Hot rocks dig into the bottom of her bare feet as she struggle to see into the steaming stream. Squinting her eyes, she begin to focus as a shape forms in the dark water. Stepping back, she let's out a loud gasp. Suddenly, something cool touched her hand, and she is springs forward "That dream again...?" Turning her head to face the source of the voice, Lillian O'Connel let's out a small scoff. Ignoring the comment, she instead turns her attention to a small snow white fox waiting expectantly at the foot of her bed, " Hello, Sacha." Petting the fox affectionately, Lillian tunes out the sounds of her nurse maid scurrying around and thinks back to her dream. It has never felt so real..."Come again, dear?" Realizing she had spoken her thought out loud, Lillian shakes her head "Never mind. Where is it I am to be going today?" The dream, and it's contents forgotten, Lillian stood from her bed. Raising her arms, she allowed the nurse maid to pull the rumbled cotton from her soaked body before following her to another part of the chambers where a bath awaited. Sinking into the steaming water, she allowed the heat to comfort her and the nurse maid for to work combing the knots from her fiery head.

Slipping a gold ring in the shape of a fox's head onto her slim index finger, Lillian sighed. Behind her, the nurse maid made the final touches on Lillian's blazing braid before placing her rounded hands on her plump hips, "Is that not lovely, my lady? The Godwin colors suite you well." A deep maroon gown flowed over the shapely body of Scarlett, hugging at her blooming chest and slimmed waist. The sleeves gripped her upper arms before puffing out just before reaching her small wrist. Golden ribbons were tied at her collar and just below to curve of her arm, while a deep red was woven just below her breast. Gold flats engulfed her petite feet, hidden under the long gown. Touching the crest of the Godwin House, a gift from her betrothed, that rested between her bosom, she smiled. "I think you're right. How about you, Sacha?" Glancing down to her small pet that rested at her feet, Scarlett shook her head at her small growl/snort, before the fox trotted off...obviously unimpressed.

Looking to her nurse maid, the two laughed, before Lillain stood gathering her gown in her hands. Today there was to be a great duel in honer of Kings Godwin's son name day. As his lady, Lillian's presence was expected. A knock sounded at the chamber door, and Lillian all but scurried to open it. Behind her the nurse maid chaste her on the ways of a lady, but she paid no mind. Taking the hand of her beloved, Lillian walked with her head high. Dreams be damned, she was the daughter of the fox and soon to be queen of the lion.

Lillian's hair only red:http://img.ehowcdn.com/article-new/ehow/images/a04/nf/nm/do-medieval-hairstyles-800x800.jpg
Lillian's gown: http://www.polyvore.com/cgi/set?id=57398792


(OOC: I want the first person to post in Winterfell to be Claridge, so I will just be laying out the setting.)

The warm air of summer has long ago faded to the crisp breeze of fall. Leaves have started their change, and shallow creeks lie frozen over. Food in Winterfell has become scarce, and water is now a further journey to take. Despite the hardships and threat of death that would deter even the strongest of Godwin's men...The Order of the Direwolf stands strong, as do the people of the small village. The harsh winters have become apart of them. They live with the understanding that there are always dark periods in each of our lives, and even if things are good now , we must always be ready for a dark period when events turn against us.

The Order of the Direwolf remains strong and vigilant in their goal. They train every hour the sun gives them, and sometimes longer than that. Their bodies may ache, and their hunger cries out...but their pain makes them stronger. To King Godwin...Winter is coming

The shadow moved over the battlefield like a grim reaper surveying it's newest additions. The bodies of men and women littered the ground some with arrows jutting out of their bodies. Others with body parts cleaved clean off. More still with stab wounds and gashes that left them lying in a pool of their own blood. While the skirmish was small by traditional warfare standards the mass of bodies was still enough to make a person cringe at the sight. The shadow came to rest on the armored shoulder of it's lord and master, the one known as The Owl King. Arthas turned and brought his fingers up to run them through the soft plumage of his companion Halas, the massive owl he called his friend. Halas shook his wings in enjoyment as a low cooing made its way out of the birds beak. Blood dripped from the owls talons onto Arthas' armor as a sign of the men the bird had killed on it's own that day. Arthas himself had more than a bit of blood dripping off his weapons as well as he looked away from his companion to the scene around him. A supply caravan he had gotten word of a few weeks ago. He had spent the time until now planning this assault while his men marched, making sure everything would go perfectly. His men were loyal, brave and tough as nails but they didn't have the numbers to allow for careless mistakes. The caravan had been carrying food provisions to Godwins men stationed in The Twins. Arthas had made certain Godwin's men would be nice and hungry by the time he marched his men through on a full stomach and well rested. Arthas also had rangers on all the roads heading to the Twins to kill any messengers to or from Kingslanding. With no food and the not a word from command Godwins forces would fall like the leaves in autumn under the might of the Birds of Prey. At the moment his loyal men were relieving the caravans wagons of their valuables as well as looting most of the corpses. Arthas, along with Halas, made his way to his second in command who was surveying the men as they did their duty. Sitting atop a white stallion with the morning sun gleaming off her radiant armor sat Lady Samara of the Rose. The finest warrior from Riverrun when it still was it's own kingdom and now the woman who raised Arthas as well as his constant guardian.

"We're making good progress. Should be in Winterfell before long with enough food to feed both our armies twice over."

He said as he came to stand beside the horse that was bearing his closest friend.

"I could not agree more my lord. The Dire Wolf will be lucky to have the Owl as an ally."

She said stoically as always.

"Especially an owl bearing gifts."

He added with a chuckle in reference to the large amount of provisions he had set aside for his soon to be hosts in Winterfell. A few letters had come and gone between the two camps. He had gotten word that they were lacking for food rations and Arthas had opted to alleviate their pains. Tactically he had planned to stop the food caravans to Godwins men between his army in the forests of Riverrun and the frozen north of Winterfell anyway but now his men would amass as much food as they could for the warriors of the north who were in no doubt in great need of a good meal. The time was coming for Arthas to finally make his move. The time for his return was soon at hand. Alone he had tried to make a go of it but his army was still vastly out numbered by Godwins. While true his forces had been making life hell for Godwin by raiding settlements, out posts, caravans, anything and everything they could to be a thorn in the lions paw it wasn't enough. They needed to turn that thorn into a sword and bring the fight to Godwin. United with the men from Winterfell they may just have a chance. Arthas even toyed with the idea of marching all his men north but decided against it after some fine council from Samara. Small bands of no more than five or ten of his warriors were left in the areas surrounding King's Landing to continue their work. If the civilians needed them they would be there and with eyes in the area Arthas could still be well appraised of Godwins movements. His rangers set to their task and the bulk of his men preparing for the long march north, Arthas felt the change beginning in the air. The passing of seasons signaled the coming of winter as if the cold hand of death itself was coming for Charles Godwin.

The Red Keep, even the name denotes a degree of isolation from the rest of the world. Outsiders aren’t aware, but the royal castle is a castle within a castle, and the private residence of the royal family can only be accessed by a drawbridge which spans a surrounding dry moat with iron spikes. Within the 12 foot thick walls are a series of hidden passages and tunnels, and which Isadora knows like the knuckles of her hand. Her shadow long, cast out by the seeming sourceless light that sift through, slithered against the walls and closely behind her walked her twin brother Damian. If the walls could talk they would scream out secrets that extend back for 12,000 years. But it was the secrets of today that mattered, the secrets that if public can change the future of King’s Landing in ways unimaginable. The brother and sister sealed the end of their trek with a lustful kiss.

She pushed Damian away when he clumsily fought the seams of her gown, “No, wait.” She lifted the heavy fabric that made the part of the skirt and exposed her naked silky legs underneath, she turned and leaned forward against the wall and he took her like he had done countless times before. She looked particularly beautiful dressed in a red formal gown and smelled of sweet flowers. He liked her golden locks carefully made-up in fancy adornments; he liked the long shape of her naked neck and the mounts of her breasts crushed together under his grasp. He lived for this moment, for her pleasure, for the idea of taking that which is taboo, for the risk, for the gall of it all. Even if all they can have is fleeting moments of pleasure in secret places. He learned long ago fate and love are never equals in the game of life.

The incestuous act came and went, forever concealed and hidden by the 12 foot walls of Red Keep. Not even the cold winds carried with them news of what they had done. And Isadora felt the cold breeze against her exposed skin and winced. She quickly fixed her dress and fought the disagreeable folds of its fabric to perfection. No words were exchanged between them none were needed. The glancing stares and smiles on their faces were the same one found on wicked spoiled children. He leaned against the wall and admired her, and she playfully bowed before she trailed back from where they had come. He watched as her tiny figure disappeared through the passage and waited until the loneliness of the place became unbearable before doing the same.

When Isadora reached the Queens Ballroom her trusted hand maid was waiting. She quickly placed a red velvet cape around the queen and fastened a golden lion broche upon its collar. The room was lively with domestic activity and preparation. “Where are my children?”

“I believe the Prince went to escort Lady O’Connel to the Duel. The princesses are waiting for your orders in their chamber, your grace,” replied the hand maid.

“And my husband?”

“He is out hunting, your grace,” said the maid hesitantly and took a step back.

Already the fire of anger Isadora felt was evident in her emerald green eyes and the shape of her lips. She knew exactly what bitch her husband hunted. She raised her chin and commenced to walk the long lavished room. Inspecting the work of the servants, pointing out what looked out of place, making last minute changes. At the end stood six guards in royal armor, covered from head to toe, their armor shimmer with the hues of yellow candle light and colors of the room. They stood still and erect like living statuettes before circling the Queen. These men worked for her, not for the hand of the king, not for the king himself. They belonged to her. They were her pets, loyal dogs that never left her side and would kill without question at her command. She set aside the anger she felt. Today was a day of celebration, her son’s 18 birthday. She’d been waiting for this day and it had finally come. And she prepared a lavished ball for her son's day. Everything must be perfect. Not even her husband can ruined the day. She won't allow it.

"But sire, there's simply not enough livestock nor grain. The coming months look grim indeed." The exasperation, even desperation, in lumbering man's voice was apparent. Next to Robert, his import adviser appeared to be a hulk of a man, much bigger than Claridge. Robert never gave it any heed however, and simply stopped walk down the gravel road and clapped him on the shoulder.

"I have faith in you, John," Robert began in a gentle, yet firmly supportive way, "you always get it done, no matter what you have to do." Robert waited for the man's eyes to ease and his shoulders to forcibly relax. "Food and appropriate shelter have always been scarce, but you'd do your best not to show signs of unwilling. It would invite unnecessary thoughts of inevitable defeat or disbandment, and I won't have that sort of morale circulating while the Dire Wolves remain loyal to me and the Old Ways." They began to walk down the barren gravel path heading towards a seclusive barracks.

"Apologies sire... you're right of course." They walked in silence for a minute before the man known as John spoke up yet again. "We still need a way to increase food production efficiency. Marcellus said you had the makings of a plan, and I was wondering how much of his statement held true?"

Robert looked at John slyly out of the corner of his eye, letting a small smile taint is otherwise-humble visage. As they walked, Robert opened up the left side of his furry robe made from the pelts of several grey wolves. Inside the pocket was his map of the region. "As we speak and establishing a simple path to connect here," he tapped a point on the map close to where they were but a few miles away, "to here." He pointed to a seemingly-empty part of the map.

"But sire," John scratched his head, confused, "that is a vast area of nothing be unforgiving woods. No one has been there in o'er two years."

Robert tapped his head. "Because I ordered it to be so. I forbid anyone to enter that part of the hollow so the animal life may repopulate. I think you'll find it now to be a very suitable hunting ground." Robert smiled and put his map away. "A hunting post is being erected as we speak."

John just blinked. "Why is it you never include your advisers in on your plans?"

Robert just gave a hearty laugh and clapped the man on the shoulder. "I'm including you right now, aren't I?" He picked up the pace.

As they entered the grounds that contained the barracks. "Oh and one for thing, john. Send word for Marcellus, would you? I'll have need of him soon enough. The Owl King is on the march, and I won't see him enter these lands without the proper hospitality."

"My liege," John bowed his head and ran off towards the falconry tower, to dispatch the order. Robert himself moved further into the bleak, grey barracks. The building itself was cleverly hidden by two hills and painted to blend into the bleak landscape around it. Although the forest wasn't the thickest, the light permafrost that seemingly clung to more than just the ground gave them certain opportunities to keep smaller locations hidden. Although this particular barracks wasn't one of his barracks, it was likely the most crucial, for it was the southern most structure in Winterfell operated by the Dire Wolf clan. As such, it kept special servailence over the border of his territory. The few scout posts in the area reported back to its center command, which lay underneath the very stones of the barracks. It was clever really, but something he couldn't take credit for. What few people knew was that the area was riddled with tunnels. It made easy access to many of his structures in the area should the need arise for quick travel.

Through the door Robert went, and saw Legate Ryster was shouting commands as new recruits were circling a make-shift arena where two men inside were getting a crash-course in hand-to-hand combat. Unfortunately for one of the combatants, his opponent was a long-time veteran who was quite easily deflecting all his blows.

"Get yur' hands up!" Barked Legate Ryster. "Use your forearms to take the brunt of the attack, wait for a moment of weakness in your combatant, and then--" he then looked over and saw Robert walking calmly over towards the fight with his arms folded, looking on with amusement and interest. "Sire, ah ha! Weren't expectin' you for another hour or so. Form up you mangy dogs, before I get out the lashes and teach you some respect!" The new recruits in the room formed up, if not clumsily, making Ryster shake his head. "Look at the rusted lot you sent me, Robert. These men wouldn't be able to sneak up on one who was deaf and blind."

Robert just kept his amused smile as he moved about the ranks. Every now and again, he'd stare at one of the soldiers and ask him his name, where he was from, and if he had any family. He would then commend the man for making the sacrifice to be out here. When he was done, the men were watching his every step with quiet solidarity.

Out of no where, Robert picked up a spear and threw it at one of the recruits (the wooden, blunted side, but no one else knew that). The recruit yelped in surprise, but then deftly snatched the spear out of the air and held it with his arm outstretched, panting softly. All eyes in the room shot to Robert.

He chuckled at Ryster. "They'll do fine." He then marched out of the room, leaving the rest of them staring at the soldier who caught the spear.

The vast army of the Owl King known as the Birds of Prey began their march. Fully stocked with more than enough provisions for not only themselves but the hungry wolves in the North, the enemies of Godwin set off on their trek. To the frozen home of the dire wolves, Winterfell. To a man Arthas had never met but hoped to all the Gods that he was the man he needed to be. A young man, Arthas had been told Robert was a few years his junior but proud, noble and a gifted commander. A warrior for certain but known as a skilled blacksmith as well. His true gift however was his relationship with his men. He is said to have an uncanny ability to inspire loyalty in his men beyond what the most experienced military man could do. To walk amongst his men was his secret to leading them. A true gift that most rulers don't posses nor take the time to learn. One Arthas forcibly learned at the deft hands of Samara. The boy from the Roost was taught how to follow before being taught how to lead, apparently a similarity the two young men shared. Arthas and Robert had exchanged a few letters here and there as they coordinated their efforts but now was the time for a special letter to be sent. One Arthas had spent time writing himself before moving out. Arthas had the scroll rolled up and tied to Halas' talon before tenderly caressing the birds head.

"Go on, see to it then."

Arthas said warmly, a hint of lament in sending his friend off on his own. Halas screeched out as he stretched his massive wings before taking off into the sky and flying north ahead of Ordway's army. The letter had been sent and the stones that start the avalanche that will wipe the stain of Godwin's rule form this land have begun to fall.

Sweat poured from the brow of men as the sound of heavy metal clashing filled the air. Behind her, Ryster barker out commands and she fought to not shield her sword into his gut for safe keeping. Ossia, or Huntley, had reached her fifteenth name day and was allowed to join Robert's cause as any other young man in Winterfell might do, but to say it was an easy task to achieve would be a blatant lie. Adirex, a former knight, had trained the "lad" from the time the babe could hold a sword in her hands. She wasn't raised to curtsy and cook....Ossia was to be a knight, and she would be damned if the lack of a dick between her legs would keep her from doing so.

Adirex, however, still faltered in the child's ambitions. Although he had raised Ossia as a boy...almost a man...in the eyes of Winterfell, ones true self will always find a way to show itself. Chopped hair and thick armor could hide many things, but one look too close could be her undoing...and it wasn't something he was willing to risk. Ossia pushed on. Huntley was gifted with a sword and men twice his age, everyone knew that, so why wouldn't he fight beside his father? When the time came to train new recruits, Ossia stood her ground. Marcellus stepped forward and took up his sword. The look in his eyes promised no mercy to the young boy, and Ossia suppressed a grin.Blood was shed, and Ossia had fallen, but her request was appeased. Tattered and bruised, she held her head high as Huntley was welcomed into the Order of the Direwolf.

A jab at her side pulled her from her thoughts as she was pushed to the ground by a chubby boy called Weese. A horrid boy, Weese is not a sight to see. Plump and poorly groomed, the boy resembles that of a putrid hog. Thin hair lies matted onto of a piggish face as a large tooth dangles over his bottom lip. If Wesse's appearance isn't enough to fault you in your step...his odor surly will.

"You call yourself a knights son? Pathetic."

Shoving his foot aside, Ossia pushed up from the cold dirt swinging her sword. Weese cackles, as he blocks the ascending metal

"You handle your sword like a women."

Stepping forward, he attempted to once again force his weight into his thrust, but Ossia was ready. Turning to the side, she held her sword with her right hand, while placing the left at her side. Adirex often said smaller targets stand a larger chance....and between her and Weese, Ossia was defiantly the smaller target. Blocking the dull side of his sword, Ossia leaned forward placing her weight on the ball of her front foot. Quickly turning, her weight shifted, and with it so did Weese. As the boy stumbled, Ossia stuck out her leg, and Weese flattened on his ass.

"You say it like it's a bad thing..."

A soft knock came from the door as Adarra gently placed the dress on top of her bed, with the knock came a soft yet audible voice. "The King will be on his way..."

Her heart skipped a beat, she couldn't quite understand herself these days. Her moods had been up and down and all the while she craved for lemon pie and roasted boar, while the smell of garlic makes her want to vomit, and unusually she'd been craving to see the King more and more.

She knew she shouldn't be feeling that way, she wanted to loathe him. Even if he was her father, he was the monster who ruined her mother. She should be loathing him.

"Very well, prepare my bath and oils. Make sure it is warm. I don't want to get any chills," It had been colder these past few moons, a warning of the incoming winter that everyone dreaded. She opened the door for the two slaves that Laurea had appointed for her.
"As you wish madam," They simultaneously said and bowed. They scurried past her in the wing's foyer and did what they were bid to do. One of them was named Flora and the other Elsa, she didn't care which was which since she barely addressed them by their names.

She left them doing what she ordered them and gracefully walked towards the other room where her bed was. She gently sat in front of the large vanity mirror that Laurea had custom made for her best whore, Adarra.

She picked up the ivory comb and gently brushed her hair as she stared in the mirror, the memories of Maester Grir rushed inside her mind. She could still remember how angry he had been when she told him her plans. "If he took you to bed it would create an abomination," he scolded her. "As much as a monster he is, his blood runs through your veins Adarra. You cannot do just as you please! This is just madness!" He paced around the tent they occupied for years, she had always helped him pitch it whenever the camp moved to another place. They were constantly on the move, not risking to be seen by the King's men. Which is why she had enough of running away, she wanted to face him. See what he looked like. See how vulnerable he can be.

She tried to explain everything to the Maester but he would not hear her. If he could just tie her hands and feet, he would have but he loved her like a daughter and could not see her suffer. So instead he tasked a few of the men in the camp to keep a watchful eye on her, they asked why but he just gave them a frown and told them to just do it. It took her a few nights before she was able to run away, almost everyone was drank that night. They were celebrating a small victory when they heard that the men in the north were able to defeat a small army lead by one of the knights of the King. They celebrated as Adarra slipped away. As much as she doesn't want to leave the maester, she had to push through with her plans.

"Your bath is ready madam," The soft voice from Elsa, or was it Flora, interrupted her thoughts. The maiden's head was still bowed as her hands were placed on top of each other above her womb, Adarra swiftly stood up and placed down the comb back to the vanity. She lead the way and the slave followed, once she stood in front of the fragrant water that filled her tub, the gently undressed her of her thin cotton robes and helped her on to the tub.

One of them gently scrubbed her arms while the other massaged her hair with oils, they made sure every bit of her would be clean or it will be their heads they pay for if the King wasn't kept happy. Once they were down, they helped Adarra step out of the marble tub and dried her body with cloth. The other held a bottle of oil and approached Adarra, she gently dropped an oil in between her healthy breasts and another between her legs then on her pulses. The other then combed her long brown mane and made sure that it didn't have any tangles then once it was fully dry she braided it in a fashionable way while the other made sure there was no clutter on the bed, fluffed the pillows and closed the curtains to give Adarra and the King the much needed privacy.

Adarra was glad she wasn't bleeding for this moon yet, she craved to have the King to take her to bed and satisfy her womanly needs. She wondered what Godwin had said to the Queen before he left the castle, what excuse did he give her this time? She could just giggle while imagining what the Queen looked like as her King Husband left very early on the very day they would celebrate the day their first son was born.

She took a small white cloth bag from under the vanity and tossed it on the bed, she dismissed the slaves with her hands and gently laid her naked body on the bed. She was starting to get cold, her skin starting to get prickly that even the heat from the fire before her bed wasn't enough to keep her warm. She knew she had to wait for that certain warmth. And she wasn't mistaken, as soon as she began touching her chest her door opened without any notice and in came the Godwin in all his glory.

He hurriedly removed his cape and shouted at his squire to quickly remove his clothes, all the time staring at her nakedness on top of the bed. She gave him a lustful smile as she went on her knees and hands, crawling towards to where he was like a leopard, her hips swaying as she teased him. The squire did his best to remove Godwin's clothes as fast as he can, hands trembling and eyes moving to different directions. He tried his best to avoid looking at Adarra and her naked body.

"Leave everything to me Tolomew, I'll just do the rest," she purred like a cat in heat as her hands tried to loosed the strings on the King's pants. The squire didn't know what to do as he stood there with a shocked look in his face, he waited for the King to say anything before he left but the King didn't talk as he took Adarra's lips into his and played with her teats. He sucked her lips like a hungry lion, a very awkward thing for Tolomew to see. He had been entirely aware of the King's activities as his squire but this was the first time he saw him fuck a woman.

"I said leave," Adarra said in a louder voice as the King's mouth moved to her neck, her hands on his inner shirt as she removed the buttons, all that was left to remove. Tolomew rushed towards the door and closed it behind him.

"I've missed you, My King," Adarra gasped the words as the King continued to enjoy her young body. Somehow, she meant the words. She slowly reached for the cloth bag and pulled out a leather whip. "I've got a little gift for you my King."

Godwin stopped and looked at her hand, he was fully naked this time. His manhood erect while he held both of her wrists, he gave her a smirk and let her play a game of pain and pleasure.

~~~~~~~~~~~

His snoring kept Adarra awake, she was exhausted from the fucking they've done but he kept her awake. She lay naked on his arms, there were a few marks from the gentle lashing she gave him. One in particular was more apparent, it was a mark behind his right thigh. She was giving him a playful lashing when she gave him a little bit more force, she intendedly gave him that one. Adarra was getting furious about her mixed emotions that she remembered she should be taking his life- not giving him pleasure that she had released a harder whip. He had to take the whip away from her and slap her in the face, leaving a mark on her face as well.

She was so shocked that he had to console her and apologized that he was just taken aback. He had to promise her new gowns, more jewels and more wine from the Arbor before she was pacified. They continued to pleasure each other, but this time without the whip. The King had said that he'd rather whip her with his cock than use one that could leave marks on his body. After all, how could he explain the marks to his wife if she saw them. Adarra agreed and continued to play. She knew her own bruise would last for more than a week, she have to tell Laurea to buy her some good powder to hide it.

Adarra gently sat up and lifted herself off the bed, doing her best not to wake the King, and walked towards his clothes that were scattered everywhere. She picked them up and laid them on an ottoman then picked up his sword. It was made of Valyrian Steel, heavy and sharp that it could cut the tip of her finger just by touching the edge. Songs brought knowledge to everyone that the sword was once from a great Lord of Winterfell named Eddard Stark. He lived hundreds years ago and songs still told that his very own sword was used to cut off his own head. She pulled it out of the leather it was kept in, she admired it's beauty, she could see her reflection and the King's who was still slumbering on top of her bed as tears run down her face. The words from Maester Grir rushed in her, words of how the very same King molested her mother. Adarra held the sword's end firmly, ready to pull it out and end all of the Kingdom's misery when a loud knock startled her. She quickly slipped the sword back and placed it on top of the King's clothes. She grabbed one of her transparent dress that was lying around and wore it, made sure her tears were already wiped then she opened the door to see Tolomew standing outside.

"Madam, is the King already awake? I believe we should be going back to the castle now. The celebration will be starting shortly," There were large beads of cold sweat on his forehead as he tried not to look into her sheer gown. She gave him a fake laugh and let him inside, "You better wake him up then, we don't want the Queen raging in her do we?" She lead him towards the bedroom and jumped on the bed, making it shake and waking the King. He was still naked but his manhood had no more life but as soon as he opened his eyes to see Adarra face in front of his, he took her lips once again and ripped her clothes off. "I'll be out in a few Tolomew, tell the guards to have everything ready." He announced and once again took Adarra's woman hood.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Last of the King's men had left Laurea's brothel, all the other whores were naked and coins clanked on their hands. Must have been a few of the guards have enjoyed their selves as the King did. Adarra was on the terrace to see the King off, she was wearing a new gown this time since the King had ripped her last one, when one of her slaves approached her and said with her head still bowed, "Madam, your presence is requested by Madam Laurea."

She faced the slave and nodded. The King must have left a good amount again and a few extra to let Laurea buy her his promises earlier. She lead the way towards the brothel owner's room with a big fake smile on her face, her stomach grumbled. She must be hungry from all the fucking, so she ordered one of her slaves to send in some food after her.
The slave left her as soon as she entered Laurea's. The woman was once a whore herself, she was the best according to everyone but with her old age no men would want to bed her anymore so instead she made her own whore house.

Laurea was sitting on top of colorful and plush pillows while smoking some scented pipe, she was dressed like the other whores but the folds in her skin were obvious and on top of the short table, she pushed a metal box towards Adarra and said, "Apply this to the bruise twice a day and you can cover it up with any kind of powder, no one will notice it anymore." She took another puff and then scratched her foot.

"When will I be fitted for the new gowns?" She asked, she didn't bother sitting down, she didn't want Laurea's pipe's scent on her. It made her feel sick. The smell wanted to make her vomit, in fact, it was like she was about to throw up any moment.

"I'll have the dress maker sent to you as soon---" But even before the woman had finished giving her an answer, Adarra rushed towards the balcony and started vomiting. Laurea rushed after her and see what has happened to her best whore. She could not have her sick even for a day or it will be worth a year's income.

As soon as Adarra felt better, she leaned her back on the rails and inhaled. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and groaned. Laurea then panicked and sent for any medicine man or woman. She ordered her slaves to help Adarra back to her room and sent away the suspicious looks everywhere.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The child's hand was clamped with her's, it was cold to the touch, she tried to pull her hand away but the child's hold was firm.
Everything else was dark, almost pitch black but she knew it was a child that held her hand.
Then she could feel the a swirl of wind coming,
She tried to roam her gaze but it was just darkness.
She knew she should be afraid but she wasn't.

Then the child pulled her,
now running, when suddenly a loud roar came.
It continued to grow louder, as if they were running towards it until she could feel it's warm breath.
She could feel it licking her from toe to head and roared once more.
This time fear rushed in. She stood frozen in the darkness.
Everything felt cold until the warm wind came.
The sounds of wings are apparent.
Then sounds of battle erupted.
Adarra couldn't see anything- she could only feel it.
A final cry from the bird came as a loud whimper from the cat escaped, thick and hot liquid splashed on her. She smelled it and knew it was blood.
Silence...
Until a man's voice called her.
"Adarra..."
And the world began shaking.

"Adarra... Adarra..." Her body was shaking as the voice continued to call her. This time she could no longer feel the child's grip. "Adarra!" The voice was louder this time, waking her back to reality.

An old woman as old as the Maester, Laurea, together with her two slaves were all sitting around her bed. She was covered with a thick blanket and she could smell some smoked herbs around her. It smelled like lemongrass, lavender and basil. A smell she recognizes whenever the Maester infuses the tent if a woman in their camp seeks the Maester's help.

She tried to sit up her bed as the Elsa and Flora rushed to help her, she shrugged them off and laughed, "I'm alright, I'm perfectly capable of sitting up on my bed alone but if you could get me a glass of a good Arbor wine then that would really make me happy. I'm parched," Adarra mentioned.

"No!" Laurea interfered. "Get her some milk instead. Go on! Hurry before I take away your dinner."

The two scurried away, leaving Adarra with a questionable look on her face. "Milk? What am I a suckling babe?!" She complained a little too late.

"From now on you cannot have any alcohol and you can't exhaust yourself. Might be that you should get less visits from the King," Laurea avoided her eyes and tried to look busy by looking at her perfumes, oils and powders.

"Less visit? You do know that also means there's a big probability of having our heads on stakes as well?" She gave off a snort. She knew Laurea understood her point but she wanted to know why the woman was acting silly. "What is wrong with you anyway? What is wrong with me? You have been acting really strange. Am I dying? Do I have a dreadful disease?!" She raised the question towards the medicine woman this time, she tried to sound as if she was joking, but she was getting nervous.

The old woman stood up and held her hand, it was as cold as the touch from the child in her dreams, but she knew her hands grew colder when she announced, "You are with a babe in your womb, dear child."

The color of her face left her, her mouth left hanging as tears started racing down her cheeks.

The sound of hooves stomping nervously against the loose sand below drifted up to the wooden stands where seated on golden seats, cushioned by red velvet pillows, sat Queen Isadora, her darling daughters, and her son, the young Lord, Alexavier. Accompanying their majesties were Lord O'Connel, hand to the king, and Lady Lillian. Townsfolk gathered as knight of the guard, as well as young men of the village, suited their bodies as they prepared for the duel in honer of Lord Alexavier's name day. It seemed everyone had turned out for this joyish occasion...all except for the King.

Glancing from the her spot beside Alexavier, Lillian took in the queens heated scowl. There was no doubt on where the King would be spending his time. King Charles had his fair share of whores in Kingslanding which he kept to be used at his convenience. An empty chair can speak so many words.

To the right of where the King would be seated, Lillian's father sat. As hand to the King, it was his duty to stand in on matters in which Charles would otherwise see to. A gold pin resembling a knights hand grasping a sword donned his cloak, and Lillian couldn't help the swell of pride that filled her bosom. He would always be there...even when other failed...her father, Graham O'Connel, would be there.

"Fight!"

Startled by the shout, Lillian jumped. Alexavier had giving his commands, and the dueling would begin. "Are you excited, Lillian?" Realizing her Lord was speaking to her, Lillian graced a smile upon her lips "Yes, My Lord. As a child I would often-"

"Look at that fool! He knows nothing about wielding a lance! KILL THE BASTARD!"

Below, an unlucky villager was graciously giving the opportunity to joust against a knight after laughing when he had fallen from his horse. Cheers filled the air as the villager mounted his steed, but silence followed shortly after. This can not possibly happen...but it did. It took only one hit from the sharp tip of the villagers ragged lance, but the knight was dismounted.

Beside her, Alexavier ranted over the uselessness of his fathers guard, and Lillian could all but agreed.Suddenly, shouting was heard from below. The knight, enraged he had lost, pulled his sword on the innocent villager.

"My lord? He isn't going to kill that man...is he?"

"Of course he is, foolish Lillian, that's how you play the game."

To say Lillian was shocked was an understatement. Blood soaked the sand as the villager's head rolled lifelessly on the ground. A small girl could be heard crying out above the cheers, but no one paid her any mind. With a rise of his hand, Alexavier proclaimed the knight the winner. He was to accompany Lord Alexavier, and his bride to be, to a feast tonight in the young lords honer. There, he would be named the personal guard to the prince by the King himself.

The thunder of hooves could be heard out among The Twins. The sound of the approaching army was like the footsteps of doom come for the ending of the world for the men stationed there. They had not eaten in over a week and had received no word from Kingslanding despite sending several messengers. They looked out past the forts walls to see the advancing army in the distance. Made up of horsemen, foot soldiers, pikesmen, laddermen, archers more men then the defenders of the fort hoped to count. Mutterings of surrender began springing up from the men but were quickly and harshly silenced by their commander. The warriors of Godwin would fight, and die this day.

On the plains steadily marching to the fort between the south and the north Arthas sat atop his warhorse, his keen gaze on the fort before him. Once could almost smell the fear in the air. Feel the terror from the defenders in the late autumn air. Samara rode beside him along with one of his most elite generals. Natasha, The Crimson Mercenary. Natasha was a well known assassin and sword for hire that fell in with Arthas a few years ago. The two met at the edge of a knife, Natasha was hired to kill the infamous Bandit King but after a brutal and bloody fight she had met her match. Instead of killing her Arthas offered her a chance to get some of the red out of her ledger. An opportunity to do something good with her life and her skills for once. She accepted and has since become one of his most trusted and gifted generals.

"This shouldn't take long."

She said, her thick accent rolling off her tongue. An accent that Arthas found quite attractive as he turned to her to give her a quick smirk.

"That was the plan."

He said before Samara spoke up.

"With the Gods blessing we can have this battle finished before nightfall with few losses."

The lady Knight said as her hard stare locked onto the defenses looming before them. Natasha let loose a playful put as she pursed her lips impishly.

"You obviously don't know Arthas the way I do Lady Samara, he'd never finish that quickly."

She teased coyly before riding off to marshal her men. Arthas shook his head with a laugh while Samara just glared after Natasha. The Owl King breathed out a long sigh, steeling himself for the battle to come before turning to Samara.

"Have the laddermen prepare themselves. Once we hit the walls it's going to be on them. I'd rather not burn the whole thing down if we didn't have too."

"Right away My King."

Samara said dutifully before riding off to carry out her orders. The massive wooden fort was just ahead now. The time had come to wipe out the defenders of The Twins and press on to Robert and his hungry wolves. Arthas reached down to his saddle and drew the Staff of Talons before holding it above his head signaling the halt.

The defenders were at their stations, bows at the ready yet the army had stopped just out of range. Arthas eyes scanned for weak spots. From the weary, unsteady look of Godwin's forces the entire fort appeared to be a weak spot.

"It appears Natasha's right... This will be over quickly."

He muttered to himself before riding a few more steps ahead of his army to shout at Godwin's men in the fort.

"Warriors of the false King! Lay down your weapons and open the gates at once! You have one chance to live to see tomorrow! Refuse... and none of you will ever see home again..."

No response but the haunting sounds of the crows flying up above, hungrily awaiting the meal to come. A dark smile etched it's way onto Arthas face.

"I'd hoped that'd be your answer."

With that he slowly rose his weapon into the air and the army at his back began to chant menacingly. Banging their swords on their shields as they bellowed out in challenge. The thunderous sound struck terror in the hearts of their enemies in the fort. The order has been giving, the battle had begun.

"CHARGE!!!"

The Queen’s Ballroom looked immense. The upper circle on which the royal family sat ran all around, so rich were the hangings of gold and crimson and below was scarcely a foot of bare marble. The fierce fire light rose to flood the high-groined arches of the roof. The long tables below hosted a string of men of considerable power, authority, all dressed in the requisite austerity. And before them laid on the wood table exotic servings, all were content as they chattered, the dancers who cover the great floor danced enticing as if they liked the thick carpet beneath their bare feet. There were so many interlocking circles of feminine figures moving to the throb of the beat of the music that they made a series of intricate and often symmetrical design.

Isadora observed the celebration. She was a poised, lordly figure, the very image of decorous sophistication. Her eyes settled on Lillian and Alexavier. She laughed, for a moment contemplating Lillian’s beauty and seeming innocence, drawing in the evanescent adolescence that would soon fade forever – Lillian’s face was unblemished, her curious eyes gleaming, and her mouth red. She was blushing with the virginal aura she still possessed. And the impression gave a raw sharpness to all her features. Alexavier sat, staring, rapt by Lillian’s beauty that alone left no eyes for other things. They had developed an easy intimacy which Isadora had never expected, and drew from Lillian the most complete devotion to her son. They sat closely, their conversation intimate and exclusive. Indeed they seem the perfect couple, the future king and queen of King’s Landing.

Charles Godwin entered the royal room followed by a tail of guards and royal servants, which he carelessly pushed away except for the cup bearer. He grabbed a cup of wine and drank it dry, and it was quickly filled up again. He greeted some of the guests. And when the queen’s eyes met his they literally stopped him where he stood, her gaze was cold and full of anger, a look all too familiar and one he had grown tired of long ago. He shrugged his shoulders and continued, walked to his chair and sat. He didn’t acknowledge her again. He had more important things to worry about than the fury of a jealous wife. Each day more news of the brewing troubles in the north came to him in broken pieces. He’d hope a union with House O’Connel will help control the north and put to rest this thorn at his talons for good.

He looked at his son sternly and then rested his tired eyes on the beautiful Lady Lillian. Her smile brought a smile to his face. He raised his cup to them and stood up. The music quieted down and everyone collected themselves to a silent still. “LET US RAISE our cups to MY SON, Prince Alexavier. May ALL your days be full of LOVE, and merriment like it is today.” There was a great clamor, with men cheering, and the clapping of hands. A rush of pleasure passed through the room as the merriment grew louder and the music once again filled the room.

Charles observed his son and wonder if the boy would ever be fit to lead the kingdom. The more he observed the more disappointed he became. He was no Godwin, he was pure Clearwater, the boy was not apt to lead and perhaps it is his fault. No, it was his mother’s fault. She stopped being a proper wife eight years ago and he was too drunk to remember how it even happened – he looked at his youngest daughter. He looked at his middle child too; All blond, fair, and with emerald eyes like their mother. Yes she is to blame; she has failed to give him a proper Godwin heir – one of dark hair and dark eyes.

When did it all go sour? He pondered. It seems he neglected being a father to his children. But he was out fighting wars, conquering kingdoms; he did what was expected of him nothing less. He was born to be king and that is exactly what he’s been. The world needs men like him. He thought. And seating there, amongst the gala of his son’s named day a dreadful question crossed his mind. What if it has all been for nothing? The very idea upset his stomach.

Isadora tried to hide the anger she felt but everyone who knew her well could tell the queen was vexed. She sent the young princesses’ to bed and watched as the little one ran up to the King and kissed him good night. He picked her up and crushed her tight in an embraced tickling her face with his beard. The little princess's gleeful laughed was matched by the king’s enjoyment. The hand maids took the girls away. The honoring of the prince’s personal guard begun and the king gave another speech. Alexavier stood next to his father and Lillian was asked to seat with the queen at the queen's request.

The two woman faced the celebration as the queen spoke her venom. “Look at them, father and son, the two are as night and day. Yet the boy must become the father. He must do his duty. You too will do your duty when the time comes. I see your devotion to my son,” she looked at the young girl, her eyes cold and studious. “As long as you don’t lose your devotion you might earn your place. Of course there will be other changes taking place when Alexavier seats at the crown. None of which I’m afraid involve your father. Unless…,” she paused momentarily, to allow her words the effect she desired, “unless you do your duty as wife to the king and leave all other affairs to the adults. I will accept nothing less.”

Damian grew bored of the King’s speech; the very voice of the king peeved him, if only he could slash the throat and shut him up. He walked away and found a corner where the voice of the King was minimal. The idea of killing the king always entertained him. He played over the many ways it could be done in his head, but there was always one obstacle, an obstacle that pushed back his sister’s plan. And his name was Graham O'Connel, the Hand of the King.
He looked for his sister and found her on the balcony next to Lillian O’Connel. A wicked smile grew on Damian’s face. He knew his sister well and by her intimidating posture he discerned she was moving her pawns. Isadora will allow the union of Alexavier and Lillian because in keeping Lillian under her control, O’Connel will be kept on a leash. When Alexavier is given the throne O’Connel will do his best to keep the North tamed even if it means fighting everyone he knows. He will fight against all the enemies of the Wardents of the West for the safety of his family.

The camp was set up four miles outside the city of Qohor. Brubahmah was inside a large tent located in the host's camp. He had just sent three messengers to the city to compromise with the city leaders and speak of their possible surrender. They were to bring one hundred Karsus in a golden chest to persuade them to join the Sacrin Empire as well as the threat of invasion. The messenger would tell the rulers of the city that the Sacrin army was of three thousand men, even though it was made of eight thousand.

Now Brubahmah was speaking to his generals about the possible siege. The slaves in the camp were to prepare the trebuchets once they were on the battlefield five hundred yards away. The trebuchets would tear down the defenses so that the infantry could invade with greater safety. There were four trebuchets for use with fifty shots between them all. He rose from his seat, looking at the table of generals in front of him. "Prepare to move the army. I want camp to be set up within sight of the city. If they refuse to surrender order the Barlacorlims to ride to Qohor's outskirts and and capture any people unguarded as slaves. They shoot any who resist." The generals immediately left to obey his orders.

Brubahmah climbed up onto his camel. The beast was that of the finest breed, worth at least ten slaves in value. He stared at the tents around him as they were swiftly taken down by the slaves that were taken with the army. Soon Qohor would see a mighty army outside their walls. Perhaps they would listen to reason and join the Sacrin Empire by choice. Maybe the city could only be taken by force. Only the reports from the messangers would tell him what the choice would be.

She gently lifted the hood of her cape to cover her auburn hair, some of it were already graying but her slaves have been persistent in covering it with the henna ink imported by the spice merchants. It was a small price to pay to still look good despite her age, not that it got her any more customers- she didn't need even one since she established her whore house. And now she must make a move to save it.

From afar, she could see that the castle still glowed as the ceremonies and festival continue to be celebrated for the Prince's name day. Usually it lasted for a week and since it was the very same day the Prince was born, it was the most decadent of all. Some people still walked or rode towards the castle, hoping to get a glimpse or be spared with a gold coin or two. The Clearwaters had the habit of throwing coins to peasants and commoners every time they celebrate something and more and more people loved them for this.

But it was O'Connel that she sought so Laurea got up a horse she paid for the night and rode towards the Red Keep. She hoped he would hear her out, it was as important to Godwin as much as it is for her and Adarra. She urged the horse to ride faster, the sooner she talks to him the better.

She passed a few people on foot and a few people on donkeys and mares, all of them clearing the way as her horse's hooves thundered against the concrete path. And once she saw the entrance, she lowered her hood and spoke with a soldier. "I seek O'Connel, tell him Laurea has a word for her." Without going down the horse, she spoke with authority but she was met with a raucous of laughter and mockery. They knew who she was and knew her reputation but she tried to remain calm and spoke again, as clear as ever, "Get him or it will be your heads on spikes if the King knows about this." She tossed them a pin that bore the Godwin sigil that was often given to people who gained his trust and a letter for the King's Hand. One soldier picked it up from the dirt and as soon as he recognized the sign his eyes grew large, his hands were trembling as he passed it on the others. "Need I say more?" This time it was Laurea who mocked them and quickly two of the guards rushed inside and delivered her message.

She rode off to a tavern, requested a private parlor and waited. Graham knows where to look for her and she just wished he would heed her request. If she had to wait until the morning, she would.

~~~~

Suddenly the wind blew as the wooden oak door busted open, revealing O'Connel in a magnificent drab most often worn during festivals.

He closed the door beside him, peered into the windows and closed the curtains and made sure no one would see him then he looked at her, his blue sharp eyes was piercing through her as if she was the last person he wanted to see.

"Is that how you greet a fair lady, Lord Graham?" She lazily threw her hands in the air and found herself occupying an ottoman, she lifted both of her legs as her dress exposed some skin, as if tempting the man of her flesh. She leaned her back on the rest and sipped some wine she was served earlier.

Graham grumbled and snorted upon hearing the word lady and roared, "You are no lady Laurea, neither a fair one anymore." He mocked her as he too, took a seat across her. "What brought you here? If word reaches my family that I've been seeing you, I'd have your head off. Be thankful the celebration has kept them exhausted now," He poured his self a wine as well and drank it till the last drop and poured another and this time he let the wine soak on his mouth as he tried to savour it's flavor.

"I must speak with his Grace," She went directly to the point, drying her own cup and seating straight this time. "I need a private audience with him. You've given me that chance and I ask you this once again." Her eyes revealed her weariness and her body hunched as if she was a field going through a drought.

"Are you out of your mind?! I may be the Hand but the Queen will see to it to have me removed if she knew that I was helping a whore," He furiously shook his head and gripped his cup, turning his hands white then purple. "Everything has changed now Laurea, I simply cannot make another mistake of gambling with a woman like you. Have you seen how much he wanted to bring that whore into the castle?! He talked as if he wanted Adarra into his own bed! His own bed do you hear me?! This is just madness!" He hissed through his teeth, doing his best not to lose control and the risk of being heard. He now paced the private parlor, exposing how much her regretted giving Laurea the chance to introduce Adarra to the King that one time.

"But this is about Adarra... The King must know what had happened to her or it will be our heads the crows will feast on," Once Graham grew calmer she let him into another problem. "Adarra is with His Grace's babe..." She revealed.

Graham looked at her with those ice cold eyes, large as saucer's and his mouth hanging open as his body trembled with shock.

The Queen’s Handmaid entered the queen’s chamber and parted the heavy drapes, a gentle morning breeze ran through, and the warm morning sunlight fill the large and opulent room, bringing to light the square chairs with high curved backs arranged with colorful cloths and cushions, the tables which corners flared upwards and finished with golden animal legs. There were several boxes filled with small jars of imported perfume oils, mirrors, kohl containers and make-up items, combs, and rare jewelry. The most elaborate furniture in the room was the oversize round-shape-bed surrounded by four large columns, inlaid with colored stones and ebony and ivory, carved into lotus flowers and snakes, and in the center of the bed laid the naked frame of the Queen. Her emerald eyes open vibrant after the long sleep, and she stretched her body ever so gracefully that even the handmaid stopped and stared at the naked beauty. The handmaid’s name was Claudette and she’d been the queen’s favorite since the last handmaid was killed, a woman no older than the queen yet hard eyed and aged by the scars and rigid life of a slave. But she was a happy slave, content with the life the gods handed her, and she loved the Queen unconditionally, a love without prejudice beyond the erotic world that is hidden and which is sometimes horrifically revealed.

Claudette gathered up the queen’s robe and carefully laid it on the bed, and stood on the side and kept quiet, with hairbrush in hand waiting for Isadora to get up from the bed and take the morning tea as custom. But today the queen was unusually lazy, held Claudette. There was a smile on her face and by the looks of her she seemed happy. Claudette could not help but wonder what happened after she took the Princesses to bed. The Queen was livid then and now, now she was practically glowing.

“I’ll have breakfast with my girls today, in the garden,” said Isadora.

“Yes your grace,” said Claudette.

Isadora finally got up and took her morning tea. She walked toward the open balcony and stood there in contrast to the golden sun light and the colorful backdrop of Kings Landing. She looked on beyond the tops of the buildings and towers that stretch the landscape, toward Visenya’s Hill and the Great Sept of Baelor, and took in all that her eyes could see. There was a knock at the door. Claudette answered and Damian entered the room. He joined the Queen in the balcony and Claudette dressed the bed listening to their conversation, they talked about Lady Lillian...

“I don’t know,” said Isadora, but it did not have the tone of truly I don’t know, but rather, let it be.

“But you do believe…that she will play her part even against her own father?” asked Damian.

“Of course I believe it. You don’t understand the advantage of fear. She reeked of it. She was baffled, helpless, with a bowed head she understood she bore the whole responsibility for her father’s life. She understood perfectly well where her loyalty is required most if she weds Alexavier. She will do her duty as the wife of the King.” She looked at Damian intently. “Don’t think on it, Damian.”

“There is a matter I came to speak to you about,” said Damian abruptly. “This morning I noticed Graham O’Connel riding fast through Street of the Sisters. He was alone and the hurried manner in which he galloped allured me to follow him. At some point I lost him through the winding streets of Flea Bottom.” Isadora wondered what the Hand of the King could be doing in Flea Bottom of all places. “I circled the area looking for Graham but didn’t see him. Then I noticed a boy with Graham’s horse, a few coins paid and I learned Graham and the Whore Laurea were having a secret meeting.”

“This is not news my dear brother,” said Isadora.

“It is when it involves your husband and his whore and the child in her belly.” Damian said finally.

The Iron Islands.

In all of Westeros, there were nine regions; the North, the Vale, the Riverlands, the Westerlands, the Crownlands, the Reach, the Stormlands, Dorne and the Iron Islands. The Holy Capital of Kingslanding saw peace throughout the land, each maintained by the Holy Kingdoms that surrounded the Holy Capital, but now, such peace seemed to be at an end when one of the Holy Kingdoms struck out and took the Holy Capital and ending his competition one-by-one. That man, was Charles Godwin, Lord of Casterly Rock, now Ruler over all Westeros.

The lands of the North, the lands of southern Dorne, and the great Iron Islands, were never referred to as great. The North was too cold, Dorne too hilly, and the Iron Islands too stormy, but now it seemed that these forsaken and underestimated lands would be the saviours of all Westeros, whether that would be to side with the new ruler or not. One could not quite tell, especially what was going on in the mind of Bardin Trehern, Lord of the Iron Islands.

Off the west coast of Westeros, in the Ironman's Bay, laid seven islands, and within each, laid men and steel alike, both hard as iron. The Iron Islands were not only known for their name-sake, and the production of their iron from their mines, but also for their fleet, and the ironborn. Most recently, the Iron Islands has been having quite an intake of visitors, and as a result, it was time for the wheel to start turning.

Bardin stood tall outside of the castle at Pyke, awaiting his "guests" who would help put his plan into place. He didn't know whose hands to place the fate of his house in, other than his own, so since Godwin took control, he had simply been biding his time, hiring mercenaries, building more ships to fill Red Harbor, and not to mention all the training of his men once work duties were over.

Inside waiting for him, was his beautiful wife, Amata, who wore half dress, half armor, always being prepared for what may come, while beside her, was his two daughters; Farra and Fayre. Farra was more of the tomboy type, wishing to get into the fighting, while Fayre remained with her mother, and doing some reading. His sons; Eison and Eisen, were beside their father as they waited for them to come.

"Father. I believe our guests are coming at a snail pace. Allow me to move them along", enquired Eisen, his youngest. Bardin smiled, "They will be here. If...they know what is good for them. We have waited for this day to come for quite a few years now, what's to wait a little bit more", was his response, which no doubt was not the answer Eisen hoped to hear, seeing that he was not the patient sort.

While Bardin's family dwelt on Pyke, his brothers' family were on Harlaw, the island north of Pyke with a formidable castle. Temur and Bardin were close as any siblings were, but with war imminent, Bardin had his preparations to make, and while he carried out his plans, Temur was to be ready also. Then, ask if on crew, a strange group of people came towards them *obviously drunk*.

The lead of the group, stepped forward and bowed as he took off his hat, "Captain Roche Bower....at your service", lifting himself up, as his shiny silver tooth winked at Bardin. Glancing to those round him with his eyes while his teeth remained glued together to look respectable, he then spoke up again, "Nevermind these lot...these are just along for the ride....Now, shall we get down to business?".

The "guests" sure were strange and odd, but like the Ironborn, they were quite formidable in the sea. Afterall, they had to be, if they were pirates, as Bardin stretched out his hand, to lead them to the hall, before Eison spoke up to his father, "We don't need their help. They're obviously drunk, and we sure could do alot without them emptying our coffers".

Bardin smiled, "Would you rather be a proud Ironborn and be respected as one, while retaining your physique? or would you prefer grovelling, and doing all the dirty work that is best done by others?", pausing to get a react, before speaking up again as each hand laid on each of his sons' shoulders, "You have learnt alot in these past few years, with alot more to learn. The time is almost upon us, the wheels are slowly turning, but for now, we must be patient. Now, let's go", as the three entered...........

To most people, the pelting rain got in their way of training or traveling but to Dweyth it only meant more mud. As he dragged his legs up and down the mud that reached half of his thigh, he expertly maintained his balance while his arms each held a bucket of stones which in turn he lift to strengthen his upper body. The rain was washing away the splashes of mud from his face, clearing it and exposing his expressionless eyes.

Some of the other men grunted at him, waiting for a chance to bring him down. Dweyth didn't exactly got along with most people, a trait that often leads him to trouble. He would often prefer being alone or hunting with Huntley who happens to be his dearest friend. They have been friends since the day he stood up for the boy and he couldn't help feel proud that the measly boy is now a knight in his own rights.

"Been do'n goo' in pig shit boy?" One of the toothless warriors asked as he ripped off a piece of cured meat with his remaining teeth, and as soon as he mocked Dweyth, his companions were automatically sent roaring into laughter as they watched him soak half of his body in the mud. "Ain' it righ' that yoo mud people eat thows frog weeout washing em? People haf been sayin' yoo get 'em green teef fo' eatin' too much of dem frogs. Might we see em?" His accent grew deeper and continued to throw stupid questions towards the silent man. He knew he could all take them down but over the years that Nightfix has taken him under his wing, Dweyth managed to gain patience and a cool head.

"Gorger, green teeth are always better than not having teeth at all you know?" He said through deep breaths and then he gave him a smirk and continued with his training. He knew he had hit a sensitive spot about Gorger's teeth, it was something he didn't allow people to mock him for.

"Wha' yoo sey boy? Yoo makin' foon of me teef?!" He threw the remaining meat on the ground and pushed everyone out of his way. He held the hilt of his sword as he threatened Dweyth with it. He stared at him as he continued to lift the buckets of rocks up and down. "You doo know who yoo ta'kin to, ain't it righ'? Yoo think yoo can lif to see ano'fer day when yoo make foon of me teef huh?!" He kicked one of Dweyth's bucket, making the stones fly and hitting some of the other people. The bucket clanked as it landed on the wet ground, leaving a huge dent on the sides.

"See what you've done to my bucket Gorger? I suggest you fix it for me and I'll forget about all this. Might be even that I ask the smith to make you some metal teeth to help you chew that meat. It has been in your mouth for too long," He laid the other bucket down on firm ground and lifted his self out of the mud. This time he towered over Gorger for about a couple of inches, half of his body was covered with mud, the rain still running down on them.

And just when Gorger was about to pull his sword, Dweyth gave the man a good punch to his left face, sending him coughing and spazing his breath on the ground. When he turned to face Dweyth again, his mouth had blood in it. He coughed some blood and a tiny white thing was in the middle of the blood pool. "Look wha you deed! My toof fell off!" Gorger whined, still on the ground. He tried to pick his tooth and tried to place it back but he knew it was a lost game.

"You should have thought that you were bound to loose some when you kicked my bucket. I need a new one by tomorrow, if I don't see any I'd have you running to a horse to borrow em chompers. Is that understood?" Dweyth asked in a calm but authoritative voice. "Am I understood?" He repeated.

Gorger continued to groan and just spread his arms on the ground, looking at his tooth with sadness.

The hued leaves of fall had long ago faded and fell from their home among the trees, leaving them bare to face the impending winter. Vibrant green grass had been replaced with dull drowns as the soft mud became hardened with the colder air. The first snow had yet to fall, but any day now the rain would become chilled and white clouds would cover the land. For as long back as she could remember, Lillian could not recall a winter as heart wincingly chill in Kingslanding as the quickly approaching one to come.
Her chamber was warmed from the fire place located in the corner of the room, diagonal from the large window overlooking the village below. A large fur blanket lay draped over a chair that Sacha had claimed for her own, unaffected by the world around her. Lillian’s father had just left to meet with the King’s Counsel, as he rapidly seemed to be doing more often as the King disappeared for his hunting trips. Their relationship had become strained, not Graham and the King’s, but Lillian and her father.

“As long as you don’t lose your devotion you might earn your place. Of course there will be other changes taking place when Alexavier seats at the crown. None of which I’m afraid involve your father. Unless…unless you do your duty as wife to the king and leave all other affairs to the adults. I will accept nothing less.”

These Word hung in the back of Lillian’s mind and controlled every action. The queen was the closes thing to a mother Lillian had…if she didn’t accept her marriage to Alexavier, well, Lillian didn’t want to ponder that thought any longer. I am loyal to my beloved Alexavier Lillian thought as she placed the Godwin crest around her neck. He loves me, and would never allow harm to come to me or any member of my family. With her head held high, she started for the door. Sacha, hearing her master’s footstep jumped up with a small yip and scurried to follow her[ “Coming along, Sacha?”
Lillian often found herself walking in the village more lately. Pulling her cloak tighter around her small frame, she willed away the chilling air. The sound of a hammer hitting metal floated from a small hut, and Sacha danced around Lillian’s feet in excitement. Watching the small fox trot ahead, Lillian held back a laugh as a curse filled the hut “Damn it, Sacha! I almost lost my hand.”

Following her small fox’s lead, Lillian entered the hut belonging to a blacksmith and his son “Hello Tybolt.” Tybolt Stonehammer was the son of Boraguard Stonehammer, the Kings Blacksmith and close friend of Lillian’s father. The two had always known one another, and in some cases you could say they were close. “You should watch your mouth around a lady, Tybolt Stonehammer.”

Tybolt was indeed handsome..if you could get passed his harsh manner. Dark eyes stood out against his sun kissed skin. His hair fell to his neck is soft waves, and almost appeared black in color. A small scare grazed his face, just above his eye across to his ear. He received it as an infant when playing in the creek. His body was strong, chiseled, and covered in soot from head to toe. Lillian would find him attractive...if they didn't fight like siblings.

“Well m'lady, I shall do so when I am approached by one, and not the young lords obeying bitch.” Narrowing her eyes, Lillian fought the urge to throw something at the smug boy. Had she been Iva, the little rat she called sister, she would have, but Lillian was a lady. She knew Tybolt did not agree with the Godwin’s, but he shouldn’t take it out on her.

“Tybolt, you speak to Lady Lillian in respect when she addresses you.” Boraguard Stonehammer’s firm voice said as he too entered the shack. Everything about the man screamed years of hard work and passion for what he did. His once black hair was now peppered, and his green eyes were dull with lack of proper rest. In his days, Boraguard had been handsome in deed, and even as his face wrinkled from age his looks remained. He towered over other men, with his chiseled, soot covered body.

“That is alright, Boraguard. I will be leaving now. Come Sacha!” With a small smile to the elderly blacksmith, and a harsh glare to his son, she left to the forest where she sure her sister would be hiding from her morning lessons.

The cold winter air filled Arthas' lungs as he rode ahead of his men. The Birds of Prey suffered very few losses in the Battle for the Twins. His ploy had worked perfectly and the meager defense force hardly lasted long at all. Weak with hunger they were no match for Ordway's well rested and well fed battle hardened army. He rode now at the head of the column, his second Samara dutifully riding at his side. Her eyes carefully scanning the defenses of Winterfell as they neared.

"The watchmen have already spotted our approach sire."

She said flatly. He turned to her with an arched eyebrow, the distrust evident in her voice. Samara trusted very few people, very few. By Arthas' count her circle of trusted friends added up to a resounding one. Arthas Ordway was the only person still alive that Samara put any faith into, any trust what soever. A fault as seen by others, a strength as seen by herself. If she did not hand out her trust she could never be betrayed or harmed. A simple and effective yet costly tactic one luckily Arthas did not share. While he did not trust on a whim you could work your way into the Owl Kings inner circle by diligent work, resourcefulness and loyalty. The master of Winterfell was well on his way to joining those illustrious ranks, only thing left to do was meet the man before giving him the final nod of approval. Arthas shook his head with a light chuckle at Samara's pessimism before looking up at the watchman on the wall.

"I am Arthas Ordway, rightful king of Riverrun, leader of the Birds of Prey and friend to your lord and master Robert Claridge. Open the gates, for I come bearing gifts."

He said with a proud smile as he threw a thumb behind him at the caravan of wagons filled to the brim with food, drink and other provisions. The watchman could only act too quickly as they sent a runner to alert Robert of the army at the gates in hopes that the gates would be opened so the men could feast.

The cold wind brushed against the exposed skin on her face as Iva continued to observe the roots and leaves she had gathered. The book said to be on the look out for a rare shade of ginger with a purplish hue, it was said that it provided a quick and strong relief for horses' injury and Iva instantly knew that Colton would be making the most of it. Now if she can just cross the walls, surely there are more valuable roots outside of it. Somehow even if the forest provided a healthy dose of breathing air, the soil remained polluted by the waters that run from the houses and inns inside King's Landing.

Iva had always spoke her mind about the place, she didn't favor when their father, Graham O'Connel, announced that they would be moving. And unlike her older sister, she never like the royal family. She always thought they played people with the power they have. She usually ends up in a fight with Lillian whenever her older sister gushes about how beautiful Queen Isadora is and how galant her bethrothed Prince Alexavier is. If only she had a say on it, she drag her sister away from him. Of course, they often times get in an argument but Lillian is still her sister.

She continued to roam and pick interesting parts of plants, a basket in one hand as she left Colton grazing wild grass and sweet forest plums by the river. Surely Septa Gertrude must be out of her wits, calling out her name and looking for her but Iva always preferred learning on her own rather than holding a spindle or learning a song of praise. It's not she doesn't believe in the old gods of her family but she knew that they preferred if she talked to them than singing for them. Iva went about her picking when she heard the leaves rustled, someone was approaching her location. She quickly hid behind the thickest tree but soon slammed her palm on her forehead when she remembered that Colton was too large not to be seen. She peeked a little from behind the rosewood tree and tried to see who it was and once she saw Lillian, she let out a sigh of relief and went out of her hiding place.

Lillian's back was facing her and she decided to break the silence and suddenly spoke with a firm tone "Septa Gertrude sent you here, didn't she? Well I'm telling you this early, I'm not coming back with you. I'm busy." And with that she continued picking.

“Another one, how many is that now, eighteen, nineteen?” she laughed a sweet, poisonously mocking laughter. “Get rid of it. The Godwin bloodline ends with mine.”

“I’m afraid, dear sister; this one won’t be as easy as the others. The whore is Godwin’s favorite; she is well protected by the King and his dog Graham,” said Damian.

“Must I do everything?” There was a spite of a cobra’s hiss in the soft response. The Queen stepped inside the room, grasped the handmaid’s shoulders with fierce fingers, and bent to scowl full into the terrified glare of Claudette. And under the violent hands laid on her, Claudette felt a chill she could not explain creeping along her spine.

“I’ve trusted you,” sneered Isadora. “I’ve allowed you a freedom unlike any other beneath my roof. But don’t be fool by my generosity. Betray me and you will suffer such pain only death can relieve.” And having finished her words Isadora struck Claudette with all her might.

Claudette exited the palace by way of a hidden passage. Her face had been severely beaten and her clothes torn and all stained with blood. She ran like a trained runner as if death personified ran behind her, she ran nonstop until she reached the doors of Laurea’s Whore House and collapse.

The messenger raced down the long halls of the castle, his booted feet resounding off the polished marble. He was breathing heavy with exertion as adrenaline and exhaustion was weighing heavy on his body. He'd raced at a break neck pace on horse back for the past two days and was suffering from the hard ride. His face was covered in dirt and grime from the road and his long brown leather trenchcoat was caked with dried mud. He reached the hall with his metal clad escorts in tow who quickly pushed their way through the crowd to bring the messenger to the king.

"One side! One side!"

The kings guards barked as they led the courier to the king. Once he finally reached Godwin the messenger fell to his knees as he panted heavily.

"My King... I bring you word from the North. The Twins have fallen. The Bandit King has led an army into your majesty's fortress and slaughtered all inside before sacking it and continuing their march north."

The courier's words brought a stunned silence to all the revelers in the halls. The fair maidens held a hand to their mouths in horror at the news while the men's fists clenched in anger. Above all else The wealthy of the kingdom felt something they had not felt in a very long time...fear.

“OUT, EVERYONE OUT,” roared the King.

“Not you O’Connel.” A red-face king sober-up by the dire news. He was no fool, but he had avoided the rumors. “I had no lack of loyal friends in my days as a warrior. I had the admiration of the men, the men-at-arms fought for me, not the crown. I had all the right friends, fought the right battles, and won.” He slapped his gut and grinned. “You were there at my side then, and you are at my side now. But let’s not full ourselves. I’m no longer Charles Godwin, the warrior, the hero of a hundred battles. This will be your war my friend. You run the kingdom now.”

“What are you saying,” asked a confused O’Connel.

“My friend I’d like nothing more than to ride off again, ride into a new adventure, into the thrill of battle and be as we were in our glory days. But I’m surrounded by lions. Only a fool could fail to see where I am going with this. And you are no fool, my dear friend.” The king gave a tired sigh, and for the first time O’Connel saw but a shadow side to the man he once admired. “I have become an authoritarian boor, and I dedicated my rein to eat and drink and wench myself into an early grave. I have put the welfare of myself above all others, and it has cost me the Kingdoms.”

“Stop it!” He looked sternly at Charles. “So you got fat and old, you are a lousy father and husband, you’re a drunk and you’ve introduce your cock to every whore in all seven kingdoms. But you are no coward, you are a warrior. You are the King. Not I.”

“I KNOW WHO I AM,” bellowed the king as he arose from the throne. O’Connel took a step back. “Gather the council and let’s be rid of this Bandit King once and for all.”

The smell of onion sickened her but there was no escaping it, the medicine woman told them that Onion and Vegetable soup would do her best in her condition. Best to avoid the fat filled foods and concentrate on the nourishment of the plants. Every bottle of wine was also removed within her reach and were replaced by a daily delivery of fresh cow and goat's milk. It was rather apparent that she had gained a little bit of weight than before but with the joy of having a child also installed fear in Adarra.

She knew that her situation brings a lot of danger in her and her babe's life. "Madam, another spoon please. Madam Laurea will slap me again if you do not finish your bowl," Flora lifted a silver spoon close to her mouth as the tray had sat on her lap. Plead were in her eyes but Adarra had enough of the bland food they usually give her. Her head still facing left towards the windows as the noise of early risers rushed from the outside as she remained seated on her bed and tucked with silk blankets.

"Please Madam, just 4 more spoonfuls..." Flora asked again. She took a deep sigh and faced the servant and opened her mouth. The warm liquid filled her mouth as she did her best to gulp it all in but she had to pull the bowl to her mouth and spit it all out. Flora knew she'd be getting a beating again so excused herself out with the tray.

Moments later, dressed in fine silk dress that showed her arms and shoulders, Laura glided towards her room and lifted on of her earrings, tried it on and looked at her image in the mirror and spoke without looking at her, "I told you to go walking under the first rays of sunshine, your skin looks paler everyday. Not a pretty sight for my best whore."

"Best that you know that I've made Flora leave service. That woman can't really just do anything right. All she had to do was to feed you and made sure you are well but-" She cut herself short while she lifted her arms in the air as if resigning to the idea of doing such simple things.

She took another sigh and let herself sink in her bed, covering her whole self with her blankets and remained silent. She wasn't in the mood for Laurea's words, since the King haven't visited her for the longest time. She dearly missed him and at the same time loathed the truth about them. She wrapped herself with her arms and cried softly under the covers. When she heard a knock, the soft squeak of her door and a familiar voice "Madam Laurea, you have a visitor." Then the sound of her earrings being laid on her vanity and footsteps fading.

~~~~~~~

"What was it that you mentioned your name is again?" With a scrutinizing look and a raised left eyebrow, Laurea looked at a girl in disgust. Her servants have treated the girl's wounds and gave her a whore's dress but it did nothing to make her bruises beautiful.

"Cl-- Claudette Madam," Her hands shook as she held a cup of honeyed milk with both. The Queen had instructed her what to say and what to do in order to pursue the Whore woman to hire her.

"Ah and you said you were from?"

"Riverrun. I used to serve Lady Runwick of House Frey but when she died I had no where to go. I heard a lot about your place and dreamt of serving as a hand maid here for a very long time. I've heard of the perks and freedom in doing service in your house. I've saved enough coins and journeyed but I was robbed and beaten even before I reached your doorstep. But I promise, I am a trustworthy person. I- I bet my whole life to it," Like words from her heart, she had the words memorized while she run in fear from the Red Keep.

Laurea softly nod her head. She was indeed short of one servant since she had violently made Flora leave. She stood up and turned her back towards Claudette. She walked towards the exit then paused, she slightly moved her head and spoke, "Take you rest. You are hired and will be starting tomorrow." She then left the hand maiden as she recovered from the bruises the Queen has given her.

With the arrival of Arthas and his men, Winterfell fell into a wind of mixed emotions. With him, he brought food and gifts…and Robert seemed to welcome the man joyfully. Even Marcellus, who trusted few, boasted of these strangers arrival….but Ossia feared the worst. No, not because of Arthas, nor his men, they were good souls who only wished to lend a hand in the approaching battle. It was the people of Wineterfell she had begun to fear. Men of Robert’s army felt their places were threatened, and although none dared raise a sword to the strong warriors…talk of abandonment had begun to spread.

Despite these worries, a celebration took place, and for the first time since the leaves turned...Winterfell wasn’t such a dreary place.
Not long after the soldier’s arrival Arthas, Robert, and Marcellus decided to make their first move. King Godwin would know they existed, and what strength their allies had brought to them. The outcome of what the messenger would bring back to the north was uncertain…but they remained strong.

Many mornings passed since the messenger was sent off, and no word had reached Winterfell. Despite this, they trained endlessly, and there were times she thought she would die from the bitter wind rather than the sword of Godwin’s men.

Just after the messenger was sent, Marcellus learned from one of his many sources of a threat hidden within the walls of Kingslanding. A soul-less man, he killed many great men…most of them the flesh and blood of our very own fathers. He called himself the Kingslayer.
With the following dawn, she decided to seek answers. With Marcellus gone to seek answers of his own from his source, and Lord Robert nowhere in sight…she approached Arthas.

She has to admit the sheer size of the man alone had her rethinking her decisions at once. Dweyth was the only man, besides my father, she ever forwardly approached.

Cautious as ever, Ossia entered the home Arthas resided in. Head held high and shoulders broader, she reminded herself who it was he saw, Huntley, son of the knight.

“Excu…*cough* Excuse me, sir.” Glancing outside for a moment, Ossia considered bolting “About the King slayer…is he? What I mean is…” Once again Ossia raised her head “What is to be down with the bastard?”

*************************************************************************************************************************
Placing his hands along the throne of his fathers, Alexavier fought off a grin. His father may wear the crown, but he would rule soon enough. His father had become weak and frail. The man he once longed to mirror had become an embarrassment.

Glancing to his human shield, a brute by the name of Bortaveous, he sneered at his marred face “My father is a drunken fool, and my mother is a woman. What does that make me?”

“Our bright future, My Lord.”

Turning towards the knight, Alexavier nodded his head appraisingly as he strutted to where the man stood. “That is where you are right.” Looking to a painting of the Godwin family that hung just above the iron throne, Alexavier tisked is spite.

“My father allowed weakness. He allowed his own men to make choices of their own. I will not stand for it.” Turning to Bortaveous once again, he spoke “You are my shield. You will do as I say, and ask no more.”

Walking to the window overlooking the edges of town, Alexavier narrowed in on the home of the blacksmith. He was not unfamiliar that his bride-to-be fraternized with the commoners “I understand that scar on your face was the result of the losing of a duel?”

“Yes, My Lord. It was only a friendly..”

“I did not ask what it was, beast!” Snapping his head toward where to Bortaveous towered behind him, “The old blacksmith Stonehammer, he knows you are my shield. Your sword was not properly fastened. You could have lost your life.”
Turning away, Alexavier strolled towards the hall, before stopping to speak over his shoulder “Kill him.”

Damian entered the hidden passage rather careless, he didn't notice the eyes that spotted him and now followed him from a distance. He walked as he had many times to that hidden spot where Isadora was waiting, and there she was unqueenly naked. She wrapped her supple arms around his neck. Her eyes blazed like emerald jewels. Her upturned face drew close to Damian's, and he submitted to her embrace, he kissed her. "I love you!" she cried fiercely, writhing her body against his, almost strangling him in her wild embrace, shaking him in abandon. He did not hold back the searing heat of his passion for her. With an inarticulate cry he crushed her to him, bending her backward and showering gasping kisses on her lips and neck. Isadora was panting, shaking like a leaf in his grasp. He staggered like a drunken man shedding off his garments until his manhood entered the hot pocket of her womanhood, and both abandoned body and soul to the fury of yearning passion. And not far yet far enough were the wide and in-shock-eyes of the spy, hidden in the shadowed by the darkness and unnoticed by the scandalous sight they witnessed.

…………..
Graham paced the marble floor of his private study with a worried look upon his face. The King had been unreasonable and unwavering in his decisions today, and the body of councils instigated and manipulated Graham’s advice to the King. Graham was realizing he had no influence over these men, men with agendas of their own, and his good old friend Charles was always too drunk to make sound decisions for himself. The crown was heavily indebted to the Queen’s father, and he learned that House Clearwater had positioned themselves in all powers of influence over the Kingdoms. They controlled lands and held titles and everywhere he looked there were golden head lions circling the Kingdom like a pride of lions circling its prey. The Clearwaters had become richer and more powerful than any other House in the land and this was dangerous. They were all cunning and power hungry and he trusted not one of them. Unlike the King he had not lost his instinctive sense, as far as the political points of the Kingdom were concerned, but he did not know how it would all end ahead. Damian (Kingslayer) was ordered by Godwin to gather an army, an army that his father will fund and provide for the King. He is to take this army to Winterfell and bring to justice the Bandit King. Graham was refused his request to lead the army himself. He was told to handle kingly matters in Kings Landing in the King’s absent – the King was going hunting.

…………
Claudette stared at the mirror, the scars were healing well, but her face was still bruised and she didn’t recognize the reflection of the woman in the mirror. Her face was nothing more than a reminder of the charge given to her by the queen, and a reminder of the danger in which she found herself. She was now in a dangerous game paid only with blood. She looked away with a heavy heart. Her heart had been bruised too but she loved the Queen, and above all she feared the Queen. And it was this fear that gave her the strength to continue living for she did not want to die.

She entered Adarra’s chamber with her hands inside the pockets of her dress, her hand tightly holding the small flask given to her by the Queen – Its content an untraceable and untreatable poison that will mask its deathly grip like a fever and claim the life of any who consume it. “I…I’ve come to warn you, My Lady.” The two women were alone. “You are in grave danger. I was sent to kill you,” she revealed the small flask in her hand, “with a poison that will kill anyone who drinks it instantly. But I cannot do it. I too am a mother and I understand the love of a mother for her children. For that reason alone I confess.” Tears filled her eyes.

Outside the whore house the caravan of the King arrived. King Goodwin dismounted his horse and made his way inside the building. He was already drunk and equally horny. His arrival stirred the house into frenzy. His loud voice could be heard all throughout. He wanted pleasure and today he had an appetite unlike any other day, he craved for his young and beautiful whore.

Claudette was petrified and her hands trembled, and the flask rolled out of her hand to the floor. “I will surely die by the Hand of The King when he finds I’ve betrayed his orders. Please, you must hide me.” She fell on her knees sobbing uncontrollably. “I don’t want to die, please, please hide me.”

…………..
The Kingslayer rode a great black stallion, a gift from the Queen. He wore no head-peace, and his golden locks and white satin cloak flowing carelessly from his shoulders. He dressed in armor of the Kingsguard, shiny and practically new, though worn before in battle. On the breast of his armor, the lion of his house was embossed in gold. He looked the part of a Clearwater who held title and wealth. But the only part he felt was the part of a quintessential warrior; the awakening of old memories, the resurge of mad, glorious days of old when he was but a wet lad of the Kingsguard, adventuring, with no desired save a keen sword to swing on all the battlefields. Unconsciously he reverted to the old ways; a new swagger became evident in his bearing, in the way he sat his horse, and as he pushed the black stallion as hard as he dared. He rode steadily on a road stretch bare, knowing that he was traveling faster than the ten-men that traveled with him.

Adarra was still in bed, still wrapped in the silk sheets to warm her body further more. Her fire almost out but she didn' bother standing up to throw in some wood, she preferred staying in bed. Her thoughts still floating and mostly about the King. She barely minded the grumbling in her stomach, she would only eat if it was Godwin who fed her.

When all of a sudden her door opened and an unknown face looked at her and spoke, “I…I’ve come to warn you, My Lady.” Confusion registered in Adarra's face. She was about to get up from her bed when she continued, “You are in grave danger. I was sent to kill you,” Now shock filled her, she quickly grabbed her silk sheets and removed them from her body, her other hand looking for the dagger she hid under her mattress, ready to defend her self and her babe when the woman's eyes welled up with tears. She revealed a small bottle from her pocket and said, “With a poison that will kill anyone who drinks it instantly. But I cannot do it. I too am a mother and I understand the love of a mother for her children. For that reason alone I confess.” Tears continued to flow.

Adarra slowly released the dagger's hilt from her hand and was about to comfort the woman when she heard noise from the outside. Knights pushing the peasants away and horses whining and grunting, and Adarra knew who it could be. "King Godwin," she gasped as her heart beat double time. A beat of longing and fear at the same time.

The woman might have noticed her gasp and suddenly fell on her knees and pleaded “I will surely die by the Hand of The King when he finds I’ve betrayed his orders. Please, you must hide me. I don’t want to die, please, please hide me.” And she knew that this woman did not only saved her life but also revealed that she is no longer safe under Laurea's roof. She rushed by her wardrobe and pushed her dresses away, moving one lever and revealed a passage way. "In here! You must stay silent. No sounds or it's your head that would roll. Don't continue on the passage or you will get lost, wait till I open it myself," She whispered to the woman and dragged her arm and forced her to enter while watcing her door, panicking that the King might enter at once. Once the woman was inside, she closed the passage way and returned her clothes back.

She was still fumbling with everything when the door burst open, revealing the King and two of his men who remained outside. He nodded at the two and closed the door behind him. He didn't wait any longer, he rushed towards Adarra and took her in his arms.

Adarra could smell wine and sweat when the King devoured her lips, but those smell was what she yearned for. His hands moving and touching every part of her and soon was ripping her dress off. He laid her on bed, taking control while Adarra stayed silent. She knew that the woman could see everything from the passage way.

Slowly her thoughts drifted again, thinking how she should tell the King of her condition when a thought entered her mind as he parted her legs and kissed her lower lips, she gasped at the same time that doubt filled her. What if it was really the King who wanted her babe dead? The woman had spoken of him with fear. She moaned as he continued to play with her flower as her right hand slowly crept under the mattress, feeling the cold hilt of the dagger. She knew she should get through with what she planned in the first place- taking Godwin's life as he took her own.