Piper woke up disoriented and shivering, she could see the white puff of her breath in the freezing air of the cave. The wood-fire Michael had lit the night before had almost burnt out, the remaining embers giving off a few reluctant wisps of smoke when poked at. The heavy cloak draped over her did very little to stop the cold from stealing into her bones. In the grey light of dawn, Piper could see the knight sleeping across the dead fire, his scruffy face slack and peaceful.

It irritated her. "Wake up, Mike," she snapped.

His elegantly arched brows twitched, but he did not wake. Piper let out a huff, travelling with Ser Michael with half the kingdom at their backs had been exhausting. Her nerves were frayed, every swish of a branch, every fall of a leaf made her jump; and while she had not slept properly for a sennight, Michael slept like a bear in winter, probably dreaming of wispy whores feeding him grapes.

He chose that moment to let out a soft, contented sigh.

Piper had an over-whelming urge to stab him repeatedly. So she did the wise thing and left the cave, blade strapped securely to her waist.

Outside, the sun was just starting to peak out from behind the distant hills, orange glow low on the horizon. A few birds had started their enthusiastic songs, but their cheer did not bother Piper nearly as much as Ser Michael's did.

She closed her eyes and dragged in a few slow breaths of the frigid air, trying to calm herself, trying will away the thoughts of murdering her cousin.

He is a good man, she reminded herself firmly. He is your only ally here.

When Piper opened her eyes again, she felt better.

She had dreamt of him again, his calm blue eyes staring into her soul. Golden hair a halo around his head. He had been talking to her, smiling with the warmth of a thousand hearths. His soothing voice was low in her ear. She missed the heat of his palms on her waist, the careful way in which he arranged his belongings alongside hers, the small birth-mark on his elbow and the white scar above his lip. She missed his broad, pale shoulders and the grim set of his mouth, the way he swung his sword at his squire. She missed.

Piper wondered if he remembered her the way she did him. She wondered where he was, whether he liked the people around him, whether he rejoiced in killing men in the name of peace.

She imagined him standing in front of her, looking down at her like he had on the day they wed. Imagined his shock in finding her changed, imagined being shocked by the changes in him.

An aching warmth welled up in her chest then, increasing in intensity the more she thought of her lord husband, memories and dreams forming a confusing tangle.

"I have to go back," she whispered to the wind.

Dear Ty,

I have been a married man now for a moon's turn. My lady wife, she is... She is. It is much harder being married than being alone. We are different, as different as the mountain is from the sea. But I think I like her, I know you would too.

Her brother is another matter. Nico likes to glare intensely at me in his spare time, for no apparent reason. I tried to speak to him, but my wife urged me not to. She tells me he took Lady Maria's death hard. She tells me about her home, about the river that flows by it, about her bright sunlit gardens. I tell her about our mother, about that cove we found when you were five. My wife and I, we talk.

I have not told her about you.

Someday, I will.

Someday when there will not be a war, when the sky is clear and we can see the ocean stretch on for eternity. A good day.

I just have to be sure, that it will not happen again. This emptiness, I do not want it. But I cannot be whole again, not yet. I have to be sure, you understand?

Onto better things, we are marching to Aiolia. It is quite cold here past the Misty Fork, the summer snows might fall soon. I do not belong this far north, we left the sea so many leagues behind. It is jarring and quiet without the noise of the waves and the shrieking of those silly birds.

Lord Luke Castellan has come with us. He has a scar on his face which he got from battling a wyvern, or so he says. Most men think he got it from a skirmish with his lord father. I know which story you would believe, but I still maintain that wyverns do not exist.

So, I told you about Lady Annabeth, right? That lady who thinks the gods put her on this earth as a blessing to all mankind. Lord Castellan has a lot of stories about her too. Their hunting trips are 'legendary'.

He keeps joking about me producing a legion of children soon. And that is the thing Ty, children. I cannot have children while I am still half a child. I know that I look extremely lordly and in command of my affairs, but I am really not.

I might blow up like a cache of wildfire soon, if someone does not tell me how to do this, how to be a husband, to a very kind and witty lady, and a father.

What would you do in my place?

The tent flapped threateningly in the strong wind as Percy looked up from his letter, schooling his features into a neutral expression. A guard had entered his tent, and was now clearing his throat pointedly.

"The lord Hedge is without. He is quite adamant to meet you, my lord," he said cautiously.

Percy nodded. "Send him in."

As the guard went out, Percy shook out the letter and glanced at it for one last time. Then he quickly set fire to it with the flame meant for melting sealing wax. By the time Lord Hedge had come in, all that remained of it was a pile of ashes.

The boat roiled again under Hazel's feet, almost toppling her. The sea was getting more choppy by the minute, the dark clouds gathered in the sky trying but failing to rain water upon them. She was trying her best not to be sick. If she did throw up, the horrible stench would linger in her cabin for days on end.

There was a sharp rap on her door and Gwen came in without waiting for a reply. "Drink this," she commanded, offering a small red vial to Hazel.

Hazel looked at it, without making a move to take it. "What is that?"

"Liquorice steeped in vinegar, with honey, sage and cloves," recited Gwen. "It will stop the sea-sickness."

"How..." began Hazel, before thinking better of it. She took the vial from the other woman's hand and downed it in one go. It was sickly sweet and left a pungent after-taste. "I did not expect it to taste like that," she said, grimacing.

Gwen smiled brightly at her. "It tastes better than vomit."

Hazel handed the vial back to her and chose not to reply. Gwen continued without acknowledging the slight. "We are getting quite close to Pentos, you know. There are no slaves there."

The tattoo of a single serpent coiled around a staff on her cheek proclaimed Gwen as a healer among the freedmen.

"There are no slaves in Westeros either," said Hazel, her eyes flicking over the brand. "You should come with me."

Gwen's smile returned, but this time it was tired. "The Westerosi are fighting another war, Hazel. I.. I cannot escape a slavery, just to be caught up in a foreign war. You know this."

"I know you have decided that in Braavos lies all your dreams," Hazel snapped back.

"Yes, I have," Gwen said, her voice heavy with certainty.

Hazel shook her head. "A healer is needed where there are the wounded. Would you not be most useful in a war?"

"And which side would I heal for? Your brother's? Will he take us up at your word?" asked Gwen testily.

The doubt which had been churning in Hazel's gut since she left Volantis flared at her words. She did not know her half brother and sister. All she knew was that the only family she had left was in Darkriver Fort. If they did not have a home for her, Hazel did not know what she would do. Maybe go to Braavos, like Gwen.

"Well?" asked the freedwoman, doubt coloring her tone.

Hazel tried to rein in her own mess of emotions. "I am sure Lady Trivia will find a use for us if he does not."

Gwen threw her a long and searching look. "Don't talk like that, my lady. You're much too sweet to scare me."

The words blurred in front of his eyes as Jason tried to focus on them. The letter said something about swords, or maybe ships. They did have ships, he remembered that. Exhaustion weighed heavy on his eyelids. He blinked in another attempt to focus, but it was futile. Another blink and he was dead to the world.

Jason did not know how long he had been sleeping when he woke abruptly to a sharp poke. Nico stood over him, looking exasperated.

"Why are you sleeping in the solar in broad daylight?" he asked, eyebrows crinkling into a scowl.

Jason yawned up at him. "Why does anyone do anything?"

The corner of Nico's mouth gave a little spasm but he pinned Jason with a serious look. "Bianca sent me a raven. She says they almost reached the Misty Fork, the Aire scouts have spotted them and..."

Under the bright sunlight coming through the open windows, Nico's pale skin glowed as he talked. In his dark blue doublet and jet black hair, he looked like a stranger come from across the Narrow Seas. Maybe a sellsword, with his dark blade and his large calloused hands. Jason could even see the slight bulge of muscles on his exposed forearms, and the dark brown of his eyes.

Nico cleared his throat, exasperated expression dropping back onto his face. "The day is made duller by your inattention," he tartly observed.

Jason blinked blearily and snapped his gaze away from the shiny silver ring on Nico's finger. "I apologize, my lord," he placated. "What were you saying?"

"Never mind that now. It's a beautiful day. Come, we shall take a walk," said Nico, already making for the doors. When reached them, he paused and looked expectantly at Jason.

Jason shook off the last vestiges of his cat-nap as he followed the other lord into the busy corridor.

A hush had fallen over the occupants of the keep since Lord Bryce had come, and it still prevailed. The hand-maidens' chatter was now subdued. The squires polished their lords' armour with a mulish expression with no easy humour behind it. The tiny messengers who scurried everywhere were quiet as mice. The guards stood tall and cautious, stoically surveying their surroundings.

Sometimes Jason could hear it, the silence, loud in his ears, drowning out all sound. It was a malicious thing, bent on wiping the world clean of sentiments.

The god's wood was almost empty when they stepped into it. There was someone chanting rhythmically, Jason could not see him but hear only a low hum of prayer among the ancient trees.

Nico sat down on a small wooden bench and turned his face up at the azure sky with a sigh. Jason sat by his side, and ran his along the bottom of the bench, trying to find where Reyna had carved her initials a long time ago.

"At home, we never stayed indoors on such days," began Nico, almost conspiratorially. "Bianca and I would go fishing with Charon - he was a sworn knight to our father, born to a fisherman. He rowed our little boat out into the current and let us fish with small worms on our rods. Bi sometimes caught lampreys but I never in my life caught one."

A comfortable silence followed his words in which Jason was filled with an inexplicable warmth. This silence felt like something new and heady.

"Not even a small one?" Jason asked after a while, teasing.

When Nico shot him with a look of utter betrayal, he dissolved into a fit of breathless laughter.

Leo had just opened the thick vellum scroll, when there was a plaintive meow from the bottom of the sun-drenched steps. He peered over the sheet to find a house cat watching him with muddy green eyes. It had pure white fur and ears too big for its head. As Leo watched, it meowed again, almost inaudibly.

"I don't have any food for you," he said, staring straight at the cat.

It let out another pathetic meow, staring right back.

"No, do not look at me like that. I didn't know you were going to be here," Leo pleaded.

The cat took a step towards him and sniffed the tip of his boot cautiously, nose twitching.

He rolled up the scroll again, there was going to be no reading when there was a strange, big-eared cat hovering around. Then he reached out a hand, letting the cat sniff it, before stroking its silky white head. It purred, sounding less pathetic, now that it had his attention.

"What shall we name you then?" Leo asked, cooing and picking it up to place it on his lap. It looked up at him and blinked, looking surprised. He stroked a careful hand across its spine and the cat purred from deep within its throat, stretching luxuriously. Then it curled up in a tight ball and proceeded to fall asleep.

"Sneaky," Leo decided out loud, watching the cat snore lightly on his lap.

Later when he went down to the Great Hall for his meal, Sneaky - the cat was definitely a she – trailed after Leo. If he tried to pick her up, she nipped at his fingers, so he left her alone.

Annabeth stared curiously at the cat as Leo sat down beside her. "Where did you get a cat?"

"Annabeth meet Sneaky, the cat who loves napping in my lap. Sneaky, this is Lady Annabeth Chase," Leo introduced extravagantly.

"Sneaky?" asked Annabeth, snickering.

Leo shrugged. The cat climbed into Leo's lap, making her laugh harder. Lord di Angelo aimed a glance at them from across the hall, but went back to his conversation with Lady Hylla quickly.

"She's quite the cat," Annabeth said after she had sobered up. "Her ears are almost exactly like yours."

Leo snorted. "Is that your way of calling me catty, my lady?"

"I would never," she replied, grinning.

Frank was high above the ground, a cold breeze surrounded him, which was a far cry from the oppressive air of his shared cell. The wind ruffled his feathers and glided under his wings.

A bronze eagle with a pristine coat let out a trilling shriek and flew by him, its wings hardly flapping. A flock of crows followed it, croaking viciously. A murder, someone whispered.

Frank flew forward, away from them, as fast as he could. Away from the lambent golden keep, away from the north, away from the growing pool of blood. The cold winds receded behind him, as did the boiling anger which drove him.

When he swooped low to the ground next, Frank was many leagues away, in the territory of the phoenix where another eagle roosted. Laughter echoed in corners of the land, keeping the prickly ghosts at bay. The dark hellhound surrounded by shadows growled at him, so Frank spiralled up again, leaving him to his guard.

He followed a river south. In it the little fish swam merrily, scattering like dandelion fluff if approached by a larger one. Alongside them slithered green-eyed serpents, away from the slumbering monster, maybe on errands for him or just out of fear.

There were bears in the woods beside the flowing stream, growling at the passing creatures and searching for prey, and scavengers who hungered for the dead. The men were afraid of such beasts, but Frank knew to dread men only.

The sea came up quite suddenly. Sea-gulls squawked at him furiously and wind rolled off the ocean in droves, ringing hollowly in the empty keep and fluttering banners, blue, grey, gold, green and red. The air smelt like lightning, a cluster of dark clouds already on the horizon, but weak rays of sunshine still lingered.

The lord who lived there was gone, he would be gone for a long time to come. He was teetering, at the edge of something Frank could not see, far away in an icy land.

Frank veered east then, towards the other lands. He encountered the lost dove on his way, but he did not stop. "I have to go back," she said from behind him.

The faraway cry of the southern wolf came to him, a frantic call. But Frank knew of the orc who clutched at his realm. Nothing could be done for them now.

The sea on the other shore was warmer, bordering on hot. The rotten smell of death reeked from parts of it and others churned with squalls of swirling rain. The lone hound trapped on the sea, he could see her fighting with herself. She had a choice to make, the morphing, shifting entity beside her made sure of that.

But the whisperings got fainter the farther he went. He was fleeing, he realised. From his kingdom, his home, his duty, from himself.

Frank woke up then, and he knew someone was coming.

The sun was low on the horizon, when Annabeth knocked on the door of what had become the prince's solar.

"You may enter," came his voice from within.

Inside the room, a fire had been lit and the window shut tight. Jason sat at his desk, scratching out a letter with alacrity.

"My lady," he greeted as she entered, sounding less subdued than he had in weeks.

Annabeth hated to destroy this newfound cheer, but it was necessary. The matter had been preying on her mind for a moon's turn now. The news of the lost battle and the captured or dead lords had only sought to strengthen her resolve to broach it.

"My lord," Annabeth greeted back, settling into a chair and exhaling with inevitability.

Jason looked up from his letter. "Is there something you wish to discuss?"

She wanted to snap at him, obviously she wished to discuss something. But instead she inclined her head, as calmly as she could.

Jason put down his quill and set the letter aside. "What is it, my lady?" he asked, voice purposefully light.

"Do you know how house Delphin ended?" Jason opened his mouth, but Annabeth continued without stopping for a reply. "Lady Terra attacked Lord Triton's keep with all of the twelve armies that backed her. His only son and heir, Agenor was out at sea, with no ravens and no connection to land. The lady being who she was, waited for him and his defeated lord father waited, hoping that she would forgive him for Triton's own misdeeds. But when Agenor returned, Lady Terra cut off his head in front of his father and hung it from the ramparts for all to see. Lord Triton was forced to look at his son's severed head, until only the skull remained, upon which his head took its place."

Jason had remained quiet through all of her tale, his eyes became icier by the second until Annabeth thought they could freeze Lys. "Thank you for enlightening me, my lady. But was there a point to this spontaneous history lesson?" he asked after she had finished.

Annabeth smiled grimly. "The point is, my lord, the greatest asset in a war is an heir. The king went to great lengths to get one. You must too."

"Correct me if I am wrong, but did they both not die in your story?" Jason countered.

This Annabeth had expected. "They did, but Lord Triton had hope. Without it, he would never have had the courage to save almost a thousand of his soldiers from certain death."

Jason sighed. He remained stock still for some long minutes, staring at Annabeth without saying a word. Then, he sighed again. "I don't want to talk about this," he said.

"Why not, my lord? We are losing. If you die, who will lead us?" asked Annabeth, disappointment already stirring in her gut.

"There will always be a leader among men, my lady," Jason's low voice answered. "Speak your mind. You are concerned about the throne."

She sighed, fiddling with a loose thread on her sleeve. "I am."

"Then I cannot help," said the prince with finality.

The darkness fell suddenly, like a cloak draped over the sky. A crisp, cold breeze ran through the open halls of the castle and over the balcony where Nico stood. The balcony smelled of some unknown flower and a whispered conversation among two maids drifted up to him.

"...in his bed-chamber," said one.

The other voice gasped.

"She just lay there naked as her name-da..." the rest of the sentence was carried off by the wind.

Nico grimaced. But loose-lipped servants were the least of his concerns. His thoughts drifted, an anchorless ship.

Lady Hylla had said that she was going to save her sister, by any means. She was trying to convince him, to persuade him into conceding to her wishes. But Nico had assured her that he agreed whole-heartedly. Lady Hylla had seemed surprised, but recovered quickly and went back to discussing army provisions. Casks of salted mutton and cod, sacks of flour and wheels of dry cheese.

Hylla's sister led him into thinking about his own sister, who was off with her lord husband, alone in a foreign land. Nico did not know whether he liked Lord Jackson. He was a powerful ally and a good swordsman, some might even call him great. But his sea-green eyes seemed to be hiding things, murky secrets altogether untouched by the light of day.

A large fire had started among the tents of their army. The red god was being worshipped in the Skylands with a fervour Nico usually connected to whoring.

Lord cast your light upon us as the night is dark and full of terrors. That was their prayer. Hundreds of faces turned to a fire, with burning, scorching faith – with the Red Priest at their helm.

Jason had told him of the man, his fell prophecies and fanatical followers. Nico's sword, Lord Octavian had said, was to kill the king. Nico di Angelo was to kill King Zeus.

The night the prince had come into his tent to tell Nico, had been the night after which a curious familiarity had developed between them. He did not know if Jason noticed it or cared enough to, but it was there – a living thing breathing down Nico's neck.

It should have been difficult, this alliance. Nico usually hated the ideal, perfection had always been a jape to him. But it was laughably easy, it was the easiest thing Nico had done since the beginning of the war.

The clearing of someone's throat jarred him. He looked around to find the man on his mind standing at his door, as if pulled by Nico's thoughts. Nico walked swiftly into his room, closing the large windows behind him.

"I," Jason said and stopped.

Nico looked questioningly at him, taking in the paler than usual skin and weary, hopeless eyes. "What's wrong?"

Jason shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. "What is wrong he asks. Everything, Nico. There is not a thing that is right."

"Oh?" he asked.

Jason gave him a frustrated look. "Lady Chase presumes too much."

"Annabeth does what she thinks best. There is no use in complaining," snapped Nico, aggravating himself. "Did you want me to reprimand her? Is that what you expect of me?"

Jason looked at him then, with his paradoxical blue eyes, and stared as if he had never seen Nico before. "No," he replied, haltingly. "I expect..."

"What?" challenged Nico.

"I expect you."

Frank's soft breathing seemed impossibly loud in Reyna's ear. He was sleeping, she knew. Staying in a cell with a man revealed many details that she had no previous wish to know.

Reyna herself could not sleep steadily for a long period, it was that way since her childhood. She always slept in fitful, moody bursts in no discernible pattern, anywhere and everywhere. This trait had come in handy during the last war, but in this one, it made her feel like a wraith, a flesh and blood ghost in a sleeping world.

Her sister had disapproved of it, but there was little Hylla approved of. Riding leathers at mealtimes, Reyna's single braid, the spears she broke while practicing, her love for mangy dogs and on and on. But she was the best sister one could hope for, that much Reyna knew.

She reached for the water pouch, fingers scrambling on rough stone. Her mind wanted to conjure up spectres to keep her company, but Reyna was not eager to share her dark cell with one more person.

"I don't want to die here." She was talking to herself again.

"I know."

"Where is Lady Piper, do you think?"

"Hopefully with Jason."

"And where is Jason?"

"Hopefully not in a similar cell."

"Hopefully?"

"What else is there but hope?"

"Hatred, death, vengeance, duty, courage, the stink of shit and sweat and the crushing weight of failure to name a few."

"When will this war end?"

"Before or after your life ends."

"Before or after?"

"Time is a fickle thing. It fucks us all, but how? No one knows."

"How will you die?"

"You mean, how do I want to?"

"With a sword in my hand, not in a bloody Grace dungeon."

"Why could you not be a normal lady?"

"Nobody is normal."

"You really cannot say that."

"I am sure of it. All the smiling ladies and the noble knights, they are only pretending. I am being myself."

"Are you?"

She stopped to contemplate her own question, but was interrupted by a the clink of the ring turning in the keyhole. Dread filled Reyna, but she sat quiet, barely breathing. The door opened and clanged shut, softly. Then a lantern was lit, slowly, clumsily in the dark.

A lady appeared in the pool of yellow light, just as Frank sat up with a gasp.

"We have to go," she said sharply. "Now."