ã€ŠA Song of Blackjack and Hookersã€‹


 The Fishermans Daughter & Cersei I

    The Fisherman''s Daughter?

    Tugging at her roughspun dress nervously, Danika looked out of the window at the stranger Papa had fished out of the sea. He was still lying back on the sand, staring at the clouds despite his fine clothes having their fill of seawater.

    Papa had told her such fine clothes meant he must be a lord, and to look after him in hopes he would reward them. She only hoped he wouldn''t take the watered down ale against them.

    Making her way back down to the beach with a cup, she approached him carefully.

    "Milord," she broached, "I brought you something to wet your throat with."

    His dark eyes caught hers, and he slowly pushed himself up to sit. When he reached out to take the cup from her, she noticed a hole in his finery over where his heart should be.

    His clothes were even stranger than she had thought at first. They were all a deep black, even his shoes, and almost shone under the sun, all except for his too-thin doublet that was an unblemished white.

    "Thank you," he husked out.

    Danika sat down on the sand opposite him as she watched him take a sip from the cup. It didn''t agree with him, as she feared, though it didn''t stop him from drinking it dry.

    "Your father," he continued in a less scratchy voice, "he said we weren''t far from King''s Landing?"

    "Yes, milord. It''s about an hour''s travel along the Rosby road," she squeaked out, staring down at her fingers. "Papa takes his catch there every evening to sell."

    He seemed to find something humorous in that. "Right. And who sits the Iron Throne?"

    Her brows furrowed at the question. "His Grace, King Robert Baratheon, ever since he ended the Mad King''s reign and chased the last of his get away across the sea," she boasted. She quickly blushed at her boldness. "Or that''s what the septa says¡­"

    The more the stranger had spoken, the more Danika noticed that he sounded funny, not even like the highborn she had seen in King''s Landing.

    "Might I know your name, milord?" she asked him. "Are you from Essos?" She chewed on her bottom lip as she thought the worst. "You''re not a slaver, are you? I''ve always heard stories¡­"

    He didn''t answer immediately, watching the waves for a time.

    "No, not Essos," he finally said. "Further and farther. It has a few names, but most just call it America." There was something mirthful in his dark eyes as he turned them back on her. "There men know me as Solomon the Magnificent."

    The names were a stranger to her ears, and she had heard of places as far as Karth and Yee Tee.

    "Sol-oh-mon," she mouthed, her curiosity making her bolder.

    "Close enough. Though I imagine you are wondering how I''m so magnificent." His voice was richer now, like a bard''s. "But first, what''s your name?"

    She felt her cheeks heat up at the question. Why would he care to know her name?

    "Danika,'' she squeaked out again.

    "How much do you know of magic, Danika?" He had a handsome smile on his lips as he stared into her eyes.

    Furrowing her brows again, she tried to remember Septa Rivienne''s words. The stranger had in the meantime retrieved something from one of his pockets, turning it over between his fingers.

    Danika gasped as the top of it clinked open and a flame appeared. It didn''t spread, but it did sway with the wind.

    The sight helped her remember the septa''s words. "Septa Rivienne says sorcery is a sword without a hilt, and that we are well rid of it with the dragons gone."

    The sorcerer was staring into his own flame when she dared to peek at his eyes again, something hungry there. It was the kind of look she had seen men give her sometimes. As if he could tell, he caught her eyes again, the flame vanishing after another clink.

    "And who''s to say they won''t return one day?" There was a knowing look there.

    If she wanted to sate her curiosity, she had to be brave. "How long had you been adrift at sea, milord? If you don''t mind my asking¡­" She was tugging at her dress again, a nervous habit of hers. "Papa had seen men shipwrecked before, but there weren''t any signs of such a wreck he had said."

    Danika feared she had overstepped when the sorcerer sighed, but his eyes had returned to the sea. "And if I said I hadn''t come by boat at all?"

    "You couldn''t have swam here," she argued.

    "Yeah, probably not," he agreed with a chuckle. "Though I''m still not sure this isn''t some fever dream¡­"

    "Milord?" she whispered.

    The handsome smile was back on his lips. "Just thinking out loud." He made to stand after, offering her a hand.

    Danika eyed it for a moment''s time before taking it, though she only reached his shoulders. "What will you do now?" she couldn''t help but ask him.

    "I think I''ll go to King''s Landing. I don''t wish to burden you and your father more than I already have."

    She tugged on her bottom lip with her teeth, thinking. "And when will you be leaving?"

    "You mentioned your father travels there in the evenings." He peeked at the sun. "It shouldn''t be long now. I think I''ll join him."

    Danika tried not to show too much relief. Papa would have grumbled about ungrateful highborn lords if Sol-oh-mon had taken his leave without even a word of gratitude.

    "Have you been to King''s Landing, Danika?" she heard, drawing her from her thoughts.

    "Yes, milord," she answered quickly. "A few times to visit Aunt Lenda."

    He clapped his hands together. "Wonderful. Could you tell me about it while we wait?"

    She returned his smile and bid him to follow her back to the house. There she prepared both of them some salt cod with a dash of vinegar. "All we''ve plenty of is cod," she informed him as she warded off embarrassment.

    It wasn''t hard to like the sorcerer, she thought. He hadn''t treated her with disdain or leered at her even once. Even now he didn''t turn up his nose at the poor fare, finishing it all in a few quick bites.

    "So, King''s Landing?" he prompted.

    She nodded her head, trying to find the words. "Down the Rosby road you''ll see the Iron Gate, manned by the gold cloaks. You''ll see Flea Bottom past it, where my Aunt Linda lives. It''s a hard place, but that''s only the least of it, milord."

    Danika absently took a bite of salt cod as she imagined it in her mind''s eye.

    "You can''t miss the Red Keep and its seven towers, standing high above the city on Aegon''s High Hill. It is prettiest in the sunlight, I have found, shining a pale red." Danika envied the high lords sometimes, to live in such a place and look down upon them all.

    "I''ve heard of it," Sol-oh-mon spoke, some mischief showing in his eyes again. "Tales of the Iron Throne have reached even us. But do continue."

    Danika nodded again. "Somewhere past it is Fishmonger''s Square and the Mud Gate. Papa sails there sometimes when Flea Bottom is troubled or the fish have been biting well."

    The sorcerer was drinking all her words in greedily, though Danika wasn''t sure what more she could tell him.

    "And, uhm, you''ll find the Great Sept of Baelor to the west. I''ve only been there once, years ago, when the High Septon was named. I remember the walls being the purest white¡­"

    Septa Rivienne had been encouraging her to say a septa''s vows recently, praising her keen mind, but Danika wasn''t as certain. She was true to the Seven, yes, but she didn''t know if she wanted to devote her entire life to Them.

    "It sounds beautiful. Thank you, Danika."

    She felt her cheeks heat up again. "S''no no worry, milord¡­"

    "Why don''t I tell you something of back home? Interested?"

    His dark eyes drew her in again as she nodded eagerly, almost forgetting about her fish as she listened to him speak about a city of lights, as bright at night as it was during the day. There were towers there, as high as the clouds, and every person had a thinking box in their pockets.

    It all sounded like half a dream to her ears, and she had pouted when Papa returned, pawing at his greying beard as the sorcerer told him his plan. They had made for King''s Landing not long after.

    Danika gave a sigh as she watched. In the end, she was only a lowborn girl, thinking of things beyond her station.

    A mischievous smile still managed to find its way onto her lips, looking down at the funny coin Sol-oh-mon had dropped in her hands when Papa wasn''t looking. He had given her a wink and told her it was lucky.

    She held it closer, hoping it was true.

    Cersei?

    Pacing across the length of her chambers, her skirts trailing after her messily, Cersei crumbled the ball of parchment in her hand even tighter.

    She couldn''t help feeling like a young girl again, staring into Maggy''s ugly yellow eyes.Gold shall be their crowns and gold their shrouds, she had whispered to her. Cersei had almost lost her wits in front of her own guard when those same words had been delivered to her, courtesy of a strange man in stranger dress.

    They were just words, she had told herself, and bid the guard to return with the man.

    He would tell her how he knew, or he would never see the light of day again, the rats gnawing on his flesh until there was nothing left. Despite the vicious satisfaction her thoughts gave her, her worries were not so easily quelled. All those who were there had perished except for her, so the question remained.How could he know?

    A knock sounded on the door soon enough, and her nails bit deep into her palm as she forced herself to calm. She could not let them see her in such distress. She had to be strong. Like her lord father.

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    "Enter," her voice rang out, bold and true.

    The man who entered her chambers was as strange as he had been described, flanked by two of her red cloaks. He was tall, a shade taller than Jaime perhaps, though he didn''t tower over her like her drunken lout of a husband, nor was he near as wide. His skin was as fair as his hair and eyes were dark, almost black.

    His clothes were of fine make, she could tell, to the point that she couldn''t see the stitching.

    "Your Grace," he said with a short bow, his voice pleasant to the ears. The lack of any proper deference in his tone did much to ruin it, but she was accustomed to it from men.

    "Wait outside unless I call for you," she told her guards, watching as they hurried to carry out her orders.

    The man didn''t seem relieved or eager at being left alone with her, so she thought to spur a rise out of him.

    "What led you to believe these words meant anything to me?" Cersei allowed the crumbled ball of parchment to fall to the floor, making nary a sound against the stones.

    A small smile was the only reaction her words spurred. "Why else would I be here? I think those words haunt you," he whispered, sweeping closer to her as her throat went dry, "and every day they get more true, don''t they? I know it was Maggy the Frog who spoke them to you, and I also know that you watched your friend drown, for she had heard them too."

    "How?" she croaked out. "How could you know?"

    He hummed thoughtfully. "How to explain¡­" His eyes trailed down her neck, as if he was searching for something. "There''s a curse that hangs over you, an angry, malevolent thing that yearns to choke the life from you, easy to see if you have the eyes to see it."

    Her hands went to her delicate throat, imagining an ugly thing wrapping around it, kin to her deformed and monstrous brother. Cersei had always known that it would be him.

    Strength, she reminded herself.You must be strong. Without weakness.

    "Who are you?" she asked, doing all she could to keep her voice level.

    "Solomon the Magnificent, they call me," he confessed easily. "Though I wouldn''t worry too much, Your Grace. I doubt there are any in these lands who can see as I see."

    These lands, he had said. Cersei had already known as much after seeing his strange clothes and stranger way of speaking. "And where do you hail from, Solomon?" she sounded out carefully.

    "Far and away across the Sunset Sea," he answered simply, as if it wasn''t a farcical thing to say.

    Even if it were true, why would he come here to tell her about Maggy the Frog?

    As he continued, it was as if he had read her thoughts. "My being here was not by choice." One of his hands moved to his chest, drawing her eyes to the tear in the uniform fabric. For a moment she had thought it was from a sword before she deemed it too small to be that. "An unhappy accident, let''s say."

    Cersei crossed her arms over her full breasts. "Unhappy accident?"

    "I imagine you wish to escape your fate?" he asked as if he hadn''t heard. "You have already tried, no doubt. But no matter how much your brother beds you, it won''t take?"

    Her blood went cold. "H-How dare you," she hissed under her breath. "I could have you killed with but a word for speaking suchlies."

    If she hoped to frighten him, it had only seemed to amuse him instead.

    "Even if you succeeded, you would still be doomed to a most bleak fate. You would die as Maggy had told you you would, after you watched all your children be taken from you, one by one."

    Despite the dark words, he still smiled at her hauntingly. It all rendered her mute, her limbs feeling as if turned to stone.If he could know all this, what else could he do?

    Instead she watched as he offered his hand.

    "I didn''t come here to taunt you, Cersei," he continued in a whisper that pulled her closer. "After all, a curse done can be undone."

    Hope bloomed in her heart as his words registered. "How?" she whispered back.

    "I might have suggested that you ask your seven gods to intercede on your behalf, but after all your transgressions against them, it might be wiser not to." He shrugged his shoulders irreverently. "If the new gods won''t listen, then why not the old?"

    Memories of her mother reading to her under a weirwood surfaced, its roots gnarled and twisted. "Why would the cold and distant gods of the northmen help me?"

    "It depends on how you ask them," he said, the smile more inviting now. "You can leave that part to me."

    Cersei eyed the flagon of arbor gold on the table before stalking over and pouring herself a generous amount into a goblet. "How would this work?" she asked after, its rich taste calming her nerves slightly.

    "A dash of sorcery should weaken the curse, and once you give birth again, I am confident that it will fall apart completely."

    He followed her to the table, plucking the goblet out of her hand and taking a sip as she stared. She swallowed her anger as he smacked his lips, returning it to her hands.

    "Mmm, I only wonder why I should," he continued. "Not only would I be cuckolding a king but your beloved brother also. It seems a sticky situation."

    "You mean to spill your seed in me?" she asked incredulously.

    "I asked you to convince me, Cersei," he said instead. "Though you are of course free to continue as you have. You will have a few years more until the curse claims all you hold dear by my estimation."

    The sheergallof this man¡ªor perhaps sorcerer¡ªstupefied her. That he would ask her to sweeten the deal on top of it?

    She took another swallow of the arbor gold, thinking carefully. No charlatan could have known the things he knew, and it was just as he said. After Tommen''s birth, Jaime''s seed just wouldn''t take whatever they tried.

    Cersei returned her eyes to the sorcerer, swallowing her anger again. "What would you have of me? Riches? A lordship?"

    "I admit I am interested in learning more about Westeros and Essos," he commented, as if neither lands nor coin meant anything to him. "Access to the Grand Maester''s library for a start, I think. And leave to acquire more, whether it be through Lannister coin or a few words from you, Your Grace."

    "Done," she said happily. A lordship would have been considerably more difficult.

    He neared even closer, tucking her golden curls behind her ear in an intimate gesture. "You are as clever as I hoped you would be." Cersei let out a soft breath as she watched him. He was handsome, yes, but it was more than that.

    He could be of use to her, a sorcerer at her beck and call. The thought alone had her rubbing her thighs together as she smiled up at him, seeing the lust in his eyes.

    Already he was falling for her. He had chosen her, had he not? He had come to her.

    "And what will you tell your brother?" he suddenly asked, plucking her from her thoughts.

    "Jaime¡­" she started uncertainly, "Jaime will understand."

    Her twin had always followed her lead, and he would follow her lead in this also. Glancing over the sorcerer''s features, she could simply say that Robert''s seed had taken despite her best wishes. Jaime would be furious, though not so furious that he would act.

    Cersei leaned in to kiss Solomon, only to watch him retreat, a smirk dancing on his lips.

    "Ah, ah. Not here. We will need a weirwood, and I don''t believe the godswood here has one."

    Her brows furrowed again, but she didn''t argue. "W-Where then?"

    "Storm''s End," he said after a moment. "Tell your husband you want your children to see their ancestral seat, or tell him whatever you like. I don''t expect it will take much to convince him."

    "I suppose not," she admitted. The Hand would be more skeptical, but she had handled him thus far.

    "There you have it." After a thoughtful moment, he seemed to reverse course, leaning closer again. "Though perhaps it wouldn''t hurt for us to grow more comfortable with one another."

    Cersei shivered slightly as his palm touched her cheek, his thumb pushing against her lips. His mood kept shifting as a storm would, making it hard for her to predict what he would do. She had thought him smitten with her, and now again¡­

    After some moments, he kissed her, though it was a playful thing, not as heated as she would have liked, and she groaned in her throat with some slight disappointment.

    His other hand had been toying with her grown when he retreated again. "These walls have eyes, more than you know. I''m not the only one who knows more than he should."

    Cersei knew to avoid certain rooms, but she had searched her chambers extensively, finding nothing out of place.

    "Who?" she asked.

    "They will know if you suspect them, but fear not. They wouldn''t have expected me today."

    Her frown deepened as she thought. If any of them knew, why would they not have used it against her?

    "Now, for all my many tricks, I have not yet found a way to get the stink of the ocean off of me without a bath."

    He did have the scent of the sea on him, but it hadn''t been an unpleasant one. "I''ll find apartments for you, and servants."

    "Kind of you. I think I''ll pay a visit to the library in the meantime," he said after a hum. "Mind if I borrow one of your fine guards out there to escort me?"

    She quietly nodded, staring at his back as she finished the last of the arbor gold in her goblet. A sorcerer though he may be, he was still a man, and a man had his appetites.

    As she heard two pairs of footsteps depart after another nod from her, she smiled.

    In time, he would be eating out of the palm of her hand.

 Jaime I & The Little Bird

    Jaime?

    His white cloak swept behind him as he stepped inside Cersei''s bedchamber, hearing her softly humming a lullaby their mother used to sing to them. Jaime couldn''t remember the last time she had done so.

    So engrossed she was that she hadn''t noticed his entrance, and he took advantage to watch her go through her garments for a time.

    His sister was as beautiful as ever, with her sun-spun curls and perfect figure, but something had changed, and he knew its source, that supposed sorcerer with a name fit for the king of mummers.

    "Cersei," he finally whispered.

    Turning around, she smiled sweetly when she saw him. Knowing its price was poison being whispered into her ear did much to ruin it.

    He would have to approach this as delicately as he could. "This all seems sudden," he quietly said.

    Her eyes bored into his. "It will do the children good to visit the ancestral seat of their house."

    He didn''t believe that. "Why Storm''s End and not Casterly Rock? They are as much Lannister as they are Baratheon."

    A lie wrapped in sheepskin, but by necessity.

    "The oh-so honorable Lord Arryn already grumbles about Lannister influence at court, all while my dear husband''s brother grinds his teeth to nubs at the mere sight of me," she hissed. She soon shook her head and recaptured her smile. "This move will do much to not only allay suspicions, but calm tensions as well. Trust me on this, Jaime."

    She had moved close enough that he could smell her sweet scent, laying her soft hands over his. He tried not to let her talk him down so easily.

    "And these are your words, Sister? Not someone whispering poison in your ear?"

    A frown replaced her smile as she looked up at him with cool green eyes. "He comes and goes at my beck and call. You worry needlessly."

    He sighed under his breath, struggling to find the right words to say to her.

    "You could speak to him yourself, if you like," she continued. "Get his measure."

    "There are better ways to spend my days than speaking to mummers," he snarked.

    "It couldn''t hurt to try. For me?" she asked.

    Staring down at her, he knew he couldn''t ever tell her no. "If I must."

    Her smile returned, and she stood up on her tiptoes to press her soft lips to his cheek. He was about to make a move when she backed away, returning to her task.

    Jaime watched her for another few moments before he left.

    He loathed the very idea, but this wasn''t the first time he had to swallow something unpleasant for Cersei''s sake.

    He swept through the halls of the Red Keep in search of the mummer, brooding as he was wont to do. He grimaced when he finally found him in the company of Renly Baratheon and Ser Loras Tyrell, Robert''s youngest brother all smiles as he laughed at something the mummer said.

    They seemed as thick as thieves, he thought unhappily.

    "Kingslayer," Renly greeted him with a mocking bow, curdling his already poor mood further. "You grace us with your presence."

    Ser Loras had not even tried to hide the frown on his lips as he stared, his boyish looks framed by tumbling ringlets. It was the mummer Jaime''s eyes settled on, however, his strange foreign clothes impossible to miss. All that otherwise adorned him was a silver band on his primary finger.

    Black eyes found him in kind, and an almost welcoming smile blossomed on the mummer''s lips. Jaime did not know why, but he pressed forward nonetheless. "May we speak?"

    "I''m guessing you mean in private," the mummer said in that strange accent.

    He gave him a nod. While he did not mislike Renly as much as he did his two older brothers, he couldn''t say he liked the peacock either. That he looked not unlike Robert had before he drowned himself in food and wine did him no favors in his eyes.

    "You will return after, I hope," Renly said to the mummer. "Loras and I have found your company rather pleasant."

    Jaime bit back a snort. He could guess why Renly enjoyed the mummer''s company all too easily.

    "Of course," the mummer replied, touching a hand to Renly''s shoulder. Those black eyes returned to watching him again after. "Lead on, ser."

    Jaime swept his white cloak behind him as departed, listening to the quiet footsteps behind him. He hadn''t expected the mummer to agree so easily, despite being unarmed in the presence of a man with his reputation. That spoke to either an uncanny confidence or naked ignorance, and he didn''t know which he misliked more.

    Satisfied at their location, Jaime sharply turned around. "What business do you have with my sister?"

    The mummer''s expression remained annoyingly pleasant. "I warned her of the unhappy path she was meandering down and advised her on a solution."

    Jaime stared at him dubiously. "What unhappy path? Speak plainly."

    "Why, the noose you have both been tying around your necks by cuckolding the king."

    His blood went cold as ice, and before he even knew it he had drawn his sword and punched the mummer in the mouth, sending him stumbling back with a split lip. "What did you say?"

    Those black eyes still stubbornly watched him. "Peace, Ser Jaime. Your sister knows."

    Jaime''s expression was stormy as he touched the steel to the soon to be dead man''s belly. "You threatened her."

    He couldn''t silence the doubts whispering into his ear. Why hadn''t she told him if that was it? Jaime would have carved him up and thrown his body into the sea, as he intended to this very moment. But first he had to know.

    "Did you hear it from Varys''s lying tongue? That slimy whoremonger, Littlefinger? Or did you come up with it yourself?"

    The mummer didn''t piss himself even as naked steel threatened to disembowel him. Instead he flashed a bloody grin. "Should I also mention how you lied to your brother at your father''s bidding? Or maybe why you had truly put your sword through the heart of the last king? Do you remember his words still, ser? Let him be king over charred bones and cooked meat. Let him be king of the ashes."

    Hearing those words again made Jaime feel faint, and sick. How? He had slain Aerys, Rossart, and all the pyromancers who knew. "You will tell me how you know," he demanded, sounding like half a ghost himself.

    "You could call it sorcery." It was said with such aplomb that Jaime could have laughed. He wondered if this was some fresh nightmare. It had been some years since he had found himself in one of those.

    It didn''t seem like he was likely to stir himself awake at any rate.

    "Kingslayer they named you," the man continued, "as if it was a curse. You could have stood aside as you and your brothers had for years and watched the city burn, but you refused. Your defiance saved the lives of hundreds of thousands that day, Ser Jaime. In that moment, you were as true a knight as there could be."

    Jaime stared for a long moment, and then he laughed. It was a bitter, broken thing, that of all the people to tell him those words, it was this man. His sword was slack in his hands now, and he fell on his arse.

    He didn''t expect Solomon to join him on the floor, not speaking a word as he fell apart.

    "Why do you care?" he couldn''t help but ask.

    "A good deed punished is evil done," the sorcerer answered. "And maybe I don''t think much of kings either."

    "I¡­" Jaime started, his mouth dry. "I had stood by as Aerys burned men alive. As he raped and brutalized Her Grace, even when she screamed herself hoarse."

    "As did Ser Barristan Selmy and Ser Arthur Dayne. Knights beyond reproach."

    He frowned instinctively. Who was he to judge any of them? "You have no right¡ª"

    "No man is above reproach. Any of you could have put an end to him when you saw the monster he was becoming."

    "We swore oaths," he tried to defend, though whether himself or his brothers, he didn''t know.

    "You had all taken a knight''s vows first, had you not?" Solomon asked. "Don''t doubt your decision now, Ser Jaime."

    Jaime''s eyes lowered to his sword. He had seen himself gut Rossart and draw a bloody smile across Aerys''s throat with a pretty golden sword a thousand times, and Ned Stark''s judging eyes.

    "What does it matter now," he muttered under his breath, but the sorcerer still heard him.

    "The wildfire still sits all across King''s Landing."

    He couldn''t help a small smile. "I''d killed every pyromancer who knew, and when I took it to my grave, that would be the end of it."

    "Mmm." There was something hard to place in those black eyes now. "Maybe that would have been true if wildfire didn''t grow more potent and unstable with time. In the end, the city will still be consumed in flames."

    Jaime''s heart had started racing halfway through his words, and he made to stand. The stench of burning flesh had returned as if he stood beside a cackling Aerys again.

    "Not for a few years yet," the sorcerer continued, causing him to pause.

    Jaime craved to name him a liar, but his doubts had been smothered. "The wildfire can be removed," he argued hastily.

    "It can be, though given how much time has passed¡­" There was a thoughtful pause. "If we act blindly, we only ensure it happens sooner."

    He didn''t know the first thing about wildfire except that it had been cast from the seven hells, and even less about sorcery. His sword was as useless as nipples on a breastplate in its face.

    "Fortunately, there is still time to avoid such a sorry fate." He watched Solomon stand and offer him his hand. "It will not be easy. It is up to you to again choose to act as a true knight should, or to continue as you have. Will you help me, ser?"

    He already knew his answer. For the first time since he made the decision to put an end to Aerys and his pyromancers, he had felt true purpose. "I will."

    He took Solomon''s hand, retrieving his sword with his other hand. The smile the man gave him was not ugly, but kind, and it reached his eyes. He could admit he had been wrong about him.

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    "I will not ask you to make any oaths to me," the sorcerer continued, and Jaime was grateful. He could not stomach it again, and he did not think he could lie through the words when Solomon had seen into his heart as easily as a knife cut through butter.

    There was something else that weighed on him. "Cersei''s children¡­"

    "No harm shall come to them if I can help it, as I have already promised her."

    Jaime breathed slightly easier for it. Even if he was never a father to them, he had still thought about them. He knew that most would look at them as nothing more than abominations born of incest if they knew the truth of it.

    "My thanks," he whispered. "And sorry for the¡­" He didn''t have to point it out as Solomon laughed.

    "It will help remind me to be more courteous. I have never been one to mince words."

    "I would prefer you didn''t," Jaime told him. "I''ve had my fill of empty courtesy." Though he had lost his temper, he had found Solomon''s honesty refreshing, like iced wine on a hot summer''s day.

    "I''ll keep that in mind. I do have a small favor to ask of you, if you would hear it?"

    "A favor?" What might a sorcerer ask for, he wondered. He must have imagined a dozen impossible tasks before Solomon answered.

    "I''ve never ridden a horse, you see. I was hoping you could show me how."

    He blinked owlishly in the face of the earnest request. "I could, yes. Tomorrow at noon?"

    Solomon smiled again. "Until then, ser."

    Left to his thoughts, Jaime sighed, wondering how to distract himself from them. He glanced at the window overlooking the sea before he turned back to the sword still in his hand. He had until sunset to himself, and so he made for the yard.

    It seemed that another had the same idea.

    "Ser Jaime," the old knight greeted with perfect courtesy. "You seem troubled."

    "Ser Barristan." For a moment as Jaime stared into his pale blue eyes that always seemed so sad, he wanted to ask him how he lived with the guilt of standing by as Aerys committed one monstrous act after another. He never understood it. "I''ve been thinking," Jaime finally said. "About Aerys."

    "Ah." His sad eyes somehow turned even sadder. "I am not ashamed to admit that I still have terrible nightmares myself."

    No matter how much Jaime wanted to know, needed to know, he couldn''t bring himself to speak the words. Barristan had never once called him Kingslayer, never once asked why he had done it. Sometimes it was as if the old knight was carved from stone.

    He sighed again, forcing a smile on his lips instead. "Shall we spar?"

    Barristan gave a nod, and soon their swords danced. As they did, Jaime''s smile turned more genuine. His head always felt most clear with a sword in hand, and that hadn''t changed.

    It was one of the few things that stayed the same after all these years¡­

    The Little Bird?

    The arrival of a sorcerer from west of Westeros had disturbed the delicate web the spider had spun. They had all felt it. They watched him wherever he went now, but all they learned had only made the spider more agitated.

    The sorcerer had now approached the spider, and so they were bid to hide, and wait, and listen.

    "Your star has risen high in but a fortnight, my lord. Begs wonder why you would trouble yourself with someone as small as I."

    There was a soft chuckle that echoed off the walls.

    "Am I a lord now?" The sorcerer''s voice was deep, almost buttery, a sharp contrast to the spider''s. "We are both strangers to the Seven Kingdoms. I wondered if you had some words of wisdom to share with me."

    Inside the walls, Naella clutched her dagger, all of them waiting for the spider to give the sign. She imagined the others were just as scared as she was. Most of them had heard stories about sorcerers.

    "A harmless courtesy," the spider tittered. "The city is perilous, it is true. Yet how many can say they have Her Grace''s ear? You already seem to understand how the game is played."

    "I will take your word for it." The sorcerer seemed to hum a moment. "You hail from the Free Cities, isn''t that right? I have read much of them, but I find the Grand Maester''s books don''t quite capture the human element as well as they could."

    There was a pause that lingered awkwardly.

    "I also admit a small curiosity about these lands beyond the Sunset Sea you call home," the spider finally said.

    The sorcerer clapped his hands together. "There you have it. A story for a story. I can start us off, though forgive me if I sound wistful."

    Naella listened closely in the musty blackness of the passageway as he spoke of a city of lights and other things that she could scarcely imagine. The spider had listened just as quietly.

    "Incredible. Such a place as you describe almost sounds to me like Valyria before the Doom had taken her, and yet you say these lands have never seen a dragon."

    The sorcerer chuckled again. "We''ve our own stories about dragons, though they are only that. I think I should be relieved that they seem to have gone from these lands also."

    "Many would agree with you," the spider said. "Although it is commonly believed that dragons and sorcery are one in the same."

    "Is that a question? I suppose you would be a poor master of whispers if you didn''t already know."

    Naella shifted to her other knee nervously. She was among the oldest of them, reaching the age where she could no longer slip into the smallest passages.

    She had let the fat merchant''s servants take her tongue willingly. To be so close to her reward, only to meet her end here¡­

    "Should I expect to hear my secrets from your lips as well?" the spider wondered.

    "Now, Lord Varys, we had an accord."

    "I fear I might tell you a story you already know."

    "Tooshay." Her brows furrowed when she heard it. It wasn''t a word she knew. "We''ve danced around the elephant in the room long enough. I thought it would be prudent to inform you that I am not your enemy before you decided otherwise and had a bunch of kids with knives pay me a visit."

    Naella gripped her dagger tighter, her heart beating harder. She could hear the others shifting in the dark also. He knew.

    "It wasn''t by my choice that I ended up marooned in this miserable place, and I don''t much care who sits that ugly throne either," the sorcerer continued irreverently. "It could be a stag, a lion, or even a dragon, red or black."

    The spider was quiet as she awaited the words that would call them, but they never came.

    "What do you want, my lord?"

    "To return home. Unfortunately, that path is barred to me for at least three years, seven at worst. There''s nothing more dull than waiting on the stars, let me tell you."

    "And do you require help with the endeavor?" the spider asked.

    "Something to occupy my time wouldn''t hurt," the sorcerer said instead. "It isn''t only the human element the Grand Maester''s many books seem to lack, but magic as well. No surprise with how hard they work to deny it."

    There was another ponderous pause, and she decided that they both spoke in too many riddles.

    "I can have my associates across the Narrow Sea look into it. Though I warn you that such knowledge is guarded jealously by those few who still hold it after the events of the Century of Blood, by the red priests most of all."

    "Hmm. Maybe I''ll travel to the Free Cities myself. See the sights."

    The spider tittered again. "That would be easier to arrange. You need only say the word."

    Naella heard one of their number let out a breath as they were instructed to leave. It might have even been her. Though as they quietly traveled along the passageways for an exit, she couldn''t help her curiosity at the whispers continuing.

    Slinking back as quiet as a mouse, she pressed her ear back against the wall and listened.

    "The wildfire¡ªyou are certain that disaster will strike?"

    "The future isn''t set in stone, but in this case it may as well be," the sorcerer said. "The wildfire will grow more unstable until a passing mouse might light the spark. Once it begins, there''s little that can be done. Wildfire will burn even through stone if there is enough of it."

    The spider softly sighed. "I have bid my little birds to keep a close eye on all seven locations, but if what you say is true, then a more active hand may be needed."

    Naella had heard stories of wildfire, impossibly green flames with an unquenchable hunger. The mad old king that had ruled these lands before her birth had seen his enemies given to it, cackling as they burned.

    Her thoughts went to the dampest passageways under the Red Keep, which they were told to take utmost care to avoid disturbing. Unable to contain her curiosity, just like now, she had still taken a peek, just the once. There must have been dozens upon dozens of heavy clay plots there, and that was only what she could see. She hadn''t dared to move any closer with a torch in her hand.

    The sorcerer speaking again drew her from her thoughts. "¡ªonly so much as you can move unnoticed. If a panic starts, we might as well light the match ourselves."

    Naella chose to flee then. While she had grown used to the pitch blackness of the passageways, it was never pleasant, and the stale air made one''s head feel light after a long enough period of time.

    Once outside, she looked around as she greedily took in a few deep breaths. She soon found her eyes being drawn to the night sky.

    The sorcerer had said he had to wait on the stars to take him home, but she hadn''t known what he could have meant by it. She still didn''t, looking at them now. A star could not take you anywhere.

    Shaking her head to rid it of such foolishness, Naella still had one final mission to complete before she could rest her head for the night.

    She hurried as quickly as her feet could take her, thinking no more of spiders and sorcerers.

 Solomon I

    Solomon?

    The sounds of seagulls and waves crashing against a cliffside were his first introduction to Storm''s End.

    Taking that salt-stained air into his lungs, John felt a small smile slowly come together. Tonight was either going to be a disappointment or¡­ something else, and not knowing made it all the more exhilarating.

    Solomon, he corrected after a moment. Even in the privacy of his mind he had to remind himself to stay in character.

    "I''ll admit it''s not half as comely as Highgarden, but it always makes for an intimidating sight when I see it," Renly said to his side.

    The man with his mercurial eyes and easy smiles wasn''t always the easiest to read, but compared to keeping tabs on a certain dynamic duo so as to make sure they didn''t go and do something spectacularly stupid because the mood struck them, well¡­

    "I''ll have to visit Highgarden to see for myself."

    Renly laughed. "Why, we can leave as soon as my brother grows bored and returns to King''s Landing." He turned to the dashing knight on his other side. "Your family would not mind, surely?"

    The Knight of Flowers was a more prickly sort, but before Renly he was much like a kitten. He nodded, his brown curls bouncing around. "Not at all. Escaping my father would be harder; he would insist we stay for seven feasts, and that would be the least of it."

    "Yes, you would be lucky if you left Highgarden only half a stone heavier," Renly added with a softer chuckle. "It''s no surprise that Mace Tyrell is so much man with how sumptuous the fare is."

    A polite way of saying he was fat as fuck.

    "What are you three whispering about!" a voice boomed. They were forced to make way for a hulking beast of a stallion, upon which sat Robert Baratheon the First of His Name, and half a dozen more titles. Or as Solomon affectionately liked to call him, Bobby B.

    "Brother!" Renly called out. "Storm''s End is yours!"

    The equally hulking beast of a man just grunted in acknowledgement. "Come, Renly. We should pay our respects to Father." He then thundered off in the direction of the castle, one half of the dynamic duo and Barristan the Bold hot on his heels, the sunset making them appear more red than white.

    The younger brother turned to him with a sigh. "Duty calls, it would seem. We shall speak again at the feast tomorrow eve, Solomon."

    Watching them go, he gave the neck of his own mount a gentle pat. Annabelle was a sweet horse, a white mare that didn''t give him too much trouble.

    As the procession arrived in the courtyard and he handed her reins over to a freckled stable boy, Solomon approached the monstrosity of a carriage. The dregs of the Kingsguard already there gave him the side eye but otherwise made no comment, while the Lannister guards would not even look his way. They were all Cersei''s creatures through and through.

    He placed another smile on his lips as the carriage door was thrown open by none other than the dumbest little shit this side of Westeros.

    Joffrey immediately sent a petulant look at the knights standing guard. "Ser Meryn, take me to my father."

    The sour-faced knight hesitated and looked to Cersei as she followed her son. "You know I would prefer we all first took supper together, my sweet Joff."

    "Father said¡ª"

    "Tomorrow," she interrupted. "The hour is late, and the king has matters of the realm to take care of."

    Solomon tried not to seem too bored already, and a swarm of people soon followed, servants and ladies-in-waiting and what have you. Tommen and Myrcella were giving their older brother nervous glances as he glared at nothing in particular.

    "Ser Meryn, Ser Boros, if you would lead the way," Cersei commanded softly.

    As they began to move, she stuck behind to join him, her domineering expression quickly fleeing into something more nervous. "Has everything been prepared?"

    "Tonight at midnight. Let no one hear you."

    Cersei nodded seriously, her golden hair bobbing. "And you''re certain that this will work?"

    "Have I given you reason to doubt me?" he asked, looking down into her big green eyes.

    "You haven''t," she whispered back.

    "Mmm, and you are an excellent judge of character, Your Grace. You need only steel your will, and in nine months time the curse Maggy had spun will be nothing but a terrible memory."

    Cersei gave him a radiant smile, hanging on his every word like it was a lifeline, or every lie he should say. She was so easy to lead on that a better man might have been ashamed.

    "Until tonight," Solomon whispered in her ear once they were inside.

    One of the servants led him to his rooms inside the sprawling castle, ones that were apparently richly furnished and twice the size of his accommodations at the Red Keep. Renly''s doing, he assumed.

    What few belongings he had had already been brought up, though he let them be in favor of the mirror he saw.

    Gone were his stage clothes, replaced with the best Lannister gold could buy. Which, admittedly, wasn''t bad, and the seamstress was a kind old woman he got on with nicely, but it was just another part of him that had been replaced.

    Still, he had already done this song and dance. This world was missing a thousand and one things, but there was one thing it had that his old one didn''t.

    Sweeping nearer to the bed, he retrieved from within his clothes something very old, almost threadbare. It was a new addition to the things he normally kept on his person, alongside his smartphone whose battery he knew would one day run dry, a lighter, and a deck of cards.

    Though he supposed the deck of cards was also new, seeing as his second life had started in the Narrow Sea.

    Back to what was in his hands, Varys had given it to him the night before they left King''s Landing, supposedly having been procured from a merchant out of Volantis. The first fruits of their little arrangement, though he would still be keeping an eye out for kids crawling out of the shadows with knives in their hands.

    It had belonged to one very fucked up individual, with a moral compass that could be described as yes. There was nuance to the ritualism presented, but it more or less came down to magic as sacrifice and sacrifice as magic.

    Finding where he left off, Solomon hungrily began devouring its pages again. He hadn''t questioned how he knew High Valyrian anymore than he questioned how he knew the Common Tongue.

    He had his already numerous existential crises to thank for that.

    The sketches were the hardest to swallow. The text was clinical, not unlike reading a chemistry textbook, but the oh-so helpful visualizations Gaelaerys had included weren''t exactly cutesy pictures of molecules¡­

    And he understood the purpose. It wasn''t some half-baked riddle, but an exploration into what parts of a man had the most value when it came to sacrifice. How much could you take from someone without taking their life, and so what was left was the value of a life. Gaelaerys never showed a hint of remorse for any of it, only lamenting having to rediscover all of this again, as Valyria of old supposedly already had it down to an exact science.

    He''d been at it for some time now, glancing at one of the shrinking candles. God, he missed electricity.

    Slipping it back into its hiding place, he swept over to retrieve a few things. There was a certain pageantry to what he had in mind.

    He gave himself one final once-over in front of the mirror, shrouded as he was now in deeply yellow robes that were sleek enough to still be comfortable. While none of them were likely to get the joke, that wasn''t important. It had pizzaz, and that''s what was important.

    Taking the taller of the candles, he navigated the dark and quiet hallways of the castle to where he had seen the godswood earlier.

    The dirt and grass soon shifted beneath his feet as he walked between the trees. It didn''t take him long to find the heart tree; the weirwood was hard to miss with its white bark and leaves as red as blood. There was a massive face carved into it, wearing a solemn expression.

    He would have to wait for Cersei, it seemed.

    Planting the candle into the dirt, he stepped closer. He knew there was magic in these trees, and there might even be a certain someone watching him right now.

    He was feeling tempted to give a cheeky wave when the sound of footsteps drew his eyes, Cersei sneaking into the clearing with a torch in her hands. As he asked, she had on a gorgeous white gown that went perfectly with her golden curls. For all her faults, of which there were many, she was still one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen, and he had known his way around the internet.

    "Your Grace," he greeted with a bow. It cost him nothing to put her at ease.

    "Solomon," she whispered back. Her eyes shifted to the weirwood with its face, and he saw her shiver. "Casterly Rock has a heart tree as well. Mother was fond of reading there, but I always felt a stranger¡­"

    "No harm will come to you in my presence." His words had her shuffling closer, revealing a dainty crown atop her head, as well as a great cloak with a snarling lion thrown over her shoulders. They were both important additions, or so he had convinced her. "Whenever you are ready."

    Cersei took a deep breath as she continued to stare into the solemn face of the weirwood. "I''ll have the last laugh yet, you ugly toad."

    "This will require a certain element of humility," he commented. "You''re asking the old gods to intercede on your behalf."

    He didn''t know if someone like Cersei really had it in her to be well and truly humble, but she was rocking an expression of contrition now, and that would have to do.

    "There are a few ways to get their attention," he continued after a quiet moment. "The most straightforward I think would be a tithe of blood."

    Solomon retrieved a knife from his robes, one tightly wrapped in a white cloth. He''d already sterilized it earlier, as perishing from a self-inflicted infection wouldn''t be a good look, even compared with getting shot by a mugger because he decided to say something clever.

    Cersei took it from him when offered, furrowing her brows as she seemed to muster her courage. Then with a hiss and grit teeth, she sliced across the tip of her pinky, her blood beginning to drip and seep into the earth.

    She licked her lips nervously. "What now? Is it enough?"

    There was power in blood, and whose blood it was also mattered. The blood of a queen, who also just so happened to be a daughter of a line of kings, would have more weight to it than the blood of a hundred men from Flea Bottom. Unfortunately, it seemed even that was only worth so much. Maybe a queer wind that shook the branches and leaves at most.

    Solomon held his hand out for the knife back, and she was eager to return it. He may have also given her a slightly unhinged smile as he proceeded to do the same to one of his own fingers, but she seemed to like that.

    With a woman like her, maybe that shouldn''t surprise.

    He turned to the solemn face of the weirwood tree as his blood soaked into the earth. He expected even less from himself, but¡­

    "Never¡­" the wind seemed to whisper "...born."

    His heart beat faster at the words. There was always the possibility that something might happen, but seeing it was something else entirely.

    He sucked on his bleeding finger as he wondered what to say.

    "Neverborn¡­" the wind sounded again, louder.

    With how pale Cersei had become, he supposed she had heard it as well. Now just to pretend that it was exactly what he planned¡­

    "Hear me gods of stream and stone." The shadows seemed to darken and deepen at his words, and Solomon smiled like a madman in its face. It was a rush. "I beseech you on behalf of this queen who wishes to change her fate."

    There was a pause until the whispers returned with a vengeance.

    "Incestuous whore¡­"

    "Brotherfucker¡­"

    "A mother to abominations¡­"

    Talk about waking up on the wrong side of the bed. And with every hurled insult, Cersei had drawn even closer to him, almost clinging to the yellow he was smothered in.

    Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

    "All true," he admitted to her chagrin. "But she wants to make amends. Name your price."

    "More¡­ blood. Yours¡­"

    He caught Cersei''s eyes, scared and pleading in equal measure. It would be a simple thing to hold over her head, so he sighed and sliced two more of his fingers open.

    He watched quietly as more and more of his blood hit the dirt, only wincing slightly when the wind caused the wounds to sting unpleasantly.

    The whispers continued, but clearer this time, and with a hint of mischief. "We see what you plan. We accept."

    "Wunderbar!" He turned back to Cersei, the smile still on his lips like he had expected every word. "I should warn you that a pact you strike with the old gods is not one easily broken, Your Grace. I wouldn''t suggest trying to cheat them, as Maggy''s curse will seem a gentle summer''s breeze in comparison."

    It might even be true, but with someone like Cersei Lannister, it needed to be said.

    "I understand," she whispered quietly as she huddled even closer to him. "I''ll do anything you ask, Solomon. Just please¡­ stay and keep us safe. You will want for nothing."

    Maybe he had pushed too hard on how much she needed him¡­

    "It is my child you will give birth to, Cersei, and you will be nothing but the perfect mother, yes?" He toyed with one of her golden curls as he stared into her eyes.

    "Yess," she hissed back. He found it amusing just how hot and bothered this was making her. "They will be strong. Beautiful. They''ll have your gift."

    He saw no reason to disabuse her of that notion. "Then let your cloak fall to the ground so I might give you mine."

    He was even beginning to sound more like the locals.

    Cersei wasn''t surprised, but she bit her lip still. "Am I not already wed?"

    "Did you wed him ''fore a heart tree?" She shook her head no. "Then they do not care. Not that you have much cared either." He gave her hair a tug, and that only seemed to turn her on more, her thighs rubbing together.

    Taking a step back after, she sent him a come hither smile as she let her red cloak fall, pooling on the ground like blood.

    From within his robes he pulled a cloak just as yellow, and Cersei turned to let him put it around her shoulders almost eagerly. But he also had his own twist on things to add.

    He had two rings made, one for her and one for him. "As long as you wear it, the curse will falter," he spun for her. "As long as you wear it, you are safe."

    Cersei held a dainty hand out for him, pulling back a white sleeve. It was a simple thing of gold that he placed on her finger, gold that might have even been mined beneath Casterly Rock, and she did the same for him.

    "Should we say any vows?" she asked.

    He honestly didn''t know what vows were said here, but there was an easy answer that would satisfy her.

    "The old gods don''t have priests. The words we''ve shared are enough."

    There was a laugh in the wind at his words, but also something hungry. "A wedding¡­ needs a bedding¡­"

    Cersei didn''t even wait for him to start them off, immediately molding her slender figure to his and meeting his eyes. He responded in kind, holding her around her waist as he kissed her pouty lips.

    It was the beginning of the end to this whole debauched ritual.

    Her hands went to the sash that held his robes together, pulling it away as she kept her eyes on him. He hissed when one of her hands slipped even further, that dainty hand wrapping around a certain something, or trying to.

    The funny look she gave him was one he loved. There were two things he had been blessed with, his wits and his dick, and he hadn''t had much opportunity to show off the second until now.

    "Why don''t you get on your knees and show me the depths of your determination, Your Grace. And your gratitude." He pressed his thumb against her lips, toying with them. Saying that to a queen, a crown on her head and everything, it was fun.

    And better still was seeing her fall to her knees, using the cloak she discarded to keep from touching the dirt.

    He expected to encounter at least some protest from her, but beyond maybe a faint distaste for the act itself, she quickly worked to free him, staring at it for a moment once it was hanging heavy between his legs. Her hands were cool, and her nails tickled him slightly as she tried to wrangle him to point at her.

    That''s when he made another cheeky comment. "Kiss it."

    Those big green eyes of hers stared at him under the mix of moonlight and torchlight like emeralds, and again she obeyed, gracing a royal kiss to the head in an altogether depraved manner. He couldn''t help a small groan as she smeared her lips with his precum, watching it stick to them like a thread as she pulled back.

    He chuckled as she wiped away at it.

    "Did you enjoy that, Husband?" she asked him shamelessly. Maybe for a time it wouldn''t be so bad to forget what she was and just enjoy the moment.

    "I did. But you''ll need to try harder than that if you mean to have my seed," he teased.

    Her golden brows furrowed again as she almost went cross-eyed in an attempt to take her chosen opponent in. Then she neared closer still and opened wide, mouthing it. He watched as she quickly got into the motions, bobbing her head up and down as her curls bounced.

    It wasn''t bad, but she could tell nobody had ever pushed her to do more.

    "I think you can burden yourself with more of it," he husked. "Show me."

    There were whispers and laughter still as Cersei showed a hint of doubt, but they were unintelligible. She mustered her courage again and ventured deeper, her eyes growing teary as she soon gagged.

    He was tempted to try and fuck her pretty face properly, but he didn''t want to spook her, no matter how nice it would feel to lodge himself into her throat completely.

    He threaded his fingers in her curls instead as she started bobbing on his dick again, making all these funny sounds as she took too much from time to time. Her crown was slightly askew now, improper, and maybe that was what helped him remember what he was here to do.

    He slipped out of her mouth with a lurid pop as he gave her curls another tug. "Lie back."

    Cersei was more kitten than lioness now, hiking her skirts up to her hips and showing off her healthy thighs, until finally she bared her pussy, crowned with hair just as golden as on her head. The needy queen didn''t even seem to care about the dirt and grass beneath her.

    He was upon her soon enough.

    She made a mewling sound as he placed the tip of the proverbial spear to her folds, trying to pull him into her. He obliged her, of course, her eyes popping open at his sheer girth. Still, she didn''t utter even a peep of protest, but instead¡­ "You''ll find no sweeter cunt than mine," she insisted.

    There was more laughter at her words, and more insults, but either she didn''t hear or didn''t care.

    Instead she pulled him in even deeper with her legs, and pulled him into another kiss for good measure. If she was trying to make him lose his cool, it was working.

    He groaned as he slowly but surely sheathed himself inside her, teasing her slender neck with his teeth as her fingers tussled into his hair. "Oogh¡­ oogh¡­ oooogh¡­" she sounded into his ear as he began to fuck her properly.

    She was on the taller side for a woman, so maybe he shouldn''t be too surprised to see her take it all, or close enough. "You''ll not be fucking your brother any longer," he whispered into her ear, and she nodded jerkily. "They''ll know. I''ll know."

    Her brother will be angry, of course, at Robert, at himself for not stopping it, but also at her. Opportunity to dig his hooks even deeper into the heroic psychopath.

    "Spill your seed in me, Husband," she pleaded with him, but he wasn''t there just yet.

    "That''s up to you. You said I''ll find no sweeter cunt than yours," he repeated with a soft chuckle.

    He felt his movements inside her slow as she somehow tightened further, and she caught his eyes again. "Enjoy everything I have to offer."

    "As you wish." He found some leverage as he really started laying into her, producing a song as old as time. The mewling lion queen was so fucking wet that he might even be ruining her for other men completely.

    Or at least that''s what he liked to think, and who was going to judge him within the sanctity of his own mind?

    It was hard to understand what she was saying now as she mewled and groaned and whimpered under his ministrations, and he was close to reaching his own peak. Wrapping his arms around her, he held her tight as he pounded the everloving fuck out of her pussy.

    And finally, after a dozen strokes more, he was at the precipice.

    "Take it all, Your Grace."

    Maybe there was a hint of mockery to it, but she didn''t seem to mind too much, squealing in his ear as she came again. "Oooooooooooooooooghhhh¡ª"

    He was hot on her heels, seeing stars as he emptied his balls into her. He never had any children, so there was a rush to it that was hard to describe. Something primal.

    His breathing started to slow as he finished, and the dark laughter all around them had ebbed, but something stranger happened. He was suddenly someplace else, staring down at a girl and a boy. It didn''t take him long to find the similarities.

    They were his, twins, and they were playing in the very same godswood.

    His heart skipped a beat when his daughter''s green eyes caught his, or it would have if he had a heart here. She quirked her head curiously before he felt himself pulled far and further north. It was a place where everything was white except the sky, and there the dead walked by the thousands.

    His best guess? Bloodraven was showing him what he already knew. That the Long Night was coming, and he had arrived just in time to see it.

    Assuming he didn''t get himself killed beforehand. Always a possibility with how his schemes had schemes now.

    It all unceremoniously came to a close, leaving him back in his body with a lioness rubbing her creamy thighs against his. He sighed as he felt the last of it empty inside her, though he was loath to get off of her with how comfortable she felt.

    "It''s done," he whispered in her ear again.

    "I can feel it," she told him, a surprisingly content smile on her lips.

    "It will be twins, a boy and a girl. I have seen it."

    It would be unfortunate if Bloodraven or the old gods were fucking with him, but it seemed like the thing to say.

    Cersei tightened up again at his words. "What did they look like?"

    "My hair, though the girl had your eyes."

    "Mmm," she hummed happily. "To think I''d have twins¡­"

    It was admittedly a funny coincidence¡­ if it was a coincidence at all.

    Allowing himself to finally fall onto his back with another sigh, he stared up at the stars for a time as she snuggled into his side. He was starting to get used to how different they all looked, even the moon.

    He caught her eyes drooping sleepily, and as much as he wanted to let it happen, it wouldn''t do to be caught in the godswood like this.

    He roused her with a rough kiss, and after he stood to make himself presentable. She whimpered softly as he helped her stand, white trickling down her legs.

    "We shouldn''t return together," he commented.

    Wiping some drool off her lips with her sleeve, she nodded, carefully retrieving her torch. Then she stole another kiss before smoothing out her skirts and fleeing the scene on shaky knees.

    It was not an unpleasant sight, he could admit.

    Leaning down to pluck the cloak and makeshift bed she had abandoned from the ground, his eyes found the weirwood again, and he paused. The face had changed.

    Solomon moved closer, wondering if his eyes were playing a trick on him in the dark of night, but no. Gone was the solemn face, replaced by a laughing face instead, one almost unhinged. That might cause some gossip on its own, assuming it stayed.

    Still, what could he do, demand a tree stop laughing? He just gave it a thumbs-up before he left.

    What a fucking night¡­

 Cersei II & Davos I

    Cersei?

    The singers began yet another rendition of The Bear and the Maiden Fair as the oaf beside her guffawed and filled his gut with ever more wine. Cersei had thought to remain close to him to better sell the lie, but even with her close, he behaved more like a beast than a man.

    Even now he pawed at the teats of the wench in his lap as if she were not there.

    She still smiled beautifully as she cradled her belly. By now Solomon''s seed must have already quickened in her womb, and in nine moons'' time she would give birth to a son and a daughter¡­ twins. It all felt like something from the stories her mother had read to her.

    Cersei had not felt that way since she had first laid eyes upon Prince Rhaegar and his haunting purple eyes, imagining the perfect princelings and princesses she would give him.

    Though perhaps it was for the best that it had never come to pass.

    Rhaegar was lovely to look upon, yes, but a fool. Stealing away with that thin-lipped Stark girl, and for what? To have the drooling beast seated beside her cave his chest in with his hammer and take the throne that should have been his?

    She snorted. Rhaegar was as mad as his father in the end, and what magic the Targaryens had in their veins had long since gone, having run thinner and thinner since the Dance. A dying dynasty that had rightfully been put out of its misery.

    A vicious smile split her lips. The babes that would soon swell her belly will have more magic in their pinky than any Targaryen in a hundred years.

    Cersei imagined the ugly thing around her neck raging impotently, able to do nothing while the band Solomon had placed on her finger remained. If she listened closely, she could even hear Maggy the Frog ranting and raving at being cheated.

    No, not cheated. Bested by a man whose sorcery was like the sun before a candle.

    That ugly old toad could never see her future, and if not for the blood a young and foolish girl had given her willingly, would have had no more power over her than any other woods witch.

    No, she thought again. She would not let it bother her, not when she had already triumphed.

    Drinking deeply of the Arbor gold, a sweet sigh escaped her lips, though her smile curdled slightly when she caught sight of Solomon and the lovestruck girl hanging off his arms as they danced. Ser Cortnay Penrose''s daughter, whose name she never cared to learn.

    The bitterness fled when she saw a drought of interest in his eyes, and she chided herself for thinking otherwise.

    After tasting a queen as fair and beautiful as her, the girl with her dull brown hair and crooked teeth could no more entice a man as he than a pig with painted lips. Cersei could only pity the poor thing.

    She peeked at Jaime again, still standing guard as still as a statue.

    The tightness around his eyes betrayed a barely concealed fury, but it would pass as it always had when that wine-sodden beast had taken his rights. One day, perhaps, she would allow him to put his sword through Robert''s heart if all the wine and whoring didn''t do him in first, but that day would not be today.

    She could never tell him the truth either. He would try to avenge himself upon Solomon, and even if her twin had somehow succeeded, it would still spell their doom.

    Her eyes found the sorcerer again, having escaped the girl to speak with Lord Renly, the Tyrell boy trailing after the both of them not unlike a lost puppy.

    She was soon distracted by another guffaw from her side, and the creak of a chair.

    "Come, Kingslayer," the beast slurred, his fat arm around the serving girl as he stumbled off like the bear from the song.

    Her smile hadn''t dimmed at the dishonor, used to it as she was, but the tightness around Jaime''s eyes only deepened. She reached out her hand to his in silent comfort.

    He eventually sighed, running his thumb over the back of her hand. Then he squared his shoulders and followed.

    Cersei drank deeply of the Arbor gold again. While she would have preferred not keeping her twin in the dark, it wasn''t the first time she had to. Jaime''s sword hand was without equal, but he was slow to understand the subtle things, and quick to anger. He would not understand her pact with the old gods, and she still remembered the dark whispers and the laughter on the wind¡­

    Shaking her head to free herself from their spell, she surveyed those who hadn''t left when their king did, mostly Renly''s stormlords, though also a few from the Reach.

    Motioning to Solomon that she wanted to speak when she caught his eyes, she watched as he quietly excused himself. After draining her wine cup, she did the same, Ser Meryn in lockstep behind her.

    Solomon leaned against a wall not far away, a handsome smile falling on his lips at the sight of her, though his eyes flickered to the knight at her back.

    She took his hand and made for a room out of the way, bidding Ser Meryn to wait outside.

    There was a window that had moonlight dancing across the stones beneath it, and Cersei took him there, where she commanded a kiss from the dark-eyed sorcerer.

    She placed her cheek against his chest after and listened to the steady beat of his heart, feeling him playing with her hair as she did. When she deigned to raise her head, she saw him watching the stars.

    Drawing his eyes back to her, she graced him with a smile. "What do you see now?"

    His fingers moved lower to her slender neck, dancing across her skin. "It is subdued, and will grow weaker with each day. At worst it might try and provoke you to folly, but you are not so great a fool as to listen."

    Cersei sneered at the very thought. She would sooner hurl herself from a tower than listen to the thing Maggy the Frog spawned and tied around her neck like a noose.

    Solomon understood her resolve without any words spoken, smiling down at her. "It is for your strength of will that I agreed," he whispered.

    Her own smile only deepened. He had chosen her, just as she thought.

    Her hands had found his belt when he stopped her. "I still have certain matters to discuss with Renly Baratheon."

    She pouted at him, not content to take that as an answer. Instead she brought his hands to her full breasts. "I picked this out for you, my lord." The front of her gown plunged low enough that he could take liberties if he so wanted, and he did.

    Cersei couldn''t resist a soft groan as he peeled her dress back slightly and cupped one of her bare teats. His dark eyes stared into hers, and she wouldn''t look away.

    "There is a purpose to my dealings with Renly," he finally said, his fingers ghosting over her supple flesh. "The Hand and Stannis Baratheon suspect that the princes and princess are not the king''s, though they have no proof as of yet."

    Her blood ran cold in her veins, and she only stirred when he brought his hand up to cup her cheek instead.

    "Do not trouble yourself with it. They will not act unless they are completely certain, for the Hand is a cautious man." Solomon gave a soft sigh then. "Nor are they what worries me. There is a red priestess at Dragonstone who commands Stannis''s ear."

    Her brows scrunched together as she thought. She vaguely remembered some whisperings of the sort, that a red priestess had arrived at Dragonstone, but she had thought nothing of it. Robert had a pet red priest as well, as much a drunk as he was.

    She raised her hand to his. "What does she want?"

    "Lady Melisandre as she has come to be known is operating under the belief that Stannis is something he is not, and as such is only your enemy by circumstance. Though it does not make her any less a snake in the grass."

    Cersei noticed the foreign lilt to his speech had almost gone completely as she chewed on her lip.

    "The king''s youngest brother serves as an effective counterbalance," he continued, "and so do the Tyrells. The Faith of the Seven will not easily swallow a king who professes a fire god from Essos."

    "I could also demand her head," she argued boldly. "Stannis would have no choice but to obey his elder brother, and that would be the end of her."

    His eyes stared into her own again. "It might work." He shrugged his shoulders after a moment. "And it might not. If she sees what you mean in her fires, she might send a shadow to silence you before you could devise a suitable reason, let alone speak the words."

    "A s-shadow?" she asked in half a stutter.

    "She learned something of shadowbinding during her time in Asshai. Though of course she wouldn''t succeed," he added with a curious smile. "I would not allow it. She would however be sure of my involvement after." Cersei found herself moving closer to him, breathing deeply of his scent. "That kind of chaos breeds uncertainty, and uncertainty is not your friend, Your Grace."

    "Then I won''t," she quickly said. "We will do what you believe is best, Solomon."

    "You are strong and wise, but unfortunately sorcery makes fools of us all." He leaned in to press a soft kiss to her lips that told her everything would be fine. "You need only make sure that it never leaves your finger."

    "I will," she promised, separating from him to fix her garments. The way his eyes followed her returned a smile to her lips.

    Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

    Cersei departed from the room after, Ser Meryn wordlessly falling in step behind her again. Her children were already asleep when she returned, though that didn''t surprise her. Even her eldest was only a boy, even if each day he looked more and more like the splitting image of a younger Jaime. Joff would be a strong king one day, she knew.

    She sent the Hound away and left Ser Meryn to guard her door, allowing one of her sleepy handmaidens to undress her inside.

    Though the dreams that followed were pleasant at first, one of them had terrified her. Her own face watched her from the roots of the heart tree at Casterly Rock. They smothered her, and still she watched¡­

    And watched¡­

    And watched¡­

    Davos?

    "I do not like it," his lord ground out, his balding head shining in the torchlight.

    Why Stannis had decided to hold this conversation in a musty and salt-soaked cabin aboard his Black Betha, Davos could not guess, but he must have had his reasons. It was not as if his men would not talk if offered some great sum of gold, or even a middling sum.

    "You have already said as much," Lord Arryn said after a sigh.

    Stannis ground his teeth at the irreverent response.

    "You would call it a coincidence that she convinces Robert to take to Storm''s End a mere day after that man appears at the Red Keep?"

    "On the contrary," the Hand replied. "But we agreed to meet because you said you had information."

    Davos knew what he was referring to. "It would be more accurate to call most of it hearsay," he admitted.

    "Ser Davos sells himself short. He has discovered something important."

    "At least we do not have to rely solely on Lord Varys," the Hand grunted. "He has grown even more reclusive of late. Makes all the right noises still, but I have learned to trust my gut."

    "I warned you and Robert to take his head and be done with it, but neither of you would listen," Stannis hissed sourly. "Speak, Ser Davos."

    He tried not to make a fool of himself as Lord Arryn''s keen eyes turned to stare at him, coughing into a gloved hand.

    "He had not arrived by way of the docks at all, my lords. Investigating further, a number of the gold cloaks stationed at the Iron Gate were happy to reveal as much after some silver had traded hands. In truth, he had come into King''s Landing in the company of a fisherman."

    Davos saw Stannis''s face sour further at the mention of the silver, and he moved past that comment quickly.

    "The fisherman had family in Flea Bottom, though they told me nothing until I promised to do him no harm. On your name, my lord."

    His lord found no issue with that much.

    "The fisherman lived alone with his daughter, his wife having passed of a summer chill some years prior. He told me he had fished this Solomon out of the sea, as if from a shipwreck. He must have been adrift for some time, as he reported seeing no signs of one."

    Lord Arryn looked pensive as he finished, thrumming his fingers on the table.

    "I find it hard to believe that the only survivor of a shipwreck we''ve heard no mention of decides that very same day to travel to King''s Landing to speak to the queen." His long white hair shifted when he shook his head slightly. "More likely that he paid the fisherman in coin to sell us this story."

    "It is possible," Davos admitted, "but I think it unlikely. They showed no signs of a sudden windfall of wealth."

    "Then he intimidated them. The end result is the same, that this story is a lie," the Hand concluded.

    The cabin was silent for a moment, the only sound that of his men above deck and the waves.

    Davos turned to Stannis hesitantly, a delicate question in mind. "My lord, perhaps your brother might know more? Besides the queen, Lord Renly has seen to him the most."

    He waited at the sound of grinding teeth.

    "I have already spoken to Renly. He believes Solomon a dear friend, and knows nothing more."

    Davos had nothing to add to that.

    "I could ask Baelish to look into the man," Lord Arryn commented.

    Stannis gave him a miserable look. "I would not trust a word that comes out of that whoremonger''s mouth."

    "Sometimes we must make use of men of low character. It was Baelish that first suggested the queen''s infidelity."

    "To his own benefit," his lord argued. "Ser Davos, you will search for any signs of this shipwreck. Once we have confirmed without a doubt that it is nothing but a bold-faced lie, we can confront him. And Lord Arryn¡ª"

    They were interrupted by his son, who seemed uncertain. "What is it, Matthos?"

    "The red priestess is here. She seeks an audience with Lord Stannis."

    Davos could not hide a grimace at the words. That woman, now of all times? That she even knew they would be here set his hairs on edge.

    Stannis was grinding his teeth again, while the Hand showed a bemused expression.

    "Allow her in," his lord finally muttered.

    Matthos went to fetch her, and Davos found himself palming the small leather pouch that held his fingerbones. A viper was less dangerous than her.

    The red woman entered the cabin in a flurry of skirts and an uncanny heat, gracing them all with a treacherous smile framed by hair the color of burnished copper. Davos couldn''t deny her beauty, but it only made him think of Marya.

    His wife''s kind eyes were worth a thousand smoldering glances from that woman.

    "Why have you come from Dragonstone unannounced?" Stannis asked.

    "My lords," she started with a deep bow, her voice not unlike a lullaby or a melody. "It was urgent that I warned you." He watched as she lightly touched the ruby over her neck. "I am sorry to say that this man that has come to court is an agent of the Great Other. Already he works to subvert your brother."

    Davos could detect no falsehood from her, though that only meant she believed it. It seemed too convenient to him.

    "Shall we also suspect him of being a grumkin or a snark?" the Hand asked doubtfully.

    Her red eyes turned on him. "Your own histories speak of the Long Night, that time when the enemy came ever so close to victory, where the dawn would never come again. Tell me, Lord Hand, did the First Men build the Wall seven hundred feet high to keep out men?"

    The old lord looked at her with distaste, like he had swallowed something awful.

    "You cannot help but doubt," she continued more softly. "I understand. Even I sometimes shy away from what the Lord of Light wishes to reveal to me."

    Lord Arryn continued to stare at her for another moment longer. "What you say your fire demon shows to you is none of my concern." He turned away from her, to Stannis. "We have until they return to come up with a plan of confrontation. Keep me abreast of your search of the bay."

    His lord agreed, but the Hand paused suddenly.

    "I might send a raven to Eddard Stark. He is a good man, and I hesitate to take him from Lady Catelyn and their children, but this intrigue only worsens." He looked away and let out a tired sigh. "As things stand, there are very few men I can trust to act with honor in the face of Lannister coin and promises."

    He swept out of the cabin past the red woman after, who only smiled at him sweetly.

    Stannis had the farthest thing from a smile about him. "Did you intend to humiliate me, Lady Melisandre?"

    "Never, my lord," she answered with her head bowed. "I hoped he would see the danger, but I see now that the old falcon is too enamored with his false gods of stone altars and stained glass. They will not save him from what is to come."

    Davos was well practiced at holding his tongue, and so he held it as Stannis glowered at her.

    "This was ill done," he insisted.

    Her heart-shaped face crinkled slightly. "I will try to be more tactful in the future, my lord."

    "I should have you go and get Solomon''s measure yourself."

    There was a flicker of something in her eyes before she bowed again. "If that is what you command."

    Stannis stared at her for a long moment. "No. Return to Dragonstone, and this time do not come to King''s Landing unless I give you express permission."

    "Yes, my lord," she easily agreed. "But please, I must ask that I be there to protect you if you do confront him."

    "Go," he commanded.

    Lady Melisandre left as quickly as she had come, though not before meeting his eyes. There was a knowing glance there, as if she had expected defeat, but he turned away to take in the deep frown cut into his lord''s face instead.

    "I am surrounded by grasping fools of every stripe, all as the queen continues to make a fool of my brother and the whole realm."

    "It should not take me more than a fortnight to confirm," Davos quietly said.

    "See that it doesn''t, Ser Davos."

    He did not begrudge the harshness in his tone. He owed Stannis too much to be so petty.

    It was just him in the cabin after his lord''s departure, at least until Matthos returned. "Lord Stannis has left with his men. What shall we do now?"

    He clasped his son''s shoulder. "We will visit an old friend. Chart a course for the Stepstones."

    If anyone would keep an eye and an ear open for the comings and goings of ships in the Narrow Sea, it would be Salladhor Saan.

    He only hoped the old pirate would be in a good mood.

 Jaime II & Margaery I

    Jaime?

    His sword sent sparks through the air as it slid across the flat of Ser''s Mandon''s blade. Jaime had meant to slip the point past his guard, but Ser Mandon managed to catch it in time and press him back. The fish-eyed knight''s brute strength reminded him of Ser Gerold, a man who had appropriately bore the moniker of the White Bull.

    Slinking back with a small smile, he prevented any counterattack easily enough.

    Again their spar returned to a stalemate, Ser Mandon too practiced at sparring with him to fall easy prey to a feint or a lightning-quick flourish. Normally, it would have bothered him, and he would have done something daring to break it, but today his mind was elsewhere.

    Years and years ago, he had pleaded with Cersei to run away with him to the Free Cities, or further still. He would have won coin enough for her with his sword hand, and they never would have had to hide their affections.

    As if it could have been so easy with Cersei¡­

    His sister had always been far too enamored with the idea of a crown, even when they were children. In one breath she had kissed him, a beautiful smile on her lips, and in the next she was talking about how comely Prince Rhaegar had looked.

    It hurt him each time, but he loved her like he had never loved any other.

    It was for her sake that he had joined the Kingsguard, for her sake that he had stood in silence as Aerys played the monster. In the end, he had slit his throat, saving King''s Landing from becoming a madman''s funeral pyre. His just rewards? Kingslayer. Kingslayer. Kingslayer.

    Ser Mandon pitilessly tried to take advantage of his being distracted, but his sword arced again and put a stop to it.

    Lowering his guard, he watched Ser Mandon do the same.

    "Another day," Jaime whispered, sweeping from the yard. He could have said something more, but he didn''t find a need to make excuses to the knight, whose only love was duty.

    He had become more familiar with Storm''s End, though the sheer expanse of it still meant long minutes of walking in complete silence, his thoughts turning inward. What did it say about how low their brotherhood had fallen that Ser Mandon Moore was among the few he held any esteem for?

    The less said about Cersei''s creatures, the better.

    Jaime found himself at Solomon''s door, pondering what he would say to the sorcerer. His already poor mood quickly turned for the worse when he saw Cersei inside, staring at him sweetly. Jaime forced his eyes away.

    "Ser Jaime," Solomon greeted. "Her Grace had a few concerns she wished me to address."

    More things she was keeping him in the dark about, he thought. Jaime tried for a smile anyway, but he imagined it was a miserable thing. "Can we speak?"

    Those dark eyes watched him for a moment before he nodded. "Of course."

    Jaime glanced back at Cersei. He knew her well enough to tell that she was annoyed, something that drew a truer smile from him, however petty it was.

    Following Solomon out, he matched the sorcerer''s sedate pace, though he still struggled with what to say. He did not want him to think less of him.

    "You are upset with her."

    His heart skipped a beat, though the surprise bled away quickly. He should have just spoken honestly.

    "I know it is not her fault," Jaime bit out. "He¡ª" Even if he loathed Robert Baratheon, his instincts betrayed him. You are to guard the king, Ser Jaime, not judge him.

    "I do not blame you in either case, ser. You love her dearly, and love can be a madness."

    He sighed like a man on his deathbed. He knew the truth of those words all too well. They were nearing the stables when Solomon continued.

    "I must admit something to you. Of all the futures where King''s Landing burns, it is your sister who most often lights the match. Most times from grief, but sometimes spite."

    Something hard caught in Jaime''s throat. He wanted to deny it, to defend her even now, but he knew it would be nothing more than the sweetest of lies.

    Pulling himself atop his destrier, he watched Solomon do the same with his mare, a gentle thing that he suggested after the sorcerer had asked him for riding lessons. They were soon thundering through the fields outside Storm''s End.

    Solomon was a much less clumsy rider now, which left Jaime free to enjoy the wind tussling his golden hair.

    "That doesn''t mean there aren''t others," Solomon said when they slowed. "Petyr Baelish for one."

    Jaime made a small sound of disgust. "Littlefinger."

    "He still remembers how Brandon Stark humiliated him, and how his foster father turned him away when he was at his lowest. He would not be unhappy to be king of the ashes."

    "He would only be king of worms with a sword through his heart."

    Solomon''s dark eyes found Jaime''s again. "When the time is right, can I count on you to do the deed, Ser Jaime?"

    "Happily." He would look Littlefinger in the eyes when he ran him through, all the whoremonger''s plots and schemes going up in smoke.

    Such thoughts were not worthy of a knight, so he kept them to himself.

    "I will be travelling with Renly to Highgarden," Solomon said. "There is a plot to supplant your sister with Margaery Tyrell, something she would not take well. I thought I would deal with it before it comes to that."

    Jaime could see it. Dangle a pretty thing like Margaery Tyrell in front of him, make the right noises, and even his lord father''s displeasure might not seem so terrible before the bounty of the Reach.

    Some spiteful part of him might even enjoy seeing Cersei burned so. He had warned her, and still she chose a crown over him.

    "And Varys?" Jaime asked. He still remembered how easily the perfumed eunuch whispered poison in Aerys''s ear.

    Solomon''s smile this time was darker. "Patience, Ser Jaime. I have already set a few things in motion."

    He watched as Solomon picked up the pace again, and matched it, happy to indulge in the simple joy of riding for a time. The rest could wait.

    Margaery?

    The chirping of the birds and the sweet smell of the fireplums in full bloom helped to set her mind at ease, even as she continued to watch her grandmother smear a fruit jam over a piece of soft pastry. Her eldest brother appeared similarly bemused, until she pointed at them both with her spoon.

    "Do not look at me like newborn ducklings," she said with a tut. "You know why I have called you."

    "Renly is riding to Highgarden," Willas said softly.

    "It will be good to have Loras back amongst us," Margaery ventured herself. "At least for a time."

    There was a snort. "Yes, my son has already called for a tourney. Always thinking about his poor old crone of a mother, for he knows there is nothing I cherish more than having to watch young fools knocking one another around with sticks."

    Her grandmother''s tongue had only grown sharper with age, so much so that some had taken to calling her the Queen of Thorns, something she encouraged in her own way.

    "His father was similarly thoughtful, even threw himself off a cliff when he knew I''d grown tired of him."

    "Grandmother," her brother admonished.

    "Don''t you ''Grandmother'' me. It is a happy miracle that you did not take after them."

    Willas made an exasperated sound. "Do you believe Renly managed to convince His Grace on Father''s plan?" He seemed doubtful himself.

    "No, and we should thank the gods for that as well. Marry our Margaery in the bloom of her youth to that fat fool of a king? The best we could hope for from that match was that he would beget a son on her before the wine did him in. A plan worthy of my son, to be sure."

    Her brother shared a glance with her after, one that had Margaery fighting a smile.

    She knew her lordly father only wanted the best for her, which in his eyes meant placing a crown upon her head. Mayhaps she even imagined it sometimes, being a queen as brave and wise as Good Queen Alysanne.

    "Loras also made mention of a Solomon the Magnificent arriving at court," her brother mentioned next. "He is riding with them now."

    Grandmother was quiet for a time. "Is it not curious that a mummer has so quickly found a receptive ear in not only Cersei, but also the very man who schemes to unseat her?"

    There was a small frown on Margaery''s lips as she thought about it. Was he Cersei''s creature, or Renly''s?

    "As to these stories about sailing the Sunset Sea," she continued with a scoff, "something so outlandish as to draw the eye intentionally."

    Margaery hummed quietly, remembering a certain detail in the letters Loras had sent them. "Yet he had arrived in clothes fine enough to make Renly seem a beggar."

    "Most likely he hails from one of the Free Cities," Willas commented as he fiddled with his summer doublet the color of cream and leaves. "There is precedent with the master of whispers, and both Lys and Volantis have artisans that would make those at Highgarden seem like children with crooked needles."

    Grandmother harrumphed. "Now we sound like old fishwives gossiping. Renly will be here within a fortnight."

    Standing with the help of her cane, she hobbled to the door before glancing back at Willas.

    "We shall see to my son. An old crone and a cripple on his lordly doorstep, we should have our fool make a jest of it."

    He dutifully followed after her with the aid of his own cane, though not before gracing Margaery with a brotherly kiss upon her forehead.

    Plucking a few fireplums from the branches after they had gone, she wrapped them in a cloth before returning to her apartments. Her younger cousins were inside playing come-into-my-castle still, though they were swiftly distracted by her bounty of fireplums.

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    Biting into one herself, she sighed as its tangy juices danced across her tongue. Her thoughts soon returned to weightier matters, the heady allure of a crown tempered by her knowing it to be a poisoned chalice.

    The whole realm knew how well Tywin Lannister handled slights, real or imagined. The fate of the Reynes and the Tarbecks, the murder of the royal children¡­ though no songs were sung about the second, only whispered about after too much wine.

    A loud boast from Megga interrupted those unpleasant thoughts, and for that she was grateful.

    Joining them with a smile, she argued that they instead play monsters-and-maidens, with her as the great and terrible witch of the forest, Black Marra. It was delightful.

    The days passed swiftly, and soon she and all her family waited to welcome Renly Baratheon to Highgarden.

    Father had made a grand show of it, the flowery banners of their house resplendent next to the prancing black stags of House Baratheon. He embraced Renly like his own son, who accepted it gracefully, and then Loras even more fiercely.

    Margaery''s youngest brother had grown since she had last seen him, standing taller, his hair longer, reaching his shoulders. He was still slighter when compared with Renly, but that was true of most men.

    The stormlords the Baratheon lord had brought with him were welcomed next, and she recognized the coat of arms of most of the principal houses of the stormlands such as Estermont, Caron, Dondarrion, as well as a few others. Now that a tourney had been announced, she expected more would join them.

    Finally, Renly had stopped before her, and she curtsied and offered her hand.

    It wasn''t hard to see why her brother was so taken by him.

    "Lady Margaery." His lips pressed to the top of her hand smoothly, and he gave a comely smile that matched his mercurial eyes, seemingly blue or green depending on how the light hit them.

    Loras had escaped Garlan''s brotherly teasing to join them, and she opened her arms for a hug. He obliged her, of course, as he should.

    "It''s good to see you again, baby sister."

    Margaery gave him a patient smile. "You''re barely a year my elder."

    "It counts still," he insisted, his soft brown eyes smiling down at her.

    They had just separated when she noticed another pair of eyes watching her. "Ah, this would be Solomon the Magnificent," Renly introduced. "He had agreed to join us to see how fair Highgarden was for himself."

    Margaery had seen him in the crowd earlier, his dark hair swept back messily as he shadowed Renly and her brother, though he had no banners to his name. He had adopted the trappings of an Andal lord, though the colors he seemed to favor were not common ones, deep blacks and stark whites, the only true color she saw being a very yellow half cloak that drew the eyes.

    "And how fair it is indeed," Solomon spoke, and she only heard a hint of something foreign.

    Margaery also thought she saw a hint of some other color in his dark brown eyes, but then he gave a deep bow. The kiss he gave her hand lingered a shade longer than Renly''s.

    "Although I fear your brother had greatly underwhelmed your own beauty."

    Loras was saved from her pointed questions by their father and Willas returning from welcoming the stormlords. Father immediately rushed to Renly''s side, speaking of feasts and tourneys until the Baratheon lord found a good moment to interrupt.

    "Let us speak more on this tonight, my lord. A downpour had struck us in the night and we had not had much opportunity to rest."

    She saw his eyes flicker to Loras, one that drew some red to his cheeks. Her brother left her after a kiss upon her cheek to join him, their father summoning a few servants to follow after them.

    "Is it true the godswood here has three weirwoods?" The question drew her eyes to Solomon again.

    "The Three Singers we call them," Willas answered. "I often visit them to clear my head and read." There was a short pause. "Would you like to see?"

    Solomon gave him a handsome smile. "After you."

    "You are lucky to visit in the heart of summer," she said herself. "Though it is lovely even in winter''s throes, it would have been a pale shadow compared to now. I will join you, I think."

    "The more the merrier, my lady."

    As they walked, she couldn''t help herself. "Are you truly from beyond the Sunset Sea?"

    Willas caught her eyes with something between a sigh and a fond smile.

    "Why not? Do you imagine it goes on forever?"

    "Many have tried to traverse it," her brother picked up after her. "Brandon the Shipwright, Ellisa Farman, and more than a few of the ironborn. None of them have ever returned."

    Solomon turned around, his movements graceful despite him walking backward. "Maybe they had made a new home for themselves?"

    The sound of her brother''s cane tapping against the dirt and the songs of birds were all she heard for a few breaths.

    "Your features are not uncommon among the northerners," Willas observed, "those who are still primarily of First Men stock. Would you claim descent from Brandon the Shipwright or those who went with him?"

    Margaery agreed that he had the dark hair and fair skin of the Starks, and asking after the godswood as well¡­

    "No," he answered, seemingly amused. "Though it would make for quite the story." He turned back around, stopping before a peach tree. "Might I taste a peach?"

    "We would be poor hosts if we refused you a peach," she said with a bit of cheek.

    Plucking one of those that had fallen, he bit into it without much decorum, the juices sliding down the sides of his lips. "Mmm¡­" He chewed a few seconds longer. "It''s as good as I hoped."

    Margaery took a peach for herself, though her brother seemed to be more interested in figuring Solomon out.

    They soon arrived at the center of the godswood, the Three Singers standing above what from afar looked like a pool of blood, some of their red leaves having fallen into it. They were so ancient that they twisted and interlocked with one another, like old friends, their merry faces only giving life to that thought.

    "Of all the sights I''ve seen, these godswoods are the ones I would miss the most, I think."

    "You plan to return?" Willas asked him, having taken a seat on a bench.

    "Who doesn''t dream of home once it''s gone?" Solomon whispered with a queer smile. "Thank you for accompanying me. I think I shall stay for a time, clear my head perhaps."

    She watched her brother pull a book from his tunic. "I will stay also. I should hopefully have a few hours until they drag me back inside to play the gracious host."

    Margaery bit into the peach she had taken, if not as messily. Solomon meanwhile had stalked closer to the weirwoods, touching a hand to the white bark.

    She stayed a few minutes longer, but they seemed content in their quiet, and she began to feel a stranger. The last she saw was a blue jay swooping down from one of the trees to balance precariously upon Solomon''s shoulder, mayhaps mistaking him for a tree.

    The hours until the sun set passed by in a flurry of picking out dresses for herself and her many cousins, all of them gossiping like a gaggle of fishwives. Or young highborn girls, as it were.

    Of the feast, Father had spared no expense, the finest foods on display, even some delicacies from the Free Cities. He sat with Renly and Grandmother, indulging in every dish he could reach. The Baratheon lord in contrast ate sparingly, something else tugging on his thoughts.

    He made for a striking figure in his ensemble of embroidered green silk and black satin cloak, laughing whenever her father laughed and toasting the assembled lords alongside him.

    Loras and Garlan were talking about the tourney, joined by the Redwyne twins, while her girl cousins were still gossiping in between sneaking sips of Arbor reds and golds.

    Finally, there was Willas seated with their mother and grandnuncle, and joined by Solomon. As far as she could tell, they were speaking on Oldtown and the history of the Hightowers.

    Margaery soon sighed, swallowing some wine herself and smiling at something Elinor had said.

    The night continued in the same vein, though there had been a ruckus after a bad jape and a dispute of the heart between a hedge knight, a landed knight, and a lady. The blush on her plump cheeks as they argued was something to behold.

    One of the servants had just refilled her cup when her lordly father called for quiet.

    "My lords!" he started. "My ladies! I have most auspicious news for you all tonight!" He motioned at Renly, whose eyes were on the assembled high nobility. "Lord Renly has agreed to take my only daughter''s hand in marriage, a marriage that will unite the houses Baratheon and Tyrell together."

    Margaery tried not to look like a doe having caught sight of a hunter as all eyes turned to her. Father could have at least hinted at a change in plans¡­

    "To Good King Robert, long may he reign!" her father toasted, wine cup raised high.

    The stormlords cheered a great deal louder than the lords of the Reach, something noticed and rectified as the dining hall thundered. She spied Renly making his way to her, offering her his hand.

    "Will you accept, my lady? To be wedded and also to dance."

    Margaery looked into his blue-green eyes and comely smile. The choice was not truly her own, she knew, but she was not unhappy. Renly might prefer her brother''s bed to her own, but he was clever and even kind, and discreet unlike the king.

    There was a small part of her that still wondered with a morbid curiosity how he and all of them would look at her if she said no, but it was a part she had learned to ignore.

    "I will, my lord." She took his hand, and he brought her to stand. Her eyes did not even reach his shoulders.

    Her father stopped them halfway to the floor to kiss her cheek. "Worry not, my daughter. You will still be queen."

    There were too many eyes on her to raise any questions, so she simply smiled, playing at the perfect lady.

    No, she corrected. The perfect queen.

 Eddard I & Asha I

    Eddard?

    It was a cold summer''s night, the kind that brought grave news and reminded one of winter. Those grave news had come in the form of the letter from King''s Landing, held loosely in his hand.

    Cat rested her chin upon his shoulder, her breasts pressing into his back as her long tresses of hair tickled him. "Robb is ready, Ned. He''s been watching you for years."

    His lady wife had tried, but she still did not truly understand how precarious a position theirs was, the scars the Mad King had left still raw. Many of the lords were still unhappy that he had taken a southron fish to wife, and Lady Barbrey Dustin continued to nurse a grudge against him as she ruled the barrowlands in her own name. That she also happened to be close to Roose Bolton''s heir, Domeric, was only more trouble in the making.

    At the very least the boy had not taken after his father, if what he had heard about him was true. Domeric had only recently returned from the Vale, having been fostering with Lord Horton Redfort. It brought back fond memories of his own time as Jon Arryn''s ward alongside Robert.

    "Robb will make for a fine Lord of Winterfell one day, Cat, but he is still a boy."

    He returned his eyes to the letter in his hand. Of all the years he had known him, he had never known Lord Arryn to be as cryptic as this. That alone was a sign of trouble in King''s Landing, if the Hand of the King had reason to fear that someone else might read this.

    "You need not be gone long," Cat whispered as she kissed his shoulder. "See what has Lord Arryn so worried, and perhaps take Bran with you. He is nearing an age to be squired, and you know how much he dreams of being a knight."

    Ned was quiet as he turned the thought over. While most of the North did not have much care for a knighthood, there were parts that did. House Manderly was one of his principal bannermen.

    "Yohn Royce is a principled man, and House Royce of Runestone are well regarded in the North." He idly traced the parchment with a thumb. "House Blackwood also."

    "Making an offer to House Blackwood but not to House Bracken would prove a thorny issue. The Brackens will see it as a decision of House Tully, not only House Stark." His lady wife hummed a moment. "Better that it be House Mallister."

    Ned remembered Jason Mallister from the Greyjoy Rebellion, a brave and honorable man. They were not an Andal house, though they had taken the Faith of the Seven close to their heart.

    It would not be a bad match, he decided. House Mallister and the Ironborn were ancient enemies, something they had in common with the North. They had both warned Robert not to let Balon Greyjoy live, for a man such as that would never be cravened by a hostage.

    It had all fallen on deaf ears for Robert had always been too eager for war and too happy to excuse it with mercy¡­

    "But I think my nuncle would be best, Ned. Lysa''s son is of an age with Bran. It would do them both well if he joined her in King''s Landing."

    Ser Brynden Tully, or the Blackfish as many know him, was a knight almost as acclaimed as Ser Barristan Selmy. He could see the sense in it, and it would keep Bran close to him. If Bran were also to become fast friends with the future Lord of the Eyrie, then all the better.

    "You have the right of it," he told her.

    She gave him a smile. "I will write to him. The journey from Gulltown to King''s Landing is short, and he may very well arrive at King''s Landing before you and Bran." Her nails danced across his skin lightly. "Have you decided then?"

    Ned grimaced. He well remembered the fates of the last Starks that had gone south, for they were his father, his brother, and his sister. All he had left of them were their bones and his haunted memories of them.

    Finally, he let out a withering sigh. "Jon would not have asked without good reason. I will set out for White Harbor with Bran at the moon''s turn."

    "Then come to bed."

    He relented after another moment, though not before throwing the letter to the fireplace, its contents turned to ash and smoke in a breath.

    The days until the new moon passed swift as a wolf on the hunt, the suddenness of the news turning Winterfell into a den of whispers when they thought he couldn''t hear. The children were the worst of it, though he didn''t begrudge them for it.

    The day of their departure fell upon a warm summer''s day. Whether that was a good or bad omen, he could not say.

    Ned came before his eldest first as they all stood in the courtyard. Robb still had some marks of boyhood, but with each moon the stubble on his cheeks grew. Though his hair and even his eyes were more Tully than Stark, the lines of his face told a different story.

    There was a nervousness there also, stirring him to clasp his son''s shoulder. "You will be Lord of Winterfell in all but name, Robb. I have no doubt you will do me proud."

    He nodded seriously. "I will, Father."

    Theon beside him sent a fast smile, though one that was as brittle as a blade turned to rust. There had always been a distance between them that couldn''t be broached, though as the boy still believed he was still a hostage to ensure Balon Greyjoy''s good behavior, that couldn''t be helped.

    His eyes went to Jon next, his back and shoulders stiff as he avoided his lady wife''s eyes. It was to his shame that he had never been able to mend the rift between them.

    For one mad moment he considered taking Jon south with him, but it didn''t take him long to discard the idea.

    Sansa smiled at him as he kissed her forehead, ever the perfect lady, though her sister was less than pleased, glaring at Bran sullenly. It reminded him of Lyanna when she learned she couldn''t do something he or Brandon could.

    Cat sighed when she saw and fussed over her, holding a sleeping Rickon to her chest, but that only served to turn Arya''s expression all the more sour.

    Pressing a kiss to Cat''s cheek to distract her, he turned to the greying maester on her other side, who bowed his head slightly.

    "I trust you will provide my son leal service as you have myself, Maester Luwin."

    "Of course, my lord. If he will listen."

    Ned waited as Cat hugged Bran tightly and kissed both his cheeks. It would be the longest she had ever been separated from him, and considering how often Bran got himself into trouble, he understood her worry.

    Fortunately, Jory already had experience keeping him out of said trouble, and would be captaining the contingent of the household guard that would be traveling with them to King''s Landing.

    Ned clasped arms with Ser Rodrik Cassel at the gates. "Keep an eye on Jon for me. I fear he will only feel more alone now."

    "I will. Though you must know that he has thrown himself into his swordplay these past few moons, and has made no secret of wishing to join the Night''s Watch."

    He sighed, his thoughts going to Benjen, the only brother left to him. It would not be so bad if Jon were to find a place there. There was still honor in the Night''s Watch.

    "Keep an eye out for my nephew in return," Rodrik continued, eyeing Jory fondly. "He''s all that I have left of Martyn."

    Jory made an annoyed sound, though it was softened by a ghost of a smile on his lips. He was not as serious a man as his father had been; his uncle''s influence, Ned knew.

    They soon left Winterfell behind and were on the road to White Harbor, making good progress on horseback. Bran had taken to it well, rearing his palfrey with a practiced hand after only a few days.

    The first they saw of it was the shimmer of the sun on the whitewashed stone that earned the city its name. Ned allowed Bran to gawk for a time before they continued, a small smile on his lips.

    Lord Wyman Manderly met them with as much pomp as he expected from the fat and jolly man, inviting them to feast and make merry for the night, and that he would prepare for them the swiftest ship he had to sail on the morrow.

    At the feast, Ned sat in a seat of honor beside Lord Wyman and his eldest son. The fare was rich, with eels that melted in your mouth and all manner of clams and oysters on display, all of it perfectly seasoned, though he had not indulged nearly as much as the lord.

    Bran had been placed between two of Lord Wyman''s granddaughters, both girls his elder. It would have been hard to miss the blush on his cheeks as he tried to keep a conversation with both of them.

    Jory he saw was speaking to the younger of Lord Wyman''s sons, Wendel, the immense knight''s great walrus moustache quaking as he laughed at a jest.

    "There has been queer news from the south of late," Lord Wyman said as he wet his throat with wine. "His Grace stirring himself from King''s Landing after near ten years on the queen''s suggestion, and now Renly Baratheon has taken the hand of Mace Tyrell''s daughter in marriage." He must have seen the surprise on Ned''s face. "We have only just found out ourselves."

    "The might of Storm''s End and Highgarden united," he whispered after a moment.

    "The Tyrells find themselves in an awkward position with House Targaryen''s fall, my lord. It was the Targaryens who raised them up, and many in the Reach still remember that they were only stewards, never kings."

    There was a quiet amusement that Ned sensed from the man. House Manderly had itself hailed from the Reach, landing upon the North''s shores after their lands had been taken from them by a Gardener king. House Stark could have ended their line then and there, but instead raised them up, giving them dominion over much of the White Knife.

    In return the southron lords had given the North one of the great cities of Westeros, and a harbor by which to trade in grain during long winters.

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    "There has been other news as well," Lord Wyman continued. "Stannis Baratheon''s ships have been seen in many of the towns and villages across the coast, and his red priestess was seen in King''s Landing."

    "Red priestess?"

    Ned knew of Thoros of Myr, had fought by his side in the Siege of Pyke, and had seen his flaming sword raised high as he charged into the breach, but he knew nothing of any red priestess.

    "Red witch may be more apt. She had arrived on Dragonstone a few years prior from Asshai. She soon gained the ear of Lady Selyse, and then Stannis. These days it is said she is by his side more than his lady wife is."

    Ned frowned. "Only rumor, surely?" A man such as Stannis Baratheon was not a man he could imagine being so taken with religion, and a foreign one at that.

    "Something to ask of Stannis Baratheon, my lord. I can only say I trust the men who have told me it, though the exact nature of their relations eludes them yet."

    He was quiet for a time, and Lord Wyman spoke again.

    "There is no softer way to say it, my lord, but all you will find in King''s Landing is a pit of vipers. The friend you remember is a man consumed by his vices completely, caring only for drink and women."

    Ned stared into his own wine cup. "I must still try."

    Lord Wyman nodded. "Then take my son, Wendel, and some of my men with you. He will bring you what news our merchant ships ferret out, and defend you and young Bran Stark with his life if he must."

    He touched a hand to the man''s immense forearm in gratitude.

    "Though he might wish to stay after Wylla''s worked her wiles on him!" Lord Wyman exclaimed with a bellyful of laughter. "And if not the younger brother, perhaps the elder? Robb Stark much reflects your own character, I hear. A finer match for Wylla or Wynafryd even I could not think of."

    Ned joined him in his good cheer. "I will think on it, my friend."

    He had much to think on, it seemed, and he doubted it would end when he arrived at King''s Landing.

    Asha?

    Asha took in Harlaw as it crested over the horizon, her smile content as the deck of her Black Wind rocked and sea spray peppered her cheeks. The island was more home to her than Pyke, having spent many of her younger years at Ten Towers running and laughing across its walkways.

    "Row, you whoresons!" she shouted. "Row!"

    Soon she heard the seagulls and saw the towers, each one different from the other. They should have called it Ten Castles instead.

    "Asha." She saw Qarl''s delicate brows scrunched together as if in thought. It did not sit well on him. "I find it strange the Reader summons you almost as soon as we return from the Stepstones."

    "Who can say what possessed my uncle but him? Mayhaps he wanted to gift me a book for my name day come and gone," she snarked.

    "Will you read it?" he asked, a coy smile on his pouty lips now. That fit him much better.

    "You can read it to me like a lullaby."

    His smile soured in a whiny way, and she laughed. For being the best killer among her crew of seasoned killers, and the most pretty, he could be such a child.

    Asha soon grew more somber. "Mother will want to see me safely returned as well."

    Qarl attempted to look contrite, but that only stirred another laugh from her.

    Soon they docked and Asha made for the tower that most resembled a rotund lord. Her nuncle haunted his library more than he did his high seat in the hall, which he only sat to deliver judgement from.

    Not to her surprise, she found him with his nose in some old book.

    "Nuncle! Kind of you to call on me." She sauntered to his side and hopped up on the table, crossing one leg over the other. "I see your beard''s turned even greyer."

    "How were the Stepstones?"

    "Dreary," she admitted. "With the ironborn again reaving only outside the Seven Kingdoms, it''s left slim pickings. The boldest of the pirates that call it home have even begun preying on our longships."

    Maerrenno the Maw and Salladhor Saan came to mind, though she at least had an informal agreement with the second.

    "Reaving was ever a fool''s game. You can trust an old fool on that."

    Asha snorted, retrieving her dirk to pick underneath her nails. "Why have you called on me, Nuncle? To grant me a lecture?"

    "As if you would listen. Of all of Lanny''s children, you were always the most spirited."

    "Thank you, Nuncle," she said with sarcasm as thick as lard. "That is kind of you to say."

    He still made her wait another few moments until he spoke again. "I have received a most queer letter. One sealed by the queen''s own hand."

    She paused her knifework, turning to stare at him. "Cersei Lannister? That queen?"

    "The very same."

    Asha turned the thought over in her head a dozen times, but came no closer to an answer. "What did it say?"

    "Though I should say that while it may bear her seal, it was not her hand which had written it. It spoke of things that she would give naught a passing thought to, if what I have heard of her is true."

    Asha''s curiosity has been plucked like a jewel by a thief, and they wouldn''t let it go.

    "Have you already heard about the Crow''s Eye?" he asked instead.

    Her eyes narrowed as he stared at her, the candlelight making his brown eyes seem akin to molten gold.

    "Aye. That he went and raped Uncle Victarion''s soft little salt wife, and was banished for it. What of it?"

    Of all her uncles, Asha had always liked Euron the least. The way his single eye looked at her, the smiles he gave, it all made her skin crawl and stomach threaten to revolt.

    The dark rumors that followed him were not any kinder.

    "This letter speaks of him at length. It names him a kinslayer twice over, having murdered his eldest brother and his youngest, and more."

    Asha tried to remember their names. Harlon Greyjoy had been taken by greyscale, and Robin Greyjoy was a sickly boy, the product of her grandfather''s third wife. Most had deemed it the dues of having a child on a greenlander, a lady of House Piper of Pinkmaiden.

    "Had the Crow''s Eye made an enemy at the court of the stag king?"

    "Perhaps," her nuncle replied. "They''ve left their name at the end. Solomon the Magnificent."

    She would have laughed if not for how queer this all was.

    "He mentioned you by name, Niece. It reads he will be in Oldtown in a moon''s time, at a tavern by the name of the Merry Maiden."

    Asha gave him a toothy smile. "Then it seems I shall not stay at Harlaw long. And if the worst happens and he never shows, slim pickings did not mean none. It should not be hard to find a merchant or three to see to our ill-gotten gains."

    Her father might have soured hearing it despite her having paid the iron price, but the Reader was not her father.

    "That is not the worst that could befall you, Asha."

    She smiled sweetly at her nuncle, worried about her. "I could bring you back a book or three. They shan''t miss them."

    He gave a fonder look. "If you are set on it."

    "Let me eat my axe the day I let a man with a mummer''s name make me a craven." Standing, she stretched her arms much like a cat might. "I think I''ll go see my mother now."

    He returned to his book after a nod, holding the letter out for her to take. Asha plucked it from his fingers, deciding she would read it in full when she cared to.

    It was a dull thing, reading. Her favorite uncle''s love for it had long been a source of queer amusement for her.

    Asha stalked to the Widow''s Tower next, so named for her widowed aunt. A prickly woman, that one, though Asha was plenty prickly herself, a black rose with thorns as sharp as Valyrian steel.

    Her mother was staring into the Sunset Sea from a window when she found her, the waters blacker than pitch now that the sun had set.

    Asha called for her, drawing her eyes. There was something familiar there, leaving Pyke behind and returning here had done her some good, but she was still not as Asha remembered her. Lady Alannys had been proud, with laughing eyes not unlike her own.

    Now her mother''s eyes were sad, her hair white.

    "Asha," she whispered with a smile as sweet as milk of the poppy. "You are safely returned to me."

    "I am," she said as she neared. "Lys is beautiful, and the sun is not always swallowed by the clouds as here. I wish you would come with me to see it."

    "I must wait for Theon to return," she chided. "Have you heard any news of him? He was a handsome boy, healthy, always laughing. You remember, don''t you?"

    Asha bit back a sigh. "The wolves keep him safe and sound still," she dutifully said. "You would think he was one of their own."

    "Until my husband dons a crown again." Her mother''s eyes had turned stormy, choked with tears, and for a moment she even seemed lucid. "He will never give up his mad dream. He could have a hundred sons taken from him, and still he would love his crown more."

    Her eyes soon returned to the sea. What she saw in it, Asha couldn''t say, and she fled, for she could no more conjure Theon for her than she could a kraken.

    Sometimes she wondered if the god laughed beneath the waves as he watched the greatest fools in all the world sing his praises as they drowned.

    She scoffed under her breath. Such melancholy was beneath her. Why should she give a single thought for the gods when they had never given one for her?

    On a whim, she pulled the letter from her sleeve, reading it underneath a shivering torch.

    When she reached the end, she laughed. Her nuncle had spoken true. Solomon the Magnificent, it read, in an ink unpleasantly yellow.

 Davos II & Brienne I

    Davos?

    Grey Gallows looked much as one might expect from the name, grey, and miserable. The best he could say of it was the waters surrounding it were clear and filled with all manner of colorful fish, though even that much was true only in the bloom of summer.

    The Stepstones were a common haunt of smugglers and pirates, so he was well familiar with them. They reminded him of a life where his fortunes were at the mercy of the winds and tides; it was not a life Davos had fond memories of, only sweet when compared with scratching out a living in Flea Bottom.

    "Steer us clear of the coast!" he called to his son. The rocky nature of the Stepstones had claimed more ships than every pirate there ever was.

    There were two settlements on Grey Gallows, but the only one worth a thought was Heavenly Respite. A humorous name that couldn''t be farther from the truth, for you would be hard-pressed to find a place more sinful, or a lord more depraved.

    It had flourished since Davos had last seen it in spite of such, even bearing a few stone structures that together hung over the settlement like a great vulture. His old friend had been doing well for himself, it seemed.

    He spied the Valyrian among a number of smaller vessels berthed at the docks, and where it was, its master was not far.

    Clasping his son''s shoulder, he spoke low. "Salladhor Saan is a friend, but a pirate is still a pirate. If it goes sour, do not hesitate. Weigh anchor and sail back to Dragonstone."

    He could tell Matthos wanted to protest, even demand to come ashore with him, but he was thankfully not as rash as his older brother, so after a few breaths he dutifully nodded his head.

    For his part, Davos clutched the pouch around his neck and whispered a quiet prayer before he climbed down the side of Black Betha. A thickset and balding man stood in his way, his wide smile revealing more than a few false teeth that glinted under the sun.

    "What do we have here," he said in Low Valyrian. "Is that you, Davos?"

    "Aye." The last time Davos had seen him, he still had hair. "Do they still call you Black Berrick, or is it Berrick the Bald now?"

    "I''ve got my black sense of humor still, they say." Berrick''s eyes that looked too much like two lumps of coal stared a moment longer. "I''ll waive the coin you owe. Salla would not want me collecting it from you anyhow."

    "I see he''s grown fat on plunder," he commented, nodding at how much the ramshackle port had changed.

    Berrick laughed. "More in his head than anywhere else. Styles himself Prince of the Narrow Sea now, if you''ll believe it."

    It was not a hard thing to believe. Salladhor Saan had always been a man of large appetites.

    Davos had no need to ask where to find him; a man such as that could not bear to have one of his men outshine him in anything. One only needed a glance at the Valyrian with its three hundred oars to tell that much.

    Walking through the streets of Heavenly Respite, he turned a blind eye to the slaves he saw, for there was naught he could do for them.

    Davos found Salladhor Saan lounging at the center of his Lyseni garden with half a dozen of his concubines, even spying two peacocks as he made his way to him.

    He took some small pleasure in seeing the old pirate''s surprise at the sight of him.

    "Do my eyes deceive me? A knight of the Sunset Kingdoms in my fair port?"

    "Only a knight of onions, I''m afraid."

    Saan laughed at that. "It is good to see your service has not robbed you of all your good cheer, my friend!" He looked around at the women surrounding his person, many of them naked or not far from it as they stared at Davos as they might a man with three heads, a strange foreign curiosity. "I would introduce you to my wives, but I would not want to keep you here until winter."

    He delivered a swat to the admittedly generous rear of the one closest to him, a Summer Islander with skin as black as dragonglass, and soon all of them had fled the garden.

    "I did not know you to be a married man," Davos broached.

    "You had loved yours so much that I had grown as curious as a tomcat. But I could not only have one wife. What would they say of Salladhor Saan if he only had one wife?"

    His fair hair had since turned a stark white, though he still made for a striking figure, his slim form bedecked in the most flamboyant colors one could pry from merchants'' hands, and it seemed that he had found a fondness for jade as well.

    "Wine?" Saan offered, and he took the bejeweled cup for courtesy''s sake. "A Volantene vintage. Finer than any of your Arbor or Dornish reds."

    Seated now, Davos took a swallow of some and made a sound of agreement, though he could not truly tell too great a difference between them.

    "But you have not come only to drink my wine, yes?" The Lyseni''s pale lilac eyes looked him over curiously. "You have come in service of your sour lord?"

    "That I have."

    "Then you can tell him that Salladhor Saan is no pirate. As Prince of the Narrow Sea, is it not my right to collect a toll?"

    "I didn''t come here to argue your rights or lack thereof."

    The old rogue pulled at his similarly white and well groomed beard as he leaned back slightly. "You are fortunate to have arrived today and not three days hence, my friend. My wives have been asking me again and again when we will return to my manse in Lys, and I could not keep refusing them, for my heart also aches greatly when I am separated from the city of my birth."

    Davos raised a brow. "I remember you fleeing their patrols, not sailing into their harbors."

    "I am a respected citizen now, free to come and go from fair Lys as I wish. Why, I have even opened a bank! Old Sammaro Saan would have laughed himself into the grave if he could hear it."

    He gave him a look, but did not argue as Saan continued.

    "Now, my knight of onions, why has your sour lord bid you to sail to the Stepstones?"

    "It pertains to your profession."

    "I am a man of many professions. I do not think you have come to ask after my skill at lovemaking."

    "More your penchant for privateering," Davos admitted. "Lord Stannis eyes the Lannisters and Tyrells cautiously, and would welcome an ally in the Stepstones if it comes to war."

    The Lyseni looked at his fingernails as he lounged atop his patterned settee. "Will he reward me with one hand as he punishes me with the other?"

    Davos did not take offense at the words. "He would offer coin, and leave to prey on any enemy of the rightful king."

    "Hmm. He would give his word he will not try and hang me by my neck as soon as his war is won?"

    "He would."

    "Then perhaps Salladhor Saan can be a friend to your sour lord. From what I have heard of him, he would sooner choke on his own tongue than betray it."

    Davos nodded with some relief. "There is another matter." He paused as he wondered how to approach this without sounding a fool. "A man arrived at court near two moons back now, styling himself as Solomon the Magnificent. I have not laid eyes on him myself, but his actions have drawn Lord Stannis''s eyes."

    "Ha! Only a mummer could have come up with a name as that. Does your sour lord trouble himself with mummers now?"

    "When they gain the trust of the queen and his own brother."

    Saan gave a lecherous smile. "A man after my own heart. You wish to know if I have ever heard of such a man? I have not. A queer name, Solomon. Not a name in any tongue I know."

    Davos couldn''t help a small frown. Salladhor Saan was well traveled, and had friends as far as Yi Ti.

    "He claims to have come from west of Westeros instead of east, beyond the Sunset Sea."

    "Have you ever sailed to the Isle of Toads, my knight of onions?"

    His frown deepened. "I cannot say I have."

    "It is one of the Basilisk Isles, a place wet and stinking of rot. The men there are malformed, and some even have webbed hands and feet."

    He could not tell if the old pirate was making a jest or not. He continued his story as the more sensible option.

    "I had tracked his arrival down to an old fisherman, who claimed to have fished him out of the sea. Curiously, he had seen no signs of any shipwreck."

    Saan soon pulled a map of the Narrow Sea from his colorful clothes. "Show me." After Davos pointed out Blackwater Bay off the coast of Rosby, the Lyseni shrugged his shoulders. "Too close to your sour lord for any but the grandest of fools to try their luck, and all such fools I know."

    "And there was no storm that day¡­" Davos concluded thoughtfully.

    He saw a smile from the man opposite him. "I have half a mind to speak to this most magnificent of mummers myself, or most magnificent of fish, perhaps."

    "You must regale me with how it goes if you do. The red priestess at Dragonstone claims him an agent of her god''s enemy."

    "Ho? Has your sour lord found religion? Even Salladhor Saan has been named a servant of the Great Other, and I am one of the kindest souls you''ll ever find." Davos tried not to look at him too doubtfully. "They find a queer pride in being a slave to their red god, and say I am a blind fool for not joining them."

    Davos gave a weary sigh. "Lord Stannis finds her council useful, for what she sees in her fires often comes to pass."

    Saan hummed as he took a deep drink of his own wine cup, which had even more jewels sticking to it than his own. "I am reminded of something Gorghan said of prophecy. Prophecy is like a treacherous woman, my knight of onions. She will take your member in her mouth, and you will moan and think, how fine, how sweet, until her teeth snap shut and your moans turn to screams."

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    He did not much like the picture the words painted for him, though he agreed with the gist of the message.

    "I would tell your sour lord to pull his cock from her mouth before her teeth snap shut."

    "It is not my place to," Davos told him.

    "Bah! This is why I do not like your Sunset Kingdoms. If my men knew I was cavorting with a red priestess as if I had lost all my good sense, they would slit my throat in the night and have the right of it."

    And that was another kind of madness, he wanted to say, but he was still a guest here, and guest rite was not seen as so sacred a thing outside the Seven Kingdoms. He swallowed his words along with some more wine instead.

    He would have to return to his lord with no answers, only more questions.

    Brienne?

    The road from Tarth to Highgarden had been a hard one, but harder still were the news she received when she arrived. That Renly Baratheon was to be wed to Margaery Tyrell.

    Even knowing that her love for him had always been a fool''s hope, Brienne had still cried bitter tears that night, alone in the room the flowers provided a lady of her stature.

    It was as barren as her heart had felt in that moment.

    Yet in the morning she had stubbornly risen and requested to compete in the melee, and every morning hence.

    Lord Randyll Tarly, she had quickly found out, was a man utterly without shame, willing to mock and even belittle her person for nothing but for how the Seven made her, and every morning he only grew more irate with her.

    Brienne could perhaps see why he had been put in charge of the melee, Lord Tarly being one of Lord Tyrell''s principal bannermen, but it still rankled her that she had to deal with him. The times she had tried to approach Lord Tyrell instead, he had always avoided her somehow. It was impressive for a man as fat as him.

    This morning would be no different, she knew. But then a voice stopped her dull procession.

    "There is another way to get what you want, my lady."

    Brienne turned on her heel to find a man she only knew by his proximity to her liege lord. He had oft been by his side, drinking with him, laughing with him, and yet she did not even know his name.

    He was tall, though not nearly as tall as her, dark of hair and dark of eye, and all else that stood out to her was the yellow half cloak slung over his shoulder that threatened to blind her when the sun struck it.

    Not wanting to be caught staring, she made to speak. "What do you mean¡­ my lord?"

    She saw his smile, but it was not the manner of smile she had grown used to half her life, dripping with mockery. It was almost kind. "I am not a lord of your Seven Kingdoms. Some might call me Solomon the Magnificent, but that is also something of a mouthful. Just Solomon will do, I think."

    Brienne struggled to think of something to say. "The question remains," she said instead.

    "So it does," he agreed. "You wish to participate in the melee, but that great fool with a Valyrian steel sword could not stomach the thought of a woman fighting."

    She made a sour face. "You have the right of it¡­ Solomon, but I am not a knight."

    "If you were born a man, you would have already been knighted, my lady. You would be celebrated, not only for your skill with a sword or mace, but for your gentle heart, an arena only a knight such as Aemon the Dragonknight or Galladon of Morne could hope to compete in."

    His words strummed her heart, but she knew not their source. "What would you know of me to speak as such?" she questioned warily.

    "Only what I have heard others say. Not once have I heard that you had raised your hand in anger at their insults, not even your voice."

    This had to be some jest he was playing on her, for she could not imagine such words to be spoken truly.

    "You had said there was another way to get what I wanted," she said instead.

    "Yes. Compete as a mystery knight, my lady. You would not be the first."

    Something settled in the pit of her belly as she wondered how to tell him why she did not want to, but then he continued.

    "You wish for him to see you. More than that, I think. You wish all of them to see you as you see yourself," he said, and her heart seized. "Then simply remove your helmet when you win."

    "What?" she croaked.

    "How could he not see you then, my lady? All eyes would be on you."

    Brienne met his eyes again and his smile again, and still found nothing mocking. For once, she wished that weren''t true, for then some sense would have returned to the world.

    "It seems a low trick," she hastily argued.

    "Need I name all the knights from the stories who had done the same? Would you name them all cheats?"

    "No," Brienne whispered hoarsely.

    "Or would you rather try again and again until our lord of Tarly has a change of heart. I fear you might be waiting many years."

    She felt a nervous energy taking her. Was it something she dared to do? If she was mocked now, then it would only worsen after such a ploy.

    And yet, if she had won¡­

    Her eyes found his again. "I will do it."

    His smile only grew at her words, until it was almost as bright as the sun. "Then allow me to grant you my favor."

    Suddenly, he took her hand, and she could only watch like a frightened doe as he tied a ribbon as yellow as his cloak around her wrist.

    "It is not a lady''s favor, I admit, or even a lord''s, but I hope you will wear it all the same."

    It was as if she had her tongue removed. Her cheeks felt hot, and she had a thought to flee, but he still held her hand fast, and she did not want to hurt him.

    "I w-will bear it with pride," she whispered instead, much like a mouse.

    "It gladdens me to hear you say so, my lady." Brienne could only watch as he tugged her closer to him, his lips pressing softly to her hand. "For I know you will win."

    He left as quickly as he had come, leaving her thoughts a whirlwind. Her eyes soon fell upon his favor still tied around her wrist, and it only reminded her of how warm his hands had been.

    It was unorthodox, and yet at the same time it was the most precious gift anyone had ever given her.

    Shaking her head of the unchivalrous thoughts that had suddenly intruded, she returned to her room and set about preparing. He had faith in her somehow, faith that she would win and show them all, and she would not disappoint him.

    The next week had passed as a blur, the melee dwindling from a hundred, to a score, to two.

    Ser Loras Tyrell was opposite her on the field, resplendent in his armor atop a white stallion, a longaxe held tightly in his hand. And as they clashed, she could admit that in skill alone, he was her better.

    And yet battles were not won with skill alone, but also grit and daring.

    Brienne had thrown herself from her own horse to unseat him, bringing both of them back down to the dirt. It was the last thing he had expected, and he could not resist her as she lifted his visor. She waited until she heard the word from him. Yield.

    Her lips curved into a smile under her helm as she stood and took in the cheers, a sight so sweet she hesitated to reveal the trick. With a nervous hand, she plucked her helm and revealed herself to the crowd.

    The cheers dulled quickly, and the whispers set in, a sound not unlike a swarm of buzzing bees. Soon, Lord Tarly stormed to his feet, and she could see he was as unhappy as if she had personally dressed him in motley. It made her want to spit some of his mockery back at him, though she shied away from the thought, continuing to simply stand her ground with pride instead.

    "You would make fools of us all, girl? You¡ª"

    "My lord," a voice interrupted, "that is the daughter of Lord Selwyn Tarth you speak to, not a mere girl."

    Her eyes turned to him. Solomon. The man whose favor she felt around her wrist still, who at that moment seemed so much greater than all the lords around him.

    The Lord of Horn Hill seemed almost like a petulant child in his presence. "I need no lecture from you as to who she is."

    "Peace, Lord Tarly." Renly had now stood as well. "Solomon speaks truly, and when Lord Selwyn passes, Lady Brienne will rule Evenfall Hall in her own name." A smile took his lips. "Besides, she is not the first mystery knight whose identity surprised."

    The lord had a sour look about him, and it turned even more sour when many of the gathered lords agreed with her liege lord, shouting the names of queer knights of every stripe.

    Lord Tyrell leapt to his feet as soon as the winds turned in her favor, blustering through her honors, but she did not have eyes for him. No, she had eyes only for the first man to stand in her defense, who smiled down at her even now.

    There were a thousand things she wanted to say, but none of them passed her lips. Though her tongue had failed her, her body had not, and so she lifted her hand to her heart and smiled, the same hand that held his favor.

    While she knew this dream would soon end, in that moment Brienne felt as if she stood amongst the knights she had always read about as a young girl, all of them smiling at her as he was.

    It was a memory she would treasure until the end of her days.

 Eddard II & Margaery II

    Eddard?

    What met them in King''s Landing could only be described as a madhouse.

    Jon Arryn had passed quietly in his sleep three nights ago, and that very night Cat''s sister had taken her son and fled King''s Landing for the Vale. Finally, Stannis Baratheon had sailed to Dragonstone without a word said to anyone.

    With Renly Baratheon at Highgarden, that left only four seats on the small council. Of those four, the only occupant he could say he trusted was the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, and the position was only an advisory one.

    Not even for all the love he still held for Robert had he wanted to deal with this headache, but he had pleaded with him to at least stay in King''s Landing for a time and consider it.

    Ned had wanted to refuse him in spite of the request, but in the end it was his debt to Jon Arryn that he agreed. Now, looking back, he should have trusted his gut and never left Winterfell.

    He took a breath, gripping Ice tightly as he listened to the sounds of birds.

    Even the godswood here was wrong, for there was not a weirwood at its heart, but instead an oak with no face. Was there any surer sign that a Stark was not welcome here? If there was, he did not know it.

    "I had thought to find you here."

    Turning at the sound of a voice, he gentled when he saw it was Ser Brynden. His Tully hair had gone grey since he had last seen him, and he had more lines and creases than he remembered. His deep blue eyes like a river set and knightly poise were all that remained the same.

    "Ser Brynden. I hear you arrived in the city some days before us."

    The older man sighed as he joined Ned on the bench. "In time to see my niece off, as it were."

    He seemed to be struggling to find the right words, and Ned waited patiently as a courtesy.

    He also took the time to calm his own thoughts.

    "Lysa did not think King''s Landing safe anymore. Claimed it hadn''t been a chill that had taken the Hand, but poison."

    His blood ran as cold as winter at the words. This was not the type of man to make such a jest, and more was that it swiftly answered a number of questions he had.

    "By whose hand?" he whispered hoarsely.

    "The queen''s, though she also claimed that she was not acting alone." There Ser Brynden made a grimace, his features muddled with doubt as well as age now.

    "I will hear it no matter how unlikely." He owed it to Jon to discover all who had a hand in his murder.

    "Lysa''s changed in the years she has lived within this festering rot of a city, Lord Stark. I worry the Hand''s death has shaken what good sense she had left, but yes, she has named others." The knight scratched at his grey stubble a moment. "A stranger had come two moons back by name of Solomon the Magnificent, she had said, a sorcerer that whispers in the queen''s ear. Together, she believes, they conspired to poison her husband."

    He stared at Ser Brynden at the end, trying to make some sense of it. Even if he were to believe that, why poison the Hand?

    "I would take Lysa''s words as what they are," Ser Brynden continued, "the words of a woman bereaved."

    "Has she offered any evidence? Even a thought as to why?"

    The knight looked away. "She believes that it is because Lord Arryn was known as a pious man, and so was a threat to the sorcerer''s dark intentions. That was all she told me before she gathered all the men sworn to House Arryn in the city and left for the Vale."

    Was he supposed to believe that King''s Landing had become a haunt of murderous queens and sorcerers or that Lysa Arryn was not a woman well? Ned had never cared for that Andal obsession with naming everything strange sorcery, but such a story might still have some truth to it.

    "Where are they now, the queen and this so-called sorcerer?"

    "The queen has returned from Storm''s End with His Grace, and as for this sorcerer, what little I have heard of him, is that he has traveled to Highgarden with Renly Baratheon."

    This tale only gets stranger with every word he hears. Ned placed a hand on Ser Brynen''s shoulder.

    "I apologize for getting you involved in this sordid affair. If I had known, I would have been hard-pressed to stir myself from Winterfell."

    The older man returned a smile. "We cannot say we do not live in interesting times. I have not changed my mind on my nephew either. It is the least I can do for Cat."

    The words had given him an idea. "If you will have Bran as your squire, I ask that you leave this city as soon as you are able," Ned whispered. "Return to the Vale or the Riverlands, but far from here." He met the knight''s deep blue eyes again. "Can I trust you to keep him safe, Ser Brynden?"

    There was a short pause between them. "You are staying?"

    "It would be a disservice to Jon Arryn''s memory if I did not even try to discover the truth." He saw his father''s blackened bones again before he shook his head. "But not as Hand. Let Robert name another with my blessings."

    Ser Brynden stared a moment. "I fear any he finds will only find themselves swallowed up by this city, but you are still a braver man than I, Lord Stark."

    This wasn''t bravery, he wanted to say. This was a fool''s duty.

    "Then I shall speak with my nephew, get his measure. It has been some time since I last had a squire."

    Ned nodded, removing his signet ring and placing it into the knight''s hand. "Show it to the captain of my guard. Though I must warn you, Bran is a spirited boy. Watch him like a hawk for you might blink and find him elsewhere."

    Ser Brynden smiled like a rogue. "It is those boys that make the finest knights, my lord, though Hoster would disagree. It was on his suggestion that I took a black fish as my sigil, though he would disagree with that as well."

    Ned nodded. "I shall go speak with the Grand Maester in the meantime. It is my hope that he will shed some light on Lord Arryn''s passing."

    Ser Brynden touched a hand to his shoulder. "I would ask the Crone to light your path, but I do not think you would trust her."

    He took the jest in the spirit it was given. "I thank you for the thought still, Ser Blackfish."

    They separated not long after, and he made for the rookery.

    The heat was almost unbearable today, but he had already abandoned his furs, so there was nothing to do but bear it in silence. It reminded him of his time in Dorne so many years ago.

    With so few clouds to darken the sun, it only made the bricks of the Red Keep seem all the more red. They say Maegor the Cruel''s deprivations had left a curse upon it, and perhaps that was true. Ned certainly held no fondness for a place that saw his father burned and brother strangled.

    He had been about to climb the tower stairs when a voice like polished brass interrupted him. "I fear our venerable Grand Maester will not give you the answers you seek, Stark."

    He turned his eyes to the source. "Lord Baelish," he bit out coldly. The whoremonger was the last person he wanted to speak with right now.

    "The very same. Has Cat told you of me? We were fast friends at Riverrun."

    He was a short man, and just as slight, with false green eyes as mocking as his smile; little wonder it was then that most had called him Littlefinger. "Brandon told me of you."

    "Truly? Ah, I feel honored that Brandon Stark spoke even a word about me. I hadn''t put up much of a fight, you see." There was a pitying expression that seemed exaggerated. "Not that you would find me ungrateful for having my life spared. More fool the boy who challenges the starving wolf for his prey than the wolf, wouldn''t you agree?"

    Annoyed with his jests, Ned had taken another step when he heard the whoremonger''s words again.

    "The Grand Maester is Cersei''s creature through and through. You will get no more from him than you would her beloved brother."

    The words had Ned remembering the sight of Jaime Lannister smirking as he sat the throne with a golden sword over his knees, the Mad King''s corpse on the steps beneath him with a throat red with ruin.

    It was madness for Robert to have placed him on his own Kingsguard, but that as he had seen had been the least of it.

    Littlefinger''s words knocked him from his trance then. "You want to know if Lysa Arryn''s fevered words held any truth to them? Would you care to hear my thoughts?"

    He turned again to stare. "You would have me trust you?"

    The man laughed, the sun brushing against his colorful velvet tunic. "No, Stark, not trusting me is the least you should do. Why, I daresay you should not trust a soul in this city, be they a beggar or even an old friend. Do so, and you may yet thrive."

    "Then what need have I of your thoughts?"

    "You needn''t trust a man to listen to his words." Littlefinger shrugged his shoulders haplessly. "Jon Arryn''s newly widowed lady wife may be a woman prone to panic and fancy, but I think most would find it suspect how as soon as the Hand had moved to investigate a certain prickly matter, a sickness takes him."

    Ned stirred, remembering the contents of the letter he had fed to the fire. "A certain prickly matter?" he repeated.

    There was that smile again. "It was by the Hand''s will that I was made master of coin, Stark. I am not shy to say that I owe him the position, and through the past few years I have worked to repay him for his trust in me. If you wish to hear the fruits of those efforts, then we must venture outside the Red Keep, for its walls ever have unwanted listeners."

    He hesitated. That Jon Arryn had some measure of trust in him did not yet mean he did, and he was too new to the city to tell a trap from a quiet conversation.

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    Littlefinger must have noticed something in his eyes or in his posture. "It needn''t be now. By all means, exhaust all the means you have available to you. Our master of whispers will have plenty whispers for your ear, ever loyal servant of the realm that he is. And how couldn''t he be, when he holds no lands and has fathered no sons?"

    Departing after a deep yet equally mocking bow, he left Ned to his thoughts, thoughts that grew more gnarled and twisted with each passing moment. And as he ascended to speak to the Grand Maester, he quickly learned that Littlefinger had the truth of it. The ancient man told him nothing he didn''t already know.

    Why, Robert? Why have you allowed all this? But there was no answer for him in his thoughts, and he dared not ask Robert himself, who would just wield it as a cudgel to get him to accept the position.

    Yet for a moment he wondered if he should. Lord Cregan Stark too had come to King''s Landing and found a city mired in its own rot at the end of a bloody civil war, and he had set it to rights. The Hour of the Wolf the maesters called it.

    He shook his head after another moment. It was a brutal action for a brutal time, when the wolf blood ran thick in House Stark. Nor did he have an army at his back to carry out his will as Cregan Stark did.

    Perhaps he should write to Cat and get her true thoughts on Littlefinger. At least then he might approach knowing more than what a few jests from Brandon told him.

    Though with the thought of her also came a longing, one he tried to swallow. He still needed to speak with Ser Wendel, for right now his was the only source of information he trusted.

    He would also be asking House Manderly''s aid in ferrying more men from Winterfell, for even with his household guard and Ser Wendel''s men, he did not think it was enough. He needed only a glance to see how corrupt the gold cloaks were, and the gods only knew when the master of laws would return from Highgarden¡­

    Margaery?

    "Then it is true?" she asked her grandmother.

    "It is. He was older than me by a few years, though you wouldn''t know it. Healthy as an ox, that one."

    Margaery tugged at her thick brown locks. "You believe there was foul play?"

    "It''s King''s Landing, sweetling. If a turnip had killed a man, I would suspect the turnip and the man." Willas chuckled softly as he broke some bread off from the loaf. "Though it is queer thing, I admit. The old falcon had always taken great care not to step on anyone''s toes."

    "I am more curious as to who will succeed him," her brother commented. "Eddard Stark had somehow found himself in King''s Landing, and yet unless something had changed, is still only Lord Stark. I might have guessed Stannis Baratheon if not for his flight to Dragonstone."

    "And we should count our lucky stars for that. Stannis has little love for us after my son had spent the better part of the war feasting outside Storm''s End, and his Florent wife only worsens the pot."

    "Tywin Lannister would not be much better. Already the capital is swamped with Lannister toadies."

    "And Hoster Tully is too sick," Grandmother concluded. "If Stark continues to delay, my son might think he has a chance and will run off to King''s Landing to plead his case."

    "Mayhaps if Renly argued for the same," Willas said, though he didn''t seem convinced. "In any case, I think we would all agree that Lord Stark would otherwise be the best option for us. He is not a man prone to grudges."

    Grandmother harrumphed but didn''t argue. Instead a sly smile appeared on her lips. "He has a daughter, already a beauty like her mother. Your sister has a husband now, Willas, yet I cannot help but notice that you still spurn a wife."

    He made an uncomfortable face. "She is a girl not even flowered yet, and I am a cripple."

    "And the North is the least of the kingdoms."

    "I believe that would be the Iron Islands," her brother commented.

    "I said kingdoms, not barren rocks."

    Margaery laid a hand upon his. "You are heir to Highgarden, Willas. A match with Sansa Stark would be a good one."

    "And you needn''t bed her for a few years yet. Though speaking of beddings¡­" Margaery watched her grandmother''s thorny smile turn on her. "Has Renly yet deigned to put an heir in your belly?"

    She gave a soft sigh. "He says there is no rush as he sings my praises in the same breath."

    "Perhaps he thinks his seed will take on my grandson," she threw back irreverently. "I might have to have a few words with him myself, as clearly none have explained to him how it works yet."

    "Grandmother," Willas admonished.

    "A fool my husband might have been, but at least he knew where to put it," she continued, and Margaery shared a look with her brother. "Now, have we learned anything more of the mummer we have played the gracious hosts to for the better part of a moon? Apart from Renly and Brienne the Beauty, you have spent the most time with him, Willas."

    Willas pulled at the sleeves of his dark green doublet. "I feel as if I have learned everything there is to know about him, and yet nothing at all."

    Margaery looked away, her thoughts finding their way back to the gift Solomon had given her. A rose for a rose, he had said. She also wondered what gift he had given the groom, but Renly never said.

    "In any event, he has already left for Oldtown."

    Grandmother snorted. "While it would be a pleasant thought to never think of him again, the influence he has over our prancing stag is almost perverse."

    Margaery had only seen Grandmother speak to him once, and she had ever been sour since.

    "What council he has given has not been unkind to Highgarden," Willas muttered.

    "Oh, not unkind. But for what reason? Have you asked?"

    "He has shown us nothing but courtesy," Margaery argued softly. "And not only us. Where others have thrown the most hurtful words at Lady Brienne''s back, he has been kind in her presence and out of it." Was it any wonder then that she had fallen for him so? "I hear he has even asked a few if they would knight her."

    "To a man as that kindness is but another weapon."

    Her brother sighed. "It is safe to say he has some agenda, but until we know what it is, I think this pointless."

    Grandmother gave him a fonder smile. "You have the right of it. Now, what say we put together a letter for the proud Eddard Stark. We should see how much of a twit a fish raised by wolves will be before we decide."

    He returned her smile with a heavy helping of exasperation, and Margaery bid them both well wishes before returning to her apartments. Her cousins were elsewhere today, but that served her well, for there she made to look upon her gift again.

    It was a rose with petals like molten gold, like that oft found on the banners of her House, though in a certain light she thought them a purer shade of yellow sometimes.

    He had told her that if she pricked a finger on it at least once every few moons, that it would never wilt. She hadn''t dared to believe him, and yet it had remained the same without even a drop of water to drink.

    Her eyes found the thorns, and with a bravery that surprised her, she pressed her thumb against one until she bled, a gasp escaping her. Her red blood ran down the stem, and she thought it would fall until it somehow stopped. She watched the rose drink of her blood like a glutton, a pleasant aroma filling the room.

    With a smile on her lips, she raised the petals to her nose, that sweet smell filling her lungs. There had never been a scent so fair, she thought.

    Margaery almost dropped it when she heard a knock on the door. "If we could speak, my lady." Renly?

    Quickly, she hid the rose again, and after another moment she opened the door. To her surprise it was only him, her brother not shadowing him as he oft would.

    "Have you been well? I admit I have been preoccupied since we were wed."

    Renly graced her with a smile as he walked inside with a grace belying his stature, and there he paused, breathing in deeply of the same scent.

    "Highgarden has always been kind to me," she answered.

    He turned around with unfocused eyes. "I fear the Red Keep will not be quite as kind, but it does still hold a beauty to it when you forget all the wickedness it has seen."

    "My lord?"

    "I have been gone from King''s Landing too long, and look at what has happened." He gave a put upon sigh. "It will need to be put to rights, and your lord father has agreed to lend his aid."

    She was not surprised. "I understand."

    "The choice is yours, of course, but it would be strange if my lady wife did not accompany me."

    Margaery smiled at him. "While I will always hold a special love for Highgarden, my lord, I have also wanted to see the world. I will want to see Storm''s End when it pleases you as well."

    His smile brightened, and he kissed her hand. For a moment she thought he might finally bed her, but his mercurial eyes flashed again and he left her to her thoughts, thoughts that soon returned to the heady aroma still lingering in the air.

    What was she to make of it? At first she had thought Solomon was not unlike Renly, but he had since endeavored to show her otherwise, and now he had given her a rose that her septa would see burned if she knew.

    But she would not know unless Margaery told her and she would not. It was much too beautiful for her to part with, for a gift as fine as it could have traveled here from Yi-Ti, or further still.

    Retrieving it again, the petals seemed even brighter now, and she almost pricked her finger again. He had said she only had to once every few moons, so there wasn''t a need.

    Margaery laid it down to rest upon her pillow instead, where she watched it until the sun set, and later still.

 Asha II & Cersei III

    Asha?

    Her Black Wind had not received the warmest welcome in Oldtown, but it was not Lannisport where they would have been lucky to walk away only a few heads shorter. The promise of goods from the Free Cities did much to help as well, and she spent the morning speaking with merchants.

    It was dull work, but coin was coin, and her men would be happy to have good ale to fill their bellies again.

    Asha left them to load the goods after her business was done, Qarl at her back as they made for the Merry Maiden through the nest of streets and alleyways all paved in stone.

    Inside it smelled of smoke and spirits, and her eyes searched for her quarry, easy enough to find by the sight of his unpleasantly yellow cloak, and if not that, then for the queer company he kept. One was perhaps both the biggest and ugliest woman she had ever seen, armored in well worn plate the color of cobalt and armed with a sword in a black scabbard. Her bright blue eyes were alert, and they quickly found hers as she neared.

    The other was somehow even stranger, dressed in the manner of a maester, but with hands like a bear''s paws and a thick neck made him look more like he belonged aboard a ship than locked away in a tower. He still had many more links than any maester she had seen.

    Her eyes returned to mummer, the sight of him much more pleasant.

    If she had still been a maiden, she might have even been lost in how handsome he was with his dark eyes and white teeth. Instead she planted her arse in an empty chair and kicked her boots up, the irreverence drawing a frown from the big woman''s duckish lips, which Asha smirked at.

    "I see you received my letter," Solomon said, his voice just as handsome as the rest of him.

    "How could I not want to meet the man who went to such lengths to get my attention?" she husked, her words drawing a quiet snort from Qarl at her side. "Though you will forgive me for also bringing my finest warrior."

    He stood straighter at those words, his eyes on the big woman''s sword.

    "These are Lady Brienne Tarth and Archmaester Marwyn," Solomon introduced, prompting a hum from her.

    Not even a maester but an archmaester, and a greenlander lady that looked less like a lady than Asha did. Today was a day of surprises, it seemed.

    "A Greyjoy as well?" The maester gave her a red smile, his teeth likely stained by sourleaf as she had seen a few times. "I cannot help but wonder what schemes you have in mind, Solomon." He turned back to the handsome mummer with a shrug of his great shoulders. "In any event, you would have more luck in the Free Cities, I think. Old Leyton has not stirred from his tower for near ten years now, and is not like to anytime soon."

    Solomon''s dark eyes found hers, and she raised a brow in response. Then he retrieved what looked like a book from his person and handed it to the maester, who ran a heavy hand across its cover.

    "I have heard of Gaelaerys," he whispered, "though I have only had the luck to read a short treatise by him." He handed Solomon a book in return, which quickly vanished somewhere in his clothes. Asha was beginning to wonder if her nuncle shouldn''t have come instead.

    Still, the maester soon left after a short bow, and Asha quickly flashed a smile. "If you need a guide to the Free Cities, I think I can find room for so handsome a man on my Black Wind."

    The so-called lady to his right did not much like her words, but then she had expected she wouldn''t. A blind man could see how she looked at him.

    Solomon meanwhile was nothing but courteous. "I think I should still say a few words."

    Shrugging her shoulders, she retrieved her dirk to clean her nails, another irreverent action that only had Lady Giant''s frown deepen. Asha was beginning to enjoy teasing her, and she wondered how the ugly duckling would react if she were to catch her riding him until her legs gave out.

    Had he even fucked her yet, or was she chasing a dream? If so, then it would be a mercy.

    "I''m sorry to say your father is not long for this world, my lady." His sudden words wiped the smirk from her lips. "It will seem a tragic accident to all, and the very next day Euron Greyjoy''s Silence will sail into Lordsport. As the eldest after Balon, he will¡ª"

    "Theon still lives, and so do I. Such a usurpation will be challenged." Doubt smothered her words in spite of her, for Theon was more Stark than Greyjoy, and she was she.

    "Some will, certainly, if not for love of you than for mistrust of him, though even so your other uncles will not back your claim. Aeron will call for a kingsmoot, and Victarion will argue for himself. In the end, they both will play into his hands, for he will promise the ironborn something sweeter than even a kingdom."

    Asha thought his smile more haunting than handsome now. "What?"

    "This," he answered, pointing everywhere and nowhere. "Oldtown. The Seven Kingdoms. Westeros. And he will say it is all possible with a treasure he stole from doomed Valyria."

    "Madness," she whispered.

    "Kinslaying is the least of his crimes. He will drown all of you in blood and horror, and he will do it with a zeal that would surprise you."

    "What proof have you for any of this?" Qarl asked to her side, having found his tongue.

    Asha touched a hand to his forearm. "I know the Crow''s Eye," she whispered again. "The way he looks at you, you may as well be nothing but a fish for him to pluck from the sea to a slow death." Her eyes found Solomon''s again. "Though I am curious what he has done to make an enemy of a mummer."

    She tried to recapture some humor, but it was a hollow thing. These were worries she had nursed for years, for the Iron Islands never had a queen.

    "Enough," he answered simply. Then he gave a hapless smile. "I expected you would need more convincing." Asha watched as he retrieved a small mirror from somewhere. "You should still see for yourself, for words are wind."

    She reached out and plucked it from his hands despite Qarl''s protest. It was not a mirror at all, she quickly saw, not showing her reflection. Instead it showed a sea red as blood, and so much more.

    She saw Oldtown, not as it was now, but as a charnel pit, corpses stacked as tall as houses. She saw King''s Landing next consumed in wildfire, and around the Iron Throne were more corpses, some charred and others with their throats slit and worse. At the center of it all was the Crow''s Eye, and from the eye he always hid spilled appendages that lapped at the blood and gore like a hungry, slavering thing.

    His head turned, and her breath caught in her throat. He saw her. She felt the urge to flee when she felt her hands suddenly empty, and the nightmare disappear.

    Qarl held a hand to his sword, furious. "What have you done?"

    Asha felt as if she hadn''t tasted water in days. "That will happen?" she bit out. Her eyes found Lady Giant giving her a kind look, which annoyed her.

    "It might." He held it out to Qarl, who looked at it like he might a serpent. Solomon shrugged at the refusal and hid it again. "What will be is not what has been. All you can be sure of is that he will do his best to ensure that all you saw comes to pass."

    She licked her lips, her thoughts a whirlwind. "Even if I went to my father, he will just say that he has already banished the Crow''s Eye."

    "Your father is not much better," he told her, and that stirred some anger from her, anger that was quickly doused when she remembered her mother''s words. "What has he brought you but misery?

    "He wanted us to be free to make our own way."

    "Free to what? Rape and reave until the end of time? I would hope you have a grander imagination, my lady; otherwise, I will have come here for naught."

    Asha looked away, though there was nowhere she could look where she could not see the horror she had just born witness to. The only plan that came to mind was to make common cause with Victarion, but she did not think it likely. He was as strong as an ox, but also had the wits of one.

    "Asha," she heard, drawing her eyes back. "You need only dream of something better. The rest will come in time."

    She made an exasperated sound. "And what are you supposed to be anyway? An Essosi sorcerer?"

    For the first time she heard him laugh, and she decided she liked it. "I never said you were mistaken. I am a mummer, though not an Essosi one."

    Asha looked at him doubtfully, a small smile tugging at her lips. "The offer still stands. You will find no faster ship to take you to the Free Cities." And in the meantime she would learn all she could of him, and maybe bed him once or twice, if only to say she fucked a sorcerer.

    He clapped his hands, a smile on his lips again. "Then I will meet you at the docks in an hour''s time. There is something I have to see to."

    She watched him a moment longer before she sheathed her dirk and stood, throwing him one final smirk before she left the Merry Maiden. Qarl interrupted her thoughts on the way back.

    "This is a mistake, Asha. Something about him feels wrong."

    Asha snorted. "I know. It''s exciting, isn''t it?"

    "That wasn''t meant as a jest," he complained.

    "And you are not my husband. Or has fucking me made you think otherwise?" she asked, her smile turning dangerous.

    "No! That¡­ I did not mean it that way."

    This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

    "Good. I have already made my decision, but you are not my thrall either. If you have lost faith in me¡ª"

    "I haven''t. I only think he could have made you see anything."

    Asha gave a soft sigh. "And my decision would have been the same. None of my uncles would see me rule Pyke in my own name, and so it falls to me to even the odds in any way I can."

    He had naught to say to that, and they soon arrived back at the docks. She saw Hagen and his daughter speaking and Rolfe the Dwarf towering over a few Summer Islanders he was playing a game with, so she knew the work had already been finished. Now all they had to do was wait on a sorcerer.

    He was at least punctual as it turned out, as he had arrived at the time he said he would, the sunset catching on his cloak. Though there was no Lady Giant trailing after him as a puppy might, which she mentioned.

    "The Lady Brienne isn''t the fondest of ships," he answered, "nor of ironborn."

    She didn''t know if she believed it, but she also didn''t much care either way. Asha was more curious as to why he didn''t follow.

    "He should be here soon," he explained.

    She expected that brutish maester again, but instead she saw a man in shoddy armor and bearing a nasty smile.

    "Ser Ashter Flowers," Solomon introduced with a queer smile. "He had run afoul of Lord Florent''s laws, and I suggested an alternative to the headsman."

    The knight''s eyes met hers, his smile more slimy now. "Just tell me who to kill, my lady."

    Asha gave a nod after a moment. Her crew were all killers, so what was one more?

    "Have your men bind and gag him after we set sail," Solomon added after the knight had awkwardly climbed the ropes.

    She raised a curious brow. "To what end?"

    "The grandest sorceries require sacrifice, and he raped two girls before he cut their throats."

    Asha chuckled lowly. "Then I will much like to see his face when he discovers the truth."

    Solomon''s eyes had turned elsewhere. "Also, if I might suggest a stop at Sunspear before we cross the Narrow Sea. You will need friends, my lady, and the Dornishmen do not hate you as much as your closer neighbors."

    Not seeing any reason to tell him no, she agreed. Her last barrel of Dornish red had emptied three moons back, and the Arbor red she had procured this morning simply didn''t have the same bite to it.

    Her Black Wind sailed out of Oldtown soon after, her and the sorcerer watching the Hightower together until its fires winked out over the horizon.

    Cersei?

    Fiddling with the band around her finger as had become a nervous habit, she looked at the impish creature as he drank her wine.

    "I have chosen an interesting time to return to King''s Landing, it seems. Though you look as radiant as ever, sweet sister."

    She gave him a withering glare. "Keep your compliments for your whores. I have no need of them, nor you."

    "How I have missed your sharp tongue also." He poured himself more of her wine as she watched. "I should tell you that it was Father''s wish that I come. He has heard some queer things of late and has tasked me with acting as his eyes and ears."

    Cersei hid a frown. "You can tell him that I already have everything well in hand."

    "Is that why the city has been swarmed with Tyrell men-at-arms? You would think it was the Dance come again with how much green I have seen this past hour alone."

    "You can keep your jests for the whores as well," she spat.

    It was Stannis Baratheon and his red priestess that gave her sleepless nights staring at shadows, not Renly. Truly, it was a mercy that all three of the brothers held little love for one another.

    He gave her an ugly smile. "I suppose they might appreciate them more."

    "Then return to them, Tyrion; they must already miss your coin if not the rest of you."

    She had hoped that would be the end of it, but instead he seemed determined to vex her further.

    "The whores also talk, Cersei. Would you care to know about what?"

    Cersei filled her own cup with wine after an annoyed sound. "I am certain you will tell me anyway."

    Drinking deeply of the red, she had to remind herself that without Maggy''s curse, her imp of a brother was less than a gnat.

    "They whisper the Red Keep has become a den of sorcery, even the queen falling prey to it. And the whores are the least of it, I fear. You might have septons and begging brothers at your door before long, praying for your beleaguered soul."

    She sneered at him. "You think you are the first to tell me? A night in the black cells should remind them of their place if it comes to that."

    Whoever had started those rumors should pray she never found them. They would wish for the Stranger after she was through with them.

    Solomon had told her that uncertainty was not her friend, and the Hand''s sudden demise had brought it about in spades. The best she could say was that it had saved her from having to listen to Stannis Baratheon grinding his teeth.

    Tyrion looked at her doubtfully. "For what crime? Praying for you? There would be no easier way to fan the flames."

    She put on a sweet smile, swallowing her anger. "Then make yourself useful, Tyrion. Discover the source of these rumors."

    He toasted her with another ugly smile. "As you say, Your Grace. I shall leave not a stone unturned."

    Cersei turned herself and left her chambers when he stayed and poured more wine, Ser Meryn at her back. At least her lord father had not just sent the imp to her alone, but a hundred men-at-arms as well.

    As she passed Robert''s door, she heard another heated argument between himself and Eddard Stark. The boor gave a grunt as she stepped inside, as if he hadn''t just been shouting.

    Stark''s cool eyes found her as well, glancing at her belly that had begun to show. "I couldn''t help but overhear," she told them softly. A thought had taken her. "Are we still short a Hand, Husband?"

    "What''s it to you?" he grunted out again.

    "I cannot help but suggest my lord father," she answered sweetly. "The realm had never known more plentiful times than when he was Hand, and I know I can convince him to take his old position if the realm has need of him again."

    He would be pleased, she knew. With him as Hand, Stannis Baratheon could rot on Dragonstone for the rest of his miserable life.

    "There you have it, Ned. If you don''t take the position, gods be damned, I''ll give it to Tywin Lannister!"

    Stark''s eyes seemed as cold as winter now, but she watched with a vicious smile as he soon fled with his tail between his legs. Success tasted sweeter than even the finest wine.

    "Get out."

    Cersei''s smile remained as she watched him fill his fat goblet with wine, praying he would choke on it. Even her gentle Tommen would make for a better king than the wine-sodden beast before her.

    Leaving him to his misery, she paused at the sounds of giggling after leaving Maegor''s Holdfast, spying Margaery Tyrell surrounded by some of her cousins.

    The poor girl might die a maiden with a husband like Renly Baratheon, she thought.

    "Your Grace," she heard at her back after a few steps.

    She was greeted by the girl''s big doe eyes when she turned around, her hands clasped nervously.

    "I had wanted to approach Your Grace earlier, but I couldn''t work up the nerve. It is my first time in King''s Landing, and I cannot help but feel a stranger within these walls."

    Cersei stared at her a moment, finding her the kind of simpering beauty that fools often fawned over. The thought had Maggy speaking into her ear again. Queen you shall be... until there comes another, younger and more beautiful, to cast you down and take all that you hold dear.

    She knew they were but empty threats now that Solomon had defeated her, but would it not be even sweeter if she had made this would-be usurper her creature? With but a little effort she could wield her as an instrument against her enemies, be they her own prickly family or Stannis Baratheon.

    Soon she was gracing the girl with a radiant smile. "I remember feeling much the same. Shall we take supper together? At the Maidenvault, perhaps?"

    The girl tried to return a smile of her own, a nervous thing like the rest of her. "That would be perfect, Your Grace."

    Summoning the servants, she bid them to the Maidenvault, Margaery trailing after her much like her skirts.

    There they sat and shared a bounty of cakes and other desserts as she considered the girl.

    "You must feel blessed to have taken with child again, Your Grace," the girl breathed out. "I pray each day for the same."

    The words brought her thoughts to Solomon again, to his dark eyes that smoldered whenever he looked at her, as well as other parts of him that had lit a fire in her belly and kissed her womb. She had not let Jaime touch her for fear of the pact she made, but it had been hard.

    A woman such as her had certain appetites, not that the maid in front of her could understand that.

    "I thank you for the kind words, Lady Margaery. I am certain your lord husband is not remiss in his duties with a beauty like yours."

    The girl smiled at her guilelessly, so much so that it almost sickened her. Gods, she and Renly were perfect for one another.

    Still, she mustered her courtesies and soldiered on. It only meant the girl would be easier to set to rights.

 The False Knight & Eddard III

    The False Knight?

    What was the Greyjoy bitch playing at? He had offered her his sword, a woman, and she rewarded him by binding and gagging him and throwing him in here. If she thought the high-and-mighty Lord Florent would deal with her fairly¡ª

    A larger wave rocked the ship unpleasantly, interrupting his thoughts. Ashter had never been fond of ships, too wet and cramped for his liking, and he liked the thought of perishing in a storm even less.

    He supposed it was the gods'' own sense of humor then that he be trussed up like a hare aboard one.

    Though it was the scent of fine Arbor red from the barrel to his right that was the cruelest jape. To be able to smell the vintage for hours on end, but never taste it.

    He didn''t rightly know how long he lay there in the darkness, the constant rocking of the bedamned ship and coarseness of the ropes making any attempt at slumber torturous, and so the sound of a latch opening was a welcome one, even if it meant he would soon lose his head.

    A figure soon grabbed him and sat him up, the candle they held driving away some of the darkness and casting shadows. He made out the bloody mummer''s face, and would have spat at him if he wasn''t gagged.

    "Sorry for making you wait."

    The mummer sat opposite of him, the candle illuminating a mockery of a smile that had him straining at his bindings.

    "Don''t take it personally. It wasn''t even the tenth lie I''ve told this month. Then again¡­" He tapped a finger to his cheek. "Yeah, no, you should probably take it personally. It''s exactly because you''re such a shitheel that you''re here."

    Ashter stared at him, angrily chewing on the cloth gagging him. He was surprised when the mummer reached over and loosened it, allowing him to spit it out.

    "A bit indulgent on my part, but it''s been forever since I have been able to speak my mind," he said by way of answer. "Play along and I can give you some small measure of comfort. Or don''t. Up to you."

    Ashter swallowed his spite when he saw the mummer produce two cups and a flagon of the same Arbor red that had been taunting him, watching quietly as he filled both cups, sliding one to him.

    It was awkward holding it with his wrists bound, but he managed. He sighed as the rich taste of fermented grapes danced along his tongue.

    "Never been the biggest fan of wine myself. If I ever drank, it was a bit of wiskey or vahdka from time to time, but you won''t find either here."

    The words were foreign to his ears, likely some Essosi spirits he didn''t care for. He placed the cup back on the black planks after he had drunk his fill.

    "We made a pact," Ashter finally said. "I give you and the Greyjoy bitch my sword, and you would take me from the Reach."

    The mummer''s dark eyes smiled at him. "If you want to be particular, we have your sword, and we are well on our way to Dorne now."

    He gave a miserable laugh after a moment. "The jape''s on me for trusting a mummer." The mention of Dorne meant nothing to him. He had never been past the Red Mountains.

    "You would have met your end by the headsman''s axe if I had not intervened, and not a soul would have protested. They would have probably pissed on your grave instead, not that I would blame them."

    His anger grew again. "Then why, you bedamned mummer? Why Dorne? Why any of this?"

    "Have you heard stories of skinchangers? Wargs, perhaps?"

    The sudden question brought a halt to his temper with how queer it was. "I''ve heard stories of grumkins and snarks also," he spat.

    "I can''t speak on grumkins and snarks, but¡­ hm, I think it best I just show you."

    Ashter did not turn away. Was he trying to frighten him with children''s stories? He¡ª

    He¡ª

    ¡ªcouldn''t even describe the sudden pain that blossomed in his head. It tore through his eyes, scratched at his skull. He¡ª

    ¡ªheard himself screaming¡­ felt something slimy trying to worm inside his head¡­ gods, it hurt.

    Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it¡ª

    ¡ªdidn''t know how many times he asked until it mercifully stopped.

    His teeth and jaw ached with how hard he had bitten down, and his vision blurred.

    "What a rush! I knew it would be harder, but fuck, that was something else."

    He saw the mummer''s breathing was hard and his eyes mad. Had he also felt it? What¡­

    No, he was smiling. Ashter lunged at him¡ª

    ¡ªgods, not again. His skull felt like it was about to split in half.

    When he could next feel again, he felt the floorboards on his cheek and the rush of blood from a broken nose.

    He barely heard a sigh. "I had been given a gift, you see. Something small. It was a Herkyuleean task just bringing a bird to heel, but I''m a stubborn sort."

    Ashter hissed when he was pulled up to sit again by his hair.

    "Shall we continue?" the mad mummer asked. "I think I''ll get the hang of it eventually."

    "No, please. Plea¡ª"

    ¡ªheard himself screaming, his throat raw.

    "Stop? How many times did they ask you to stop?"

    The memories returned to him unbidden, his head like a leaking sieve.

    He had brought her and her sister to the fields. They looked so beautiful. He had touched his sword and said a few words¡­

    "Please," he pleaded still.

    "I''m not going to stop."

    Again it happened. Again. Again. That slimy thing slithered and crawled around his skull, almost like it was looking for something. He felt sick.

    "Fuck you!" Ashter howled when he could.

    "Finally some fire!" He felt fingers gripping his jaw, forcing him to meet his dark eyes. Though they weren''t as dark as he remembered. They looked almost green. "You asked why. This is why. It would have been a waste for your blood to feed the earth."

    He had bit his tongue earlier, and he spat his blood at the mummer spitefully.

    "You got me. Spit. My only weakness."

    The hand left his jaw and¡ª

    ¡ª

    ¡ª

    ¡ª

    ¡ª

    ¡ªshivered like a man in the full breath of winter, his throat a red ruin. How many times?

    It¡­ gods, it hurt to think.

    His tormentor sat opposite him again, and Asher mustered some spiteful satisfaction at seeing him tired also. He had swore he would not become the mummer''s puppet. He had swore.

    "It''s good that you''re determined. We will continue again in the morning, but first¡­"

    Ashter''s blood ran cold as the mummer retrieved a dagger bound in unblemished yellow cloth. He saw himself losing his tongue or his cock when his hand was grasped instead.

    He noticed scars on the mummer''s hands, some fresher than others. The mummer had retrieved something else as well, a small but ornate looking glass, the kind you might see a lady with. He hissed as the dagger soon ran across his palm, spilling blood that was caught upon the glass.

    Ashter watched with weary eyes as his blood seeped into it like fabric. Sorcery.

    "I promise you that not a piece of you will go to waste," he heard, and soon the darkness returned.

    The flagon of wine remained, and he shambled to it, grasping it and drinking deeply of the Arbor red. He did not want to remember any of this horror.

    He drank until he had drunk it dry, and then he fell on his back and thought no more.

    Eddard?

    Ned gave a weary look at the silver hand that denoted his new station. He had refused Robert for near a moon and in the end a few words from Cersei Lannister were all it took.

    If only it were actually so simple. Outside the walls of the city, Littlefinger had revealed to him why the queen might have poisoned the Hand, how Jon Arryn and Stannis Baratheon had been speaking about how none of the royal children looked a thing like Robert, and gods, now he saw it as well.

    That alone was not enough, Ned''s own children were proof of that, but that Jon would die as soon as he began looking into the matter? It all made a terrible sense.

    Jaime Lannister had already killed the king he swore to protect, and who could say that he would not cuckold another? Duty bid Ned to tell Robert what he now suspected, but he knew how it would end. Robert had looked at the butchered Targaryen children and called them dragonspawn¡­ he would do the same with Cersei''s children, born and unborn.

    Gods, he might as well be slitting their throats himself for something that only might be true, all on the word of a whoremonger and a woman bereaved.

    And that would only be the start of it, he knew. Tywin Lannister would never accept it, and the realm would bleed. The crown was deeply in debt as it was, and when no more gold was forthcoming from Casterly Rock, the payments to the Iron Bank would end as well.

    How long would it be then until Balon Greyjoy smelled blood in the water and crowned himself again? What would the Martells do, who have loathed Robert ever since he turned a blind eye to the brutality that befell Elia Martell and her babes?

    No, this all needed a delicate hand. He could not have just told Robert and fled to Winterfell¡­ it would have haunted him until the end of his days.

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    Standing, he clasped the silver hand to his cloak again and left the room, Harwin and Heward shadowing his steps.

    There had been some good news at least. Renly Baratheon had returned to King''s Landing with hundreds of men-at-arms and knights from the stormlands and the Reach, and with the master of laws back in the city, the gold cloaks could be put to rights.

    Descending from the Tower of the Hand, he made for Renly''s apartments, where the gregarious and well-dressed man met him alongside his new Tyrell wife and her knightly brother. If not for their dress, they would have almost looked alike with their soft brown eyes and curling hair that touched their shoulders.

    "Lord Stark," the Baratheon lord greeted him, standing almost as tall as Robert. "Or Lord Hand I should say now. Truly, it soothed my worries to hear that you had taken the position, for there are few men more just and honorable and many less."

    "You are kind, Lord Renly," he quietly replied. He turned to the Tyrells. "Lady Margaery, Ser Loras. I am sorry if I have interrupted."

    Margaery smiled at him, and unlike the many smiles the queen has given him of late, it reached her eyes. "It is no trouble, Lord Hand. We all serve at your pleasure."

    "In fact," Renly interrupted, "I believe my lady wife has wanted to speak to you on behalf of her eldest brother, but I fear your Northern sensibilities have made her hesitate."

    She threw him a beleaguered look, but the small smile on her lips betrayed her good cheer. "It can wait. I shall not keep you from matters of the realm."

    Ned wondered a moment what matter would concern the heir to Highgarden. From what he remembered, Willas Tyrell was still unmarried.

    He still nodded at her curtsy, and when she had gone he turned to Renly again. "There are two matters I wished to bring forth to you, my lord. Your brother has sailed to Dragonstone, but has left no answer as to why, his seat on the small council empty."

    "Ah, I do not think I can help you there. Stannis does not keep council with me. You would have more luck with his smuggler turned knight or the Lady Melisandre."

    "Lady Melisandre?" he asked as if he didn''t know.

    "A red priestess. Though she is much unlike Thoros of Myr from what I have heard. She speaks much of prophecies and mysteries, and I fear my brother listens closely."

    Ned could not help a frown. It felt as if there was some fresh intrigue under every stone.

    "I see." Perhaps he would send Ser Wendel to Dragonstone to find out more. Surely its lord would not begrudge that much. "Then the matter of the gold cloaks."

    Renly gave a curious look. "The gold cloaks?"

    "I shall be frank, my lord. They are corrupt. Two thousand men, and all I can be certain of is that their true master is coin. As master of laws, I did not wish to act without speaking with you."

    The Baratheon lord stared a moment before nodding along. "You are right. In these uncertain times, it would not do to allow the rot to spread more than it already has. Ser Loras."

    "My lord?" the knight asked.

    "I am naming you Commander of the City Watch. See that the gold cloaks are worth the name again."

    Ned watched quietly at the words. He did not know if it was truly wise to assign someone so young to the position, but if what he had heard about Janos Slynt were true, then it was hard to do worse. He could also trust that a son of high nobility would care nothing for coin.

    The Tyrell knight still seemed queasy a moment, but then he held his hand to his heart. "I will see it done."

    Saying that, he left the room much like a cat on the prowl.

    "I will of course have some of my stormlords assist as well. Lords Bryce Caron and Beric Dondarrion, perhaps? Fine knights both."

    Ned inclined his head. "As you say, my lord."

    It would at least blunt the risks of the Tyrells holding too much sway when he was not yet certain of their intentions. He would have to find the time to speak to the two lords.

    "There is another matter you might shed some light on," he continued thoughtfully. "I have heard much talk of this Solomon the Magnificent of late." Ser Wendel had told him that even the common folk whispered of him now. "Is it true that he accompanied you to Highgarden?"

    Renly met the question with a smile. "It is, though I would not put much stock in these rumors you hear. The smallfolk are well known for being taken by such. Solomon might be a stranger to the Seven Kingdoms, it is true, but he is kind and thoughtful. I am not shy to call him a friend."

    He digested the words carefully. Why would such a man also be close with Cersei Lannister? There were many words he could use to describe Robert''s queen, but kind was not one of them.

    "Do you know where he has gone?"

    "To Oldtown. He had been so taken with Highgarden that he decided he would also see the Hightower and the Citadel."

    He bit back a sigh. What pattern was he meant to follow here? He could not see it for the life of him.

    "My lady wife will return soon if you would wait," Renly continued. "It would seem I have a few lords to speak to now."

    Ned gave a nod, and the Baratheon lord had guessed correctly, as Lady Margaery returned only some minutes later.

    "I hope I have not kept you long, Lord Hand."

    "You haven''t." He suspected he already had some idea of what she was going to say.

    Margaery toyed with her hair a moment as she thought. "There was a thought for Willas to marry Arianne Martell at one time, but Prince Doran was not much taken with the idea. My eldest brother is still unmarried, and so he has invited Sansa Stark and the Lady Catelyn to Highgarden."

    He could understand something of the game they were playing at. Through Sansa they would have ties to the North and the riverlands both, and to some degree the Vale as well. In return, the North would have an easier time finding grain in the winters to come.

    Ned found himself tempted to agree on those merits alone, though he saw her soon making a pained expression, pulling at her curls again. He also noticed small cuts on her fingers that reminded him of Lyanna''s hands after she had been tending to the winter roses in Winterfell''s glass gardens.

    "It is true that he will never be a knight with how he struggles with his leg, but he makes up for it in mind and character."

    "Sansa is still young," he softly said instead.

    "They would of course not be wed for many years even if Highgarden were to agree with her," she answered, and he nodded.

    There was also the thought that it would mean Cat would only be two hundred leagues from him, and she was still a southron lady at heart, he knew.

    "I shall write to my lady wife, Lady Margaery. I do not think she will be against the idea."

    She smiled again. "Then I shall wait for news gladly."

    He had left Renly''s apartments soon after, his burdens feeling lighter by a hair.

    Walking into the godswood, he breathed in deeply of the air there as the songs of the birds filled his ears. It was not Winterfell, and it might not have a true heart tree, but the godswood was the only place in this viper''s pit of a city that did not stink of a dozen perfumes or worse.

    It was good that he had the Blackfish take Bran far from it as well. His mind was not as set with worry now, and if trouble were to befall him, it would befall only him.

    He returned to the Tower of the Hand after a time, the days passing uneventfully. It was one morning that Jory entered his solar and informed him that Brienne of Tarth had a message for him.

    It surprised him, but he nodded after a moment, matting his newly trimmed beard.

    Ned expected a southron lady to enter, but instead it was a woman armed and armored and near as tall as the Greatjon. She carried herself well as she stepped forward, offering him a letter to read silently.

    Breaking its starkly yellow seal, he began to read, his brows furrowing deeper with every word. Then finally the name at the end, admitting what he was already beginning to suspect.

    "It is truly from him?"

    "It is." There was not a hint of doubt about her.

    He returned his eyes to the letter, reading it again to remember every detail. It read that it had been Lysa that poisoned her husband with Tears of Lys, but not on her own. At the bidding of another.

    It even told him where to look if he wanted proof.

    Ned never believed that Littlefinger had forgiven Brandon, but to set fire to the realm simply to avenge himself upon House Stark? If it was true, then his brother had made a mistake when he had shown him mercy. If it was true¡­ gods, how could his foster father have been so blind?

    The whoremonger had been enriching himself at the crown''s expense for years, and no one was the wiser. It beggared belief.

    And that Cat''s own sister would be the hand that poisoned her husband, it set his stomach with a chill and his head with fury. For a moment he had even taken the Baratheon words to heart.

    He let out a deep breath. "Thank you. You must have traveled swiftly if you have come from Oldtown. Jory will find you accommodations."

    Lady Brienne nodded, departing from his solar. He soon stood himself, retrieving Ice. He would first investigate, quietly so as not to arouse suspicion, and if it were true¡­

    Then he would take Littlefinger''s head himself.

 Solomon II

    Solomon?

    He refrained from rolling his eyes as the sallow-skinned Prince of Dorne again looked away at the many pools and fountains of the Water Gardens. The man had proven to be just as stubborn as he expected.

    He took a sip of the wine he was offered, but it was both too strong and too sweet.

    "And where is this Aegon now?" he finally heard.

    "With Jon Connington."

    Doran descended into silence again, sipping on his own wine. At least they were in the shade, where the heat was not unbearable.

    "A clever ploy, faking his death." There was something angry and bitter behind the serene mask. "I knew Varys was not to be trusted. Elia had written of him when she still lived, how he would whisper in the king''s ear, conjuring shadows for him to chase."

    He had nodded along. "You hoped to turn the game on him when the Targaryen siblings returned to Westeros."

    "Yes. With Dorne isolated as it was, an even hand was needed."

    "You seem unbothered admitting these things to a stranger," Solomon commented, leaning back.

    "If this were some revelation, you would not be here playing your own game against the eunuch."

    He smiled. "Well said, my prince. I admit that I would rather you come ahead and not Varys. You do not pretend to be a servant of the realm as you put a torch to it."

    Doran looked at him doubtfully. "Is that what drives you?"

    "No," he answered easily. "I will not lie and tell you the fate of Elia Martell and her children are what drive me either, though having seen it with my own eyes, I cannot say it didn''t move me."

    The Dornish prince''s dark eyes did not stray for once. "Did Tywin give the order to kill Elia as well?"

    "Yes," he answered just as easily. "He is a man as petty as he is full of pride. He had never abandoned the slight against him when Aerys had married Rhaegar to Elia and not Cersei, but I expect you already suspected as such."

    "I could never be certain with a beast as Gregor Clegane." There was another pause and a slow exhale. "I will hear your plan."

    "I will go to Pentos." The rest was easy to guess.

    Doran made a pensive expression. "I cannot allow Dorne to be seen acting openly, but Oberyn still has contacts within the many sellsword companies in Essos."

    "No need. It is better if all Varys hears is that we spoke."

    "I see. You intend to bring the Targaryen siblings to Dorne." There was a quiet sigh. "Viserys is not a man prone to subtlety or secrecy."

    "I will implore upon him the need."

    The sickly man still hesitated, but that was what he was known for. "Dorne alone cannot win Viserys his crown. I had my reservations regarding the scheme with this Khal Drogo, but your success will mean that path is barred to us."

    "Khal Drogo would have given Viserys a crown, yes. A crown of molten gold." Solomon gave a small shrug after. "Varys would not even see your daughter married to Aegon. Just as Dorne cannot win Viserys a crown, so too it cannot win one for Aegon Blackfyre."

    Those dark eyes caught on the mirror as he retrieved it.

    "It will not be men that win Viserys his crown and avenge royal blood spilt, but dragons." He held out his hand. "In a year''s time a red comet will blaze across the skies, my prince. The herald of a new Age of Heroes."

    The Dornish prince took the mirror gingerly, his sleek brows furrowing as he looked into it. Amusingly, it was almost exactly what Bloodraven had shown that night.

    He soon licked his lips as he looked away from the mirror. "Viserys is temperamental. Impulsive."

    "You knew all of that already and still planned to wed Arianne to him. This way there might still be time to mold him into a king worthy of the name."

    He personally thought it unlikely, but stranger things have happened. Taking the mirror back from a shaky hand, he continued to speak milk and honey into Prince Doran''s ear.

    "Much of his madness stems from the years after he and his sister were forced from Braavos. With only a few possessions to their name, they soon lost it all piece by piece, until he had to sell even his mother''s crown, his own crown since she had crowned him with it. It was the last thing he had left of her."

    The sickly man actually looked somewhat aggrieved at that, his hands clutching at the blanket over his legs. "I could not act while Robert Baratheon''s wrath could still fall upon Dorne."

    "You can still find the crown, my prince. I am rather certain that Varys at least has some idea where it has gone, and he should find no issue with you wanting to make a gift of it alongside your daughter''s hand. It should serve as the perfect distraction."

    "It will not take him long to figure us out."

    "Even if he catches on, he will soon not be able to whisper in the ears of kings as he has."

    At least, he did not expect Cersei to actually succeed in catching a spider.

    The silence returned, longer this time, though he could not be too upset. Doran Martell had agreed to meet with him, unlike one Lord Leyton Hightower. And he had prepared such a wonderful gift as well¡­

    Finally, the Dornish prince stirred. "I give your plan my blessings. Bring them to Dorne."

    He nodded gracefully. "Though there was another reason I have come to Dorne. I hear some of your people still hold to Rhoynish traditions. Orphans, they call themselves."

    There was only a short pause this time. "Any sorcery they possess is unlikely to impress you. If bathing for ten days and ten nights in a river could heal my condition, then I would already be healed."

    "I am curious nonetheless," he answered with another smile. "Though on your condition, you may want to limit how much you indulge in wine. Especially one as strong as this." He raised the cup a moment.

    The sickly man looked away stubbornly. "Maester Caleotte says the same, though were he so all-knowing, I reckon would not be in this condition to begin with."

    "I imagine the wine also helps with the pain." The silence was answer enough. "I will see what I can do before I leave for Pentos, but consider abstaining for the moment."

    He had stood when Doran spoke again. "I will speak to Oberyn, but he is as impudent as he is impetuous. He will seek you out to get your measure himself."

    A soft chuckle left his lips. "I expect he will."

    Solomon glanced at the guard with the impressive axe on his back as he left. That went well.

    Pulling himself up on the reddish sand steed he had been lent, he spurred the stallion back to Sunspear along the winding windswept path that traveled down the coast.

    He had never been the biggest fan of places hot and humid, but he could appreciate the beauty in the shimmering waters and red sands. It had been something of an adventure getting here, first to Storm''s End, then Highgarden, Oldtown¡­ he had mapped it all out before he had even stepped into King''s Landing.

    In a month or two he would be at its end. Pentos.

    The next moment he was elsewhere, looking down at a longship black as sin with sails to match; Asha''s Black Wind. The sensation of flying was hard to describe, but he had grown to love it. Well worth the blood he had spilt first at Storm''s End and then at Highgarden.

    Bloodraven''s breadth of knowledge when it came to sorcery had also been appreciated.

    He couldn''t trust him, of course, but then he didn''t need to. He had only agreed to do a few small tasks for the decrepit greenseer, and while he was sure there were some things he was missing, he understood their purpose well enough that it did not rank very highly on his worries.

    He flew lower on white wings, landing on the railing. For all that Asha called it a longship, it was nothing like any Viking longship he remembered seeing, too fat and resting too high above the water. It was still long, he supposed.

    Some of the crew threw him nervous looks, but they were used to Gulligan by now. Besides, they had him to thank for their recent stroke of good luck, avoiding two storms and even catching a fat Lyseni ship on the open sea.

    Asha had kissed him for it, though she probably would have done so sooner if he hadn''t been so obsessed with pushing the limits of what he could do. He wasn''t blind to how she looked at him.

    Curiously, he didn''t see her on the deck of her longship, and not her cabin either. Exploring the shadow city, perhaps.

    Retreating, he soon saw Sunspear for himself again, its towers reaching for the sun as the shadow city hid beneath their shade. He left the stallion''s reins in the hands of a guard in Martell colors, making his way through the city to the harbor.

    The ironborn gave him a wide berth as he boarded the longship, Gulligan swooping over to one of his shoulders. Solomon stroked his feathers, the monstrous seagull producing a funny crooning noise.

    He had jokingly dubbed him Gulligan the First of His Name, King of the Skies and the Winged Rats, Lord of the Beaches and Protector of the Coast. It was an appropriate name for the product of his first foray into the Valyrian art with too long of a name that he had shortened to fleshcrafting.

    The Valyrians had perfected it over the centuries, and it had survived the Doom through Mantarys and Gogossos the book he received from Marwyn had said, though the second had since fallen into ruin. His newfound command over it probably wouldn''t have impressed any dragonlord of old, but Rome wasn''t built in a day either.

    It didn''t help that a drop of sorcery cost ten drops of blood. He must have spilled at least a pint of his own for some reason very valuable blood to produce the mirror, while Renly and Margaery''s gifts had left him lightheaded for the better part of a week.

    He went down below deck, to a small dark room that stunk of wine.

    "Sunspear is beautiful, I have to say. Despite the weather."

    The man stirred, bloodshot eyes finding the bottle of aged Dornish red in his hands. He left it in front of him, watching as he took a deep drink.

    "I thought I would find something other than Arbor red for you."

    "Thank you¡­"

    Solomon continued watching as the man drunky deeply. "Come. You can see it for yourself." He saw the scattered emotions. "You can take the wine with you."

    Leaving, a glance through Gulligan''s eyes showed the false knight trailing after him. The ironborn gave a few queer looks but no more than that.

    They walked along the beach for a time, further and farther from Sunspear, the sun beginning to dip under the horizon to turn the waters shades of red and orange and yellow.

    "What do you think?" he asked.

    "Beautiful¡­ as you said¡­"

    He took a deep breath, releasing it slowly. "A better way to meet the end than a jeering crowd, I think."

    There wasn''t any surprise that he saw, just a grim acceptance. Even some relief.

    For his part, he had already made the decision weeks ago, for the next step would require more than a tithe of blood.

    The false knight knelt with his eyes on the sunset, not even glancing at the mirror Solomon placed on the once white sands.

    "If you have any last words," he whispered after, "then I will listen."

    "I have none."

    Solomon pulled the sword from its scabbard, the sunset painting the blade the same blend of colors as everything else. There was something ironic or poetic about it being his own sword, maybe, or that it was the same sword that had slit the throats of his victims.

    There was nothing more to say, so he placed the tip to the man''s back, aiming for his heart. With a push and a few more whispered words of binding, he pierced right through it, a shuddering gasp breaking the quiet.

    Gulligan squawked from the sky as blood seeped into the sand, but only for a few moments more. As the dying man breathed his last, the sword still lodged in his heart, the mirror drew it all, drinking deeply of a man''s life.

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    It was done.

    His hand let go of the hilt, leaving the sword where it was. He retrieved the mirror when there was no more blood decorating the sand.

    It was a macabre sight that was left, a kneeling bloodless corpse with a sword in its heart. The sea would take them both when the tide swept back in, and the empty wine bottle as well.

    The sun had set completely by the time he made it back to Sunspear, a hundred braziers illuminating the shadow city now. He soon heard the sounds of celebration carrying across the harbor from the Black Wind.

    They quieted slightly at his presence, but not for long, and it seemed Asha had returned as well, a saucy grin on her lips as she sauntered over to him. She really was the quintessential tomboy, and something of a princess even.

    There was a joke there, he knew.

    He gave her a small smile. "Good news?"

    "Aye. Between Oldtown and the haul we brought in here, I don''t think I''ve ever had as much coin lining my pockets. And you promised me many more ships to come."

    Her dark eyes glittered almost like gemstones under the torchlight, the greed easy to see, though they soon flickered behind him.

    "And where is our Ser Flowers, I wonder?"

    "At rest." He turned to the sea, the waters black as night now. "I think I shall stay in Dorne for a time, but you are of course free to ply your trade. Gulligan will go with you."

    His Grace gave a squawk from somewhere above them at his name.

    Whenever he looked at the water here, his thoughts always went to what dwelled beneath the surface. He knew he could only keep his curiosity at bay for so long, and that one day he would spill his blood into the sea and see if the Drowned God answered.

    It was one of the questions he asked when he had first arrived. Were there gods, or was it all shades of sorcery? And if there were gods, maybe one of them might know how he got here¡­

    Asha pulled his attention back to her, something mischievous in her eyes. "Want to fuck?"

    The sudden question brought his thoughts to a halt, and he couldn''t help staring at her. Though she just stared right back, her nails tickling his forearm.

    "A rather shameless question, don''t you think?" he finally teased.

    "I''ve not much shame in me, it''s true." He watched her slim form shimmy between him and the railing. "I''ve been making eyes at you and you''ve played coy, so I thought I would simply ask."

    "More accurate to say that my mind has been elsewhere." The kind of exhaustion that prolonged skinchanging brought was not a physical exhaustion. It was something deeper. "I recall you already having a lover also."

    "I can''t have two? On my ship I might as well be queen, and I say I can have two or three or thirty."

    "And if I didn''t want to share?" Her words and the way she was getting handsy was having an effect on him, but then he always had a thing for troublesome women. "After all, a mummer can be a king or queen or even a dragon."

    "Or a sorcerer."

    "Touch¨¦." She had heard the word from him enough times that she might even be beginning to grasp its meaning.

    "You can always fight it out with Qarl if you want. Just be careful, he''s rather good at sticking the pointy end of his sword in men."

    There were a few things he could say to that, but he decided instead to just pin her against the railing and kiss her, tasting wine and something sweeter. Of course, she was no wallflower, her nails digging into his back painfully, even through the fabric.

    He relented when she pushed him back slightly, breathy gasps leaving her lips as her dark eyes smoldered. He similarly didn''t fight her taking his hand and pulling him behind her to her cabin.

    It might even end up serving a grander purpose.

    There was a proper bed there, he found, at least compared to the makeshift cot he had been sleeping in. Not that he cared; he could have slept on the deck in the rain if it got him what he wanted.

    In retrospect however, maybe he should have done this sooner.

    Asha was reclining on her bed now, undressing him with her eyes. "I think I want to see how a sorcerer''s sword compares," she commented.

    While he wasn''t shy, he saw the power play for what it was. "You were enticing a sorcerer into your bed, Asha. Don''t get lazy now."

    He did remove the cloak at his back, a vivid yellow even in the dim light of the cabin.

    She had begun pulling off parts of her black ensemble as well, her skin surprisingly pale for someone so fond of the sun. And despite her small breasts, she made up for it with long legs and being flexible as a cat, her muscles taut as she stretched out on the bed.

    "Enticing enough?"

    Solomon smiled, following her example. He had always tried to stay fit, for his work if nothing else, but the last few months had left him lean as a wolf, and from the way her eyes followed him, she approved.

    Of course, the surprise after he bared his ''sword'' as she asked was what he enjoyed the most. It wasn''t so much nervous surprise as Cersei had radiated, but something more competitive.

    "I should have known with how cocky you are."

    "Then I should ask that you to get down on your knees and get acquainted," he shot back, not missing a beat.

    Her eyes flashed at his words as she stood, kissing his shoulder instead as she struggled to find a good grip around his cock. "I''m afraid my lips are only for planting kisses," she husked.

    Still, he wasn''t deterred, threading his fingers into her black hair. "For how rich I have made you, I think you can make an exception. And if not for that and all the ships to come¡­" His other hand trailed down her back, drawing a soft groan from her. "Then for the queen you will become in truth."

    "I don''t need you to give me a crown," she argued, but his thumb quickly silenced her, pushing at her lips.

    "That is not what I said. Is it not a captain''s duty to win the trust of her men? A queen''s as well?"

    "And I do that with this thing in my mouth, hmm?" There was a certain danger to her question, one he enjoyed, madman that he was.

    "It would show you can be more than selfish."

    Her dark eyes gleamed with a dozen emotions, but soon she found a happy compromise, lowering herself down into a squat instead of kneeling. He gave a groan of his own when she took him inside, eyes staring up at him now.

    When she started bobbing her head on the tip, he wanted to tease her about being even more inexperienced than a certain lioness, but there were limits when a girl had your cock in her mouth, and that went double for would-be pirate queens.

    "I do not think you would mind me giving you a crown too much either," he continued anyway, playing with her hair. "You didn''t mind when I gave you a ship fat with spoils."

    Her teeth grazed him warningly, and he chuckled, enjoying her awkward sucking. He could have gone on with it, but now that she was at it, he wanted to see how she would find the taste.

    At least she was open to advice, her tongue becoming a more active participant after he had commented on it.

    She popped it out of her mouth a moment. "It certainly likes to twitch, doesn''t it?"

    "It has a mind of its own sometimes," he admitted, encouraging her to mouth it again. Though as she went back to sucking like a virgin, he couldn''t help teasing her with a question. "Shall you swallow my seed or shall I paint your face with it?"

    It was best he laid out her options now rather than have it end in disappointment.

    She retreated again, giving him a petulant look.

    He smiled right back down at her. "Do you think I do not intend to kiss your womb as well?"

    Her eyes flickered to the heavy thing her fingers were propping up. "You know just what to say to a lady, don''t you?"

    "You could say that. The question?"

    "I suppose I am curious to see if a sorcerer''s seed tastes any less foul." The ironborn princess went back to it after her words, trying out new things and watching him to find out if he liked them. It''s how she figured out that she should hum.

    He held her to her decision as he finally came in her mouth with a grunt, and he could quickly tell she was not a fan, making a funny face at him and refusing to swallow.

    Still, that was enough for him, and he soon watched her spit his seed out into her hands.

    "Just as foul," she complained. She complained about how much of it there was as well, even as he gave a soft sigh.

    She took advantage of his momentary weakness to push him on the bed, straddling him.

    "It best come back to life soon or we''re going to have words."

    "Maybe you should give him some encouragement," he teased.

    Asha snorted. "What more encouragement does it need than the chance to kiss my womb as you said."

    That did get a twitch, to be fair. "Keep going."

    Her nails trailed up and down the length of it. "With a beast like this, I think it''s going to be a snug fit to say the least." She smirked when it twitched again.

    "You should paint your nails black. I think it would fit you."

    One of her slender eyebrows rose. "I think I will leave it to the greenlander ladies to paint their nails."

    He shrugged. "Just a thought. I think it would make you look more dangerous, not less."

    She gave another snort, but by then a certain part of him had filled with blood again. Heaving it up to point at the sky, she raised herself high enough so that her folds rested on the tip.

    Her dark eyes caught his as she brought herself down, the wind knocked out of her lungs, But with the mad smile she gave, he thought she rather liked it.

    It took her some time until she finally claimed it all, with a harsh grunt on her part and a groan from him. "This is not a thing for a greenlander lady," she bit out through grit teeth. "It''s more than kissed my womb."

    "Too much?" he husked.

    Her dark eyes flashed as she reared herself back up and brought herself down, hissing in pain and pleasure both. She wasn''t wrong about it being a snug fit either. It was a good thing he decided to spend himself into her mouth first, or this would have been over much too quickly.

    "A throne like this is fit only for me," she bit out again, finding a rhythm.

    Now who was the one being possessive?

    Still, he let her have her fun. At least until she started to slow after she came all over his cock.

    Flipping her around, he claimed her lips again, sliding his tongue down her throat as he plugged her snug little pussy. He really should have done this so much sooner.

    He spurred himself into a frenzy as he neared his own peak again. After this, that pretty boytoy of hers might have trouble satisfying her at all. The thought only spurred him further and faster.

    Finally, his mind blanked, and he only vaguely heard a lurid groan from her as he painted her womb white.

    With how snug her pussy was, he doubted he was pulling out anytime soon. Instead he kissed her shoulder and neck as her nails continued their bloody work.

    If his mind was more clear, he might have admonished himself at the pointless loss of blood. His back felt like a patchwork quilt.

    He listened to her almost purring now. "Was that more to your liking?" he husked.

    Her dark eyes found his again. "I think I''m going to be sore for a moon," she complained, but the dopey smile on her lips told a different story.

    "As long as you are ready to play the greatest trick the world has ever seen in two."

    Her legs held him inside her as she stared at him. "Hmm?"

    "I''m going to pluck what''s left of House Targaryen right from under everyone''s noses."

    The way she looked at him for it told him all he needed to know. He had her.

 Brienne II & Arianne I

    Brienne?

    It was an easy thing for her to keep pace with the procession of men leaving the Red Keep, all of them northerners. Lord Stark, or the lord Hand now, had to his credit moved quickly against the naked treachery afoot in the capital.

    Brienne had heard many an ill thing about King''s Landing over the years, but even that had not prepared her for what Solomon shared with her about that wicked and corrupt city, where even the High Septon listened more to the clink of coin than he did the gods.

    She wanted to believe that this was the first step to setting it to rights, but she wondered if another would not just take the whoremonger''s place?

    Truly there seemed to be no drought of wicked men here¡­

    It did not help that she still feared for Solomon. She had always heard that the ironborn were pirates and bandits in all but names, and the Lady Asha Greyjoy had not done a thing to dissuade her of that.

    Yet he had asked her to trust him as he had put his trust in her, and she could not have argued further for fear of making a fool of herself in front of him.

    That he was as real a sorcerer as she had ever known also made her fears seem foolish.

    Brienne touched her other hand to the yellow ribbon around her wrist still, for on that matter she was still conflicted. The Seven warned against the dangers of sorcery, and she believed in them truly, and yet he had shown her more kindness than a hundred knights. The Seven should have warned their flock more against false knights, she thought.

    She saw the Lord Stark''s men split into a few groups as they all entered the Street of Silk, though she had stuck to the northern lord as he had asked.

    When they reached the carved doors of a certain brothel, she watched as he unslung the Valyrian steel greatsword from his back still in its scabbard. Ice, she believed it was named, if what she remembered of her lessons with Maester Leoteld were true.

    Inside the brothel stunk of incense and more unchivalrous things, and soon a panic started. For all they searched every room, they could not find the master of coin anywhere.

    When his men returned and reported the same as the other brothels they were sent to, she saw Lord Stark''s frown deepen. "He could not have simply vanished into thin air."

    His man next to him in smoky grey plate nodded. "Shall I fetch the matron?"

    He nodded, and soon his sharp eyes found her. "That he has chosen to flee tells me he is guilty. If you had not brought this to my attention, Lady Brienne, I fear we would have been all the poorer for it."

    She resisted the urge to fiddle with the ribbon again. "I only brought the letter, my lord. It was Solomon that had investigated."

    "So it was," he agreed.

    The matron had then appeared, a plump woman with hair the color of sunflowers. She had a fright to her, but she still remembered her manners and curtsied. "Lord Hand."

    "You have nothing to fear from us," he told her. "Where has he gone?"

    She licked her lips. "I am not as sure, my lord. A few hours back some of his men had come and gone and we have not heard from him since."

    "What did they want?"

    "They retrieved the coin he kept here, leaving only a pittance. I dared not ask questions¡­"

    Lord Stark sighed, not surprised. "Thank you. You can see to your charges for now."

    They were about to depart the brothel when a knight she quickly recognized as Ser Jaime Lannister stalked inside, a dozen Lannister men-at-arms at his back. His golden hair and clean shave gave him a heroic appearance, but his bright green eyes that reminded her of a cat were murderous.

    "He escaped?"

    Lord Stark watched him a moment before nodding. "I am afraid so."

    A breath left the Lannister kingsguard''s lips like a hiss. "What did you expect would happen with such a show? That he would think you were after anything other than his head?"

    Eddard Stark''s grey eyes had turned cool and similarly dangerous. "He had already decided to leave before Lady Brienne had even warned me."

    Those vicious eyes turned on her with a look of mild distaste and then back to the Hand. "As you say, Stark. I suppose we can only wonder what had tipped him off," he sarcastically said.

    "What is it to you, Kingslayer?"

    The Lannister knight''s already foul mood worsened at the words. "Anyone could have told you not to trust him. Do you know how many times he has bragged about taking your fish wife''s maidenhead? At least a dozen by my count."

    Brienne worried they would come to blows if this continued, so she stepped in. "The City Watch should know something. So many men in a hurry would have left signs as to their passing."

    She heard a snort from the knight. "The gold cloaks had been watered with Littlefinger''s coin for years."

    Lord Stark ignored him. "The barracks is not far from here. We shall see what they have seen and heard."

    She followed the northern lord and his men, and she heard the Lannister men-at-arms do the same after some moments. They must have all made for a strange sight as they marched through the city.

    What met them at the barracks however had left more than her surprised.

    "Lord Renly," she heard Lord Stark greet. "We had not thought to find you here."

    She saw Ser Loras there as well, glaring down at a thickset man with a face that seemed reminiscent of a frog or a toad. His plate and golden cloak were of fine make, but they were tarnished by his blubbering like a worm.

    Her liege lord did not even glance at him. "Lord Hand," he greeted pleasantly, his merry eyes turning to her. "And Lady Brienne. I hope your time in the Reach has been kind to you."

    She nodded softly. "It has, my lord."

    His eyes went to the scowling Ser Jaime. "And the Kingslayer as well. There is potential for a jape here about our assembled company, but I suppose that should come later." Only then did he look down at the man at his feet. "Ser Loras had found Janos Slynt here as well as a number of our former officers attempting to flee King''s Landing with as much arms and armor as they could carry."

    "Never, my lord! W-We were having it moved to another barracks, I swear it!"

    Renly gave him a dull look. "Ah, yes, I must have missed when one of our barracks up and left the city. And we would never have known if not for your keen eyes."

    Lord Stark stared down at the man with the coldest eyes she had ever seen. "Where has Lord Baelish gone? I expect he is the one that encouraged you to flee the city."

    "I know not, my lord! It has been three days since I had even seen that whoremonger! P-Please, you must believe me!" When he was met with silence, he reached for Renly again. "We only thought to¡ª"

    He gave a cry as Ser Loras''s gauntleted fist struck him in the eye, sending him howling and blubbering in pain.

    "Has our Lord Whoremonger vanished?" Lord Renly asked curiously.

    Lord Stark nodded gravely. "I suspect he had Jon Arryn poisoned with the help of the Lady Lysa."

    That news surprised even Ser Jaime.

    "I see. Robert will be furious¡­" her liege lord muttered quietly.

    "As should we all be. Lord Arryn had placed his trust in him, even argued for his place on the small council, and Littlefinger showed his gratitude by having him swallow poison."

    "It seems to me," the Lannister knight started, "that if there were proof then even the Lady Lysa would be hard-pressed to protect him."

    "I believe I might know where to find it," Lord Stark muttered. "Though it''s possible that he might have already hidden his tracks."

    Renly nodded. "As for this bunch, treason, desertion, as well as all the other crimes Ser Loras has been investigating¡­" He turned to one of his men from Storm''s End. "Fetch a rope."

    A collective chill went through the deserters, but the northern lord seemed pensive. "They should be allowed to take the black if they so wish."

    There was a chorus of ''the black'' from them, and Janos Slynt was among the first, a bruise already forming around his eye.

    Her liege lord seemed agreeable, though Ser Jaime Lannister had other thoughts. "Send deserters to the Wall? Is this that honor I have heard so much about, Stark? They will only desert again."

    "The Night''s Watch is a sacred duty," Lord Stark insisted. He still leveled his cold eyes at the man groveling at his feet. "But hear this, all of you. If you think you will desert the black as you did the gold, then I give you my word that I will separate your head from your shoulders myself."

    Brienne hoped they might find some shred of honor at the Wall as well.

    Lords Stark and Renly left soon after with all their men, and she followed, but not before handing a letter to an exasperated Ser Jaime.

    Solomon had revealed to her why the Kingslayer became such, and it softened her own thoughts of him, but only to a point. Brienne soon heard him chuckle when he saw the seal.

    "I was wondering if it was him that told Stark." He looked at her with curiosity now, but soon his attention turned to the letter, prompting her departure.

    Perhaps with a Hand as Eddard Stark, she thought, the city might still be salvaged.

    Arianne?

    Sunspear had come alive with rumor and intrigue this past fortnight, and Arianne had been drinking it all in like the finest vintage. But no more could she watch from a distance, her curiosity demanding some relief.

    That was why she had gathered her friends and cousins to figure this mystery out.

    "You could simply go and speak with him," Nym suggested. As if she had not already considered it!

    "And seem a fool?"

    "You cannot seem more a fool than our father," Obara argued gruffly. "Last I heard he had taken to plying the Greenblood with the sorcerer like one of the smallfolk."

    Yes, she had heard as much. Her uncle had called it rediscovering his Rhoynish roots.

    "I still wish to approach the matter with some grace," Arianne argued.

    Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

    Tyene gave a smile as sweet as honey, her golden strands darker in the shade. "Even in Dorne a princess would not be looked at kindly for mucking about in the mud."

    Tyene was the favorite of her cousins for that reason, always knowing her mind. Sylva nodded as well, her freckles almost invisible where they were.

    Then Arianne turned to Garin. "You would know the most of us, Garin. What have you heard?"

    The darker-skinned orphan rubbed at his chin thoughtfully. "This Solomon has surprised some of us with his willingness to learn, but it is more than that¡­" There was a hint of something nervous in his eyes and shoulders when he continued, "I saw for myself something of his sorcery, Arianne."

    Her curiosity and that of everyone in the room was taken by his words.

    "Don''t keep us in suspense," Nym said to him, tugging at her purple silks.

    "There was a looking glass silver as a Valyrian''s hair, but it showed not your reflection. Instead the glass was as black as pitch, and it in Prince Oberyn saw things, things that made him pale and laugh and cry."

    That silenced them all except for a skeptical Obara. "He might have been having a jest with you the fool."

    "I do not think so," was all Garin said.

    "What was he like?" Arianne asked instead.

    "Kind, I suppose. He never looked down on us or any work he was asked to do, and even ate our poorest fare without complaint. It shamed the prince into doing the same."

    A kind and humble sorcerer? That made as much sense as a thief that gave his riches away.

    "He sounds like a mummer happy for a crumb of food," Obara bit out again.

    "I think it a splendid contradiction," Tyene softly said to her side. "Has he bed boys or girls?"

    A blush took Garin''s cheeks at her words. "Neither, and some of my cousins have tried. They say he is a man of singular purpose."

    Nym snorted at that. "Somehow I doubt that. With how that Greyjoy girl was draped all over him, they have almost certainly been fucking, and often."

    Arianne swallowed the crumb of jealousy for a man she had not even met yet.

    "Hmm," she thoughtfully hummed as she thought. All she had heard of him had only made the mystery seem grander. "I suppose it can''t be helped. Garin, have you made the repairs to that painted raft of yours?"

    He nodded. "A few days back."

    "Then we shall become as orphans as well for a few days. I have only ever seen the mouth of the Greenblood, and that seems a pity."

    Garin smiled at her. "I am happy to be your guide, princess."

    "I have humored this long enough," Obara said before she stalked out. It did not surprise her.

    Tyene and Sylva soon voiced that they would come with Garin and her, which only left Nym, for Drey was away with his family and Sarella was not in Dorne.

    "I can only ask that you tell me the story after," she said, a smile on her sharp lips.

    Arianne felt a small bit of disappointment, but only just. She knew Nymeria was often preoccupied with her own games.

    They set out the next day along still waters as green as their namesake.

    "I heard they are near Godsgrace now," Garin commented as he rowed the small raft.

    Godsgrace reminded her of its bastard, Daemon Sand. She had not spoken to him in many moons, and perhaps she would get the chance to again soon.

    They all played games to pass the time, and Garin had even taught them how to fish. Somehow the meat tasted sweeter when she knew she had caught it herself.

    Even digging around in the mud for worms had its appeal.

    They had met other orphans as well on their own carved and painted boats, and they all shared stories and food. It had a charm to it that she had come to like, even if she missed her cakes and fat oranges.

    On the third day they came upon a settlement on the river with near a hundred boats of every shape and color docked there. They all looked like a rainbow on the water, a sight she was glad to commit to memory, and it was there they found them.

    "If it isn''t my daughter and my niece," her uncle greeted with smiling eyes. He seemed half a beggar with how he was dressed, but then so did all the orphans.

    Finally, her eyes found the sorcerer, watching her as he wound a net. Unlike Prince Oberyn who had rags of red and orange and black around him, he favored only one, yellow.

    And he was handsome, that much she could tell, with smoky eyes and a strong jaw, his dark hair swept back as if by a wind that wasn''t there. Soon he bowed, a smile just as handsome on his lips. "Princess Arianne."

    Prince Oberyn soon kissed Tyene on the cheek and then her. "Now why have you come all the way out here?" he asked.

    "Can I not wish to see my father?" her cousin asked with a coy smile.

    "And I my uncle?" Arianne added.

    He gave them both a fond sigh. "You were curious. I know because so was I." He took their hands into his own calloused ones. "Let us speak more inside."

    Their raft was a sight bigger than Garin''s, possessing a cabin instead of a roughspun cloth to shield from the rain, and it even had a table. There they sat and shared a meal of fish and eel, made all the more tasteful with some spices her uncle retrieved from his rags with a wink.

    She found she could contain her curiosity no longer. "Is it true you have a magic mirror?" she asked Solomon.

    He swallowed an eel as his brow rose. "I suppose you could call it that, yes."

    Garin gave a look of vindication as he scarfed down some meat from his fish.

    "Can I see it?" she asked, gracing him with her best smile. She would grace him with more if she could.

    He stared at her a moment before he smiled again, retrieving a small mirror from within all the yellow, and it was just as Garin described, silver, with a polished glass as black as sin.

    No matter what way she looked at it or how the light caught on it, it reflected nothing, almost eerie in how dark it was.

    "How does it work?"

    "What do you wish to see, princess? Prince Oberyn had asked to see many a sight, both the wondrous and the monstrous."

    When she met her uncle''s eyes, she found him slightly melancholic, but he did not dispute his words.

    "The Wall," she whispered as she turned her eyes back upon Solomon. "I had always been curious."

    "As you wish," he whispered back, and when his finger touched the glass, she saw.

    It was high, as high as the clouds almost, and it stretched left and right as far as she could see. The wind blew so fiercely that she could almost feel their bite even in the blush of Dorne.

    It had a majesty to it that was as beautiful as it was brutal.

    As she tore her eyes away from it, she could not help but ask a question. "And it can show anything?"

    "Not anything," he answered.

    "It has shown everything I asked for," her uncle murmured softly. "Though still you refuse me true succor, Solomon. There are few things I would not give for it."

    The sorcerer sighed, and it seemed an old argument between them. "You do not ask to see a faraway sight, my prince. You ask to see three men dead."

    Arianne suspected she knew well who those men were as she returned the mirror. She watched Prince Oberyn stare back at the sorcerer stubbornly, until finally he seemed to sigh.

    "Tywin Lannister and his dog are too stubborn to listen to a whisper on the wind, but the third¡­ mayhaps he will."

    Ser Amory Lorch, the so-called knight that thrust a sword into Princess Rhaenys Targaryen half a hundred times while she cried and screamed. The thought of it again sickened her stomach and filled her head with a vicious rage.

    Tyene shared her feelings, while Garin and Sylva listened and watched with a morbid curiosity.

    "What do you need?" she heard her uncle ask, his voice hungry.

    "That much blood would cripple you, Prince Oberyn. But with two more of the Martell line here¡­"

    He had left the question on the wind as well, and she saw her uncle''s expression grow pensive for it.

    "While my studies at Oldtown counted sorcery as something dead and gone, I have read and seen enough to know that blood given to a sorcerer is not something easily undone. Take mine and I shall give you as many murderers and rapists you need for the rest."

    Arianne saw the sorcerer run a hand through his hair. "I do not fault you for your worries, but you are asking me to butcher a hundred men for a wrong done to you, my prince."

    "There is no need for that," she heard Tyene butt in. "I want to."

    A nervousness took her as well, but soon a fire drove it all away. "I will as well," Arianne whispered. She owed this to a girl that she could never smile or laugh or play with.

    There were hot tears on her cheeks as Solomon sighed, retrieving a dagger bound in cloth from his person. "If you all do agree." He offered it and his mirror to Prince Oberyn first. "Spill your blood upon the mirror one after another and I will do the rest."

    Her uncle quietly unwound the cloth around it and soon swiped the edge across his forearm with a soft hiss. Arianne watched with wide eyes as the mirror drank it all, not a drop of it left to spill as he passed it more hesitantly to his daughter.

    Finally, the knife and mirror both passed to her.

    Shutting her eyes, she still could not help a small cry of pain as she cut herself open, though she still found herself staring at the mirror after some moments, wondering where it had all gone.

    As she pressed a clean cloth to her wound, she watched as the sorcerer retrieved the mirror. She swore the glass seemed so much darker in that moment, almost sucking in the light.

    "Come, my knight of manticores," he whispered to the mirror like a lover. "Come and see all of Dorne''s delights."

    A sudden wind came upon the cabin, her hair caught in it, but it was gone as swiftly as it had come.

    "It is done," Solomon said. "He will find himself drawn to Dorne, my prince. Though once he is here, I make no more promises. He will not go quietly into the night."

    Prince Oberyn bore a dark smile. "It would be a pity if he did." Then he touched a hand to the sorcerer''s arm. "Thank you."

    Arianne leaned back into her chair, a nervous sigh on her lips. What had she done¡­

 Margaery III & Bran I

    Margaery?

    Tending to her garden, she hummed a half-remembered tune under her breath. There were seven rose bushes altogether now, each bearing roses in every shade of yellow.

    She knew they were all pale imitations of the rose she was given despite being its children, but she still found them beautiful, especially as they were now, their petals almost shimmering under the sunlight.

    Her cousins had found it strange at first, thinking it the work of the smallfolk, but it was rewarding in a way few things were, something they had come to see. A few of them were even determined to plant gardens of their own now, bringing in seedlings from all across the Reach.

    She had taken a sip of her iced summerwine when she heard footsteps, Loras soon being let through by Ser Morwyn. She had not seen him as oft as she would have liked these days on account of him being busy with putting the gold cloaks to rights.

    Margaery missed her older brothers also, though they wrote to her often enough that she couldn''t complain.

    Her brother''s warm brown eyes turned to the roses for a moment before they were back on her. "I know I am late," he told her haplessly. "Forgive me?"

    She kept her stare of mock anger on him a moment longer before she giggled. "Fine. You''re forgiven."

    Noticing the sweat on his brow, she offered him her cup, which he accepted gratefully before drinking it dry. She idly refilled it with the flagon nearby as he began to speak, some small pieces of ice still keeping it cool.

    "With only a handful of officers left, keeping the peace has become an impossible task," he complained. "The sudden loss of coin after that whoremonger fled hasn''t helped, stemming the flow of trade this bedamned city relies on. Then there is the threat of war as well¡­"

    Margaery nodded along thoughtfully. The whole of the Red Keep must have heard the king shouting that he would hunt that ''conniving rat buggerer'' to the far corners of Essos alone if he had to.

    "Father has sent more men, hasn''t he?" she asked. "Willas mentioned something of it."

    "It will take them at least a fortnight to arrive. The same for Renly''s men from the stormlands." He sighed as they sat on the bench. "At least there has been some good news. Some more of Stark''s grim northmen have arrived during the night, and he has quickly put them to work."

    Loras had paused, looking at her hands. He took them gently into his own gauntleted ones, his eyes soon turning on her in worry.

    "Father would not refuse you some of our gardeners, sister."

    She smiled at him. "There is no need. I enjoy it, and pricking my finger now and then won''t kill me." Margaery did not mention that none of the rose bushes were at fault for any of it, for she had been careful not to spill her blood needlessly. "Aren''t they beautiful, Loras?" she asked him.

    They admired them for some moments until her brother spoke again, "I can only hope there aren''t any riots in the meantime. More whisper each day that the queen has poisoned the king''s mind, bidding him to start a war with the pious Vale as she trafficks with sorcerers. Some have even taken to casting blame upon the Hand, a tree-worshipping northerner turning a blind eye to the troubles of the faithful."

    Margaery hid a snort. She had come to know how Cersei Lannister''s mind worked, and unless someone had planted the idea in her head first or she felt threatened, it was unlikely that she would want to stomach her royal husband''s company to do so. The depths of her loathing were that great.

    "I am hopeful it will work out," she mentioned. "The Vale could not hope to stand against the Seven Kingdoms no more than the ironborn could. They will not risk such a war for one mad fish."

    He nodded, and they talked and shared the rest of the iced wine until later in the afternoon. She had been invited by Cersei to take supper at her apartments tonight, and her brother had his duties now.

    Though on her way there her eyes caught Lord Varys and Tyrion Lannister speaking to one another. They made for a curious pair, she thought, a eunuch and a dwarf.

    She continued after a moment, Ser Morwyn at her back.

    Ser Boros of the Kingsguard was there to greet them, though he was more a Queensguard by her estimation, being the queen''s creature through and through.

    She saw a small feast laid out once she had entered, though it wasn''t only Cersei there but her daughter as well.

    "Lady Margaery," the queen greeted. "You are very punctual."

    Margaery gave a perfect curtsy. "Thank you, Your Grace." Her eyes flickered between them as she sat.

    Myrcella was her mother writ small, golden curls tumbling to her shoulders. Though unlike her mother, her gap-toothed smile was genuine. The lion queen meanwhile sat imperiously in a gown of rich crimson velvet, one leg crossed over the other. Her belly also swelled noticeably now.

    It seemed too much pomp for a private supper, but then that was how she was.

    "Myrcella wanted to ask after your garden," she heard Cersei say as she gave her daughter a more tender look.

    The young princess seemed to have trouble finding her tongue, but after a moment she managed. "I took a peek when you weren''t there, my lady¡­" The admission was soft and as genuine as her previous smile. "I also have a garden, though it is small. I was wondering¡­ wondering if I could plant those roses there."

    Margaery gave her a guileless smile, even as she noticed the hint of something sour in Cersei''s eyes at the thought of her daughter playing in the dirt. "But of course, princess. In fact, it would gladden me to do so. Come by tomorrow in the morning and I shall give you seven seedlings, one for each of the Seven."

    Her face brightened like the sun, though she looked to her mother before answering. After a small nod, she turned back and nodded eagerly, almost bouncing in her chair. "That would be perfect!"

    The princess returned to poking at her peach pie, still full of nervous energy when Cersei spoke again.

    "This recent trouble with the former master of coin has been distasteful. But then I had always told the former Hand that a man of such low birth should not be given such a position. He ignored me to his own peril."

    "Yes, Your Grace," she sweetly replied. "I have also found your words wise and true, like a sweet balm on a hot summer day." She took a bite of the pie herself, chewing slowly.

    It was acceptable, though not near as good as the pies made from fresh peaches back home. The Red Keep''s bakers could learn a thing or two from Highgarden.

    "Worse, that unpleasant little man sought fit to try and pin the blame on me, even spreading vicious rumors. And now the smallfolk have taken it to heart, baying like fools."

    Margaery gave a sympathetic nod. "The smallfolk are fickle my lord father has always said. They will find some other fancy soon, Your Grace."

    Cersei gave a sniff, twisting and turning the golden band on her finger. "I find it irksome still. He has not been in King''s Landing for several moons now and still they would blame him for all their petty problems. I should have the next fool to complain about his cow''s milk being spoiled by sorcery flogged to put some good sense back into them."

    There was a poignant pause as she tried mightily not to show her curiosity. Margaery had tried to tease the truth from her several times now, but he had been one of the few things she hesitated to even mention.

    "Myrcella, I think it''s time you retired to your rooms. The hour is late."

    The princess''s bright green eyes turned between them, and after a smile and a whispered farewell she left the room, leaving only the queen and her.

    "You had seen him at Highgarden, had you not?" Cersei soon asked, her similarly green cats'' eyes fixated on her. "You must have."

    "I have, Your Grace." She watched the queen stand and come around behind her, nails tickling her neck.

    "And you spoke to him?" she heard. "What was he like?"

    "He was nothing but courteous. Kind, also. He defended Lady Brienne''s honor as you must have heard by now."

    "I have." Cersei''s nails still danced across her skin. "The gods are cruel sometimes, are they not? They had blessed her with strength of arms and cursed her in the same breath."

    Margaery was surprised her words weren''t crueler, but then she seemed distracted. She kept a pleasant smile on her lips still, even as the queen''s sharp nails trailed up her neck to her jaw.

    "Not like you, Lady Margaery. You are a beauty, yes?"

    "Your Grace?"

    "Anyone with eyes can see it," the lion queen whispered to her. "Any except for Renly Baratheon, I should say."

    "He has complimented me on my beauty many times¡­"

    Margaery felt her chin raised to meet the eyes of someone playing with her food. It amused her more than she thought it would.

    "You cannot be so blind my lady to not see that Renly prefers the company of your brother."

    She could have sighed at how bluntly it was said, lacking any sense of artistry. Instead she put on sad eyes. "I have noticed, Your Grace. But he is my lord husband by the grace of the Seven."

    "As Robert Baratheon is mine. Should we content ourselves with stags who pay not a passing thought to us until the end of our days? Until we are old and grey?"

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    "What do you mean, Your Grace?"

    Margaery felt soft lips touch hers, golden curls tickling her cheek as the scent of Arbor gold tickled her nose. She was not surprised after the queen''s stares. There was a jealousy there that had never gone, but now there was something possessive as well.

    There was also a taste of peach, to be sure.

    She tried for a dopey smile as Cersei retreated, everything about her radiating satisfaction.

    "Y-Your Grace, are you certain we should be¡ª"

    "Did you not like it? I hope I did not frighten you."

    Margaery made a show of glancing away shyly. "It isn''t that. It''s only that I¡­" She had already trailed off when Cersei quieted her by pressing a finger to her lips.

    "You need not decide tonight or tomorrow. You know where to find your queen, Margaery."

    She nodded slowly. "Y-Yes, Your Grace. I will think on it earnestly."

    Margaery let her true feelings show after she left the room, a soft giggle leaving her lips. Not for the reason Cersei Lannister might have wished, but because it gave her a heady rush to play this game.

    She had not truly expected just how much she would enjoy it.

    Ser Morwyn at her back again, she found herself returning to her garden, illuminated only by the moon and the few torches hanging off the red bricks now. The knight she had chosen to be her sworn shield had stuck behind at the entrance as she sat and drank in the scents.

    Ever since she had heard stories about Garth Greenhand and his many sons and daughters or Serwyn of the Mirror Shield as a girl, Margaery had wondered about magic. Even when the septas and septons and maesters told her that it was dead and gone, she still could not help but wonder and dream.

    And while her cousins had always chosen to play the parts of maidens good and pure in their games, she had always chosen to play the wicked sorceress or frightful witch¡­

    She soon retrieved the rose from underneath her gown, having grown accustomed to how unpleasantly it pricked at her belly. For a moment it almost seemed loath to leave her, at least until she pricked her finger on one of its thorns as she had at least a dozen times now.

    That heavenly scent quickly filled the air, overpowering any other scent that might have lingered, but that wasn''t all. It had prompted its children to do the same, the scent so strong she had to take a seat on the dirt.

    Margaery had made a promise to herself that if she was to be queen, that she would not be the kind of queen who only danced to the tune of her kingly husband, amounting to nothing but a threadbare mention in the books the maesters wrote. And as she sat under the stars and looked upon the fruits of her labors, she promised it to herself again.

    For while she would eventually become dust on the wind, her garden would remain, just as the Wall remained long after Brandon Stark had passed.

    Bran?

    Since Bran could remember he had dreamed of knights like Aemon the Dragonknight or Ser Barristan Selmy, and he had met and even spoken to the second at King''s Landing. He had been older than how the stories made him out to be, but he was still kind and strong and everything a knight should be.

    Uncle Brynden, or the Blackfish as he said in jest sometimes, was much the same, though the first thing he had said that had stuck with Bran was that war was not as the singers described it, and that very night he had dreamt of a war so terrible that he wondered how anyone could stomach it.

    As he stood against his aunt now, knights and even lords on either side with their hands on their swords, he wondered if he would soon see it for himself.

    "This is madness, Lysa, madness and folly. The Vale will not stand for a war as this. You must see that much."

    "And it will not stand for a conniving whoremonger and a murderess!" Lord Yohn Royce''s voice rang out, and it was repeated by many of the men there.

    His bronze armor had caught his wonder when he had first seen it, carved with dozens of runes in the manner of the First Men.

    "Lies! Treacherous lies!" his aunt screamed, pointing at each of them. "The queen has you all fooled, dancing on the strings of her pet sorcerer!"

    Bran glanced at the frightened boy behind her, his cousin. He looked even smaller now, and sicker. He wished he could do something, but he was only a boy as well.

    "Lysa, please. Cat''s own husband has said the same, has even found evidence. You know he has no reason to love the Lannisters."

    "Lies! All lies! It is by the grace of my son that you are still Knight of the Bloody Gate. You will defend him with your life if you have to."

    "None of us here would harm our young lord, you madwoman," Lord Horton Redfort shouted.

    "You will hold your tongue!" his aunt tried, but she was shouted down by the others. Desperate, she took Robin Arryn and held him to her chest. "The good, pious people of the Vale will not stand for this affront!"

    Bran heard Uncle Brynden sigh, the lines on his face seeming deeper. "You have left me no choice, Lysa." He turned to the men assembled against them next. "Knights of House Arryn! No harm will come to my niece and her son, you have my word. Stand aside for all our sake."

    There was a pause that seemed to go on forever, but one by one the knights began to lower their hands from their sword, starting with who he believed was Ser Marwyn Bullmore and ending with Ser Vardis Egan.

    His aunt did not take the sight well. "Treachery! You betray your lord with this! You dishonor yourselves! None of you are worthy to be called knights!"

    She was still screaming as the lords moved forward, clutching her son as she sat the pale weirwood throne, and she screamed when they separated them as well. Bran saw Robin Arryn openly wailing as he sat his throne alone now.

    Uncle Brynden laid a hand on his shoulder. "Your mother was led astray by an evil man, Robert. You must be brave for her, for your father. No harm will come to you while I still breathe."

    His cousin trembled as he gave a whisper of a nod, his eyes red and watery.

    "Good lad. If you would help the lord to his rooms, Maester Coleman."

    The thin reed of a maester nodded, spiriting away his still sniffling cousin. Finally, Uncle Brynden sighed as he turned to the assembled knights and lords.

    "We aren''t out of the woods yet, I fear."

    "The Graftons and those houses closest to them have ignored all our letters," Lord Royce mentioned. "Though that doesn''t surprise me. They have not forgotten how Jon Arryn sacked Gulltown."

    "The Arryns of Gulltown have also nursed slights for two centuries now," his uncle continued softly. "With House Arryn as weak as it is now, they might smell blood in the water and join their strength to the Graftons."

    "Aye," Ser Gilwood Hunter grumbled. "And for all the Lady Waynwood has supported us in this, she had not come herself. I suspect she intends to wait this out as she continues to groom Harrold Hardyng for a lordship."

    Lord Redfort harrumphed at that. "The son of a landed knight as Lord of the Eyrie? It is absurd."

    "If only Denys or Elbert Arryn had lived¡­" Ser Wymond Templeton muttered.

    "Enough of this," Uncle Brynden scolded. "Robert Arryn is a sickly boy, it is true, but he would not be the first sickly boy to grow into a man as strong as an ox."

    There were nods and words of agreement.

    "The young Brandon Stark handled himself well." Bran''s eyes turned to Lord Royce, his cheeks feeling hot at the praise. "Older boys and even knights have been unmanned by less."

    He tried not to pout as Uncle Brynden ruffled his hair. "That he has." His uncle''s deep blue eyes caught his. "To the yard then? Some hours there should clear our heads and make our sleep come easier."

    Bran nodded eagerly. The best parts of the day were when he had a training sword in hand.

    And later that night, his uncle had spoken truly, as sleep had come easily. Except that with it came not one dream, but a hundred.

    He dreamed of two stags locked in battle over the corpse of another.

    He dreamed of a pride of lions all alone, starving as they bickered.

    He dreamed of a queen with dark eyes and flowers in her hair, the dirt beneath her bare feet wet with blood.

    He dreamed of two dragons soaring high above an army of spears.

    He dreamed of a falcon torn apart by grasping hands.

    He dreamed of another dragon, green as the forest, a man all in yellow on its back.

    He dreamed of a ship drenched in blood, its crew as silent as the grave.

    He dreamed of the dead marching on the Wall.

    He wanted to scream as it continued, to wake, but he could not. You are never more awake than now, he heard someone whisper, and a caw almost like a raven''s. Bran wanted to argue otherwise, but he could not.

    He dreamed of shambling horrors, black oozing out of their eyes and mouth.

    He dreamed of hungry masses overcoming black walls and haunting screams as dozens were fed to flames as bright as the sun.

    He dreamed of a pack of wolves smothered in vines and thorns.

    It is when you are awake that you are truly asleep, Brandon Stark. You must see the world for what it is.

    The last he dreamed before he woke screaming was of a winter that would swallow the world, of a sun that would not rise, of a night that would not end.