As Robb has secured his control of two kingdoms, the rest of the realm north of Dorne seemed to spiral into ever greater disarray. The fighting between the three Baratheon claimants became ever more destructive and fratricidal, the Valelords warred with one another, and Balon Greyjoy at last made his own grab for power.

CERSEI

There were few things she despised more than the meetings of the Small Council. Robert had been a drunken fool, but perhaps he had possessed some peculiar sense in staying well clear of them. Listening to those up-jumped mediocrities regale their Queen with an endless stream of excuses never failed to drive her to distraction.

The Spider was already simpering away. "Your Grace, I fear I can give you no good news regarding the raising of new forces to repel an attack from the rebel brothers. Since the unfortunate results of the engagement between your lord father and the Northmen, the lords of the Crownlands have proven more truculent.

We cannot expect much active support from that quarter, except perhaps for the Rosbys and Stokeworths. My little birds bring me exceedingly troubling whispers of Stannis' agents making their presence known at Duskendale."

She gritted her teeth. She was surrounded by traitors and fools. Only fear and blood could keep the enemies at bay now. That was a lesson she had learned long ago, and she meant to hold to it now.

Baelish spoke up. His head was still intact, for all she enjoyed imagining bashing his skull in. "Regarding the movements of Robb Stark, he appears to have befuddled even his own followers. He's neglected to lead a foray in any of the obvious directions. He has encamped with his men near the Stoney Sept, and show no sign of immediate further movement."

She nodded curtly. "It should be no surprise that we cannot fathom the motivations of savages, Lord Baelish."

The brothel lord gave another one of his insipid smiles. "Of course, Your Grace."

She had to consciously restrain her fury. Even the mention of the Northern savages, and the boy in particular, were enough to renew her rage. She would personally ensure they all begged for death, for having taken away her other half.

That doddering old fool Pycelle was part way through one of his usual pompous diatribes, when they were all alarmed by a sudden eruption from outside the council chamber. Unmistakably, the sound of clashing steel.

Her mind flashed through all the possibilities. She was frozen in complete terror. Pycelle was squeaking in fear, and Baelish had gone pale as an Other.

The doors were flung open. She frowned in confusion and outrage. Red cloaked Lannister guardsmen came pouring into the chamber, swords at the ready. Ser Meryn lay face down, slain. Her mind failed to make sense of what she was seeing. "What is this?" she shrieked.

Uncle Kevan turned the corner. He looked sterner than she had ever seen him. He looked utterly unforgiving. "This, my dear niece, has been a long time coming."

"You dare to speak to me so! To attack my person and that of my Kingsguard. This is no less than treason. I am the Queen Regent!"

Her uncle snarled back at her, disgusted. "You will no longer serve in that capacity, or in any other position of influence whatsoever. For the love I bear your father, I say this. Surrender to me now, and I will allow you to live a most comfortable retirement. Resist, and I will do what I must."

She threw her wine goblet clear across the room, forcing him to dodge out of the way. "Traitor! All these years of simpering obedience, and now you stab us in the back. How much were you paid, to betray your own family?"

"I was paid nothing. I am making a sacrifice."

He motioned to the guardsmen, who stepped forward and seized her arms. She kicked and thrashed as she was dragged off to some unknown fate. The last thing she saw as she was dragged out of chamber was her councillors, completely cowed. They sat obediently, listening to the traitor's instructions.

She was bundled across the castle towards the cells to which she had condemned so many. She felt a pang of fearful uncertainty. Surely her Uncle would not truly throw his own blood into those pits of hell?

Luckily for her, his intentions were apparently less severe. She was committed to a cell on the upper level. Sparse and dreary, but at least with some natural light from a tiny corner window. At least it wasn't overrun with rodents and filth.

Her relief at being spared that nightmare only rekindled her fury. She found herself pacing the small cell. Occasionally she would scream for someone to come release her, but no one came. All her threats and all her pleading achieved nothing but to leave her hoarse and exhausted. There had been no light coming through the corner window for many hours before her weariness overwhelmed her.

The days of her confinement merged together into an endless tedium. Sleep did not provide much respite. Each time weariness overtook her, she found herself with her other half again.

To see Jaimie again, as a product of her uneasy mind, brought her no comfort. He was always silent, looking to her as if in blame. She would wake up in a cold sweat. She still could not accept that he was truly gone.

Her only source of interaction was the same jailor who came each day. He brought her meals, emptied her chamber pot and never once spoke a single word. She threatened, she cajoled. Nothing. By the eighth day she made a half-hearted attempt at seduction, but that only seemed to terrifying the man.

Eventually she gave up, resolving that his head would be among the first she would mount on a spike when she got out of this accursed cell. Surely it would only be a matter of time. Her father would do something about his treacherous little brother, he wouldn't allow his only daughter to be subjected to such an indignity.

Truth be told, she was confused as to how she had been imprisoned this long. Where were all her allies in the city? Her son was King, why had he not interceded? Most of the Kingsguard owed their positions to her. The lords of the realm knew her to be their Queen Regent. Baelish was dependent on her protection since his would-be lover in the Vale had lost her mind.

She should already be free, but comforted herself with the sure knowledge her restoration was only a matter of time.

She could not say how many days of tedious confinement passed before this imagined deliverance came. Two red cloaked guardsmen flung open her cell. Any elation at the prospect of rescue quickly dissipated as they harshly commanded her to follow.

She was scarcely allowed five minutes to clean and dress herself in some dreary garment before she was dragged back across the castle, to the very council chamber where everything had gone so wrong.

Her sly lizard of an Uncle received her alone, besides the two silent guards. She wanted to kill him, to leap clear across the table and gouge his eyes out with her bare hands.

She sneered at him. "What have you done, then? Where is my son, and my father? Or have you confined all of your kin to prison cells?"

He was not ruffled by her anger. He met her eyes, unflinching. "His Grace is being subject to an extensive regimen of education, so as to better prepare him for his future rule. As for Tywin, he is with the army, blocking the southern approaches to the city if either of the Baratheon brothers should move against us."

"And you think he will standby as your mistreat his only daughter?"

Her Uncle chuckled. "I know he will. In fact, he himself wants you and your boy reined in before you can do anymore damage. And that was before he knew of the truth depth of your madness and stupidity."

That enraged her. "I am the Queen!"

That enraged him. He flung his chair back, and pounded the table with his fist. "YOU ARE NOTHING! You are a whore. Ney, I have more respect for those tradeswomen. Every semblance of power and responsibility you have been given, you have misused. You have brought our family to the brink of total destruction. The situation has become more dire than you can possibly know.

But even then, I might have left you be. I have always been a follower, for sure. But you doomed yourself the instant you involved my son in your foul seductions, and you sealed your fate when you showed your utter lack of care for the welfare of my younger sons."

Her whole body shook with mad vexation, utterly deprived of any outlet. She felt trapped, completely at the whim of circumstances beyond her control.

Her Uncle sat back down, his composure seemingly restored. "I brought you here only to make your new circumstances abundantly clear. Your boy is being forced to see the error of his ways. He is young yet, so perhaps he can be moulded through harsh discipline. He won't be terrorising starving peasants from the battlements anymore, such as you permitted him to do.

As for you, I may have considered a tower cell if your imprisonment had humbled you, but as you are I think I'll have you sent back to whence you came.

Still, before you go, I should make sure you know how hopeless your position is. All of your allies have abandoned you. Your own father among them. Baelish and all your other most venal creatures are unlikely to be of any help, since they are lacking heads."

He gave her a joyless smile, and gestured to his guards. She allowed herself to be dragged back to her confinement, her spirit utterly spent.

VICTARION

Victarion Greyjoy looked upon his new domain. He was the new Lord of Lannisport, by his brother's royal decree.

It seemed little more than a joke, in truth. They had already reduced the whole city to little better than a charred, smoking ruin. Even standing now at the ruined harbour two days later, after the men had had their fill and the sack had run its course, he could smell the odour of smoke and death in the air.

His royal grant was a shadow of its former self. One of the proudest and richest cities in Westeros had been laid low. A dozen midget lords, the sons of whores and thralls, terrorised the remaining population in the little districts of the city they had carved out for themselves.

Victarion was far from squeamish, he was all for the Ironborn taking their due, but he it irked him that his authority seemed barely to stetch beyond the seafront. They would soon learn, these men, what it meant to defy him.

This spot where he stood, he had seen before all those years ago. During their rebellion, when they had burned row after row of precious Lannister ships at anchor. The whole naval power of the Westerlands decimated, a historic victory.

This time, such trickery had seemed almost unnecessary. The naval power of the Westerlands was hardly what it had once been. Tywin Lannister had apparently found better ways to spend his gold. Besides, it had always been Euron's scheme. That could not help but embitter him. Still, Balon had commanded it, and he was well accustomed to obedience.

This time he had led his men into the city, such as he had never done all those years ago. They meant to take this land for themselves this time, not merely raid. The resistance had proved utterly feeble, completely pathetic. Only the dregs were left to defend their children and womenfolk. Nothing that could stop the Ironborn from taking their due.

They had cut them down, one after the other. Cowardly, inept townsfolk one and all. Very few with proper armour and weaponry. His trusty axe made quick work of them. He could not politic and scheme like Balon or Euron, but the Drowned God has fashioned him to fight and kill.

His main challenge had been to keep the men's discipline until they had at least felled the organised resistance. A difficult task, given the madness that takes hold during a sack. It hadn't held for long. Against a true enemy, he knew, their ill-discipline would have seen them soundly beaten.

When they were done, he had taken possession of the richest manse along the harbour. The domicile of some rich merchant family. He'd made the whole household his thralls, indifferent to whether they were servants or ladies. The blubbering old merchant's pleas for mercy had grated on his nerves, so he had gutted him. The women had begun to cry. All of Lannisport suffered together now, low and highborn alike.

His niece disrupted his solitary musings, as full of false joviality as ever. "Cheer up, dearest Uncle."

He grunted in annoyance. "What do you want, Asha? My brother may indulge you far more than any man ought to, but I have never been so inclined."

She tutted at him, with her usual insolence. "I came to bid you well for your new lordship before I depart."

He grunted again. He hardly needed reminding that he'd be left to hold down this ruined city while Balon's favoured daughter seized the whole northern coastline of the Westerlands, and his brother Aeron took the bountiful Fair Isle.

He would have to rein in the assorted scum remaining in the city and teach these Westermen the new order of things, while she covered herself in unnatural glory. He would have to do all this while keeping the unstormable citadel of Casterly Rock besieged, a dagger poised to strike him down at the slightest sign of weakness.

"I can't imagine the reason for this lack of cheer. The second largest city in the land, all ours, all yours. The Ironborn once more are masters of the Sunset Sea. My father once again a King, our house to be respected and feared. The West will soon be ours."

He supposed there was some truth in her words. Surely this was better than eking out an existence on Pyke until he died in his bed like some old thrall.

This was a very rich city, even after the depredations of the men. The Westerlands were wealthy, the Lannisters the wealthiest of them.

This could be the richest bounty the Iron Islands had seen since the days of Dagon Greyjoy, made all the sweeter by the tens of thousands of men who had kindly left it to them by marching off to their deaths at the hands of the Young Wolf.