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The Last King by Greed720
 Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Game of Thrones Xover Rated: M, English, Percy J., Words: 184k+, Favs: 4k+, Follows: 5k+, Published: Jan 22, 2018 Updated: Oct 27 1,644Chapter 6
AN: So here is the next chapter I hope you all enjoy reading it. I'm sorry this update is a little late but I have been looking into my other stories as well, because I don't want to leave any of the other ones to long without an update. Still I recently read a Game of Thrones crossover that kind of annoyed me, not because it was badly written. In fact it had good ideas and was well written, instead I was more annoyed with the direction the author decided to take it. However that is of course the author's right. That being said it kind of inspired me to finish this chapter, plus I now one way in which I don't want this story to go.
However due to this I decided to work on my own Game of Thrones crossover and get this chapter out.
Hope you enjoy it and leave a review.
Disclaimer: I do not own Percy Jackson or Game of Thrones.
( - )
(Last Time)
"Are you completely mad?" Jamie asked his tone soft and calm, showing none of the panic one would usually expect.
"He saw us." Cersei said in a panicked state, trying to pull up her dress and give herself some semblance of modesty as she realised the Stark boy had seen everything.
"Quite the little climber aren't you." Jamie continued to ask, his tone soft and calm as he looked curiously and almost sadly at the young boy. "How old are you?"
"Ten." Bran stammered out nervously, knowing as he did that he had just stumbled upon something very dangerous, a sense of foreboding rising up within him.
"Ten." Jamie said his tone definitely sad, though still firm with resolve as he looked over at Cersei. "The things I do for love." Jamie continued before he pushed Bran out the window causing him to fall to the ground below. The young boy not even being able to let out a cry of shock as he plummeted to the hard and unforgiving ground, his head and limbs striking the side of the stone tower as he fell.
( - )
Chapter 6
( - )
(Winterfell)
Tytan and the rest of the King's hunting party had just returned to Winterfell, their hunt having been cut short after Lord Stark had received an urgent raven from the keep. It hadn't taken Tytan long to come to the conclusion that the raven carried with it dire news. As after a swift muttered conversation with the King, Ned had broken away from the hunting party with his son Robb, his ward Theon and a half dozen of his guardsmen, all of whom had ridden back to Winterfell at as fast a pace as they could.
It had not been that long after that that Robert had called the rest of the hunt off, the fat man's mood having been soured by whatever had pulled his friend away, which when combined with the chill winds and the lack of game so far, had been enough to put even the boisterous Robert Baratheon off. Which for Tytan was a relief as it now meant that he would not have to hear any more of his father's exaggerated war/whore stories. Though that relief was somewhat dampened when, after curiousity having gotten the best of him, he had moved so he was riding alongside his father so that he could ask about what the raven had said. Tytan's innate curiousity having gotten the best of him.
Apparently according to his father, Brandon Stark, Ned's ten year old son had been pratting around climbing up some partially ruined tower, and had ended up falling some twenty odd feet to the ground and was now crippled and in a coma.
Now Tytan couldn't say he really knew a thing about the boy, as he had only met him once or twice, but even so it would be a shame if the lad died. Especially since he had only just begun living. Either way the boy had fallen, and was now in a coma, his legs mangled and his face swollen from where his head had struck the stone tower on the way down. Which was no doubt why Ned had been in such a hurry, after all with injuries such as those the boy was likely on the edge of death.
As Tytan's horse trotted into the courtyard, Crown Prince swung himself out of the saddle before handing the reins of his horse to a waiting stable boy. Tytan offering a muttered thanks, as he barely glanced at the stable boy. His attention instead on Robb Stark, who at that moment was to one side of the courtyard, a training sword in his hand as he widely swung at a wooden training dummy. Any technique he possessed forgotten as he just hacked and slashed at it, his anger and grief plain for all to see.
Pulling off his leather riding gloves, Tytan approached the other man. Announcing himself as he did so, just in case the clearly angry and frustrated Heir lashed out at the approaching Prince by accident.
"Robb?" Tytan said calmly, getting the other man's attention.
Twisting around Robb glared at Tytan, not really angry at the Prince, but just frustrated by the events that were completely out of his control, and at how useless he currently felt as he stood out here waiting, and hoping for the best whilst his younger brother hovered between life and death.
"I heard about Bran, and you have my condolences. If there's anything I can do, just ask." Tytan said, as he dismissed Robb's glare with ease. After all throughout his time as a Demigod, he had known the pain and anguish of losing a loved ones. Just as he knew of the frustration that came with being able to do nothing about it.
"Grab a sword!" Robb said bluntly as he walked to a nearby weapons rack and grabbed a training sword, before he twisted around and threw it to Tytan.
Catching the sword by its handle, Tytan twirled the blade a few times testing its weight and balance automatically as he did so, before he looked over at Robb. His eyebrow cocked as he looked at the other man closely, noticing as he did the slight red of his eyes and his ragged breathing.
"Very well then." Tytan said as he gripped the blade in his right hand, his grip loose and his body relaxed as he slowly approached Robb ready for anything.
With a shout Robb lunged forward, taking one step before he swung wildly at Tytan.
Seeing this Tytan batted the sword to the side and slammed his free hand into Robb's chest. Knocking the air out of Robb's lungs and making the northerner stagger backwards a few steps.
"Focus Robb, if you go about hacking and slashing at your opponent like some savage it will do you no good." Tytan said bluntly as he stepped forward, his blade sweeping around as he parried several more of Robb's wild strikes. His movements controlled and precise as with a flick of his wrist Tytan knocked the blade to one side once more before he punched Robb in the sternum, sending him staggering backwards once more.
"When fighting with just a sword you should keep the blade to one side, as that way you leave only one side open to attack." Tytan said as he approached Robb once more, his blade held up in front of him and slightly to the right, showing Robb a stance he could copy.
Scowling Robb took a few deep breaths, before he clenched his sword tighter and faced off with Tytan again, this time though he was copying Tytan's stance and was acting slightly less erratic.
"Good, now relax your grip on your sword and allow yourself to loosen up. In a fight you will need to move fast and freely, your actions should flow into one another. If you are tense though, you won't be able to do this, and your attacks will instead be tense, stilted and jerky." Tytan said calmly twirling his blade in his hand as he did so, before without another word he took a few steps forward.
Seeing this Robb lashed out again, his blade striking against Tytan's as the two of them sparred back and forth, their blades ringing out as they danced around each other, Tytan purposefully slowing down to allow Robb a chance to keep up. With Robb trying to keep Tytan's words in mind, as he focused on staying relaxed.
Taking a step back after a few minutes of sparring, Tytan nodded his head. "Good now come at me, I want you to make a feint attack, followed by a parry and then a lunge."
Robb frowned in confusion as he heard that.
"Watch me and then copy." Tytan said, his voice still calm as he thrust his sword out. Causing Robb to instinctively try to knock the blade away, only for Tytan to move his sword under Robb's, before he continued the motion and knocked Robb's sword away, leaving his chest open for a swift lunge. The tip of Tytan's blade, halting an inch from Robb's chest.
Robb's eyes widened at this, taking a few steps back at the suddenness of the action, before he looked back up and stared at Tytan.
"Did you follow that?" Tytan asked.
Robb grit his teeth and then nodded his head.
"Good, now do it." Tytan replied as he raised his sword and stood opposite Robb, his feet shoulder width apart, as he faced him, his right foot slightly forward and his back foot slight back.
Robb nodded his head as he faced Tytan again, his previous frustration and anger forgotten as he instead focused on what he was doing. Which he thought, was no doubt what his friend had intended to do when he had approached Robb.
( - )
(The Next Day)
It was early the following morning when Tytan met with Ned and Catelyn Stark to offer his official condolences. He would have tried to do it the day before, but had had ended up giving Robb a two hour lesson in sword fighting, after which he had gone to a tavern in Winter Town, getting drunk with Theon, Robb, Jamie and the rest of Tytan's personal guard.
Eventually though what had started out as a simple drink away from the dreary halls of Winterfell, had turned into an all-night affair. As Ubba, Ivar, Matthias, Martin, Luke and Arthur, Tytan's personal elite guards, also got involved in the drinking. The six of them, all of them skilled and hardened warriors, like Jamie and Tytan. Soon enough they had begun the drinking games and challenges. Knowing as they did that the Prince was footing the bill for the night, much to his chagrin.
With Martin and Luke, two olive skinned, black haired Dornishmen taking to the tables as they sang and danced, swigging wine and ale like drowning men. Entertaining the whole tavern with rude ditties they had picked up during their time as mercenaries in Essos.
Ubba and Ivar, both of whom hailed from the Vale also acted up a bit, as Ubba a massive bear of a man, who Tytan personally thought had links to one of the mountain clans in Vale, challenged anyone he could to an arm-wrestle. Whilst Ivar a skinny, sly looking man with cropped blonde hair and a slightly pointed face, engaged serval off duty Stark guardsmen in a game of dice, one which left Ivar much wealthier than he had been at the beginning of the game. This of course didn't surprise anyone who knew the man, after all he was more of a rogue than a knight,
As for Matthias of the Stormlands and Arthur of the Westerlands, both of them were a little more behaved. Though the two of them did get in a fight after they both attempted to court the attention of the same whore. Only for them to make up due to their mutual dislike of Theon Greyjoy, after the Stark ward outbid the two of them for a night with her. The pale faced youth no doubt quite pissed off that Ros wasn't selling her services tonight, as he had been complaining about it for the entire night.
In the end though after an eight hour binge Tytan had eventually returned to his room, of course only after making sure the rest of his group had at least passed out somewhere safe. With that done, Tytan had then simply underdressed and crawled into bed with an amused Ros, who had spent most of the night with some of her friends, away from the rowdy and noisy tavern. Which is why she was so amused that the usually composed Tytan had stumbled into their room very drunk, so much so that he had just cuddled with her before falling asleep. His tiredness and the alcohol overpowering his metabolism and knocking him out for the count.
Now though, in the bright light of early morning he had ended up dragging himself out of bed so that he could give his condolences to the Stark's about the fate of their son, as was proper.
As Tytan walked through the halls of Winterfell his Kingsguard, Jamie, was conspicuously absent from his side. Not that this surprised Tytan much, as the man had been in an odd mood the night before and had drunk far more than he usually did. In fact by the end of the night, Tytan had been the one carrying him to his chambers. Which was somewhat of a role reversal for the two of them, as usual it was Jamie dragging Tytan home from whatever vice he had decided to indulge himself in at the time. As such Tytan hadn't even bothered waking his uncle, as the man would no doubt be dead to the world, or so hungover that a crippled six year would likely beat him in a fight.
Pushing away his hazy memories of the night before, Tytan instead focused on the matter at hand as he made his way to where he knew the comatose Stark boy was being kept. Assuming as he did so that one or other of the boy's parent would be with him.
As he reached the room his assumption turned out to be correct, as after a light knock on the door, he entered to find both Lord Stark and his wife sitting beside Bran's bed, with the Stark's Maester, Luwin, reading something in the corner.
Looking around, Tytan noticed that Ned was already fully dressed in a leather jerkin and a large fur cloak, his usual grim look prominent on his face as he looked down at his boy. Sat beside the northern Lord was his wife, Catelyn, who was red eyed and very pale. Her appearance not as meticulous as it had been when last Tytan had seen her. Not that this surprised him.
"Lord Stark, Lady Stark," Tytan said quietly, as the two of them looked up at him, his face remaining stoic as he pushed aside his personal issues with Ned Stark for now. "I apologize for interrupting, but I thought it proper that I give you my deepest condolences for the tragedy that has befallen your son, and if there is anything I can do, don't hesitate to ask?"
As Tytan said the words, he knew they were meaningless. After all they were just platitudes that one of his station was expected to make for the sake of propriety.
"Thank you Prince Tytan, you are most kind" Lord Eddard replied solemnly, giving Tytan a nod of his head as he accepted the Prince's condolences.
Tytan returned the nod, and was about to make his leave, not wanting to intrude any further than he already had. Before he could though, he was brought up short by the voice of Catelyn Stark.
"Is there anything you can do?" Catelyn Stark asked, her voice soft and faltering.
Tytan turned to look at her as he heard that, his brow furrowing in confusion. "My Lady?"
"You're blessed by the Gods aren't you? Or at least that's what they say. Surely there is something you can do?" Catelyn asked pleadingly, a note of desperation entering her voice as she stared at Tytan.
At the side of the room Maester Luwin shifted slightly, looking up from his book and instead staring intensely at Tytan. The wizened old man's brow furrowing as he too had heard those stories from his fellow Maesters, plus he had also witnessed the Prince using magic to manipulate water. As such the fact the boy had power was not in question, but the source and limits of those powers, those were things that the Maesters were interested in.
Closing his book, Luwin placed his undivided attention on Tytan, both hopeful that the Prince would give something away that he could then report back to his superiors in Oldtown, and also that the Prince would be able to heal the young Stark. After all in his tenure at Winterfell, Luwin had grown fond of all of the Starks and he would be loath to see any one of them die.
Tytan frowned as he heard Lady Stark's request. "I am afraid I am not able to heal other people my Lady, when it comes to things like this I am no more powerful than another man."
Lady Stark's face crumpled at that, as she found her hope crushed yet again. It was unfair of her, but for a moment she had thought the Crown Prince would be able to do something, and that Bran would be fully healed, now that she knew he couldn't she felt both despair at her situation and slight anger at the Prince.
"My apologies." Tytan said, as he gave a short bow to Lord and Lady Stark.
"It's no fault of yours my Prince." Ned spoke up, his face as stoic as ever as he put a hand on his wife's and gave it a little squeeze.
Tytan nodded again as he heard that, before he turned and left. His mood now somewhat soured after the interaction he had just had. A part of him knowing, just from looking at the boy and his experience of wounds, that if the boy ever woke up and that was a big if, then it would be unlikely he would ever walk again. Plus there was always a chance he could have brain damage too, which in this kind of society was kind of a death sentence unto itself.
Departing from the room and leaving the two parents to their grief, Tytan instead decided to get a bit of fresh air before he went to have breakfast with the family. Knowing as he did so that their time at Winterfell was drawing to a close, the evidence for which could be seen as he stepped out of Winterfell's keep and saw both the northern servants and Royal servants starting to pack up the wagons which would be accompanying the column down to King's Landing.
Looking away from the preparation, Tytan instead glanced over at some nearby stables, where he could see his Uncle Tyrion was having some sort of altercation with Joffrey. The shortest member of House Lannister looking distinctly the worst for wear, much to Tytan's amusement. Especially since, after the man had joined Tytan and his companions at the tavern last night, Tytan had decided to drop his unconscious Uncle off in the castle's stables on his route back to his room, mainly because Tytan and his very drunk companions found it funny at the time. Which in the cold light of day, remained to be the case.
Moving over to the two, Tytan hoped to find out just what two of his least favourite family members were arguing about this time.
"Before we go you will go to Lord and Lady Stark and offer your sympathies," Tyrion said, the irritation in his voice clearly audible as Tytan sidled over. Not that Tyrion noticed, as by now he was far too concerned with berating his nasty little nephew about common decency.
"What good will my sympathies do them?" Joffrey asked petulantly, his right hand idly resting on the hilt of his sword. A beautifully crafted blade, called 'Lion's Tooth' or something pretentious like that, a blade that never had, and likely never would see battle considering the owner.
"Nothing" Tyrion admitted as he tried to pat himself down, trying to get the worst of the shit and straw from his fine clothing. A part of him suspecting his other nephew, Tytan, of being in some way responsible for his accommodations last night, especially since the last thing he remembered was getting drunk with him and his men and singing sea shanties. "But still it is expected of you, your absence the day before was noted, as was your brother, Tytan's."
Joffrey scoffed as he heard that, a slight sneer playing around his lips, "If the Crown Prince didn't have to, then why should I. Besides the boy means nothing to me… plus I can't stand the wailing of women."
The still unnoticed Tytan cocked an eyebrow at that. After all to a certain extent he could understand his brother's actions. After all young Bran meant nothing to Tytan either, he had met the boy a couple of times and exchanged a few pleasantries, which was about the grand total of their interactions. But still it was expected of the Prince's to make an appearance, due to Ned Stark's status as one of the Great Lords of Westeros, and the fact that they were his guests. Plus even though he didn't know the boy well, Tytan was still saddened to hear of what happened to him, for the simple fact that he had a scrap of empathy in him, which was something Joffrey didn't have.
Leaning against the stable wall, Tytan watched on in amusement, already knowing what was about to happen. After all one of the things Tytan appreciated about Tyrion, was that he knew how to make a point.
With that said Tyrion reached out his hand and slapped Joffrey hard across the face, which for the dwarf's size was pretty impressive. Tytan especially appreciated the sound the slap made, and the slight whimper his little brother let out.
"One more word like that and I will hit you again." Tyrion warned his nephew, his hand raised threateningly.
"I'm telling mother," Joffrey replied, his hand holding his now reddening cheek as he tried to back away from his diminutive Uncle, only to find himself trapped.
Taking a step forwards Tyrion slapped him again, causing Joffrey to let out yet another whimper.
"Go ahead, but first you will go to Lord and Lady Stark and you will fall on your knees and offer them your sincere condolences. Do you understand?" Tyrion replied, the faintest hint of amusement now in his tone.
"You can't-" Joffrey began to object, the boy clearly not understanding what was happening.
Tyrion slapped him again, "do you understand?"
Finally giving in Joffrey nodded angrily, before turning and storming off the second Tyrion moved to let him. The young boy in such a mood that he didn't even notice the grinning Tytan nearby as he flounced away.
The Hound, Sandor Clegane, a massive heavily armoured warrior with lank dark hair and a hideous burn across one side of his face, turned to Tyrion as the Prince he had been assigned to protect stormed off. "The Prince will remember that little lord," Clegane warned a bored expression on his face.
"I hope so," Tyrion shrugged in response. "And if he forgets be a good dog and remind him."
The Hound grunted at that before he turned and began to follow after Joffrey, pausing as he did so to give Tytan the slightest of nods. A grim smile on his face as Tytan returned the nod. The two of them having had an amicable relationship ever since Tytan had had the Hound's brother, Gregor Clegane, castrated and sent to the Night's Watch along with all of his men. Which of course left the Lordship of House Clegane to Sandor, and gave his brother the punishment he more than deserved.
Watching the Hound leave, Tytan decided to make his presence known to his Uncle.
"So Tyrion, should I be expecting the same treatment?" Tytan spoke up as he moved away from the wall and instead approached his Uncle, who by then had managed to get the worst of the muck and hay off of him.
"It depends," Tyrion replied, an unsurprised look on his face as he looked up and saw his other nephew.
"Oh?" Tytan queried.
"Yes on whether you have given your condolences to Lord and Lady Stark, and on whether you are the reason I woke up surrounded by shit and pigs, and on whether you will slap me back?" Tyrion rattled off as he stepped out of the stables.
"I'm going to say yes on all three." Tytan replied easily as he and his Uncle began to walk away from the stables and towards the keep.
"You can be a real cunt sometimes, you know that?" Tyrion replied irritably as he waddled along next to Tytan, only partially serious.
"Doesn't that apply to most people?" Tytan said with a shrug, his eyes shifting to rest on a bucket of water nearby as he walked past. "But I do have a way to make it up to you?"
"Oh?" Tyrion queried suspiciously.
"Yep, I call it an instant bath." Tytan continued, before with a click of his fingers and a slight exertion of his Demigod powers, he caused the water to explode out of the bucket and drench his Uncle from head to toe.
"Oh for fuck's sake, was that really necessary!" Tyrion snapped, as he let out a shout and hopped about, the cold northern air having made the water freezing cold.
"Yes," Tytan said with a smile as he patted his Uncle on the head, using his powers yet again to completely dry him. "It was because of the smell."
Tyrion grumbled as he heard that, but didn't say anything as he instead looked down and saw that his clothing was now a lot cleaner, plus he no longer stank of pigs and shit.
"Now come along Uncle, breakfast awaits us, and we don't want to keep mother waiting." Tytan said with a large smile, mentally noting to himself as he did so that he would need to watch out for his Uncle's revenge. After all the little man always liked to make his point known, and more often than not got Tytan back, especially since he knew Tytan would take it with good humour.
( - )
(In the Great Hall)
A few minutes later found Tytan sat with his family, minus Joffrey, in Winterfell's great hall. Where by the time he had arrived his mother, Myrcella and Tommen were already eating, whilst his Uncle Jamie, looking very much the worst for wear tried to stomach a light breakfast.
After a muttered "morning" to his family, Tytan took a place on the table next to Tommen, helping himself to anything he could, as he piled his plate high with bacon, sausages and anything else he could get his hands on. Similarly Tyrion also gave his greetings and took a seat, ordering one of the servants to bring him an ale as he did so. Which was something Tytan also asked for, a slight grin spreading across his face as he saw Jamie pale a bit at the thought.
Before Tytan could really get stuck into his meal though, he was distracted by Myrcella, who upon seeing Tytan decided to ask something to the table at large. "Is Bran going to die?"
Tytan frowned as he first heard that, a thoughtful look passing across his face as he looked over to his little sister. As he did so a faint smile passed across his face as he saw the concern in Myrcella green eyes. His little sister always was a sweet girl, far more emphatic that Tytan or any of his brothers. It was one of many great traits she had.
After a few seconds of silence, Tytan finally replied. "No, or at least they don't think so."
Both Tommen and Myrcella smiled as they heard that, the two of them having been closer to the younger Stark children than their elder brother, due to them all being similar in age. Cersei on the other hand tensed as she heard Tytan's response, her brow furrowing minutely as she focused in on her eldest son.
"What do you mean," Cersei asked, her voice soft yet strong.
"Well he probably means that Bran may survive." Tyrion cut in, his voice slightly sarcastic as he looked up from his food and gave his elder sister a bored look, the look deliberate as he saw her send him a withering look of her own. "What? I talked to the Maester, and that's what he says."
Cersei and Jaime exchanged a look as they heard that, but said nothing more. Which was something Tytan caught, as he gave his Uncle and mother a curious look for a second, before letting it go. After all he trusted them, and if they wanted to throw each other odd looks then that was their business.
"Will Bran be alright though?" Tommen spoke up, interrupting Tytan from his thoughts, as the younger boy looked to his older brother for comfort.
"I'm not sure, or at least I can't say for sure." Tytan said uncomfortably. "I didn't speak to the Maester, I merely dropped in briefly and gave the Stark's my condolences."
"Maybe I can answer then." Tyrion spoke up once more, as he looked over at Tommen. The dwarf not bothering to soften his words. "The fall has broken his back and mangled his legs, even if the boy wakes up, he will likely never be able to walk again."
Upon hearing this, Tommen looked down at his plate.
"You think it's likely that'll he'll wake up?" Cersei asked, once again looking over at her little brother as she did so.
"I'm sure he will, but I suppose it's in the hands of the gods." Tyrion replied, before giving Tytan a sideways look. "Unless there is something you can do nephew?"
"The Stark's already asked," Tytan replied sharply, "Healing crippled children isn't really something I know much about."
"Pity." Tyrion said softly. "Then we'll just have to wait until he awakens and hope for the best."
"Even if the boy lives though, he will be a cripple. It'd be better to end his suffering, it would be a mercy to-". Jaime spoke up, his hangover forgotten for the minute.
"I disagree," Tytan suddenly spoke up, cutting his Uncle off.
"Oh?" Jamie asked as he looked over at his nephew with faint surprise, Jamie having thought Tytan would be in agreement with him about this.
"Well as long as the boy's mind is not affected he can still live a decent life. Sure he won't be fighting, running or riding horses, or anything like that, but I can name more than a few nobles nowadays who can't do those things either, like Mace Tyrell. Though that's more to do with him being fat and incompetent than crippled. Still though, Bran can still be of use to his family, and could still live a decent life." Tytan said with a shrug, after all in his first life there were many disabled people who went on to do brilliant things. Though of course that was in the twenty first century, not a borderline medieval society like the one he was living in now.
"I suppose." Jamie replied unconvinced.
"Not that this really has anything to do with us. After all the boy is Lord Stark's son." Tyrion spoke up dryly, before giving Jamie a frown. "And as a 'cripple' myself, I would just like to say that for once I agree with Tytan."
"Ok fine, I was just saying." Jamie said as he raised his hands up in front of him.
Tytan rolled his eyes as he heard that, but let the issue drop. After all Tyrion was right, this had nothing to do with them, it was up to Ned Stark what would happen.
"And personally I would be very interested in hearing what the boy has to say when he awakens." Tyrion continued, looking between his two elder siblings as he did so.
"Can we drop this for now, it's hardly a pleasant conversation for breakfast." Cersei suddenly replied, as she cast a gaze over the table. Silencing the others for a moment as the family ate their meal in silence for a few minutes, before conversation began again, only this time focusing on the imminent journey back to King's Landing.
( - )
AN: So there you go, what do you think? Personally I was hoping to have had Tytan on his way south by now, however this chapter got away from me as I started adding in more stuff. However next chapter will hopefully see the return to King's Landing and the shenanigans involved. Other than that I hope you all are enjoying the story so far and I appreciate all the reviews I have received, both positive and negative.
Hope you leave a review.
Thanks for reading.
Greed720.
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