldtown, a secret meeting was being held away from everyone's eyes. In the heart of the Citadel, where the Archmaesters secretly gather to decide some important points ieros, almost nobody knew, but there was the pce where the most ges ieros happened, after all, they had the ears of all the lords and when they decided something, all their maesters received instrus to suggest certain decisions throughout Westeros, after all, their maesters had loyalty to the citadel above everything, of course, there were a few who did not think this way, and they were ostracized by the order, like Maester Aemon, for example, who was sent to swear to the wall and rot in the far north.

  This room was illuminated only by dles that cast dang shadows oone walls, like the bodies gathered at this moment.

  Archmaester Vorian (OC), was a man of medium stature, with hair that was once bow peppered with gray. His eyes, however, remain pierg and full of an inquisitive glow. He is often seen with a brooch representing a closed book, symbolizing his itment to knowledge and caution against dao the order. Vorian was not just a man among his distinguished group, but the one who led all the discussions and anded all those archmaesters, being the regent of the citadel.

  He looked at all the men around him, refleg wisdom after years of studying the art of the mind. "Brothers, we are gathered here in the face of a threat that arose many years ago, but we would not ask to do anything against it, until this moment, and this threat has gairength, sailing through the waters of the ti while we are here discussing the threat we received weeks ago." He spoke, pausing before tinuing.

  "Jon Arctiown to many as Jon Snow, possesses powers we ot ignore. His ability to manipute magiething we sidered relegated to the past, represents a danger not just to the order of the world but to our very existence. Our aors fought to rid this ti ons, magid Targaryens, now it's our time to act against this force."

  The other Maesters present exged looks, each aware of the Citadel's stance against magid everything it represented, in favor of this fa. Those who would be against it were not present, as they were nht into this type of circle.

  "And what do you suggest, Archmaester Vorian?" asked Maester Elinor, an equally old man, he had a hatred against magid was into natural history, so it was in his io destroy Jon Arctic.

  "Unfortunately, our maester in Sunspear failed to cause any 'illo his pregnant wives', but he provided information to the pirates of Stepstoo attack the ships heading north at this moment." He said. "I just hope it's successful, after all, if they reach the north, it will be out of our reach."

  He then resumed speaking. "We must sider all options. This boy's magic is to trol animals like the wargs we have always studied and have the ability to build a kingdom, which seems to be involved with magic."

  "Isn't he dangerous? Should we eliminate him!" A maester said.

  "Yes, but we must act carefully, Archmaester Galen. After all, we ot face a fleet with 150 ships and giants." Vorian tered.

  "Giants... I'd love to study them..." Archmaester Baelor ented.

  "Patience, I will talk to the High Septon and the Hightowers, we lure them in smaller o the city..." Vorian suggested, putting Jon here ih few men, they simply capture him and close the city so that his fleet ot enter, a good opportunity to destroy him.

  "That would be great, but we o clear the animals from the area, after all, we ot let him use his powers..." Someone suggested and Vorian nodded.

  "Exactly, that's why we'll start our pn." Vorian spoke with a somber tone.

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