Ser Geralt Inverne was now a member of the Kingsguard. It was never his choice. While all the other knights looked radiant and proud in their white-enameled armor, Inverne looked like it had been burdened onto him like packs on a mule.

He was a prisoner. This was his punishment.

Everyone knew it.

Only death could release him.

He stood in his gleaming armor, watching over Lady Sansa Stark. Joffrey had gone off to practice swordplay and wanted his princess watched over. Sansa sat out in the gardens, staring blankly at the flowers.

Poor child.

He could see tears welling in her eyes. The death of Lord Eddard had come as such a shock to both her and Inverne alike. It had been a couple months, but she was still mourning, just as he was on the inside.

Inverne strode to her side. He placed a gauntleted hand on her shoulder. "Cheer up, Lady Sansa. It wounds me grievously to see you so dour."

The girl looked up at him. A single tear fell down her cheek.

"I thank you for your kindness, Ser. You have suffered just as much as I."

He stepped away from her. Momentarily, he forgot to breathe.

"I'm sorry, Ser Knight. I did not mean to—."

He took a deep breath and turned to her. "It makes no difference. I think of her day and night, ceaselessly. You remind me of her. For all I know, you two may be in the same situation."

"What do you mean?"

Before he could retort, footsteps were heard behind him. Geralt turned to see two figures— one tall, one small—appear into the garden.

"Ah, infamous Mercenary Mourner," Tyrion Lannister chimed. "My sister told me that you had been made a man of the Kingsguard, but never did I think it to be true until now."

Geralt looked at the Imp then turned to his companion. He appeared to be a sellsword. I don't like the looks of him. "I did not know you had arrived in King's Landing. It is an honor to see you again, Master Tyrion."

"How is it she enticed you into the Guard? Was it her mouth, her tits, or her cunt?"

Sansa snapped her head towards the conversation, her eyes wide. Geralt's face flushed as he herded Tyrion behind a bush to continue the conversation. Tyrion's guard stood close to the girl.

"What the bloody hell are you getting at?!" Geralt snapped.

"So it's true."

The knight hung his head bashfully. "There's no point arguing with you. Why have you come to me?"

"Initially, Cersei sent me to fetch you. Your presence is needed. She mentioned something about news of a lost child. I figured it would make for the perfect opportunity to bugger my sister's former beau," Tyrion grinned.

"I never touched, Cersei," he growled. He was tempted to kick the dwarf in the face, but resisted and regained his composure. "Who has news of my Ays?"

"Well, I don't know. That's what you're supposed to find out."

His footsteps echoed in the Great Hall. Cersei was sitting on a small chair situated next to the Iron Throne. Three men stood before her.

"Ah, Ser Inverne. I was hoping you would arrive quicker than that," Cersei said.

The knight did not answer until he was beside the three men. They appeared to be knights. "You have news of Alys?"

"Troubling news," one of the men said. He was a big and bulky man, with cropped blond hair. He wore a brown tunic with a black flower on his breast.

Geralt held his breath. The man furthest left came forward. He was a fat man in a yellow tunic with a red dragon's head. He placed a muddy bundle on the floor before the steps to the throne. He unwrapped it to reveal a blue silken dress. It was torn to shreds.

Oh no…

The man got up and turned to go back to his place. Geralt let out his air when he saw his horribly disfigured face. Three long black scars marred his nose, forehead, and cheek. The entire left side of his face was a dark purple, with tiny black lines snaking through it like vines. Geralt realized that these were his veins.

"My most sincere apologies, Ser Inverne. I truly am sorry," Cersei croaked, a tear rolling down her cheek.

He didn't know what to do or say. He didn't.

He just stood there, staring at the dress.

"Gentlemen, I thank you for bringing in evidence of poor Alys's demise. And I believe it is long overdue since you men have been rewarded for your efforts over the years. To you all, estates," Cersei purred. "What is the name of your manor, Ser Inverne?"

The Mercenary Mourner looked up. He hadn't seen his home in so long, he had nearly forgotten about it. "The Dream Orchard."

Cersei continued immediately. "Ser Spence, you shall be given an estate due south of Sarsfield. Ser Faxon will be given an estate east of Kayce. And Ser Wulfrun, you shall be granted Ser Inverne's former home of the Dream Orchard, just south of Harrenhal."

Inverne could not believe what he was hearing. He clenched his fist and tried to keep his composure.

Cersei turned to him. "You won't need it anymore, Ser Inverne of the Kingsguard." She smirked. Inverne's face turned as red as a beet. "You may go now."

Everything around him went black. Not from loss of consciousness, but from pure pain; his whole world had been shattered. He walked for what felt like hours in this haze. Eventually, he came to and found himself stumbling in some hallway. When his vision became clear, he drew his blade and threw it on the floor. It skidded across the floor. A horrible shriek tore its way through his throat as he crumpled over, his fists beating the floor savagely. His mouth let curses loose in between the screams. He did not care if the entire of King's Landing heard him; he did not care anymore. Tears formed a small puddle below him.

Suddenly, he heard a large thump. To the right of his hand was a fat wineskin. "Drink up," a voice beckoned. "You deserve it. No hard feelings."

Inverne looked up. The knight wearing a dark green tunic he had seen in the Great Hall stood before him. His face was smug and Inverne had a strong desire to smack the look off of it.

"It seems the Queen has rewarded you greatly," he said, forcing himself to be civil. "The Dream Orchard is fine farmland."

"Greatly, indeed. Always thought I'd get my own land by finding glory, not a dress," Wulfrun chuckled. "If only we could have met on better terms. I imagine she was a beautiful girl."

Inverne grabbed the skin and sat with his back against the wall. He took a long swig and nodded his head. Wulfrun gave his foot a soft kick.

"Better days lay ahead, mate." With that, he skulked off.