TRISTAN

Amory Lorch led the way, winding down the uneven, cracked Flea Bottom street with a torch.

Tristan could feel the eyes upon him as he traveled. Even at the late hour, the pot shops and winesinks of Flea Bottom were still busy, and the curious watched the two knights as they rode past. Few of those looks were friendly; the people here held no love for the Lannisters or their bannermen since the sacking, but few would dare to attack a pair of well armed, noble knights mounted on their powerful chargers.

Axell's black mare, a gift from the stables of the Mad King, was tethered just outside a dingy pot shop located at the end of a twisting alley. The buildings of the alley, dingy brick affairs of three stories, leaned in over the cobbles, their top floor windows close enough to kiss across the alley. Amory's torch was not the only light here, thankfully; light spilled out through the grimy, clouded glass of the small windows of the pot shop. Amory dropped his torch into a puddle of sludge on the ground, extinguishing it with an angry hiss. The stench of warmed nightsoil nearly made Tristan gag.

"This is the place?" he asked doubtfully. Lorch nodded.

"Your sellsword is here," he said, gesturing to the horse already outside. Tristan nodded, steeling himself to enter the establishment.

Sullen eyes lifted from the battered tables as Tristan and Amory entered the pot shop's common room. A dozen or more of the dirtiest, most suspect inhabitants of Fleabottom watched the pair of knights warily, before finally turning back to the greasy bowls of brown set before them. The owner, a spindly man with rags for clothes and no shoes, hurried around the planks that made up his serving area, bowing obsequiously with each step.

"If I'd a known, m'lord, I'd a called for your men sooner," he said, following as the two knights moved to the stairs. "Your man… he didn't explain nothing, but I know you're a noble, and I don't want no trouble…"

"Enough," Tristan said, turning to the scarecrow. "Go about your business, and see that we're not disturbed."

"Absolutely, m'lord," the owner said, bowing again. He shuffled backwards to his pot, but his eyes never left the knight or his belt pouch. Tristan followed as Amory led the way up the stairs, the manticore knight's leg slowing him considerably.

At the third floor, Amory turned to a room that leaned out over the alley below, with one of the kissing windows. The other knight pushed the door open and stepped aside. Tristan entered the room warily, wrinkling his nose slightly at the pungent stink. If he had not known any better, he would have sworn he was going into a rookery.

The room inside was dingy and in disarray. A scuffle had obviously taken place; one table was broken and a pair of small cages were smashed and overturned to his left, sitting atop the stains of the birds that had once been held within them. To his right, Axell leaned back in the last intact chair of three, his heavy boot pinning a man's head to the ground. The victim wore the gray robes of a maester.

"Let him up," Tristan directed. Axell shrugged, but did as he was told. As he removed his boot, the prisoner stood slowly. Tristan allowed himself a weary smile. "Cedric," he said. "I had wondered where you'd gotten off to."

"Tristan?" Cedric asked, recognizing the knight. Tristan nodded. "What are you doing here?"

"Looking for a girl," Tristan said. Cedric paled for a moment, but then gained a hint of mischief to his eyes.

"I think you're looking in the wrong place," the maester said. "The Street of Silk would offer far better choices."

Tristan turned his back. Axell's boot connected with the maester, throwing him backward. He turned back again to see Cedric crawling back to his knees, one hand holding his chest.

"Don't make this difficult, Cedric," Tristan said. "Please."

Cedric shook his head.

"You fought so proudly for the Usurper," he said. "The Grand Maester should have known where Lannister allegiances fell."

"Tell me where Rhaenys is," Tristan said. "Please, for the love of the Seven, tell me where she's gone."

"And let you murder her the way you murdered Aegon and Elia?" Cedric asked. "No, Tristan. Even if I knew, I wouldn't tell you."

Axell kicked the maester again, doubling him over again as he connected just above the rope that cinched his robes. Cedric barely fell to the floor before the sellsword grabbed him by the front of his robes, lifting the maester off the ground as he drew his stump back to strike.

"Axell!" Tristan demanded. There was too much anxiety in his voice. The sellsword turned back to him. "Put the maester down."

Axell put Cedric back on his feet. The maester coughed once, but refused to show any further discomfort.

"We can kill him here, if he won't give us what we want to know," Lorch suggested from behind him.

"He'll tell us what we want to know," Tristan decided. He looked back to the other knight. "Ser Amory, Axell, would you mind getting a drink for a moment?"

"What?" Axell asked, surprised. Amory arched a quizzical eyebrow.

"Maester Cedric and I are going to have a chat," Tristan explained, looking to his captive. "Aren't we, Cedric?"

Cedric leveled a skeptical smirk on Tristan, but said nothing. Axell shook his head, but did as he was told. Amory Lorch delayed a moment longer, watching his superior suspiciously.

"You can wait outside, Ser Amory," Tristan prompted.

"As you wish," Lorch conceded. As he disappeared through the door, Tristan nudged it shut with his boot and turned to Cedric.

"I don't want to hurt you," Tristan began.

"Then don't," Cedric said. "But don't expect to find anything out about the little princess from me. Even if they had told me where they were going, I wouldn't help you hunt her down and kill her."

"Instead, we'll let the war rage on," Tristan said. "After all, her life is more important than the men that will never be there to raise their children. Or the mothers, raped and murdered. Or the children themselves, left to starve in the fields."

"You can end this war easily," Cedric pointed out. "Rhaegar, Aerys, and Aegon are all dead. What more do you need?"

"Viserys, Rhaella, and Rhaenys," Tristan answered, looking to the window. He could see into the room across the street, the young woman tending to her own baby and the injuries that marred her face. "Three more. And then this is all done," he continued quietly.

"You don't seem thrilled with that prospect," Cedric said. Tristan turned back to him, feeling the color rush to his face.

"I want this done more than anyone," he countered, controlling his anger. He shook his head, letting a bitter laugh escape him. "You know, once I thrilled to war. I wanted it so badly. That was how you won glory. The Kingswood, the Blacktyde reavers in the Reach, marching with Robert Baratheon… I loved it. At first, anyway. But I've seen more than enough blood shed. I've been away from my wife and my son for long enough. And when I'm done with battle, you know everyone else has had their fill of blood as well."

Maester Cedric watched him for a moment, his face unreadable.

"Why, Ser Tristan," he said at last. "You almost sound honest."

He hadn't realized he had moved until the back of his gauntlet connected with Cedric's face. The maester spun and fell from the brutal backhand, stumbling back to his feet as Tristan tried to control the trembling through his body.

"Do not mock me again," he warned. Cedric found his footing, wiping a line of blood from his cheek where the metal gauntlet had bitten into him. The two faced off for what felt like forever, neither flinching.

"I don't have any of the information you want," Cedric told him, breaking the long silence. Tristan nodded.

"I believe you," he said. He honestly had no idea why; Cedric had chosen his side. By rights he should at least suspect the maester of lying. He looked to the empty baskets. "What were the ravens for?"

"Just in case I wanted to tell someone what was happening," Cedric replied evenly.

"Tell who?" Tristan asked.

"People that might be interested," Cedric answered.

"That could be construed as treason," Tristan advised him. Cedric shrugged.

"I guess that depends what side of the war you're on," the maester observed.

"You are a maester of the Red Keep, and I am sent by the Red Keep," Tristan stated. Cedric shook his head.

"I am the maester of Dragonstone, not the Red Keep," he corrected. "I am Rhaegar's maester. I came here to watch over Princess Elia and her children while Rhaegar fought at the Trident. I have been tutored by the Grand Maester and helped him with his ravens, that is true, but I am not of the Red Keep."

"Rhaegar is dead," Tristan said. Cedric nodded.

"So I've heard," he said. "But Rhaenys is still alive, and Dragonstone has not yet fallen. Until that point, I do what I do out of duty. Isn't that what you're doing, Ser Tristan Lannister?"

Tristan scowled at the maester.

"Where did you send the ravens?" he asked again.

"You assume I had the chance to send any before your friend barged in here," Cedric said. He looked to the window. "Too late to send any now, I suppose."

"You've been here too long to not have sent any," Tristan said. "Where did they go?"

"Ravens are fickle," Cedric said. "They could have flown back to the rookery in the Red Keep, for all I know."

"Stop playing games with me," Tristan said. "Who did you send the ravens to? What did you tell them?"

Cedric smiled innocently, gazing to the window.

"I'm taking you back to the Red Keep," Tristan growled.

"So I can be beaten and tortured for information I don't have?" the maester assumed. "Thank you, but I think I'll take my chances with your one handed friend."

"Don't be an idiot," Tristan said. "He'll kill you!"

"You say that like you don't want it to happen," Cedric said. "Would it not be easier that way? Your hands clean, and me still taken care of?"

"That's not what I want," Tristan tried.

"You want Rhaenys dead," Cedric pointed out. "You wanted Rhaegar dead, long before this war even began. Why not me, as well? Rhaegar's friend and maester. It would be quite a trophy for your uncle."

"Enough, Cedric!" Tristan ordered. "You're coming with me!"

"No," Cedric said. His hand suddenly flashed out of his robes, hurling a white powder into Tristan's face.

Tristan threw his hand up a heartbeat too late. The white powder burned his nostrils and stung his eyes, sending his vision to blurs of gray. Bellowing in rage, the knight drew his sword and lurched forward, swinging blindly. Books and bedclothes tumbled around him as he suddenly crashed to the floor. His sword connected with something, he thought he heard a scream of pain, but the world was lost in the burning stench of the powder, swirls of gray, and twining sheets. Something thumped him on the head as he tried to stand; he swung again, his blade slamming into a wall or something just as solid.

"Seven Hells!" the knight roared. "Lorch! Axell!"

"He's gone!" Amory Lorch exclaimed, already in the room. There was more crashing as someone shouldered past him.

"I'll get him," Axell declared. Tristan was shoved aside again, nearly collapsing into the ruined bed a second time.

"What happened?" Amory demanded, steadying his superior.

"He blinded me!" Tristan shouted. "Seven Hells, I'm blind!"

"And he's cut," Amory added. "Your sword is bloody."

"Find him!" Tristan ordered. Amory turned him and led him back through the room.

"Axell is after him," the manticore knight said. He chuckled as Tristan tried to find his way through the pot shop. "Are we done trusting old friends, Ser Tristan?"

"Get me back to the Red Keep," Tristan growled. He hated to rely on Amory for anything, but in this he had no choice.

The stinging in his eyes had not relented by the time he heard Amory Lorch calling for the maester at the gates of the Red Keep. Two men helped him down from his horse and eased him onto a bench, Tristan still rubbing at his eyes as he tried to regain his sight.

"Don't do that," a woman's voice said from somewhere nearby. He knew that voice, he was sure of it. "It will only make the damage that much worse."

"Hold your tongue, woman," one of the Red Keep's guards snapped.

"I am sorry, Ser Tristan," another man said. "This woman says you sent for her."

"I did," Tristan said. "Shanna Blacktyde, of the Iron Isles."

"Of Blacktyde," Shanna corrected him. "You never were good at the details, Tristan Lannister."

"Good enough," Tristan countered. He reached to rub at his eyes again, but heeded the Ironborn's warning. "It took you long enough to reach King's Landing."

"Considering where I was when I received your summons, I think I made it quite quickly," Shanna protested. "Especially with how surprised I was to receive a summons from you, of all people. What is it you want of me, Lannister?"

"I helped you regain your ship," Tristan said. He could hear Shanna sigh.

"Yes, and my brothers will forever rue the day we caught up to them," the woman agreed. "I am once again captain of the Grim Lady."

"I need a ship," Tristan said. "And a good captain to carry me across the Narrow Sea."

"There could be profit in that," Shanna said.

"A thousand golden dragons," Tristan informed her. There was a moment of silence.

"Where are we going?" Shanna finally asked.

"To find Snow and a little princess," Tristan answered.