Lyonel had both his mace and his bow when he left the ship that morning. The Targaryen would be there shortly, her escort and litter passing down the street to go outside the city to find the Dothraki waiting for them. Lyonel absently wondered what would happen to the city when they had stolen the princess, little good, he imagined. But it matted even less, Pentos was one of, if not the weakest of the Free Cities, and poor since Braavos had outlawed slavery there, though the magisters got around this with indentured service and making their servants become in debt to them. Saerra would be saved from that, as would her children, and he may even be saving them from slaughter and fire, if the Dothraki took too much offence to what Lyonel was about to do. Warrior give me strength, he thought, he would need it.

He had tethered his horse up to a market stall, behind the crowd. As good as he was with his dragonbone bow, he could not fire nearly as accurately from horseback. His first shot had to be accurate and precise, it would be the signal for the ambush and his men were waiting, heavily armed and impatient to attack.

Saerra had arrived at the ship that morning, with her two children, and was currently aboard it, safe and ready. He had already sent a message home to his mother to tell her about it and to find her a place in the castle. Now, he just had to wait for the Targaryen Princess" litter to arrive.

"Do you have a clear line my lord?" Ser Aerion asked.

Lyonel arched his neck to look over them. He shook his head. "I will scale the building when she appears. The pointy hatted eunuchs assigned to guard her will be on the lookout and I do not want to be up there for too long." Aerion nodded and returned to his horse. Lyonel stroked the smooth black dragonbone. He remembered when he and his sister had shown their mother. He had taken the bone from the Dragon skulls in the dungeons of the Red Keep and had the two bows fashioned. When they had gone back to Dragonstone two days later, they had shown their mother who had slapped them both furiously for taking the bone without asking. They knew their mother loved them both, but she had always dealt out harsh lessons. After slapping them she had taken the bows away until they had proved themselves worthy of them. When she thought they were, which was when they had beaten her in a contest, she returned the bows to them.

He hear the litter that was carrying the Targaryen approaching and, when the first of the escort of eunuchs with pointed hats turned the corner, Lyonel pulled his hood up and swiftly scaled the wall with a ladder his men had set up for him. When up there he notched an arrow into his bow and scanned over the escort. It was made up of two dozen Unsullied men and a few more retainers like the city watch, equipped with scale armour, spears and shields. It was strong enough to hold off the crowd, not near a hundred armoured knights. Targeting one of the Unsullied eunuchs, Lyonel swiftly drew and released his arrow. It sailed through the air and punched deep into the chest of the eunuch, who collapsed with a grunt.

Lyonel's second shaft was already flying through the air when the screams began. The crowd scattered as Lyonel's knights charged out of the alleys and hacked down the shocked and immobile escort, only the eunuchs attempting to stand and fight. Three more of Lyonel's arrows found their marks before he stowed his bow away and quickly descended the ladder. He rushed over to the litter. A guard tried to stop him with a spear thrust, but Lyonel spun, unhooking his mace as he did so, and slammed it into the guard's face, shattering and scattering bone and brains. He swiftly pulled back the curtain of the litter and looked for the Targaryen. He couldn't miss her, she bore the distinctive silver hair and purple eyes of her house. She had to be the one. "Who are you?" She whispered pleadingly.

Lyonel had no time to answer, he reached over and seized her thin, pale arm, dragging her out of the carriage.

"Let go of me!" She screamed, flailing .

Lyonel grunted as a swinging arm swatted him in the face. "Enough!" He roared, sinking a fist into her stomach, making her double up, gasping for air.

Her mouth still moved, trying to cry for help, her eyes wet and her fingers clenching and unclenching, her feet pushing on cobbles, trying to find footing. He clamped slung her over his shoulder like a sack and carried her to his horse. His men were scattering the last of the crowd that was nearby. "Aerion!" He yelled, and the young knight looked over to him, blood coating his sword. "Give me a hand!" He swiftly dismounted and rushed over. Lyonel got up on the saddle and Aerion helped pass up the silent and feeble Targaryen. Lyonel held her fast, keeping her strong to him. "Get the men to come back to the ship, we have what we came for." Aerion nodded and rushed back to his horse to gather the men. Lyonel knew he couldn't wait for them and spurred his horse into action.

Men and women scattered out of his way as he charged down cobbled streets. The Targaryen's voice was returning, and she was screaming at the top of her lungs as Lyonel held her tightly with his left hand, the reins with his right. The streets rushed by in a medley of colour and noise, men and women running to and from the sounds of the carnage, curious and terrified in equal measure, horses broke free from stalls and ran down the street, rains dragging along the ground like silent chains as owners chased after them. But they all scattered before him and the knights that would be following. The men of the Pentoshi city watch were mostly out watching the walls and, more importantly, the Dothraki Khalasar outside them. Those in the city were too few and had too little training to stop him, for they were the weakest of them all.

Glancing over his shoulder, Lyonel spotted that his knights were following him, hard on his heels. A smile graced his lips, and he spurred his horse on still faster, determined to make it swiftly to the dock. He and his men were faster than the news it seemed, for no one on the docks was in a hurry until they saw him charging down towards his ship. "Maric!" He yelled, and the Seaworth appeared on the prow, "make ready!" Maric nodded and disappeared once more. Lyonel had to pull hard on the reins to get his hoarse to stop at the docking ramp. He swiftly pulled himself off his horse and looked back once more. His knights were still following him, good. "He dragged her from the horse and carried her up the ramp.

The crew were pulling on the ropes and unfurling sails. Looking up to the plain flag atop the mast, Lyonel saw they had the wind with them. Good, they needed to make a getaway as soon as possible. His men had been unable to determine whether the harbour had a boom chain or not, but they needed to be past it before it was raised, if there was one, but his father had always taught him not to take chances on matters like this, and, as future master of ships, he knew the danger of boom chains.

His knights were now trickling onto the ship, pulling their horses behind them, their weapons now sheathed. He turned to Rolland Storm, the first Knight he saw. "Make sure she gets to her cabin and stays there," he told him indicating the Targaryen. Then Lyonel turned to Maric. "How long?"

Maric was grimacing up at the sail. "We have some tangled rigging, it may take a short while."

Lyonel cursed, pulled out his bow, notched an arrow, and raced to the stern of the ship. It would not have taken that long, given the screaming and scattering crowd, for news to have reached the impatient and angry Dothraki, and the Pentoshi City Watch. Sure enough, before long, some scale armoured men began racing down the jetty. Lyonel pulled back and released the bow string, sending an arrow straight into the chest of the first of them. This made the others raise their shields and move more cautiously. Good, he thought, slow down you cowards. He aimed another arrow, this one just to make sure they didn't speed up again. But as he was just about to launch it, the deck heaved as the ship cast off. This made his arrow fly far wide of the target. He winced at the sight of the shot, it did not even land in the jetty, instead sliding without a splash, which was hardly a comfort, into the sea. He hoped none had seen that shot and glanced around to check. If one of them told his sister, she would never let him live it down.

"My Lord," Lyonel turned, it was His uncle Rolland. "she is in her cabin, we have given her a cloak to warm up with but no change of dress until she returns to Dragonstone."

Lyonel nodded, "that matters not," he said, "my father wanted her with him alive and pure. Fresh was not a requirement."

"DAENERYS!" A voice shrieked from down the jetty. Lyonel and Rolland turned and saw a man with silver hair riding hard down the jetty. Two shirtless Dothraki Warriors behind him.

"This must be the brother," Lyonel commented to Rolland. He notched another arrow. "We don't need him." He drew and released. Like a bird the arrow flew right where Lyonel wanted it to. It punched right through the middle of his face.

He heard Rolland wince, "that must have hurt." Viserys Targaryen, if that was him, slumped off his saddle and bounced off the jetty arms twisting and turning like one of his sister's rag dolls, into the harbour with a splash. He bobbed on the surface like a twig for a few seconds as the water soaked into his clothes, but he was soon dragged down, the air in his shirt bubbling to the surface like a fart in a bathtub.

"Maybe," Lyonel replied, slipping his bow away, the ship was moving too fast now for them to catch up. "Or maybe he just died." He turned and made his way back to the centre of the ship. "Now though, I suppose I should probably go and see our guest."

He found Daenerys Targaryen huddled on the bed, unsure and scared by everything. She recoiled when he entered, bow in hand. "Who are you? Where are you taking me?" She asked, in a stronger voice than she had possessed on the horse.

"I am taking you to Dragonstone." She looked confused, her eyes showed a hint of reflection, like a word on the tip of your tongue, lost in the chaos of her capture. "My name is Lyonel Baratheon, my father is Stannis Baratheon, Lord of Dragonstone."

"Baratheon!" She all but shrieked. "You want to kill me, and my brother, he said they were after us."

"I do not want to kill you," he said firmly, speaking over her fearful tones. "If I wanted to, you would be dead. If my father wanted to, you would be dead. As for your brother; he is dead."

"You want me dead as well. I know it, my brother knows-knew it, you want me dead, you have for years, ever since I was born!" She screeched, huddling into the smallest ball she could. Like that could stop him. Foolish girl. No remorse for her brother's passing though, she must think me a bigger concern, sisters should mourn brothers, Shireen would be beside herself if I died. Brothers and brothers are a different story, just ask father, but brothers and sisters love each other.

"Not true," he told her simply, "I seek nothing from you, Daenerys Targaryen, it is my father who wants something from you."

"What?"

"I do not know," he told her simply. "I obey my father, I do not question him. But rest assured, he does not want you dead. You will be safe on Dragonstone."

She looked less fearful than before, like she was coming to the realisation that she couldn't leave, and the acceptance that fear wouldn't help her here, but still not trusting, as expected though entirely un useful. Then her eyes widened. "What is that?" She asked, pointing to his shoulder.

He glanced at it, and saw that the fold of his cloak was exposing his Greyscale scars. He pulled it up quickly. "Nothing," he said.

"Why does the Usurper want me?" She asked. "I have done nothing to him."

"My father is not the man you call the Usurper," Lyonel replied. "That is my uncle, Robert, and he had nothing to do with my coming to get you."

He thought he saw a flash of fear and hatred at the mention of his uncle. "He stole the throne," she said, "and now he wants my life, and my brother's."

"Your brother is dead," Lyonel repeated. "I killed him as he raced towards the ship." Her eyes sparked with… was it relief? "And as for the throne, he was the only alternative, your father was mad and your brother a kidnapping rapist. He, as your second cousin, was the Lord of the Rebellion closest to the throne, so it passed to him."

She was clearly shocked. "What do you mean, my father was mad?"

"They call him the Mad King for a reason, it was an earned Moniker."

"They called him the Mad King?" She whispered.

Lyonel sighed, it was clear she knew nothing about what had happened seventeen years previously. He looked around and pulled up a chair. "It seems I have a lot to tell you," he said. "I should start at the beginning. The Tourney at Harrenhal was where it all began, when your brother Rhaegar passed over his wife to crown the daughter of Lord Stark his Queen of Love and Beauty." And so Lyonel recounted to Daenerys Targaryen the reason she had been forced into exile from the Seven Kingdoms.