Bronn took another sip of the ale, a fine enough brew if a little too weak for his taste. I could use a woman, right about now, he thought, scanning the alehouse. Most, if not all, of the other patrons were Kingslanders, many of them with an ill-favored look. Everyone in the city had had an ill-favored look as of late, what with the queen's plans being completely unknown to anyone.

Ser Jamie had fled the city two months ago now, and the Iron Fleet had long since departed as well. Bronn had received no new orders, no call back to duty. What a grand old time he had been having.

The alehouse door flung open, and the room briefly went silent as everyone scanned the newcomers. The silence was quickly broken again, as all the patrons went back to their cups, the brief distraction over with. Bronn, however, recognized one of these people.

"Podrick Payne?" Bronn stood, barely believing his eyes. Sure enough, it was the boy, although he was nearly a man grown now. The last time they had met, it had been in this very city, at the great meeting between two queens and a king.

The boy had heard him, and nodded in recognition, walking over. He was flanked by several others; Bronn instantly recognized them as ironmen.

"We've been looking everywhere for you," Podrick said as he came up to Bronn's table and took a seat. A few of the islanders sat down as well, including one with sandy light brown hair and a funny-looking face.

"Seven hells, Pod," Bronn said. "How did you get into the city with all them gold cloaks swarming the walls?"

"Turns out ironmen are welcome here, now," the brown-haired one said, smiling sadly. He was only a little older than Pod. "We have my uncle to thank for that."

"This is Theon Greyjoy, by the way," Podrick whispered. "We've come from Dragonstone."

Bronn raised an eyebrow in disbelief. "Have you lost all your sense, boy?" he snapped. "Look around you. You've come right into the belly of the beast."

Podrick shifted uncomfortably. He had something to ask of Bronn.

"Go on, lad, spit it out. All your years with me and the dwarf, we never did manage to get you to speak your mind."

Theon Greyjoy leaned forward. "Podrick here tells me you're quite the fighter. We need your sort, you see, for a rescue mission. Do you know your way around the Free Cities?"

Bronn was even more shocked at this. "Been over there a couple times, yeah," he said. "What's this mission, anyway?"

Theon swallowed, his mind filled with quiet determination. "Euron's gone. He took the fleet across the narrow sea; our scouts from the island fortress know that much. He took my sister with him. She is the rightful ruler of the Iron Islands. I…we need to rescue her, and kill my uncle. Whatever it takes."

Bronn stared at him. "No," he said shortly, shaking his head. "I'm already in enough trouble as it is. Years and years, I've been getting involved in the games of the high lords…well, it seems the queen has finally relieved me of that. Now that she leaves me alone, I'm staying out."

Theon sighed in dismay, but Podrick leaned further forward. "Cersei hasn't given you any new orders? Do you know where the Iron Fleet has gone, at least?"

Bronn shrugged. "Talk is, they've gone to Braavos."

Theon shook his head. "No. The fleet turned north at one point, yes, but they came back past, heading south towards Volantis. That was last week."

"And you've waited until now to act, is that it?" Bronn asked. "Listen, I'd be glad to help, but things are bad enough as is. Half the city is grumbling about Cersei, and the other half is rioting at her doorstep. To betray her now would be…"

"…Sensible," finished Podrick. Bronn looked at him in surprise.

Podrick flushed red, but then continued. "It seems she's already relieved you of duty. Come fight for the right side, Bronn. That's what I'm doing. This is the way."

Bronn paused.

Theon spoke again, trying a different angle. "There is reward in it. My uncle is a bit of a hoarder of treasures, along with everything else. He has all sorts stored away on his ships. Gold, jewels, rare artifacts…worth a lot."

Bronn sighed. "Well, since the lad seems so eager to have me…" he nodded at Podrick. "Fine."

Podrick made a sound of relief and joy, and Theon smiled. "I assume you have a ship?" Bronn asked.

Theon nodded. "Small, swift, and unmarked, showing no Targaryen banners."

Bronn stood. "Well, we'd best get sailing then, eh?"

…

When Cersei Lannister entered the small council chamber, Qyburn was already sitting down.

"Your Grace," he said, standing and bowing before taking his seat again. Cersei sat down at the end of the table, the Mountain moving silently to the corner of the room. The queen stared at her lone councilman emptily. "They should have been back by now," she said.

Qyburn inhaled nervously, and then spoke. "It seems the Golden Company was not in Braavos, but in Volantis, after fighting in a war between the Free Cities down south. Tyrosh, as well as…"

"I don't care which of the Free Cities it was," Cersei interrupted, her voice rising. "How long?"

"A month…?" Qyburn shrugged. "It will take some time to load the army onto the ships. They have elephants as well."

"I know they have elephants," the queen snapped. "What of our southern allies?"

"Lady Tarly now rules the Reach, until she can remarry and produce a new male heir," Qyburn said. "She is most eager to join your side, since her husband and son were burned by the dragon."

"And Dorne?"

"We shall need to find a house to rule that is loyal to us. House Dayne would be a good choice, but their loyalty may fall to the Targaryens, if history is any guide."

"We will speak more on it later. And the other kingdoms?"

"Robin Arryn still rules at the Eyrie, but his knights have joined up with the Northern kingdom, under Yohn Royce. Storm's End is silent, and the Riverlands are a mess."

"The Riverlands…" Cersei's lip curled. "Any word on…" she could not bring herself to say it. The subject made her feel sick inside.

Qyburn's face twisted in knowing uncertainty. "…Ser Jaime…has been spotted at Riverrun, gathering forces to him to march north."

A wave of emotions swept through Cersei. She stood up suddenly. "It makes no matter," she said sharply. "With the realm in such a mess, the crannogmen will not know what side he is on. They will bleed him if he tries to traverse the Neck."

She began walking to the window of the chamber, looking out over the castle walls.

"Your Grace, I would not…" Qyburn began.

"Leave me," Cersei commanded. "Now."

Qyburn nodded his head in consent and departed the room. Cersei reached the window and looked out on her city, on her kingdom.

Outside the walls, thousands of people were shouting up at the Red Keep, throwing rocks and fruit and shit. The gold cloaks were holding back the crowd, killing some people with spears. Cersei swallowed, remembering how they had clapped and cheered when Euron Greyjoy had brought the hostages to Kings Landing. Briefly, she wondered what had become of Ellaria Sand down in those dungeons.

The support of the smallfolk had long been drained out since the Iron Fleet had left the harbor. Cersei had never thought she cared about that, but she found herself feeling…odd. She wanted the Fleet to come back, not just to gain her new army…but to win these people back again.

Why are they so insistent on hating the Lannister regime? Cersei thought angrily. They've done it from the very start, ever since Joffrey took the throne. No matter how we temporarily win their support, they always return to this state. It was so frustrating. No matter what she did, everyone was always betraying her, allying against her, fighting her…

She thought of Jaime, going to fight the army of the dead to the far north instead of fighting for her, and for the first time, Cersei Lannister felt alone.

…

Yara awoke with a start, feeling the swaying of the ship under her. The cage was briny and smelled so bad that she could barely breathe. Not even sleep had provided respite; her dreams had been filled with the smell too.

The crusty ironman guarding her suddenly stepped aside, and a face appeared from the darkness on the other side of the bars, holding a torch. It was not a face Yara was pleased to see.

"Uncle," she croaked, her voice dripping with hate.

"Dear niece," he responded, a ghost of a smile on his face. "It appears I have another need for you besides the pleasures of my men."

Two more of his silent sailors appeared next to him, holding something covered in a white sheet.

"Now we are bound for Volantis, you see," Euron explained. "The Golden Company is waiting for us there. And luckily, there is some business in Volantis I've been meaning to attend to for some time."

The sailors lifted the sheet off, revealing a shining spherical object. To Yara, it seemed to be made of glass, but if she looked closely, the light from the torch danced off the surface in a strange way, as if the glass was swallowing up the flames.

"I have no wish to participate in your games of sorcery, uncle," Yara spat.

Euron laughed. "This? This is no game, Yara. I sailed to the end of the world to find this treasure, and only at the Red Temple can I find the key to unlock it."

"The Red Temple…in Volantis," Yara muttered in disbelief.

Euron kept laughing. "You see, niece…I don't just need a key to unlock this treasure. I also need a sacrifice."

…

Melisandre pulled her hood off and looked up, taking in her long-lost home with her eyes for the first time in many years.

R'hllor's temple was as grand and dominant as ever, with thousands of shades of red and yellow and gold and orange melding into the walls and rippling in the daytime sun. Outside, the Fiery Hand stood vigilant. Melisandre did not fear the slave army; they would recognize her.

Inside, Melisandre made her way down the grand hall, passing the pillars and murals and statues. The room was alive with light from torches and firepits. Fire was always burning in the Red Temple; the fire could never go out.

Waiting at the end of the room for her was the High Priestess, Kinvara. She was dressed identically to Melisandre herself, down to the Asshai'i necklace that adorned both of their necks.

"Melisandre," Kinvara said.

"High Priestess," Melisandre returned the greeting.

"You've been in the Sunset Kingdoms for some time," Kinvara said, stepping slowly down the steps towards Melisandre. "Even though you completed your task long ago…to convert the king's brother to our faith."

Melisandre nodded. "If only Thoros of Myr could have done the same for the king himself…as you well know, Westeros has been mired in war for some time. I'm afraid I was delayed thanks to this."

Kinvara tilted her head to the side, smiling. "Delayed…due to your belief in finding the Lord's Chosen? In order to convert Stannis Baratheon, you had to make him believe he was the Prince that was Promised. You lied."

Melisandre swallowed nervously, and took a step back. "I didn't lie. I was wrong…"

"Then you're an even bigger fool than I took you for, Melisandre," Kinvara drawled, her former politeness gone. "In the meantime, you managed to get yourself banished by the King in the North."

"It makes no matter," Melisandre said quickly. "The Promised is in Westeros, at this very moment. And you know her as well as I."

Kinvara nodded. "Now you've begun to understand. I know you haven't been sitting around doing nothing in the Seven Kingdoms, Melisandre. You know what's coming soon."

A wind rushed throughout the hall, and all the flames burned brighter for a moment. Goosebumps covered Melisandre's skin. "The second war for the dawn," she whispered. "The second attack of the Great Other."

Kinvara's eyes were alight. "He has broken the ancient barrier of ice. He marches on the armies of the living, at the winter castle. There will be a great battle soon enough, and the fate of the world will be decided."

Melisandre returned the energy level. "My last act before returning here was bringing ice and fire together. The King in the North, Jon Snow, who the Lord of Light brought back for a reason yet unknown to me."

The High Priestess smiled again. "A bold move, and the correct one. Jon Snow does have a part to play yet, I am sure. Everything is coming together now. But…the followers of R'hllor cannot do much while we sit on the wrong side of the narrow sea."

Melisandre's eyes widened. "You mean to sail across, and join the fight."

Kinvara nodded. "And as it happens, we have a fleet of suitable size heading to Volantis at this very moment."