A/N: Hey all, hope all is going well.

Some good news. Mrs. Longclaw is confirmed to be with child, only a few weeks. As for myself, I plan on following Dornish rules. My eldest is my heir regardless of sex, no Dance of Dragons acceptable :D

Read and comment!

Chapter 34: Thanksgiving

It could be heard even in the high chambers of the Dragonpalace. An open revelry citywide, tens of thousands of the growing city crowded among the winding streets only recently paved and with purpose settled, heeding the excuse for public celebration. And such excuse had every reason to be valid.

Victory.

Not just one but two victories that managed to reach the city with only between them by raven. In the North, Princess Rhaenys - the new Lady of Winterfell - joined with her husband to vanquish a large wildling army, capturing several chieftains and killing the rest. In the South, the dreaded menace of the Vulture King was found and executed by Princess Rhaena herself, his rebellion defeated by her and her uncle Prince Maegor.

The dragons built this city, and it's people were supremely committed to their success… or simply desirous to celebrate for whatever reason. Inns rapidly ran out of ale or wine. Vendors made a killing selling street food. Minstrels all descended upon the streets with upbeat music as raucous men and grinning women pulled each other close for a tumble between the sheets or upon a bundle of hay. Those without paid a visit to a brothel, those particular proprietors making just as much as the food vendors.

Deep within the Dragonpalace, Alys Harroway needed not an excuse to engage in such celebration. It happened routinely for her - every night for the past several weeks with only a few such breaks, largely only because circumstance intervened. Her lover was… a very important man. As evident by his beautiful silver curls that fanned out like a halo upon the pillow as she rode him. "Alys… gods…" he gasped, violet eyes dark with lust.

Each glimpse of them sent a warm rush through her cunt.

"Yes, Egg. Mmmm…" What was it about him that made her so wanton? That turned Alys from the dignified companion of Princess Rhaena into a wanton slattern? Samantha's letters from White Harbor were filled with flowery affections of love, but this was a different kind. Sensual, erotic, passionate - something she'd never write down but hold just as reverently.

She was in love with the Prince, and by the old gods and the new she figured he loved her too.

Alys knew only she warmed his bed.

Riding him like a Stallion, she raised and lowered her hips in a quickening pace, letting his cock spear her insides deliciously. Biting her lip, Alys grabbed his hands and brought them to her breasts. "Squeeze them, my Prince, please."

"So firm… so good…" Aegon leaned up and took a nipple in his mouth, making her scream and bounce harder and harder until… "Fuck…"

"Egg…"

Their climax was shared, Alys collapsing flush against his chest. Smiling as he kissed her hair. "I cannot seem to stay away from you, my dear."

"Mmmmm…" she murmured contentedly. "Is that truly unfortunate?"

"No. I love these sessions of ours." He kissed her, making her moan. "If I could I'd never let you go."

The words meant nothing… until they meant something. Alys looked down at him. "But you'll have to?"

"I shall be a King one day, Alys. You are dear to me, but…" He sighed. "Rhaena is the worthy Queen for me. It is preordained. If I am my grandfather, then I must marry my sister."

She narrowed her eyes. "And would you have to marry Alysanne as well? Complete your transformation into your grandfather?"

"No, Rhaena is enough." His youthful eyes were sad. "Don't do this, Alys. You knew what was happening when this began."

"I thought you might change… that you'd see what's in front of you." She made a move to leave.

He didn't let her. "Alys, do not go."

"Let me."

"No."

"Let me!" she slapped him.

"No," he pinned her to the bed.

"Let me…" she was cut off as he kissed her. Alys losing herself in the kiss.

Unable to resist him - even if she wished to, Alys was betrayed by her desire - another torrid round saw her on her hands and knees, face pressed into the bed as he fucked her hard from behind while she moaned wantonly. Such tired him out and soon he was asleep, arms wrapped tightly round her. Alys hated this and loved this at the same time, his arms safe and gentle but also ever mocking. He so desired her as much as she did him, but sought out his sister as whom he hoped to marry.

Rhaena doesn't love you… and I think you only love her future crown. From how Egg looked at her, Alys was sure it was she that held his heart as he held hers, but the ever ambitious Prince would never admit it.

With that in mind, she disentangled from him. Immediately feeling the loss of both his warmth and his comfort, Alys nevertheless gathered her clothes and dressed hurriedly. Feeling both shame and longing as she departed through the door - unable to resist pressing a kiss to his forehead while he slept. "I love you…" she murmured.

Daring to say it only when he slept.

Not a good thing to be in love with someone who desired another marriage. Not a good thing to be in love with someone with whom one's father was using you to curry favor with. Sneaking through the dark corridors, Alys said a silent prayer to the gods for Rhaena. Thanks to her, she lived here rather than in the Harroway manse elsewhere in the city. The last time she was there… Alys shuddered at the memory.

"You are my favorite daughter." Lucas Harroway, not one to dole out affection, poured it now like water during a rainstorm. "My beautiful, smart, perfect daughter." He kissed her cheek, then her forehead, and finally her brow. "When this started, I thought that one of you might get a minor lord of the Crownlands… at best the second son of a Lord Paramount," he addressed both Alys and her sisters. "But Alys here has secured greatness for our house. A potential Queen she is… my daughter!" He tousled her hair triumphantly. "Let this be a lesson to the two of you. Do not set your sights low."

"Understood, father," they both said, glaring hatefully at Alys when he wasn't looking. She just wanted to melt through the floorboards rather than be here.

Rubbing his hands together, her father paced. "Now, there will be no moon tea. You need to be pregnant as soon as possible for him to marry you…"

"He doesn't want to marry me," Alys answered meekly. She couldn't stand up to her father.

"Nonsense, of course he will. He's a young man that thinks with his cock."

Alys shook her head. "But he desires to marry his sister."

Lucas snorted. "And if you're pregnant the idiot King will have no choice. He's very malleable and honorable that way." A derisive laugh followed.

"And what's to say that he just doesn't cast Alys aside with coin and a bastard?" sneered her middle sister… only for their father to slap her.

"Speak of me that way again and it won't be your cheek I hit next," he bellowed, cowing all three. "Now, it won't matter. I am on the small council and our house is distinguished enough. All we need is for Aegon to be named heir officially."

"If he names Princess Rhaena?"

Her father laughed. "As if I'd let that happen."

It was each of the seven hells. Her father she saw constantly during the day, much as she tried to avoid him. Alys shunned going near meetings of the Small Council for that very reason.

Passing into the corridor of her chambers, Alys nearly bumped into someone. "Oh… sorry Tyanna."

The beautiful Pentoshi smoothened the ruffles in her dress. "It's fine, Alys." She regarded her with questioning eyes. "Again?"

There was no fooling her. "Aye, again."

"This isn't healthy."

"Nor was your sleeping with Rhaena, but you did it."

Tyanna was quiet. "Aye, but this is worse. You could fall with child."

"That's what my father wants."

"Do you want it?" Her question was probing.

Alys' answer shocked her. "Truthfully, yes." But much as she loved Aegon and wished to be his wife, not this way. Not where he'd undoubtedly hate me…

"A dangerous game you are playing, Alys. Just be careful." Much easier said than done. Gods be dammed, why did he have to be so perfect. Something about Prince Aegon… Alone again, tears slipped from her eyes as Alys slipped into her chambers.

"I need you to be focused." With a swing of her fist, Ralla delivered a right hook to the face of Chieftess Gelina of the Frostfangs. Her pretty face was marred with the black eye and she spat blood, but no teeth were broken and her speech wasn't slurred… yet. "Answer the Princess' questions before I start cutting off fingers."

Hocking another swill of blood to the floor of the dungeon in Castle Black, Gelina grinned. "I can do this all fuckin' day, traitor."

Before Ralla could advance again, Rhaenys Stark stilled her with a hand. "That's enough for now." Prisoners and all, the armies of the North had withdrawn from their camp at the Fist of the First Men in triumph to Castle Black. Most of the wildlings were herded into makeshift pens built against the walls of Castle Black and the Wall itself, but the clan leaders were held in the dungeons.

Gelina, for what it was worth, sneered. "Gonna send the big bad dragon now, Ralla? Pffft, you always were a craven cunt."

Rhaenys, leaning forward, let her violet eyes pierce through the hardened gaze of Gelina. For what seemed like hours they stared at each other, neither wishing to break or blink… but the Free Folk chieftess finally did so, a flicker of fear in her eyes before she averted her gaze. Rhaenys chose that moment to speak. "Why are you doing this?" No answer. "The desire to make war with the south is understandable, but why now? What purpose does it serve?"

Stare pointed downward, finally her worn blues swiveled back up. "Ever feel like ye' had one chance. Like, use it or lose it?" Rhaenys said nothing but nodded. "Shamans had vision… of yer' land in chaos and war. Said the Winterfell Lord gonna die in it…"

Glancing at Ralla, Rhaenys hesitated. What the fuck would it matter for her to know? If anything, it could get her more comfortable to talk. "My goodfather, Lord Torrhen Stark, he's dead. Died a few years ago." Her family was saved by a vision, so Rhaenys had a healthy respect for them. Undoubtedly the two aren't coincidences.

"Oh?" Gelina chuckled, the smile perhaps bringing out her natural beauty if it weren't more of a sneer than a smile. "So the shaman was right… ironic, cause most of 'em are lyin shits."

"You listen to them then, cunt?" Ralla crossed her arms.

Gelina laughed again. "I didn't. Boiorix did and he's senior to me on the pecking order of the clans. His idea was this attack - Boiorix wanted to take advantage. So did I, suppose after I's heard him out. We're barely not starvin' in our land, so why not git yours? We need it."

Ralla snorted. "So you massed before even getting a King Beyond the Wall? Pathetic and stupid."

"Boiorix wanted to become the King… since we don't kneel, needed to prove his strength. What better way than to kill Crows."

"Well, your lover did it and look what happened to him. Knowin' the Thenns, he's in their cooking pots as we speak… lest he burned to ash. We all know Thenns hate it when their own dead aren't fit enough to devour. Their witches like to eat the cocks and balls, though not like you, I figure."

Gelina lunged for Ralla, only for the guards to hold her down. "Fuck you! He wasn't my lover!"

"Odd, cause that would explain why you followed him on a most addled plan."

"I'm gonna shove my knife through your eye!"

Rhaenys knew this was going nowhere but wanted more information. "Ralla, guards, leave us."

Ralla merely rolled her eyes and left, while the Stark guards. "Princess, if the savage escapes…"

She cut them off by gesturing to the sword at her side. "She's tied up, and even if she escapes from her ropes I'll behead her before she can do anything."

"Ha, wanna try?" Gelina's eyes gleamed.

The Princess snorted. "Nice try." Her gaze bore down on the guards. "The Lady of Winterfell has given you an order. Leave." They bowed and complied - without Lord Brandon there as cover, there was no chance they'd face against the daughter of Queen Visenya Targaryen.

The Chieftess looked amused at the whole thing. "If yer were among the Free Folk, ye'd have no problem becomin' Queen Beyond the Wall."

Her level of praise surprised Rhaenys - before having nothing but contempt, including Ralla, here Gelina was heaping compliments upon her. She remained guarded, though. "I have no doubt I would. Arrax would've burned anyone that stood in my way."

The improved mood died out, leaving the Chieftess to scowl at Rhaenys. "Meant in general, but no doubt you would if you had that beast." She huffed. "Our plan was good, but didn't expect a dragon."

"No one does until one's right above them," Rhaenys replied. "And your plan was not good. We were right on the cusp of annihilating you even without Arrax and I." Gelina's stony silence proved Rhaenys' point. "But I am not here to discuss battle tactics with you." Grabbing one of the chairs, she sat upon it. The two were the same height, so their heads were directly across from each other. "I don't believe you about the vision of your shaman."

"Course you don't. Damned southerners always want to dive deep into the mysteries of life."

Her fists clenched. "You will tell me why Boiorix was trying to become King Beyond the Wall. Why you followed him." Rhaenys wouldn't take no for an answer, and wasn't above putting Gelina under torture. "Was he your lover? Did you think you could rule the North as the son of Bael the Bard did?"

Gelina laughed. "If I recall, his son slew him in combat and that son was flayed by Lord Bolton's ancestors. Gonna flay me, dragoness?" That flicker of fear returned.

Rhaenys' anger seemed to lessen. "No, I will not." She sighed. "If you do not tell me then I will have no choice but to assume the worst. I have a dragon and all the time in the world to reduce every clan north of the Wall to ash."

Another silence, but this one seemed shorter before Gelina sighed. "Could be colder than usual. Could be that our people are restless and there's too many of 'em for the land to support… but truth of the matter is we want warmth. We want good food and a roof over our heads not made of animal skin. That vision gave us a chance to git it and we took it… perhaps yer pet Free Folk was right and Boiorix fucked up, but he was bold enough to fucking try and he's fightin' with the gods in the afterlife for it." She slumped in her chair, seemingly resigned to her fate. "Gonna behead me, or hang me? If so just make it quick." There was no fear anymore. "I won't fight it."

Finding herself… impressed with her stoicism, Rhaenys stood. "You won't die. Not today at least."

Blinking, Gelina seemed surprised. "Would've thought you'd kill me and all my men."

"We have no reason to. You're a vanquished army, but you are too dangerous to set free either."

"I consider that praise."

Smirking, Rhaenys continued. "You and the other captured clan leaders will be kept in the dungeons of Winterfell. Compared to the icy wastes of your home, it'll be heaven."

Gelina spat on the ground. "We don't live there cause it's comfortable."

"Quite." Rhaenys rolled her eyes. "Your men will be let go, but only after they complete building work for the Night's Watch. Consider it… a ransom."

"Makin' Free Folk do the biddin' of the Crows? You're blacker than those you burned with your dragon."

"My family's been called worse, Chieftess Gelina. I've heard it all, and yours doesn't even register among the top ten." She patted the wildling's shoulder, which made her even angrier. Rhaenys smiled. "You'll find Winterfell quite warm. More than I, I'm afraid, but I have the luxury of knowing more places in the world than you."

"Fuck you!"

"I have a husband, so I'll be getting to that right away." With one last smirk, Rhaenys slipped through the door, guards slamming it shut behind her.

"I love you, uncle."

Maegor was bare, light covers pulled over him and the equally nude Rhaena pressed skin to skin against him - half on his side and half on top of him. A mutually favorite position after a frenzied round of coupling.

His muscles certainly felt it, and from her sluggish movements she did too. "Gods help me, so do I."

Brow raising, a slow smirk spread over Rhaena's face. "You love your uncle too?" A giggle broke through.

Groaning, Maegor pinched her ass. Getting a yelp. "You're too much like your aunt Rhae for your own good." Nevertheless, he chuckled too. Ceryse was a treasure, but she wasn't as effortlessly flirty as Rhaena was. Ralla had that, albeit rough around the edges, and Maegor found he missed it. "Don't stop though."

"Oh? Mayhaps I should," she replied, still giggling. "I have displeased my mighty uncle… though if you do truly like it perhaps you should give me a signal if it is getting to be too much."

"A signal?"

"Aye, can be whatever you wa…" Rhaena was cut off when Maegor kissed her lips. The Princess moaned and opened her mouth, letting in his tongue and renewing their passion. Oh yes, I like his signal very much.

By chance, Maegor's fingers brushed upon a tiny cut on Rhaena's arm and he stilled. Pulling back from the kiss and catching the glimpse of her scabbing wound. "Oh, Rhaena," he murmured, sighing.

She noticed - normally when he clucked over her Rhaena grew annoyed at his overprotectiveness, but here it made her swoon at how he cared for her. "Hey… I'm alright."

"Forgive me for the worry that it could've been otherwise."

"Did Ralla hold a similar fear when you advanced into combat the first time North of the Wall?"

"I…" He snorted. She had a point. "Could be. Never asked her though." She was his mistress - they had a spark about them, but it never evolved past mere familiarity and liking. Not as with him and Ceryse, nor with Rhaena. Gods, not with Rhaena.

She cupped his cheek. "I trained to be a warrior, as you did. Eventually I was going to find myself in actual combat rather than mere training - and I was victorious."

"You were." He kissed her scar. "Kessa, you most definitely were." Maegor wrapped her in his arms, feeling her peaks pressing against the skin of his chest - burying his face in her sweet-smelling hair. "Just promise to be careful. Grant your uncle some peace of mind."

Rhaena nodded against his skin. "I promise." They kissed again, this time sweetly. "When… when will you approach kepa about us?"

The defeat of the Vulture King, while drawing praise and visits to Horn Hill from all around the Reach and Dornish Marches to play homage to the victorious dragons, also put to an end their little refuge away from their larger duties - Maegor as a Hand and husband and Rhaena as the potentially Crown Princess of the realm. Maegor loved her, gods, he did, but he wasn't blind to their situation. He couldn't let her go, but at the same time he was aware of the realities they faced.

"I cannot rush it," he finally said. "This… these few days could be our last moments alone for a long while." Pain registered on her face, but Rhaena nodded. Replying by hugging him tightly.

Disrupting them - quite against Maegor's orders - Ser Gawen called through the door. "My Prince! Arise!"

Maegor groaned. "What is it?!" However, instead of answering Gawen burst in alone. Rhaena yelped and hid under the covers, while Maegor bristled. "Get the fuck out of here!"

It was clear that Gawen wasn't surprised, though he said nothing of what he witnessed. "Your wife the Princess is within an hour's ride from here. I'd suggest you get dressed and presentable to receive her." With that he was gone, leaving a shocked Maegor and a half-shocked, half-jealous Rhaena.

"Fuck… if Gawen knows…" He was always perceptive and would say nothing, but if he knew then others…"

"Your wife is supposed to be in Oldtown," Rhaena growled, her priorities different as she emerged from the bed - sliding out and going for her dress.

Maegor tried not to ogle her nude body. "She was supposed to stay there until she felt ready to return, given her health." He started donning his breeches. "By the gods, niece, you knew I was married."

Huffing, Rhaena realized her jealousy wasn't entirely logical. "Well… forgive me for wanting you to myself for now." A sigh. "This isn't your kepa and munas, I don't really know Aunt Ceryse besides being my slightly aloof aunt."

"My fault for that… or the fault of circumstance." They had been away from the capitol when in a happy marriage, and when Rhaena finally was in his life steadily, he and Ceryse were already suffering from the miscarriages that hurt their intimacy. "If you can stand it, I would advise you to spend more time with her."

"I shall try, uncle, though her being in your bed and not I shan't be something I enjoy."

Buttoning his shirt, Maegor smirked. "You could always share the same bed with us." That got him a pillow thrown at his head.

Nearly an hour later, there was no sign of their earlier passion on either of them. Rhaena's hair was styled and red-black dress perfectly pressed, while Maegor's princely breeches and doublet emblazoned with the Targaryen sigil were immaculate. Next to the Princess was Margaery Tarly and Ser Dick, while Maegor was next to Lord Commander Gawen. "Your Grace," the Lord Commander commented. "You clean up well."

"As do you." Their voices were low as the guards lowered the drawbridge and raised the portcullis. "About earlier…"

"I shan't talk about it unless you so request, though I do reserve the right as your mentor to advise caution."

"Of course I'm cautious."

"What are you thinking on this, your Grace? If Lady Ralla so displeased you then another mistress of her standing would be excused…"

He pinched the bridge of his nose. "It isn't like that."

Gawen Corbray was smart, and understood quickly. "Oh… then you're in greater shit than I thought."

Eying Rhaena, looking slightly green from nerves but otherwise calm, Maegor nodded. "Aye. Quite true."

Though she looked a perfect Hightower and lived as one for the past moons, Ceryse Targaryen was a Princess by marriage to the royal house and thus was afforded a royal guard and the pomp of one. A troop of horses carrying Targaryen banners rode ahead of the one carrying Hightower ones, on loan from her father to escort her to Horn Hill. When she emerged from the wheelhouse, her dress was red and black, though a muted form of the color and covered with a cloak of stone grey.

Jealousy flared in Rhaena for a moment, seeing such a foreign presence mime at being a Targaryen as her… but the wariness in her aunt Ceryse's eyes stilled her ire. This was a woman who suffered grievously. As her grandmother's granddaughter, Rhaena couldn't find it in her heart to hate or even resent her.

Such a mess. If only Visenya's wish had been granted so long ago.

At first greeting Lord Samwell - it was his home after all - Ceryse approached Maegor. They didn't exchange words, but Ceryse sniffled and hugged him close. An embrace he reciprocated. "Dearest husband…" she murmured, inhaling his scent.

"I missed you, wife." Maegor kissed her forehead - quite genuinely. His newly discovered love for Rhaena didn't seem to affect what he felt for Ceryse. Kepa is grinning at me from the afterlife, no doubt. "The war is won."

"Not a war, but one that I was truly afraid for your safety." Kissing his cheek, she looked and found Rhaena. "Ah, dear niece. My family sends its congratulations for your bravery… I as well, of my own accord."

Rhaena accepted the offered hands, the two ladies kissing each other's cheeks simultaneously. "I would be glad to tell you the true tale, though perhaps we should save that for the ride."

"You shan't ride Dreamfyre?" Ceryse chuckled. "If my husband is indicative, then a Targaryen would sooner not travel than deny his or her dragon the chance to be mounted."

When she spoke of Maegor, Rhaena had to fight not to blush. "I… that is true, but the thought of my aunt growing bored does outweigh such. Being in the fight for so long, both Lady Margaery and I desire some female company."

Ceryse beamed. "That would be most wonderful." Rhaena smiled back, though met Maegor's gaze. Eyes wary and brimming with guilt. It would be so much easier if his bride were some shrew.

Would that prevent her from claiming her man… never.

Smoke from the hearth and the cooking fires filled the single chamber, giving the inn a toasty, hearty feel that drew in a motley assortment of the lower classes. Laborers, soldiers, domestic servants, all gathered to drink thick ale and steaming pies and stews after a long day's work. Included among them were many Poor Fellows, loudly proclaiming their piety but coupling such with wandering eyes and even more wandering hands on the serving girls or any other woman not attended to by equally thick-set husbands or fathers.

Such women included those in which such groping and flirting was their particular trade. Freelancers whose storefront were alleys or cheap shacks common in any fast-growing city. Thus, they weren't of the highest quality, but many beauties attended to the lusts of the Poor Fellows - well paid thanks to the reforms of High Septon Hugor.

One particular whore, one with jet-black hair and grey eyes, was monopolized by the largest of the Poor Fellows and commander of the troop. "Tells ya', lass, I's got the biggest sword of all of them."

Giggling, the whore leaned in and nibbled on his earlobe. "I like a man with big swords… both on him and handled by him."

Though coin made them truly happy, he was so deep in his cups that he sought to impress her. "Oh, few weeks ago I's 'elp load big boxes of swords. Long, sharp ones for Oldtown. Dat's where the Seven live."

Her eyes widened. "Really? Can I see these swords?" She twirled a lock of hair, smiling ditzily.

He shook his head. "Nah, stopped goin' few days ago. Now I's back to drillin with my men." He finished his mug of ale. "So… how much for both fuckin' and suckin' my cock?"

"Five silver stags." Grumbling, he nevertheless paid the amount. She grinned and rose, pulling his hand. "Follow me."

Pulling him by the hand, the walls of the alley were filthy with dirt and grime but the whore's cloak fit in well. Nothing out of the ordinary for the drunk infantryman. "So…" he giggled. "Let's get down to business."

The whore grinned at him. "Aye, lets." She got to her knees, his coin jingling in her purse promising both a suck and a fuck. Slowly, she began to unlace his trousers to a dopey smile from above…

He felt a tiny prick at first, causing him to frown. "Oi', bitch, don't…" Suddenly the pain began to register, an intense shooting burn that nearly made him scream if not for the gloved hand planted over his mouth.

"Shhhh…" Grey eyes bore down on him, ones filled with a hard savagery as the life drained from him. "I'll all be over soon." Tyanna stuck the knife deeper in his inner thigh, further slicing the arteries there and soaking his trousers with crimson blood. Soon, he was dead and slumped to the ground.

Not bad. Lessons with Melony and Jorelle Mormont had paid off - sheathing her knife after wiping the blood off on his filthy shirt, no more would Tyanna ever be left helpless as before. She quickly grabbed his changepurse and his sword. A robbery by a random whore was part an parcel with life, and thus not even bothered to be investigated. She slipped away into the darkness with hood folded up. Into a sewer went the sword, while all the coin she took from the oafish soldier went into a window of a cheap thatch house where she heard the sounds of many children crying and playing.

Gazing up at the massive shadow of the Dragonpalace, Tyanna knew she didn't need the coin.

Hours later, after a hot bath and a swig of excellent wine to calm her nerves, Tyanna was cleaned of the filth of her trip into the underbelly of King's Landing. Filled with disgust over the oafish men and their lusts - the only way she stopped from voiding her stomach was thinking of beautiful Rhaena or occasionally actually desirable men such as Prince Maegor, Tyanna knowing what her love saw in him - the business of the realm managed to distract her as she replaced the burned out candle for a fresh wick.

Disgusting that he was, the dead Poor Fellow did leave her some interesting information, namely that the shipments had ceased. Why would be the main mystery to solve, to which Tyanna decided to think on further after perusing her dispatches. The first that caught her eye was one with a familiar seal. One that made her heart flutter.

Tyanna,

Uncle and I will be returning to King's Landing by the end of the moon. Unfortunately, we won't be using the dragons since Princess Ceryse has decided to end her seclusion in Oldtown to travel with us. I cannot hate her, yet seeing her makes me burn with jealousy. It is a mess.

I hear that Samantha will be arriving from White Harbor along with Lord Theomare. I cannot want to see her, as well as the rest of our circle. There is someone I wish to introduce that I met.

There is much we need to discuss. I miss how we talk.

Love,

Rhaena.

Reading her affectionate words made Tyanna crush the letter at her breast, closing her eyes and sighing with a pleasurable recollection. Gods, she missed Rhaena too. How they talked, laughed, made love… Rejecting her had been the hardest decision of Tyanna's life, but perhaps if she and her uncle had closure they could start up their affair again.

Potentially wishful thinking at its finest, but she could only hope.

Gradually, her mind drifted back to business and Tyanna knit her brows in thought. What would the armories in King's Landing need with shipping weapons to Oldtown? Was it to arm the Faith Militant? Not likely, they have their own armories as a completely legal organization… No, this would need to be harder to trace… and perhaps done by offshoots trying to evade not just the Crown but the Starry Sept as well.

Meaning to an enemy of both of them.

An idea came to mind, one that Tyanna thought was fantastical but had a hunch about. Grabbing her quill, she began scribbling a reply to her love.

Rhaena,

I long to see you. To hug you. To hear your voice and feel your touch.

But I am afraid more such affections must wait till you return. While remaining in Hornhill, please ensure that the weapons caches taken from the Vulture King's encampment are brought to the capitol for me to inspect. Do not ask why, I will tell you later.

Please hurry back.

Love,

Tyanna.

Sealing the letter, Tyanna rose and headed for the rookery. Unsure of what the return of her love would bring, but somehow knowing it would be bittersweet.

Well read and learned in many subjects - his teachers at the Citadel once confessed that if he were a maester, his chain would be longer than most of theirs - Barth found himself awed very rarely. Now was one of those times. "And you can tame such beasts as one would a horse?" In this, he felt almost a child again being first led by His Holiness into the Starry Sept.

Yarqol zo Hagger, the lead mahout from Meereen, nodded. "Aye. It is difficult but works wonders when done properly." Both watched as another team of mahouts led with a hooked pole a massive bull elephant out by the trunk of the specialized barn towards the proving grounds. It was a secluded hamlet north of Brightwater Keep, generously donated by Lord Florent in exchange for absolution at siring a bastard by rape off a particularly beautiful septa.

Barth squashed the idea of defiling a septa from his mind - at least a particular one. "You only use males?"

"More aggressive, and females run from males in combat. Those are only used as pack animals." Arranged in formation once the last bull was positioned were four dozen of them, purchased with a significant chunk of coin by the Most Devout years earlier. Also arranged were hundreds of Poor Fellows and mounted knights of the Warrior's Sons, specifically to gain acclimation to the beasts. "Excellent, the horses are getting used to the scent."

"Shouldn't the elephants be in front of the men?"

"A common misconception." A shield wall of Poor Fellows fronted the elephants. "No, they must be protected from attack till they meet with the enemy…" Hagger thought for a moment. "I will also need crossbowmen. Make it happen, Septon."

Barth gritted his teeth, trying not to grow angry with the genius that trained the elephant division of the Faith Militant. "Consider it done."

Seeing the elephants in action… it was worth every gold dragon spent.

After a night at Brightwater Keep and a hearty meal, Barth had ridden back to Oldtown and straight to his office - the High Septon was elsewhere, leaving him to manage affairs here for him… a situation Barth greatly enjoyed. Dispatches came in by the dozen, including one from Septon Murmison in King's Landing inquiring about a possible royal progress to Oldtown. While Barth wished never to see a Targaryen in his life, the prospect was likely welcome and he resolved to speak to Hugor about it when he returned.

The Poor Fellows assigned to be his guards were almost unrecognizable from the same order he had witnessed upon induction into the Starry Sept. Before, most were lice-infested wretches half-dressed in rags and carrying pitchforks. Now, under Hugor's leadership, they were as well-armed as a man-at-arms for a wealthy house. Chainmail armor and halberds joined with the surcoat of the seven-pointed star to project an intimidating front. From what he witnessed earlier that week, Barth was certain that they'd be able to use it in battle.

"Your eminence, Septa Poore and Septa Flowers are here to meet with you."

Barth smiled. "Let them in."

Even in their septa's habits and veils, Jeyne's unconventional beauty could take the chamber, as were the gossamer, golden comeliness of her friend. Jeyne wore the habit with purpose and pride, while the former whore Floris Flowers appeared awkward and trembling.

Intimidated… good. You should be. He rose, taking Jeyne's hands. "My dear, it is good to see you returned to the cloth. Temporary as it may be, the glories of the Mother are well-adorned upon you."

She nodded, her expression that of a crafty, intelligent young woman. "Thank you, your eminence."

Eyes shifting to the almost starstruck, nervous Floris, Barth gave her a once over. "Is this your chosen partner?"

Jeyne nodded. "This is Floris Flowers, my closest companion in the… house of pleasure."

"So a whore?" Gulping, Floris nodded as if thinking she could have her throat slit or carted off to the stake at any moment. "For how long, my Lady?"

"Th… three years, mi'Lord…"

"Do not call me your Lord. I am 'Your Eminence' to you, understood."

She nodded vociferously. "Aye, yer' Eminence."

"Alright." He leaned back on his desk, folding his arms. "Have you suffered from any diseases?" Floris shook her head. "Do not lie to me. The maesters I have access to are the top experts on venereal sickness the Citadel has to offer…"

"I've never suffered such, yer' Eminence." Floris was outwardly shaking now. "I's work at establishments that check, nor do I let those with weepin' cocks go into me."

Glancing at Jeyne, the other girl nodded. "Sarai always had the thugs kick the diseased out… and kept their coin."

"Hmmm… tough woman. I obviously picked well for you." Barth clasped his hands together. "What is your birth, Lady Floris? You're a bastard, but a highborn bastard?"

"Mi'father was a knight, yer' Eminence. A knight of the Stars n'Swords. Damon… somethin', mi'mother said."

Barth's eyes widened momentarily. Damon Morrigen sired a bastard? Oh, this could definitely be useful. But not at the moment. "Lady Floris, please wait outside." Close to passing out, she did as bidden with a certain desperation, almost tripping as she scrambled out the door. Barth chuckled and turned to Jeyne. "You have learned much, Lady Jeyne, not to mention your innate cunning. Most men underestimate women, which I am sure is true of Lady Floris as well."

Jeyne stood strong. "Thank you, your Eminence."

"That is why I have deemed it proper to finally make use of you and all you have learned. Through my connections with the castellan of the Dragonpalace, you shall become a…"

But Jeyne's eyes had widened and she burst out in indignation. "You mean to send me to the den of the vile incestspawn?!"

In an instant, Barth's hand shot out and slapped her upside the cheek. Leaving a large, red hand-print. "Never are you to interrupt me again, are we clear?" At his blazing eyes, hers hardened but she bowed her head in supplication. Barth calmed. "As I was saying, you are to become a serving girl within the royal household - under an assumed name of course."

"You want to me serve cups?" she asked, insulted. "Stand around like a post with the dragons engage in any sort of debauchery and sin?" Which was worse for her, the commonness of the work or whom it would be for?

But Barth, shook his head. "A smart and able woman, you will be in the midst of the dragons with them none the wiser. By the grace of the Crone and Maiden, your ear shall be privy to their greatest secrets that would serve the Seven. Lady Floris will work alongside you, and she must not know the truth of this all - and if she is close, you are to kill her. Understood?"

Jeyne nodded. "I understand, your Eminence."

"Good, you shall be told more at the right times, so be peeled. Dismissed, Lady Jeyne… and send Lady Floris in as you go." She eyed him suspiciously, but - rubbing her still stinging cheek - she said nothing. Soon, it wasn't her striking face that he saw but the more conventionally beautiful Floris before him. Not Jeyne, not the woman that haunted his dreams, but she'd do. "Tell me, Lady Floris, what were your featured skills at the brothel?"

Sweating, hands pressed flat against the sides of her dress, Floris thought how best to phrase her answer. "I was… I was skilled at oral play for both men and women… and at how to play a defenseless maiden. For men who… wished to conquer a woman."

Oh, this would do. Standing, Barth rounded Floris before he abruptly pushed her down, bending her over his desk. "Then you should know what happens if you resist." Even the most holy of men needed their release.

"Of… of course, yer' Eminence…" she murmured as he began to lift up his robes.

A/N: The calm before shit hits the fan, I think.

Enjoy and please comment!