Jon
Tony had warned him before he'd left that King's Landing was nothing like he had been told by his father. When Jon had stated that he'd been told that King's Landing was a stinking place where desperation filled the hearts of those that dwelled there and avarice flowed through the veins of the powerful that were supposed to stand for the downtrodden Tony had raised an eyebrow and admitted that maybe Jon was ready to travel to the Capital. Or, at the very least, wouldn't be blinded by glorious tales of some shining city on three hills that offered hope and opportunity to all that traveled to it.
No, Jon had no illusions about the city. Nor in his place there. He wasn't heading to King's Landing to earn fame and glory and to ensure that the maesters would debate what effects he had made on Westerosi history. While they could claim that he was being brought to King's Landing to serve as an advisor to the King both sides understood that he was being made an honored hostage of the Lannisters. Lord Tywin (and he made sure to put some emphasis on the title, lest her forget to use it and cause himself more problems) clearly was hoping that with the disappearance of Arya and Sansa's death that he would be able to use threats again Jon to stay his father's hand and get him to the table. Jon may be allowed to attend Small Council meetings but his opinion wouldn't matter; he wouldn't be able to give his actual opinion anyway, not if he wanted to keep his head attached to his neck while around the Brat King. In reality he was at best something to show off to the crowds and at worse a ram they hoped to slaughter like an Essosi cultist.
'Bu they don't realize who I am… and the power I bring.'
His armor was carefully hidden and packed away in trunks with double false bottoms. In fact all his trunks had double false bottoms, most packed with stones and straws so that it would be impossible to tell that the weight was off. Riding with him was Happy and a small battalion of Iron Pointe guards, all hand selected by the grim-faced man for their dedication and skill. And of course he had Natasha at his side and ignoring her skill she brought with her connections to the Dornish that would be in the city. Her Uncle Doran had been given a place on the Small Council and she planned on meeting with him the moment they arrived to ensure that he would lend his own men to Jon's protection.
Jon was ready for King's Landing. He had no illusions of what it would be like.
He sniffed the morning air and cringed.
'Tony didn't do justice to how bad the stink is!'
The wind had shifted with them an hour's ride from the Lion Gate and the stench of the great city had hit them like a sodden blanket. It was a pungent mixture of old fish, arm pit stench, warm shit, and general foulness that made Jon twist in his saddle in a desperate attempt to find a way to avoid the blowback. What made it all the worse was the fact that it seemed to come and go like waves on the Sunset Sea, washing over him then retreating only to return with a vengeance. It meant that Jon could never quite get used to the sour odor.
Natasha spurred her horse closer to his and glanced at him as he looked about the burnt down rubble that surrounded them on either side of the Goldroad. It wasn't just a single building nor a long line of rubble but rather a swath of charred wood. Jon could tell from how little of it remained and hadn't been reduced to ash and cinders that it had been of a poor quality too. "Shanty settlement, if I had to guess," she said to his unasked question. "They aren't supposed to build near the walls like this but do so anyway because often Kings care little about such things until it is nearly too late." They passed by the charred remains of… well, he couldn't be sure what, not with only the barest of foundation and a single crumbling piece of timber… and Jon did his best to not stare at the burned remains inside, blackened arm bones reaching out from the charred earth as if trying to claw at them. "if I had to guess I'd say that the Lannisters forced the people out and burned them before Stannis arrived, to prevent him from using these areas as staging grounds." She shook her head. "The most desperate put in an even worse position, especially with Stannis marching their way."
"Why would anyone want to live in such a place?" Jon asked. "Why live where no one cares if you live or die? Where they see you only as an obstacle?"
"Not all can live in Iron Pointe," Natasha pointed out.
Jon rolled his eyes at that. "I don't mean that. I know how privileged I've it. I mean that there are lands all over… the North, the Riverlands, the Reach… move you family there. Yes, every inch of Westeros is controlled by a Lord but if you are willing to work then you have a chance. Better than living here, building your home out of driftwood and at the mercies of guards and lords who could take it all away without a care of what you'll do next."
"Because its home," Natasha stated as they continued on along through the ruins of the unnamed shanty town. Or perhaps the same one. It was impossible to tell. "They grew up in King's Landing… for them to leave it, even if only to travel a day's ride, is like asking your father to travel to Essos. It is simply impossible for them to grasp." Jon didn't say a word and they continued to ride on for another 10 minutes before Natasha asked, "How are you Jon?"
He considered her and her rather pathetic attempt to connect with him. She'd been doing that every day since they'd ridden out of Iron Pointe. She knew the distance that lay between them while also remembering how close they had been once, before her lies had been stripped bare and the truth exposed. Jon hadn't been rude to her, as he didn't know if he could be truly enraged at her anymore, but he hadn't invited her to engage on her. It was up to her to approach him, to make the attempts, and how that ended depended on his mood. Some days he would chat with her for a few minutes before riding ahead, needing to be alone, it too hard to be around her. All he could see on those days was the lying bitch who had worked with the group that had sought to control him, who had seen him as just another piece in the game of thrones. But other days he saw her and how much the distance between them was hurting her and he saw only his wife in pain and on those days he would spend hours riding beside her, talking often but the rest of the time just enjoying her silent company.
As they neared the great Liongate Jon honestly didn't know what she was to him that day… but he knew at minimum she wasn't his enemy.
"I feel a great sense of loss," Jon finally said. "Every day that I spend here pretending that I don't know what is going on, why the Lannisters have truly summoned me, equals so many people I won't be able to help as the Centurion." He clenched his hands into fists, feeling the leather of his riding gloves strain against his knuckles. "I hate this. The "Game of Thrones' as Tony said some are want to call it. It is pathetic and it is wasteful."
"And it is everywhere," Natasha reminded him. "Even the North."
He sighed at that. He might hold the North to a higher standard that he did the rest of Westeros but he wasn't foolish enough to believe that it was a paradise where all the lords got along. Petty squabbles still happened often, with this Lord or that claiming someone else had taken a scrap of land or fishing rights to a river or hunted in their forest. He hadn't seen it while in Winterfell but Tony had been determined that he would understand the gambles of lords, so that Jon might be the best Lord that Iron Pointe would ever see.
'The Forresters and the Whitehills hate each other with a passion and would happily sell out the other if given a chance. The Umbers will grumble if they think a lord is weak and have no problem causing problems saying so. The Boltons... well, even I knew about them before I left Winterfell. The Karstarks and the Starks can either be as close as Robb and I or feud as greatly as Sansa and Arya used to.'
Out loud he stated. "I know. But this is different. This place... they can't even claim what they are doing is for the good of the people. Not if they are honest and truly they never are. They let their game consume them to the point that they betray each other not because it brings them power or weakens another but because it is expected."
"Do unto others before they do unto you," his wife stated. "As my old swordmaster Syrio used to say. But you do not need to fall into that trap, Jon. You can find ways to still help the people... even if it must be on a smaller scale." She waved her hand towards the growing walls of the Capital. "Just one person... a project to rise them up and change their lives forever. As Tony did for you."
Jon smiled at that, warming to the idea rather quickly. It didn't push away all his doubts and worries but it did, at the very least, give him something to look towards with anticipation rather than bitter acceptance. To find a diamond in the rough and help them however he could.
The guards, dressed in the gold and red of House Lannister (because save for Joffrey's name the Lannisters had given up the game that this was still an alliance of Lions and Stags), gave up a call to halt and Jon reined his horse, Natasha doing the same while Happy rode forward to announce them.
"Who goes there?" a guard called out. While the smallfolk could easily move through the gate those that showed wealth had to announce themselves, to ensure that all know their reason for being there and what privileges were to be given to them.
"We are the party of Lord Jon Stark-" the guards shifted, hands going to the pommels of their swords, "-heir to Lord Antony Stark of Iron Pointe and acting Warden of the West and his ladywife Natasha Stark, formerly of House Martell. They have been invited here by his Grace King Joffrey and the Lord Hand Tywin Lannister to serve on the Small Council." Happy produced the parchment that bore Tywin Lannister's signature and seal from his pocket and held it out to one of the guards.
The man took it and looked it over, brow furrowed and eyes narrowed. "A Stark on the Small Council? How do we know that this is true? It seems like a mummer's farce to me."
"It is not up to you to decide if it is wise or not," Happy rumbled. "Do you doubt the seal of the Hand of the King?"
Another guard scowled. "A forgery. Though admittedly I would be shocked if you Northern barbarians could read, let alone create a copy of Lord Tywin's writing."
"Do you know why the Lannisters must always pay their debts?" a man called out behind the guards. Jon leaned to his right and saw that beyond the guards that manned the Lion Gate there stood a man dressed in leathers dyed black and purple, his dark shaggy blonde hair sticking up slightly. He had a bow held loosely in his hand and a quiver of arrows on his back, each one fletched with violet feathers that matched his clothing. "Because they are so fucking annoying that if they didn't everyone would have wiped out the family long ago." The man sauntered forward, the guards suddenly coming to their senses and moving to block his path. "But you boys have neither the name or the wealth so you need to stop pissing everyone off before you give yourself a debt you'll never be able to pay."
One guard moved to grab him but the man suddenly shifted out of his way, causing the guard to miss and instead awkwardly lunge forward, just in time for the new arrival to sling his bow over his shoulder and grab the man's other arm and twist it behind his back. The Lannister soldiers began to draw their swords and Jon moved to pull out Shadowfang while Ghost;s haunches went up and his lips curled up. But it wasn't needed as suddenly the blond man had a dagger in his hand and had placed it at the restrained guard's side.
"If I stab him here it will take 8 minutes for him to die. Not because of blood but because of the bile that will begin to leak into his body and eat away at his organs. It is a painful, nasty way to go. Truly agonizing. Now a measter MIGHT be able to save him... if he got to him in the first few minutes. If not he could at least ease the pain. But I know for a fact the nearest healer, who isn't as good as a measter, is 10 minutes away if the streets are clear and you run. In other words he will die." The new arrival smirked. "And the moment I stab him I'm going to drop him to the ground, get my bow, and fire arrows through two of your throats, one of your eyes, and I think..." he looked at the guards before nodding to one, "your groin. So you can either let these people through, since you know who they are because Lord Tywin told you to expect them, and stop playing your games to make yourself feel powerful, or most of you can die. Your pick."
The Lannister guards slowly removed their hands from their swords and the new arrival shoved his hostage forward, causing him to fall flat on his face.
"You'll... you'll pay for that!" the embarrassed man bellowed.
"Don't worry... I can pay my debts too," the figure in purple said before motioning for them to follow him. Natasha, surprisingly, was the first to do so and Jon had to bring his horse into a trot to catch up to her. By the time he did the new arrival had hopped onto his own horse. "Hey Nat."
"Clynt," Natasha said with a slight smile. "Still causing trouble?"
"Always. You?"
"Less so now." She looked back to Happy, who was scowling at he for riding off like she had. Jon knew that in the man's opinion the couple should be tied to the sworn sword so there was no chance they could get out of his sight. Even with Ghost never being too far away from them Happy only trusted himself with their safety. "It's fine, Happy. We're safe with him." With that she nudged her horse and they were off before Happy could complain about her definition of 'safe'.
"Less so now," Clynt muttered. "Yeah, heard about that. Got married... sorry I couldn't attend."
"You would have liked it. We killed Iron Born."
"How Dothraki of you. All I got to kill was Stormlanders and that wasn't much fun at all. Oh, and a Valesman. That was interesting."
Jon watched the two continue to chat, following after the new arrival Clynt and wondering if he quietly turned his horse and galloped away would the Lannisters be stupid enough to think Clynt was him and he could go back to Iron Pointe.
Unfortunately for him Natasha looked back and motioned for him to come closer. "Jon, this is Clynt, an old friend and teacher of mine. Clynt this is my husband Jon Stark."
"So you are the one that tamed Natasha, huh?"
"Not at all."
The blond raised an eyebrow at that. "Oh really?"
"It was an arranged marriage," Jon stated, turning just as Natasha flinched at how matter-of-fact he stated that. "Though by who…"
Clynt and Nat shared a look and Jon watched as they engaged in what Bran used to call the Language of the Eyebrows. He had mentioned it several times concerning Lady Stark and Maester Luwin, how the two of them would suddenly stop talking and begin to look at each other, using only their eyes and foreheads to communicate what they were thinking. He'd seen Tony and Natasha 'converse' in the same manner a few times but had never quite managed to pick it up; honestly he was too much like his fa-like his uncle, preferring that people just say what they wanted to say and not play such petty and silly games.
'All I wanted was a simple life… I didn't even dream of a home of my own because I knew Lady Stark would never allow for that. Just a life serving in the Night's Watch. Something basic… not complex. Instead I find myself the heir to a castle surrounded by artists and craftsmen, my mentor has given me armor that can fly, I have to stay in King's Landing as part of the game of thrones, and my wife works for a shadowy cabal that wanted to take me as a baby and raise me to be Hand for my half-brother.' He huffed. 'The Old Gods can be bastards sometimes.'
"So," Clynt finally said, his conversation with Natasha finally over, "you told him about everything?"
"No, I didn't," Natasha said with a slight growl to her words. "I was going to… I was finding the proper way to break the news…" Jon knew that even though she was looking at her friend she was really talking to him, "…but then Fury had to spill everything."
"Our Fury or the imposter?"
"Our Fury."
"Yeah, that sounds about right."
"I'm done with him," she said bluntly. "Him and the entire Council." Jon raised an eyebrow at that. "Fury suspects and probably thinks he can talk me out of it but he's wrong. I'm no longer his spy."
"Then why are you here, Nat?" Clynt asked. "I know you are going to be working with Varys… if you are done with them why be anywhere near him? You know he's one of Fury's closest allies."
"I'm done with them but I still need them," she said firmly. "We aren't here because the Lannisters honestly value Jon. At least not in the way they might claim in their declarations. I need to protect him and I can do that better with Varys."
"So use Fury and those still loyal to him? People have tried that before."
"People have. I haven't."
Clynt laughed at that as he guided them to take a bend, moving along another one of King's Landings cobbled streets. "Well, if it makes things any different for you I'm most likely on Fury's shit list at the moment so I can plausibly not tattle on you since I am avoiding Varys like the plague and if Fury shows up we'll probably come to blows."
"What did you do?" Natasha asked as the three of them continued to ride through the city, Happy and the rest of the guards having hung back just enough to give them some privacy and Ghost not caring in the slightest what they discussed. Jon knew that the Happy hated having to stay back but he also knew if he pushed too hard it would only cause Jon and Nat to find other ways to sneak off, ways that meant he had no way to get to them in time if they were attacked. Such were the lessons one learned when protecting Antony Stark.
"Tyrion Lannister has left King's Landing."
"…and?" Natasha asked.
"Fury didn't tell you?" Clynt asked, surprised. "I was assigned to keep an eye on him when Varys found out that Catelyn Stark had gotten it in her head that he crippled her son when we know who did-"
"What?" Jon said, reminding them that he was listening in. "What did you say?"
"…shit," Clynt hissed.
"Don't bother trying to deny it. Jon doesn't let go of things. Best trait, actually," Natasha said before looking at him sadly. "I don't know who did it. I swear."
Jon nodded; he believed her, as startling as that was considering everything else she'd lied about.
"This isn't the place to discuss it," Clynt said and Jon realized he was right. One didn't discuss such secrets on a street filled with people, even with lowered voices. "We'll talk later. The point is that I was sent to watch over Catelyn Stark in case she did something stupid and when she did I had to keep Tyrion alive. That led me and Bronn going with him through the Vale after he won his freedom and when we got here Fury ordered me to keep close to him." He shook his head. "Was easy until he cut the deal with his father to go to Essos to try and get his messed up hands fixed. Lord Tywin commanded that he'd have loyal Lannister guards go with him and not sellswords. And Tyrion agreed so I couldn't push matters. Tyrion went off with Lord Tarly's boy-"
"The one with the unfortunate name?" Natasha asked. Jon looked at her and she said, "Dickon," and he let out a barking laugh before he could stop himself.
Clynt smirked at that and continued on. "No, the other one. Samwell…Wise… I think Tyrion once just called him Rudy. It doesn't matter. Bronn and I were left alone in the city. I could have followed after him in secret but Bronn would have never gone."
"And you couldn't leave him," Natasha told him. He merely nodded.
Jon looked about, watch as people went about their lives without barely glancing at them. "I thought we'd get more attention, flying the direwolf and all."
"The red and gold wolf," Clynt said. "People know the difference, believe it or not. Not many smallfolk can read but they know who the bannermen of the Hand of the King are. Besides, the city has been seeing a lot of guests of late so your arrival isn't much of a shock. With the Tyrells here all the lords of the Reach are sending representatives for the wedding so what is one more to the mess? We've had both of those Apples show up, Hightowers, the Tarlys sent a representative shortly after Samwell left, the Heir to the Tombs arrived a day ago, no Florents but they are supposed to be still at Dragonstone with orders to remain till Stannis returns from wherever he went to lick his wounds-"
Natasha though was frowning and cut him off. "This isn't the way to the Red Keep." Jon looked about and saw that Happy too had realized they weren't going the right way and was ordering the men to spur their horses and get closer to their charges, the wagons that were pulling their possessions rumbling on the cobblestone. Jon once more went for his sword but Natasha held up a hand, shaking her head. "Clynt…"
The blond smiled at her. "With Tyrion gone Bronn and I had a choice. The Queen was out of the question even though she is trying to hire everyone she can find. People like that… you can tell they will stiff you when the time comes to settle up. Tywin wouldn't but he also would frown at the likes of us and only give us the messiest of jobs and I personally have gotten a taste for the more… interesting things my line of work can bring in. The Tyrells? They are traitorous bastards, all of them. Their sigil should be a scorpion instead of a rose as it is in their nature to scheme and use. When I heard you were coming I was going to convince you to hire me-"
"Of course you would, you jackass," Natasha grumbled.
"-but yesterday the Dornish party arrived and Bronn and I decided that it would be better to appeal to them. Touch and go with the negotiations and I had to go for a few less stags that I'd like but it was worth it to get a pledge of safety from our new employer."
"The Dornish?" Jon asked even as Natasha grinned.
"Uncle Doran then? Good. Very good! I was worried he wasn't here and we'd have to make do with dealing with the Lannisters on our own. It will be good to have him supporting us-"
Happy made his presence known. "Why are we riding along the Street of Silk? We are supposed to head to the Red Keep."
"Family comes first, good sir," Clynt said with a mocking bow before gesturing towards the Blue Oyster. While Jon had only seen a few brothels in his life he could tell that this one was far grander than the one in Wintertown or even the one that sat on the outskirts of Iron Pointe. Three stories tall with fresh aqua-marine paint and a hand-crafted sign above the door that featured a winking mermaid, the Blue Oyster was so grand that he knew even the most pious of men would have considered entering its doorway if only so they might take in the splendor of it all. Silk curtains hung from the windows and the women that stood nearby gesturing for the passersby to come inside were clean and perfumed, wearing silks more expensive than what some in Westeros made in a year or hard toil. They were exotic too; back in Winterfell Theon had been enamored with one whore who had red hair for that was strange and different in the North until Robb and Sansa and the rest of the Stark children had been born with that coloring. But now Jon saw a woman with almond shaped eyes who flowed like water and another from the Summer Isles with skin as dark as a moonless night. Another had dyed her hair blue and as Jon got off his horse she raised her skirt and he saw that she'd dyed her snatch the same color.
"Remember that I can do anything they can do and more," Natasha said, walking over and giving his rear a pat.
"I remember," Jon said, rolling his neck so he didn't focus on the fact that their feud had prevented them from exploring each other. It had been far, far too long and a sinful part of Jon argued to just fucking forgive his wife so they could get back to said fucking. "Ghost. Stay." The direwolf merely huffed and began to drink from a bucket. "Your uncle and your father are clearly alike."
"Except they aren't," Natasha said, looking to Clynt before her eyes went wide and she darted into the brothel with a grin, leaving Jon, Clynt, and Happy to chase after her.
When Jon got inside the brothel, breezing by the whores with barely a second glance, he saw Natasha chatting with a man with a boyish face who said something and pointed to the stairs, which Nat took two at a time. He raced after her up all three flights of stairs, Happy and a few guards thundering several steps behind, and then chased her down a hallway to a grand carved door that depicted a garden filled with fornicating bodies twisting around each other in every possible position there was. Natasha didn't even bother to knock, bursting in with Jon and then Clynt right on her heels.
The room took up nearly a third of the top floor, Jon would wager, and was done in rich oak with silk all over to the point that there were thin peach curtains just randomly placed between pillars. A massive canopy bed that could fit an entire family sat at the far end of the room but it was not the only one for there were other places to rest as well: padded couches and lounging benches, a bed that seemed to be filled with water and another that was flat to the ground and little more than a thick mat. To his right he saw a rack like one would use to interrogate a prisoner but the instruments that sat on the table next to it weren't for violence; a wand covered in feathers, a painter's brush, a thin padded rod... all spoke of a different kind of torture. Rugs from Essos lined the floors and upon the walls were paintings that put the lewd door to shame, for they showed in full color the acts that the door had only hinted of. There were other things he didn't quite understand... like a full scale model of King's Landing on the ground... that he realized he didn't want to understand at all.
But while the room was designed for it Jon found that rather than a lustful orgy there were merely two people sitting at a table nibbling on fruits and assorted chilled meats and cheeses, wine at the ready. The only truly shocking thing was the naked minstrel strumming on a lute nearby.
One of the people at the table was a woman with long dark hair that fell in gentle curls down to her shoulder blades and the tanned skin of the Dornish. She had fierce eyes that made every look from her seem more intense and worrisome than she meant them to be. A dress of spun orange silk and golden lace covered her body yet as she moved to look at the newly arrived intruders Jon could see that the loose cut meant that it would be near impossible for her to ever completely hide her flesh from hungry eyes. Her slippers lay in a hazard heap under the table, one long leg crossed over the other as she swayed her bare foot back and forth and Jon could spot the woman's undergarments lying near the large bed.
It was the other person, the man, who was all too familiar to Jon and he repressed a groan at the future torment he would be forced to deal with.
"Father," Natasha said, her hands on her hips. "You are at least clothed, I see."
Oberyn Martell stood up, the white and gold robe he wore only tied at the waist so that it opened to expose his muscular chest and toned stomach, coming together only at the last possible moment right above his crotch. He had his boots on and on his belt were several pouches as well as a long knife. He smiled, walking over to Natasha, one hand darting out to tap on the sunstone lamp that sat on a table. "If it were any other woman I would be saddened by your joy at that. But with you I am glad you are forlorned over my choice of dress." He held out his arms and Natasha gave him a hug. "I have missed you."
"And I you," Natasha said, warmth that she usually reserved for only Jon himself tinting her words.
Oberyn looked over at Jon and offered him his hand, which Jon clasped but only after making sure he didn't have some needle or blade hidden in his sleeve. That seemed to please the Dornish Prince who slapped in on the shoulder. "It is good to you see, Jon. I trust wedded life has treated you well?" Jon opened his mouth to respond but Oberyn cut him off, shooting a glance at Natasha. "What did you do?"
"I..." she began before letting out a huff. "It is private and we will work it out."
"See that you do. Jon should beam at the mention of you but instead I see it in his eyes... you have wronged him. That is no good. I expect you to be kind to him." Oberyn tightened his grip on Jon's hand and pulled him forward a bit closer, smile widening but doing nothing to become kinder. The opposite in fact. "And you to be worthy of her."
"As Natasha said... it is between the two of us."
"Of course," Oberyn said, releasing Jon and returning once more to his pleasant, bordering on jovial, mood. "Come, sit and join us. I placed men on the walls of the city to watch for you and I am happy you have arrived so soon; you know how I hate to wait for things that have nothing to do with pleasure. For the art of making a body quiver I am a patient man. But in other things... well, your uncle is forever complaining about my rashness. But I am glad you are here now and have not made me wait... too much of my life has been waiting." He took his seat and Jon and Natasha did the same, Clynt moving to talk with a glowering Happy. Natasha's father poured glasses of Dornish Red for the two of them and waved his hand at the food spread out before them. "Sample, please. I have already ensured that it is safe to eat."
"And you would know," the Dornish woman said. She looked at Natasha and while Jon did not see jealousy or hatred in her eyes there wasn't love either. Rather it seemed that the woman accepted Natasha's presence; it reminded him of how some servants, like Septa Mordane, would look upon him back in Winterfell, when he was merely Eddard Stark's bastard son. "Though now you are being rude, my love. You have not introduced us."
"Ah, of course." Oberyn waved his hand at Jon then the woman. "May I present Jon Stark, bastard son of Eddard Stark, Warden of the North, but more importantly the legitimized heir of our dear friend Antony Stark. Jon, may I present Ellaria Sand, my paramour."
"Hello," Jon said politely with a nod.
"A bastard of the North who will be a Westerland Lord with a Dornish bastard bride who now sits on the Small Council. What an interesting life you already lead, Jon."
Natasha reached out and patted Jon's hand. "I must ask you to not use the word 'bastard' around Jon. The Northmen are not as... understanding... of such things as we are."
"Of course," Ellaria stated. Nearby the nude musician began a new tune, one that was light yet had a tint of battle in its chords. "It is foolish, you know? Bastards are so much better than nearly all trueborn children in my opinion. We grow faster, are stronger and tougher than them. Taller and more powerfully built. Even the women. The men has larger cocks, the women greater curves. People marvel at the beauty of trueborn ladies but all know that a bastard girl is more alluring because she is exotic and different... and more skilled. As for the men they fight harder... fuck harder too." She turned to Oberyn. "No offense meant, my love."
"None taken," Oberyn said, leaning back in his chair and taking a sip of his wine. "I can attest that bastard men fuck all the harder than trueborns!"
"We bastards must stick together, Jon," Ellaria stated with a smile that, thanks to her dark eyes, came off as like that of a fanged serpant slithering towards a mouse. "We are all family, after all."
Natasha, clearly sensing Jon's distress at the conversation's turn, changed topics. "What are you doing here, Father? We were told that Uncle Doran had been given a spot on the Small Council."
"The spot was given to House Martell," Oberyn told her, picking up a grape and idly bouncing it against the back of his fingers deftly. He didn't even bother to look at it, instead merely using instinct to make the green fruit dance against his knuckles. "It is not my fault that they were not more specific. Oh, I am sure they would have preferred Doran... he is so eager to ignore past crimes in the name of peace." He flicked his hand up and the grape sailed into the air, which he caught in his mouth with a clamping of his teeth. He chewed on it once before swallowing and turning to Jon. "You do not know much of my brother, do you?"
"I don't," he admitted.
"He is ten years my elder thought you would think him older should you see him. He has an... old soul, as the maesters would say. It comes from being raised alone. I and Ellia grew up together but the siblings between Doran and I died in the cradle or in the womb and thus he was all by himself. It matured him, or at least that is what people said when he was still young and strong. Now though?" He shook his head. "Now he is just old and suffers from all the plights age can bring to those that do not prepare. He has gout, a swelling of the joints in the feet, so that it is agonizing to walk. So he sits in a chair and watches others live. His sight is not the best, for the sun hurts his eyes. And he believes in peace."
"Peace is a plight of the old?" Jon asked.
"But of course," Oberyn said. "I was once told by a tutor that young men make war and old men make peace. He made it seem like that was something good, that we should strive to be old men, but I saw it quite the opposite: we must fight to remain young. For when you get old you also forget. My brother forgets. He forgets that the Lannisters betrayed my sister, their future queen, and sicced their mad dog Clegane on her. He forgets that my niece was dragged from under her bed where she cowarded and stabbed her 50 times." He poked his finger against the table. "Fif-ty-times." He leaned forward, locking eyes with Jon and silently daring him to look away but he did not. He listened. Because even though Oberyn didn't know it he wasn't just speaking of his own blood. Rhaenys was his blood as well. The sister he would never know. It made what he had done to Clegane all the more just. "And my nephew Aegon... a babe that hadn't even left his mother's breath, had his skull crushed and then the Mountain raped my sister with his blood still on his hands before she was killed as well. On Tywin Lannister's order. My brother forgets that." He finally leaned back. "I have not."
He didn't scream or bellow. That was the most terrifying thing. Oberyn was merely so intense that it felt like Jon had walked into the forge back in Winterfell and felt the heat upon his skin. No fire... just heat.
"One might argue that you wouldn't want to visit the city where these things happened," Jon said. "One that is controlled by the people you blame for it."
"The same could be said of you, could it not?" Oberyn asked. "Your sister died here, no? The boy king shoved her and she shattered her skull against the stone of their grand sept? Why would you want to be here?"
"I have no choice."
"There is always a choice."
"Not one that lets me live," Jon stated. "Tony has a saying... 'death is so final. Life has many possibilities'. Personally? I prefer 'So many opportunities'."
Oberyn raised an eyebrow at that and took Ellaria's hand, peppering kisses along it. "I did not realize I was giving my daughter a poet as a husband."
"Is he merely that?" Ellaria asked. "Or something far more?"
"Far more than you can imagine," Natasha said with pride and Jon granted her an honest smile at that, one that seemed, from the way she returned it, like it was her sun and moon and stars.
But the moment was ended when it wasn't the ministrel but someone else that began to produce a song. One that caused all four at the table to tense. Jon had heard the song enough, for it had been played often at the tournament to celebrate his marriage even in those few hours before Vanko and the Iron Born had attacked. It was a horrid song of death and pain yet in the lands that bordered the Sunset Sea it was treated as the perfect song to perform for all occasions.
"A coat of gold, a coat of red, a lion still has claws..."
Clynt, who Jon only now realized had remained standing and actually positioned himself to have a full view of the room and all exits out of it, slowly pulled his bow from his back while Happy looked to the guards that had come with them and quietly motioned for them not to draw their swords but to be ready to do so. Jon's hand rested on Shadowfang's pommel while Natasha reached out and undid the straps that held her tonfas so she could pull them out easily. Oberyn was the only one not to make a move, choosing to merely sit in his chair and watch the door; even Ellaria quietly took a cheese knife and hide it away. But Jon wasn't fooled by the Prince of Doran's casualness... he was the Red Viper and like his namesake Jon knew that the serpent was prepared to pounce.
"Well," the newly arrived "singer' said as he entered the room, several companions trailing just behind him. Even for the earliness of the day they stank of wine. Though they all wore the red garb of Lannister soldiers Jon could see that their leader, the one that had been singing, had touches of gold in his hair. Not of the main branch, he was sure, but perhaps the bastard for a cadet branch or perhaps merely an ancestor who had been part of the main family but the singer was now too far away from the family to rise above common soldier. Still, he and his band wore bare swords and swaggered into the room like they were Lords Paramount.
"Well, what do we have here?" the singer asked, looking about the room. "Some vermin are in my favorite room!"
"Are there?" Oberyn asked, raising an eyebrow.
"And they talk too!" one of the singer's companions giggled, nearly falling over from his drunken laughter.
"I'll need to have this entire room cleaned," the singer said, looking around and sniffing with a disgusted look twisting his features. "Who knows what these Dornish dogs did in here."
"Would you like to know?" Ellaria asked with a raised eyebrow. "Because my love has stamina and isn't a flaccid little thing like yourself , so we were able to fornicate on every piece of furniture in this room."
Jon shifted, pulling his hands off the table and praying that the wet spot he saw near his elbow was from spilled wine.
"Flaccid?" one of the singer's friends snapped in outrage. Unlike the leader of the group he had not a drop of Lannister in him, favoring instead muddy brown hair and eyes. "What would a Dornish whore know of how we fuck?"
Natasha chose that moment to enter the verbal fray. "One only needs to look at you to know everything about you."
The singer placed a hand on his sword. "Watch your tongue, cunt, before I remove it. Your lover there won't be able to save you," he nodded towards Oberyn, "or your other whore friends." He looked first to Ellaria and then, to Jon's surprise, himself and Clynt. The bowman raised an eyebrow at that and smirked, relaxing his stance and for a moment Jon didn't understand till he glanced over and saw the smile Oberyn was wearing. He knew in that moment that the Lannister soldiers would not be walking out of the brothel under their own power. "You truly are a sick fuck, aren't you? What do you do... let those two boys fuck you while the women watch?"
Oberyn pursed his lips and looked towards Clynt, who shook his head when it became clear the Red Viper was actually considering that. "You couldn't pay me enough," he said. Jon quickly nodded in agreement and Natasha hissed under her breath, "Jon is MINE." He opened his mouth to speak but paused when the baby-faced man that ran the brothel rushed in, out of breath and pressing his hands to his knees.
"My lords... I tried to tell you... your appointment is not till tomorrow. Prince Oberyn-"
"Prince?" the singer said with a scoff. "If that man is a prince then I am the Warrior."
"You are barely a man, let alone the Warrior," Oberyn said, rising to his feet with a fluid grace. He prowled towards the soldiers, running his index finger along his lip. "Do you know why people hate the Lannisters? It isn't why most would expect." He began to circle the men and Jon saw Happy growing even more tense, the other Iron Pointe soldiers sliding into defensive stances. Jon, for his part, remembered what Rhodey had taught him about leaping into battle and relaxed parts of his body while tensing others, so that the soldiers didn't realize he was ready to spring into action the moment they twitched the wrong way. "The Lannisters themselves believe it is jealously. Of their wealth, of their standing, of their military might... but what are these things? Nothing but comforts petty men cloak themselves in to shield themselves from the truth: that they are merely on top of the wheel now but it is always turning and soon it will grind them. It has happened to the Lannisters many times. Choosing the wrong side, not getting the alliance they needed, a weak lord. No one is on top forever.
"No, the problem with the Lannisters is they believe the world must turn around them. Not desire it... and not even hope for it." He shook his head, finishing his circle around the men before nodding slightly to the brothel manager who quickly fled out the door. Jon could see Ellaria shifting in her chair, leaning back so she might leap away when the battle began. Because there would be a battle. "They believe that in order for the world to function it must be focused on them. That they must be in the center of it all. And they have allowed this delusion to trickle down to pathetic little men like you, so that you believe that you have the right to come into rooms I have secured and insult my lover, my child, and her husband to my face."
"You're child?" the singer said, his drunkenness clearly, in Jon's opinion, keeping him from seeing the danger he was in. "I knew you Dornish were sick but fucking your own family?" His men laughed at that.
Oberyn did too, reaching out and patting the blond on the cheek. "The only ones who fuck their own family are the Lannisters themselves."
The soldiers sucked in a mouthful of oxygen at that.
"That... that is treason!" the blond snarled. "King Joffrey will have your head for that, damn who you and your house are."
"Yes, he would," Oberyn said with consideration. Jon saw a twitch of the man's hand and suddenly the dagger he had been wearing on his belt was in the belly of the blond soldier, the man from the Westerlands exhaling violently and looking down at his stomach as Oberyn twisted the blade. "Assuming he ever finds out."
Jon saw Clynt suddenly rush behind the Lannister soldiers, grabbing hold of the great carved door and slamming it shut and locking it.
"Kill this dog!" the blond Lannister soldier screamed even as his blood dripped on the floor. He grabbed his sword and made a clumsy swing, which the Prince of Dorne easily dodged. Natasha leapt from her chair and pulled free her tonfas while Happy and the Iron Pointe soldiers drew their blades. They were outmatched in numbers, two against one, though with the way the Lannister guard that Oberyn had stabbed was swaying that wouldn't last.
"Uldrik?" Oberyn said.
The nude minstrel, who to Jon's shock hadn't fled or even truly reacted to the bloodshed, tilted his head. "Yes my Prince?"
"Play the song you performed while Ellaria and I took that dark skinned beauty a few hours back. You remember the one?"
"Yes, my prince," the minstrel said and he strummed the lute.
"Jon," Natasha said, "this is our fight. And it will make things difficult, should word get out. If y-"
"You are my wife," Jon said firmly. "He is my goodfather. And as Ellaria said… we are family." He drew Shadowfang and gave a small exasperated sigh. "The things I do for love."
Without warning both sides charged.
"In a little café just the other side of the border. She was a-sitting there a-givin' me looks that made my mouth water..."
Oberyn darted to the right while Jon went straight, losing track of everyone else as he swung Shadowfang at the sword held by the scarred dark haired soldier. The bladed turned out to not even be castle forge steel, the Valaryn metal taking a deep bite into his foe's weapon. The man looked at him with a befuddled look and Jon smirked before releasing his left hand from the pommel and unsheathing a fighting dagger. His opponent tried to use the weakened grip Jon had to drive his blade forward but it was too late and Jon grasped the smaller blade in a reverse grip and slashed at the man's throat, sending a spray of blood that hit is face and coated his beard. The man released his sword completely and Jon kicked him in the shin, sending him toppling away before he turned and threw his dagger at a drunken soldier that had been trying to sneak up on Happy.
"So I started walking her way. She belonged to that man, José. And I knew, yes I knew I should leave when I heard her say, yeah!"
"I'm supposed to be defending you!" Happy called out in frustration as he blocked another blow from his opponent. Happy's style was focused on defensive moves, speaking to his cautious manner, designed to force opponents to over extend themselves in the name of risky attacks. Jon raced forward and pulled the dagger from the flailing soldier's back, purposely making the yank as messy as he could to keep the man distracted. It worked, the soldier screaming in pain and forgetting all about the battle, choosing instead to reach back as if he could press the wound close. Jon spun around him and went after Happy's other opponent, allowing the sworn sword to jab forward and take out the flailing man with a stab to the stomach and sent his intestines spilling out onto the ground.
"Come a little bit closer you're my kind of man, so big and so strong! Come a little bit closer, I'm all alone. And the night is so long!"
The man Happy had been dueling was far better than the one Jon had first tangled with, knowing when to pull back and when to press his advantage. But Happy's style had left him tired, panting from the exertion, while Jon was used to wearing armor for hours on end and fighting hordes of men all on his own. He parried one blow then another before going into a frenzy of swings that forced the man back, Jon forcing himself not to look past the man lest he give up the game. Instead he trusted his instincts and continued on, steel clanging against steel until Jon had pushed him far enough that they were near the low bed he'd spotted earlier when he'd first entered the room. The man stumbled and Jon raised his sword up and gave a hard downward slash that his foe barely managed to block. But he wasn't going for a killing strike... he wanted the man to give up sure footing.
"So we started to dance, in my arms, she felt so inviting. And I just couldn't resist, just one little kiss, so exciting!"
The Lannister man fell back onto the mattress, his feet tangling on a blanket, and Jon lightly moved forward, making sure that he didn't make the same mistake, and plunged his sword down into the man's left breast, earning more blood for his trouble. Waiting a moment to make sure his foe wouldn't try and hamstring him, Jon turned and wiped his face with the back of his hand in a vain attempt to get the blood off his lips and looked about the room. Two of the Iron Pointe guards were on the ground but at least one was moving and there wasn't much blood around either of them so Jon was hopefully they would survive. Another was half blind, holding his hand to his right eye, and Happy had moved to assist him in dealing with his attacker.
"Then I heard the guitar player say, "Vamoos, José's on his way!" And I knew, yes I knew I should run, but then I heard her say, yeah!"
His beautiful wife had three bodies piled up next to her, her tonfas stained with blood and brain matter as she swung them at a spry little man who kept leaping away before she could land a blow. Jon was about to move to assist when he heard a whistle and the spry man turned slowly, an arrow sticking out of his throat and causing him to gurgle up blood before he collapsed. Nat turned to a smiling Clynt and nodded her thanks before going after another guard while Natasha scanned the room searching out another Lannister man.
As for her father Oberyn wasn't smiling, his face utterly emotionless as he spun and twirled about with natural grace, utterly frustrating his opponent. The man was the biggest one of the Lannister party and his sword was as thick and Happy's arm and twice as long. Every time he swung that blade he let out a bellow but Oberyn merely ducked and weaved away, slashing out with his smaller blade. While the Dornish Prince didn't have a scratch on him his foe was bleeding from a dozen cuts.
"Come a little bit closer, you're my kind of man, so big and so strong. Come a little bit closer I'm all alone. And the night is so long!
Jon glanced to his right and saw that one of the drunken louts had broken from the herd and was making his way towards Ellaria, clearly deciding that he'd rather go after what he assumed was the weakest member of their group. Looking about Jon spotted a small marble statue that had been carved to resemble a small cherub with an immense cock and he grabbed onto the stone member, lifting it and heaving it with all his might. It didn't come close to hitting the man but it did cause him to turn just in time for Jon to swoop in and remove his head from his shoulders.
"Thank you," Ellaria told him, surprise written on her features.
"Then the music stopped, when I looked the café was empty. Then I heard José say "Man, you know you're in trouble plenty""
Jon merely nodded and turned back towards the invaders only to find there were none left. They had taken the drunks out with only a few injuries and all those on the ground for their side were still moaning.
"Did you just try and kill a man with a horny winged child?" Natasha asked.
Jon shrugged. "It worked?"
Clynt laughed, pulling an arrow out of the back of a dead Lannister guard. "It is a good day when someone can say something like that in Westeros and it makes sense!"
And that was when the doors smashed open, causing all of them to turn as one.
"So I dropped my drink from my hand and through the window, I ran. And as I rode away I could hear her say to José, yeah."
They all went silent, even the minstrel as he realized what was happening, as more Lannister guards piled in… led by the ones that Jon and the party from Iron Pointe had left fuming at the gate.
"…fuck," Jon muttered.
"SEIZE THOSE TRAITORS!" the head of the Lion Gate roared, the Dornish and Iron Pointe warriors once more raised their weapons.
"Come a little bit closer you're my kind of man, so big and so strong! Come a little bit closer, I'm all alone! And the night is so long!"
What followed was a mad charge by them all, rushing the City Watch that hadn't expected them to actually rush them. The men tumbled back, flinching and stumbling for a moment but that was all it took for the combined might of the Dornish and Iron Pointe to break through the City Watch line and thunder into the main part of the brothel. Swords swung, blood flowed, and the screams of the dying mixed with the victory cries of Jon and his party. At one point Oberyn bellowed, "TO ME!" and from other rooms came Dornish guards in all manner of undress, grabbing their weapons and moving to defend their Prince and fight at his side. Others spotted Natasha and bellowed her name and "The Black Widow!" before moving to help drive the men of the Golden Lion down the stairs… and sometimes completely OFF said stairs. Not to be outdone Jon roared "IRON POINTE!" and Happy's men bellowed with him and charged. Whores were crying out, other patrons were fleeing into the street naked as the day they were born, and with a mighty crash of steel and flesh Jon suddenly found himself outside the brothel and dueling one member of the City Watch that proudly wore the Red and Gold of Casterly Rock and continued to spit insults at him.
"Bastard!" the man roared as Jon pushed him towards a back alley, leaving the sounds of battle behind them.
"All of you need to figure out a better insult," Jon panted between swings; he'd had that one flung at him hourly by Lady Stark since he could remember. He had several cuts on his arms from where he'd been slow to dodge or from another pair of fighters getting to close to him but while his arms ached he still had reserves to spare.
"The King will have your head for this! He'll kill you like he killed that bitch Sansa-"
Jon tightened his grip, spun his blade, flicked the other man's sword away and drove Shadowfang right into the man's groin with a low thrust. And still he snarled and kept going, driving the man further into the alley as he dangled on his sword till finally smashing him against a wall.
"You don't get to say my sister's name," Jon hissed, pulling himself tight to the man, their noses touching as Jon twisted his blade to make the pain all the worse. He ripped the sword away and turned, breath coming out in sharp pants. But the man of the City Watch still had some strength in him and let out a death cry as he lunged forward with a curved knife-
THWIP!
Jon's foe hit the wall and stayed there, the young man staring at the strange gray-white material that had suddenly struck the other man and slammed him in place against the stone work. Turning Jon spotted a dark shape scurry UP another wall, so fast that he couldn't honestly tell what it had been.
"…what the fuck?" Jon murmured to himself.
