The Wistful Lordling

Dickon woke to sound of a fist banging upon his chamber door. He remembered barely anything of the dream he'd just left: only a dock, blood trickling through snow and a gold kraken swimming south across the bay. Rising from his bed, he stumbled toward the door, still partly asleep, eyes half closed. The room was dark & cold: in the night the brazier exhausted the wood feeding its fire. Opening the chamber door let in both light & heat from the corridor. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Dickon weakly said, "Good morning, Father. What is it?"

Randyll Tarly's face was hard as stone, bearing a frown that surprised even Dickon with how much discontent it radiated. "I hate to start your day with this news, Dickon, but Ser Ilyn Payne has been found dead in his bed," Dickon's father told him.

Dickon felt an unease settle over him, but he pushed through it, putting on a stern face to ask, "What do you want me to do Father?"

"Go down to the maids' quarters. Find that girl Sara."

"Of course, Father. I'll head down as soon as I've dressed."

Lord Randyll gave his son a nod before moving off down the corridor. Dickon closed the door. First he opened the window shutters before going to the wardrobe to dress. Having initially left Horn Hill to go to battle, he'd not packed that many fresh tunics. Had he known he would be staying in King's Landing for as long as this, Dickon would of packed more of his own clothes. Thankfully the castle store rooms were filled with many plain trousers, shirts and smallclothes. The selection of tunics were plainly coloured as well, featuring no house arms: Dickon found a few green ones and asked the seamtresses employed in the castle to embroider red huntsman on to them. They did the job well enough, but they would never compare to tunics made for him by Mother and Talla.

The tears that pricked his eyes as he thought of them made Dickon realise how much he was missing home. Seeing different parts of the country was both refreshing and exciting, but they could never compare to the familiarity of home. The bed he just rose from wasn't his bed: that title belonged to the bed sitting in a bedchamber on the south side of Horn Hill with walls painted dark green & autumn red. Dickon wondered how Mother and Talla were faring on their own. No doubt they're missing me and Father. What I would to be riding up to the gates of Horn Hill right this moment. But Father needed Dickon's help here in King's Landing. It was his duty to remain in Westeros' capitial city, being son of the commander in charge of the city's defenses.

Still that did not mean he had the like the city – thankfully. It was a quiet, dismal place, and winter had made it that way; as well as those who'd been in charge of it. Dickon's opinion of Queen Cersei was a very negative one: the woman was self-obsessed and negligent of her duties as Queen, leaving the governance of her city and home to those below her. Father had become the unofficial Castellan of the Red Keep and Caretaker of King's Landing, fulfilling all the roles required of the titles in the time since he arrived.

Once, Lord Randyll had been summoned to the Queen's chamber to find her drunk, demanding that he have his men beat the washerwomen of the castle for shrinking her gowns. He did not want to commit to anything before first investigating the issue, so he spoke with the washerwomen and they claimed that they used the same techniques they usually did, even going so far as to demonstrate them. Said demonstraion proved that whatever gowns they washed for the Queen could not have been shrunk by the process. Lord Randyll did not have the women beaten – which infuriated the Queen when he told her – coming to the conclusion that the Queen must have put on weight because of her frequent consumption of wine.

Dickon's opinion of Euron Greyjoy was an even lower one. The Commander of the Iron Fleet was a spiteful, crude and vain man, with a crew of mutes that somehow were able to operate efficiently. On the morning of their second day in the city, Lord Randyll and Dickon visited the docks to inspect the progress of Greyjoy's endeavour to build a thousand ships using wood that would have been put to better use feeding fires. The woods around the city had retreated nearly three hundred meters.

The docks themselves were overly crowded, filled with work men and sailors from both the city and the Iron Islands. The two Tarly men found Greyjoy aboard his personal flagship, Silence. Both Dickon and his father frowned upon seeing the figure-head: a naked, mouthless maiden with pearl eyes. Euron watched them climbing the gangplank from behind the rail of the ship.

"Welcome aboard my humble vessle, my lords of Tarly," he said, mockingly, once they stepped onto the deck. The King of the Iron Islands was dressed in all black, save the gold kraken on his tunic. On his feet were black steel boots; Dickon recognised the ripples of valyrian steel. His belt held a one-handed axe with a single head and a long knife. He wore no cloak, though it was certainly cold enough to warrant one. Snow covered the entire ship, but underneath it the wooden planks of the deck were painted dark red. Dickon's left hand moved upwards to the hilt of his sword, instinctually more than anything. "How might I be of service to the Commander of King's Landing's defenses?"

"First of all, you can take us to a space where we might speak in private," Lord Randyll answered.

"Both you and your duckling?"

Both Dickon and his father scowled. "I will not suffer insults to myself or my son," Lord Randyll said, his tone reflective of his mood. "You will treat the two of us with the respect we are owed. Give anymore offence and you will find yourself confined to the Red Keep. Do I make myself clear?"

"Crystal, my lord. Please, allow me to take you to my cabin, where we might speak more privately."

Greyjoy led the way and the two Tarlys followed. Dickon's grip of his sword hilt only tightened. Stepping inside, they found the cabin mostly bare. The only furniture was a featherbed, small table, a chair and a desk. The cabin was lit by a brazier in the centre of the room and the great glass windows at the back, giving Euron a clear view of the space behind the ship. On the desk were sea charts, scrolls, a ink pot, a quill and a plant pot, from which sprouted a branch cut from its tree: the bark bone white and the leaves blood red.

A weirwood branch, Dickon realised quickly.

Euron sat himself on the only chair the room. "What do you want to talk about, Lord Tarly?" he asked.

"I want to know how quickly you'd be able to set sail for battle when Daenerys Targaryen's fleet arrives at the city," Lord Randyll answered.

"I will have my ships already in position when they arrive. My niece and nephew may not be near as skilled as I am when it comes to battle on the seas, but they're still Greyjoys, making them better than any other imbecile with a cog or a galleon. I won't leave them to gain the upper hand by not setting sail until they're nearly upon me. Does that answer your question, my lord?"

"Yes. How many of your thousand ships are ready?"

"One hundred and fifty are completely equipped, another one hundred fifty are sea worthy and another hundred are being built."

Lord Randyll frowned. "How do you mean to crew them all? It doesn't take a learned man to see that your crews make up half the men building and preparing these new ships. Once all of them are built, those men will be crewing their original ships, leaving your new ships with no one to sail them."

Euron grinned, his pure white teeth shining like perfect ice caught in the sunlight. "My dear niece and nephew are helping me build me fleet."

Dickon's eyebrows furrowed. "Do you mean to take command of all their ships once you've defeated them?"

"Smart lad," Euron said, the statement very much an insult. "The only people I need kill are my niece and nephew. Once they're dealt with, all the men and ships under there command are mine by right of conquest."

"You mean to kill your kin," Dickon muttered, horrified.

Euron broke into uncontrollable laughter. "This son should've been a maester, Tarly. You've got him set up for the wrong future." Another fit of laughter took Greyjoy before he finally settled down to ask, "How old are you, boy?"

"Six and ten."

"And the only fight you've been in was that one at Highgarden. That should've given you enough experience for you to realise that people die in war. People die in battles. As much as I like a good fight, the enemy I'll be fighting has good ships and good men to operate those ships. It will be a much better outcome of the battle if I can take command of them instead of sending them to the seven hells. The best way to do that is to defeat the leaders, which is also the best way to win any battle."

Dickon found himself trying not to tear up. Ser Tanton's death was still raw in his heart. He hadn't know the Fossoway knight very long, but he was a good man: one Dickon was honoured to have fought beside.

"I understand that," Dickon said slowly. "But you surely don't mean to kill your own kin."

"If it comes to that, I will. One should never hesitate to prevent the possibility of an enemy returning to fight another day, even if you are blood relatives."

At that point, Lord Randyll had heard enough. He and Dickon left Euron to his own business. The two Tarly's spent the rest of the day inspecting the city walls.

Leaving his bedroom, Dickon had no doubt who his father suspected of having killed Ser Ilyn. The maid Sara had been strange: she looked like any other commoner girl, but spoke like a lord's daughter, despite claiming that she only did it to fit in. Even stranger was the guardsman Clout; he was only two years older than Dickon, but had the maturity of someone much younger, refusing to answer certain questions and stepping out of line throughout the entire time Lord Randyll spoke to him. Dickon surmised that Clout had been raised in a small village that only ever dealt with a landed knight as lowborn as the people he ruled over.

Dickon found the Red Keep in chaos as he left the apartments he and Father had been given to live in. As he walked through the pale corridors, he picked out men he knew, asking them to join him on the way to the maids' apartments. Reaching them, the supervisor Barbara had lined up all of her charges in the dining room, having moved the tables aside. "Everyone is here, my lord," she told Dickon. "All except Sara."

Dickon smirked slightly. Father will be pleased with himself. "Do you know where she is?" he asked.

Barbara shook her head. "She went to bed last night and had disappeared when I woke the girls this morning."

Dickon scanned the line of maids. All of them were comely enough for common girls, with varying heights, hair colours and complexions. "Who was friends with Sara?" Dickon asked.

"Bella, the doe-eyed one in the centre." Barbara pointed.

Dickon took a step toward the maid Barbara pointed to. Bella's head reached half-way up Dickon's torso. She lowered her head and backed up as he walked closer. "No," Dickon said softly. "There's nothing to be afriad of. I just want to ask you about Sara."

"I don't know nothing about her, m'lord, honest. All I really did was try to make her welcome. She was in a place with so many new faces and she asked to be friends with me."

"What would the two of you talk about together?"

"Work, people around the castle." Bella blushed. "I told her once how handsome I found yourself, m'lord."

Dickon could not help but chuckle some. "Well, I am very flattered. Are you sure you are the only person she befriended?"

"Yes, m'lord. Only me."

"Then I'm afriad I have to ask you to come with me to see my Father, Lord Randyll." Bella looked terrified. "Now, there's nothing to be afriad of; you are not at any fault Bella. My father might look the intimidating man, but he is quiet capable of softness when he needs it." That made Bella's expression ease some. She stepped forward. Dickon offered his hand. "Will you please come with me?"

Bella looked at the hand, observing it for a moment, before placing her own upon it. Dickon curled his fingers, taking hold of the small hand. He led her away from the line of maids. To Barbara he said, "The girls can go about their business, just try not to get in the way of soldiers. I've no idea what's to happen regarding their patrols, but no doubt they wouldn't kindly to cleaning girls getting in their way."

"Yes, my lord. It will be done."

Dickon let go of Bella's hand once they were outside of the maids' apartments. The two of them walked side-by-side with the four men Dickon had picked out following close behind. More than once the timid girl looked backwards at their tail, as if she were afraid of being hurt by them. Dickon said nothing though. No words I can give her will change a timid personality.

Lord Randyll was in his solar, speaking to Ser Addam Marband and other men in Lannister armour. Seeing Ser Addam brought back flashes of Highgarden: the journey there, the battle, the parley during which Vortimer Crane claimed Lady Mina was making for the castle. Word had been sent from Highgarden that she never arrived. Either she was never going to or heard word the castle was captured and retreated back to the Arbour.

As Dickon and his group entered the solar, the group of men stopped talking and stared. "Father, this is Bella, a maid who was friends with the Sara girl you spoke to yesterday," he explained.

"And why would I want to speak to her? It is Sara who I want to talk to," Lord Randyll replied.

"My lord, Sara has disappeared," Dickon said, plainly. "She went to bed last night and was no where to be found this morning."

Lord Randyll's eyebrows shot up. "Very well. Bring her here." Dickon gestured for Bella to walk toward the table Lord Randyll was sat at. She went, slowly, and sat herself down when Lord Randyll pulled out a chair for her. Dickon took his place behind his father after telling his men to wait without.

Bella had been right about one thing: she did have little to say about Sara. From what answers Lord Randyll could produce from the timid brunette, it was clear she had done the large majority of the talking in the friendship between her & Sara. By the end of it, they knew as much of Sara as they had before questioning Bella. After the maid had been sent on her way, Lord Randyll excused himself from the meeting with the Lannister men, taking Dickon with him to see Queen Cersei.

On the way, Dickon asked his lord father if he had spoken to Clout as well. "Clout is no where to be found," Lord Randyll answered. "I've had our men search the castle high and low for him. He seems to have disappeared along with the girl Sara."

"Perhaps they were working together." Dickon offered. "It was him who got her into the castle in the first place."

"Perhaps. Perhaps..."

The Queen's apartments were under a tight guard at the entrance, but within them the only men posted were the Queensguard in their white enameled armour. Ser Gregor was the only man posted directly outside Cersei's solar door. Both Tarlys walked inside to find Lord Qyburn nursing a cup of wine at the dinning table. No one else was in the room. Dickon frowned, confused.

"Where is Her Grace?" Lord Randyll asked Lord Qyburn.

"Still abed, I'm afraid. I wanted to be the first to inform of Ser Ilyn's death but haven't had the heart to wake her."

"Why not?" Dickon asked as politely as he could.

Qyburn sighed. "Her Grace has taken to wine as a babe takes to its mother's teats." He let out a nervous chuckle. "She has been beginning her days with atrocious headaches, asking me to provide a cure to them. I have been unable to provide one she is happy with. I've recommended milk of the poppy, but she will not drink it."

"I'm afraid I must wake Queen Cersei," Lord Randyll told Qyburn. "I must ask something of her."

"Very well. I best accompany you. She does not take kindly to being woken by anyone, save myself."

The three men made their way up a set of stairs to where Queen Cersei's bedchamber was located. Qyburn entered first, gingerly, calling the Queen's name to try and make her stir in bed. Yeilding no results, Qyburn went to her bed and shook her by the shoulder. Slowly, Cersei awoke, sitting up while groaning at the same time. The bedclothes she'd wrapped herself in were thicker than any Dickon had ever seen. Her short, blonde hair was a complete mess. She look dazed, confused and not entirely there.

"Sorry to disturb your sleep, Your Grace, but Lord Randyll has need to talk to you," Qyburn said softly.

Cersei looked at Lord Randyll, eyes half closed. She had to subdue a yawn before asking, "What about, my lord?"

"Ser Ilyn Payne is dead, Your Grace," Lord Randyll said, blunt and quite. "He was murdered." Cersei's slowly widened.

"Who?" she asked through gritted teeth.

"I have reason to believe it was the serving maid I told you about yesterday evening. Sara, the red haired common girl who was allowed entry into the castle despite strict orders forbidding it."

"And why do you suspect her?"

"What do you remember of Arya Stark, My Queen? What she looked like, how she acted."

Cersei slowly pulled herself out of bed, Qyburn helping her her as she rose, her red nightshift she wore creased and dirty. Perhaps she stopped letting her clothes get washed after the incident with the dresses. Only when the Queen was sat at her vainity, supporting her against it with her elbow, did she answer:

"She was a beastly little girl, acted more like a wild animal that a lord's daughter. That stupid fool Eddard Stark should have had her whipped for acting so unladylike. She took after her father with looks, brown hair."

"Could she have been mistaken for a common girl?"

"Yes. I could see her being mistaken for some common girl."

"I believe that the maid Sara was Arya Stark, having dyed her hair red to avoid being recognised."

"Why?"

"Having slaughtered the Freys, it would make sense the girl would wish to kill all those who wronged her family. She would have more than enough time to escape the Riverlands before Ser Jaime's army got there and the Freys have never been very competent, if we are to be brutally honest, so it isn't unreasonable to believe she would have made into the city."

"But why wouldn't she go home? She'd be completely safe once she reached Moat Cailin. If the men there had any wits between them, they would take the girl to Winterfell to her brother and sister for them to judge whether or not it is her."

"She would could here to get revenge for her father. Isn't Ser Ilyn the man who beheaded Lord Eddard?"

"Yes."

"So there we have it."

"Do you think she will try to kill anyone else? Maybe even me?"

"Yes. She may be hiding somewhere in the castle, but then again she could now be hiding in the city. Is there any way into the castle other than the main entrance?"

"There are several postern gates in the castle walls and a tunnel leading out to the beach at the bottom of the castle from the chamber where the dragon skulls are kept."

"Any others?"

Cersei thought for a moment, then shook her head. "That's all."

"Very well, I recommend we double the guard on each of those entrances as well as the guards here in your apartments."

Cersei let out a weak laugh. "The only protection I need is Ser Gregor. I very much doubt a scrawny girl will be able to defeat someone so strong."

"I do not believe it wise to trust solely in Ser Gregor, Your Grace," Qyburn said. "Having spoke with the men guarding the corridor Ser Ilyn's chambers are on, none of them reported seeing a young girl last night. It is entirely possible she is making use of the secret tunnels Maegor had placed inside the castle walls."

"Then have your little birds search for her."

"Your Grace, my little birds can't possibly be expected to spend every waking moment cooped inside the castle walls. They need food and warmth and care if they are to remain happy doing their work. Too many of them have left for the city, not wanting to be in the castle during winter. Please, double the guard you have here in your apartments."

Cersei stared at her Hand with a temper dulled by fatigue. "Fine. Ser Gregor will be posted outside my bedchamber while another of my Queen's Guard is posted in my solar. The rest of them can stand outside the solar door."

Seeing that it was the only compromise they were going to reach, both Lord Randyll and Qyburn relented. Dickon only found himself more confident in his opinion of Cersei.

The rest of the day spent was spent looking over maps of the Red Keep and King's Landing. Qyburn helped Lord Randyll, Dickon and Ser Addam Marband in deciding where exactly men should be posted and how many would be placed at each position. It was a nearly impossible task. Qyburn revealed the entrances of tunnels that he was aware of, but they were so great in number that it would be unrealistic to place a single guard on all of them, let alone a group of guards; it meant having to leave some of them unguarded, prioritising tunnel entrances on the lowest floors of the castles as well as those closest to the Queen's apartments.

An uneventful week and a half went by before a raven from Ser Jaime arrived, late in the night. A bird had been sent to The Twins with the news and likely this was the reply. Even at Horn Hill, Dickon's father insisted on opening scrolls himself; not trusting Qyburn much only strengthened his resolve on the matter. With strong fingers, Lord Randyll broke the gold wax seal, both Dickon and Ser Addam present, but no one else. He read aloud for both to hear, the writing illuminated by candle light:

"'I ride south from Moat Cailin,'" Lord Randyll began.

"Moat Cailin?" Ser Addam cut in. "What would he be doing up there?"

"Perhaps if I can finish reading the scroll, you'll know."

"Of course. My apologies, my lord. Continue."

Lord Randyll nodded, looked back down at the scroll in his hands and cleared his throat. "'I ride south from Moat Cailin, following talks with Jon Stark, the King in the North. He is an ally. The men on Dragonstone are allies. I will return to the city as quickly as I can. If by some stroke of luck you find Arya Stark, she is to be kept alive and out of my sister's hands. She is a princess, treat her like one. We will talk more when I arrive, but should Daenerys Targaryen arrive before I do, make peace with her instead of battle. She will be needed in the war to come. Euron Greyjoy's horn should not be given back to him under any circumstances. He is an enemy. Until I return, Ser Jaime Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock.'"

For a few moments there was silence in the room.

"How did Ser Jaime manage gaining the North as an ally?" Dickon said, baffled.

"It doesn't matter," Ser Addam stated. "They're allies now. We should tell Queen Cersei."

Lord Randyll nodded. "Yes. That at the very least. Dickon, if you would, please go and tell the Queen that the North is now our ally."

"Is that wise, Father?" Dickon asked. "What if she takes the news badly?"

"How can she take it badly? All she will know is that the North is now our ally. We cannot give her any of the finer details because Ser Jaime neglected to mention them."

"Very well," Dickon accepted. "I'll first collect Lord Qyburn."

"Yes, that is probably for the best."

Dickon found the Queen's Hand in his laboratory, dissecting some animal that Dickon did not care to identify. He couldn't recall ever being alone with Lord Qyburn before; that being the case now finally allowed Dickon to take in the man for what he was: small – smaller than Dickon was at least – with soft, calm features. It was difficult to imagine Qyburn capable of anger or harshness. He was much like a grandfather with how he spoke and acted. As Dickon entered the laboratory, Qyburn looked up from his work to see who'd entered before saying, "Ah, hello Dickon. A bit late isn't it? What can I do for you?"

"A message from Ser Jaime, my lord," Dickon replied, coming to a stop at the bottom of the stairs leading from the door. "The one you delivered to my father. He thought it best the Queen knew about it and I've come to ask you to accompany me in seeing her."

Qyburn stood and walked toward Dickon. "What news did the scroll bring?"

"The North is now our ally."

Qyburn frowned, but nodded. "Very well. Let us go tell the Queen."

The two of them made their way through the read, walking at a modest pace. Dickon found out quickly that he walked much faster than Qyburn, so he slowed his pace to let the older man keep up. The entrance to the royal apartments was manned by both Lannister and Tarly men, all heavily armed and armourer. Within the royal apartments, five of the seven Queensguard manned the corridors and the door to the main solar. Inside the main solar was a single Queensguard. He gave the two of them a nod as they passed through to the stairs that led to the bedchamber. At the top of them was Ser Gregor, standing as still as a statue with his hand on his sword hilt. He's still as intimidating as the first time I saw him.

Walking inside the chamber, the found Queen Cersei slumped in a wooden chair, an empty wine cup in her hand. Upon seeing her, Qyburn broke into a quick walk, crouching in front of her before checking the pulse of her wrist. He put the wine cup on the table. "Dickon, come here quickly," Qybrun ordered. "Help me get her down to the couch in the solar."

Dickon wasted no time: he went over to the chair and took Cersei into his arms, holding her how he would hold his bride once he married. The Queen's eyes were closed. As they walked past him, Qyburn told Ser Gregor to say put. Entering the solar, the guard posted inside it immedidately asked what was wrong with the Queen.

"She's drunk too much wine," Qyburn stated confidently as Dickon placed her on the couch, it's silk cushions soft as sin. "Ser Derrald, stay here with Dickon and keep an eye on her. Dickon, get her awake. Slap her with all your strength if need be. I'm going to my laboratory to get some potions and equipment. If she starts vomitting, keep her upright."

Dickon got to work, first shaking Cersei by the soldiers, building intensity gradually. When that did not work, he began slapping her: lightly at first, but then with more strength, using his bare hand after taking off his leather glove. "Your Grace," he began to shout with each strike. "Your Grace, you need to wake up. Wake up. Wake up! WAKE UP!"

Her eyes opened slowly. There tears, but there was also fury.

"What's give you the right to strike me?" Cersei demanded, weakly.

"Keeping you alive, Your Grace," Dickon answered without any paitience in his voice. "You'd drunken too much wine and and Qyburn ordered me to wake, even if it meant strike you."

Cersei was about to reply, get she began to choke. She sounds as she'd about to vomit. Without another moment's thought, he sat next ot the Queen and leaned her forward, supporting her with his right arm and using his left to rub her back. "Ser Derrald," Dickon said quickly, "Take off your helmet and hold it in front of her mouth." The knight gave a nod, following the order quickly.

Not a second later, a stream of horrid brown vomit come lurching out of Cersie's mouth, stinking of wine, bubbling from heat and stomach acids. Two mores streams of vomit left the Queen's body before she was done, leaving the pristine white enamel of Ser Derrald's helmet ruined. The vomit had over flowed the usable portion of the helmet, spilling on to the rug the couch sat on. Ser Derrald gave his helmet a queer look. "I'm going to chuck this down a privy, stay with Her Grace," he told Dickon, who nodded in reply.

As Ser Derrald began to walk away, Cersei began to weep. Dickon couldn't help letting her lean on him. Thoughts of how improper their position was came into his mind as Cersei wept. I am the son of a Lord who isn't ever in charge of an entire kingdom and she is a Queen. But what should rank and social hierarchy be compared to basic decency and kindness?

The thought was strangely profound one: something he had not expected to cross his mind. Sitting there with the Queen he was sworn to crying on his shoulder, Dickon could not help but think on that question to distract himself. At one point it crossed his mind to treat the people he would eventually rule over with the same kindness and decency we would another lord or lady. That is too long a off to worry about now though.

"D-Dickon," Cersie said very quietly. Dickon almost didn't hear it. "That's your name, isn't?

"Yes, Your Grace," he replied softly, leaning in closely to hear the Queen better.

"You're Lord Randyll's son aren't you."

"Yes, Your Grace."

"What happened?"

"Lord Qyburn and I found you unconscious in your bedchamber. He told me to bring you down here to your solar. He's bring some potions to make you feeling better. You drank too much wine, you see."

Cersei inhaled sharply through her nose. "I can trust you, can't I Dickon?"

"I will take a secret to the grave if you ask it of me, Your Grace."

A small smiled curled upon her lips. "Thank you."

"Do you want to tell me something?"

The smile dropped. "I'm doomed, Dickon. I'm surrounded by enemies. Darnerys Targaryen in the south, Jon Snow and his evil sister in the North. I don't trust Euron Greyjoy to remain loyal and there is a girl who might kill me hiding within the walls of my own home. Worst of all, I fear even my own brother may abandon me."

"That's not true. My father just received a message from Ser Jaime. He has managed to persuade the North to be our allies."

"How?"

"He neglected to mention the details, but the important thing is that they're our allies now."

"I told Jon Snow that if he wanted to be my ally, he needed to give up his sister."

"Perhaps Ser Jaime and Jon Snow reached a–"

'Compromise,' was the word Dickon was about to say. Instead, he was interrupted when an almighty clatter of armour came from the direction of stairs he'd carried the Queen down. Both he and the Queen looked toward it, surprised.

"Ser Gregor?" Dickon said loudly. No response. Not even a foot step. Dickon stood from his place on the couch. "Stay here, Your Grace."

Slowly, he walked to the bottom of the stairs where he sent up another call to Ser Gregor. Yielding no response yet again, Dickon began climbing the stairs, slowly drawing his sword. As he climbed, mumbled voices travelled down the staircase. Getting closer, they became more distinct: a young girl and man with a foreign accent.

Reaching the top, Dickon found Ser Gregor lying on the stairs, face down – fallen. A dagger was sticking out the back of his neck and his whole body twitched violently. Blood trickled softly onto the stone steps. Cersei's bedchamber door was wide open and Dickon could make out what the voices were saying.

"–a girl has given to the Many Faced God gifts he did not ask for. For that reason alone, a girl must be punished," the man said. Dickon held a guard position tight to his body as he stepped past Ser Gregor's body and toward the open door.

"A girl has only used the skills taught to her by the Faceless Men," the girl replied.

"Skills a girl was supposed to use in service to the Many Faced God; not her own selfish goals."

Finally Dickon the door. Looking inside, a man in Lannister livery held a brown haired girl against the wall, a girl Dickon recognised. It can't be. It was. Bella. What was she doing here? All he hand time to realise was that her life was at risk and, if he wanted answers, he would have to keep her alive.

Quickly Dickon stepped inside, holding his sword in a position so he could plunge it if needed. The man instantly looked round. Clout?

"What in the name of the Seven are you doing, Clout?" Dickon demanded.

"The work of the Many Faced God. A boy should step away; this is not his business."

"I'm no boy. Unhand that girl at once or I will be forced to take your life."

Clout gave a cocky smile. "And how do you expect to do that?"

"With help." He turned his head toward the door but not so much he wouldn't be able to see what Clout was doing. "Ser Derrald! Come up here! And the rest of the Queensguard!" The shout was followed by the clatter of armour moving about the solar.

Clout frowned. "That hasn't helped you in the slightest."

"I beg to differ."

The room filled with men in white armour. Clout sighed and drew a long knife, the blade a foot long. He entered a fighting stance. "Come at me then," Clout challenged.

Immediately Ser Derrald rushed in, bringing his sword into the wrath to deliver a slash aimed for Clout's neck. Clout recoiled from slash then lunged forward, sticking his knife up into the bottom of Ser Derrald's unprotected chin. Blood welled out of the wound as the knife withdrew. Derrald's armour clattered as his body landed on the floor. Guilt stabbed Dickon more sharply than any knife. I asked him to take his helmet off. He did not let the guilt take over him.

One of the knights had not bothered to draw his sword. Instead, he tackled Clout; any blow the knife could deliver would be blocked by armour. The rest of the Queensguard dropped their swords and charged at Clout. He was already on the floor from the first tackle, so the extra bodies were just there to restrain him.

Still standing, Dickon focused on Bella. She was slinking away from the pile of men on the floor. Barely thinking about it, Dickon moved toward her while sheathing his sword. She tried to slip away, but the grip Dickon got of her dress was too strong: he got an arm around her abdomen, restraining her. She tired wriggling free, but she was simply too small: she could not muster the strength necessary to escape. Dickon picked her up off the ground and carried her out the room, leaving the Queensguard to deal with Clout.

By the time Dickon was walking down the stairs, Bella had given up her struggle, so he loosened his grip on her. Her chest heaved some as her body brought in air, tired from trying to escape.

Reaching the bottom of the stairs, the Queen's solar was now crowded by the men who'd been standing guard at the entrance of the royal apartments. Qyburn had also returned, seeing to the Queen: he had tube feeding water into her arm grom a glass bottom. Everyone looked at Dickon as he carried Bella over to the dinning table, setting her down on one of the chairs.

"Who is she and what was she doing up there?" Cersei asked from the couch, some of her strength returned.

"Her name is Bella, a maid here in the castle," Dickon answered, keeping his back to the Queen. "She was being held against the wall by a guardsman of the castle named Clout. The Queensguard are restraining him."

"I'm not Bella," Bella said softly, staring down at the ground.

Dickon crouched beside the chair. "What do you mean?"

"I'm not Bella," She said again. "Bella is a rotting corpse with her face sliced off, lying in a secret tunnel." There was something of a strange pleasure in the girl's voice.

Slowly, she raised her head, staring directly at the Queen. Bella's mouth twisted into a croaked, toothy grin, that seemed far too sinister to be coming from the face of a teenage girl. Her hand went to the bottom of her neck, gripping a piece of skin directly at the base. Pulling at it, Bella removed her face like a leather mask, revealing a completely different one underneath.

"Hello Cersei," she said. "My name is Arya Stark. Because of you, my father died. For that you are last name on my list."

Dickon's stomach sunk in torso like a rock in water.

A silence went by before Cersei gave an order: "Seize her at once." Guardsmen began to move. Dickon stood, putting himself between them and Arya, laying a hand on his sword hilt. The guardsmen stopped in their tracks. "What are you doing, boy?"

"I cannot let you seize Princess Arya. Ser Jaime's orders."

"Ser Jaime's orders? What is the meaning of this?"

At this point the Queensguard had reached the bottom of the stairs, Clout securely restrained by two of them.

"In Ser Jaime letter to my father, he ordered that Arya Stark be kept alive and out of your hands, Your Grace," Dickon answered.

Cersei scowled. "I want to see this letter."

"Has my father been summoned yet?"

"He should be coming," Qyburn answered.

And he did. Lord Randyll walked into the Queen's solar alongside Ser Addam minutes later. He frowned intensely at the sight that greeted him. The first thing he said was directed at Dickon: "I thought I asked you to simply make Her Grace aware that the North is now our ally, Dickon."

"I did that, Father, as you asked," Dickon replied. "Things just happened to get a bit out of hand."

That made Lord Randyll let out a brief chuckle – a rare occurance. "They did," he said, looking around the room, "didn't they."

"Lord Randyll, good of you to join us," Cersei said quickly. The whole room had an awkward feeling to it. "I want to see the letter my brother sent you."

"Of course."

The scroll was in Lord Randyll's hand, so all he had to do was hold it out for Cersei to take. Her eyes flicked over the writing; she laughed once she finished. Any softness that Cersei might of possessed in her weakened state was gone now she was mending.

"My brother would not have known to go to Moat Cailin without first being summoned by Jon Snow," Cersei stated confidently, "meaning he anwsered the summons of an enemy. No doubt his request to keep Arya Stark alive is simply to please Jon Snow. Ser Jaime is a traitor to the crown."

"Maybe," Lord Randyll said, emphasising both syllables. He looked toward Clout, who was still being held by the Queensguard. "Clout. Looks like you decided to show yourself again."

"He's not really a soldier named Clout, my lord," Arya told Lord Randyll, prompting him to turn around. "That is a Faceless Man, one who I met during my escape from this city after my father was murdered. He was supposed to be taken to the Wall, but escaped when Ser Amory Lorch attacked us."

"And you are?"

"Arya Stark, my lord. And that man just tried to kill me."

"Very well. I trust your telling the truth, Princess." Lord Randyll studied Clout for a few moments. "He can be executed on the morrow."

The Queensguards nodded and began to move out of the solider.

"Hold on," Queen Cersei said, making them stop. "I will decide what happens to him."

"No you won't," Lord Randyll told her bluntly.

"Who are you to say otherwise?" A look was exchanged between Lord Randyll and Ser Addam. Dickon tightened the hold on his sword hilt as both men placed hands on theirs. "What you doing?"

"What I should have done the moment I arrived," Lord Randyll said. Both men stepped in front of Cersei. "In the name of Jaime of the House Lannister, First of his Name, King of the Westerlands, Riverlands and the Reach, Lord of Casterly Rock and Protector of the Realm, I, Lord Randyll of House Tarly, Lord of Horn Hill and Commander of King's Landing's Defenses, place you, Cersei of House Lannister, under arrest for your crimes against Westeros and its people. From this point on, until King Jaime's return, you are not permitted to leave these apartments."

Cersei laughed, but it could not relieve the tension that was quickly building in the room. "Traitors," she said. "Have them thrown in the dungeon." No one moved. No one. Cersei looked around the room, confused. "What are you idiots waiting for? Escort them to dungeon."

The first person to move was a man in Lannister armour. He came to a stop behind Lord Randyll. "I apologise, my lady," the soldier said, "but these are the King's orders."

Fear grew in Cersei's eyes faster than Dickon could see. Around the room more men began moving to stand behind Lord Randyll and Ser Addam. All the while Cersei looked around with panic, trying to hide someone who was going to remain loyal to her, but no one did. Some men opted not to move, but that was mainly due to the room not being big enough for very man present to stand behind Lord Randyll. Throughout it all, Qyburn remained seated beside Cersei, holding the glass bottle of water with his mouth slightly ajar.

"That settles it," Lord Randyll finally said, once no else moved behind him. "Lady Cersei, you will be held under guard until King Jaimes return. Until that time, you will be allowed no visitors, save those I have approved. Do I make myself clear?"

"Very," Cersei replied, through gritted teeth.

"Good." The crowd dispanded and Lord Randyll turned to look at his son. "Dickon, bring the Stark girl. You are charged with her care and safety."

"Thank you, my lord," Dickon said.

Dickon got Arya on her feet and escorted out of the room, keep a hand on her soldier. Several Tarly men fell in with him. As he left the royal apartments, walking his normal pace and forcing Arya to walk quicker than she wanted to, the only thought on his mind was, I need a small cup of wine and then some sleep.