Note: Part II has mature themes involved.

Part I: Broken Lives

Florian Tully had made it to Harrenhal in time for the feast the night before the wedding. The opening feast had been a big one, but this night was even larger. All the hearths of Harrenhal were lit, the candles flickering on the walls creating a still-dim hall because of the simple size of Harrenhal. Rows and rows of tables filed down the cobbled hallway, with spots open dotting each table, free for any lord or lady to take a seat upon.

Lord Tully had gotten there early, choosing his own seat on the edge of one of the tables towards the back. Salted pork sat on the table, atop a crown of cerulean berries and the greenest sage and herbs. Flagons of mead and wine were sitting at every conjunction of the tables.

His own sister had headed off to sit with some of her friends from youth, leaving her brother all alone. His household guard were expected to eat with the rest of the guards outside, as there wouldn't be enough room for them in the burgeoning hall. Florian hardly noticed when a girl took a seat at his right, with plain brown hair and a dress of light blue. He engaged in quiet pleasantries but started playing with his food instead.

Luckily, he hadn't started too early, as the King was supposed to start the meal himself. Indeed, as Florian had begun to fill it up, the chainmail clanking on King Harrik as he stood. He raised a glass of mead, and naturally toasted the soon to be bride and groom. Florian bit his lip as he spied a bit of purple on the Mooton girl's cheek. He heard a handful of mumbles that confirmed he wasn't the only one. The only thing Florian wondered was whether her betrothed was the one who gave it to her or someone else.

When Harrik sat back down, Florian found his eyes looking through the crowd. Every little bit of blonde hair set his heart racing, and his fork sat unused, holding a poor grape on the receiving end. The color stood out, but there were many of them. His heart lifted when he finally found her – a gold and red dress, with blonde hair spilling down her back. He saw her mouth open, and he could almost hear the laughter in the back of his mind.

Florian had been just thirteen, and he stood beside his father nervously as he awaited the carriage to roll into Riverrun. He had dressed in his richest color of blue, and he felt rather proud of the Tully trout sewn into the breast pocket. The sun seemed to be shining brighter than the past week had been put together, but Florian didn't mind.

A visit from a royal house was something to be proud of, to be looking forward to on its own. He'd heard stories that Princess Cerelle Lannister was the most beautiful girl near his own age. When the guards announced their arrival, his heart was beating a hundred miles an hour, and Florian stood up on his tip-toes to appear taller.

The Lannisters filed into the castle soon after, looking around at Riverrun. The King and Queen were arm in arm, with two blonde children sidling along with them. The pleasantries were exchanged, and Florian was trying his hardest to keep his cheeks from turning as red as the clothes the Lannisters adorned.

Queen Elayna walked forward with her husband and embraced Lord Tully, and the children followed after their parents.

When Florian saw the pretty blonde haired girl, he couldn't help but think that was who he was meant to be with. His words got caught in his throat, and his cheeks immediately turned red. Her hair seemed to catch the light of the sun, and her green eyes were as bright. She leaned forward and gave his cheek a light kiss. His knees felt weak, and he chanced a smile. That was the first time he had ever met Cerelle Lannister.

Lord Tully had been lost in the memory for a good five minutes, stabbing the grape harder with the end of his fork and putting it in his mouth. The sweet taste spilled throughout the man's mouth. He sawed off a portion of the meat himself and stuck it on his plate, quiet as he ate.

His expression soured when he saw who she was laughing with. His hands clenched under the table and he held onto the pants of his nicest blue. He hissed when he accidentally poked himself on a spare needle that'd been left in. Just great, Florian thought bitterly to himself. The pinprick of blood on his hand hurt only a fraction as much as what he was watching. Lord Ryman Bracken was at her side, with his broad chest and mammoth arms.

He doesn't deserve her, Florian thought to himself sullenly as he stuffed another bit of pork into his mouth. There was a reason his nickname was the Stallion, and it wasn't hard to figure out why. He was popular with the ladies around Stone Hedge, if rumors were true. Florian bit his lip hard.

Florian was a lord in his own right then, eighteen years old and sprouting like a tree. He wasn't too poor-looking himself, with bright red hair and a lean frame. Still, he was shaking like a leaf that made him seem like he was half his age. King Lannister was an imposing man, both physically and mentally to Florian. Asking for his daughter's hand seemed like a herculean task that he just wasn't up to.

Still, he made his way up the worn steps of the castle, overlooking the sea far below. Birds cawed in what should've seemed as like a warning to Lord Tully. The meeting didn't last longer than a half hour, with King Tybolt letting him down gently enough for the man's capacity. If he knew the man better, he would've known that he felt bad.

That night, Florian couldn't stand to stay in Casterly Rock proper. He had made his way to a tower that overlooked the sea below Casterly Rock, standing alone up there after shaking his guards. He was so spooked when he heard footsteps that he nearly catapulted off the edge.

"Cerelle?" Florian turned back towards the sea when he noticed it was her. He would've faced her properly, but she couldn't see the redness that surrounded his eyes now.

"Florian…" She sighed and slipped her arm around his waist. "You know it was a slim chance then, it was slimmer now." She told him.

"I know," He said quietly, but both Cerelle and him knew how much it hurt anyway.

"I have to go, but I know I'll see you again," Cerelle whispered and stepped up to kiss him. Her lips were as soft as he had thought they would be, and butterflies flew in his stomach. It ended far faster than he wished it would've, but he cherished that it had happened at all. It had been the last time he'd seen her until the wedding.

He twisted his food around on his fork, staring down at the plate on which it was sitting. He was startled when the bench in front of him creaked and a man took its place. His heart raced when he saw the red garments, and he had to fight a scowl settling on his face. Florian looked anywhere but in front of him – at the food that sat between them, at the girl to his right, but he knew it wouldn't last long.

"Lord Tully," King Tybolt greeted, his hands sitting on the table in front of them. "I hope I'm not intruding on your meal."

"Not at all," Florian forced a smile of courtesy, holding onto his pants tightly beneath the table. "I'm not very hungry to be honest."

The King gave a little nod. "I don't blame you. The ironborn seem to have it out for Riverrun. I saw your aunt on my way in," he said, speaking of Kyra, who had been taken for a salt wife years ago. "Not to mention the Codds and their ilk."

Florian just nodded, seeing no reason to deny it. His life hadn't been an easy one, particularly for a lord. The ironborn hadn't been the only ones that had created problems in his life, another was sitting in front of him.

"Casterly Rock can help you," The King said, glancing at Lord Tully with a patient smile. "House Tully is a strong house, an admirable one. Words to live by, I would say. Family, Duty, Honor. Even got the order right. Riverrun castle sits at the confluence of many major rivers and near many roads."

"Rivers, bridges, and roads controlled by the Lord of Riverrun," Florian snapped, a flare of rudeness erupting out of him. The King of the West was nothing if not advantageous, and Riverrun was the first step towards an ironborn attack on the West itself, should whatever plan King Lannister had in his mind failed.

"Controlled by the ironborn, if memory proves me right," Tybolt returned in a calm voice. "Stolen from the Lord of Riverrun."

Florian put his hands on the table and lifted himself up with it. "You are used to getting everything you wish, King Tybolt. Riverrun makes its own decisions, in our own time. We go with the flow, we do not agitate out of turn. Actions have consequences, and you have already shown what you think of Riverrun." He left the bench, his hands shaking at his sides. His teeth were nearly chattering, but truth be told, he felt better than he had in a while. He didn't think he should, considering he had no real backup plan, but it felt good to tell King Lannister what he thought.

Part II: Kingdoms and Empires

Queen Melessa's meal had started well – she had been observing the conversation between the red-headed Tully and King Tybolt. She chuckled sweetly to herself when she saw him get up and leave. "Boyish desires," she told her daughter, Kathryn, who sat to her right. "They are powerful to manipulate but scorning them makes it a powerful reactionary force."

She smiled and nodded, ever the dutiful daughter. She hadn't always been that way, and Melessa had a thought that she still wasn't, but was just better at hiding it. Still, she had problems bigger than her daughter (who took rather after her mother in those ways). She had half a mind to charm the Bracken boy into her bed, as she was sure it wouldn't be too hard, and ruin that alliance that was seeming to be forged with the West. But, for now, she had no reason to anger King Tybolt, laugh as she would at his failures, just as she knew he would at her own.

Melessa was running out of Kings for her daughter to wed. As bad as Lord Tully had thought the denial had been, Melessa understood where the Lannisters had come from. Tully was a good name, but not a kingly one. Bracken, Blackwood, Vance, and others all had older and greater ties. Bracken seemed to be swooped up by the Lannisters themselves, the Blackwoods were attached at the hip with the Starks, and everyone else was nowhere to be seen.

"My Queen," She heard a girlish voice say and she looked up to a dark-haired beauty giving a curtsy to her. The dress was a warm dandelion yellow, and she was pretty enough. A Durrandon, then.

"Princess Durrandon," Melessa smiled as she let the girl kiss her hand. "It's lovely to see you, my dear, it's been too long."

"You'll get to see her quite a bit more soon," Kathryn muttered under her breath, downing a bit more of the Arbor gold. Melessa was focused on the conversation with the Durrandon.

"Your daughter is right," Kierha Durrandon pushed her glossy black hair back, giving a smile to her eldest son who sat a few spots down to her right.

"Hmm?" Melessa said politely, glancing at her daughter.

"Father crafted an engagement between Dantis and Princess Kierha," Kathryn said in a low voice so only her mother could hear her. In all reality, it wasn't hard for the Stormland girl to figure out what was going on.

Melessa's smile faltered, and her eyes flitted down the row to where her husband was laughing gregariously with a lord from the Riverlands. A tight smile appeared on her face for a moment, but it wasn't even really a smile, and it disappeared as soon as it came. If she had come up with the idea, she wouldn't have been angry, but the fact that Garth had gone behind her back on something as important as her son's future bride – the future Queen poisoned whatever goodwill she may have had for the idea.

"Lovely, yes, I knew that, of course," Melessa's words were jumbled, attempting to reclaim a bit of dignity in the conversation.

To her credit, Princess Durrandon didn't flinch or rub it in. She just smiled and nodded. "I look forward to getting to know your son, he is an enchanting young man," She curtsied and went to sit across from him.

Melessa stewed in the meantime. Her daughter lapsed into silence, surely thinking that her mother was just as angry that she hadn't told her about it that her husband had done it in the first place. Her eyes surveyed the room – seeing happy lords chatting with their wives and friends, lords sitting down to talk to other lords about important meetings, alliances, and deals, but all she could look for were the men in the crowd. Her eyes landed on a handful of men that were sitting with the Durrandons – their hair as white as snow. Valyrians, she knew. No one that young could have hair that white and still have muscles.

Allies of allies, right? Melessa got to her feet and slid her hand over her husband's back. "You made us some friends, I see," Melessa murmured quietly to him, never having been as forward as she intended. "I'll try my best to match them."

Her dark green dress trailed along behind her, arms folded over her chest. She navigated her way through lords milling to different spots, wrinkling her nose as smelly ironborn passed in front of her, spinning when ladies with gowns as big as the aisle got in her way. Queen Durrandon tried to get her attention, but Melessa pretended that she didn't hear her, eyes focused ahead.

"Good evening," Melessa purred as she took a seat alongside the cohort of Valyrians, noticing the look she got from one of the Durrandon sons. Interesting, she thought to herself. Either he's watching me, or he's watching them.

"Evening," The slim one said, who sat across from her. The seahorse on his lapel only confirmed what she already knew – a Velaryon from Driftmark. Boring. A smile crossed her lips when she saw the dragon on the man's chest beside her.

"A Gardener," The Targaryen said astutely, smiling as he passed her a goblet of wine.

"How'd you know?" Melessa asked playfully, laying her hand on his arm and feeling the solid muscle beneath. Hopefully Garth is watching this time. She thought to herself as she took the goblet in the other hand and took a small swallow.

"The green, I'd say," Jaehaerys said after a moment's thought. "Plus, no other family who adorns green would have the guts to take a seat beside the heir to New Valyria."

"Oh," Melessa giggled as she scooted a little bit closer and folded her arms in her lap. "I think you'd find that there are many who would try to see any way up in this world, even if they can't quite reach it."

"I've not met many Reachmen," Jaehaerys said, his view glancing back towards the Durrandons. He's watching them as well. Melessa was curious, but it wasn't time for her to start working it out yet.

"I can give you a tour of the castle," Melessa offered, her right hand drifting onto his well-dressed thigh and squeezing the slim area. She'd played this game quite a few times before, and the other Valyrians with him could see what she was doing as well. Now, it was only if he accepted the game she was playing.

"Oh?" The Princep adjusted in his seat, her hand sliding a little ways upward.

"Mmhmm…" She purred and ran her hand over her prize – the delightful package he held below the belt. Solid, she could tell even from the soft squeeze she gave.

He chuckled a little bit, throwing back that gorgeous hair. She hadn't even thought about the political ramifications yet – at first she had been focused upon scorning her husband, but now she would not be satisfied until the young man was beneath her.

"Would you show me your castle?" He murmured in her ear, a smile playing at his own lips.

"You shock me," Melessa teased, her hand giving him slow ministrations above his pants, feeling him come to life beneath her. "But, I guess I should expect nothing less of a passionate dragon, should I?" She giggled a little as she got to her feet along with the Targaryen prince.

The Durrandon prince watched them like a hawk, looking as though he wanted to get to his feet as well. Following a queen came with a price though, and she knew he wouldn't want to pay hers.

"Excuse me," Melessa smiled and nodded to lords and ladies as she led the Targaryen heir from the hall. The halls were much darker, allowing her hands to wander even on their way to her chambers. She was excited for once, likely the best she would have since the Tarly men night after night.

"So," Melessa turned to face him as they continued their walk, her hand rubbing solid muscle beneath his silk shirt. "Tell me why the Durrandons are so interested in you, besides that ponderous oaf Erich's absurd interest in the east?"

Jaehaerys muttered a rumble of discontent, sweeping her off her feet to a shriek of laughter from the queen, her head fitting into the crook of his arm, setting off a wave of kisses to his thick bicep. His own hand slid down her back, undoing the ties that held the back of her dress together. "My way onto this continent was…dangerous, and Prince Rogar caught me at a poor time."

"A poor time?" Melessa chuckled and pointed him down vacant hallways. She moaned when his hand finally found the right spot, gods it seemed as though men took forever to find it, when she knew right from the get-go. "Like…like what?" She managed to get out.

The Targaryen prince smiled with his pointy white canines. "There were Stormlanders in our way." He pushed the door open and brought her in along with him.

Melessa laughed as he dumped her on the bed, shrugging her dress off completely and watched as the man joined her state of undress. She laid back on the bed, eyes turned towards the sky as the dragon climbed onto her. Much better than staying even a second longer at the table of my husband's, she thought to herself blissfully when she connected with the Valyrian.

. . .

Part III: Into Action

The sky was dark, and the stars flickered ahead like candles burning up the sky. Beneath it, men scurried like rats over the hilly plain. Dark figures moved quickly towards the beach, or what was supposed to be a beach. The southern part of Ironman's Bay was less sand and more rock, making it hard for ships to dock there for an extended period of time. The ironborn who had left the ships that morning would be back by dawn.

"Move, move," Tristifer muttered to his men, standing aside partway down the rocky slope and gesturing for them to keep going. He had on a cap over his fiery red hair – like the Tullys in that fact, but a darker red for himself, almost like wine.

The ships rose out of the bay like icebergs, their masts proud and straight, oars set out by little windows on the sides. Sails fluttered in the Riverland wind – all kinds of sails. They could see the golden kraken of Greyjoy, the green and grey fish of Botley, the silver scythe of Harlaw, and plenty of Hoare ships themselves.

"Be careful," Tristifer put his hand on the arm of a woman carrying a bottle of wildfire. It had cost them a fortune to get even the dozen or so vials of the stuff, relying on his friendships with a few lords to try and help them foot the bill. The rest had been covering by thieving and stealing from (mostly) ironborn and rivermen alike. When it came to this, he couldn't make a wrong move.

"Sorry, m'lord," The young girl said, tightening her hold around the bottle as she continued her way down the slopes.

Tristifer put his hands on his waist as he watched the figures make it to the rocky beach. The first group was heading down by the shore towards the farthest boat – a Goodbrother vessel, by the looks of it. A second group of people were running to attach a rope from ship to ship – lessening the amount of wildfire they would need to deploy per number of boats.

"There is still ironborn on those ships," Lucan Tully whispered to his liege, having ridden day and night to make it from Riverrun in time.

"I know," Tristifer replied, his eerie grey eyes settling on one of the Hoare ships where a man and woman were climbing up the stern with a rope.

"What if they wake up?" Lucan asked, fingering his blade with his own hand and keeping a nervous eye on the groups ascending the ships. There was about two dozen to thirty ironborn longships in harbor – not as many as Tristifer had hoped, but the right amount for how much wildfire he had access to.

"They'll either die awake or die in their sleep, it's their choice," Tristifer shrugged, taking a step on the loose gravel and heading down towards the shore himself.

"Be careful," Lucan insisted, grabbing onto the man's arm. "You shouldn't be so close to the fire. It's unpredictable."

Tristifer paused, musing for a moment. "It is predictable…in how unpredictable it is," He gave him a thin smile. "But, I do not intend for my men and women who have risked all to die for me to be the only ones risking themselves, aye?"

The Mudd ignored whatever reply the Tully ser had to offer, and he grabbed a rope leading onto a Harlaw ship and climbed up the creaky wooden edge. He grabbed hold of spare wood on the ship's floor and began to help another man put them together, setting them across towards a second Harlaw ship. A woman on that boat grabbed the end and se it along the railway where men could hold onto in case of a strong storm.

Tristifer glanced at the ship, able to tell that it was one of the proudest ships from Ten Towers. The Mudd walked towards the door that led into the captain's quarters and pushed it open. The wind took it and it clattered against the wall. One of the men behind him winced as he took a step forward. Dark wood was beginning to peel from the salt of the water, and the candles were all since snuffed out, smoke in the air.

He took a step forward towards a desk, lifting a nice piece of jewelry into his hand. A dark red jewel sat in the center of it, with an ornate piece of gold around it. Stolen, most likely, Mudd knew the ironborn well enough for that. It could fetch a good price among the right crowd.

Tristifer heard the creak behind him a moment before his head would've been lopped off. He ducked immediately, and the longsword buried into the desk and sent wood chips flying from it. He turned and pushed the man back – a big man, Tristifer could see. He pulled his own sword and began to slash at him as he doubled back. The sword had been buried too much in the wood to try and wrestle it out.

He buried the sword into the man's chest with a spray of warm blood, and he wrestled it out when his body hit the wood. Tristifer slipped the necklace into a pocket on his worn jacket, and he hurried out of the captain's quarters.

"We're ready, your Grace!" One of the men shouted up at him. He hurriedly climbed down the rope again and took off for the rocky beach.

"Go," Tristifer nodded at one of the messengers, who lit a flare towards one of the ships. He began to smile as it burst in a red fire. For a second, nothing happened. The next, the Harlaw symbol was covered in green fire as it exploded, sending pieces flying into the next ships and towards the beach.

Tristifer scrambled backwards as a large piece of the ship landed just a few feet in front of him, doubling back towards higher ground that would be harder to get hit by. He could see lines of wildfire connecting ships before they inevitably blew into smithereens. His arms folded in front of his chest as he leaned back against a higher piece of ground.

"It's worked, your Grace," Lucan said as he nudged his shoulder lightly. "Thirty or so ironborn ships are gone." They were sinking indeed, down into the bay.

"We need to get word out," Tristifer said. "That it was us who did this. Send some of the common folk among us back into their towns and homes, spreading word that Tristifer Mudd was the one who lit these aflame."

Lucan gave a stiff nod and hurried off. Tristifer pulled out the ruby gem as he stared at the ships' eerie light while they sunk into the bay below. A smile crossed his lips, and he squeezed it lightly in his hand. First step is done. He thought. The next will come soon.

Author's Note: Thank you so much to all of those that are reading, reviewing, and PMing me about the story. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, which had a touch of everything. See you next time!