1. Prologue: Herren Waters

The Queen was dead.

King Tommen had ordered the banners lowered for seven days to honor his mother, but there was precious else to mark the passing of the woman who had once held King's landing under her fist.

Ser Herren Waters had warned his gold cloaks to stay on high alert, because the chance of a riot always rose after the death of a royal, but this morning as he surveyed Fishmonger Square from the City Watch tower on the Sea Wall, nothing seemed amiss. Sailors busily unloaded the morning's catch, beggar boys and cryer girls hawked hot clams from baskets or small carts, and fishwives haggled over the price of spotted bass. At the center of the square farmers sold potatoes, eggs, and vegetables from a makeshift market made of overturned wagons, empty barrels and crates, and lengths of rags hung wooden planks, brooms, and old rusted spears. By the docks a group of Sparrows loaded large burlap sacks onto carts destined for Baleor's sept.

It was a mercy, he thought. Cersei had been found dead three mornings past, wearing one of the course, roughspun gowns that had been her only garb since she returned from Baleor's Sept. For the last eight months she had quietly endured in her small corner of Maegor's Fast, spending most of her time alone with Taena Merryweather, who had returned to the Red Keep only under the condition that she remain Cersei's companion until the day she died. Outside of her cell, Cersei was flanked at all times by two of the Faith Militant, who were under strict orders from the High Septon never to let her converse without supervision, lest she attempt to conceive another plot. She had not spoken alone with King Tommen since her return to the caste. Taena, whose supervision was somewhat less strict than Cersei's, and whose tongue was considerably looser, complained that the Queen rarely slept throughout the night, crying out in turns for Tommen and for Joffrey, for her daughter Mycella, and most of all for her brother Jamie.

"Jaime this, Jaime that, nothing but Jaime, Jamie, Jamie" Taena had snapped at Tommen's last name-day feast. At Tommen's request, Cersei sat at the high table, and Taena been allowed to spend a few hours away from the Queen's side. "You think the slut would shut up about him now that she knows he isn't coming back." Taena blamed Cersei for her imprisonment; she had cried when Cersei's body was taken away, but Ser Waters knew that they were tears of joy.

Jamie had stayed away from King's Landing since his Lord father's funeral. He had plenty of excuses. Jamie kept mainly to Casterly Rock, protecting his house's lands as best he could against the ongoing raids by the Ironborn, and preparing for the winter that was slowly spreading South. (Two weeks ago the Maester at Maidenpool sent a Raven announcing the first frost in the Crownlands). Thanks to him, the Kingdom of the Rock was a relative paradise in the hell that was Westeros.

An uneasy truce between the Tyrells and the Faith Militant had kept the Crownlands at peace but north of the Gods' Eye the kingdom was in chaos. Bolton and Stannis stood at stalemate in the North. Stannis had retreated to Castle Black after Bowen Marsh killed Commander Snow, but rumor had it he was on the march again. Bolton and his Bastard still kept their hold on Winterfell, respectively, but half of the lords in the North took choose to take their entreaties instead to Stannis at the wall, and the other half locked their doors, counted their stores, refused to recognize either. The Freys had claimed every abandoned castle and holdfast in the Riverlands they could lay their hands on, until it seemed that old Walder Frey would live to see every one of his hundred progeny a lord. But the smallfolk had nearly all fled south, leaving the Freys to rule over little more than burned fields and abandoned huts, and their strength was so split that they were easy prey for the ruthless Lady Stoneheart. Rumor had it that the Freys had even started to fight among themselves, and that the Brotherhood was simply picking up the pieces. Everyday more smallfolk came to King's landing, fleeing war, fleeing winter. Queen Margery heard them all in Great Baleor's Sept. She had the silent sisters give them bread, and she told them all the same thing: "Go South. There are yet fields to till, orchards to pick, and rivers to fish. Go South, and build a new life."

Cersei had always been hard. Ser Waters remembered the look on her face as she walked through the stench and muck of high street, as naked and bald as the day she was born. He had been only an ordinary man of the City Watch then, tasked with holding back the crowd. She had kept her chin high, eyes focused ahead, two bright sparks gleaming with hatred and pride, even when she as the smallfolk hit her with rotten fish heads and handfuls of horseshit. She had cried before she entered the Red Keep, but until the last few steps her lips had not trembled.

But as her twin stayed away, Cersei's hardness faded. Dark circles grew under her eyes as her sleepless nights continued, and she grew thin and pale. The cruel smile of the regent became the determined mouth of a suffering woman. He had never seen her look down, but where she used to look at knights like they were dogs and smallfolk like they were vermin, now she looked as if she didn't see anything at all. They said when they found her she had been smiling. Ser Waters had not seen her smile in a year. Strange though. She was broken, yes, but she was not unhealthy; she had barely reached her 35th name day. The maesters said she had died in her sleep. Ser Waters would have suspected poison, but for her position. What could anyone have gained from murdering Cersei Lannister?

Ser Waters shook himself out of his reflection and descended from the wall, heading for the Old Gate. Two of his gold cloaks followed. As he crossed the square the smallfolk scurried out of his way, all save for one orphan boy, performing an elaborate pantomime, stumbling about with his eyes closed atop an overturned cart, an empty wooden cup in one hand. The boy dramatically fell right at Ser Water's feet, opening his eyes two see a swoosh of gold as the commander abruptly stopped. He made a little strangled noise, sprang to his feet and made to run away, but not before Ser Waters gave him a good whelp with the back of his hand. His friends guffawed a few steps away.

As he resumed his walk Ser Waters sighed. The boy was obviously reenacting the death of Ser Meryn, who had fallen to his death from the wall of the Red Keep not three weeks past. They had found him in the morning, his scalp a bloody mess and his white doublet stained red with wine. Lady Olenna had threatened to tear out the tongue of anyone who spread the story of the knight's embarrassing death, yet another shame on the already broken honor of the Kingsguard, but all knew it was an empty threat. There was no way too keep such a story from the smallfolk, who doubtless had already enjoyed many a laugh at the idea of tough Ser Meryn stumbling in his cups. Ser Meryn had not been well loved. Everyone at the Red Keep knew that that the knight had loved to drink, but Ser Waters would never have guessed that the man would find his end at the bottom of a goblet, as they said King Robert had. Rather, Ser Waters had always thought that Meryn used wine to justify cruelty, as an excuse to brawl and sneer and stick his hands up the serving girls' skirts.

It was because of Ser Meryn that Ser Waters now made his way towards the Old Gate. Still technically the Captain of the Kingsguard, Jaime was supposed to administer the oaths for knights initiated into the order, and a raven had been sent to Lannisport immediately after Meryn's death. Lady Olenna had nominated two young knights, Ser Harold Moorwood of House Moorwood, an Arryn's bannerman, and Jysper Reddyne of House Reddayne, an offshoot House Dayne. A messenger had arrived at the Red Keep this morning announcing that Jamie and his retainers were half a days' ride away. At last Cersei's twin had returned to her, thought Ser Waters wryly.

The troop of goldcloaks turned to take the Street of Steel instead of marching straight toward the Muddy Way; Ser Waters had an errand. He climbed the shallow stone steps quickly, ignoring the clatter of hundreds of anvils and the occasional brusque greeting, scanning the shops to his right for the sign of a sword.

"Mott!" he called.

"Who is it?" The master armorer said as he emerged, face black and sooty from the forge. "Oh it's you. Go away. I don't have your swords."

"That won't do, Master Tobho. The City Watch needed them a week ago."

"What would you have me do?" Snapped Tobho Mott. "I haven't got any steel, hell, I've hardly got any ore at all after Tyrion let that damned chain sink into Blackwater Bay, I haven't got any smiths, they've all bloody run off to Dorne, where they say that fool Martell woman is raising an Army, and I haven't got any coin, not after your damned taxes."

Ser Waters frowned, and Mott looked slightly apologetic. "Aye aye, come with me. I've got eight. The ore was so poor, the blades are barely fit to cut my meat, but they'll big enough to fit in a scabbard and sharp enough to scare a thief."

Leaving his men outside Ser waters ducked inside the shop, which was small but well kept. As he entered a boy who looked too small to be a smith's apprentice was pumping the bellows up and down to fan there fire, where a length of metal was heating. "That fire isn't nearly hot enough yet, boy," Mott growled. "You'll earn your keep in my shop." He led Ser Waters to a bench, and unfolded a bundle of brown cloth to reveal eight new swords that glinted dully in the red light. Ser Waters took one and experimentally swung it right and left.

"These will do, Master Tobho. I'll have my men pick them up with the payment we agreed on." To his surprise, the weaponsmith cracked a smile.

"Who'd a guessed," he said, "that Tobho Mott would be the one to figure out how to turn shit into gold." The old man laughed so hard at his joke that a tear leaked from his eye. He waved his hand in dismissal and Ser Waters left the shop.

About an hour after mid-day a member of the watch Ser Jaime rode into King's Landing, the golden lion on a field of red flapping at the front of a his small column. Ser Waters brought his mount up to the right of the knight, five of his men flanking the column to welcome the Captain of the Kingsguard back to the City. Jaime looked troubled, not how a man should look when he arrives in a friendly city after a long journey.

"My Lord," Waters said, hesitant. "I trust that you've heard..."

"About Cersei? I know." Jamie's frown deepened. "I haven't decided if the gods have been cruel or kind to me," he murmured. He gazed straight ahead, seeming not to notice the smallfolk watching him from their stoops as the royal retinue rode by, whispering to each other about the man called Kingslayer. The horses Suddenly Jaime broke into a smile and clapped him on the shoulder with his golden hand. The hit of hard metal on his shoulder had nearly pushed Ser Waters off of his horse, and when he recovered he was red from his ears to his collar.

"And what about you, Ser Herren Houseless? I'm surprised the Tyrells haven't embroidered all of your cloaks with roses yet. Or perhaps they've taught you all who to grow roses out of your arse?" The golden knight laughed, not cruelly.

"You know Waters," he continued. "The strangest thing happened to us on the road. We were attacked by wolves. Have you ever heard of a wolves attacking a column of mounted knights? Their leader an enormous she-wolf who looked as if she had been sent from hell by the stranger himself. I nearly pissed myself. The thought crossed my mind that Jaime Lannister, Captain of the Kingsguard, leader of armies, survivor of nine rebellions, slayer of Kings, was about to be killed by a bunch of stinking dogs. One of them gave me a nasty gash on the leg, and the great bitch dragged Ser Ilyn off his horse and nearly tore him pieces. But they only killed Dunsen in the end; a Clegane man; never liked him much anyway."

"I've heard tale of these wolves aye," Ser Waters said, his shoulder still smarting from the golden slap. "The smallfolk say that no animals are safe, that climb over fences and break into barns, killing cattle, horses, sheep. They come to the city and beg the Faith and the King to hunt them down, but neither the Septon nor the Tyrells will agree to send men."

"Perhaps they are wise," Jaime said, looking blankly ahead again. "There are worse animals than wolves in the woods. Better to spend steel on them." Ser Waters wasn't quite sure what he meant.

They were almost to the Red Keep when Ser Waters heard the shriek. "MURDERER! He killed my boy! He murdered my boy!" Ser Waters reeled his horse around to see a man gaping in surprise in the doorway of a tavern, as a dirty woman with brown hair ran toward him, her finger raised. The man turned and caught Ser Waters dead and the eye; he was pale with thick, dirty blond hair that fell to his shoulders. His eyes widened when he saw Ser Water's gold cloak, and he turned to run, but instead tripped over a a few empty sacks piled by the tavern doorway.

Ser Waters was beside him in a second in a second, holding his dagger to his throat. He yanked him up and walked him to the middle of the street, his gold cloaks blocking off the smallfolk, one of them catching his mount. "MURDERER!" The woman screamed again. "Kill him! In the name of the King!"

Jaime drew his horse up beside the man. "My my my. Murderer you are, I have no doubt," he said, dismounting. "But more importantly, a traitor. You were due back in Lannisport six months ago, and Ser Desmond and Ser Robin were due at the Wall. Instead I hear that they've fled to Lys. Decided that a bit of gold in your pocket would be better than your duty, didn't you?"

"My lord.. you mistake.." the man rasped. Ser Waters was annoyed at Ser Jamie for interfering; keeping order on the streets was his job. "Is this your man, Ser?" he said brusquely.

"Why yes, this is Raff the Sweetling. Sellsword. Traitor. Most likely murderer. Pray tell madam, how did your son meet his death?" Jamie said, rounding his horse toward the woman.

"Stabbed in a tavern," the she sniffed. "Garren weren't doing nothing wrong, I swear it. Just minding his'self, and got a knife in the back fer 'is trouble. He should hang, hang high!"

Ser Waters shoved the prisoner to the nearest member of the City Watch and drew himself up to his full height, stepping into the middle of the street. "Did you see him die, woman?"

"No but-"

"That's very well madam, but the King's justice demands a witness. You loved your son very much, I'm sure, but that's not enough to hang a man. He's under my arrest, and he will stand trial if we can find a witness."

The woman began to protest, but Jamie cut her off.

"There's no need for a trial, Ser Waters," he said. "Sweeting is my man, and I've the right to decide justice in his case. Now let's get it over with and get to the Keep. I could use a bath," Ser Jamie said.

Ser Waters started to stammer, but couldn't think of anything to say. He could feel the eyes of the smallfolk and his men boring into his back. He could feel his face growing red. He barked "Kneel" and drew his blade. Raff the Sweetling twisted and tried to escape, but the gold clock holding him hit him on head with the handle of his sword and forced him down, holding him with the help of another. Raff let out a strange, soft scream as Ser Waters brought down his sword.

**NOTES

That's chapter 1! It's terribly boring and probably confusing. Did you get that Arya's list is now decimated? Cersei, Meryn, Dunsen, Raff... Ilyn got a pass, because I kind of feel sorry to the silent bloke. Note that I wrote this before the WoW chapter came out and decided to keep it. The question is, who is Arya?