Cersei stood on a balcony looking out over the blackwater, watching the ships sailing into and out of the harbor. In her hand was a glass of sweet summer wine. It was her fifth in the past two hours. But she had good reason to drink. Robert had just been pronounced dead almost a week ago. Not that that was the reason for her drinking. No, it had to do with her son. Joffrey's coronation was that morning. It quite a rushed affair, but she had insisted on it being done as soon as possible. Her reasoning being that with the knowledge of a Targaryen out there, the houses that had once supported them would go flocked to join him and take advantage of the crowns vulnerability, ultimately casting them off their seat of power. Hence, the rushed coronation. Of course that wasn't the true reason. She just wanted a Lannister on the throne as soon as possible. But his first act as King had immediately been to call forth Eddard Stark for a trail for his crimes. And Cersei knew this trail would only end one way. In death.

And that was why she stood there on the balcony, her fifth glass of wine in hand, draining it just like the others.

"Your Grace," a guard said from behind her.

"Has it started then?" She asked dryly, not bothering to turn around.

"Not yet, your Grace," the guard said.

She took another long sip of her wine, draining the cup in one go. "Alright," she said, putting the chalice down. She took one last look at the harbor and the setting sun before turning around. "Best not make him wait then."

The sun was setting as they sailed through the blackwater towards King's Landing. Jon stood at the prow of the ship watching the city come ever closer. At the stern, steering it in, was Ser Davos. The man was just as good, if not better, than he had claimed to be at sailing. It was as if the salt water flowed through his veins like his own lifeblood, rejuvenating him and sending them flying towards the mainland. They had made excellent time. Whereas it had taken nearly three days to sail to Dragonstone, it took only a day and a half to sail back. Jon as quite impressed.

"Nervous?" A voice asked behind him. Jon turned around to see Ser Barristan standing there in his armour, save his white cloak. It seemed as though that had been left behind.

"Perhaps," Jon admitted. "But it doesn't matter what I'm feeling. We have to do this."

Ser Barristan smiled widely at the response, somehow finding it amusing. "Spoken like a true knight," he mused. Jon scoffed in response.

"I'm not a knight."

Ser Barristan shrugged in response and walked up to join him at the railing. One hand was resting lightly on his sword, an automatic motion for a knight of the Kingsguard. His keen eyes were searching the shore like a falcon searching for a rabbit. He was on edge.

"Are you nervous?" Jon asked.

"Yes, but not of dying," was his cryptic response. Jon narrowed his eyes in confusion, but ultimately let it go, decided not to dig into its meaning.

"Better get your things ready lads!" Ser Davos called down across the deck. "We'll be ashore soon."

And so it begins, Jon thought, stomach tightening in anticipation.

They weighed anchor in a small, tucked away alcove Ser Davos had pointed out. Jon hadn't even seen it from the water, and knew from looking at it that no one would be able to see from shore. A perfect hiding spot for a ship. How Ser Davos had even known it was there was a mystery to him. Jon was starting to understand why this man was such a good smuggler.

"Alright, I'll wait here with the ship while you all go in," Ser Davos told them as they loaded into the rafts that would take them to the hidden entrance Ser Barristan had told them about. Jon waited tensely in the boat as they made their way towards it, knuckles turning white as his grip on Frostfang tightened. The last real battle he'd been in hadn't ended well, much to his frustration. He was determined not to let that happen again.

The boat pulled up onto the shore, and all the men got out.

Now it was time for part one of the plan.

The dragon caverns truly lived up to their name. In the light of their torches, Jon saw skulls larger than a horse as they made their way into the keep. It was breathtaking. He paused before the largest one he saw, trying to take it all in.

This must be Balerion, he thought, looking onto the empty eye sockets of the long dead beast. For a moment, he forget all the politics and wars that the Targaryen dynasty had created towards the end of their reign and let himself be amazed that his ancestors had ridden these magnificent creatures. It only lasted a few seconds though, and soon he was dragged back to the present. The present where he was trying to rescue Lord Stark and ensure the realm wouldn't destroy itself in war.

"Beautiful, aren't they," someone whispered to him, having noticed his pause.

"Aye," he whispered back. "They are."

They continued through the caverns in silence, torchlight flickering across the walls and skeletons ominusly.

Then a bone snapped.

"Halt!" Barristan hissed, hand shooting for his sword. The rest of the men followed suit, hands on the hilts of their respective weapons, ready for a fight.

"No, wait!" Jon called up to him. Everyone turned to look at him with bemused and bewildered expressions. Ignoring them, Jon slowly made his way out towards the source of the noise, heading into the dark.

"Jon!" One of the men hissed. He waved them off, slowly sinking into a crouch as he scanned the darkness.

"Ghost," he called in a harsh whisper. Then holding out his hand, he called, "To me."

For a moment there was silence. He could feel all the eyes of the party boring into him, as if he were mad. But again, he ignored them, instead focusing on even the littlest detail, hoping to spot the white coat of his direwolf.

Minutes past in silence, and Jon had almost given up when something moved in the corner of his vision. He turned and gasped audibly as the site of a large white figure came stalking out of the darkness, wine red eyes sparkling in the fire light.

"Ghost!"

The creature bounded forward and suddenly Jon had a face full of fire and a tongue dragging roughly across his cheek.

"This is your beast?" One of the men asked, breaking the moment between Jon and his wolf.

"Yes, this is Ghost. He'll help us find Lord Stark. Just like I said he would." Ghost huffed in agreement. The sound of another creature making its way towards them made Jon look up. It was Nymeria, thank the Gods. Arya would have been devastated had she died.

"Can we go now?" Someone groaned. "We don't have much time."

No, we don't, Jon thought to himself.

"How do we get to the Black Cells from here?" One man asked, looking to Ser Barristan.

"Follow me," was his response. He led the group through a maze of tunnels and passageways before they found what must be the prison. Jon could see torches mounted on walls throughout the hallway, but even so, it was far too dim to see into the cells themselves without another torch. He was glad they had found Ghost and Nymeria so they wouldn't have to look into them.

Jon crouched down onto the floor, eye level with Ghost.

"Alright boy," he said quietly. "I'm going to need you to sniff out father. You think you can do that?" Ghost licked his face in response.

"If you honestly think he understood that, you must be mad," one of the men said. Jon grit his teeth but said nothing in response.

"Go on," he whispered, nudging the wolf lightly into the hallway. "I'll be right behind."

Without hesitation, Ghost took off into the hall, nose low towards the ground. Jon wasted no time getting up to follow him. Ghost led them through the cells, taking twists and turns with no hesitation. It was a long few minutes before they finally came to a stop in front of a cell door.

Jon motioned for the men behind to halt, to which they complied. Ghost scratched impatiently at door, signaling to Jon it was the right one. Jon took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves. Lord Stark was in there. They almost had him! He stepped towards the door, trying to peer through the bars.

"Watch out!"

A flash of steel was all Jon saw before he ducked. The clang of steel on steel resonated through the hallway as his attackers sword hit the bars of the cell door, missing him.

"Intruders!" His attacker cried out. "Intruders!"

The sound of heavy footfalls filled the corridor as more guards ran to the first one's aid, coming from both ahead of and behind them. They were trapped!

Without thinking, Jon kicked out at whoever his attacker was. They stumbled from his attack and fell backwards, allowing Jon to get to them and sink his sword into their neck. Blood spurted up from the wound, hitting Jon in face. He ignored it as he yanked his sword out, going in again to make sure the man died quickly.

Glancing around briefly, Jon saw everyone else was caught up in their own battle. They had no hope of leaving anytime soon.

Something knocked into his knees and Jon was knocked to the floor. Frostfang dropped from his hand and went clattering across of the ground, out of reach. He immediately turned onto his back and saw Ghost inches from his face, turned around and snarling silently at his would be killer, who must have tried to stab Jon in the back before Ghost had pushed him away.

The man shoved Ghost aside and lunged towards Jon.

Jon kicked out, landing his foot in the man's nose. Something cracked and the man reeled back, clutching his face. Jon took the opportunity to reach for Frostfang, hands closing around the hilt and dragging it back to him just in time to parry a blow.

Then Ghost was back and attacked the man's legs furiously. He cried out in pain before trying to shake him off to no avail. Jon used the distraction to swing at him, successfully taking him down as well.

He went down fast, Ghost finishing him off by ripping at his throat, white muzzle stained red.

Now it was silent.

Bodies littered the cramped hallway, laying in odd positions as their lifeblood slowly drained out of them, wetting the stones beneath. Only one of his men had fallen, and Jon knew just be looking that there was no hope for him. Just as there was no hope hope for the guards lying at his feet, the one's whose blood dripped off of Frostfang.

Jon paused, struck with sudden realization. He'd just taken his first life.

He stared down absently at the blood pooling around his feet and shining on his hands. He hadn't even thought anything of it either, and that almost scared him. But he determinedly pushed it aside, for he had other things to worry about.

"Lord Stark," Jon breathed, rushing back towards the cell door.

"No use," someone choked out just as Jon reached it. Scowling, he whirled around to find one of the guards propped up against the wall, hand pressed to his stomach in a vain attempt to staunch the bleeding.

"What do you mean?" Jon growled.

"He's bein' taken to the king," the guard laughed, blood gurgling in his throat from the effort. "You're too late."

Jon ignored him and turned back to the door, peering into the cell. The window was small, and the light was dim, but he couldn't see any sign of a person in there. The chains on the walls were empty, laying on the ground forlorn.

"Like I said," the guard said again. "You're too late."

Jon turned and growled in anger before thrusting his sword hard into the man's chest. The force of it drove the sword clean through him, the tip hitting the wall behind him. He let out a garbled choking sound before falling limp. Dead.

"We can't let him get to the king," Barristan announced.

"I know," Jon growled, yanking his sword out. Blood dripped off the end in thick droplets, the blade shining darkly in the torchlight. "Let's go."

The group nodded and rushed off down the passageway, Ghost taking the lead with Ser Barristan right behind.

Wait, Jon thought to himself. If he's being taken to Robert, surely the king wouldn't pass judgement too harshly. They're like brothers after all. Jon had to admit it confused him. But then another thought hit him. King Robert was sick when we left, He realized. Could he have… Jon didn't dare finish that thought, too sickened by it to try. For if he was no longer king, that meant his "son" had now taken up the crown.

And if it's Joffrey passing the sentence, he thought bitterly as he raced down the corridor with the other men. There's no hope for him.