TAILLEFER

"I… I didn't know it would be like this."

"It will pass, my lady," Ellice said tenderly. "Put the knife down."

"I… cannot," Jocelyn said, tears rolling down her cheeks. "If… if I do not do it now, I never will."

"Please, my lady," Ellice implored her. Gently she took the knife from Jocelyn's trembling hand. "You will have time later. Perhaps now we should stop."

"O… Okay," Jocelyn whispered. She wiped a last tear from her eye. "Perhaps… in a few minutes?"

"The stinging will not last long," Ellice informed her, smiling. "And this time, I will show you a trick to keep the tears from coming."

"A trick?" Jocelyn asked, stepping back from the small table. Ellice smiled.

"Hold a piece of bread in your teeth as you cut, like this," she said, taking a small chunk from the loaf on the table. "This will keep the onion from stinging your eyes."

"How?" Jocelyn asked, her bleary eyes full of curiosity. Taillefer laughed as he watched the pair.

"She'll make a smallfolk out of you yet, honey," the bastard said, sitting on the hearth and eating a soft, overripe pear. The small fruit was far past its prime, but the end of winter would see many such days of eating food that would be discarded during a long summer. Jocelyn turned to him, smiling through her tears.

"Perhaps you should try, my dear," she offered, taking the knife in her hand and holding it out to him. Taillefer laughed.

"But you look as though you're enjoying yourself," the bastard said with a grin. Jocelyn humored him with a smile of her own. "I would not want to intrude upon your fun."

"By all means, my love, you may intrude upon me as much as you like," the young noble said. Taillefer put up his hands again.

"I am afraid onion chopping is not for me," he explained. Ellice stifled a chuckle into her sleeve. "And none of that from you," Taillefer ordered, though he could not hide his mirth as he turned on the servant. Ellice swallowed her smile and tried to act contrite.

"Taillefer, my dear," Jocelyn said, regaining his attention. "Could you please retrieve our daughter from the fountain? We will be serving supper soon."

"That I can do," Taillefer said. His smile was wide, more wide than he had felt it for some time. He turned and headed to the door, the warmth returning to his chest for the first time since he had left his rose.

She was a noble, unaccustomed to such menial work, but since her first disastrous foray into shopping with Rhaenys, Jocelyn was determined to succeed even at such minor tasks as cooking and cleaning. In less than a week she had constantly pried information from Ellice regarding everything from washing clothes to preparing meals to caring for a small child. Ellice helped her all she could, and in such a short time the servant was practically a member of the family, a mother to replace the one Jocelyn had left far behind in Westeros. How proud she made him; she could have given up, but instead she refused to accept defeat. Perhaps there was hope, after all. Perhaps the little apartment could be their home.

Rhaenys was outside, easily noted by her little giggle and the sound of tiny splashes in the fountain. Taillefer sighed with a smile and took a step across the broken flagstones, ready to retrieve the girl that was rapidly becoming his daughter so that they could prepare for supper.

"Taillefer."

The name stopped him in his tracks. Instinctively his hand dropped to his side, but he was without his dagger or any other blade. A week of complacency had cost him his edge. Slowly he turned to the voice.

He would have recognized the man even without the gleaming red plate mail and the lion rampant embossed in gold on his chest. Taillefer refused to glance anywhere, but if Tristan Lannister had tracked him here, it was useless to think that the Brash Lion had simply chanced upon him. Another giggle came up from the fountain.

"Tristan," Taillefer said. He bowed, a faint dip that allowed him to keep his eyes on the knight. "What brings you to fair Tyrosh?"

"Don't make this difficult, Taillefer," Tristan said. "I don't want to hurt anyone."

"Don't lie, Tristan," Taillefer countered. He had a purse of silver and copper coins on him; his only weapon. "I know why you're here."

"Then step aside," Tristan said. "It doesn't have to end like this."

"That is true," Taillefer said. "You can leave. Say the girl is dead. No one will know."

"You know I can't do that," Tristan said. Taillefer caught movement from the corner of his eye. Towards the fountain. "This war has to end. Let it end with as little blood as possible."

"I'm willing to do that," Taillefer agreed. He fingered the pouch of coins. "Walk away. Tell your Lord Uncle how you killed her. But do not stoop to killing a child. You don't want to be compared to Lorch or Clegane."

A faint snap. A red tunic, a clink of chain. It was Lorch in the brush, then.

"Please, Taillefer," Tristan said. He was stalling for time now. "I can let you go. And Jocelyn. But I have to bring her back."

"No." He would not lose Rhaegar's legacy.

"Don't do this, Snow," Tristan said.

"You're the one doing this," Taillefer said. Tristan's hand fell to his sword.

Taillefer turned and leapt into the brush, pulling his pouch of coins free and hurling them into the garden.

Rhaenys turned just in time to see Amory Lorch burst into the small clearing around the fountain, his sword raised above his head. Rhaenys screamed as the manticore knight hurtled forward; at the same moment Taillefer unleashed his charm. The handful of coins flew of their own accord, tearing lines of blood across Lorch's unprotected face and arms and clattering against his chain mail. Rhaenys' screaming carried through the garden as she bolted; Lorch's strike, ill timed and thrown off by the pelting coins, clanked down on the granite stones of the fountain.

"Snow!" Lorch screamed, turning to the far smaller bastard. Amory crashed forward, tumbling through the underbrush as the bastard turned to chase down Rhaenys. The apartment door was less than a dozen yards away; it would buy him time to think of something.

Impossibly, another of Tristan's cohorts suddenly appeared in front of him.

Axell wasted no time on words or threats. He drove forward, his sword leading the way, but Taillefer's awkward twist and tumble threw him to the ground with only a gash along his shoulder. Axell spun and drove his blade down again; Taillefer barely rolled aside before the sword struck home, the shattered chips of flagstones stinging one eye.

"I told you I would find you," Axell said, lifting his sword for the final blow.

A dagger bounced off of his chest.

Taillefer and Axell both looked to the thrower. Jocelyn stood in the doorway as Rhaenys streaked past her, her arm still outstretched from her throw. Axell looked down to the ring mail that covered his chest, then smiled to the bastard.

"Maybe you'd like to watch me ravage her?" he asked. Tristan was screaming something, but whatever he said was lost in his sudden fear for the girls. Amory was slashing through the bush that had tripped him; it would be only a moment before he reached the open door and Jocelyn. "Maybe that would make up for my hand."

Axell turned to the door, but Taillefer realized the feint at the last moment. The sellsword's blade crashed back down into the stones, missing him by the merest fraction as he rolled aside and to his feet. Lorch was already charging across the garden in his haste for the door and the princess; even without Axell to handle, Taillefer would never make it in time. Even so he raced forward, Axell regaining his balance and rushing after the bastard.

Amory reached the doorway when a large, cast iron pan swung out from the frame, ringing hollowly as it connected squarely with the knight's face. Lorch stumbled and fell backwards, crashing down like a felled tree, just as Taillefer vaulted him and flung himself through the door. The pan flashed above him, missing his head by inches, even as Jocelyn's dagger whistled back through the doorway and miraculously took nothing but a chunk of fabric from his tunic.

"Close the door! Close it!" Jocelyn shrieked. Ellice threw herself against the cedar planks and slammed the door shut; she was just strong enough, or just heavy enough, to hold firm against their pursuers' first attempt to hurl it open. Rhaenys was screeching inside, while Tristan was bellowing in fury outside. "Bar it!" Jocelyn ordered him frantically, clutching the screaming child by her wrist. "Bar the door! Now!"

Taillefer scrambled to his feet and grabbed for anything to block the doorway. Ellice was fighting to hold the door shut; another resounding slam nearly tossed her to the ground, but Taillefer flung himself against the door and crushed an arm with only a stump where its hand should be. Axell cursed in pain and withdrew; the moment of respite was enough for him to slide the lock shut.

"Get it open!" Tristan roared. "Get up, Lorch! Get it open!"

"We don't have time," Taillefer said, turning to Ellice. "Get them. Get moving!"

"Where?" Ellice asked, terrified.

"Through a window!" Taillefer snapped back.

"What about you?" Jocelyn demanded. "You… you can't fight them all!"

"Go!" Taillefer ordered. He leapt away from the door as Tristan's men smashed into it. "I'll be right behind you!"

"Your dagger!" Jocelyn exclaimed. "It's upstairs!"

"Yes, thank you!" Taillefer said. Jocelyn nearly threw Rhaenys into Ellice's arms as she scrambled up the steps. Taillefer had no time to stop her, or even demand she stop; he grabbed a small glass bottle from the table and unstoppered it. The door shuddered under another crash. The bastard slid to his knees in front of the hearth, waving smoke into the bottle. Ellice dragged Rhaenys' kicking and screaming form to the window behind the kitchen. The door groaned in protest as the lock began to give. Jocelyn half ran and half fell down the steps, carrying both his dagger and his book. Taillefer corked the bottle of smoke and grabbed Jocelyn by the arm as she stumbled, pushing her forward and through the window where Ellice and Rhaenys had disappeared. Finally he flung himself through the window, landing on the street outside just as the lock gave way and Tristan's lackeys surged into the apartment.

"Like we would leave this escape unguarded, Taillefer."

"You cannot be serious," the bastard said, staggering to his feet. In front of him, Shanna Blacktyde smiled as she put her blade to Jocelyn's throat. Ellice brandished her pan defensively, Rhaenys hiding behind her skirts. It was only a matter of seconds before the others would reach him.

"Ready to surrender, Snow?" Shanna asked.

Taillefer uncorked the bottle.

"Zu'truu'l, dracar corsare." The words came almost unbidden. The smoke wreathed him, choking him as it entered his nose. Twin plumes, thin and willowy, pushed back out from his nostrils. Shanna took half a step back, uncertain what would happen next.

His hand turned to smoke.

Taillefer coughed out a last lungful of the smoke as he struck forward, raking across Shanna's face. The coils of smoke forced their way into Shanna's mouth and nose, and the Ironborn fell back, clutching at her throat and choking on the acrid plume. Ellice's eyes were wide and even Jocelyn turned to him in shock. He staggered half a step, but regained his strength as he looked back to see Axell at the window.

"Come on!" he ordered, his voice hoarse from the charm. He grabbed Rhaenys about the waist and nearly threw her over his shoulder in his hurry to flee. Jocelyn was only a step behind; Ellice pause only long enough to take one wild swing at Axell, driving him back into the apartment before she too fled.

Down one street, across a cluttered alley, and they crashed through a market stall. The irate merchant screamed curses at their backs in Valyrian and Westerosi, but Taillefer had no time to apologize. A feint one direction, a quick turn into another alley, across a street and through an apartment's garden. Up over a low wall that nearly stymied both Jocelyn and Ellice. Up through another alley, and a plunge into the thickest of the late evening market crowds.

Taillefer kept Rhaenys in his arm and Jocelyn's wrist firmly in his grasp. Ellice huffed and puffed only a half dozen paces behind them, her pan still clutched in her shaking hands. For the moment, at least, it seemed as though he had lost the Lannister and his allies.

"Taillefer?" Jocelyn asked. The bastard turned back to her. "What… what do we do? How could they have found us?"

"It's my fault," Taillefer said. He shook his head. "So stupid. I never should have settled in like that. It's my fault."

"You can blame yourself later," Jocelyn admonished him. "But you are better at this than I. Where do we go?"

Taillefer looked around. The crowds pressed in on them, shoving past them in their rush to find a merchant's stall or a home.

"We should sail," Ellice said. "Leave the city now."

"We can't," Taillefer said. "All our money is hidden beneath the cistern."

"We… have nothing?" Jocelyn concluded. Taillefer turned to her.

"I have these stars," Ellice offered, pulling the coins that Taillefrer had given her when they first met. Taillefer shook his head.

"Thank you, but they won't be enough," he said. "We need to get off the streets soon."

"A poor house?" Ellice asked. "A winesink?"

"The Inn," Jocelyn said suddenly. Taillefer turned to her. "When Varro helped us… what inn did he say?"

"The… the Inn of the Swaying Lanterns," he recalled. "It was by a fountain, a statue. Yes. A fountain.

"The Fountain of the Drunken God," Jocelyn concluded. Taillefer turned to her.

"Yes," he said. "You know it?"

Jocelyn smiled.

"I will never forget it," she said. "That's where the juggler was."

Can you get us there?" Taillefer asked. Jocelyn thought, then nodded.

"I think so," she said. Carefully she took up the lead, looking around her and trying to gain her bearings. After a little deliberation, the noble started first to the northern end of the market, but then turned east.

Her steps were hesitant at first, but Jocelyn gained confidence with every stride. Taillefer set Rhaenys down, and the little princess took his hand and followed him through the market. Ellice corralled her when Rhaenys stopped to look at something or tried to wander away, but the little girl remained remarkably well behaved after the ordeal they had suffered. As the last rays of the sun began to disappear behind the eastern edge of the city, Jocelyn passed the Fountain of the Drunken God. Just beyond, bounded on each corner by a small cedar, stood an impressive four story building of white plaster and red tiles, its protruding rafters each adorned with a large lamp of red glass and canvas, swaying with even the gentlest breeze. Jocelyn turned back to the others, a triumphant smile on her face.

"There," she said. "The Inn of the Swaying Lanterns."

Taillefer nodded, giving her a proud smile as he looked in through the open doorway. Like so many of the inns, it was open on the inside, its central plaza taken up by a stage ringed with tiny pear trees and flowering bushes, its tables set along the walls under the overhangs. The aromas of a dozen foods, from fish and mussels and mutton and even, possibly, beef, drifted out on a breeze scented with jasmine incense. A rumble in his stomach reminded him of how long it had been since he had eaten.

"I'm hungry," Rhaenys said, still holding Taillefer's hand. The bastard smiled down to the little princess.

"We'll see if we can get you something," he said. "We may as well go in."

Jocelyn nodded, though she seemed uncertain; without money, there was no way to get food for any of them. Taillefer led the way into the inn, quickly moving to a serving girl with a havy brass collar and a tattoo of a wine flagon under her left eye.

"Where is Rovigo?" he asked. The girl stared at him for a moment.

"He does not meet with guests," she explained.

"Go and get him," Taillefer told her. "Tell him that I bring word from Varro Tizrano."

The girl studied him a moment longer, but finally did as she was bid. Taillefer moved his tiny group further into the inn, out of easy sight of the door in case his pursuers should pass outside. A young girl, barely older than thirteen, took the stage and began a rendition of Her Little Flower; the bawdy lines seemed unnatural from one so young. He was spared the most intimate details of the girl's flower as a round faced, portly man with long hair dyed a brilliant crimson followed the serving girl to him.

"You are Taillefer," the apparent owner said, a broad smile across his lips. Taillefer nodded hesitantly. "Welcome, brother!" he exclaimed, throwing his arms around the bastard. Taillefer nearly reached for his dagger before he was crushed by the big man's embrace. "It has been too long! Come, to my private rooms!"

Rovigo, if that was who he was, turned and made his way back through the crowds, his robes of vibrant yellow and emerald green billowing around him as he went. With no more than a helpless shrug to his companions, Taillefer took Rhaenys by the hand and followed the brilliant plume of silk on the way to a low flight of stairs. Rovigo was at the top of the steps by the time they reached it, slipping through a door at the top. Taillefer followed him up and into the room, Jocelyn and Ellice only a step behind him.

Inside the room, Rovigo turned back to his guests with a smile, but the innkeeper was of secondary concern as he found Varro Tizrano sitting on a low couch against the far wall. His hand dropped to his dagger, but Varro held up his hands and stood.

"I am on your side, friend," he said. "And with the one handed man looking for you, you will need all the help you can get."