HOLY SH***T!!! 100k?? 100k??!!

When I first began writing this book I never ever ever expected it to come this far and I only have you amazing readers/voters/commenters to thank for that!! SO THANK YOU SO MUCH!!!

I honestly cannot express in words, ironic for a writer LOL, how much this means to me and how it touches my heart that 100k people have read my book or even just glanced at it. It's an amazing experience and I cannot wait to continue this book and show you lovely amazing awesome readers what I still have in store for our favorite twins and Stark!!! Because we still have a long way to go ;)

With that said, I wrote up a little surprise/teaser for you amazing people for being so patient with me and my turtle updating speed ;p Because I know how much you are anticipating Rikson's first meeting with the twins, here is a teaser for that future chapter;

Enjoy and THANK U SOOO MUCH once again for reading my book and allowing it to reach 100k!!! I love you all so so so much from the bottom to the top of my heart!! And I sincerely hope u amazing readers will continue on with me on this journey! :)

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     The sound of waves rushing to meet the shores and crashing against the cliffs making up the vast majority of the famed island of Dragonstone fills the salty atmosphere around the Hand of the Targaryen Twins, Tyrion Lannister, and the twins' most trusted advisor, Missandei of Naath, with a guard of Dothraki stood behind them.

   Tyrion Lannister's one green and one black eye gazed about the Northerners with a slight furrow creasing his brows, until they landed upon a certain head of wavy brunette hair he remembered all too well.

    Rikson Stark hoisted himself out of the wooden boat rowed to shore with little effort, stepping away from it as his blue eyes the shade of ice that blankets the lakes of the North gaze about the island of dragons and dragon lords he stands upon.

   The volcano beside the stone keep, which he now remembers is called the Dragonmont, looms above on the cliff they stand beneath, it were quite a daunting and terrifying sight yet extraordinarily beautiful in it's own way. A proper seat for dragons and dragon lords. Rikson finds himself wondering if the seven dragons of the Targaryen Twins rested now within the depths of the volcano with white wisps of smoke emitting from it's mouth. He, then, noticed that when he listened closely, the Dragonmont was rumbling; greeting the island's guests.

   Never had Rikson Stark believed to see such wonders in his entire Northern life. Dragonstone was a pleasant change from Winterfell and the Wall, but too warm for his cold blood. 

   When the Stark King feels a presence step beside him and turns his head to see Ser Davos, his advisor, whom nods towards the ones awaiting them, Rikson goes to approach the familiar dwarf and a beautiful woman with light bronze skin and black, curly hair done up in proper Essos style around her pleasant face.

   Though, once the Northerners come to a halt before the Targaryen Twins' advisors, Rikson can not help but take a moment to stare at the Dothraki behind them.

   They were everything the Stark had imagined in his mind as a child, yet more. Long and oiled, braided black hair adorned with silver bells. Black beards and ebony orbs for eyes with tanned skin like the color of honey. Some of them even had the fur from their mounts' manes woven within their braids; the symbol of the bond between Dothraki and horse. With scars adorning their shinny skin telling tales of their battles past.

   The Stark King could not help but feel his muscles tense and back straighten as they held strong grips on their curved swords as their narrowed black eyes followed the Northerners' every movement, as if waiting for the perfect opportunity to pounce.

   Meanwhile, Tyrion looked the young boy he once knew now man from booted feet to the top of his head of brunette hair. Rikson's hair were longer than he remembered, reaching the tips of his shoulders. He, now, held a scar beside his left eye, eyes which held much within their depths; the story of all the horrors he'd been through since he'd seen him last all those years ago. But the boy he knew was now a Northern King and he held himself like one.

   Rikson Stark looked every bit a Stark King as one would believe. With his sword sheathed in a leather strap upon his back that wrapped around his torso; a black direwolf pommel, howling in the wind. Skin as white as the snows of the North with scars telling of his wars past fought whilst the black armor piece around his broad chest and the gauntlets strapped on his lower-arms held the silver direwolf of House Stark. The only thing missing was the black direwolf with blood red eyes said to be his shadow beside him.

   The truth was, Rikson had thought about bringing along his direwolf, Alysanne, but certain reasons had stopped him from doing so. The direwolf would most likely hate the ship and he did not want to insult the Targaryen Twins, or worse, anger them.

Everyone was broken out of their thoughts when the Hand to the Targaryen Twins met the eyes of the King in the North and spoke with an expressionless face, "The Midnight Wolf of Winterfell."

"The Imp of Casterly Rock." Rikson responded, expressionless face matching the Imp's.

A tense silence rung around the salty winds, before smirks lifted the old friends lips and they stepped forward to shake one anothers hands.

"I believe we last saw one another in Winterfell."

Stepping beside his advisor, once again, Rikson nods with a certain dim to his eyes as he remembers those simple times before everything changed. Though, he shook them away as he said, "Picked up some scars along the road." Gesturing to the scar, now, adorning his friend's face, cutting down from above his left eye, through his nose, then down his right cheek.

"It's been a long road, but we're both still here." The Stark nodded. The Lannister, then, turned his two-colored gaze unto the older man beside Rikson. "I'm Tyrion Lannister."

"Davos Seaworth." The elder man introduces himself, stepping forward as his King had done to shake the Lannister's hand, whose eyes sparkle with recognition at the name.

"Ah, the Onion Knight. We fought on opposite sides at the Battle of Blackwater Bay."

"Unluckily for me."

Rikson, faintly, smirked as his trusted advisor returned to his side, he'd heard of that battle years ago and hoped no animosities were still held between his advisor and the Hand.

Tyrion, then, turned to the beautiful woman stood beside him, whom had been silently observing the greetings, "Missandei, here, is the Queens' most trusted advisor."

Missandei, politely, smiles at the Northerners, then speaks in her lovely voice, "Welcome to Dragonstone. Our Queens know it is a long journey and they appreciate the efforts you have made on their behalf. If you wouldn't mind handing over your weapons."

Rikson shares a glance with Ser Davos, whom faintly nods his head, therefore, the King turns towards his men behind him and nods, before turning back to Missandei and Tyrion, "Of course."

As Missandei smiles in gratitude, and relief that their guests did not put up fuss, the Dothraki begin towards the Northerners to gather their weapons. Rikson looks the Dothraki before him in the eyes as he, hesitantly, lays his Valyrian steel sword in his awaiting hands. The Dothraki smirked with a grunt as he turned to walk away and Tyrion did not miss the roll of the Stark's eyes, a smirk lifting his lips.

   Not everything changed, he supposed.

   Though, Rikson turns to see the Dothraki lifting the boat rested upon the shore and then walking away with it. The Onion Knight and King in the North shared a glance.

   "Please, this way." Missandei spoke as turned to lead the Northerners towards the stone keep, whom began to follow as she walked away. Though, Rikson shortly turned to his men and held a hand, silently telling them to remain on the shores.

   The soldiers bowed their heads, therefore, Rikson turned to follow Missandei and Tyrion's lead, though, he noticed that Ser Davos quickened his strides to step beside Missandei and ask, "Where are you from? I can't place the accent."

   Missandei grinned, the polite expression seemingly always present on her beautifully tanned features, "I was born on the Island on Naath."

   "Ah, I hear it's beautiful down there. Palm trees and butterflies. Haven't been, myself." The young advisor just politely smiles, once again, before Ser Davos halts and awaits for Rikson to step beside him, whom lifts a curious brow, "This place has changed." 

   But of course it had. The dragons have returned, the rightful rulers of the island of dragons and dragon lords.

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"And Sansa?.. I hear she's alive and well.. rescued by her dead brother."

Tyrion asks, glancing at the King in the North walking beside him, the others behind them, up the thousand steps leading towards the stone keep built beside the Dragonmount.

"She is." Rikson responds, though he'd hardly glanced at his friend as he stared at the stone keep. It were more extraordinary than from beneath the cliff and he wondered if the halls would be as warm as he'd read about with being built beside the volcano.

"Does she miss me terribly?.. A sham marriage.. and unconsummated."

Rikson blinks, ".. I-I didn't ask." Tyrion just smirks in amusement at the stutter in the man's voice and the pink dusting his cheeks. "Well, it was.. wasn't, anyway, she's much smarter than she lets on."

A short breath leaves the Stark's thin lips, "She's starting to let on." Tyrion nods, "Good." He, then, glances up at his friend, "At some point, I want to hear how a dead Stark became King in the North.. Lord Wolf."

"As long as you tell me how a bloody Lannister became Hand to the Targaryen Twins.. Lord Lion." The old friends share amused smirks at the names not spoken in far too long. "A long and bloody tale.. to be honest, I was drunk for most of it." A scoff of amusement from Rikson brought a smirk to Tyrion's lips.

   The air, then, turned serious as the Stark spoke, "My bannermen think it was foolish of me to come here." while glancing out towards the sea.

   "Of course they do.. if I was your Hand, I would have advised against it. General rule-of-thumb, Stark men don't fare well when they travel south."

   "True.. but–.."

   A ground trembling roar followed by a high-pitched screech cut through the salty winds sharper than any blade, shaking the Northerner and his advisor to their cores as they dropped unto the stone steps as two dragons flew above them.

   The King in the North lifts his head, wonder struck eyes meeting with the molten gold pits of the golden dragon, whom stares into his soul, it seemed, before it released a screech with a shake of it's glittering head and flapped it's wings to join it's siblings in the sky. 

   Rikson's chest heaves with heavy pants, before he looks to his friend and sees Tyrion, alongside Missandei and all the Dothraki still standing. The Dothraki were nearly laughing as Missandei smirks, glancing to the beautiful beasts still singing in the sky, whilst Tyrion approaches his friend, offering a hand.

   "I'd say you get used to them..." The Stark stands to his booted feet, wide eyes staring at the beasts only from legend, "... but you never really do."

   Tyrion begins walking up the steps again, "Come, their mothers are waiting for you."

   Rikson Stark glances at Ser Davos behind him, now stood, whom stares at the dragons, as well, before clearing his throat and steeling himself, once again, and following after the Lannister Hand, though, his gaze never leaves the seven dragons, more often than not drifting to the golden dragon he swears still looks at him as it dances with it's white-scaled sibling.

     Meanwhile, stood upon a cliff's edge high above the thousand steps into the stone keep, is the Red Woman. Her red cloak and blood hair to match sways with the sea breeze as her eyes stare at the figures walking up the remaining steps into the keep, deep in thought.

   "I wondered why you weren't there to meet our guests." The voice of the Spider, Lord Varys, brings the beautiful woman from her thoughts, though, she does not turn to the bald man coming to stand beside her as he continues on, "You begged us to summon the King in the North. Don't you want to see him again?"

   Melisandre turns towards the Spider beside her, "I've done my part. I've brought ice and fire together."

   "Strange. You spoke so highly of Rikson Stark, but when he arrives you hide on a cliff." He smirks, "I didn't take you for a bashful girl."

   "My time whispering in the ears of kings has come to an end."

   "Oh, I doubt that. Give us common folk one taste of power, we're like the lion who tasted man. Nothing is ever so sweet again."

   "Neither of us is common folk anymore." Lord Varys bows his head in a nod of agreement. "I did not part on good terms with the King in the North.. or his advisor." She reveals. "Why?"

   "Because of mistakes I made. Terrible mistakes." Her eyes were distant with the ghosts of her past, haunting her, as she looked at the swaying grass. Before blinking and returning her gaze unto the Spider. "I would only be a distraction if I stayed."

   "So, where will you go?"

   "Volantis."

   "Good. If you don't mind my saying, I don't think you should return to Westeros. I'm not sure you'd be safe here." Lord Varys advises, the clear distaste he holds for priests and sorcerers within his eyes and spoken deep within his voice, but Melisandre merely smirks as a deep knowing none but her knew glittered within her eyes, "Oh, I will return, dear Spider. One last time."

   "My Lady–"

   "I have to die in this strange country. Just like you." The Red Woman whispers like the winds dancing around them, before walking off, leaving the Spider alone with his thoughts as he turns his gaze towards the distant figures disappearing within the stone keep.

     The Northern King glanced about all the Stone Drum in awe as he followed Tyrion and Missandei through the dark halls. The halls were indeed warm and the only reason he could see were the torches spread evenly along the black walls with dragon carvings.

   The group, then, walked through the dragon's maw and the Hand to the Targaryen Twins stopped before the heavy red doors leading into the throne room, turning back to his friend whose eyes were even more wonder struck as they gazed at the detailed designs of the dragon's teeth within the mouth that led towards the doors.

   Dragonstone were built for a Targaryen and the dragons only.

   "Shall we?" Tyrion spoke once he Northern friend now Northern King stood before him, whom inhaled a breath before nodding and within the next moment, the doors were pushed open.

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