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Trials and Tribulations of the Oathkeeper by DeadlyMaelstrom711

TV » Game of Thrones Rated: M, English, Drama & Romance, [OC, Sansa S.] Daenerys T., Jon S., Words: 859k+, Favs: 1k+, Follows: 1k+, Published: Apr 16, 2018 Updated: Feb 11, 2020 2,418Chapter 177: Look to the Horizon

—Somewhere at sea—

Inside the cabin of her ship Lady Crane, Arya sheaths her sword Needle in the scabbard tied around her belt and a small dagger at her hip. Since leaving home and all of Westeros behind her, the She-Wolf decided to follow her own path – a new adventure, a new beginning afloat the Sunset Sea and traveling beyond the edge of the known world, fulfilling her promise to Lady Crane, her ship's namesake. What awaited her west of Westeros where all the maps stopped? No one knows, but Arya was determined to chart the possibly uncharted lands—the first Westerosi to do so. She had enough supplies for a six-month voyage but knew her crew would eventually have to acquire more or risk starvation at sea. After all, the last famous explorer of the Sunset Sea was her ancestor King Brandon the Shipwright – who sailed west with most of the Northern fleet to find new lands and was never seen again.

Laying a map on the table, Arya surveys the geological survey of Westeros and Essos before collapsing a spyglass. Placing it in her pocket, she turns to leave but takes one last glance back at the three painted portraits hanging on her desk: one entailed her family of House Stark—Eddard, Catelyn, Robb, Sansa, herself, Bran, Rickard, and Jon; the second depicted Robb, Talisa and her nephew young Eddard; and the last portrait showed Daveth, Sansa, Lyonel, Cassana, and Torrhen. Arya wasn't present for the birth of Rickard, something she regretted deep down. Giving a small smile, she turns to exit her quarters through a darkened passageway, then ascending the stairs leading to the deck and towards the light above.

"Full speed ahead!" exclaimed one of the sailors.

"Do another check on those rations! We were running low according to last night's count," mentioned another.

"Aye, captain!"

Arya calmly strolls through along the Lady Crane's deck as the crew around her works efficiently, tirelessly, occasionally trading glances with them and acknowledging their greetings. The ship sails at a steady clip, the mainmast, and riggings displaying the sigil of House Stark: a grey direwolf on a white field.

"Lady Stark," a sailor spoke.

"Greetings, my lady," another chimed.

I'm not a lady. That's not me. That's not who I am, Arya thought as she approaches the bow. The Arya who left for Braavos was still a girl, but this one is a different person altogether. She learned her lesson last time and informed her family where she was going. She has been no one, a girl with no identity. She has been Arya Stark of Winterfell. Who will she be next?

"Land ho!" shouted a sailor.

Arya tilted her head up to see a glimpse of an uncharted island before her. It took months, but she made it. The answer to one of many questions. There was an entire continent west of Westeros.

"Get the rowboats ready, captain," Arya commands. "The rest of you, take only what you can carry."

"Aye, aye, my lady! All right, lads – get the maps! Let's explore this land!"

Arya accompanies her survey team onto the rowboats as it lowers down onto the Sunset Sea. Once landing on the oceanic surface, each sailor began rowing with the oars—each stroke bringing them closer to the shores. Looking out at the rainforest as they approach, the rowboat lands on the beach – allowing everyone to get out. Arya walks on ahead, kneeling onto the sand and pressed a palm on the wet mineral, feeling the texture in between her fingers.

"Half of you head into the trees," she says. "The rest of you circle the island. I'd like us to take some things home with us."

—In the North—

Outside the gates of Winterfell, Jon was readying himself to leave home once more with only Ghost as his companion. He was soon taking a ride to the Wall to rendezvous with his wildling friend Tormund Giantsbane; Jon hadn't seen him in months since the Battle of Winterfell against the Night King's armies ended in the living's victory. True to his word, Robb Stark had forbidden any of his Northmen vassals to in any way shape or form harm Jon or risk facing the Young Wolf's wrath. Although thankful to his cousin, the White Wolf still felt he had one more journey to take. Upon gathering his things in a small bundle, Jon slung it over his horse until he heard Robb approach from behind.

"Leaving again?" he asked. He had snow in his hair, melting from the heat of his body.

"For a time," Jon answered him. "Winter may have come and gone, but that doesn't mean it won't come again." He was right. Spring is coming and it is slowly starting to warm up for the first time in many months.

"Winter is coming."

Robb nodded, though he was still not content with his cousin leaving home again. "Talisa and I meant what we said in King's Landing. You're more than welcome to stay with us here in Winterfell. For as long as you'd like. Mother doesn't seem to mind, though. Ned would be quite upset to see his favorite uncle isn't present."

"I know, and I'm thankful for that. It'll always be a part of me as it is to you. Once this is all over, I'll return."

"It's funny. Last time we spoke like this, you were leaving for the Wall with uncle Benjen to join the Night's Watch. I said, 'The next time I see you, you'll be all in black.'"

Jon nodded, smiling at the reminisce. "And I remember saying, 'It was always my color,'" he replied.

"How long do you think it will be?"

"Difficult to say. The Free Folk never stay in one place for too long."

"I see," Robb looked unsure. He pulled Jon to him and embraced him fiercely. "Farewell, cousin."

Jon hugged him back. "And you, cousin. Take care of Winterfell and the North. Rule well."

"I will."

They broke apart and Jon left him standing there in the snow, with the albino direwolf following close behind him. Robb watched him venture along the kingsroad until he was finally out of sight.

Many days had passed since then. Several days on horseback through the wolfswood, past Long Lake and the Last Hearth stronghold, now rebuilt to its former self under the leadership of the young 11-year-old Lord Ned Umber, the only grandson and successor of the Greatjon Umber himself. Jon stayed two nights as a guest of House Umber before he took his horse north to the New Gift and Queenscrown before riding through Mole's Town. Jon vaguely remembered reports of one of the few villages in the Gift was razed to the ground. Since then, Mole's Town remained abandoned.

And within a day—after two weeks on the road on horseback—Jon arrived at Castle Black, where his story began. The wind whistles on a grey day at the Wall; although most of it remains standing, the section where Eastwatch-by-the-Sea once stood was completely gone due to the Night King unleashing a reanimated Viserion on it. Since the breach, the Wall has been rendered ineffective and subsequently abandoned.

Is there still a Night's Watch? Jon wondered. He wasn't too sure. With the White Walkers extinct, the Night's Watch's purpose has been fulfilled. Many wondered if there was still any use for it now that the greatest threat was gone forever. It was still a matter of debate in the north and south.

With spring falling over the Seven Kingdoms, the Wall weeps as the temperature rises above freezing. Looking up at the Wall and down to Castle Black, Jon proceeded onwards. He arrives at the gates and pushes it open, revealing the former headquarters occupied by what remained of the Free Folk—all 4,000 men, women and children who survived the Battle of Winterfell turned and rose to their feet, remembering the man responsible for their survival. He rides forward into the sea of waiting faces. There is no suspicion in their eyes and no awe. Only trust and acceptance. As the gates close behind him, Jon dismounts from atop his horse and enters the courtyard where he recognizes the one wildling waiting for him on the balcony where Lord Commander Jeor Mormont used to stand: Tormund.

"Baby crow," the wildling chieftain greets happily. "Was wonderin' when you were gonna show up. Made me startin' to think you'd forgotten us."

Jon shakes his head. "Sorry for the delay. I had some unfinished business to take care of back home. But I'm here now, old friend." He walks down the last few steps with Tormund to the ground level, where the last of the Free Folk await him. "Is this all of you?"

"Pretty much sums it up, Snow. This is what's left of us," Tormund acknowledged. "It'll take time for us to recover, but with the Night King dead, the Free Folk no longer have to live in fear. We… We're finally free. And you were the only crow who stood up for us."

"It was the right thing to do."

"Aye, and that's why the Free Folk will follow you."

Ghost nuzzles Jon's hand, and he pets the scruff of his direwolf's neck.

"It's almost time. Are you ready?" Jon asks.

"Been waitin' for someone to say that," Tormund said mounting upon his horse. "Ahhh, I always did tell the other clans that you've got the North in you – the real North! I'm glad you once again chose to help us retake some of our old territories. We'll be needing room to expand out there beyond the Wall."

"Hopefully this will be the start of a new age for the Free Folk too. Even if we're no longer welcome in the south, I'm sure my cousin will grant you all full citizenship and equal rights as a reward for your contribution with—"

"Bah, we've had enough of the south. The women down there don't like me."

"I seem to recall you having 'fun' with two or three of them at Winterfell."

"Hehehe, I sure showed 'em how a Free Folk man fucks a woman!" Tormund laughed. "So, Baby crow… you plannin' on staying with us?"

Jon thought about Tormund's offer for a while as they rode along a covered snow walkway with the remaining Free Folk following them into the tunnel through the Wall leading to the gate. Slowly, the gate begins to rise. Even though the Night's Watch and Free Folk were bitter enemies for several millennia, the White Wolf had grown fond of them during his time with them—both as an infiltrator and as an ally. He still thought about his long-departed love Ygritte from time to time and doubted he'd find another like her in his lifetime for at least a while. But that was then. Now as a free man…

"You did tell me I'd be happier out there with you. And I did promise I'd help you take back your homes. So yes, I'll stay as long as I'm able," Jon confessed.

Tormund laughed loudly. "Perfect! See? I knew you'd fit right in with us. Ahhh, I think you'd make a good Free Folk. Mance Rayder would be proud of ya, little crow. I know I am. You did more for us than any southerner ever has. Besides, we'll be needing a new King-Beyond-the-Wall anyway to keep the Free Folk united. And we all chose you, Jon Snow."

"Me?"

"You. No one else wants the job," the chieftain replied seriously.

The White Wolf scratched the back of his head with embarrassment.

As the gate opens, Jon and Tormund emerge from the tunnel outside of Castle Black with Ghost and the Free Folk behind them through the snowy landscape. All the wildlings look happy to return to their homes after a long time with the threat of the White Walkers lifted from them, walking and chatting happily into the no longer haunted forest, finally free from what has haunted them for thousands of years. As the external gate closes, Jon glances at several wildling children running excitedly in front of them, causing the White Wolf to smile hopefully. Maybe perhaps this time things will be different. Better.

They all cross the No Man's Land into Whitetree between the Wall and the northern forest. Beneath their feet, patches of grass are seen emerging beneath what used to be the frozen tundra. As the first signs of spring extending its reach beyond the Wall. Ghost lopes out ahead of Jon, as Jon rides into the forest with Tormund beside him, crossing the tree line.

"The North, all of Westeros… Everyone can finally live the rest of their lives in peace," Jon said with a renewed sense of purpose.

—At King's Landing—

Sansa and Lucius were sitting across from each other playing another game of cyvasse, each competitor moving ten types of pieces across the board. It was a relatively close match between the Wolf Queen and Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, pitting intellect against intellect. The first time they played was during their voyage to White Harbor and from then on they made time to better themselves, with the recent one taken place three weeks ago. It was fun, but Sansa noticed Lucius wasn't feeling well lately; the Old Bull looked rather pale and tired, lost much weight and his manner turned frail. Next to him was a cane, indicating the Lord Commander was having a hard time walking.

Lucius sighed with exhaustion until he noticed Sansa staring at him. "Huh. That face you make… do I look so frail in your eyes?" he inquired. His voice seems weaker.

Indeed, her look has been worrying. Caught, Sansa tries to hide it. "What? Oh no! No, of course not," she denies.

"Beh, heh heh… you bluff poorly, young one. Hah, I can see it as plain as day," the Old Bull closes his eyes briefly before glancing at his knees and cane. "My knees won't have failed me, I'm old… and now I'm come down with this wretched illness."

"Are you in pain? Do you wish to see the Grand Maester?"

"The lad means well and did all he could, but I'm too far along for any sort of treatment." Wanting to lighten the mood, Lucius points a crooked finger. "When you reach 69 years of age, you will not look as good as I, hmm?"

His attempt at humor did make Sansa smile… but only for a bit before the Old Bull clutched his chest as he coughed roughly as if his lungs were full of phlegm.

"*Cough!* *Cough!* *Cough!* *Cough!* Ack!"

Sansa rose from her seat and tended to Lucius, patting his back gently. The Old Bull was not feeling well and clutched his cane in one hand. He tried to get up, but his knees buckled beneath him and fell back down into his seat.

"Ser Lucius!" Sansa exclaimed.

"Argh! Dammit!" he groaned. "He… help me up, child. Take me to the bed."

Wrapping one arm around her neck, Sansa groaned as she helped Lucius to his feet—his cane acting as a support column before moving him to his bed. Setting him down, Sansa took the cane and placed it next to the closest drawer to him. Lucius groaned as he pulled the sheets above him with great effort.

"Ser Lucius," Sansa spoke again, "just take it easy for a while. I'll go get Samwell. Once you're well enough, we can play another round—"

"I… I don't think there will be a next game, child," Lucius slowly shook his head. "Hah… I'm afraid… my time here is done."

The Wolf Queen looked horror-stricken. Ser Lucius Blackmyre was like a grandfather figure to her, one who looked after her ever since she arrived in the capital city all those years ago and he, in turn, thought of her as a granddaughter figure. Since the ride to White Harbor, they've grown close. Done? No. "Ser Lucius, you can't die," she pleaded.

"Hah… I know I'm tough, but I'm not that tough to further delay the inevitability." He patted towards the edge of his bed. "Please, sit, child."

As if she was like a little girl once more, Sansa obediently sat near the edge of the bed and held Lucius's elderly, frail hand in hers, gripping it gently which the Old Bull reciprocates. Although she knew now that it was inevitable, Sansa maintained her composure as he continued talking to her.

"Now, now. It's all right," Lucius reassures her despite being in agony, his eyes are full of weariness and compassion. His voice was increasingly frail and took great effort for him to talk. "No need to be afraid. Death is… just another part of life. Something we're… we're all destined to do. *Cough!* *Cough!* We're born, we live a little while… and when our time comes, our… our bodies return to the earth. Old, young, rich, poor… it does not discriminate. But… don't be sad. Rather, take this moment to… reflect on the joy life had to offer. You have a family, four rambunctious children… A future to look forward to. Something Barristan and I had hoped that the… that the new generation could bring about. By helping you, perhaps… perhaps I was trying to keep my promise to your grandfather, Lord Hoster Tully. You— *Cough!* *Cough!* You and Daveth did well against the odds… for a bunch of youngsters. Heh heh…"

Ser Lucius, Sansa thought. "We couldn't have made it this far without people like you," she said. "Without your advice, we would have been stuck in the same old pattern that's gripped this nation for three centuries now. I haven't got your gift for advice, Lord Commander, but you saved us more times than I can count. And I would have given my life for you."

Touching sentimentality. She's just like her mother at her age. "I… I'm sure you would. I will miss you, child."

"Me too," Sansa replied sadly.

Before more could be said, the door to the Lord Commander's chamber opened—revealing Jaime, Brienne, Olyvar, Ariyana, Podrick, and Jullon.

"Lord Commander," Brienne said.

"Lord Commander," the others chimed. They all heard what had transpired, most likely from Grand Maester Samwell and had come to pay their respects.

"Ah… Late again," Lucius coughed. "Not… quite the summons I planned, but… time is short."

"Do you… do you want us to get you anything?" Podrick offered.

The Old Bull shook his head. "Get me… get me that sword, the Bastion," he pointed a crooked finger.

Podrick nodded and presented Lucius the Valyrian steel sword. Weakly gripping it in his hand, the Old Bull looked upon his subordinates and fellow comrades one-by-one before tossing it at one of them. Instinctively, Ser Jaime caught the handle and looked at Lucius in surprise.

"Ser Jaime Lannister," Lucius coughed, "when I'm gone— *Cough!* you will be all that's… left of us; the last of Aerys Targaryen's Kingsguard. *Cough!* *Cough!* Hence… *Cough!* your experience… will be needed…"

Jaime stared at the old man. He understood what he was referring to. "You've been plotting this from the beginning, weren't you?" he pressed. "You've been grooming me to be your replacement."

"Consider it— *Cough!* *Cough!* a promotion. Ack! Use it as you see fit, boy." Lucius begins to falter. He closes his eyes and struggles to gather his remaining strength.

"Ser Lucius," Sansa spoke.

The Old Bull turns to her. He catches his breath and smiles weakly. "I'm… *Cough!* *Cough!* thinking of… your life, Sansa Stark. Nothing… can… harm you… now…" A shiver runs through the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard and his grip on Sansa's hand goes limp, sliding out of her grip and onto the sheet.

Sansa stares at him as the Old Bull expires before her eyes, her eyes watering with boundless grief. Ariyana, Olyvar and Brienne were shocked; Podrick and Jullon bowed their heads mournfully; Jaime, meanwhile, simply stared at him. Was this his doing all along? To prepare him for this? If so, then why didn't he mention it to him sooner? All he could simply do was tighten his grip on Bastion.

"You wanted me to lead the Kingsguard into the future, didn't you?" Jaime said under his breath.

Sansa's breath trembled, but she did not cry. The Wolf Queen intended to follow the Old Bull's instructions and tried not to be said for such a personal loss. Not looking at the other Kingsguard assembled, she gives the order. "Send word to the King. Inform him… inform him that Lord Commander Ser Lucius Blackmyre… has passed away."

"Yes, Your Grace," they answered.

Chapter End

Author's Note: We start with Arya Stark and Jon Snow/Aegon Targaryen venturing off on their own journeys in the new age, but tragedy strikes as Lord Commander Lucius Blackmyre has succumbed to advanced age and illness. What sort of legacy will the Old Bull leave behind and what are your guys' thoughts of Lucius recommending Jaime Lannister as his successor? What were his reasons? Anyway, I think we've got two or three chapters left before this series comes to an end. Also, I've promised that there will be an epilogue describing the events of what happened in each location and to other characters in the following years since the final battle. Thoughts? Stay tuned for more updates!

King Crow: And so the Old Bull is now resting forever

Black Magic99: you know what would be interesting... if arya discovered skyrim

Randa1: and so, Sir Yoda ... errr Sir Lucius ... dies ... don't tell me that there is another stark out there that we don't know or that Ned is going around around wearing black clothes ... and no I mean the black of the night watch

The Three Stoogies: All hail Set Lucius all hail the Honored Dead.

C.E.W: I suppose Daveth will have a funeral planned for Ser Lucius Blackmyre, Ser Lucius has served in the Kingsguard for over forty years since the end of the War of Ninepenny Kings. He and Ser Jaime were the only Kingsguard to survive from the start of Daveth's reign to the end of the wars that plagued Westeros since the death of King Robert after the last Battle of King's Landing. Ser Lucius served faithfully, loyalty and with dignity, and is perhaps the longest serving Kingsguard in the history of Westeros.

Of all of current Kingsguard, I suspect Jaime Lannister will mourn Ser Lucius the most, he knew him far longer than any of them, and choose him as his successor. Guess he saw Ser Jaime as a true knight, knowing why Ser Jaime killed the king he had sworn to defend, and seeing how Ser Jaime served Daveth loyally. Fighting for him, and saving his life particularly against Euron and Yara Greyjoy.

RHatch89: Awesome update :)

Turner1416: Oh man that sucks I miss you Sir L

Bvk: Great chapter on trials and tribulations of oathkeeper, so can you please put up the next chapter to the story now please

randomdude24: RIP Ser Lucius

Bio RL: Ty

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Trials and Tribulations of the Oathkeeper by DeadlyMaelstrom711

—At the Great Sept of Baelor—

At the Great Sept of Baelor, that magnificence in marble atop Visenya's Hill, Daveth, Sansa and their children attended the funeral services of Lord Commander Lucius Blackmyre of the Kingsguard; the Silent Sisters had removed the bowels and organs, drained the blood from his corpse and stuffed it with fragrant herbs and salts to preserve it and hide the smell of decomposition. Both parents remained calm and composed during the ceremony despite the saddening atmosphere, but their eldest two occasionally sniffled and cried quietly at such a loss. The little knot of several visiting mourners also attended to pay their respects to the hero who led the defense of King's Landing's civilians during the War for Westeros; some even started singing "Farewell, My Brother" – a sad ballad composed by Luceon of Tarth after the Dance of the Dragons still sung today.

Once the singing had subsided, the High Septa knelt beside the sovereigns in the center of the sept. "May the Father Above judge our dearly departed Ser Lucius of House Blackmyre justly, whose earthly body passed from this world after a prolonged struggle with a terrible illness," she intoned, beginning the prayer for the dead. Jaime Lannister stood with a stoic expression on his face, and Olyvar and Brienne had both lowered their heads to pay their respects as Rosyn continued her prayers.

After the septas and septons issued their sermons, the High Septa rose.

"If there are any among the faithful who would like to offer a few words, let him or her speak."

Daveth was the first to stand. "We are gathered to honor the life of Ser Lucius Blackmyre. He came to us from High Hill. The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, a sworn brother of the sacred order, ever faithful. Born and raised in the Riverlands, Ser Lucius started his life as a farmer before ascending to knighthood," he began. "The people of King's Landing knew the Old Bull as a hero. The Kingsguard knew him as a brother-in-arms… and others a sage lending his counsel and experience to those who need it most. From the War of the Ninepenny Kings to the War for Westeros, Ser Lucius displayed loyal service and told hard truths – even if it's something we do not want to hear. Even in his advanced age, he put his life on the line through war-torn streets to protect the innocent and defend the weak." He glanced at Sansa, Lyonel, Cassana, Torrhen, and Rickard. "And more," he continued. "We all know the fruits of his labor. A lowborn farmer who defied the odds and rose to become a famed Kingsguard knight like Ser Duncan the Tall before him. Ser Lucius gave all he had and more. This nation owes him a debt that we can never repay." You've looked after me since I was a boy. Now… rest easy, old man. We will never forget you. He stepped back.

"Would anyone else like to speak?" the High Septa asked.

Sansa was next. "When I first came south from Winterfell with my father seven years ago, it was Ser Lucius himself who ensured a little Northern girl would feel welcome. He always had so many stories to share, even sad ones—from his misspent youth to his serving four Kings. Ser Lucius was like a grandfather to us all. Knights like him were hard to come by. But men like him? Even more so. On behalf of House Stark and the North, we thank you for your service, Ser Lucius. You will be sorely missed."

Jaime was next. He wasn't one for speeches and huffed a bit. "Huh. You know, it's almost funny to look back on it all," he mentioned. "I was never supposed to be on the Kingsguard. Oh, as a boy, I dreamed of the white cloak like all boys. I was only 15 when I first joined the order at Harrenhal. Ser Gerold Hightower and Ser Lucius raised me up, put the white cloak on my shoulders and looked after me even when the Mad King effectively treated me as his glorified hostage. I wanted to rip off the white cloak, but the Old Bull reminded me in his own… colorful way… that a Kingsguard serves for life – so I upheld my oath. I hated his constant lectures; I called him 'an old man', a 'fossil', but now… I think I now understood what he was trying to tell me all these years. Why he wanted me to succeed him. We fought side-by-side in fights. Looking back on it all, I think Lucius had it right. I suppose it takes getting old to finally put the pieces together."

"Like his predecessor Ser Barristan the Bold, Ser Lucius valued honor and duty above all else. He was loyal to his friends and dangerous to his enemies. He took his responsibilities as a knight of the Kingsguard seriously, but let us also remember the legacy he left behind: a life of ensuring that the promise of a new tomorrow will always be possible," Brienne spoke next. "Those of us who remain are a support structure that keeps that dream alive. That is why we are here."

"The day I first met the Old Bull, all I could think about him at the time was how much of a scowl he always seemed to have on his face. I swear he looked like he was constantly judging us wherever we went, whatever we did," Olyvar said. "But after you got to know him, there wasn't any reason to be afraid of him. He let you know where you stood."

Hours had passed, mourners offered a few words of their own. Many thanked the Old Bull for his heroics during the battle, others prayed to the Seven Aspects for deliverance. Daveth and Sansa led their children three short steps, the Wolf Queen stopped to kneel beside her first two children. Lyonel's and Cassana's eyes were filled with tears. By now at 4 years old, both twins' facial features were becoming more distinguished: they have their father's eyes, sky blue, as large and crystal as Daveth's and hair as black as the darkest night – but the younger twin had inherited her mother's face, high cheekbones and had one strand of auburn in her thick shoulder-length hair which hung over her eye.

"Shhh, shhh. Now, now, my little ones. Don't cry. I'm here," Sansa comforted them, wiping their cheeks with a handkerchief. The Wolf Queen put her arms around Lyonel and Cassana and kissed their foreheads.

Daveth, meanwhile, watched the scene unfold as he held Torrhen in one hand and carried Rickard in the other. His two younger sons were not of age to understand what was going on yet, but there was no need for that now. Once they were old enough, more emotionally mature, the Young Stag would one day explain it to them properly. With the war over, they will need stability in their lives before taking the first step.

—At the Red Keep—

(5 days later…)

For the last five days, Daveth sat in his room writing at his desk – it was his way of keeping himself occupied. With the structures of Maegor's Holdfast recovered, old rooms have been re-opened and refurbished. On the bed in front of him, all four children were fast asleep with Sansa leaning on her side watching over them. Daveth didn't mind that he was spending more time with his family, keeping the promise he made to his wife earlier. Even so, handling four children at once whilst juggling the importance of governing the Seven Kingdoms made him more exhausted – as it did Sansa. Rickard would at night cry so loud the infant woke up both his parents and they would end up getting little sleep.

As Lyonel, Cassana, and Torrhen were now waking up from their nap, Sansa remained rocking Rickard in her arms, humming a lullaby to keep him from causing a fuss again even though she looked like she needed sleep herself. Her maternal instincts wouldn't permit her to leave her children's side even for a moment. No, the children needed both their mother and father with them.

"…As per the terms of the trade agreement signed between

the monarch of the Seven Kingdoms and Sealord of Braavos,

negotiated by the Masters of Coin and Commerce and the

Braavosi merchant lords," the letter read, "imported goods

will be subjected to closer inspection by dockworkers for

contraband if believed to have been tampered with. Any trade

goods found with suspected contraband will be no longer be

accepted within the city's marketplace until a more suitable

arrangement can be agreed upon."

Finished, Daveth seals the letter and puts it away. The Young Stag steadily rose from his desk to make his way over.

"Hi, papa," the twins yawned, rubbing the sleep out of their eyes.

They're handling themselves well since the funeral, Daveth thought. "My children," he acknowledged. "Sansa, when was the last time you got some sleep?"

"I could ask you the same thing, husband," she countered wearily.

"Then the answer is one we both share. But then again we both knew the challenges of having a family of our own would entail."

"That we did."

"Would you hand me Rickard? You've been tending to our children all night," Daveth offered.

Sansa looked somewhat relieved. "Are you… sure?" she asked.

"I'm their father. It's the least I can do."

The Wolf Queen glanced down at little Rickard who remained fast asleep. Despite her nurturing instinct, Sansa was nonetheless happy that Daveth wanted to help her in taking care of their youngest child. Carefully extending her arms forward, Sansa slowly placed Rickard into the arms of her husband, who carefully slid his arm underneath the infant's head to support the neck with the crook of his elbow and moved his other arm to provide extra support. Rickard shifted in his sleep but surprisingly made no peep. Sansa watched Daveth cradling their youngest son and smiled warmly at the sight; the Young Stag looked visibly terrified as he didn't want to accidentally drop the toddler but was determined to take some of the parental burdens off his wife.

"Aww! You two look adorable," Sansa remarked.

Daveth's face flushed with embarrassment. "Hey! Don't ruin it," he hushed quietly. It wasn't like how it was when he was a child himself with Robert and Cersei around; the main difference was that Daveth preferred to be involved in raising his children and not be the kind of father to them like Robert was to him, Joffrey, Myrcella or even Tommen.

"Ha-ha. Calm down. I'm only teasing. But there is something different about you I've noticed these past few months though. How you've been spending more time with me and our little ones. I like seeing this new side of you."

"I meant what I said back then. My main priority is ruling the Seven Kingdoms to the best of my abilities… and to provide for you and our family. Despite everything that's happened or what will happen in the coming years, Lyonel, Cassana, Torrhen, and Rickard deserve to be children. We can give them that chance now."

"Yes, love, we can."

Later, after the children had their snacks of sweetened fruits and nuts and cheese had been served and cleared away, Daveth and Sansa observed Lyonel and Cassana playing with little Torrhen running around chasing after his elder siblings. The royal children of Houses Baratheon and Stark were having fun with each other – most likely a trait they inherited from Sansa: a devotion to family and how genuinely Lyonel, Cassana, Torrhen, and Rickard love each other, something Sansa herself inherited from her mother Catelyn and passed down onto her children. Daveth noticed the fruits of her labor to support a healthy family. They will most likely grow with the value of family, devotion, and loyalty to one another already in their hearts before they reach the age of majority, the Young Stag theorized as he watched. More wolves and stags, but they must not forget that they are lions too. They'll have their own set of fangs and claws soon. Once they're ready to face their trials and tribulations.

Lost in thought, Daveth hadn't expected to feel a hand placed on his – only to realize it was Sansa before she rested her head on his shoulder. He didn't protest at her touch; it felt relaxing. Soothing. When Sansa slid her fingers in between his to hold his hand, Daveth reciprocated by interlocking all fingers, signifying a deep connection they share.

"We've come a long way these past seven years, haven't we?" he asked.

Sansa nodded. "I know, sweetheart. Hard to imagine how time goes by in a rush. It would be easy to get lost in the moment of it all. Wouldn't it? A lot of ups and downs, but it's been a good ride," she replied.

"Huh. Our little pack of runts will be disappointed their father didn't have a story prepared."

"We'll make up a good story for them."

*KNOCK, KNOCK!*

Both Daveth and Sansa sighed with exasperation at the intimate moment being interrupted by the sound of someone knocking at their door. Lyonel and Cassana stopped playing and looked at the door, though Torrhen was still oblivious to it all. Still holding onto Rickard, Daveth separated from Sansa and stood up – with the Wolf Queen following suit and taking a moment to fix herself properly and elegantly for potential visitors.

"Enter," the Young Stag called out.

The hinges creaked as the door slowly was pushed open, revealing the unexpected visitor to be Ser Jaime himself. Since being recommended and appointed to his role as the new Lord Commander of the Kingsguard by his predecessor Ser Lucius, Jaime had pertained the use of armor with a new Kingsguard sigil to distinguish himself from other members: swords entwined with stag antlers to make up the crown imprinted on the front of his breastplate.

"Your Grace," Jaime greeted.

"Uncle," replied Daveth.

"Lord Commander," Sansa acknowledged.

Jaime noticed his nephew holding Rickard. "The look suits you. Don't tell me you're getting soft on us now?" he teased.

Daveth rolled his eyes. "Ugh. Very funny, Lord Commander," he sighed. "To what do we owe this visit? I assume it's not considered a social call."

"It isn't, but the Lord Hand has been working on a rather… intricate project these past few weeks."

"What kind of project?" Sansa inquired, now curious.

"He wouldn't give any exact details but said it was only meant for your eyes and to escort you all to the throne room once it was completed. Tommen, Myrcella and the other lords on the Small Council are waiting for you there."

The throne room… Daveth reflected. His mind drifted to the final moment where he killed Daenerys Targaryen and bore witness to the Iron Throne's destruction, breaking the cycle established by Aegon the Conqueror for good. But if everyone's already gathering in the throne room, then it must have been something big. "You know I'm not one for surprises," he told his uncle.

"I know, but you know once your other uncle starts talking, he never stops," Jaime said.

"Tyrion; of course, he would start running his mouth off…"

"Even so, it would be rude to keep them all waiting," Sansa advised. "Perhaps we should see this 'project' ourselves. It could be something relatively minor, but still worth a look nonetheless."

Daveth sighed. "All right. Let's see what all the fuss is about."

"This way," Jaime motioned.

"Children," Sansa called out.

Lyonel, Cassana, and Torrhen followed their parents as Jaime led Daveth and Sansa through the main corridors. While Sansa held her twins by the hand with one hand, she used the other to hoist Torrhen on her hip; Daveth, meanwhile, rested Rickard onto his chest. On the way to the throne room, Jaime needled his nephew about laidback he's been lately—the Young Stag scoffed and rolled his eyes with each comment thrown at him.

Before turning down the serpentine steps, middle bailey through the outer yard and into the throne room, what laid before Daveth caught him by surprise. The huge bronze columns in the middle of the large, cavernous room was refurbished with stag antlers along the walls; the stained-glass windows depicting the Faith of the Seven's seven-pointed star were replaced to allow different colors – blue, white, gold, crimson – to shine in via sunlight exposure; vine motifs and candelabra that once decorated the throne room's columns and brought illumination during the reign of King Robert were brought back; along the left side of the room had tall windows depicted stags – the sigil of House Baratheon – were installed.

But that wasn't what caught Daveth's attention.

Placed in the middle of the room where the Iron Throne once stood was an entirely new high-backed throne with two others on the right and left. Not made of swords forged in fire of the conquered, but one modeled after the ancient Storm Kings of House Durrandon carved from oak with the armrests encrusted with gold marble with gilded, painted and inlaid with stags were added, giant antlers protruding from each side, and a crimson cushion sewn to provide comfort and support on the bottom and backboard. Unlike the Iron Throne, this throne was colorful and shined when rays of the sun bounced off it. There were two next to it looked almost identical, though were smaller in size.

What is this? Did we break the cycle imposed by the dragon kings of House Targaryen, only to acquire another one?

"Instead of a throne designed to intimidate, we felt it best to have one built meant to inspire," Tyrion explained. "Yours is in the center. The seat on the right is meant for the consort and the one on the left is reserved for the Hand. Go on, Your Grace. Try it."

Daveth stared at the thrones in front of him until he approached the center. He gazed at it before brushing his fingertips along the armchair. The throne was smooth to the touch as opposed to the Iron Throne, always having to shift slightly to avoid cutting himself and resting his palm along the pommel. When he sat down, it was more comforting and allowed him more breathing room.

"How was it?" asked Tommen.

"Is it any different from the old one?" inquired Myrcella.

Daveth hummed. "Huh. It's almost funny. Ironic even."

"What is?"

"17 Kings and of their 50 Hands either competed against or cooperated closely – each of them playing to their strengths in the game of thrones. Where one stands out in the light, the other operates from the shadows to fill the gaps; just like I'd done in the past. But Jon Arryn and grandfather's games were trifles."

"How so?" asked Bronn.

"Their better nature. Where one kept the Seven Kingdoms together by living the life of a good man, the other did the same but in the exact opposite way: with ruthlessness, fear, and intimidation," Power does not come from telling other people that you have it; it comes from showing them. Daveth explained. "To live as high as honor itself and carry out intelligent strategy with such perception. I learned all I needed to know from these two men and more. With checks and balances put into place, we can now begin our plans to move forward." I am more than this. I am more than what grandfather made me, no matter how deep he dug his claws into me.

"In any event, it is done. You've exceeded your predecessors. Neither of them could have imagined the power you now hold," Paxter suggested.

"And now I will know how to use that power wisely." Daveth paused. Given the experiences he endured throughout the past seven years, each obstacle proved a detrimental learning point for him. But even so, the self-reflections, the people he's met, the bonds he forged… To change the course of an entire nation, he had to change. With the War for Westeros over and no one left to stand in his way, Daveth began making preparations for the new age to come. "What I'm touting, my lords… is a revolution."

"Revolution?" they asked.

Daveth nodded. "Revolution," he repeated.

"Rebo…utin," the twins tried echoing this strange, big new word.

Yes, my children. Those who came before us, who built the Seven Kingdoms, cast too large a shadow. Too broad, too deep. But the past is the past. Let it lay buried there. Never again will we live in their shadow. The cycle is ended. From here on out—from Sunspear to Winterfell—we will hone our talents to mold this land and usher in a new age. "Shall we begin, my lords?" he asked.

Chapter End

Author's Note: Well guys, two more chapters will be included after this—with one of them being an epilogue so keep a close eye for it. Hard to believe that we've gotten this far of almost two years in the making. Thank you all for coming with me on this journey and sticking it out for as long as you have with over 2,168 reviews, 1,622 followers and 1,540 favorites and over 1,400,000+ views. For the visualization of the new throne, I tried looking as possible designs based on the St. George's Hall Throne of Russia, the Throne Chair of Denmark and the Coronation Chair of England. It was hard to pick which one.

Stay tuned for more updates!

Guest #1: Hi I loved this story, it was great and I know the ending is going to be good. If you ever do decide to make a new story would you consider making one about a oc Targaryen.

Hail King Cerion: Although I haven't been reviewing, I must congratulate you on this wonderful work. It had its problems but what story doesn't have them.

Salute, fellow author for this achievement.

C.E.W: Interesting chapter on this one. Now Daveth sit on a new throne in a new era, the last remnants of the chaotic wheel of the Targaryens have been sweep away. King Daveth the Great and Sansa the Wolf Queen are honored as the greatest monarchs the Seven Kingdoms ever had. Their reign marked a golden age for the Seven Kingdoms one that even outshine the reign of King Jaehaerys the Conciliator.

With the end close I have to ask, have you settled on a new story to work on at some point after this one?

—I haven't decided on a new story yet; I'll think about it.

God of war: This is nice story better then the series in the tv

Vgc: Great chapter on trials and tribulations of the oathkeeper, so can you please put up the next chapter to the story now please

RHatch89: Awesome update :)

TehStorm: Great chapter,hard to think this is ending,well i can only say thank you for writting for all this time.

Anyway,i hope you will be able to make a chapter far into the future to show how the modern man remembers daveth.

Chapter 872 - bbb

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