Remember the aged-up characters? Well, Sansa is older here and much more observant of her surroundings and the geopolitical nature of Westeros…even more than her canon self.

  Then again, she was considered a prodigy in her studies; numbers, geography, history, heraldry…she knew them all. With a few more years under her belt, as well as having to survive Joffrey and Cersei for nearly a year, and you get a much more interesting and mature character.

  This chapter was edited by Gdiusx.

  Dawn of the 2nd day of the 7th moon, 299.

  The Silver Lady, Bckwater Bay.

  Sansa

  “… And the Greyjoys had been silent since then. At least, until recently, for I’m sure those pirates would take the chance to raid and reave with the realm in chaos.” Sansa concluded the history lesson of Westeros. She didn’t go into details, just the basics; there used to be seven kingdoms, some dragon-riding incest-ridden foreigners conquered them with fire and blood, and then those same sister-fuckers lost their dragons and their wits and ended up going mad. The result was the current political map.

  Sansa giggled to herself. It felt good to have a coarse and uncouth tongue for a change without worry of anyone looking at her strangely. That she did not actually say all those insults out loud was ignored, as she did not want Percy to think lowly of her. Then again, he did not seem all that bothered with learning that their former royal house was so inbred, muttering something about royals everywhere being the same.

  “I see.” The green-eyed man frowned as he looked at the map of Westeros spread on the table in the captain’s cabin, an oil ntern lit for them to see in the darkness. He had finally regained his wits when Sansa first expined the seasons and, by the gods, if that wasn't a surprise for both of them! Just three moons for every season? And consistently? How did they ever get anything done with so little time before winter?

  The Stark maiden shook her head inwardly and focused on her protector. It had been a day since they escaped from Kingsnding. They left the city yesterday at noon and spent the day, after Percy woke up, fishing and salting their catches. Sansa learned the hard way how to gut and clean a fish, which gave her a surprisingly satisfied feeling as she relished the sense of purpose the action gave her.

  The feeling of stabbing and bleeding something strangely resonated with something deep within her.

  Percy ended up taking over, however, after she ruined the fourth fish, for no matter how enthusiastic she was, Sansa had only ever held a knife for eating. He seemed queer about it, mumbling about disrespectful fish and how he shouldn’t have worried about them.

  It was as if he could talk to them.

  The rest of the evening was spent trying to teach Percy how to read which seemed like a futile endeavor. The boy had some sort of eye malediction that prevented him from reading properly, even the fact her nguage was simir enough to his own did not help. Sansa was gd she at least managed to teach him the basic geography of the nds as well as the names of cities and castles. In that field, he seemed to be a savant as he easily memorized them all.

  They had gone to sleep when night fell and had woken up an hour before dawn. After a fishy breakfast, they continued their lessons.

  “And this ndmass to the east?” He pointed at the small strip of nd that was visible on the eastern side of the map.

  “That’s Essos and its…” Sansa proceeded to summarize the nd for him. Wealthy, cultured, and sophisticated, yet svery and barbarians were aplenty, causing the nd to be in near constant strife. Percy hummed and nodded, only interrupting for crification. It was a few minutes ter when he cpped his hands in affirmation and grinned.

  “I can now honestly confirm that this world is nuts!”

  Sansa blinked, and the Stark maiden was reminded that he truly was from another world. Moreover, “Nuts? As in those things squirrels like to eat?”

  The dark-haired young man grimaced, “It’s a figure of speech, meaning crazy.” At her bnk look, he sighed, “When something is incredibly strange and mad, it would be nuts. Because squirrels can fit so many nuts in their cheeks that it's strange and mad?”

  “I… see.” Sansa hummed and flicked a loose hair away from her eyes, gazing at the boy who stared at her hair. It brought a smile to her face; it was always good to be appreciated, so long as he remained a gentleman about it. “So why do you think it’s nuts?”

  “This world is both alien to my own, yet so simir, reminding me of the Middle Ages. Have you discovered the steam engine yet? Cannons? Gunpowder?” At her confused look, he continued listing strange and fantastical-sounding things. He couldn't expin how they worked, but the more Sansa heard, the stranger it sounded than even godly powers.

  “What about magic? Or the gods? Do you know anything about them? Are they active?”

  “Gods? Bah. If the gods exist, then they would not have left me to rot in that wretched city.” Sansa scowled at the bitter reminder. “They would not have let my father die, even when he was the most pious of us. I lost count how many times over the past year I've prayed to them for salvation in the Sept, yet all I received was silence.”

  The very idea that the gods were true and watched upon them in apathy caused Sansa to feel so betrayed. She jerked when she felt Percy pce a gentle hand on her shoulders and squeeze in assurance. Sansa could not help but lean into the warm touch; the gesture felt soothing after all the abuse she had gone through, and it surprised her she did not shy from a male’s touch after what Joffrey had his guards do to her on a daily basis.

  “Not sure what a sept is, but from my experience, the gods prefer not to involve themselves in matters of the mundane no matter how much we mortals wish they would.” Percy smiled sadly, and she couldn’t help but think she preferred his lopsided grin. “After all, if all your problems could be fixed with a wave of the hand of some big guy in the sky, then what would life be worth?”

  “But not a single answer? Not even a sign that they heard me but couldn't help?” The Stark maiden insisted, her blue eyes looking into the other boy's sea-green eyes, unconsciously pleading for an answer.

  “I'm not sure, as I don't know the divines here, but maybe you're praying to the wrong gods?” Percy shrugged, but the question rang with her. Sansa had been raised on the New Gods by her mother, but she was not ignorant of the Old Gods for Eddard Stark never neglected teaching all of his children about the old ways.

  She bit her lips in thought as she unconsciously moved closer to the boy. “You sound so confident that the gods exist. Almost as if you know them personally.”

  “That’s because I do. I am the son of one of them, after all.” Sansa’s heart skipped a beat as she thought she had misheard him. But no, the words had been spoken in utmost seriousness, and his face did not possess even a shred of deception, and Sansa found herself believing the unbelievable.

  She knew he was special, she would have to be blind and daft not to believe so, but this? Percy had shown powers that had never been seen nor heard of since the Age of Heroes for him to be a mere sorcerer. Not to mention that since she woke up, there had been this niggling feeling in her mind when she looked at the boy. It was a strange and heavy feeling that reminded her of the soothing waters of a spring yet the unstoppable waves of a storm.

  Percy, with a rueful smile on his face, proceeded to expin his side of the world to her; and what a strange world it was! Towering buildings that would make the mightiest of castles look like a pebble, gods, and goddesses bedding mortals wantonly, creating offspring like Percy. Monsters hunting those demigods and them fighting back. In all that fantastical expnation, one thing stood out the most to her.

  “You’re a bastard?” Sansa’s eyes widened before she could stop herself.

  “Hey, now, that’s uncalled for.” Percy’s eyebrows scrunched into a frown as he folded his hands defensively. The Stark maiden mented her misstep and worried she offended him. “I might not be the best guy around, but I like to think I treat people well enough.”

  Sansa was confused for a second before realizing it was probably another word lost in transtion. “I-I meant, you were born out of wedlock.”

  “Ah, that kind of bastard. Yeah, I suppose I was. My Dad was infamous for siring children on anything that could move,” the boy paused as he smirked. “According to him, his immortal wife was mostly cool about it, but I wouldn’t know. My mother had nothing but respect when she spoke of him, and he gave her his blessings when she married another mortal. He also gave me these awesome powers, too, so I give the god a lot of leeway when it comes to judging him.”

  Sometimes, the deluge of words that escaped from her protector’s mouth confused Sansa greatly. Many meanings overpped, making her unsure of what exactly he was saying.

  “So, what kind of god was he?” This was all so surreal to her, and the more answers she got, the more questions she had. Still, Sansa was entranced with the topic and edged even closer to the demigod, that feeling she sensed from him becoming even stronger as he spoke. It was as if confirming his divinity was making it more real.

  “God of the sea. I can swim fast, dive deep, breathe underwater, and control ships and the waves. I can even cause storms, mist, and fog because my father was also known as the storm bringer. Basically, I’m virtually unstoppable so long as I’m in the sea.” Percy grinned as he flexed his biceps jokingly. “Oh, and I can speak to horses as well.”

  A list of impossible things that no human should ever be capable of, and Sansa was seriously wondering if the tales from the Age of Heroes had more credence than she thought. “Horses?”

  “Is that what caught your attention?” The handsome man’s lopsided grin caused her face to heat up as she unconsciously smiled. Gods, that smile would turn any insipid maiden to mush, yet she was stronger than that. Good looks no longer deceived her! “My father created horses from sea foam, or at least a breed of horses in my old world. Anyway, what about you? I can still feel power from you. At first, I thought you were also a demigod, but now I’m not so sure. It’s not as obvious as divinity, but it's certainly some sort of power.”

  And there it was again. Sansa never had any sort of powers, or at least nothing she could feel, though she would admit to having sharper senses tely. “I know magic existed in the past, and it's a taboo topic, but Westeros has two major religions. The Old Gods are mainly worshiped in the North, and the Faith of the Seven in the South. There’s the Drowned God of the Ironborn too, I suppose, but no one cares about them.”

  Percy’s face turned thoughtful as she expined. “Drowned God, huh? Tell me as much as you can about all three of them.”

  And Sansa did. The simplistic practices of the Old Gods, the overly eborate and wasteful ceremonies she witnessed in the Septs of the South, and what she could remember from Theon’s boasting and some of the men-at-arms’ tales about the Drowned God. Percy seemed overly interested in the whole matter, especially the sea deity, which would make sense considering his father.

  For a moment, Sansa worried that he was a liar and secretly just another reaver pretending to be a savior, but she discarded such a notion immediately. She had gotten very good at discerning lies from the truth during her stay in the Red Keep, and all her instincts told her that Percy Jackson was the most honest man she had ever met.

  “What about beasts and creatures? Anything mystical?”

  The Stark maiden told him what she knew – the Children of the Forest, Giants, the Others, Dragons, the mythical griffins, selkies, and all the others big or small she could remember.

  “I see.” Percy’s eyebrow was scrunched as he took his time processing what she said. “Were there any people known to have magical powers? Specifically, people from your family?”

  “There are tales of the Children of the Forest and the First Men intermarrying. The Starks of old were said to defeat their magical rivals and take their daughters for wives.” Sansa recited from her teachings with Luwin. “Tales of skinchangers and wargs still prevail, and…” She choked a sob as her thoughts went to the most obvious sign of magic she had experienced.

  “What is it, Sansa?” Percy’s hands grabbed her when she faltered, and she easily leaned on him for support.

  “My family, we all received a direwolf pup. They were beyond loyal and would follow our commands as if they could read your mind. My half-brother cimed it was a gift from the gods, that the Old Gods thought highly of the Starks and gave them a gift for protection. There was a dead mother direwolf, killed by a massive stag, whelping six pups in the process. Oh…Oh gods! Was that…”

  She looked up at the resident expert in the arcane to see his solemn face and betedly realized she was hugging the man tightly. Percy didn’t shy away from the hug and pced his chin over her head as he thought deeply. “I think that was indeed an omen. I’m still too ignorant of the world here to be confident, though. What happened to your wolf?”

  “… She died because of me. I betrayed my family, my pack, and the gods took her away from me. What they can give, they can so easily take.” Sansa’s eyes misted, and she allowed the tears to fall freely as she hugged the demigod closely, inhaling his scent and enjoying how he rubbed her back in comfort. Unbidden, she recalled her loyal direwolf; Lady was so obedient and innocent of any wrongdoing, yet her father was forced to kill her because of Cersei Lannister.

  The fucking queen! It was all her fault. Cersei Lannister caused this whole mess, and Sansa would not rest until she ripped her head off with her own bare hands! Something savage was growling deep in her mind, and Sansa heaved through her sobs as the idea took hold of her. To watch Cersei Lannister scream in despair as she gutted her precious Joffrey and hung his entrails on a weirwood, even the idea of killing kind Myrcel and innocent Tommen, who had never done her any ill, appealed to her. If only to watch the bitch wail in grief.

  Yes! Yes, that was what she should do.

  Sansa’s lips widened into a manic grin as she hugged her savior closer and sank deeper into his muscled chest, tasting something delicious yet metallic but ignoring it. Cersei would be the st, dying only after seeing her ill-bred spawn perish before her eyes. Then, maybe she could have Robb send Jaime Lannister to her, and he could follow in the footsteps of his cursed progeny. If the loss of her children would break Cersei, then her lover would send her to the pits of despair, and only then would Sansa give her the mercy of death.

  A slow, agonizing death, of course.

  But no, why stop there? The whole cursed lineage of Lann the Clever should be obliterated from the nds. That wretched line that dared to provoke the Direwolf. They shall receive the same treatment as the Dragons! The more she thought about it, the more the idea–

  “Sansa… you're starting to make me itch.” A hand flowed through her hair before gently pulling her away from the warm flesh she was clinging to. Breaking out of the trance she was in, Sansa looked up to see Percy’s blushing face twisted in discomfort.

  It was then that the Stark maiden tasted liquid in her mouth and instinctively gulped, suddenly feeling warmth run through her. She noticed the bite mark on the demigod’s flesh and how it was slightly bleeding. Sansa recoiled from the horror of her thoughts and looked at her gentle hero, who was trying to look everywhere but down… and she noticed that at some point, her shirt had unbuttoned itself, allowing her generous cleavage to be nearly exposed.

  Sansa separated from her protector and distractedly fixed her clothing, but couldn’t bring herself to feel embarrassed. What was that? Why did her thoughts get so… brutal? Percy idly waved his hand, allowing a stream of seawater to flow from the open porthole and spsh on his chest. She looked in wonder as the bite marks quickly healed, barely leaving a mark. The demigod had done something simir yesterday yet it was still as magical seeing it for the second time.

  “Are you okay?” Percy's sea-green eyes finally met her gaze, but his face was still flushed. Sansa should have felt happy about the powerful warrior looking so flummoxed by her beauty, yet the maiden could only think about the fact she practically marked him.

  Gods, that was embarrassing!

  She shook her head as she remembered that Percy was trying to comfort her. It was sweet and Sansa was grateful for the gesture.

  “I’m sorry. I just…” she struggled for a moment to remember the prior conversation, but she found herself lost in the demigod’s sea-green eyes. “I just haven’t gotten over the loss of Lady, my direwolf.”

  “You called your direwolf, Lady?” The boy grinned, his lips crooking lopsidedly, causing her to giggle in return.

  “Better than my brother, he called his Shaggydog.”

  “No, that’s still better than Lady.”

  They continued to banter for a few more minutes, and Sansa was gd for the distraction. While there was no doubt in her mind that she wanted to see both Cersei and Joffrey dead at her feet, her thoughts had taken a strange path.

  Once there was a lull in the conversation, Percy looked like he had another question for her, and Sansa merely smiled at him, encouraging him to ask away.

  “So, you mentioned Northmen hate going south, right?” Sansa nodded, “then what brought half of your family to that city?”

  It was a fair question, and for the next hour, Sansa expined to her new friend the happenings of the st two years. From Jon Arryn’s death, the King’s visit to Winterfell, and her father’s appointment as Hand of the King. What happened afterward was unclear, as she wasn’t privy to her father’s dealings, but she knew he was betrayed by everyone he knew. Including herself.

  Before she realized it, Sansa was in Percy's arms again as she had to relive all those moments of pain and betrayal as well as the very real possibility that her sister was most likely dead.

  “I would not lose myself to guilt if I were you.” Percy soothed after she confessed to her treachery. They had long abandoned the maps and the table, simply sitting on the wooden floor, while leaning their backs to the wall. Sansa enjoyed the demigod's warmth as he pced a hesitant arm around her shoulders. “You messed up, and now you gotta live with it. Instead of moping and brooding, you should look to the future and make amends. You have a clear target of your hatred, that bitch queen you mentioned and the pansy ass sissy boy with the punchable face.”

  It took Sansa a moment to understand the insult, and couldn’t help but snicker. She smiled at the young man and his simplistic approach to life and how he did not judge her moment of weakness.

  A gentle squeeze from the demigod had Sansa blush slightly. Percy looked more confident as he held her, unlike earlier when he blushed like a maid, and Sansa couldn't help but feel endeared to him. As she stared into his sea-green eyes, Sansa was again reminded of their proximity. Gods, what would her mother think if she saw her so close to a man?

  She shook her head inwardly. Her mother was who knew where and what Catelyn didn't know, wouldn't harm her.

  A comfortable silence overcame them, and they simply enjoyed each other’s presence. At least until a gust of wind came from the open shutter, threatening to damage the maps. They stood up, Sansa shut it close, but noticed Percy staring curiously at the map.

  “What’s this straight line here?”

  “That’s the Wall.”

  “…The Wall? Come on, Sansa, I haven’t a clue whether that’s a name or a pce.”

  Giggling, the red-haired girl expined to her companion about the seven-hundred-foot Wall hewn out of ice and the ancient order protecting the realm from the savages living beyond it.

  “Let me guess, those savages have giants and other monstrous animals with them?”

  “I… believe so? My uncle Benjen would tell tales of them and other fantastical creatures he found beyond the wall.”

  “Hmm, sounds like Canada.” She had no idea what Canada was, and judging by Percy’s distaste, it was probably nothing good. “So your uncle is there?”

  “And my half-brother, Jon.”

  “Oh? Half-brother? You were so surprised about me being born out of wedlock, yet your father didn’t seem to have problems doing the same, huh?”

  Normally, such a vile comment would elicit retribution for questioning her father’s honor, but judging by his teasing smile, Percy did not mean any offense. Then again, she was the one to insult him earlier, even if accidentally. He was from a different world, and she would need to teach him how to properly behave with nobles even if they're mortals.

  …Mortals. That fact still surprised her and Sansa had to revise her mindset. She needed to acknowledge the fact that a man with Percy’s powers could not, and should not, be treated as a regur human. He had no peers, and all the etiquette and courtesies of the nobility would not apply to him. The Stark princess needed to do everything in her power to keep Percy on her side, whether through promises or friendship.

  Or more. The idea of taking him as a husband to solidify his loyalty to her came suddenly, and Sansa shook her head. Regardless of her budding affection for the demigod, she was still a noble daughter of House Stark, one of the oldest and most powerful Houses, hailing from a storied lineage of kings and heroes. Sansa’s hand was a valuable commodity, and it would be up to Robb or her dy mother to decide who her husband would be. Considering the North’s current woes, it would make more sense to use her hand and virtue for alliances that would benefit Winterfell.

  “Uh, Sansa? Are you sure you’re alright?” Percy’s voice seemed to come from a hundred miles away, yet her mind was even further.

  The Stark maiden had learned the hard way not to fall for shallow fttery and good looks, as her father had warned her when he tried to convince her to leave the city.

  What had he said? A high lord worthy of her, brave, gentle, and strong. Percy might not be a high lord, but so far, he encompassed all three other descriptions perfectly.

  Was it… was it so bad for her to be selfish once more? For her to choose her own husband and at the same time make sure he would strengthen her House?

  A hand settled over her forehead, causing her to flinch.

  “You keep dozing off, are you sure you’re alright? You didn’t catch a cold or something now, did you?” The concern in the boy’s voice as she stared into his kind eyes had her heart skip a beat, and Sansa knew what she had to do.

  The Stark princess would have loved to have more time to judge the situation better or even talk to her mother, but needs must. The opportunity was here, and if her family compined about Percy’s bastardy, then the very fact his father was a god would have to pcate them.

  Not that Robb would have a problem with that, considering how high he thought of Jon. Now, how to even begin to discuss this with the demigod?

  “I’m fine,” she shook her head and faked a yawn. “Just a bit tired, but I am sure the morning breeze will wake me up.”

  “If you’re certain.” Percy shrugged and stretched, and without thought, she mirrored the action, subtly pushing the prodigious teats she inherited from her mother out. She grinned when the boy’s eyes fell on them and drank them in, his jaw sck as he gulped before shaking his head as he noticed her grin.

  Baby steps, Sansa.

  “I-I think we’re done here.” The demigod coughed in an attempt to regain some of his dignity. “Unless you have anything else you want to add? I want to take a look at our heading.”

  Sansa shook her head and packed away the maps. Following Percy to the deck, they witnessed the sun trying to shine through the slight fog of the early morning. As expected, the breeze did in fact refresh her, and the red-haired maiden enjoyed the cool air for a few minutes as she looked around the rough waters of Bckwater Bay.

  Gazing across the bay, Sansa froze at the strange scene, frowning as she saw the dark clouds brewing in the south. It was far away, yet those clouds… something felt off about them.

  “You can feel it too, huh?” Percy’s voice came from where he was brushing Bckjack’s coat. The horse was forced to sleep on the deck as they couldn’t access the small stall in the hold without the use of a crane. Percy made sure he was comfortable and had some cover from the cold, yet she sensed the massive destrier was not amused at his accommodations.

  “What is it? That storm… it feels like something is staring at me.”

  “I’m surprised you can feel it, but it would make sense. Yesterday, you barely had any uhh… magic was it?” She nodded, as that seemed to be the closest equivalent to whatever powers Percy spoke of. “Yeah, that. Now, though, I can feel it has grown.”

  “Oh? By how much?” She couldn’t hide her curiosity, as the idea of her gaining any sort of power appealed greatly to her. If she was ever to gain her vengeance and protect herself and her family, Sansa would need all the power she could get. Having Percy on her side was her most important goal, yet any personal powers would do as well.

  “If yesterday was the spark from a flint, then today your powers are like a lit tinder.”

  “So, not even the size of a candle?” It was a bit disheartening, but it was progress. “What about you? How rge of a fme would your powers be in comparison?”

  The dark-haired man stopped his brushing of the horse and frowned in thought. It was almost as if he was having a conversation with himself. After a minute, he seemingly shrugged to himself and continued brushing Bckjack. “I never thought about it, and I honestly don’t have anything to compare it with. I need to see more of what this world has to offer to judge.”

  “Fair enough. I suppose with your confidence in the existence of gods, then that storm must be the Storm God’s doing.”

  “The who now?" Percy paused and turned to her confused.

  “The Storm God? The enemy of the Drowned God from Ironborn Legends? I didn't mention him?"

  “I'm sure I would remember you mentioning–”

  Percy stiffened and moved swiftly to the forecastle of the ship, his brush abandoned and Bckjack whinnying in annoyance. Sansa quickly followed him as they stared at the misty horizon, the fog slowly clearing out by the sun’s rays.

  “What is it?”

  “There’s a fleet up ahead. At least a dozen ships.”

  Sansa’s blue eyes widened as she strained her newfound senses to look as far as she could. After a minute of staring, she could almost imagine seeing a ship’s mast, “How could you tell?”

  “I can feel their motions on the sea. Are there any ships you could think of that would be on our way? Would they be friendly?”

  Sansa’s first thought would be the Royal Fleet under Stannis Baratheon’s command, but from what she gathered from the small snippets of conversation in court, he was still besieging Storm's End. That narrowed it down to one other option, and it was so obvious she nearly groaned at her ck of foresight.

  “Myrcel Baratheon. The court had sent her to Dorne for a betrothal in return for their support in the war. This must be her escort.” Suddenly, a savage grin bloomed on her face. “This is our chance! We can destroy that alliance before it has a chance to develop. Percy, you said you were unstoppable in the sea. Can you destroy that fleet?”

  Instantly, Sansa knew that was the wrong thing to say, for the kind man in front of her grimaced heavily. “I know what I said, but there must be hundreds, if not thousands of people on those boats, Sansa. I… I don’t think I have it in me to kill so many people, not when they have not done anything wrong to me.”

  “You didn’t seem to mind killing those people in the city, seven hells, you caused that fsh flood that killed dozens of not hundreds! Not to mention the Wildfire explosion!” She insisted as she got closer to him, her hands grabbing his shirt as she looked imploringly up at him. Deep down, she knew this was not the right way to convince him. Yet, the chance to put a massive wrench in the Lannisters’ pn and cause as much suffering to Cersei as possible clouded Sansa’s mind.

  “That was different. We were fighting for our lives, and I was not in my right state of mind. How would I have known they had Greek or Wild Fire stored at that gate? Sansa, please. Don’t ask me to murder those people in cold blood.” For the first time, the demigod she had known to be strong and reliable looked distraught and vulnerable. He would not meet her eyes even as she held him, but she could see in his eyes that they were vacant and haunted by the death and destruction he caused.

  That, more than anything, sobered Sansa up. She couldn’t help but feel even more endeared to the man she had chosen to pursue. It was easy to forget with his amazing powers that Perseus Jackson was still a kind and gentle man, something that was obvious even when she had only known him for a day. Even Sansa would hesitate to kill so many people personally, for it was easy to wish or order their destruction, but to do it with your bare hands…

  The man who passes the sentence must swing the sword.

  “I’m sorry, Percy. Forget I asked that. Let’s just… sail around them, I suppose.” It was beyond frustrating for Sansa to admit it, but she would rather keep Percy on her side than force the issue. Was that what the old First Men wisdom meant? It was easy to order so many deaths with a word, making them… worthless.

  Myrcel would go to Dorne and bring them to the Lannisters’ side. Robb would be hard-pressed to fight so many kingdoms with just the North and the bickering Rivernds, which made her even more resolute to court Percy to her side.

  If only her treacherous aunt had not forced the Vale lords to stay neutral. Sansa would remember. How easy it was for the people in court to forget her existence as tongues fpped and gloating remarks were thrown around about the so-called honor of the Valemen.

  The memory caused Sansa to grit her teeth and for her eyes to mist.

  “Hey now. I didn’t say we could leave them be.” Percy’s words broke her from her brooding as he held her cheeks, wiping a stray tear with his thumb. She stared at him confused, and a small spark of hope ignited within her.

  “You mean to do something still?” Sansa couldn’t hide the smile that bloomed on her face when Percy nodded.

  “You were there earlier that day when they sailed away. Do you remember the exact composition of that fleet? Which ship was that princess in? What did she look like? Tell me everything you can remember, and I’ll see what I can do.”

  For once, Sansa was gd for her excellent memory as while it caused her to remember every moment of pain in her life, it now allowed her to strike a major blow at her nemesis.

  A*H*M

  Time unknown,

  Far to the North of the Wall,

  WE ARE THE SHIELD THAT GUARDS THE REALMS OF MEN!

  The backsh sent Bloodraven’s mind hurling straight into his body.

  “It's no use. I can't connect anymore.” An old man rasped out to the underground cave. His head pulsed painfully, even though the sap running through his veins was supposed to take away the pain. “It’s like the Wall had been slumbering before, and has now awoken.”

  “What does this mean, Brynden?” A melodic voice inquired as a multitude of other voices murmured to each other in their song-like tongue. Even after decades of living with them, Brynden Rivers had yet to master the tongue of the Earth Singers.

  “… I do not know, Leaf.” Staying in the dark grated on him, having grown so reliant on the powers of the weirwood which had turned helpless before the magic of the Builder. “I thought the Wall was strong before… but now it simply blocks everything.” Brynden grunted as he tried to halfheartedly connect to the Weirwood roots under the Wall leading south only to recoil painfully. “The song has gone silent. Things just… changed today and I know not why…”

  The Earth Singers stopped their murmurs and looked at each other in silence. “What of your successor?”

  “Brandon should be safe on Winterfell still, but I can no longer provide guidance, and his future is clouded. I couldn't divine the future of a squirrel if I tried.” A sardonic chuckle echoed through the cavern, and Bloodraven gave a tight smile to the Earth Singer as she pced a comforting hand on his bony shoulder. “At least the Reed d shall no longer be pgued by my visions."

  “If the future has changed, then so must our pns, Brynden.” Leaf's determined tune held a soothing quality to it that helped ease his worries. “If the other side of the Wall is out of reach, we should focus on our side. The True North.”

  “Aye, you have it right. As, Brandon and his younger brother are the only ones who have shown potential to become greenseers, yet now they are far from our reach. Mayhaps we could change the fate of the other two direwolves and receive their aid in return.”

  “They could help you adjust the protections on the Wall as well. I confess my knowledge is meager, but surely a brother of the Night's Watch would be capable of doing something about that problem?”

  “It is not that simple, but it is as good a path as any. Now, whom to approach first? Benjen Stark is beyond even my sight, and I am not sure if he is even alive or not. Jon Snow, on the other hand…”

  “Mayhaps I could search for the elder Stark with our ranger? The Weirwood is not infallible, and our target might need help from the Enemy if he is alive. If not, we would still gain valuable information on the Cold Ones.” Leaf’s normally calm eyes had a challenging glint. The Earth Singer had been cooped in the cavern for the st few weeks as they attempted to guide young Bran. Sadly, all that effort would be wasted.

  “Not yet. Let me see to the younger one first, for the fate of the Watch rests on his shoulders. Then we shall see.” The greenseer finally replied after a few minutes of introspection. The Earth Singer nodded and retreated with the rest of her tribe to their alcoves, leaving the ancient ranger to dive into the Weirwood network.

  It did not take long for him to find Jon Snow with the rest of his Bck Brothers on their way to the Fist of the First Men. An ambitious endeavor from the old bear to search for his missing First Ranger and wipe out the perceived wildling threat before it could have a chance to amalgamate. It was something Brynden would also undertake, but it was a risky endeavor with the dwindling Night’s Watch. One that would backsh heavily if the Enemy still commits to their pnned ambush.

  First, time to pay a visit to the son of Ice and Fire.

  Brynden looked through the eyes of a raven perched on the Weirwood the young Snow used for prayer, unwilling to interrupt the sacred rite. The boy was focused, but his direwolf looked at Brynden coldly, and he had to do his best not to provoke it. The Old Gods were as apathetic as they were whimsical, but they had taken a shine on this generation of Starks.

  The white wolf got bored and looked away, making Brynden sigh with relief. Now, how to approach him? Should he use the mysterious mentor facade that he tried with his cousin? Brandon Stark did not seem overly impressed, and Brynden would admit that he had gone a bit overboard with it and ended up not teaching his potential successor anything of note.

  Bloodraven was also wary of making the same mistake as with that Greyjoy. He was younger and too excited to connect with someone with potential, but the follies of haste had taught him patience, albeit at a bitter cost.

  Shaking his head, Brynden Rivers chuckled to himself. He had been thinking too much. Jon Snow was a fellow brother of the Night’s Watch. There was no need for that nonsense, especially as he could already feel the spark of magic in the boy growing stronger as he prayed. A direct approach seemed to be the best option.

  He just hoped the d was not a ckwit as his dreamer of a father.

  Once the d was done, Brynden pulled him into the weirwood.

  “Hello, Jon Snow.”

  Sansa brings Percy up to speed on the world he finds himself in and pns for her future. The girl is observant and understands her position, more importantly, she understands the benefits of ensuring the loyalty of a man of Percy’s powers.

  That she is crushing on him definitely has nothing to do with it /s.

  The storm is getting closer, but a golden opportunity awaits them.

  More ripples of Percy’s appearance are happening as the Wall’s protections have gotten stronger from magic going haywire. Unfortunately, that did not work well for Bloodraven, and without his sight, he now has to look closer for help rather than to Bran.