Robert

He wasn't sorry to get moving out of Winterfell. Despite the weeks it had taken them to get there, he would have much rather been in the south where it was warm and the women flowed like wine from a flagon. Here, they weren't as comely or readily available and Robert was getting bored of the ones he had brought from the South. To be back on the road meant that he was a step closer to returning to his lofty chambers and planning the tourney he had in store for Ned. In spite of himself, the Stark had agreed to come down with his daughters, of which Sansa was betrothed to Joffrey.

The spoiled brat had been astoundingly more bearable than usual. Robert was allowed no hand in his children, as was seen to by his wretched wife. However, she tolerated his sister a great deal more and Joffrey had started training with Ethelide. Robert had wanted something of the sort to happen years ago while he was still growing, to shape the muscles in his frame, to make the motions more natural. But he supposed late was better than never. Even Tommen, usually plagued by colds and other illnesses, was out in the sunshine trying to hone his skills with a bow.

They were about halfway through the journey back and the temperature had lifted enough that they could remove the heavy cloaks and enjoy the sunshine. Robert sat out on pile of cushions, a small table set in front of him with fresh fruit, cheese, and a pitcher of Dornish Red. Ned came to sit by him, espying the two girls, Sansa and Jeyne, watching as Joffrey sparred with his aunt.

"I worried about that boy for a long time," Robert told Ned, staring blankly as he traded blows with Ethelide. Each day that passed he grew faster and more competent. Of course, his sister could knock him right on his royal ass whenever she chose, but it wasn't just humility she was teaching him. In the beginning, she'd done plenty of showing Joffrey just how hard the ground was.

Eddard gave him a blank look and Robert realized what he might have been thinking. Then why would you have asked for my daughter's hand? "Cersei kept all the children tucked tightly under her wing. Never got a say in anything they've done, but now that Ethy is back..."

"He's learning quickly and I've noticed in a change in his demeanor," Eddard agreed.

He probably thinks ill of my abilities. I have my sister out there training him, rather than doing it myself. Ned trained all his sons, didn't he? Look at me, fat and wasting away. I should have taught Joffrey, Robert thought tartly. Not to mention another thing was already weighing on his shoulders. He didn't like how close the Kingslayer had gotten to her. The ride North he had been assigned to escort Ethelide, but now he stayed with her anyways. What game was the Lannister playing? Did he think that Robert was blind? Robert didn't take his sister for a fool, but Jaime was handsome and he was beginning to think that she was just as easily influenced by the man's charm as other women.

The Kingslayer has never had interest in any women. Robert could contest to that having been stuck with his stupid blonde ass for more than 10 years. Could Jaime actually have feelings for Ethelide? The idea made the king want to chortle with laughter. His sister was gorgeous, there was no doubt she could have her fair choice of what lords would bow before her for attention. Maybe Lannister was attracted by the dangerous side of her, Robert certainly enjoyed the fact that she was capable of disengaging men. Despite what had happened those odd weeks ago when she had been taken unaware by an arrow.

"I think if he keeps this up, he might make a good king one day," much better than me anyways, that shouldn't be hard, should it?

Joffrey darted forward, moving for a feign, however he pulled the weight off his left leg and Ethelide noticed. She caught his blow that reaverted and held her own, palm against the flat side of her falchion as they locked metal. "Don't be so obvious, I saw you didn't put the bulk of your weight on your forward leg," she told him, shoving him back. "But nice try. You're getting good at pulling your blows and changing the direction."

Joffrey gave a small smirk at her words, glancing over at Sansa who was watching nearby. "Again, I want to get better at it," he insisted.

Ethelide motioned with a hand for him to come.

Joffrey went hard this time, but before he could adjust his footing, Ethelide sidestepped him and grabbed him by the collar of his leather tunic. He had overextended and took full advantage of this, using his momentum to fall forward. Joffrey managed to kick his legs beneath him to stop himself from falling flat on his face, stumbling to his knees. Rather than recover and begin again, he spun around and leapt from the crouch like a feline.

Ethelide had not predicted this and her brows shot up, diverting Joffrey's blow the last moment. This had left her arm twisted and unable to take his full strength. "Spectacular," she breathed, unable to move her arm to a move favorable position. "I'll have to yield."

Joffrey relented and Ethelide turned her arm back, rubbing her elbow slightly as the prince gazed at her triumphantly.

"Now that was a good feign. My only qualm with it is that I could have done some damage tossing you to the ground," Ethelide advised, before advising a few other manners in which a feint could prove to be useful without opening his defenses too much.

"And king is more than how well he can wield a sword," Ned reminded him, alluding to Robert's own skill with a weapon.

"I know that," Robert huffed. What would Joffrey be like as a king? He would daresay that the boy, fussed over by his mother, would have made a terrible king. With everything given to him without challenge, he'd noted various times where Joffrey had little care for the lives of others and wasn't past manipulating others to get what he wanted, much like his own mother. Now that he was working toward something, striving toward a goal, Joffrey seemed to contemplate things more, rather than just expecting them to be placed directly in his hand at a moment's notice. He still wasn't ready, not anywhere close to it, but Robert didn't intend on going anywhere time soon. Under the wing of a Harpy, he would grow to be a respectable man. "Where does the time go? It feels like we just fought and won this crown. Now I've got my children in front of me, my sister has returned, and…"

He faltered, his mind slipping back to Lyanna, the one thing he could never have. Robert seized the goblet of wine and threw it back, the plum droplet dribbling down his thick beard. Even the flare of Ethelide's arrival was fading, now to be replaced with Ned's. Robert had to be engaged, needed to remain engaged or else he'd be left to his own dark thoughts. He should have kept closer to Lyanna, never let that blasted dragon prince get so near to her in the tourney. Robert should have demanded combat for his impudence and killed him there. Would have solved a lot more issues if Rhaeger had just died to begin with.

"You're fortunate," Ned told him. "I'd give anything for my sister to come back."

And his words only made Robert feel worse for wallowing. What could he even do with Ethelide but watch her surpass him? She remained comely, fit, and a fierce warrior with swords at her fingertips. She understood the blasted game of politics. He wished he could ride with her without making a horse go lame or spar and best her. But he was fat, ugly, and an oaf. Good for nothing but keeping the Iron Throne warm until he died.

"I'm sick of this," Robert boomed, throwing over the table in front of him, making Ned blink apprehensively. "I'm a fat fuck who can barely get out of bed. I can't do this anymore."

I want to live to see Joffrey have children. I want to see Myrcella get married. I want to live to see if Ethelide marries. I want… I want to not be this.

A servant hurried over to try and assess the damage. He swallowed and glanced at Robert nervously. "I can go fetch you another cask, you grace-"

"No more wine," Robert declared. "Piss off on it. You see this belly?" he touched his massive hands to his stomach, jiggling the fat beneath the doublet. "Give me anymore and I might as well explode. You'd all be the better for it."

"Robert," Eddard began in a low tone, trying to draw him away from his wrath.

"No, Ned, you listen to me. I'm done with this. I'm making it your responsibility to see that I hold to it. No more wine, no more lavish dinners. Just feed me what you'd eat and I'll have to deal with it. I'm going to die if I keep it up and I intend to see all my children marry and have babies," Robert told him vehemently. "I don't give a fuck if I complain or tell you that I'm going to have it anyways. Take it from me."

The servant had frozen in fear of the exchange, uncertain of what to do. Eddard just stared at Robert, considering the daunting task that had been laid at his feet. Finally, "Very well, but I've seen an alcoholic quit before and it's not pretty, Robert."

"I am not an alcoholic!" Robert argued.

Ned arched a brow at him, but Robert crossed his arms like a petulant child and ignored him.

"Just get this cleaned up," he told the servant before going back to his sulking. If he could cut away the alcohol and the excessive food, maybe he would have the energy to go down to the tiltyard back at the Red Keep and pick up his hammer. Perhaps he'd even fit proper in his armor again.

Ethelide

Ethelide concluded her sparring with her nephew, but he didn't seem done with her company. He followed her like a lost puppy to a nearby barrel of barley water that had been opened for the day. She was spooning a ladle in her mouth as he glanced around, watching some of the Northmen with narrowed eyes.

"How do the Northmen fight?" Joffrey asked as they passed out of earshot.

"The same as other men, why do you ask?"

"Sansa's little sister, the annoying one, said that their Northmen are worth 10 of the Southorn."

Ethelide smirked to herself, putting the spoon down and turning to him. "Wouldn't you fancy the same of the Lannister men?"

Joffrey snorted. "Not really, the Northmen certainly seem a lot more loyal. The Lannister soldiers only like the coin they're paid."

"Loyalty to gold is still loyalty," Ethelide mused, offering him the ladle.

"But not the right thing," he paused to get some water for himself.

"What is the right thing?"

"Based on who your liege is and honor. But swords are so easily bought out from underneath you."

"That is the fickleness of mankind. Power is where people believe it to be. Whether that be gold, honor, or religion. In this case, the Northmen follow the code of honor and the Lannister soldiers are moved by coin. Each would die for the one paying them."

"If anyone betrayed me like they did to the Mad King, I'd have them executed," Joffrey told her darkly.

"Well, if they did to you what they did to the Mad King, you'd be dead, wouldn't you?"

Joffrey paused. "Yes, but…"

"Sometimes mercy gains you more repore. Let us say that the Mad King succeeded and your grandfather came to King's Landing and defended him and the Targaryens still reigned. Obviously, we know that the Mad King would put every single person who defied him to the sword, so most likely the lords and their first borne sons. What do you think that would buy him?"

"Fear, hate, but control."

"And who is to say that these same families wouldn't again try to kill him? Try to avenge the families that may have just been following their own liege? Killing in that case would earn you a lot more enemies than allies. Even if you were safe for 5 years, what if those families tried at you again? On top of that you have to consider all of the common borne that suffer while this is going on. War drains resources, especially as land is pillaged. We might eat well as nobles, but the common folk are not something to ignore, because each one of them could also be a sword for your enemy."

Joffrey appeared to be thinking deeply about the words she was giving him. "So what should I do? Spare them so they can try again?"

"No, you create alliances or make deals. Perhaps one lord you would ship to the wall, another you would agree he can remain a ward and his son is free to go, another you may have to execute… but to kill all of your enemies would leave the tiny pawns beneath them still milling. If you spared them, it's less likely there would be an act of war out of pure vengeance for the life you took. But things would still not be that simple of course. There are many more pieces to look at, like scrutinizing ants as they come out of an anthill. You only see the few workers, not the entire city beneath the ground."

"Hm," Joffrey tapped his chin. "I'll didn't think about the repercussions. I think I know why father has you on his small council. Can we talk more about this later? I wonder what the Mad King could have done to salvage the kingdom if he had lived."

"Yes, of course… but don't let your father hear. You know how much he hates the mention of Targaryens," Ethelide reminded him.

"Of course, Aunt Ethy. I suppose I should go talk to Sansa," his eyes swept across the grassy field to where the auburn haired girl was standing. "She's just so…"

"Naive. I know and I see it. Give her time at court and she shall mature."

"At least she's nice to look at," Joffrey muttered, shaking his head and going off in her direction.

Watching him go off into the distance, Ethelide felt a bit better, as she did everyday that she spent with him. The child had been vindictive and spoiled, but she had somehow proven herself to him. He was entranced by her talent and ability to fight in an almost acrobatic fashion. The skill was certainly something she had been hoping to hide for a while longer as well as her unsavory past as an assassin, though she supposed being an assassin was much more interesting than a whore. At first, Joffrey considered her a thing to be collected, just as he had the Hound. But she'd nipped that in the bud quickly and brought him to his feet, a boy who learned through the sword and humility would get callouses on his hands and feet, build muscle, and understand the hardship and rewards of training. Before her very eyes, the soft prince was beginning to shape up, but he had quite a bit of his mother in him.

Not that Ethelide had anything against Cersei, but such qualities did not befit the boy who was to become king. If she had any fiber in her to devote to the realm being governed by a fair king, she had to put the work into him. It had been difficult, seeing that he pouted and complained, but he was getting better. Perhaps it was the way she spoke to him, as if he were not a child and beneath her, that Joffrey appreciated what she was doing. He would be no Eddard Stark, but that wasn't what she wanted. He needed to be clever, sharp, and be able to evaluate his choices without being influenced by others. Robert had given the crown to his council, which Ethelide would have thought was a poor choice had he not been an ill-tempered drunk.

She could do her brother this one justice, especially since she knew he did not approve of the time she spent with Jaime.

Not that their relationship had gone much of anywhere since their conversation in the Wolfswood. Too many eyes were around and even now their closeness was observed by many. The idea of openly being courted amused her, for she was not a soft maiden to be wooed by a handsome knight. She was a cold, murderous bitch who slapped on a smile and pretend nothing was wrong. Just as Jorano wore various faces and played parts to glean more information in court, she also could take many forms as to adapt to each scenario. Thus far the court has seen The Lady, The Commander, and The Loving Aunt. But were any of those truly her? Or was the truest form shivering in the shadows, waiting until the time to reveal itself? The empty husk that thought nothing of others. There was only one thing that mattered to that version of her and it was results; the endgame.

What would Jaime think if he ever saw that terrible side of her? Or the side of her that was terrified of trying to love? What if she was incapable?

You're worried about it now, doesn't that show you have more conscious than you give yourself credit for? The voice that nagged her in the back of her head took that of Varys' tone. The eunuch had been an old friend, a man that was just as slippery as she was, but she trusted him inexplicably, certainly more than any of her blood. At least if he ever betrayed her, she would know if was because she let something like her emotions get in the way. And being with Jaime might just cause that.

She took a lot of risks at this very moment and she just hoped that going with her fragile heart would be the right choice. What if Jaime spurned her? I'd probably never marry then, she thought melodramatically. No one really expected her to marry anyways. She'd be 30 in a few more years and she wasn't a maiden.

"My lady," Harlan approached giving her a once over. "You appear tense."

Ethelide snorted at his observation. "Yes, I think I need a good and bloody battle. You know, one to get the heart pumping?"

"We could go hunt those bandits down," Harlan suggested in High Valyrian. "Jaxas gleaned some information from the nearby town."

"Hm, I don't think my brother would be fond of me getting another arrow in my leg," Ethelide retorted in the same tongue.

"And you are?" Harlan arched a heavy brow at her.

"Well… I guess a few less bandits would help the realm," she rubbed her shoulder and glanced around.

"We'd have to ride separately from the party to intercept the bandits."

"How many do you think there are?"

"Maybe two dozen, perhaps they've recruited more since we were in Winterfell, but the four we got rid of didn't slow them down too much," Harlan reported.

"We're only 6 strong, though I don't doubt anyone's ability, I'd prefer no one to be grievously wounded or killed. If we could borrow a few Lannister soldiers and Ser Jaime we would have better odds."

Harlan huffed, he'd not been fond of Jaime. It was not out of jealousy, but more suspicion that he could be up to something.

"Relay the odds to me, unless we were to go under the cover of night and unnoticed… But that would require more recon," she added before he could argue.

"Then send Jorano. He will go, you know how he hates those preying on the innocent," Harlan proffered.

"Where has that…" she let out a small sigh. "Very well, if Jorano can find us an opening then we shall take it."

"Just like in Astapor?" he sounded excited at this idea.

"When shadows are longest, only to be permeated by the song of the nightingale. May the Lord of Light propel our wings forward with the darkness he has created," Etheilde whispered.

Harlan bowed deeply at her words. "It shall be done, my Lady Nightingale."

The name brought the city of Astapor before her very eyes. She closed them, feeling her heart flutter like wings as she recalled the silent screams and blood against her fingertips. So many dead that evening and not one cry in the night. To her guild, birds had much more significance than the Harpy represented. She and her blades were the wings and the womanly figure of the Harpy were her knaves, most of which were back in the streets of King's Landing. But the blades were a brotherhood, loyalty and oaths deeper than any blood bond. The ritual flashed before her eyes and she found herself lost in the ecstasy of the memory, one of the most important days of her life.

"Good afternoon, my lady," Jaime voice started her from her memories.

She cleared her throat, turning to gaze up at him. A sight for sore eyes, he was dressed in Lannister fashion, having gotten a plate more suitable for his position as their heir to Casterly Rock. The way he looked at her, he had no idea of the dark thoughts she was enjoying.

If this does come to fruition, I will show him, she decided silently. If he changed his mind about her after that, then so be it, at least it was before anything too serious happened.

Ethelide cracked a smile. "And what has been occupying you, ser? Joffrey was hoping to get a chance at you."

"He's advancing nicely, but I still don't think he's quite a match for me yet," Jaime smiled.

"And you don't think as his uncle you might go… a little easier on him?"

"Easier? I see you've made a fool of him plenty times. And I haven't gotten the title for my skill with a sword because I let young princes best me," Jaime told her lightly.

"Oh, you sound as you might be scared of the prince, ser. Or else, why wouldn't you spar with him?"

"If he hasn't been able to best you, I doubt he'll have a sliver of a chance with me. Or have you forgotten that I beat you before?" Jaime reminded her.

"You bested me with a sword. If we truly fought one another, I do think you'd might have to take back your words," Ethelide retorted.

"But let me guess, we can't ever test it because you'd accidentally kill me?"

"Well, I'd be shooting a lot of arrows at you, so there's a good chance," she said rolling her shoulders nonchalantly.

"Hm, then we'll just have to wait until the opportunity presents itself," Jaime concluded.

"We might have that chance sooner rather than later," she informed him, motioning for him to walk and talk.

Jaime's brow furrowed and then a smile unfolded on his face. "What trouble are you brewing?"

"Trouble? Me?" she gasped with mock offense. "Sometimes I think you don't even know me at all." A mischievous glint in her eyes indicated that this might have been true. "I've got more reports about the bandits, but don't worry. I'm not going to go wandering into the forest and get an arrow to the leg again. No, if the recon goes as planned, you'll get to see the Harpies at their fullest potential."

"Fullest potential?" she had piqued his interest with this. "Do mercenaries have a full potential?"

Ethelide laughed loudly, drawing a few glances from nearby people. "Sellswords, mercenaries… Harpies. Where do you draw the line in difference?"

"You know," Jaime gave her a thoughtful look. "I'm beginning to doubt you really are a company of sellswords."

Finally, Ethelide only gave him a ghost of a smile to let him know that he'd hit the nail on the head. "What? Pay us and we'll get you whatever you want, be that whispers or a head."

Jaime

Courting her was harder than he could have imagined. Maybe he was just getting old or the road wasn't the proper place to try and woo her. Either way, she typically had him nipping at her heels as she went off to tend to some business with her Harpies. Jaime might have had thrice her number in Lannister soldiers, but the more he considered, none were as competent or intelligent as those that materialized periodically. He found himself bamboozled by her allusion to the Harpies being more than just mercenaries. He should have been on edge, incredibly aware that these Harpies could be some sort of political faction rather than sellswords. He'd always thought they were too well trained. They also spoke in High Valyrian, a skill too difficult to require of basic mercenaries.

Did anyone else suspect or know that the Holy Harpies might be much more dangerous?

Night had fallen and their camp had been erected for the evening. Jaime had sent a servant to fetch Ethelide, having intended to have her for a late night game of Cyvasse. He had wanted to pick her brain and see if he could best her at the game. With years more experience at the board game, she'd beaten him half a dozen times without effort.

"Jaime," he had been buttoning a white tunic when her voice caused him to fumble. He hadn't heard her approach or the tent flap move. Yet, when he turned she was standing behind him in an inky ensemble. No, not inky, but such a rich and dark crimson that it was nearly black. Dripping around her eyes was a black paint, smeared in a band from ear to ear. She pulled down a half mask, this part of her skin clean. Her cloak fluttered behind her and her verdant eyes flicked to what he had set up. "Get your sword, we're going for a midnight stroll."

The dark boiled leather had a large harpy carved and embezzled on the front, spanning across her chest. She waited, slipping into the shadow at the corner of the tent. Her form melted into the darkness and when she closed her eyes, Jaime could not see her.

He took a cloak and buckled on his sword belt, wondering where she was going to be taking him.

Once he was prepared, Ethelide brought him out to her horse, which was saddled and ready for a ride. He was about to argue about his horse when she offered him a hand up onto her stallion. Without the additional weight of armor, the beast could handle the two of them with ease. He sat behind her, finding a dark quiver stocked with arrows against her back. Perhaps if she had only been a dress he could have enjoyed his chest against her back and the feeling of his hips up against her, but seeing she had a few weapons on her and his own sword belt was in the way, Jaime just managed to get a good grip on her.

She drove off the road and into the forest, bringing the palomino to a trot before halting him by a few other horses. He recognized the horses as belonging to the other Harpies. She dismounted and waited for him before lowering her mask.

"Follow me and keep silent. We shant need your assistance and I'd like you to watch until I give you the motion to come in, ok?" her tone was serious and Jaime wondered what she meant. However, by her garb he had a feeling that they were there for business.

In the dead of the night, Ethelide moved like the wind and Jaime felt he was a storm behind her, undergrowth crunching beneath his boots as if the whole forest might hear him. When they came to a slight hill she halted him and they crawled forward. The moonlight illuminated an old dilapidated inn down beneath them. A few men milled around outside, the lights within casting an amber glow out the windows.

Ethelide brought her hands to her lips and made a bird call, one so ornate and singsong that Jaime thought he recognized it; a nightingale? On her command, the light within the tavern went out and the men milling outside turned their heads in confusion.

"Wait here," Ethelide whispered before she slunk down, bow coming to her hands.

The moonlight didn't shed enough light to show the figures that were moving in. Jaime screwed up his eyes trying to see what was going on, but when he blinked, the men on their outside had fallen to their faces and were not moving. Once the perimeter was clear, Jaime could see Ethelide and three other Harpies surveying the perimeter. She turned around and glanced up the hill, raising a hand high so that he could see that she was waving him toward her.

Jaime scrambled down from the hill, hand on the hilt of his sword. The closer he got, he realized that the men had been killed. Their faces were down in the dirt, but their life blood pooled around them and some of the wounds were so wide that he could see the second mouth smiling at him in the glint of the moon. He glanced over at the shrouded figure he believed to be Ethelide and she held a finger up to her lips, which were hidden beneath the mask.

Flitting around him like the beat of an owl's wings in the night air, the Harpies slunk into the tavern gracefully. Jaime's boots clicked on the ground and the noise roused someone.

"Who's there?" the voice was irritable and fearful. The sound of flint triking was audible as they tried to chase the shadows away with light. A shaft of moonlight filtered in through the nearby window and Jaime could see the distant silhouette of the man with an axe. "Paytan? Rass? This isn't bloody funny!"

A dark shadow loomed behind him and he sensed it too, about to turn as the moonlight caught the glint of metal, creating a ghostly and ethereal touch to the steel. Before he could cry out, shout a warning, the blade bit through his throat in a fluid and clean movement, blood sputtering to his lips as he choked. He began sinking to his knees, weapon softly clanging to the ground as the light faded from his eyes and a figure stood in his place.

Ethelide, Jaime thought as she wiped the blood on her dagger on her cloak and returned it to a sheathe at her hip. "Pōntoma Zālaza. Iā rudhy syt se naenie laehurlion Jaes," she ordered her Harpies, each stepping out of the shadows to number six.

What did I just witness? Jaime wondered as she set her gaze on him. The Harpies were not mercenaries, they were a brotherhood of assassins. From their mannerisms to their language, these were people who had been inducted to the Harpies to become this; masters of the darkness and their trade.

"Ryptan!" the handful droned and Ethelide stepped over the dead man, striding toward Jaime with a pep in her step. He knew this feeling. The elation of bringing defeat, how it felt to best another. He'd felt it before when cutting people down, a deep satisfaction that was both cruel and rewarding.

Escorting him out and into the woods, they both remained silent until she pulled down her mask again and glanced over at him. "Do you understand now?"

Understand why she could be so cryptic at times? Why she pretended to be a warrior on a stallion instead of betraying she was an assassin? Pretending that her loyal brotherhood was just a mere group of mercenaries? "And you built this guild?"

"With the help of beneficiaries and friends in high places. I had a knack for it and I found people who also had useful skills to continue growing. However, we are paid to do jobs, just like the Faceless Men. So stating that we were mercenaries is not a complete lie, it's only a partial truth. And if everyone knew what I truly did, then I wouldn't make a very good assassin would I?"

"I think even if you told everyone what you were many would not believe you. And your skills as an assassin are undeniable, whether or not the world knows," her abilities suddenly made more sense. Her skill with a bow, her acrobatic feats. Had she been running between rooftops or sliding between thin alleyways she needed to be lithe, have the ability to outmaneuver her opponents in small spaces. He recalled her words during the first sword fight that had and he knew that she had been correct. On the field, he could best her, but when the shadows ran longest she was more terrifying than the Stranger. "Why this path?" he wondered out loud.

"I got to a point where nothing else mattered to me. I was filled with such rage and hatred that the only time I felt was when I had my blade at someone's throat, watching as liquid rubies spilled between my gloved fingers. I also got paid for it and I preferred having someone's life in my hands than being fucked. At the beginning, those were dark years, very dark," she told him grimly, an odd glazed look coming over her eyes.

"And now?"

"I have a duty to my brothers and sisters. I am their leader and there is work yet for us to do, even if that may not be active assassinations. We have other uses such as gathering intelligence, planting information, acquiring lost objects, and causing… mischief," a small smirk broke the disturbing mood that had come over her. "I fully intend on entreating your Lord father about our services."

Jaime could imagine his father liking to have a huge company of assassins in his pocket. Mercenaries had been one thing, but a huge network of highly trained assassins were another. They could be spread across the Seven Kingdoms, gathering information and poised to strike when the time was right.

"Is that all you're going to speak to my father about?" Jaime arched a brow at her.

Ethelide broke into a smile. "What else were you hoping I would mention?" she inquired innocently.

Jaime stepped forward, reaching out slowly to touch her face which was still half smeared with the black paint. She didn't shy away from him and he took it as allowance to proceed. His fingers caressed her cheek, tilting her face up so that he could gaze at her. She closed her eyes, easing into his touch. Even in this assassin ensemble he found himself attracted to her, maybe even more so. A woman who could slip into the shadows and vanish? Move quieter than a ghost? Again her deadly allure drew him in, provocative and sweet. She had chosen to share the information about her people, despite the risk it posed.

Jaime pressed his lips to hers, but not with the same vigor in Winterfell. He was gentle, lips moving against hers, which were soft and yielding. There was little hesitation as he was able to draw her nearer, drinking her in. He craved more, needed more, but she had already shared so much with him and he didn't want to test the limits of her trust. His fingers had just curled around her waist when she pulled away, despite the low groan of frustration in the back of his throat.

She kept near to his face. "I think you've had enough fun for tonight, Lannister," she purred.

"Enough? I'm a parched man who's only just gotten a taste," he muttered, leaning forward for more.

But she slipped between his fingers like sand and danced away, replacing the mask on her face. "You still have quite a bit of desert to traverse before you reach the oasis."