The tournament doesn't begin until the day after everyone arrives, which gives the various Lords competing in the lists enough time to prepare their armor and their horses and have their squires run their errands.

Ostara has never truly been to a tourney such as this before and she finds herself wandering through the maze of tents and stands with a curious smile. It's almost like the renaissance faire Hermione had read about. Banners and tents and vendors. The only difference is that every single person is wearing a historically accurate costume of some sort.

Rubeus trails behind her, never farther than a hands width from her side. More then once Ostara has caught him curling his lip at a passing squire and she has never truly reprimanded him for it. Rubeus is the only reason her mother hadn't sent armed guards with her.

So whenever he turns his lip up or narrows his eyes at someone Ostara ignores it as best she can. But even she is not so cruel as to allow her familiar to torment every person they pass. And whenever the shadowcat happens to cause someone legitimate distress Ostara presses her hand to her familiar's side and offers a sharp word of reprimand.

But one man seems particularly unperturbed by the curled lip and fangs.

"A fine pet, my Lady, I've never seen the likes of him." The man remarks when Ostara passes him.

Ostara stops, allowing herself a moment to observe the man. She drags her eyes from his finely made boots to the top of his carefully groomed head. He is, unsurprisingly, handsome. Tall with broad shoulders, sandy blonde hair, and eyes colored similar to that of a sprig of lavender. Ostara is only aware of one family in all of Westeros aside form the Targaryens that possess such eyes.

"I would assume not, Lord Dayne." Ostara's reply is laced with a slight hesitation.

The man's face is full of mirth a he steps away from the tent he'd been standing beside. He takes her hand, eyes lingering on the Shadowcat for but a moment before he meets Ostara's gaze, and presses a chaste kiss to the back of her hand.

"Arthur Dayne, My Lady, I'm afraid we've never been introduced."

"Ostara Baratheon, a pleasure to make your acquaintance." Ostara pulls her hand from his grasp and offers another polite smile. "If you'll excuse me, I was just wandering the grounds."

She moves to step away but the Kingsguard Knight follows, hand on the pommel of his sword, and Ostara almost wants to spell his feet to the ground but knows it would reflect poorly on her and cause more trouble then it's worth, and so she allows the man to follow her through the tents and stalls. Besides, he's not truly hurting anything.

"Might I escort you, Lady Baratheon? While I have no doubt your pet is more than capable of protecting you I would prefer to see you back to your tent without incident." Sir Dayne says after a moment.

"If it please you, Sir."

"Thank you, My Lady."

The young witch glances at the man, nods briskly, then continues on her way. Originally, she'd intended to find the quietest places in Lannisport to make use of later, but seeing as her plans have been derailed Ostara might as well return to her family's tent. Thankfully her newfound companion is quiet enough and Rubeus has stopped snarling at him every time he moves too close to Ostara.

Through the tents and fluttering banners Ostara can just make out the ebony and gold of House Baratheon. A welcome sight as she's more than ready to leave Arthur Dayne to his own devices.

"Do you enjoy Lannisport, My Lady?" Arthur asks after a while.

"I've only just arrived but it seems pleasant enough." She says as she carefully avoids a young boy carrying wooden practice swords.

Ostara offers a tight grin and Arthur Dayne must realize that she's growing uncomfortable with his polite smiles and his trivial conversation because he opens his mouth, to apologize or say something else to soothe her Ostara isn't sure. Whatever he goes to say is interrupted by the sound of an all too familiar voice.

"Ostara," both she and Arthur turn to look at Stannis. "mother is looking for you."

Sweet, sweet Stannis. He doesn't even realize how much of a hero he is to her. Not, of course, that she felt truly uncomfortable with Arthur Dayne, it's just that she doesn't know him all that well and isn't it odd that he'd gone out of his way to accompany an obviously protected girl back to her tent despite the fact that no one will attack Ostara with Rubeus at her side?

After all, no one wants to risk loosing a limb to an annoyed Shadowcat much less their life.

"Thank you, Sir Dayne, it was a pleasure to meet you." Ostara makes sure to curtsy before moving to her brother's side.

Stannis is only a few moments her elder and completely non-magical but Ostara feels ridiculously safe in his presence. He doesn't smile at her, doesn't offer her a twitch of the mouth that Ostara has learned means he finds something rather amusing, instead he offers a ferocious glare to Arthur and guides Ostara away.

Once they're far enough to not be overheard Ostara smiles at her brother.

"Thank you, Stannis... Truly."

"Did he hurt you?" Stannis demands.

"No, of course not."

What could you have done that I could not if he had?

"Mother is looking for you though." Stannis says after a moment. "Said something about preparing for the joust tomorrow."

"Thank you, Stannis." Ostara says, moving to press a chaste kiss to her brother's cheek.

Stannis nods curtly before pivoting on his heel and making his way over to where Daevyn Sand is waiting for him, the Dornish bastard offers Ostara a happy smile and a tilt of the chin before he disappears with Stannis. They'll be training for a while, never let it be said that Daevyn Sand isn't just as attentive to Stannis' needs as he is to Ostara's.

And Stannis' skills have improved since Daevyn began teaching him. Ostara can't even be angry that he's taking away from her own lessons because it's so good to see Stannis happy and thriving. Making their father proud and whatnot.

The girl shakes her head, pats Rubeus on the flank, and pushes open the flap of the tent so her familiar can enter before her.

Cassana Baratheon is sitting in one of the chairs set around a table the servants had set up, she's embroidering something into a strip of black cloth and Ostara only spares it a second of consideration before she lowers herself into the chair across from her mother. Her mother offers a kind smile and puts aside her embroidery.

"Stannis said you were looking for me." Ostara tells her mother, perhaps unnecessarily.

"Yes, I was wondering if you would like to come with me when I go to visit Lady Lannister." Cassana explains.

"Oh... Yes, I would not mind."

She wants to see Tyrion, the babe she saved. She wants to know why he was so important, why He wanted the little babe saved. And what better way to do that then to visit his mother? Surely Joanna Lannister brought him. If not Ostara will be very put out.

"Excellent, she'll be so excite to see you... And so will the twins." Cassana says.

Something in her tone causes Ostara to lift an eyebrow in question. It's not an uncommon occurrence for her mother to attempt to get Ostara to befriend girls of higher birth then Cerys. The fact that Cersei Lannister will one day be her good-sister only makes it more important in Cassana's mind that the two of them become friends.

But while it is understandable it's still rather annoying.

"How old are her children now? Nine? Ten?" Ostara asks, already knowing their age.

They're only two years her junior after all. And with Ostara being only a month shy of twelve years the way Cersei's name's day falls would put her at just over ten.

"Ten, Cersei is supposedly very sweet."

"And Jamie?"

"Johanna says he is likely to take after his father."

"I see." Ostara glances at her mother, "And what of little Tyrion?"

Her mother's mouth purses a bit and she says nothing other then a gentle, "Go clean up, we'll leave in a bit."

"Yes, mother." Ostara says, feeling a sick sort of glee at having made the other woman uncomfortable.

Cassana reaches out to brush back a wayward curl before leaning over to press a chaste kiss to Ostara's forehead.

Once her mother pulls away Ostara moves to exit her parents' tend and over to the one beside it. It is the one she has been given, it's small but not uncomfortably so, and Ostara enjoys the fact that Stannis' tent is on the opposite side of her own. Which means she won't have to sneak past her parents if she wants to cause a bit of mischief and drag Stannis along for the ride.

Ostara snorts quietly to herself as she moves to the basin of water waiting on the table near her cot.

She dips the cloth in the water, drags it over her face, and puts it back before moving to redo her braids. When that's done she smooths out her dress, adjusts her necklace, and makes sure her wand is secured in her stocking before she heads back to her parents' tent.

Ostara pretends she doesn't notice the hooded figure staring at her from the shadows.

~X~

"Cassana," the golden woman they meet at the opening of a rather ostentatious tent cries, "it's so wonderful to see you!"

The two blonde haired children beside her do not look nearly as thrilled as their mother. Especially Cersei, who stands by the tent holding a little, wriggling bundle that must be Tyrion.

Excitement wells up in Ostara's chest, a great happy thing that causes a subtle tingling in her fingers.

"It is wonderful to see you as well, Lady Lannister."

The blonde with the pale moss colored eyes smiles as she waves her children forward. "Cersei, Jaime, this is Lady Baratheon's daughter Ostara."

Ostara offers the customary curtsy which matches Cersei's, Jaime merely bows to her.

None of them speak.

"And this," Joanna says as she plucks the bundle from Cersei's arms, "is my son Tyrion."

The babe is not a pretty thing. Not like Cersei and Jaime with their feline cheekbones and summer grass eyes. Ostara remembers what her parents had said about how the boy was born a dwarf. Imp. Small.

He is small, yes, and he lacks the striking beauty of his siblings but those aren't so important. Beauty fades and there are plenty of short men in the world.

Ostara finds herself smiling at the little boy and tells the mother, "His eyes are lovely."

This is not a lie.

One is the green of an jade, bright and vibrant, the other is darker. A forest color that appears almost black.

Joanna smiles and pulls the blanket down a bit to reveal more of his face.

"I said the same. Some of the Maesters think the other will settle soon." Joanna says.

"Perhaps, though, I don't think it matters either way." Ostara replies, she pointedly ignores the glare Cersei Lannister is shooting her.

Sweet girly my arse, she thinks as she moves to stand closer to her mother.

Soon enough the little group finds themselves in the Lannister Tent, the two Ladies seated beside one another while the children are seated a bit further away and very close together. No doubt, an attempt to make them interact and form bonds.

Ostara sips at her water and listens to Jaime Lannister talk about how he is going to be a Kingsguard when he grows older, one of the best the world has ever seen. Something about Cersei's reaction to all of this makes Ostara's hair stand on end. She decides not to comment on it though, instead choosing to listen to Jaime and offer the occasional remark.

Eventually the conversation is steered toward Cersei and the blonde's face untwists with a speed Ostara would never have thought possible before. She smiles prettily, pearly teeth straight and gleaming, and smooths a hand over the heavy maroon brocade she wears.

"Your dress is lovely, Ostara." Cersei remarks and her tone, though polite, seems forced.

"Thank you," Ostara doesn't even glance at the fine lavender embroidery nor the plum colored silk, "I had it made recently."

"Did you do the embroidery yourself?" Cersei demands, tone taking a nasty edge.

"No, I did not. I had other, more important things to attend to." She offers.

"Oh? And what might that be?"

Dragons and potions and learning the sword.

"Dancing," she says instead, "I love to dance."

Cersei's answering smile is soft and sweet and if Ostara didn't know better she'd think Cersei were actually happy to hear it. And she is, happy to hear it, but not because she enjoys dancing.

Ostara's spent enough time around people like Cersei to know the looks, the glances, the tones.

She's spent enough time playing the political game in various lives to know that Cersei Lannister is not her friend, will never be her friend, because to Cersei she is a threat. What kind of threat Ostara doesn't know but it's obvious that Cersei sees her as nothing more then competition. It's amusing, really, and Ostara can't even find it in herself to be upset by the animosity the younger girl is throwing at her.

~X~

Dinner is a quiet affair. Very little is discussed aside from the happenings of the day and what is expected of them tomorrow. Ostara has heard it all before and waits until her father has stopped talking about his little visit with the King earlier that day to broach the question that has been nagging at her all afternoon since she'd heard the rumor from a passing squire when returning from the Lannister tent.

"Father?"

"Yes, Ostara."

"Who is Maggy the Frog?"

Steffon Baratheon goes very, very still. His eyes are dull as he turns his attention to Ostara fully.

"Where did you hear of Maggy the Frog?" He demands.

"I overheard two squires discussing her when mother and I were returning from our visit with Lady Lannister." Ostara replies. "Is she dangerous, father?"

Steffon scoffs, "Not to you, Ostara. But many have wasted good coin and their own health on words that do nothing but cause trouble."

"So she is a... Witch?"

A look is shared between the two.

Is she like me? Ostara cocks her head to the side.

Yes, in a way. Her father's eyes seem to reply.

"Listen to me, Ostara, Maggy the Frog is a fortune teller. The knowledge she possesses is dangerous and I'll not have you fretting over it." Her father states, tone sharp.

And Hermione Granger would have been annoyed to find the woman to be a prophet... But Ostara knows better. Because her father is worried and Steffon Baratheon worries for nothing that does not need to be worried over. Which means that Maggy the Frog has some sort of magic that enables her to, at the very least, know certain things about individual people.

This is, perhaps, a very good thing.

"Of course not, father. I was only curious." Ostara says, not sure if she's lying or not.

And her father's answering nod is more a nod of permission than a nod of understanding.

Ostara hides her smile behind her cup as she sips at the water she'd been given to have with her dinner.

~X~

Maggy was young when the first vision flashed before her eyes. A man with large blue eyes and peppered hair strangling a boy to death in an alley near her home. He'd gasped, raked his nails down his attacker's face, and then his body had gone still, still, still. When the images had faded Maggy screamed, the taste of the boy's blood hot on her tongue and lips from where he'd slapped her with an injured hand.

No one had believed her.

Not until the boy's body had been found days later.

Now she sits in a creaking wooden chair staring up at a girl with wild purple eyes and hair hidden beneath the hood of a cloak that is much too large and much too plain for someone of her stature. It is a cloak that could almost match that of the shadow creature hovering behind her shoulder. A cloak made of nightfall and mist, meant to blend into the darkness of a forest at night and keep others from noticing her.

"Are you Maggy the Frog?" The girl asks, already moving to pull back the hood of her cloak.

"I am." Maggy smirks at the child, "Do you require something? A love potion perhaps? A cure for the pimples that will likely cover your pretty little chin?"

She is mocking the girl, Maggy knows this, she mocks all of the girls that come looking to have their fortunes told.

Silly little fools, Maggy thinks, wishing to know that which should not be known.

But the girl merely shakes her head and steps closer to the table as she says, "Nothing like that... I was wondering if, perhaps, you could help me."

"And what would a pretty little dove such as yourself need?" Maggy demands.

"I was wondering if you could help me figure that out, actually."

At this, Maggy leans back in her chair. Shock and disbelief warring in her chest.

Because who is this child to be so disinterested with her future? Who is she to reject the gift Maggy would have eventually used to her advantage. Before the girl can react Maggy is lunging across the table to snatch the girl's wrist and pull her close so she can drag her tongue up the girl's neck where sweat has begun to bead. What she finds surprises her.

"You," Maggy cackles as he tosses the girl's hand back at her, "are lost, little witch."

"Yes."

"There is no way home for you, even I know this."

"As do I... But I had hoped that perhaps you could tell me why I'm here?"

Maggy frowns.

"It will not be pleasant for you, to know what your future holds. Most can't bear it." It's an honest statement, many who come to Maggy leave in a rage or in tears, hearing things they never wanted to hear.

The girl nods.

"Yes, i know."

"And yet you would have me look."

"I would."

"Why?"

The girl swallows and her eyes burn, burn, burn in the low light offered by the fire between them.

"I like to be prepared."

Maggy leans back in her seat, fingers dancing on the hilt of her dagger. She has never tasted the blood of another witch before. So what would it hurt to try? If this little witch is so willing to hurt for the knowledge who is Maggy to deny her? Besides, it would be an interesting experience.

Without much thought Maggy extends her hand.

The girl hesitates for but a moment before her hand settles in Maggy's.

And the red that drips from the cut caused by Maggy's blade is almost too red, almost too warm.

Almost too sweet on her tongue.

Maggy sucks hard on the injured finger, tongue digging into the wound to coax more blood to flow, and spits the finger out with a gasp as the girl's past and future and magic settles in Maggy's veins.

There is a child's laughter and a man's voice and the screams of drying men but there is also... Something else. Something soft and foreign and sad.

"Three questions," Maggy breathes. "You have three questions."

"Why was I brought here? Can you tell?"

"To defend those who cannot defend themselves."

"So something is coming then?" She mutters, more to herself then anyone else.

"Yes, a being of fear and death. An old enemy, one you have faced before." Maggy whispers.

"Before? What does that mean?"

Maggy smiles and the girl's eyes harden.

"You already know what it means." Maggy shrugs, "Your out of questions."

The implication is not missed. Maggy watches as those wild, burning, sad Targaryen eyes go wide before they shutter and dull into something resembling a mask. The shadowy creature behind the girl bends at the waist, curving over her prone body like a snake, and reaches out to touch her cheek with gnarled fingers before it turns away and leaves them be.

Like a parent going to defend its child... Or a Lord moving to protect what is his.

Maggy isn't sure she wants to understand their relationship. After all, she is under no illusions as to what the being is. She might be able to see him, feel his presence, but it is not a man. It is the Stranger. It is something much more infinite and theirs is not a relationship that is any of Maggy's business.

The thunk of a coin purse hitting the table top near frightens her.

"Your coin." The girl explains, smile obviously forced. "May the Gods be good to you Maggy the Frog."

"And to you."

A tentative smile, more genuine then the last, and then the girl is moving to leave.

Maggy watches the slump of her shoulders, the steadiness of her breath, and realizes that while there is a great sadness in the girl there is also a sort of relief there too.

Before the girl slips through the tent's opening Maggy finds herself speaking.

"Beware the Lord of Light's shadowbinder, a great ally you might make yourself... Or, if you are not careful, a foe."

When the girl twists to look at Maggy her eyes are hard but there is no cruelty there, no malice, no fear. And she offers a tight nod of understanding before disappearing from the tent. It is when she's gone that Maggy realizes, quite suddenly and without the help of her visions, that she's almost fond of the little to=be-Queen.

~X~

Melisandre pulls the hood of her cloak up over her hair and watches as the girl, her Azor Ahai, leaves the hedge witch's tent. There's a deep sense of indignation and subtle anger burning in her stomach over the fact that her charge, her Lord of Light's champion went to a hedge witch.

She supposes she can't blame the young girl.

It's not like she knows Melisandre is in Lannisport.

It was sheer luck alone that Melisandre even managed to reach Lannisport when she had, but then, she followed the King's entourage and had encountered very few problems that would have slowed her journey any more then necessary.

Still, it was luck that Melisandre even managed to catch sight of her Azor Ahai as she sneaked through the little city of extravagant tents toward the trees beyond. She'd followed at a distance, careful to keep the young woman from seeing or sensing her. Now Melisandre watches as the girl makes her way back toward the city of tents and wonders what the best way to go about getting close to the girl would be.

She's spent too long searching for her to not at least form some sort of connection while she can.

Getting to know the girl, winning her trust, and being invited to whichever great house she comes from would be best but Melisandre is patient. She has waited months to meet her Azor Ahai, she can wait a few more days if she must.