Viserys Targaryen's Story

"No, no. Not blueberries, you daft cow! Blackberries." The Dragon hissed, emphasizing the words. "Send it back to the kitchens. Now!" Viserys barked from the table, waving a hand at the serving girl holding a golden bowl of assorted berries for his breakfast. After ushering the young girl out, the fair haired King huffed, turning his burning lilac gaze to the other girl holding his wine pitcher. "More wine." He commanded, looking down at his plate as his wine was poured. He had a near full breakfast of toast, sausages and eggs. All he was missing was his fruit which the kitchens somehow messed up. "And where is Daenerys? Send for her again. I want her to be ready when the council arrives - and tell the handmaidens to make her look nice, I want to make an impression." He told them as he cut a sausage in half, popping a piece of the meat into his mouth. He was looking forward to the day - he was going to discuss the matter of his betrothal with the council today as he wanted to hear their thoughts on Lady Tyrell, the princess of Dorne and a few others. He was also hiring a new, reputable sellsword group to work for him as well as scheduling a upcoming tournament which he was truly looking forward to, it was to celebrate the Targaryens return to the throne and the start of his rule.

He gave the serving girl a quick nod when he finally received his fruit, eating languidly, savoring each bite. He knew the council would be arriving soon, however he need not rush - he was the King after all, he thought with great superiority. He waited on no one any longer, finally where he belonged. "When I finish my meal, I wish to wear my black and red shirt. With the dragon pin. I want something more elegant for when I meet the council." He said, sipping his wine and then looking toward the entrance to the dining hall once more for his sister who he had not seen yet this morning.









The cloaked figure wove it's way through the streets of King's Landing, dodging people haggling prices, all trying to get the best deal possible. Here and there people cast them glances but none held interest as they made their way down the street. Seven Hells, its hot here... They thought, disgusted. It was still early morning and the sun was near fully risen in the sky, the heat of the capital unwelcome to the cloaked girl. It was nothing like being back in the North, where the air was crisp and fresh, the waters crystalline, game abundant and the howls of wolves filled the night with the moon on high. There was none of that here, the hunter thought grimly as they shifted their bow in their hand. The only things they saw darting about were the cats and rats in the alleyways. Not exactly something that a butcher would want. The only thing to be hunted in this city were men, everyone here was thieves, liars and backstabbers. That would make their job easier, they supposed. Unfortunately, they were working for King Viserys as a part of their company. The thought made them almost want to roll their eyes. They had little respect for this King, for while they had managed to regain the throne in the name of the Targaryens. The man was half-way to being the next Mad King from what she gathered - but she would do the job, the King was offering the handsomest of rewards and they could not pass that up. Which reminded the figure in black that they hadn't eaten in nearly two days.

With a sigh the sellsword surveyed the stands that lined the streets where merchants were selling wispy bits of silk, scarves which it was too hot for, fabrics for fine dresses and wines and finally - food. The cloaked being strode forward, sighting their target and keeping their seaglass blue eyes fixed on it. They blended in with the growing crowd as best they could, shifted their bow to their left hand and slipped their right onto the top of the bin for a single breath as if inspecting the merchandise and then grasped a shiny green piece of fruit and then drew back casually as if disinterested before continuing on their way, slipping their hand under their cloak. Unseen as usual the hooded and cloaked figure smiled to themselves. They did have a name of course, though. Reed was their name, or at least it was now. They had been called Reed so long they scarcely remembered being called by their birth name - Rhiannon, much too feminine a name for a sellsword. She might have gotten away with it if she had stayed a hunter in the north which was where her heart still lay. If they had gone by that name now however they wouldn't receive much respect no doubt, or worse in some cases depending on who she was dealing with.


Once they made it within safe distance of the stand they withdrew the apple and took a bite. The apple was crisp and cool, refreshing on such a warm morning. It wouldn't be missed by such a large stand which probably made plenty of sales a day anyways so Reed didn't feel much guilt for her deed as they hastily ate the fruit, feeling no desire to savor after two days of not eating. Besides, Reed didn't have the coin needed to pay for it anyway, their bag was completely empty, they thought grimly. Yes, they certainly needed this job even if they hated this bloody city and longed for the cool woods of the North as she made her way toward the Red Keep which loomed up ahead. Her company should be there any minute, from what she understood.

The castle was quite beautiful, she had to admit even in this atrocious weather. The pale red structure stood tall and proud, no doubt able to stand their for years and years to come. The Red Keep. It was said King Maegor killed all who worked on it to preserve it's secrets so it's weaknesses couldn't be told. It also had the traditional spikes which the heads of traitors were placed upon. Where Eddard Stark's head rested, which was something Reed couldn't help but detest. From what some Northerners said, Eddard was innocent and in the past had always been known to be a truly loyal, honorable man. Reed had to agree with that, even though the man probably would've cut off her hand if he'd caught her stealing and poaching. She had thought he was a fine Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North.

Finally, Reed strode off the bridge and as she neared the castle, slowed her pace, wondering when her company was to be admitted into the castle. Also, when are we going to get paid... She thought, closing her eyes before looking up and squinting at the sun briefly, then surveying her surroundings once more. While she wasn't greedy, especially for a sellsword, she would still like to eat and not have to steal.

A flash of silver. A stab of white hot searing pain. Daenerys looked down to her torso, her hand coming away red. Red with her own blood. She dragged her gaze away from her own death to see her own brother, Viserys, standing before her with the sword. The sword that had cut her own flesh. "Why?" she wanted to ask as she narrowed her eyes at him, her gaze already becoming foggy. While she completely loathed her brother, she had never once made a move against him. Nothing like he was doing now. And then she heard their cries. Her beloved dragons. Servants were carrying them away from her in their cages as they screamed in protest. She reached her bloodied hand out towards them as she collapsed on the floor, but it was no use. They were gone. Her vision slowly faded to black as she heard the ringing of laughter from Viserys' mouth.

Daenerys' eyes opened slowly to greet the morning sun. Her rapid breathing was slowing, her heart rate returning to normal once more. It was a dream she had often enough, so much so that it hardly affected her anymore. She knew her brother's feelings towards her dragons. He didn't understand why they weren't his, and she figured it was only a matter of time until he attempted to make them his own. She didn't want to make a stand against Viserys, but when that day came, she would have no choice. She couldn't let her three dragons, who would one day be the ultimate source of power in Westeros, fall into the hands of her sadistic brother. It was the reason she kept her dragons in her room, guarded by what remained of her khalasar. They were the only people she could trust, especially in this city of liars and backstabbers.

She rose from her bed, heading out to the balcony that jutted out from her bedroom. She didn't know how long she stood outside, watching the sun steadily rise in the sky. She thought of many things. Her future, mostly. What was going to happen to her with Viserys being the King of the Seven Kingdoms. He mad many people willing to do his bidding, any of them could come to her in the middle of the night. And Viserys wouldn't even have to be suspected. Sometimes she wished she had been born a man, perhaps then things would have gone differently for her. Women weren't typically taken seriously as leaders, although she had been very well liked among Khal Drogo's khalasar. She had become a Khaleesi, and the Dothraki had heeded her word. Yet these people of Westeros were nothing like the Dothraki. They stood in awe before her, but only because of her dragons, not her actual self.

Dany thought of Viserys. He had sold her to Khal Drogo to get his army, but now that he was on the throne, would he ever give her up? Could she expect to be able to be married again, to have children? To make a life that she could be happy with? She doubted it. Viserys would keep her until his dying day, she assumed. She knew he wished to approach the topic of a wife today, and she feared his words. The Targaryens had married siblings for generations, and she had a feeling that was one of his ideas. She didn't think she could bear that decision.

A soft knock came on her door, and she turned at the noise. Irri, one of her Dothraki handmaidens, rushed to answer the door. A servant girl stood at the door, looking nervous and somewhat shaken. "The king is calling for you, my lady," she said, eyes darting around the room, not meeting Dany's once. "A-and he asks that you look nice, he wants the council to be impressed." She sighed, entering the room and closing the balcony doors behind her. "Very well, tell him I will arrive shortly." She let her handmaids prep her accordingly, pulling the top half of her hair back in an elaborate braid, hanging down over the bottom half falling in waves to the middle of her back. They put her in a simple but beautiful white silk dress. The fabric fell and showed off her womanly curves, the top meeting a neck piece that made it somewhat of a halter. She looked in the mirror and nodded, figuring Viserys would be pleased.

She made her way out of her room and towards the dining hall, where Viserys would be having breakfast. Upon entering, she gave him a slight bow. "Your Grace," she said dryly with no emotion, standing up straight once more and taking a seat close, but not beside her brother. She grabbed a few pieces of fruit and toast, eating silently. After a moment, she spoke. "When will the council arrive?"

Sansa Stark was silently wakened by her handmaiden timidly shaking her shoulder. The eldest Stark daughter had been dreaming of home, of Winterfell, before King’s Landing when her father was still alive and when Lady was still by her side. So it was not with good humour that Sansa greeted the day. Of course she had long ago stopped seeing every day as a gift from the seven with something exciting bound to happen. Those naive days were behind her forever and nothing could ever bring them back and here she was now, still a prisoner or so it seemed the only difference being the jailer.

Their new king had refused to let the remaining Starks return north though he’d seen fit to keep Robb a lord with all of his inherited titles and even showed the Young Wolf a modicum of respect. To most it would seem a privileged life but for Sansa all she wanted to do was return north and never step foot in the south again. Her childish dreams of becoming a queen, adorned in silks and jewels and beloved by the people were dashed and all she wanted to do was forget everything that happened while somehow figuring out how to live the life she was left with.

“My Lady, you’re expected to be in the dining hall at this very moment. The King has seen fit to invite you to break your fast along with your brother.” Sansa’s handmaiden declared as she began to quickly and deftly plait and coil Sansa’s long, red hair into an elaborate southron style before beginning to dress the quietly, unmoving girl.

“Then you shall hurry then. I shan't disappoint the King.” The tall, willowy teenager said flatly as she held out her arms and waited patiently for Lea to finish with her preparations. Though Sansa had been in King’s Landing for some time her style of dress had barely changed, choosing to remain true to the north in whatever subtle way she could. Though the heat in King’s Landing was unbearable, Sansa’s heavy, long-sleeved dresses made of yards of thick fabric never seemed to bother her. There were a great many more things that made the young girl uncomfortable; heat was the least of them.

Taking her leave from her small, though lavish chambers she headed straight for the dining hall, reveling in the freedom of not having a set of guards following her every move. After the Lannister’s lost control of the Iron Throne, Sansa found herself no longer their hostage and therefore no longer under the guard of Cersei’s minions. Thank the seven for small favors as they were she thought sarcastically to herself.

Entering into the dining hall she immediately curtsied and uttered a soft, yet clear “Your Grace.” Before timidly lifting her blue gaze towards that of her new king before spying Robb and Margaery. She quickly made her way to her brother’s side, a small smile gracing her pale face belying the apprehension she felt. She felt awkwardly out of place here, out of her depth to be sure. She was not a man, a lord or a great soldier like her brother. She wasn’t brave or smart, or persuasive like Margaery or Daenerys. She was a timid little bird afraid of her own shadow and all she wanted was to be left alone.

"You look lovely today, dear sister." Viserys stated upon her entering, and she stayed silent, nibbling at the small portions in front of her. "I fear the council will start a war over you if they see you." He smiled in her direction, and the sight made her cringe. His smiles were never genuine, never warm. It was the type of smile you saw a sick child make before plucking the wings off of a butterfly. "Not that I would let them." he added, waving his hand. "Thank you, Your Grace," she responded simply. If she wouldn't be his, she would be no one's. At least that is what she assumed he was thinking. He still hated her for everything the Dothraki and Khal Drogo had put him through.. all because of her. She wasn't exactly sorry about anything she had done. If anything, she wished it would have woken him up and changed him for the better. It only made him more hateful. They never talked about the Dothraki or Khal Drogo, because of the memories it resurfaced.

"Ah, yes. They should be arriving within a few minutes, I do believe. I still need to get changed." he answered after her question regarding the council. "The Northerners should be here." Dany perked up at his words. The Northerners were actually good people, and she enjoyed being in their company. They had honor, a quality her brother hadn't been gifted with. She wasn't sure what they thought of her, as they hadn't had any time to converse without Viserys present. The King made sure she was always by his side, or in her room. He feared her turning her back on him, betraying him. "Today will be an excellent day, I do believe. I get to discuss the matters of my bride as well as my tourney." Her thoughts went to the Lannister boy, the previous King of Westeros. Viserys liked to talk about how Joffrey was a scared little child, not worthy to hold the throne. Yet here was her brother, worried more about his tournament and bride than the people of the Seven Kingdoms. He wasn't doing anything but worrying about his own needs. He was more similar to Joffrey than he realized.

"Lady Margery Tyrell is a fine woman. The Tyrell's are a powerful family, I wonder if Renly Baratheon would fancy another, in place of her? I think Lady Margery is quite lovely. What are your thoughts on this, sweet sister?" Dany pondered his question for a moment, finishing her last bits of toast and fruit. She had to be careful with her words. Anything she said that her brother didn't agree with, he would see as her going against his wishes. "Margaery Tyrell is power hungry, I believe. A woman who would leave her husband to further herself is only in for the title, nothing more." She paused, considering her next words. "But I trust you will make the best decision, Your Grace." That should please The Dragon, she thought. Although he was no dragon. She wasn't a cowering little girl anymore like she once was. She had learned courage and fire from her late husband. And while many Westerosi people saw her as timid for following her brother, that wasn't it at all. She was just smart. She wasn't going to anger him for no reason, knowing that many of his guards wouldn't hesitate to beat her at his word. She preferred to put her energies into other things, things that would actually get her somewhere. Talking back to her brother wouldn't accomplish anything other than anger.

Their conversation was interrupted by footsteps approaching, and her head snapped up to the new addition as he spoke. "Good Morrow your Grace." It was Robb Stark, once King in the North. Now he was kept in King's Landing like a prisoner, but with better accommodations. His situation was so similar to hers, she wished they could just sit and discuss it. But that would never happen, her brother would make sure of that. Her eyes followed him longingly. Not in a romantic way, although Robb was extremely handsome. His dark, curly locks and rugged handsomeness were undeniable. Yet she longed for a friend, someone she could connect with. She felt like a caged animal in this damned castle. She nodded in Robb's direction, so he would know she acknowledged his presence. Robb's appearance must have set off a chain reaction, because not long after, her and her brother's topic of conversation entered the dining hall as well. Margaery Tyrell.

The woman gave Daenerys an uncomfortable feeling, but she had no idea why. She watched Margaery sweep into an elegant bow upon seeing Viserys, a smile plastered on her pretty little face. Dany was not impressed by the girl, her eyes watching, a smile not appearing on her face. They followed the girl as she sat down at the table. She could only imagine what Viserys was thinking at the display from Margaery. The last one to join their table was Sansa, Robb's younger sister. She looked positively uncomfortable, giving a small curtsy and heading straight for Robb. Dany's motherly instincts kicked in, and she wished she could soothe Sansa's fears. That was one girl Dany would never let Viserys touch. A soft smile appeared on her face. "Sansa, you look absolutely beautiful today," she said, hoping it would ease Sansa's tensions.

Daenerys hoped the meeting would not last longer than needed. She loved playing the game of politics, but today's topics were not something she cared to discuss. Viserys' bride and tournament were not going to better Westeros. Only make the crown more in debt. She felt a need to roam the castle, perhaps even go out into town. Her need for adventure was rising, and she would even sneak past her brother's men if she had to. She was more than capable.

---

Martyn had woken early, before the sun was fully visible in the morning sky. Sleep never came easily for him anymore, not after everything he had endured, after his family was slaughtered. Sleep was plagued with nightmares, images he never wished to relive. So he tossed and turned all night, and then would give up and retreat to the yard to practice his swordplay, or bow and arrow if he felt like giving himself a challenge. That morning, he felt like having the comfort of the sword in his hand. It felt familiar and welcome as he mimicked thrusts, fighting an invisible enemy. He'd had the sword for eight long years, a gift from his late uncle when he had only been fifteen. It had perfect balance, seemingly meant for his hand only. As the sun rose higher in the sky, the sword began to shine brilliantly, the silver gleaming.

Beads of sweat began to form on his forehead, dripping down his face and finally falling to the ground. Already it was becoming too warm for his liking, and it was still early morning. The weather down in King's Landing was unbearable for him, he didn't know how everyone lived here year round. He longed for the cool air of the North, Winterfell specifically. Although, his home was lost now, thanks to the Greyjoys. The thought made him furious, and he began hacking away at his invisible enemy with fervor. Then the thought of Jaime Lannister popped into his head, cutting his brother down. His invisible enemy began to form a face, in the image of the Kingslayer. He swung his sword, aiming for the neck, but it was blocked. He swung with blind rage, a yell escaping his lips. He became careless, however, and wasn't able to block the thrust that was aimed at his heart. He sunk to his knees, his enemy fading away before his eyes. He was out of breath, his chest heaving with every breath.

When he got to his feet once more, he removed his cotton shirt, exposing his well-muscled chest. He grabbed a bow, aiming for the circular target yards away. The bow was never one of his strongest weapons, but he tried to practice with it as often as possible, so he could improve and be the best he can be. He pulled the string back, slowing his breathing. He released, and the arrow sailed through the air, connecting with the target. He lowered the bow, admiring his work. He growled when he saw the arrow had barely made contact, hitting the very edge of the target. He loosed a handful of arrows, improving slightly each time, but never making it in the center.

The sun was higher in the sky now, so he retreated back into the castle, cleaning up for the day. Once the sweat had been wiped from his brow, and he smelled pleasant, he left his room, adjacent from Leyla's, and began looking for her. He had tried knocking on her door, but the handmaiden had said she had already departed earlier that morning. He searched throughout the castle, but had no luck. He saw a few familiar faces, but most were from the South, complete strangers to him. He didn't like being in the city, not being able to trust a single soul, watching what you say even in privacy, for you never know who would be listening. It was all too much for him, this game of thrones.

Finally, after searching countless places, he found his cousin. She was in a secluded overlook of Blackwater Bay, staring out at the shipwrecked water. He approached her, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Leyla," he said softly, placing an arm around her and pulling her close. He knew she hated it here as much as he did, that she was miserable. She was more like a sister to him than anything else, and all he wanted was to keep her safe and happy. After Winterfell had been overtaken, he had feared for Leyla's safety. The day she had stumbled upon the Stark army had been one of the happiest he could remember. He didn't know what to say, so he stood by her side, staring out across the water with her, his arm still lovingly wrapped around her shoulders.

Jaime Lannister woke drowsily from his short slumber, his rest disturbed by a stubborn ray of light shining through the window directly onto his thin face. He supposed he should relish in the light for as long as he could, after all he was a prisoner and had beaten back death only to stare it in the face yet again. Every morning he awoke he wondered why he hadn't just let himself die from the fever that had consumed him after the loss of his hand. What was the use of a defanged lion? He could no longer protect his family, which was a terrible blow as this was when they were in most need.

He, Cersei and their three children were now nothing more than pets to Viserys, if, from what Jaime could tell had the shapings to be a worse king than his father. If Jaime were in any condition to solve matters as he had the last time there was a mad king upon the iron throne he and his family wouldn't be anywhere near King’s Landing. Looking back now he knew he should have sent them away to the Rock, but Cersei had always held him off saying there would be time. Or that a king never surrenders. In his opinion sometimes it was worth surrendering to live another day as Robb Stark had decided for them all.

Rising from his lumpy mattress he lifted a hand to shade his eyes only to remember too late that there was no longer a hand at the end of his right arm. Overcome with by grief for his lost hand he looked away from his disfigurement in disgust. He supposed he ought to fill shame or guilt since he grieved more for his lost hand than for his own father but Jaime had always known his father would die someday. He’d never thought of himself as a cripple though, not once. It was a slap in the face, a cruel jape and he had never felt more hopeless in his entire life.

Struggling to wash his face in the basin of fresh water a servant girl had left; he gave up miserably and began to dress himself. A tougher prospect than he had anticipated, eventually he had to summon help from one of the many guards stationed outside his small cell like room. Jaime watched silently as the younger man began to fasten his pants for him, and then moved deftly to straightening his shirt and eventually helped Jaime pull on his boots. The Lannister had never felt more helpless or ashamed in his life than he did right now. Being dressed like an infant wasn’t something he relished and it was nearly too much bear.

“Thank you. Your help is much appreciated.” Jaime offered to the guard, doing his best to cultivate some kind of personal interaction, keeping his gaze to the floor as the guard withdrew from the room, choosing not to acknowledge Jaime save for muttering “Useless cripples” as he once again took up his post. Sighing in defeat, Jaime rolled his eyes and prayed silently for strength. Finally dressed and ready to face another day at the mercy of a Targaryen once again he was escorted to the Great Hall to be paraded in front of the Lords and Ladies who only months ago would have thought twice before laughing at him. Now he was their greatest source of amusement.

Dawn had broken across the horizon in pink heavenly undertones. Did they reflect the towering crimson façade in the distance before her or the blood of innocents that had ran like rivers in the streets?

Dacey Mormont did not know. Nor in all honesty did she care. They had been at war. And the greatest price of war? Blood. It was a fact she held no qualms about.

The clip clopping of a single pair of hooves echoed on the almost deserted road in the early hours of the morning. Dacey had rode through the night. A dangerous feat for a group of men let alone a lone woman. But fear was not something Dacey Mormont prescribed to or indulged in.

Urgent matters on Bear Island had called her back after the war of the five had come to an inevitable end with Viserys Targaryen claiming the Iron Throne. Luckily, Bear Island had not suffered greatly being a detached land. Though this had not stopped attacks. However, the Dothraki clans who had braved the sea fare to pillage Bear Island had not expected the ferocious warriors – men and women – who inhabited the small island, armed and ready for battle. Nor, had the Dothraki known how very bare and deprived of wealth Bear Island really was.

The thought spread a wealthy grin upon Dacey's remarkably handsome face. If only she had been there to witness the Dothraki's surprise when they landed on her home island. Alas, she had been away fight at Robb Starks side.

Not that she greatly feared for Bear Island, when she had been away at battle. Not with her mother in charge and her sisters to aid. Meage Mormont was a woman to be greatly feared. And her daughters were no less. Bear Island had been in capable hands and Dacey thanked the Old Gods they had all come through unharmed.

Dacey spurred her Courser faster as the Red Keep loomed closer. Her dark locks carrying with the wind as the mail shirt she wore over her tunic jingled with the movement of the obsidian coloured horse. The slight feeling of awe that filled her was not enough for her to stop and admire the keep. Kings Landing, held no particular fondness for Dacey. She had immediately wanted to return back home as soon as the unbearable heat of the South had hit her.

But there was no turning back. And she felt no great strain in attending the King's Council to aid her Liege Lord, Robb Stark. It was her duty and Dacey Mormont did not turn away from her responsibilities.

---

It was less then an hour later that she stood at the foot of the entrance to the Castle.

A burly looking guard dressed in the Targaryen armour halted her from entering the Keep. Dacey raised a defined brow in amusement. It had been much too long since she participated in a bout of swordplay, Dacey mused. Unfortunately, she had no time for play right now. She was already late and patience was a virtue. One, the Lady did not possess at the moment.

“And who might you be wench?” The Targaryen guard asked of her with an air of superiority much in excess of his post.

“Dacey Mormont, Lady of Bear Island.” She replied frankly. “I would ask the same of you. However, I don't posses the luxury of time at the moment, so if you'll excuse me.”

“I ain't never seen a Lady of rank strolling around in breeches and mail.” He declared with a sneer; the tip of his sword pointed dangerously close to her throat. “You expect me to believe that you're the Lady of Bear Island and let you in?”

More then the fools words, the sword at her throat rose Dacey's ire. She was no real Lady. And she suffered no weapon pointed at her or the person who threatened.

“I should remove the sword if I were you.” The Lady of Bear Island advised in a voice completely calm.

“Oh? And why should I do that wench?”

“If you value your life it would be wise.” Dacey replied.

Hearty laughter filled air, as other Targaryen soldiers surrounded closer to view the encounter.

“You think you are a threat upon my life?” The guard questioned as he continued to laugh.

Dacey needed no other invitation. Her anger was like the silent storm that crept along the sea. With a swiftness and grace possessed by no other Dacey's unsheathed blade slashed through the air.

The sound of metal clattering to the floor filled the sudden electric air as the guard looked with fright and astonishment at the half of his sword that remained in his hands.

Yet, Dacey Mormont was not done.

Her booted foot made contact with the man's chest sending him reeling, landing hard on his back and before he could even move, Dacey's sword was levelled at the centre of his thick neck as her tall dark form loomed over him.

“I should cut your throat as swiftly as I cut your sword. However, I don't believe King Viserys would appreciate that. You can thank him for your life.” Dacey smiled down at him sweetly before flipping the sword around in her hands; knocking the man unconscious as she swung and the hilt made contact with his face viciously. “You.” Dacey commanded, turned on her heels. “Stable my horse. Make sure he is well watered and fed.” She did not wait for a reply as she removed her shirt of mail and threw it across at a maid that had ventured out at the sound of the commotion. “And you, make sure my belongings are sent to my chambers.”

Somewhat calmer now and with the hindsight that came with it, Dacey realised she should have been a little more diplomatic with the fool guard. But riding havey cavey through the night to make it to the council meeting on time had left her rather irritable. It could not be helped, Dacey decided as she swept passed the gob-smacked curtsying maid into the Red Keep.

She wondered if Viserys Targaryen would find the tale amusing . . . or if he had any sort of a sense of humour?

---

Dacey Mormont entered the great dinning hall, where to her surprise the small council was meeting. In fact, she decided she much preferred it. It seemed less formal. Formality was not something Mormont's prided themselves on, Dacey mused with an inner smile.

She strode in with grace and elegance as regal as any Queen without an ounce of self-consciousness; even dressed as she was in dark breeches and a green tunic belted at the waist with the House of Mormont's sigil stitched on the centre.

The room was already filled. Many of the people she did not know by face but by name alone and the meeting already seemed under way. But Viserys Targaryen was unmistakable with haunting lavender violet eyes and stark white hair, sat as he was at the head of the table with his sister.

If she was a conforming type of female, Dacey mused, she may have felt intimidated by the incandescent three beauties sat at the table. Luckily, she was not a conforming sort and appearances held little regard for her. They were often misleading and beauty in itself was a fleeting quality.

Aquamarine eyes casually scanned the rest of the party. They all seemed much to grave. She wonder what was being discussed.

Spotting Robb Stark, an almost indistinguishable smile touched her lips.

“Lord Stark.” She bowed, acknowledging her Liege Lord and friend first, though it would have been proper to acknowledge the King first; it mattered little to Dacey as she came to stand next to Robb's seated form. “Your Grace.” She finally bowed and then turned to the rest of the group. “My Lords and Ladies. My sincerest apologies for the lateness of my arrival.” She addressed the group with complete insincerity. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Dacey Mormont, Lady of Bear Island.”

A softness touched her fingers, Dacey peered down to see a Dire Wolf stroking it's long form along her legs. Dacey grinned, as she petted the the Wolf's head with a roughness she knew he preferred.

“And hello to you.” She whispered.

Robb Stark

Robb wondered if there was a man who existed in all of Westeros who was more arrogant than Viserys Targaryan and he decided that was impossible. The young King exuded arrogance the way most men expelled air, he amused himself for a moment imagining being there when that arrogance was taken from him. He prayed to all of the gods, old and new that he would be there to see it. As was his wont the King had summoned his council simply to announce something he had already decided. His request for the Small Council opinions was nothing more than a farce, it was simply another way for the King to demonstrate his power over them all. Robb rested his hand lightly on Grey Wind's head as the mercenaries entered, the direwolf did not welcome strangers into what he considered his territory which consisted of wherever Robb was. However the Direwolf remained calm, alert but calm and Robb thought that perhaps his wolf was becoming accustomed to the city. The idea concerned him as he did not want his wolf to lose the wildness that made him what he was. He made a mental note to try and get the direwolf out of the city more.

Realising he had become distracted he focussed on the Son's of Cerberus who had just entered, he examined them with eyes used to battle and he could see these men were no raw recruits. Yet he did not trust men who fought for money, they were wont to turn on their employers and fight for the other side if the money was better. Yet he doubted the King would like hearing objections especially from him. But he was his fathers son and of the north and men of the north did not back down for fear of reprisal, they were honest men and he would be no different.

Before he could speak however he saw Dacey Mormont arrive and could not help the large grin that spread across his face. Gods he had missed her. She was one of the few women that he knew with whom he could fight and dance with in equal measure. She was also one of his few friends and he trusted her implicitly. He was glad she had arrived as he hoped she would be able to help him. His mother and his sister, who had come and stood beside him, were in a nest of vipers and he needed someone he could trust to watch over them. Sansa in particular who had suffered much would perhaps benefit from a friend such as Dacey. He nodded to her and touched her on the arm in greeting but did not speak.

He had waited long enough to answer the King's question.

"With all due respect your grace mercenaries cannot be trusted, they fight for coin and coin only. They are loyal to nothing else and turn on you as soon as they receive a better offer."

Margaery Tyrell

Margaery rose to her feet after a few moments, she smiled slightly as she noticed the king's admiring glances upon her. But even as she felt a flush of pleasure a part of her flinched from the attention he gave her. A part of her deep down knew that the King was an evil man who cared nothing for others. But she pushed that thought as far down as she could ignoring it for all she was worth. She reminded herself that she was a strong and confident woman and she believed she could handle the Dragon King. She was more concerned with his sister whom she knew neither liked or trusted her. The feeling was mutual as Margaery distrusted the woman and her dragons. Anyone who commanded dragons was however not someone to make your enemy and so she resolved to make more effort with the mother of dragons.

As she saw Sansa Margaery smiled with pleasure, she genuinely liked the stark girl even though she was too timid for her liking. Though she could hardly blame the girl given what she had suffered, yet even for all that their was a quiet strength to her that Margaery respected. She hoped the girl would not grow to become her enemy as she disliked the thought of having to bring her down, but she would not suffer any obstacles to her ambition. Dacey Mormont however was another matter entirely, Margaery did not know the woman but she had heard of her and of her home Bear Island. It was strange looking upon a woman garbed in mens attire, almost unnatural even yet Margaery envied the other woman her freedom.

The Son's of Cerberus she looked at last and could tell they were used to fighting though where and against whom she had no idea. She had no doubt that they would make formidable enemies but as to whether they would be good allies she was unsure. Though after she heard Robb Stark's opinion she was inclined to agree, she did not know what state the treasury was in but she doubted it was comfortable after such a long and difficult time. She wondered where the coin would come from but then she realised the King would no doubt take more money from the Lannisters. The wealth of Casterly Rock would be more than sufficent or the King would ask the aid of Highgarden and her father would of course give it. Though not as wealthy as the Lannisters highgarden was by no means poor either.

She voiced none of these thoughts however as she was not part of the Small Council and thought it would be improper for her to speak as though she was one of them.

Knock, knock, it was one of Catelyn's handmaidens. The young girl walked into the room, she was here to wake Catelyn up, but her goal was already done for. Catelyn was sitting at the end of her bed, still in her bed robe, her hair streaming down both sides of her head, staring at the floor, she dreamed of Ned again. They were back in Winterfell, Ned was sitting by the steaming pools beneath the Heart Tree in the godswood. Above the treetops the moon tried glowing through the mist like light peering through silk. Catelyn walked up the stone steps, her long grey dress trailed behind her. She sat down on a big rock next to him, "Ned..." she said quietly, she couldn't believe it, he was there. Ned turned and faced her, he was as handsome as ever, "Cat? Is that you?" He asked, he reached out and touched her face. His hand was warm, she gazed into his grey eyes, "Yes Ned, its me," she lent in closed her eyes and gave him a longing kiss. She opened her eyes and scrambled backwards, it wasn't Ned, but his head.

The handmaiden rushed to her side, "Milady are you alright?" she asked, Catelyn looked up to the girl with tears in her eyes, and stood up, wiping her tired eyes. "Yes...I am alright," she replied slowly. "The King has invited you to break fast with him, your son and daughter is already there," the handmaiden said as she guided Catelyn over to the mirror and sat her down on a wooden stool. The handmaiden started to do her hair, in a southern style, "Stop, do you know any Northern styles Wenda?" Catelyn said briskly, she was of the North and she wanted it to stay that way. "Erm...Some milady," she said quietly. Catelyn looked at the girl through the mirror, "Please, do me a favor and do my hair in a Northern style," the handmaiden smiled and began putting Catelyns hair in a Northern style bun. Catelyn could see that the handmaiden admired her auburn hair compared to her own brown hair, after the handmaiden was done she quickly dressed Catelyn in a simple grey dress, that was altered to fit the southern heat. After she was done, Catelyn stood up and looked at her self, she couldn't even tell that she had been crying. She put on a smile and left the handmaiden to fix her chambers. As she made her way to the dining hall, Catelyn looked around. The stone city was below her, it was sprawling with life. Above the sun shined in the cloudless sky, Catelyn had to admit; the South was a beautiful place to live.

She walked into the dining hall, it was warm and the aroma of food was about her, there were a group of mercenaries talking to the king. Viserys Targaryen, he is young. But her son declared himself a king to, after the murder of her husband. Catelyn spots Sansa and Robb sitting next to each other, My sweet Sansa, she thought while smiling. Catelyn walked near the table and coughed slowly to announce her presence, "Good day, your grace," she bowed to him, and then to his sister, putting on a slight smile. Daenerys Targaryen, the one who gave life to dragons, Catelyn thought as she eyed her, she couldn't deny that the girl was full of life, but she was young nonetheless.

Sans blushed prettily at the praise she received from Daenerys and was slightly taken by surprise when the King began complimenting her profusely. Instantly she felt her heart in her throat and her stomach tied in knots, it didn’t do well to be noticed. She had learned this the hard way by firsthand account, always slip by unnoticed and you’ll get into much less trouble that way. Of course she was flattered, she was still Sansa Stark and a King had deigned to comment upon her beauty.

Nervously she bowed her head and smiled shyly at the royal siblings. “You are much too kind, Your Grace. It is you who whose kindness, strength and honor have allowed me to be here.” The eldest Stark daughter replied, placing a thin, pale hand upon her chest as a sign of her sincerity. She knew that perhaps she was laying it on a bit thick but royalty always seemed to enjoy flattery, the more flowery the better. It also didn’t help that Sansa always seemed to overdo it when put on the spot.

Although what she said wasn’t unnecessarily true. It was Viserys that made it possible for her to be free; relatively free at least. She was no longer betrothed to Joffrey or beholden to his demands. She no longer lived in fear of Cersei and her machinations, now there was a new King with new quirks and affectations to learn and maneuver around. The slim redhead knew she’d be smarter now than when she first arrived in the south.

Sansa’s heart quickened a bit at the announcement of what the council would be discussing today. Tourneys and marriage; and while she was once fond of tourneys those days were long gone. The mention of a bride for the King caused her to glance nervously at her brother, Robb. She wondered if she was a candidate, that perhaps Robb might come to her some afternoon and inform her that she was marrying the king. Of course the odds were quite out of her favor as far as she knew, which was a sort of relief to the girl.

Soon the subject turned to the mercenaries who were now standing before the council. Warily Sansa looked at the odd arrangement of people and looked nervously away if she happened to catch anyone’s eye. She idly picked at loose threads on her dress, or smiled nervously at Margaery knowing that neither one of their opinions were sought after. It wasn’t until Dacey Mormont made an appearance that Sansa was restored to life. She knew Dacey was a friend of Robb’s and was from Bear Island, she was from the North and that meant she was like family.

Sansa watched Grey Wind greet the new arrival and felt a sharp pang at the thought of Lady. Quickly turning away from the scene she was pleasantly surprised by the arrival of her mother. For the first time that day a genuine smile was splashed across her fair face. Sansa adored her lady mother and was delighted to be reunited with her once again. Catelyn was where Sansa drew strength, at least what little she had. Sansa wanted nothing more than to rise from her chair and embrace the other woman but knew that now wasn’t the time or the place to show any sort of weakness, even if that weakness was love for one’s family.