Jon IX

Rhaenys' Hill wasn't as high as Aegon's and it stood further from the sea. The building that topped it was no smaller than the Red Keep - indeed it seemed to be even larger, for it hadn't been built to house mere men.

That had changed now and after years of effort, Jon could see that the once blackened and ruined walls were now cleaned and whole. The great dome had been restored in terms of stonework and the craftsmen were now lifting panes of glass carefully up the massive scaffolding that had been used to restore the stones.

It was an incredible space. Thirty knights could have ridden abreast through the great doors, which gave some idea of the scale, but according to the histories, one of the dragons had even flown within and was responsible for the damage to the dome - having crashed against it. The beast could not have been as vast as the enormous Black Dread that Aegon the Conqueror had ridden, but even so...

Jon shook his head away from the reverie. While restoring the dome would make the building weatherproof, it wouldn't make it habitable. Ringing the central space were the dragon stalls and each of these was being filled by new chambers and halls. Lightwells and windows had to be cut through the stone - workers had laboured upon the great tourney ground at the bottom of the hill as well and even that immense work had taken less effort.

"The towers are almost complete, my lord," reported the master mason. "Would you like to inspect them?"

"More stairs?" sighed Jon. "Aye, it should give a vantage point for the rest of the work."

This was no longer a dragon pit, Robert had declared. It would be the new home of the Baratheon monarchy and in tribute to this had commissioned the addition of seven towers. "This will be the Crown of Westeros," he had said when Queen Alysanne likened the design (seven towers rising from a band around a dome) to his crown.

The name probably won't catch on, Jon thought. It's been the Dragonpit for centuries.

Not aware of these thoughts, the mason gestured to the east. "The Falcon Tower stands ready, my lord."

Jon smiled mirthlessly. The rebellion of the Greyjoys had at least settled any questions of how to name the towers. Wolf, Falcon, Stag, Sun, Rose, Lion and Trout were the names and the Kraken could go begging, Robert had said sharply. Or if they prefered, there were cellars that would do as dungeons...

The Prince of the Vale, the Lord of the Eyrie, probably shouldn't huff and puff so much on the stairs he thought. Then again, it's been too long since I was there. Last time I visited the Vale was... just as winter was ending. The Eyrie was still closed up and I only went as far as the Gates of the Moon.

When this war ends, he swore to himself, I'll go back there. Take Lysa, she's barely had any time there at all. She seems to like some of the ideas in that book Olenna lent me and if they result in an heir then I'll praise it to the stars, Sept be damned. I want our children born and raised in the Eyrie like true heirs to the Vale.

The tower was one of the two on the eastern side of the Drag- the Crown of Westeros with a long view out over Blackwater Bay. From here he could even see down into the arena where Fleabottom had once rotted. There were people rushing back and forth inside it. Squinting a little, Jon saw that they were playing football. It was the most popular use of the place - tourneys happened once or twice a year at most, the horse races took place regularly once a week (along with the ridiculous chariot races that the smallfolk seemed to adore) but on any other given day with decent weather, a few score apprentices and other layabouts would be found kicking and punching each other with a theoretical goal of moving the pig's bladder ball from one end of the arena to the other.

"It gets them off the streets," Jon mused out loud. And if the current Master of Coins could be believed, the rents from the small booths built into the outer edge of the arena were slowly beginning to pay for the expenses of building the place.

Turning aside from the window, Jon inspected the rooms of the tower. Sufficient for a lord (or a prince) with their family, a suitable retinue of servants and some guards. While they weren't officially reserved for him, the intent was obvious and the same would be true of the other towers: homes for the lords of the Seven Kingdoms or their senior bannermen when they visited.

John knew that the Stag tower was no larger, although unlike the other six towers it connected directly to further chambers beneath and in practise those gave greater space and security for the royal household. Below him, for example, were several long chambers - not wide enough to be counted as halls - with windows looking out to sea. Eventually they'd be filled with writing desks and storage cabinets, housing the growing number of clerks who were needed to manage the kingdom.

On the west side of the tower was a door leading out onto the dome itself. Looking out of it, Jon tried to imagine the space below, the throne on a comparatively tiny dais. What sort of crowd could fill it...

Maybe it's Robert who deserves to be called the mad king, he thought. (It wasn't the sort of thing he'd dare being overheard saying). No, what's the word Daenerys used... eccentric!

Stannis X

White sails on a grey sky, but one sail was black and the hull beneath it was crimson as red blood sinking into a blue-green sea.

A ship with flames rising up the rigging until it was almost a single flame.

Black hair, one black eye and one blue and glittering as an axe flashed. Behind it a rush of howling faces, more animals than men save that they wielded steel.

Boys screaming in agony amid blasted and broken planking.

The crash of wood on wood and a small form flinging itself over the bulwarks and into the boarding net as King's Men hurled their clay and obsidian dragon-pots past it...

Stannis Baratheon gasped and stared at the wooden beams over his head. It took him a long moment to realise that he was awake. He tried to snare his dreams, put the images into context but they slipped away...

"I was in battle," he concluded.

"Aye." An ugly face below a mop of golden hair appeared at the side of his bed. "And you're awake, which is an improvement."

"Tyrion Lannister..." Stannis slumped back, his head sinking back into the thin pillow. This was his bunk in great cabin of the Fury. "Your ship..."

"Burned merrily," the Lannister said cheerfully. "Hardly fair after all the effort I made to raise it last time. Still, my lord father would be furious if the Greyjoys had it as a trophy."

"Do you always chatter this much?"

"Largely." The boy – no, he'd fought a battle and if there was anything more prone to divide men from boys it was that – the man pulled himself further up and started to wrestle boots onto his feet. "I'll tell Ser Davos you're back with us."

"Wait. The battle... who won?"

Tyrion made a face. "I'm damned if I know. Paxter Redwyne's taking the fleet back to Fair Isle to make repairs."

"Retreating." He'd have spat if his throat wasn't so dry.

"It's the nearest harbour. And the ships need it."

Stannis made a sharp gesture with his hand. "We didn't come here to run away. Fetch Davos."

The little man bowed with sardonic aplomb, stamped his feet once more in the boots and opened the latch of the door. He paused in the doorway. "If you hadn't brought the Fury alongside I'd be dead or drowned," he said quietly. "My thanks for that, Prince Stannis."

Did I do that? While Stannis pondered that, the door closed behind the Lannister.

Stannis could feel the Fury swaying slightly. There was no creaking of the oars so they must be under sail, but it was quieter than it should be. The Fury had a crew sufficient for her oars, not like the cogs and carracks of the sailing vessels in the fleet which could operate with a few dozen – although they had double or more that in soldiers aboard them of course.

He heard heavier boots and the door opened. Davos Seaworth looked tired but satisfied. "Prince Stannis, it's good to see you're awake."

"I'll take your word for it. There was a battle, I remember that much. What happened."

"You took an axe to your head. Without your helmet, the Crow would have killed you."

"The Crow... Euron Greyjoy."

Davos nodded in confirmation. "His galley and four longships were boarding the Lion of Lannister. We rammed alongside and took the remaining Lannister men aboard, then burned her." He sighed. "It's hard to burn a ship."

"They're nothing but wood and tar. You know how easily they burn."

"Not quite what I meant, my lord." Davos moved further into the cabin. "The Crow followed up onto the Fury and it was close for a while."

"Did he escape?"

"In a manner of speaking." The former smuggler smiled. "The little lion tied a grapple to the anchor-chain and set it loose. Then he stabbed the Crow with the grapple."

Stannis stared. "What?"

"More than a ton of anchor and chain – the Crow went into the water like gold out of a sailor's hands. I'm sure he and his Drowned God must be having quite the conversation now."

"Good enough. Redwyne's in charge?"

"Aye, dusk was drawing so he signalled for all ships to gather on his flagship. Didn't want us scattering in the night and getting picked off one at a time. Then he turned south... what could we do but follow?"

Stannis took a deep breath. It wasn't what he'd have done... but if he was unable to take command... "There is something to that. How long have I been... asleep?"

"Two days." Davos moved closer.

Long enough that they must almost be at Fair Isle. "Why is the ship so quiet?"

Davos held up one finger. "We lost a good many men." Another finger. "I formed a prize crew for one of the Ironborn galleys we captured." And a third finger. "And it's the middle of the night."

"Ah." He shook his head. "Well, how many ships did we lose?"

"Out of the whole fleet? Almost three score."

Stannis gripped the sheets. "Captured?"

"A few, but your orders were mostly carried out. Crews burned their ships rather than see them taken. A fair number managed to escape by counter-boarding or - as with us and the Lion of Lannister - being rescued."

"How do you reckon their losses?"

"More than half, maybe as many as two score. We captured four galleys and seven longships. Others burned... It's hard to be sure."

"Aye." Stannis started levering himself upright. "I need to speak to Redwyne as soon as it's light."

Davos firmly put his hands on Stannis' shoulders. "Save your strength, I'll signal him to come aboard once it's light."

"I'll meet him on my feet."

The Onion Knight grimaced. "Your foot, sir."

"Yes?"

Seeing only an unhelpful gesture, Stannish grabbed the blanket again and yanked it away. What he saw made no sense to him. One of his legs ended just below the knee.

There was a rushing noise in his ears that drowned out Davos' words.

Viserys IV

"Don't call my name in battle, 'tis not wise,

"Do not distract me when you see a new soul in these eyes.

For when the Warrior dons this flesh I wear,

I am no more your friend, I am the spirit of the storm."

Viserys tried to ignore the song that Robert was singing to himself as he lay on his bed. The usurper's voice was low and somehow sad. The bed - little more than a cot - was at the back of the royal tent. Viserys had a similar one near the entrance - indicative that as a squire he was supposed to defend the man.

"Is that you, Viserys?"

With a sigh, the boy stepped forwards. "Yes sir."

Robert levered himself upright. "I've been waiting for you."

"You said I had until dinner."

"Yes." The man rubbed his face. "You're not late. It's more... hmm. Surprisingly hard to say this. I owe you an apology, Viserys."

What!? Viserys put one hand on the tent pole. "Is... that so?"

"Aye." Rising fully his feet, Robert studied his face. "You heard what I told Oberyn, that you were 'younger than I thought his tastes ran'? That was ill said."

"I... did not understand that remark, sir."

The usurper exhaled uncomfortably. "If you haven't started yourself, I'm sure you've seen some of the older boys around the keep bothering the maids."

The boy felt his cheeks heat. "I understand."

"Some men find women less interesting than other men. Others don't seem to have much preference."

What. What? What!? "WHAT?"

Robert put one hand on his shoulder. "Calm down. For the record, I'm entirely in favour of women in that regard. But Prince Oberyn draws no distinction." He made a face. "I'm not sure he draws a line at goats, come to that. But in hindsight, I think you can see how my words earlier could be taken to imply I was granting him license... to... well, I think you get the idea."

"I... Why did you say that then!?"

"It was intended as little more than an off-colour joke. In general I don't care who or what he beds. I didn't consider what was implied more seriously and for that I owe you my apologies. I'm sorry I said it. Men take the words of a king more seriously and I forgot that." He put his other hand on Viserys' other shoulder, looking him in the eye. "You're under my protection and at least until you're older that includes protecting you from that sort of thing."

Viserys smacked his hand aside. "I don't want your protection."

Robert released him. "I never said you wanted it, but right now you need it. As much from my supporters as anyone else."

"I could -" Viserys bit it off. No, you fool, he thought. Don't tell him your intentions.

There was a knowing look in the man's eyes. Then again, how hard would it be to guess at why Oberyn wanted to talk to him.

Robert nodded but said nothing directly. Instead he turned back to his travelling chest and pulled off his shirt. Then he looked back. "If you're thinking of stabbing me when my back's turned, you might want to think a few steps past it first. Even if you succeed, what then? There's no crown for you if you do that."

Shocked, Viserys looked down and saw that his hand was curled around the sheath of his dagger.

"Get me a clean tunic," Robert ordered. "And then clean yourself up. We need to put on a good show at dinner - it wouldn't do for the king to look worried about his brother's fate," he added in a disgusted voice.

Olenna V

For secure correspondence, Olenna Tyrell found she had to do much of her work in the guarded chambers of the Master of Whispers. She much preferred to get out of those chambers so she could keep her finger on the pulse of gossip around the Red Keep.

Fortunately, now that it was summer there were more days when she could have less sensitive papers brought to her in one of the arbors of the Red Keep's gardens and combine both practises while also enjoying the warmth of the sun.

"Prince Jon sent this for you, Lady Olenna," Renly Baratheon advised, sweeping a bow to her as he entered the arbor.

"Do straighten up, you look like you'll fall over."

Bella Rivers giggled at her uncle. The girl was a delight to keep around - she could be bribed with sweetmeats to carry out little chores or to spy on her foster-mother. Although she suspected Alysanne bribed her the same way to spy on Olenna - she was putting on a little weight.

With a sigh, Renly delivered the slim parcel to the table by Olenna.

"Do open it, young man. Do I seem to have a knife sufficent to the wrapping of the thing? Arryn trusts you with sharp objects, I hope?"

The young prince gave her a mild look. "Well I am awfully clumsy, Lady Tyrell." He drew his beltknife and rolled it between his fingers - a trick he took great pride in, from what Bella had told her - before cutting open one end of the packaging.

"You're a boy, we're used to that." Olenna peeled back the edge and found the wrapping was around paper: a heavy wad of the very cheap paper used by the Pentos Broadsheet and a smaller number of documents in the hand of certain correspondents in the same city. They didn't consider themselves spies so she didn't use the term.

"Hmm. So that's where Ser Arthur went," she mused. "A very handsome young man but perhaps not too bright when it comes to subterfuge."

"Ser Arthur Dayne?" asked Bella.

"Oh yes. It seems he visited his old and dear friend, Varys in Pentos."

"Ser Arthur and Master Varys were friends?"

"No, boy, they weren't. They knew each other though. Hmm. And an unnamed sellsword, possibly associated with the Golden Company. Here, my eyes aren't what they used to be, what do you make of this sketch?"

The two children examined it. "It's Lord Connington," Renly said in surprise. "I saw him at Storm's End once before the war."

"Oh dear me." She smiled thinly. "A spymaster sent into exile (although back to his homeland so that's not very harsh), an enemy of the crown and a knight who was pardoned for his support of the Targaryens. I wonder what they might have been talking about?"

"It's a con-spira-sorry," Bella said solemnly.

"Conspiracy," Renly corrected automatically. "Do you think that's true, Lady Tyrell? The Golden Company fought for the Blackfyres, and except for Viserys and Daenerys, they'd be as close to the succession as anyone."

"There hasn't been a Blackfyre heir since the War of the Ninepenny Kings," Olenna told him. "Although I suppose that just means there's been time for one to grow up. You might have a point though." She set the letter down. "Make yourself useful, girl, and put a paperweight on that."

While Bella moved a polished pebble to keep the letter from flying away in the wind, Olenna opened up the first broadsheet. "Let's see what Varys has to say for himself... Ah, here we go... An Analysis of the Impact of the Greyjoy Rebellion."

"What does he say?"

"He seems to think it'll impact on the trade in the north-west and increase the asking price for ship stores, timbers and hemp for ropes. A short term inconvenience and nothing to worry about except for the possibility of a slight rise in pirate risks over the rest of the year. Well, he always was a clever man."

Renly pulled a face. "Stannis is going to have all the fun."

"I wasn't aware that your brother knew the meaning of the word." She turned the broadsheet over. "Oh, how remarkable. It seems the paymaster of the Golden Company, one Jon Connington, is reported missing with some substantial portion of their warchest. That's the news from Lys, it seems. Oh, and Salladhor Saan is fitting out his ships for a new venture. Tsk. No prizes for guessing why Varys thinks piracy will be on the up turn."

She made a note of that to mention to Jon Arryn at the next Small Council meeting. With so much of the royal navy in the west, the eastern shore might easily be considered vulnerable to the Lysene pirate...