AN: You know what we felt like writing? A one shot. Not just a normal run of the mill one shot, but a crossover one shot after having the most sudden idea take over our minds for the past few days. Quite crazy, no? Yet here we are!

AtW: The benefits of having work until midnight. But yes, after this the next thing we should post is an update for Flask. Then probably Heracleidae, then maybe Power Grid? It's possible we'd write a few more one shots or random chapters as our whims come and go. And as time permits, of course.

CW: What can I say? We were feeling inspired to do our own take on this particular combination of fandoms. Which we do hope you guys enjoy.

AtW: Let us know what you think and have fun.


One Who is Many - One Shot


Grumbling, he scrabbled for his pants, only to slam his hand against something hard and metal.

"Mother fucker!"

Rolling over in their bed, his consort turned to face him, sunlight caressing her face and illuminating a single, full breast.

"Hmm. Not quite my love. Come back to bed." She felt for his body, trying to grab him. "It's too early to get up Oberyn. Especially after last night."

The Prince of Dorne smiled, reaching down to carasess his paramour's face. And then a cockerel crowed. Wincing, a throbbing, shooting pain exploded through his head like a lightning bolt.

Grunting in pain, he screwed his eyes shut and felt bile rising up in his throat. Swallowing, he grimaced and staggered over to a chamber pot. Blessedly, the pain faded to a dull throbbing and he was able to, gingerly, grab a pair of pants and pull them on. And, suddenly, he felt the urge to relieve himself. Even the tinkling of passing water against metal was like knives stabbing into the back of his eyes.

"I'm going to get something for my head."

His words were rough, barely intelligible, Ellaria Sand, now awake herself, simply smiled and kissed his back.

"Go see your daughter. And leave your woman all alone? For shame, my heart. Though if you enjoy that kind of act…."

Lightly swatting her shoulder, they chuckled, Oberyn wincing, before the love of his life pressed a kiss to his chuckled.

"Give Ophelia my love."

With a swat on his rear, the loving woman sent her beloved off to visit his daughter by another woman. And both of them were happy with that, because these were two of a very rare breed of human being.

Now, most knew Oberyn Martell by reputation.

As much for his ability in the battlefield, as by his rather expressive list of lovers. Which one he was most proud of? Well, that was a secret. Needless to say, most expected the man to be good at three things, getting into fights, getting into someone's bed, and getting into a fight to get into someone's bed.

It was this long list of paramours which lead to him fathering nine daughters.

All of them bastards.

All of them were well cared for and loved as they should be.

And the prince well and truly loved each one of them. However, there was one whose own… quirks were just as widely known throughout Dorne. Someone whose name was just as infamous and revered in quiet whispers as Oberyn's own.

Ophelia Sand, the daughter of a witch.

Or so the story went. Oberyn wasn't quite sure where the rumours started that he'd bedded a wielder of magic. He was pretty sure he would have bragged about it to no end had he known it during one of his jaunts through the kingdoms.

What else would a girl who spent her time talking with birds and spiders be?

Not that it mattered.

He still very much loved the girl and doted on her the same way he did all his daughters.

Though her requests were usually on the less orthodox side.

For one, she read a lot. About their history. About the Kingdoms. About the gods and war and the sciences. Oberyn thought she fancied becoming some sorta of maester when she grew up. She was already smarter than all the nobles and half the scholars he'd met on his trips.

Her other requests though, were even more unique.

Exotic pets, for starters.

Ophelia became something of a collector of the rare and dangerous. He could appreciate it, of course, even if it was hardly the most feminine of pursuits. Many of the little critters were deadly and poison was something he was certainly used to dealing with. It seemed natural for the girl to grow an interest in them.

She'd even gotten the little beasties to breed and multiply like rabbits.

Or like him, as the little chit of a girl would say.

And while her sisters were more interested in being warriors or mingling with the high society, the witch girl, as she became known, would continue asking for the strangest things. Like objects shaped out of glass. The likes which would drive a craftsman up the wall with how detailed her requests were.

Then she'd asked for a garden.

It was by far the most mundane request he'd ever heard out of her.

And simply granted.

Later he'd heard that the garden had been covered with a dome of glass and that Ophelia had somehow managed to get most of her personal items and collections inside it. Including the various poisonous creatures he'd brought for her.

'I really should have seen that one coming.' He realized in hindsight.

But predicting Ophelia was like trying to count grains of sand at a beach. You could try, but then give up after realizing it's just sand.

Harmless, really.

Then she started selling 'magic potions' and he stopped being surprised altogether.

"Ophelia, love of my life, I have come for you!"

Dressed in simple robes, loose around the body and tight at the wrists, she continued stirring the mixture she'd been tending to when he arrived. Waving her hand over at the table, he found a tray of fresh bread, his favorite kind of jam, cheese, fruit, and a thick, blue potion.

"Hello Father. The hangover cure is on the table. Please eat something with it this time or you'll just be even sicker."

A long serpent, bright green with yellow eyes, crawled up the outside of her clothes. Wrapping around her neck once, twice, thrice, it slithered across the rich, brown skin so much like his own and underneath the thick braid of black hair that fell past her knees. Twirling around her arm it pushed closer to him, tongue flicking out to scent the air, before lowering itself to the floor and slithering off.

Oberyn, for his part, simply sat down and smiled.

Slathering the flaky, fresh, still slightly steaming bread with a thick helping of apricot preserves he took a bite before downing a swig of the potion. The taste was, as ever, bland and slightly chalky. But even before it hit his stomach he could already feel relief spreading through him.

Even better, though, was the large pitcher of cool water, likely having been kept in a beer or wine cellar after being boiled and filtered a dozen times, his daughter was a bit picky like that, that he eagerly poured himself a goblet of.

"You know, most people would be rather terrified to let a green death be in the same room as them." He wolfed down another piece as he finished the last of the cure, sighing in contentment as the mixture of warm bread, sweet jam, and cool water pushed off the last of his weariness.

"Of course Father. He won't bother us."

Snickering, he threw a crumb of bread at her but a bird swooped down and snatched it out of the air.

"So last night, I was doing some thinking."

She nodded for a moment, still not looking up at him.

"You always do your best thinking when you've had a jug of wine and a whore or three, yes Father."

This time he threw the now emptied pitcher of water and hooted with laughter as one of his daughter's apes leapt from a tree to catch it, tuck into a roll, and then carry it back to the table.

Cut the beast a piece of bread and smearing it with preserves, he fed the little creature for its trouble. Giving a hoot of its own, it began to chew on the treat and plopped down next to Oberyn. Scratching the ape's head, he continued to speak to his daughter's back.

"Well, your step mother and I decided. We think it's time you took a lover. Now, we were wondering if you wanted to marry Trystan? He's still quite taken with you and if so, you could have him as your first. But you're fourteen now and it's time to live a little."

This time she giggled herself.

"As you say Father. When shall I meet the prince for our tryst?"

"We also figured it would be a good time to go ahead and find you a good match. A list was drawn up and letters are to be sent out tomorrow."

"Of course, Father. Would you prefer I marry someone who lives in a port or on the border with the Tyrells?"

This time he pouted, sending his new friend away with a pat on the back, before focusing fully on his youngest daughter.

"Come now my dearest, most delightful, most dutiful daughter. Surely you can give your poor father a meager crumb of attention before you send him away?"

Lifting a large spoon from the mixture she'd been preparing, she had a small songbird flit down and dip its beak into the potion. And, once it had given a small trill, the bird returned to its family.

"Of course. Let me finish the treatment for Uncle's gout first, though. Hopefully this at least stops the pain fully."

And there it was - the reason why people loved and feared his daughter in equal amounts.

Who else could have made wonderful cures the likes which even maesters couldn't understand, and in the same breath speak of exotic beasts or politics. She was seen as valuable for her creations, but dangerous for their inability to corral her in. If you wanted her favor, you had to pay for it or expect a demand in turn.

She also stunk of alcohol.

And not the good stuff either. The kind she used to clean her tools and hands whenever messing around with herbs.

Fingers stained green and hair pinned into a simple braid.

Functional.

"Before that, there's something else I'd like to run by you."

The young woman never stopped stirring her mix, though he knew he had her attention.

"I was invited to attend a trip up North by King Robert. He is making arrangements to look for a new Hand and requested that I join as a guest. He also permitted me to bring a retinue of my own for the trip."

Swiftly bottling the mixture and taking a moment, she slowly nodded.

"The King wishes to meet me, but does not wish to endure the heat of Dorne?"

Oberyn smiled.

"Nothing of the sort. The King will be too busy swapping old war tales with Stark and mourning his lost flame. I'm just using this as an excuse to haul you out of this stifling glass house."

He raised his hand, anticipating immediate refusal.

"I know very well that you have requests and your own experiments to attend to. Nonetheless, it's been three days since we've seen you for supper and I would hedge a bet you haven't seen a bath in twice that long. As much as I like a good perfume, I'd say it's not particularly healthy to douse yourself head to toe with it."

"It's pollen, not perfume. I was working with some of the bees and-" Opehlia bit her tongue, visibly halting her movement. Slowly, she nodded. "Has it actually been a week already?"

Placing a cork stopper into the small glass bottle, she held the dull green container for a moment before nodding.

"I understand Father. Thank you."

Turning, she smiled at Oberyn, her green eyes crinkled in happiness as the tall, thin young woman walked over to him.

"Give this to Uncle. I'm going to get a bath… and then a meal. And I would hug you, but, well-"

Oberyn stopped her in her tracks, pulling his daughter into a tight hug of his own.

"Go, get clean my child. I need to shower and tend to Ellaria as well. Hopefully, we can all have lunch?"

Blushing, Opehlia agreed.

"I would like that Father. Thank you."

Content, now that he was assured his daughter would be leaving her room today, the jovial prince sent her scurrying back over to clean off her tools as he pocketed the bottle of the newest miracle his daughter had concocted. While he would have it tested by one of the hounds, just to be safe, he was sure it would help his brother.

And then he was going to get a shower of his own.

"Maybe a small pitcher of wine. And only Ellaria today? Yes. I think that will be good!"

Oberyn Martell, after all, was the very picture of moderation.


She'd been called many things throughout her life.

Villain.

Hero.

Warlord.

Skitter.

Weaver.

Khepri.

In a previous life, Ophelia Sand had seen many things. Made many mistakes and, perhaps, ruined many lives. However, the truth of the matter was that she wanted to help people and make a difference. That's just who she was.

That was who Taylor Hebert had been.

It's what had pushed her to make the ultimate sacrifice. To let go of everything and become the monster they needed to save the world. The one who could tip the balance against the world ending horror which had been secretly plaguing them for decades.

And then, when her time came, she accepted the bullet.

It would have been a good ending to her story.

Only it hadn't ended there.

Her life, her death, her rebirth. It was all a big jumbled mess inside her head most of the time, but Taylor, now Ophelia, chose to grasp this new chance with both hands. A new life away from pain, violence, betrayal, and politics which had made her time as both a hero and a villain miserable.

She swore to herself she would do things right this time.

That she would live the happy life her parents, her previous parents, always wanted for her.

'If only things were that simple.' She sighed. Shrugging off her heavy robes as she walked into the bath.

As Ophelia Sand, she learned that her circumstances were nothing short of extraordinary. The bastard child of a prince who chose to accept all his illegitimate daughters into his family to raise and love as his own. Going against common sense and tradition out of pure parental love and devotion.

Ophelia found it very easy to love Oberyn in her own special way.

Perhaps not the same way Taylor loved Danny.

But the mutual appreciation and trust were there. He was like a funny uncle, very doting and a troublemaker in his own right. Ellaria had been kind to her. Not that she was like a mother, but, perhaps, a good older friend? It was her, after all, that had been the first person to teach her about poisons. As for her sisters, well, her relationship with them varied wildly. Just as much as it did with her own body.

She was still tall, still thin, and she still had her mother's hair and her father's eyes. Annette and Daniel Hebert that is. Her skin, though, was now a light bronze and tanned to a rich brown. Even her features had become softer, gentler, and almost… exotic.

"It's odd, I suppose, but I look more attractive than Emma now."

However, her chest remained as nonexistent as it always had been. Not that it mattered anymore. Her ego had been permanently deflated when her brain was introduced to a chunk of lead. But it was still strange.

Sinking into the tub of warm water, heated and then carried by serving girls who just as quickly disappeared as they came, Ophelia relaxed. There were aromatics and scented oils available, but she wanted to just enjoy the warmth seeping into her bones for a moment. Though that indulgence could definitely come later.

"Perhaps Father is right. Spending a week without bathing is disgusting." She ghosted her fingers across her ribs. "And I can definitely see more of those than I should be able to."

The greatest change she'd had to deal with, however, had been to do with her powers.

Surprisingly, she'd kept the abilities she had as Skitter. If only muted by whatever caused her to be reborn. Which she was immensely glad for.

Having her swarm always made things easier. Until she realized her power wasn't limited to critters anymore.

At first, she thought they were simply growing broader - even if she'd been returned to her pre second trigger state. But as time had passed, and she'd started Warging into her pets more and more often, and she learned more and more about the nature of magic, well, she considered herself a rational person. Meaning that if all the evidence insisted that magic was real, and she was actively using it, then magic was real.

"I wonder if this is the origin of powers? Some of them, at least. Worlds like this have to be more common than… normal? Stable? Physics based ones?"

Unsure of the nature of the multiverse, she had, at the very least, leapt into this world's common sense with both feet. She couldn't see the future and she hadn't been able to acquire an intact glass candle, but, as wisps of darkness gathered around her fingers, caressing her skin almost as if it remembered being wielded by her former… teammate, she was quite pleased she'd learned a bit of shadow magic.

It came easier to her than the powers of the Red Priests, the most she'd managed to was light the wick of a normal candle, as the shadows seemed almost eager to answer her.

Tentatively, she wondered if it was because she had pinged off of Sophia all those years ago. That, perhaps subconsciously, she had suppressed an aspect or even aspects of her own abilities out of a fear of the girl and then, later on, her laser focus on what she already had.

Still, she was capable of levitating herself a few feet, creating flashes of light, and manipulating small amounts of existing flame and water. Though, truly, both were tiring in the extreme. Almost as if something was pulling at her whenever she touched a power that she did not have before.

However, Ophelia had been truly enthralled when, for her thirteenth birthday, she had been permitted to speak with a shadowbinder whom her father had gained special permission to enter into the palace. She had been the one to teach her the tricks she knew with shadow, such as forming hands or mouths with the stuff, as well as calling it to her - either to hide her face or cloak her form in its entirety - as well as the few small spells of fire and water the woman in question knew.

In return, the witch had left with a dozen criminals and ten pounds of silver.

She tried not to think too hard about what happened to those men.

Other than that, it was the study of alchemy that had produced the greatest results. A mixture of chemistry, superstition, and religious and philosophical study, she had disproved an order of magnitude more treatises and writings than she had proved. And those precious scraps of truly magical knowledge were a minority of the knowledge of chemistry she could recall.

Blessedly, her memories of Arcadia's programs and her own, ocasional, reading of wikipedia pages left her with a basic understanding of the physics, in the crudest sense, of what actually happened. And the understanding of bases and acids were something the maesters had in their actions if not their causes.

And being a Martell bastard meant she had quite literally been able to request as many tutors as she wanted. The castle maester had sufficed until she was eight. At which point she possessed more knowledge than he did on every topic except languages, the Lords and Ladies of the Realm, Ravenry, and the History of Westeros. All topics she continued to study under him with. But, utilizing her ability to split her attention and take in information from her swarm, she'd read every book in the castle using her insects, gone through and cross referenced a great number of them, and then made lists of the many, many, many things she realized she simply didn't understand.

Terms, phrases, and missing context she simply did not have rendered much of her attempts at bulk data collection useless, but it made her a rather prodigal child. So when more and more scholars, especially would be alchemists, came to the city of Sunspear, she eagerly engaged them all and devoured every scrap of knowledge they had. They would leave after a month or so, usually exhausted for hours upon hours of debates and lectures, before receiving a generous payment.

By now, the sheer bulk of learned men and women who had gathered in the court of the Prince of Dorne made it the second greatest center of learning in Westeros.

And the Citadel in Oldtown had been generous to send a dozen maesters of their own to tutor her in any subject she could request.

Mathematics, sciences, natural and physical, history, geography, philosophy - this world's equivalent at least -, and ultimately more exhausting subjects such as accounting and economics, the theory of warfare and of some of the principles of the many, many crafts mastered by their order. She, however, had little interest in those, nor a great talent for many of them. In the end, she contented herself with the information she had wished she had when she was ruling a city of her own and did all the work a child could.

Experience had taught her that ignorance could be as dangerous and as time consuming as any other problem/

"Not needing glasses is nice though."

Leaning back in the water, she rung a small bell and summoned her bath maids. Bringing fresh buckets of hot water they refreshed her tub as she luxuriated in the warmth for a moment longer.

'There are certainly benefits to being royalty.' Or at least close enough to it.

As she'd soon learnt, Westeros wasn't a particularly appetizing place. Like something out of a medieval history novel, you found the usual aspects of power struggles, religious zealotry, and good old fashioned warfare. Of course, the existence of magic and dragons put a certain novel spin to it, but there wasn't nearly enough of either for Ophelia's tastes.

Education was… limited. Extremely so.

If you weren't wealthy, noble, or part of a religious sect, you might as well kiss any chance of ever studying goodbye. It was why she dove into the library the first chance she had. And demanded more whenever it struck her fancy.

In her honest opinion the Seven Kingdoms were… a mess.

They seemed to work well enough as separate entities. But as a unified nation?

Nope! Not at all!

But it wasn't her job to fix it. She was a bastard girl from a prince that liked to fuck everything with a pulse had a temper to match. On top of that, she was a witch and a shut in and right now she was just glad she could stretch out.

"Marissa, yes, thank you. Be a dear and give me a rub down?"

Helping her up from the tub, they rubbed her down with clean towels, the soap from the bath a bit harsh but leaving her skin scrubbed clean. Gently padding across the cool sandstone tiles of the room she was soon stretched out across linen sheets as her father's servants began to massage her body and rub out every knot of tension in her muscles.

"It has been a week since you visited us, my lady."

Taylor blushed, not from her nudity, that was something the woman had seen many times before, but the gentle tone her servant employed.

"I suppose I was caught up in my work."

"Mmhmm." Her excuse sounded weak, even to Ophelia's ears, but her servant merely continued to work out every kink and knot in her body. "I suppose my only concern is that you're not eating enough." Soft fingers ghosted across her ribs. "You were always a tall, thin girl, a bit like your sister. But I worry."

Nodding, the young witch made a note to try and actually eat regularly for at least the next few days.

"It's easy to forget."

Another pitiful defense, but one she felt compelled to offer. Marissa, after all, had started out as a bedroom companion of her father and step mother but had ended up her servant. For the last four years she had done everything in her power to see that Taylor was looked after.

Something she admittedly probably needed.

Tall and well formed, with a chest and hips and curves that could make any man stop and stare, the woman was incredibly beautiful with long, shining copper hair and skin that seemed to be the color of cinnamon. Marissa's one imperfection, if it could be said to be that, was that she was infertile. Born barren she could bear no children and, therefore, never find a man to wed her. Work as a whore or courtesan or taking up a trade were the only routes for her. And with her beauty, one of those paid far more than the others. Thankfully, she had been found by Ophelia's father and made one of his… companions, before her motherly nature and seemingly infinite patience were noticed.

Knowing his daughter needed someone to look after her, he asked her if she'd rather be a maid than a prostitute and had her become his daughter's caretaker.

Since then, she'd seen that Ophelia bathed, ate, and slept as often as she could - only the witch's laboratory being off limits to her and anyone not of the family in general - and succeeded enough to prevent her charge from simply falling over.

"You're a special child. But you're mortal yet. So until the day you don't need food and water and air, do try and have a little something to eat? Even if it's just a fruit from one of your trees."

Nodding, the once villain began to feel her eyes grow heavy.

Perfumes filled the air, warmth filled her flesh, and it was all she could do to cling to waking.

Even the warm oil seemed to leak into her skin as skilled, firm fingers found each catch and twitch in her body. all the products of her many days spent bent over a cauldron, and washed away the last of the harshness as the former warlord took full advantage of every luxury offered to her.

Unfortunately, all good things must come to an end.

So it was a yawning Ophelia that stretched a final time as the very pretty young women tutted and clucked and told her she needed to eat more and wrapped her in clothes befitting a young woman of her station, sending her off with a hug and a final promise to do better. Her hair, this time, remained loose so as to dry.

Fingering her robe, she mused on the recreation of her past life's greatest defensive measure. Also, perhaps, her most profitable one. Spider silk, of course, was now one of Dorne's most luxurious exports.

Originally, it had been something she created as a way to produce her own materials. That had begun almost a decade ago. Now, she had hundreds of species and dozens of stable crossbreeds that she could select from. And the light, airy garment gently caressed her skin as she stepped into a pair of sandals and laced them up her calves.

She found there were many things to love and hate about this new world

But mostly Taylor found it utterly, totally, absolutely, unbearably hot.

Stepping out of the partially underground bathing complex, lowered into the earth to offer it some protection from the pounding heat, the temperature hit her almost like a physical force.

Living north of Boston had ill prepared her for living in a semi-literal dessert and it took every ounce of willpower she had to step out and cross the short distance to the family's private dining space.

Only to find it ominously silent.

'Strange.' She noted, moving closer to the large table occupied by her family.

Everyone was gathered. And she meant everyone. Prince Doran, in his wheelchair, was sitting at the head. At his right and left were Quentyn and Trystane, Arianne standing with Ellaria, her cousins and step mother respectively, while the large form of Areo Hotah stood behind them all. Even more telling was how her own father was stalking about the place, eyes practically spitting venom, while all eight of her sisters sat in small groups or stood with their mother.

"I know I promised not to spy on the family, but it is times like these that I wonder if it would be best if I simply forgot that little promise."

Alternately, the people in the room tensed up and relaxed at her little joke. Ophelia, because Taylor really did try to… compartmentalize those two aspects of herself, simply strolled forward. All of a mighty mountain that a too tall, too thin fourteen year old girl could be.

"Uncle." She smiled and walked up to him, curtseying. "Did my potion work? Is the pain gone?"

His eyes softened for a moment, having been almost flinty when she first entered.

"Yes, dear child. There is some, ah, prickling feeling in my joints. But the pain is gone and the discomfort is mild, at worst. I am a bit unsteady on my feet though and almost fell over."

Frowning, her fingers twitched and her mind already pushed into a large portion of the nearby insect population to borrow the Swarm's brain power for a moment. The most useful new aspect of her power soon faded, however, and she blushed before realizing she'd already begun to slip into her creative mode again.

"Sorry Uncle. But yes, I'll see to that issue as soon as I can. Still, what news is so terrible it's put all of us off our food?"

Oberyn snarled, her father practically spitting as he stomped over to her and thrust a letter in her direction.

"Those feckless whoresons, those child murdering rapists, thost cowards and traitors dare to accuse my daughter of murder! Read, child, and know why we are so offended!"

Taking the rather crumpled note from her still pacing father, she quietly and quickly pushed through the offending document.

"And?"

Her reaction made her uncle snort and father through his hands up to the heavens. At least her sisters laughed. That was enough for Ophelia to continue.

"Jon Arryn died an old man, clinging to the memory of a boy long buried under wine and whores, that he could not handle-" She preempted her father's disdainful snort "-and now has died to a poison only I am known to cultivate." The reborn villain frowned though. "What I am confused about, though, is that they did not actually use one of the more lethal concoctions I have."

Quentyn grimaced and questioned her.

"What do you mean? He is said to have died shrivelled up, every join in his body locked in place. Surely that is an agonizing death!"

"The dose makes the poison."

That got a small chuckle from both Arianne and Ellaria, the prince suddenly realizing what she meant after looking at his sibling.

"You mean to say that it wasn't a poison that killed him?"

Ophelia shrugged.

"It was a paralytic, harvested from a species of wasps. And is perfectly safe in small doses, only lasting a few hours at the most. However, it is both colorless, almost tasteless, and the scent is only slightly acrid. Easy to hide in mulled wine or fruit juice, I suppose. Personally, I have sold it to the Citadel and several physicians as an aid during surgeries and delicate procedures."

Doran frowned, reclining in his seat as he stroked his beard.

"Then this is an attack on us directly. A blatant attempt to frame us."

Ellaria, too, spoke up.

"I may have my differences with young Ophelia from time to time, but I must concur. A normal poison would have been more effective. This one took a full day to stop his heart. At the very least, it is a message and a threat."

Indignant, Trystane banged his fist on the table.

"They would threaten to drag us into a war over this? Is it not enough they kill and rape our family, now they wish to use us as scapegoats as well! Claiming they would send the Kingsguard to arrest her if we do not present Ophelia is a clear attempt to assert their authority over us. And it was not even the king to make this order, but the commander of the goldcloaks! Sand or not, she is still a Martell in all ways that matter. They know what that means."

"And if they are so foolish as to make an issue of our little sister actually doing something with her spare time, then they must know that we, personally, could not abide such a thing."

Obara, oldest and in some ways leader of Oberyn's children, frowned. Her eyes were like their father's, hot and cold and angry and violent and pregnant with the possibilities for sudden, unrestrained fury. At least in the right situation and with the right target.

"It's obviously a test, then. To see what we do." Arianne took a long sip of wine. "Do we ignore them, refusing one whom the king has granted authority in this matter? Do we approach them as rival Lords Paramount? Do we protect a bastard as one of our own? Those northerners, they do not think as we do. Surely this is some scheme they plot and play at and think they shall win some advantage by."

Nodding, Doran concurred with his daughter.

"Which begs the question, how do we turn it upon them? Work it to our benefit? I see a few paths, but the greatest danger is on you, child. And I would ask your thoughts on the matter first."

"A letter would only annoy Robert. He would view it as us wasting his time and likely retaliate for it."

Ellaria's words got a round of murmurs of acknowledgement. Stalling for time would be against their best interests and the message was loud and clean on Opehlia's they could play defensively, that would likely not win them this little game.

"Indeed." Closing her eyes, she considered her possibilities for a moment, discarding the absurd or the impossible and coming to the ultimate conclusion that there were only two real options. "We fight or flee. Either I go with Father on his planned journey, heading straight for the king and bypassing his courtiers, or I head over to Essos for a few years."

Oberyn frowned but accepted the words.

"The latter will be a tacit admission of guilt to many and common sense to the rest. I would go with you, of course. Robert's temper is well known and after what happened to the last Martell to suffer a Baratheon king's wrath, I'm sure we will have a fine excuse."

This time it was Ophelia's turn to chuckle.

"So bold, so daring, Prince Oberyn the Viper. Come now Father. Just because it's my life and our good name on the line, don't tell me you're hesitating?"

Puffing out his chest, the man strutted across the room like a fool.

"Of course not! I shall take up my spear and we shall ride to King's Landing in a day! I will duel every knight we come across and force them to swear to your honor. It will be a crusade of justice!"

"Perhaps. But I do agree that going for the kill has the right of it." Doran leaned back, regarding his brother and niece cooly. "He is unlikely to kill a child, who I doubt he truly suspects for the murder of his Hand, and I would consider his rivals to be the more dangerous threat. That said, if he likes you he might very well punish Slynt for wasting his gold, his men, and his time. With this, there is a chance of not merely surviving, but winning. I am loath, however, to send you alone and both my sons are already preparing for other tasks."

"We will go with her. I was already planning to go with father as well, he asked us all last night, we will ensure no harm comes to our sister!" Stepping forward, bold as brass, Obara proudly stepped up. "Elia and I were both going. We'll watch her back."

This got a chuckle from the old man.

"That is what I feared. You're proud and strong, but what about a threat you do not see coming? What about a knight in full armor, coming at you with a warpick and shield? Nymeria, Tyene, would one of you travel with my brother and nieces? I would ask your mother, but she is staying here with the youngest two, yes?"

Ellaria nodded.

"I have missed my latest moonsblood. And, while I would enjoy the time with my love, I am afraid that the stress of a journey should I be pregnant would be too much. I was going to stay here with my three youngest."

Obella pouted slightly, though neither Dorea or Loreza seemed overly concerned. In their minds, their family could not be beaten - no matter what the past said. So any threat to their older sibling was one to be dismissed out of hand. After all, she was a good witch and one of the cleverest people they knew.

At that thought, the two shared a look, letting the older people speak before frowning. Coming to a quick conclusion, Dorea spoke up.

"What about sending Sarella?"

The middle child looked up, having been content parsing over a copy of the letter and noting out specific phrases she thought might have been important to the subtext of the threat.

"Well…." The youngest began. "She's really smart and stuff, right? So maybe she can help Ophelia with her potions and things like she does here."

Eagerly agreeing with her sister, Dorea continued on.

"And since Nymeria is going with Arianne, cuz Tyrene and Arianen tried to run away to meet the Tyrell boy, uh, the one Daddy hurt?"

"Willas." Oberyn supplied, smirking at how his child nodded.

"Since they're going to see Willas about the not really secret marriage thingy, Tyrene can go with Ophelia since she's really, really good at getting boys to act stupid. That way you'll have two really clever people and two who are good at fighting."

Loreza jumped in as soon as her sister stopped talking.

"And that way Arianne and Nymeria have the guards and stuff and Daddy and the rest of us all have people who can fight and think and stuff too!"

The whole of the room chuckled at the energy of the two youngest, laying out their plan as if it was simply common sense.

"I suppose it's not a bad plan. And we could stop off in Oldtown for a bit on the way?"

Smiling widely, Oberyn embraced his middle daughter.

"Of course my dear! And we can find a maester and kidnap him too. Maybe one that knows about poisons. Then your sisters would enjoy his speaking too!"

Sarella laughed and slapped her father on the shoulder.

"I want to sneak in there, not burn the place down! But that does sound like fun. And besides, I'm sure we can find a cute boy we can all drool over!"

This got a round of laughs from the rest of the Sand Snakes, a hearty chuckle from their father, a shake of the head from Doran and his get, and smirk from Ellaria. Area simply stood there, impassive as always, but the slight upturn to his lips told sagas of how amused the man was.

A few more details were planned out, the logistics of moving so many of their family was discussed, and the opinion of their steward, maester, and stablemaster were sought. In the end, even Hotah was asked his thoughts on the matter - all of which were focused on the safety of those he served, and even made a few suggestions on Oberyn and his retinue traveling a bit lighter than they might otherwise.

Food, however, was soon summoned and a late lunch was had. It was as she was carrying a plate and skin of wine to a windowsill, to look out over the city of Sunspear as she ate and thought, that Ophelia felt a soft hand brush against the back of her neck.

"Oh dear sister of mine, what thoughts consume you?"

She squeaked in surprise, a giggling young woman, the picture of utter innocence standing there.

"So little sister, it seems I finally snuck up on you."

Ophelia blushed, shaking her head.

"I told you, I don't spy on the family. Even by omission. I don't monitor anything that goes on in the palace unless we're in danger."

Giggling, the blue eyed, blond haired woman skipped up to her side, looping her arm through Ophelia's.

"Well then. Can you still tell me, oh little sister of mine, why you're brooding?"

Nodding, and nibbling on a biscuit slathered with blueberry sauce, the witch thought about how to phrase her thoughts.

"I suppose… you know how the longer the summer, the longer the winter?"

The older sibling nodded, indulging the train of thought of the former resident of Earth Bet. With the very noticeable difference in how the weather working being rather on the nose.

"Here's the thing, I asked Sarella, this is the longest summer ever."

"Meaning the longest winter is coming?"

"Yeah. But more than that, things are happening. Way too many for it to be just one person either. There's rumors that Casterly Rock's mines have been sealed up, even if the miners still go there to work, the Crown is massively in debt to them, the Iron Bank, and the Faith, plus Robert didn't rule the Seven Kingdoms - Jon Arryn did."

"So you think someone wants to make big moves during the coming winter."

"Multiple someones. Jon Arryn's only son, to a half mad wife, is a lackwit. Tyrion Lannister is a dwarf, even if he is clever, and the lord of the Riverlands is actively in the process of dying. The king's brothers are at each other's throats, Stannis being Lord of Dragonstone but Renly being the Lord of the Stormlands."

"And the youngest Baratheon is a rather famous sword swallower, yes."

Giggling at how matter of fact her sister was, Ophelia had to take a moment to wash the last of her breakfast of fruit and bread and fish down with a swallow of wine. Finishing her pull, she offered the skin to her sister.

"Yeah. So Renly and Loras Tyrell are maybe a thing. When you consider Arianne is finally going to marry Willas, that means the Stormlands, the Reach, and Dorne could all be united behind the youngest Baratheon should… something happen to the king."

That got a dismissive snort from the fairest child of the Viper.

"As if Tywin would let Joffery and Tommen lose their claims. One for the throne, one for the Westerlands. That's a powerful alliance on its own."

This time, Ophelia got to smirk.

"Well, those rumors about what Jon Arryn was investigating before his death…."

Gasping, the young woman's eyes sparkled.

"You don't mean!"

She nodded.

"Aye. They're suspected of being bastards. And for once, not Robert's. He was conducting a review of the royal bastards before the end, even visiting several in person, and his last words were, and I quote, 'The seed is strong.'"

Something their father would very much try to contest if he had his way.

"So you think the Lannisters are going to try something? Perhaps an alliance with the Eyrie to ensure their support?"

Shrugging, the young woman simply sat back.

"In the end, I'm just not sure." She was chewing her thoughts once again. "Almost everything I've told you comes from overheard gossip and rumors. A lot of gossip, of course. But it's hardly evidence. My personal opinion, however, is mixed?"

Tyene waited patiently, content to braid her younger sister's hair as they shared a wine skin and digested their thoughts.

"Ultimately, I think there's just too many people either dying or disappearing for this to be a conspiracy. In the end, I think Robert is a weak king and people are making power plays because of it. I suspect Renly and Stannis both suspect the truth of the royal heir's parentage but won't act unless it comes out. Stannis is bitter, but loyal. Renly is ambitious and a boy playing at knighthood. I think it comes down to if someone makes a play for the Eyrie or the Riverlands, maybe? The North is… loyal to the Starks. But if someone were to remove them, the whole place is backwards and caught up in hundreds of local feuds. It could split right down the middle. So if there's a really bad winter, and the problems that brings, I think there's a chance things could explode."

The two sat in silence for a moment, the last of the wine in their bellies and Tyene's skilled fingers deftly weaving a braid that wrapped half around Ophelia's body. Leaning forward, her task complete, she wrapped her arms around her sister and pulled her close - the younger sibling actually a bit taller but leaning into the older nonetheless.

"I think you're scary. And I'm glad you're my little sister and that you care about us. So thank you and make sure you give Uncle a few hints before you go, ok?"

Nodding, the younger woman squeaked when soft lips pushed against hers, a warm, skilled tongue pushing past her surprised lips and eagerly dominating her mouth. The kiss was deep and passionate, but also gentle and soothing even as it was consuming and domineering. However, they were in a rather public place and doing something rather scandalous, even for a Martell, and Tyene pulled away.

Taylor-Ophelia almost felt her knees give way, emotions and sensations she'd only barely begun to consider when she was with Brian so, so long ago washing over her.

"Now, let's go take your plate to the servants, get a bottle of wine for ourselves, and go find Sarella. If we're to be keeping our older sisters and Father alive on this trip, we'll need to plan it out. And you can think a bit more on what will happen in the future, ok?"

Her wits somewhat recovered, Ophelia nodded even as she wished she had the answer to that question.

It was so easy to have her little minions spread over the seven kingdoms, awaiting her commands. Stationed near the most important and influential so that her ears could hear their words. A small rat scurrying down the hallways, a chirping bird near the windowsill. Her powers had grown beyond the scope of her previous peak.

But she still wasn't everywhere.

There were still holes in her net.

Who ordered the death of Jon Arryn? Why were they trying to incriminate her? She didn't have the answers yet.

'That's why we must meet with the King.'

The man may not have been the best ruler, or hold the most pristine reputation. But he was at the very least, considered fair, so long as Dragons weren't involved. Jon Arryn was his long time friend, so it remained to be seen how much clemency he would spare a suspect of the crime. Yet they had to meet him before he was led to a wrong conclusion.

They had to go north.


House Words were important.

Perhaps more so than most people realized. There was a good reason why young lords and ladies were taught to memorize the names and words tied to them since a very early age. They were more than flowery meanings and cryptic warnings.

They were markings. Values held close by a family.

One could learn much about a given family by reflecting on the words their House held pride in.

Fire and Blood.

Ours is the Fury.

Hear me Roar.

Family, Duty, Honor.

And of course, his own House's words. Winter is Coming.

Ned Stark had seen much over the course of his life, perhaps too much by the account of lesser men. He'd marched alongside others in rebellion against a Mad King. Had taken up the mantle of Lord of Winterfell in the wake of his father's and brother's deaths. He'd done everything he could to foster a good family and maintain peace in the North.

Even if taking up his sword was a necessity.

So if there was one thing his experiences in life had taught him was to heed the warnings given to you.

Which brought him to his current conundrum.

A raven had just arrived, informing him of a small addition to the king's retinue. The Martells, including the one accused of assisting in the murder of the man who fostered him, were going to be joining the king's retinue.

Unbowed. Unbent. Unbroken.

He couldn't help but wonder what all this meant for him and his family. Because, for the life of him, he hadn't the faintest clue of what to do. Ned Stark was many things, but a fool was not one of them. He knew Robert was coming up here to ask for his help - in what fashion he did not know - and he also knew he'd probably give the man everything he could. The only problem being that the last time a Stark went south it was in open rebellion because two others had been murdered and a third kidnapped and raped.

"Winter is coming."

In more ways than one, he supposed. This had been a long summer. And long, harsh, hard winters always followed long summers.

He only hoped events would set before the cold winds of the north blew south.

"You called for me, milord?"

Ned shook himself away from his thoughts, watching as Maester Luwin walked past the door, carrying with him a small stack of papers as he usually did.

"Maester." He nodded in thanks. "My thanks for coming to see me in this late hour. I hope you are well?"

"I am fine, my lord, but I also think it is odd for you to wake me simply to ask after my health. If you'd forgive my impertinence, my lord."

Nodding, the Stark patriarch gestured at his desk and the one letter sitting upon it, wax seal glinting in the candle lights.

"Read the third paragraph for a ways. You'll see what has occupied me."

Stepping closer to the fireplace in his study, he added another small log before straightening the collar of his tunic. For some reason, his skin was itching like it always did before a battle. Only, he hadn't the faintest clue why.

"That… does sound odd, your grace. And the Lord Commander is sure of this?"

He grunted.

"Aye. It's the second time he's mentioned it and the fourth letter he's sent where he remarked on the oddities of the animals. For two months now, no member of the watch has seen any living animal that was not one of their ravens or their horses or mules approach the wall from the south, nor has a single living thing other than their patrols approached from the north. No beasts, no birds, no wildlings."

Brow furrowing, the older maester stepped closer to his lord before speaking quietly.

"I am loathe to suggest such a thing, but do you think it could be magic? I have truly heard no tale of any such phenomena in all of my years and in all of my learning except, from Marwyn the Mad when I was but an acolyte, of a place in Asshai by the Shadow. And if their ranging have uncovered nothing ..."

"Nothing. Not corpses, not signs of settlement, not even game to hunt."

"Perhaps the winter… or maybe a gathering army? Such a host could strip the land bare of game."

The lord of winterfell shook his head.

"You saw the words, as did I, not even fish in the waters. What army could be so massive as to eat all the fish in the sea?"

For a long time, both men were silent. Neither spoke, neither made a noise. Only the crackling of the fire and the howling of the wind outside violated the heavy silence. In the end, it was Ned that moved first.

"Winter is coming. I would see our stocks, and Winter Town, readied. And preferably before the king's visit. In the morning I will visit Vayon. See what needs to be done."

Dipping his head, the old scholar acquiesced, his chain tinkling as he did so.

"With your leave, I shall send ravens to those maestars who have knowledge of the seasons and beast in particular." He grimaced. "But I have heard enough of wargs and greenseers to know that your race's blood is still… old. And in particular, might I approach Marwyn with this as well? He is lost in dreams of magic long gone, but the rather frightening change north of one of the few, visible pieces of magic in this world seems to be either an omen or a doom. And I have not the knowledge to know which."

"Aye."

"Then my lord, my only other piece of advice is that, perhaps, Ser Cassel should know of our… urgency to ensure the safety of such a large body of men as the Royal household is to bring. And how any such issues as might arise would be best attended to with drilled, disciplined recruits. As many as could be subtly acquired without causing undue alarm, of course."

Closing his eyes, the quiet wolf felt the itching in his skin reach a peek, feeling almost like he wanted to scratch and scratch and scratch until he bled.

"Aye. I'll see it done as well. But until things can be arranged, and I, personally, will speak to the lords, I would not see a panic. Are we clear?"

"Of course, my lord."

And their work was done. The maester departed and the Lord Paramount of the North was left only with a feeling of immeasurable dread that he had missed something. That there was something he should be doing. Instead, all that was to be done was to wait and see.

"Perhaps Robert will be able to help. If nothing else, I could see about having him lower our taxes and I could buy more grain from the Reach and the Riverlands. This will be a long Winter indeed."

Sleep did not find him that night.