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"The Targaryens seem to have a hand in the Iron Bank, and they have been the ones to arrange it. I know not how they hold such power in Braavos, and I know not what their plan is, but Braavos is not likely to side with Westeros if they decide to turn their attention to Westeros," responded Lord Wyman.

"What are you suggesting, Wyman?" asked Ned, holding his own thoughts for himself.

"That it is a poisoned gift... there is something going on, and only those Mad Dragons know what it is. Refusing the gift without reason shows that we know of their hand, but keeping an eye on it, I suggest you wait, my lord, keep an eye on it," said Lord Wyman Manderly, whose mind was better made for such plots, even if the few looks he gave Robb were similar to the gaze he had for a juicy piece of pie. The fact that the man had two granddaughters of close enough age was not a secret.

Ned was not a fool. Robb's hand was something he could not give away just yet. His own wedding to the Riverlands had won them a war, and his wife was in the right when she proposed potential marriages with the South. The Targaryens were not gone, and Lannisters and Dorne were not his friends. "Ned, know that if the Targaryens come, House Manderly will side with House Stark, as we have promised."

"Thank you, Wyman," responded Ned, keeping his words short. "Any ways we can gather more information from those we could trust?"

"Trust... no, my lord," responded Wyman, "but I can send a few men to the Company of Rose. They are supposedly Northerners exiled before the Conquest. They are still Sellswords, yet some coin might be open to send word."

It always came back to coin. Coin that would come from what Winterfell had made. Coin that White Harbor would get a share from being the only large enough port to sustain the shipping before it made to cross the Narrow Sea.

Soon, the man Ned's youngest daughter, nicknamed Lord Too-Fat-to-Sit-on-a-Horse, was gone, followed by Ned dismissing Robb for his studies. The shadows behind him fell away, leaving behind a short man in a green tunic.

"They had a hand in it, the Targaryens," said Lord Howland Reed. "Magic returning."

"Are you certain?" asked Ned with a frown.

"The Faceless Men are killed off, while a Targaryen with Magic lives in Braavos," countered Ned's old friend and bannerman. "This one might be of the same cloth as his brother... or worse, his father. The Prophecy is still at play."

"A Prophecy believed by a madman," countered Ned, his anger rising.

"Lyanna believed it," countered Howland, getting a glare in turn. "Why would a Targaryen seek to strengthen the Wall of all places?"

"You did not come all the way to Winterfell for tall tales believed by foolish children, Lord Reed," countered Ned instead, not wanting to listen to it anymore.

"I came to make my offer," responded Howland, "same offer as before."

"A Stark's place is at Winterfell," countered Ned.

"How long before your Lady Wife runs your Bastard off," whispered Howland in turn.

"You swore an oath, Lord Reed," rose Lord Stark from his desk, "All I ask is that you do your duty and keep an ear out for any other rumors."

"Aye, I did, Lord Stark, to Ice and Fire, I did," responded Howland Reed, again disappearing, once more showing Ned that Magic was more powerful than before.

Ned took a parchment, writing a letter to be sent by a rider to the Wall. It was time he visited it and got the report from Benjen and Mormont. For all Ned knew, winter was coming.

---

# The Mage

"Fucking Voyeurs," the echo of the Wizard's voice came before the Glass Candle shut itself, and Marwyn found himself flung back from where he was standing, tumbling in a way that would leave a bruise of two.

Marwyn lost his lunch on the floor, leaving it for some poor acolyte to clean it.

Power, Peerless Power.

There had been a lot of rumors about the boy people called Viserys the Wizard, the last male with the Targaryen last name.

None were real, now, Marwyn knew.

A man who can bring death to a god...

This was different than anything else he had known through his journeys.

This was a man who knew what he was doing, a true Master of the Higher Mysteries.

This was Glorious.

For years, Marwyn has been trying to peek into the Targaryen boy.

Years of failure, and the first glimpse he gets is a monster in human form, with mastery over those Higher Mysteries that have befuddled the Maesters by the dozen.

At first it was a mere curiosity, rumors finding themselves to Oldtown as he returned from his expedition to Essos to find the Targaryens deposed by a Rebellion of all things.

Marwyn was certain that the Archmaesters had a hand in that mess. Everything was too convenient, messages were too well organized, strategies of the Lords far too accurate. Not to mention, the White Ravens used to send messages to the Maesters.

The entire army of Reach sitting out the war sieging a castle with not enough man made no sense. The Prince crossing the river made no sense, especially after Marwyn had told him that the glamour on the rubies would not hold up after passing through running water. They were not all idiots wanting to lose a war, were they?

Marwyn sat up from where he fell, thinking, taking a Weirwood leaves from his special pouch and starting to chew one like it was sourleaf as he took a sip of the Essence of Nightshade that he had learned to brew after he saved a Warlock of Qarth from getting his head shortened by an annoyed Lord Tarly.

Marwyn had scolded the Warlock after hearing the story of the Tarly boy being bathed by Auroch blood, telling the bald man that the boy ought to have eaten the heart instead to take on the strength as the Free Folk Beyond the Wall and the Dothraki believed.

Yes, since the Glass Candles started to burn, not more than a year after the Targaryens were sent into exile, Marywn was trying to get a peak into the Targaryen Exiles using the arcane devices of Valyria.

They were, unfortunately, blocked.

Something about Braavos did not make looking into the Mists easy. There was magic there, Marwyn was sure, some sort of a lingering power that protected them from the sight of Valyria. The region was close to the Axe as well, so it stood to reason that it was the location that the Andals used as a hiding spot before the Braavosi made it out of Valyria, but that was speculation on Marwyn's part.

Nothing else was out of the ordinary other than the Targaryen Exiles.

One day, everything was nice and well, and next he had an Acolyte blinded by the light from the glass candle and a dead man with his face burned of among the barracks of House Hightower that as the Archmaester of Higher Mysteries, he was called to study.

Marwyn was certain it was a Faceless Men that was killed.

Then the news of similar deaths made it through his contacts, sailors, and whores sharing what little they could gather.

Brilliant work. Absolutely brilliant. A powerful strike using the transitive properties of a shared creed or artifact... or mayhaps a plague of some sort.

Needless to say, Marwyn removed the chain around his neck after that. He was not certain if it could be used, but if the Targaryen Boy had a bit of intelligence, the chain around his neck was a threat and a nose.

Then Magic rose with a tide and threw Marwyn off his balance.

The trouble that was in North was still stuck in the North. The Others were getting in on power, but so was the Wall. Marwyn was certain whoever made that marvel knew what they were doing as the two kept each other contained.

Lord Leyton was concerned, as was Lady Melora, as the ancient sleepers stirred.

Essos was another mess entirely. Warlocks of Qarth bunkered down, as they always did. Their influence over the supposed Greatest City There Ever Was was stronger than before, though, but nothing happened.

Then Marwyn saw the boy, standing atop the corpse of a dead demon of fire and shadow, a dragon roaring a challenge and promising only death to those who would take him up for his offer.

Come and See.

A fork in the road... certainly one worthy of the cost it would incur.

Old Town itself would be at the crossroads. A Targaryen with a Grudge was always dangerous; history has shown that, and a Targaryen with a grudge and access to Magic. The last time that happened, Queen Visenya made to burn the entire city of Oldtown, only held back at the last moment... thrice.

Conclave would gather and plot, send someone to obviously get the knowledge that the Boy-King in Exile had. Once all his knowledge was taken, the boy would find himself with poison in his belly and that would be it.

This was not the first time that Maesters moved to do so after all. It was not even the first time they did so to House Targaryen.

A gift would be needed, the Death of Dragons, the old book that contains the old knowledge of Dragonlore and the True History of House Targaryen. It was far too valuable.

It was a good gift, a fitting one.

A new opportunity to toss away the old and remake it into something greater... something in Marwyn's own image.

It was certainly ambitious.

Grabbing his staff, he made it to reach him in time. He would serve, and guide the young Prince, the Conclave be damned.

This place was getting stale anyway.

Marwyn would go to Viserys Targaryen, and see if this wizard was everything rumors made him out to be.

---

AN: Wiz learning to solve his problems without too much fire or destroying things... mostly.

Writing Melisandre, I sort of started to pity her more as I wrote. In the books, she is all bluster and overconfident, but what if someone came along and schooled her on magic? Are they better than her because they are more in favor of her god? Her restoration to her youth was not something I really thought through. Fire can cleanse and restore, especially if Phoenix Ash is involved, and I liked the idea that Melisandre would have that extra devotion/zealotry to pull it off. It also formed the base of three different spells that Wiz will be reverse-engineering.

Jon was less fun. He is an idiot, but he is an idiot with some use. Being made into the Hand of the King is just a way of showing that Wiz does not really care about rules, so long as the ones ruling Jon is also the only valid option to be Hand to Wiz, being a Westerosi, a former Hand of the King of Aerys, a proven battle commander. I like the duality between the two, Wiz focusing on Magic and Jon handling the other parts, after proving that Jon can indeed learn.