Westeros

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The moment Leyla Cassel saw her father, Rodrik spit on Theon Greyjoy, she knew in her heart his end was nigh. Her grey eyes closed as tears swelled in her ducts as she prayed to the gods, old and the new for an intervention of any sort, surely they would not so cruel to take not only her cousin, by such a heinous act of violence but her father also? What had she done in her life to deserve such a curse? Leyla had grown most of her life, motherless, Lady Stark came closer to any that she had, yet still she was not of Catelyn Stark’s flesh, she could not- would not depend on her. That had been her first curse, the second had come when her dear cousin, Jory received a dagger through his socket at the hands of Jaime Lannister and now, the forth was before her.

Theon Greyjoy was the biggest piece of scum Leyla had ever laid eyes on; it just pained her that it took this long to realise. As children they would play together, herself, Robb, Jon and Theon, she would watch them as they trained with her father; they use to have the most splendid of times together. If she had seen the future then, if only she had seen the selfishness and greed in his eyes, if only she had heeded the words ‘never trust a Greyjoy,’ If only she had gutted him like a fish. They had been friends once, yet it would seem that meant nothing to Theon, he had betrayed his true family and although he may not realise it yet but he would eventually, for one Leyla would never forgive him, he had let his men beat and humiliate her, threatened to hang her in order to gain her father’s cooperation. He would not get away with this and one day she would drive her dagger through his belly and cut him open from balls to mouth…that, she swore to the gods.

“Ser Rodrik, I sentence you to death.” Theon’s words rang through the courtyard of Winterfell, piercing Leyla like a knife, although she had been expecting them. She wanted to call out and struggle against the Ironborn soldiers who held her still, yet she was frozen blinking back what she could not decipher from rain or tears. In the background she vaguely heard Bran’s voice calling out for him to stop, his voice sounding more forceful than she had ever heard it but there was a level of fear evident that could not disguised, even with authority. Leyla brought her gaze up from the muddy floor as her father was forced to his knees in front of a wooden block, that time she did cry out and struggle “No! No! Please Theon! Do not do this, for the friendship we once shared, I beg of you, do not do this” she pleaded her voice desperate.

For a moment she could have sworn that a flicker of guilt passed over Theon’s eyes as he glanced at Leyla, his eyes raking over her form, her blue dress mud splattered and soaked, her long hair damp from the rain and the ugly bruises that blemished her beautiful creamy flesh, still it was not enough to sway him. “The old man couldn’t keep his mouth shut” he shouted towards Bran and herself before Maester Luwin hurried over in an attempt to salvage anything of the situation, it did no good.

Leyla struggled harder against the guards as Bran and Rickon cried out, gods how she wanted to shelter them, shelter herself, but she could do neither. Maester Luwin glanced over at her as the boys cried into his side, he was urging her to look away, she wanted to with her whole heart but she needed to see it, to remember it, it would be the only way she would be able to get her revenge. Her eyes widened as Theon drew his sword “Stop!” she cried out repeatedly, each time her voice breaking with emotion, her tears flowed freely now. “Hush now child, I’m off to see your father” Rodrik spoke as gently as he could towards Bran, before turning towards Leyla, his smile small, yet his eyes shone with something else, something Leyla couldn’t quite put her finger on but it would be something she would remember until her dying day. “And your mother and sisters love.”

“Father please” she cried, wanting him to fight back, shout, scream, do anything, not to welcome his fate so willingly. “Theon, you do this and I swear to every god in this land and the next that I will not stop until I have your head on a spike, mark my words, I will kill you.” Leyla seethed, her teeth gritted, she may not look so intimidating now but wait until she told Martyn and Robb about what happened here today, they would aid her with everything she needed. Theon glared at her, before raising his sword, bringing it swiftly down upon her father’s neck, again and again.

Leyla woke up screaming as she shot up in bed, her breathing laboured as her chest heaved heavily, sweat drenched her brow and nightgown; she pinched the bridge of her nose, attempting to suppress the memory but not forget it, hells, even if she wanted too that memory would haunt her until her dying days. Once she had regained some of her composure, her cool eyes darted around her room, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings, it took her a moment to realise where about she actually was.

Kings Landing.

The mere thought brought a frown to her lips, gods how she loathed this place, it was a snake pit full of some of the most venomous snakes in the entire world, no matter how beautiful they were disguised, their venom would kill you all the same. You could trust no one, well no one mew anyway and even those you could trust, you could not speak to them about anything of importance as spies were lurking behind every corner, after all, every good Lord has at least a dozen eyes and ear. Leyla longed for the North, longed for the cold; although the days were growing colder with the impending winter, the heat was still too much on some days and that made everything worse.

Finally she rose from her bed, walking over to an ornate basin a maid had filled with cool water, dampening a cloth she ran it over her face and down her neck before dressing in one of her new dresses, which Lady Stark had commissioned for her. She supposed it could be worse, after she had escaped Theon’s capture, when the Iron Islanders had fled back to their rocks upon Visery’s landing, she had luckily come across Stark bannermen soon, and there she had been reunited with Martyn and the Stark. Lady Stark had taken her in for open arms, she had expected nothing else really, her father had always been such a loyal man to their family, she had cried when she said it would be their honour to care for his daughter. And after the siege of Kings Landing, she had stayed by their side and by Martyn’s, she would not leave the only family she had left and her loyalty to the Starks ran as deep as her fathers had.

Leyla pulled a comb through her long waves and clasped a necklace around her neck before she was ready to leave, opening the door, she swiftly exited her room and heading for the gardens, she needed the fresh air to clear her mind from last night’s dreams.

It wasn’t long until Leyla reached her destination, taking her usual path, she found herself walking down a couple of steps to a rather secluded overlook of Blackwater Bay, from here she could see for miles over the darkened, ship-wreck littered sea, it was not beautiful but Leyla found herself hypnotised by the view all the same.

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

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









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

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


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

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

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

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The sun had not long since risen over the capital of Westeros, Kings Landing and for any rider approaching the city via the Kingsroad; they would be met by the Red Keep. A rather magnificent structure with towering red-brick steeples which soared into the blue skies above, it dominated the surrounding countryside, impressive and daunting at the same time, especially for one who had no memories of the city. Jon Snow felt exactly this as he stopped to admire the sight before him, the last time he had been in Kings Landing he had been a babe and recalled nothing of his time there. His mother had birthed him here, whoever she may be, and his father then took him north, to a life of bastardry and discontent by others, he often wished that his mother had survived his birth so that he could have remained with her, perhaps his life wasn’t wouldn’t have been so miserable. That wasn’t fair, his father had been very good to him, he had been raised as a Stark just not bared the name, he had been given brothers and sister, most of whom treated him as an equal, he had been lucky to have been the son of the honourable Eddard Stark, gods know where he would have been otherwise.

It had been a long, hard ride from the Wall to Kings Landing, not to mention dangerous, the North had still been in turmoil after the Iron Born invasion, with Bran and Rickon gone and Robb still held in Kings Landing, Winterfell still laid in ruins, burned to the ground after the Iron Born had fled. The sight had sickened Jon; he had been north of the wall at the time and only learnt of Winterfell’s fate and Viserys conquering upon his return but his oaths kept him stuck in Castle Black, that was until Visery’s sent a raven for him to travel South, it would seem he wanted no Stark in the North, not even a bastard one. Jon had considered bypassing his home but he needed to see it for himself, he owed it to his family to try and find any trace of his brothers.

His heart clenched upon the sight, many of the buildings had been burnt to the ground, piles of rubble lay scattered around and animal bones littered the muddy floors, it was a harrowing sight. Outside the walls he found a mass burial, everyone had been slain, he had fallen to his knees in front of the grave and wept, unashamed of who saw or heard, his brothers were dead and the Greyjoy’s would pay, that was a promise.

Upon entering the gates of the city, a shiver travelled down Jon’s spine, not one brought on by a chill, for the air was warm and thick and almost suffocating from the muggy atmosphere. It was a shiver of impending something or other, similar to the one he had felt when he had travelled north of the wall for the first time. If history had taught him anything, it would be too heed this as a warning, to trust his gut and watch his back, King’s Landing was dangerous enough before, but now with a King people said was as mad as his father, one couldn’t be too careful. Dangerous times were ahead, very dangerous times, it was quite obvious that although the new King allowed Robb to keep his title, lands and wealth, it was quite evident that they were not trusted and thus why kept them all within his grasp. And yet that was the least of their worries, ‘winter is coming’ and with it brought things ever worse than King Visery’s.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The view from his windows afforded a spectacular visage of all of King's Landing laid out before him, the city that sprawled out beneath him was both beautiful and ugly in equal measure. Of course to those that called it their home it was the jewel in the King's Crown the best and fairest city in all of Westeros. The Highborn sung its praises at every opportunity and even the lowborn were quick to defend it from those who would criticise it. And of course the red keep in all its splendour was the heart of the city, where the iron throne beckoned to all. Yet to Robb Stark the city was not home to him, would never be home to him. It was too warm, too bright and too soft. The people here knew nothing of winter for all they bemoaned the coming cold, theirs was a soft comfortable life where there was always warmth to be found.

With a sigh Robb turned from the window and met the calm gaze of his direwolf Grey Wind, the beast was huge now even when resting he dwarfed everything around him. Yet Robb did not fear the beast, he and Grey Wind were pack brothers, kin and the loyalty they shared was unshakeable. He knew others in the keep feared the direwolf and was sure many had asked the king to have it removed from their sight but as yet Viserys had allowed the beast to remain. It rankled as it always did to be reminded that he was at the mercy of this blonde king so very like his father the Mad King. The knowledge that everything he had was because the King allowed it was a bitter taste in his mouth, one he doubted he would ever be rid of. Yet he reminded himself that at least this way some of the Stark's had survived even if all had not.

Grey Wind stood then and padded across the floor to stand at Robb's side and Robb stroked the direwolfs fur taking comfort from it. Outside of his chambers Robb rarely found comfort to be had and so he took it when he could, around Grey Wind he could be himself and not fear how others would use it against him. Much and more he would have given to be able to return to Winterfell with what remained of his family. Ruin or not it was their home, it was where they belonged and yet even that was denied to him. But he was determined that one day he would return to his home and restore it to its former glory. But for now he must needs play his part. He left his chamber, after one last look around it, with Grey Wind at his heels and strode through the keep nodding stiffly at those he passed. He wore his typical northern garb though it was lighter than true northern clothing, designed for the milder weather of King's Landing.

Those he passed in the corridors gave him a wide berth though he knew that was more for the direwolf than him, but he also knew that these southron people mis trusted him and his direwolf. He had heard it said that it was unnatural to have such a beast as a pet. Robb had never bothered to correct them, let them think Grey Wind was his pet if that made them feel safer. He knew he could ease their discomfort by leaving Grey Wind in his chambers but he refused to do so. He was a northman and he would not hide the fact to make others feel better. After a time he reached his destination, the King's dining room. Normally the small council would meet in the room off the throne room yet Viserys had summoned them here today. Robb assumed it was the whim that had taken the King that day. As he entered he saw that the King was finishing breaking his fast and that his sister was with him.

Robb did not deny that Daenerys was a beautiful woman with her trademark hair and eyes and yet when he looked upon her he felt sadness rather than attraction. She was cut from very different cloth to her brother and Robb had often wondered if things would have been different if it had been she who had led the dothraki and sellswords across the sea to Westeros. She would have still been his enemy and yet he believed they might have reached an accord. He felt in many ways a kinship with her, perhaps because she too appeared trapped in a situation not of her making. But then he reminded himself that she had Dragons and he did not.

He bowed to Viserys and then to his sister. "Good Morrow your Grace." He addressed the King.

Margaery Tyrell lay awake and listened to her husband snore softly beside her, normally she found the sound soothing but of late it had begun to irritate her. She sat up and brushed her honey coloured hair from her eyes, she looked at her husband as he slept one arm curled under the pillow and the other across his eyes. He was a handsome man her husband, everyone said so, with his dark hair and eyes and his masculine figure and yet Margaery felt no quickening of her blood at the sight of him. But then she knew he was as indifferent to her looks as she was to his, now her brother Loras that was another matter. It still amused her to think on the the shocked look on her husbands face when she had informed him she knew where his preferences lay. She had spoken truly when she had said it mattered naught to her, and when he had been King it hadn't. Yet now so many things were different and she found herself wishing that he was different too. She wanted to be a wife in truth and not just in name but that would never happen with Renly.

She climbed out of bed and nudged her husband to wakefulness, he woke slowly with much grumbling but wake he eventually did. He rose with muttered curses at the ungodly hour and that no one in their right mind woke this early, she let him talk content to simply listen. Like his brother Robert Renly liked to bluster and complain but she knew he would do what was expected of him all the same. As Hand of the King he had a position of power and responsibility and he would not jeopardise that. Margaery dressed in a simple gown of green and gold and allowed Renly to lace it for her. He would be meeting with the King and the small council today whereas she had naught to do but appear presentable. If that was to be her role for now then she would do it well as she did everything in life.

She decided she would accompany her husband to the King this morning, it would not do for her not to appear courteous and besides reminding the King that she was in the keep could do no harm either. Her thoughts were entirely on Viserys as they walked through the keep. Margaery was not a fool, she knew what kind of man their king was and yet she could not deny the attraction she felt for the blonde man. Though slender there was a passion, a fierceness to him that she found appealing. As they entered the King's dining room she saw that Robb Stark had arrived before them with his direwolf Grey Wind.
Margaery greeted him with a nod of her head but she did not speak to him, she rarely knew what to say to the dark brooding northman.

She swept into a smooth curtsy upon seeing the king and his sister. "Your Grace."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

Viserys listened closely to what his sister had to say. Her words and opinion were important to him, to a point. If he truly disliked what she had to say, he would simply ignore it. In this case, he had to agree with his sister - Margery Tyrell was a driven, ambitious woman...But he too was a ambitious man and together they could do great things, he thought to himself. "Well said, I can see you've been paying attention." He told Daenerys, pleased. Once he was content with his meal and his sister was nearly finished, he summoned the handmaidens who switched out his shirt and not a second after he was seated again, Robb Stark came striding in with that monstrous wolf of his at his side. Viserys regarded the young man with a cool expression that just bordered on superiority. "Lord Stark, I'm pleased to see you on time." He said, his lilac gaze sliding from the Northerner to the wolf at his side. "I see you brought your, ah...Dog." He noted, awkwardly. That was no dog at the Lord's side for it was more than twice the size of any dog he'd seen before. Viserys truly disliked the creature that followed it's master wherever he went, there was just...Something about it was just unnatural and it wasn't it's size. Something eerie about the way it looked at you...For a moment the king contemplated shooing the animal off, but was afraid it would tear his hand off if he tried. He chose to let it remain. So, Robb Stark was the first to arrive, looking grim as usual. Honestly, the young man really needed to appreciate the gifts he'd been given - the gifts of his and his family's lives for Viserys had seriously considered having Robb Stark beheaded and having another, a more trustworthy man take his place as Lord of Winterfell. "Please, have a seat and help yourself to some of this lovely meal. My sister and I were just breaking our fast and would happy to share with the council." He said, offering the other man a smile that didn't quite reach his lilac eyes.


Finally, more of the council began to arrive. Renly Baratheon and the aforementioned beauty, Margaery Tyrell with her lovely honey colored locks. Her smile was radiant he thought, as he watched her curtsy. "Lord Renly." He greeted, not so much as bothering to look at the man, his eyes remaining on her for a moment longer, a smile touching his own face. "It's a lovely surprise to see you here, Lady Margaery." He said, pleased before turning his gaze back to the council. He heard the door open, but paid it no mind, assuming it was another serving girl coming to bring wine for the council.

"Sansa, you look absolutely beautiful today." Viserys whipped his head around to see who Daenerys was speaking to. Who in the..Wait. That name sounded familiar. Sansa, Sansa... Ah, yes. He thought, as his gaze found the redhaired girl who was making her way over to her Lord brother. Now he remembered who she was. Sansa Stark.

He had to agree with his sister immediately, as he watched her take her seat next to the Northman, barely noticing her obvious discomfort. She was a lovely young maid with brilliant red hair that shone like flame against her pale skin and the green dress she wore hugged her curves beautifully. That hair...Viserys couldn't help but find himself fascinated by it. He had to say something to this girl, he realized. "Indeed, my sister speaks truly, Lady Sansa." He said, his voice betraying his surprise. "Your hair shines like fire that lights the way in even the darkest of times and warms against the coldest nights of winter. Your beauty brings both the light and beauty of fire to this mornings council." He told her, giving the Stark girl a brilliantly smile. Had he never seen this girl before? Surely he would remember her, wouldn't he? He supposed the Red Keep was large...But that didn't matter. He forced himself to shake off the thoughts of the beauty that had just joined them and made himelf focus on the topics of the council. "Today we are to be talking of the tourney, yes? As well as my future bride..." His smile didn't fade at the mention of these topics, for they were not the usual boring, mundane matters. "But first, I would like to introduce the Son's of Cerberus, who I wish to add as another branch of my army and guard." He turned to a serving girl and snapped his fingers at her. "Send them in." He ordered, briskly.








A young, nervous serving girl came and brought them forth into the castle, everyone falling silent as they entered the large doors. Reed was no exception to this, gazing around in wonder. It was the finest place Reed had ever set foot in, she thought as she followed the guide down the halls, taking note of the lavish decorations. Along the way they passed a dark haired man who looked to be either lost or looking for something, which Reed couldn't blame him for. The castle was huge and no doubt would be hard to maneuver if you weren't familiar with it.

Finally, the group reached the dining hall which their guide said was the 'small hall' however Reed thought there was nothing small about it. She entered behind the three leaders, Markus, Angus, and Grizel. The handfull of soldiers that the three had agreed to let join them formed a line behind them, the three bowing to King Viserys while Reed surveyed the council. There was three women present, which surprised Reed a little as most men didn't think it was a woman's place to join council meetings. The one across from the King could only be his sister, Daenerys, with the striking silver hair she had. She noticed many of the men in her company were openly staring at the three women now. Reed was tempted to roll her eyes and then moved on to the next person. The next had golden brown hair and seemed to be rather focused on Viserys, probably his betrothed or something of the sort and the other was a young, timid looking girl with bright red hair. Several of the men she wasn't sure of, but she guessed as she took in their appearance - the man with ink black hair was probably Renly Baratheon, the hand of the king. The other...She already knew who he was. The man had dark, curly hair and a strong, stocky build that Reed was sure would make him a formidable opponent. The King in the North, or the Young Wolf, as some called him; it was said he couldn't be killed and rode into battle with a giant direwolf. Her blue gaze then shifted to the direwolf at his side, massive and smoky grey he stayed by his master's side like a guardian. Her lips tilted up into a smile as she studied it. Never in her life had she seen a wolf that large, even with all the time she spent in the woods near Winterfell she had only ever heard tales of the Stark's wolves. Apparently the tales were true. The little girl in her almost wanted to bound up to Robb Stark and ask him if she could pet Greywind, however she refused to do so in the presence of all the others.


"Your Grace." Grizel said to King Viserys, in his gruff, slightly drawling voice that drew Reed's attention back to him. He was the leader of the company, however Reed didn't care for him much at all. He'd always been an ugly man, short and stout with big ears and pig-like eyes. He reminded her of a troll. "Council." He nodded toward Renly and Robb. He shifted his gaze back to Viserys. "I am Grizel, the leader of this group - to my right is my second, Angus and to my left, Markus." He told them. Neither of the other two were much better looking however Markus was considerably younger, probably little older than the redhead girl at the table.

"Greetings." Viserys said, smiling at all of them. "I trust you're still interested in my offer? As I said before, the payment is most handsome." He reminded them. Grizel answered yes. "Good. Then I would like to introduce you to my council." He looked back to Robb Stark and Renly. "These are the Sons of Cerberus. They have three leaders, each one skilled in a different fighting style. My intention is to make them an addition to my army. What are your thoughts?" He asked the council.

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

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

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

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

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

---

---

Blackwater Bay was not beautiful, not really anyway. The waters were a dark blue adorned with the rotten brown timber of sunken vessels, with occasional still floating ship navigating their way around the wrecks, oh how Leyla wished she were aboard one of them, sailing to a far off land or simply even anywhere else in Westeros, she was not particularly fussed as long as it was away from Kings Landing. Leyla had read a book about Dorne once, apparently the waters there were a similar blue to a summer sky, with soft white sands upon nobles and low-born’s alike would walk bear footed relishing in the sun glorious rays. She use to dream about a time when she would do the same but now she truly had no idea when they would be allowed to leave the capital. As a girl Leyla always dreamt of far off places, as a escape from the cold, hard life of Winterfell, she supposed she was a little like Sansa in that aspect, except Leyla did not dream of riches and Princes, no, she dreamed of lands across the narrow sea, new sights, sounds and smells. Now however, her dreams were dark and of death, when she closed her eyes she saw no calming images, just the ones of Theon swinging his sword over and over again; she would give anything to go back to a time at Winterfell, before Jory and her father’s death, before the war, she would give her life to go back to that time but alas, that would be nothing more than a fantasy.

As much as she dreamt about Winterfell, the thought of hopefully returning one day still scared her. Leyla had always been a strong woman, she was privy to hardship and heartache from an early age, not only had she endured the death of her mother but her sister also and then to be raised in a male household, were swordplay came hand in hand with breaking your fast, she had learnt early how to defend herself. Yet all of her cousins teasing and her father’s sternness could prepare her strength wise for what had happened at Winterfell under Theon’s rule. Bran and little Rickon’s bodies burnt beyond recognition hanging from the gates still made her stomach churn, she should have protected them, she had promised Catelyn that but Theon’s cruelty had been unprecedented.

At least Leyla was not alone in Capital like Sansa had been for so long, she had Martyn and the Stark’s and that in its self set her apart from most, she could trust the people she was with. A rather uncommon privilege in King Landing, the place where deceit and treachery were as common as breathing, where everyone was spying for some lord or another and it would seem that even the walls, doors and mortar could be bought by someone.

“Leyla” Her cousins voice sounded from behind her but she did not turn, instead she simply let him wrap his arm around her shoulder, pulling her into a warming embrace. It still amazed and saddened her how she and Martyn were the only two Cassel’s left; never did she imagine herself in such a position, but it was the one the gods had given to her and one she would have to make the most of.

With a heavy sigh Leyla looked up at Martyn through a stormy blue eyes “I saw Jaime Lannister yesterday” she uttered, her breath catching in her throat at the very mention of his name. There was not an interaction between the two but Leyla had been walking through the throne room when she spotted him, his face still full of arrogance and smugness despite his fall from grace and the revelation about him and his own sister. It had caught her off guard and the sudden surge of anger and hatred towards her cousin’s murderer was almost unbearable, “I wanted so much just to slit his throat right then” continued Leyla bluntly; there was no use in hiding her intentions, especially with Martyn, he knew her too well, he to shared the same vengeance inside him and if she weren’t able to exact her revenge then she had every faith in her cousin.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh? And why should I do that wench?”

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

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

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

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

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

Yet, Dacey Mormont was not done.

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And hello to you.” She whispered.

Robb Stark

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

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

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

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

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

Margaery Tyrell

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sansa Stark's words filled Viserys with pride. He cast her a pleased smile, not thinking in the slightest she was laying it on too thick - one could never overdo it with praise for the dragon. What a charming girl she was, for being of the North, he thought to himself. Beautiful, charming and so respectful to her rightful king, unlike her elder brother. What a shame it was he had overlooked her until now, the girl was wonderful. He felt quite lucky to have both Margaery and Sansa present today, he certainly wasn't going to be lacking in the amount of women to choose from. He glanced at his sister, Daenerys briefly before allowing his smile to slowly fade and like a candle that had been extinguished, all warmth left the dragon's face as he turned his lavender gaze back to the council who appeared to be surveying the mercenaries when suddenly another member of the party arrived.


Good gods. Viserys thought, his face betraying his surprise at the sight of the woman entering the room. The woman was larger than some men, probably near six feet in height and donning breeches, a tunic and a sword in place of a dress. Thankfully, her face hadn't been spoiled and she didn't clomp around like a man perpetually in a suit of armor, instead moving with the grace of a lady. The silver haired dragon opened his mouth to demand who this woman was and why she was in his dining hall, interrupting his council meeting when he remembered that they were expecting another, a lady from Bear Island, was it? But that couldn't be...Could it? Then, the lady spoke, only...not to him. Rather than speaking to her King, the woman moved right on past him to where Lord Stark and that monstrous wolf of his sat at the table, greeting him before finally turning to face himself and Daenerys, apologizing for her late arrival. She didn't sound at all apologetic. By this point, Viserys was practically bristling. Apparently this indeed was the Lady Dacey Mormont of Bear Island; however she didn't have the manners of a proper lady at all. "Lady Mormont," The silver haired dragon said, his voice crisp. "You are forgiven, however would do well to remember to acknowledge your king first, and your lord second." He heard one of the sellswords scoff quietly at that.

The dragon king whipped his head around and scanned group for the source of it, but there was only silence now and all the men in the room remained composed, however a few's eyes flickered from time to time to a slight figure hidden beneath a black cloak holding a bow however he thought it may be a coincidence, but he also hadn't been looking previously. He decided to let it go this once and clasped his hands together, looking back to Robb Stark, who expressed his skepticism on the matter of the men. He had figured as much from the Northerner, they were all so very noble after all. He suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. It wasn't the Lord of Winterfell's decision to make; therefore Viserys chose not to heed Robb's warning. Why should he? He was the king, he could have their heads removed if they attempted to betray them - or better yet, he could set his dragons on them. "That may be true, Lord Stark. But I intend to pay them well; therefore they would have no reason to fight for another." He said, unconcerned, his eyes moving back to the ugly, pig eyed man whose name he couldn't remember. "Remind me, captain. How much had I offered you to fight for me?" He asked.

"Six trunks of gold to split amongst the captains and the men, your grace." The pig eyed man replied, keeping his balding head down as he spoke to Viserys.

Viserys nodded once, straightening his dragon pin as Lord Stark's mother arrived. He didn't remember inviting her, but she was not of any concern to him at all, so he merely ignored her. "Six trunks of gold for the Sons of Cerberus. Does that seem fair?" He asked the council. He was willing to raise his prices, if the Sons of Cerberus tried to leave him - that, or hire another company to fight for him. When he had arrived in Westeros, he had been shocked by the state of the royal treasury, but after taking the money from the Lannisters, he had found things to be much more comfortable so he saw no reason to worry. "Today, I would have the three captains be leaving with a single trunk of the gold to start with and distribute within their group as they see fit. I'll be paying the rest when I have need of them and the group have settled into their positions within my army and guard."

The captain did not look enthused with that, and the rest of his men even less which was never a good sign but if Viserys noticed or cared he didn't show it. His previous interest had faded. "Now, as for the matter of the tourney I want expect it to be a thing of special magnificence..."








When the dark haired woman strode into the room, Reed couldn't help the surprise that came over her. Not only because of the woman's height, but because of the way she was clothed. She wasn't dressed in flowing silk gowns like the other women present, but instead something incredibly similar to her own attire - even complete with a sword at her hip. The woman greeted The Young Wolf which he responded to warmly. After that, the lady stroked the direwolf at Robb Stark's side, which made her smile ever so slightly beneath her cloak. As the woman introduced herself and apologized for the delay in her arrival, Reed decided she rather liked this Dacey Mormont - however, King Viserys apparently didn't share this opinion. He reminded Lady Mormont coolly of his superiority and status. Reed couldn't help but roll her eyes and scoff quietly at his haughty attitude, "Prat.” She hadn't realized that she had muttered the word aloud until it had already passed through her lips and king Viserys had whipped around, searching for the voice. Reed froze, grateful for her cloak as she knew her expression would’ve given her away had it been visible. If the king had taken insult to someone simply not acknowledging him first, he certainly wouldn't take being legitimately insulted well.

After a moment, the King seemed to let it go since he couldn’t seem to find someone to blame and then The Young Wolf spoke. None of company corrected him. What he said was true; the sellswords were a notoriously fickle group. She herself didn't even trust her own company, which was why she kept to herself so much. Reed wasn't fickle, although she didn't like making promises or swearing oaths, for she made it a rule to always keep the promises she made. She was a woman of her word, if she ever gave it. Robb Stark was right to mistrust the Sons of Cerberus as she knew her company would indeed turn on their employer and fight for whoever offered more gold like all the other companies she’d seen.

Reed had hoped her opinion of King Viserys would have improved slightly upon seeing him, however it had not. She still thought him weak, haughty and from what she heard, reminiscent of his father. His sister Daenerys seemed different, though she couldn't be sure as she had never spoken to the Mother of Dragons. Still, Reed didn't enjoy the idea of fighting for him at all, even if he was going to pay them well.

The party seemed to be growing larger and larger by the minute, as a red haired woman joined them who Reed actually managed to recognize. Lady Catelyn Stark, who used to be the wife of Lord Eddard. Reed briefly recalled the times when she was a child where she would watch Lord and Lady Stark ride past their farm, every now and then picking wildflowers if there were any at the time and offering them to the Lady as she rode past. Her mother had always had the utmost respect for the Stark family and Reed understood why - they were very noble and she admired them for that. When her mother had been dying, she had told Reed to go to the Stark's and to tell them what had happened in hopes they would take her in as a servant or at the very least find her work somewhere else, for she had nowhere else to go. She had put off going as her mother had instructed because at the time she had feared the Stark's might turn her away.

"Today, I would have the three captains be leaving with a single trunk of the gold to start with..." That caught her attention. Reed stared at Viserys, desperately hoping she'd heard him wrong but judging by the look on Grizel's face she hadn't. Not that Grizel should complain. She was the one who wasn't going to be having continuous income - at least not immediately, not him. Especially if he didn't distribute it evenly. Reed was in dire need of a meal; and a bath to wash off the dust of the road would be most welcome. Now she was really going to need that second job she had been thinking about unless Viserys and his council actually got a move on putting the company to good use. Knowing nobles they probably wouldn't...